Logan McRae Crime Series Books 4-6: Flesh House, Blind Eye, Dark Blood. Stuart MacBride

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СКАЧАТЬ more, kicked the filing cabinet, called Chief Constable Brian Anderson a ‘Sheep-shagging prick.’ And collapsed back into the chair again.

      ‘Well,’ said Logan, picking his words carefully, ‘it could be worse …’

      ‘How? How could it possibly be worse?’

      ‘Could’ve been DCI Finnie.’

      ‘That … cock?’ She scrubbed her hands across her face. ‘How could they say I’m no’ pro-active enough? How? How much more pro-fucking-active could I be? Did we no’ just catch Leith?’

      Logan settled himself in behind the other desk, bracing himself for the oncoming rant. Ten minutes later she was still at it.

      ‘Course you know what this is really about, don’t you? Can’t have a lowly woman heading up a high-profile case like this. Nooooo. That needs a baldy-headed bastard, doesn’t it?’ She put on a broad Banff and Buchan accent for, ‘“I think it’d be mare appropriate fer DCS Bain tae tak a mair active role…” Wankers didn’t take the damn thing off Insch, did they?’ Steel sat and seethed in silence for a while, then pulled out her cigarettes, turning the pack over and over in her hands. ‘Do us a favour, eh? Go see how the fat git’s doing.’

      ‘What, now?’

      ‘No, no’ now: tonight. I know he’s been a toss-pot lately, and he smacked you in the face … but … well … take him a bag of jelly babies or something.’

      ‘I can’t, I’ve got something on tonight.’ Which was a lie. Logan just couldn’t face dealing with Insch’s grief on top of all the guilt. Not yet.

      ‘Insch is one of us, Laz, we’ve got no right abandoning him. No’ with his wee girl dead like that.’

      ‘But if I hadn’t chased Wiseman—’

      ‘You’ve always been Inschy’s favourite. He needs someone to talk to, and you’re it. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen? He shouts at you a bit? Least it’ll make him feel better. You no’ think we owe him that?’

      Logan swore. But the inspector was right: he owed Insch that much. ‘OK, OK, I’ll go see him.’

      ‘Good lad.’ Steel hauled herself out of the chair and headed for the door, calling over her shoulder, ‘But for God’s sake don’t tell him I sent you! Got my reputation as a hardnosed bitch to think about.’

      Half four and Steel still wasn’t back. Logan sat with a fresh cup of tea and the old Media Office file on Ian and Sharon McLaughlin – all the press releases, the follow-up articles culled from the newspapers, speeches written for whoever was Chief Constable at the time. One of the newspaper clippings included a photo of Ex-DSI Brooks outside the Sheriff Court, a thin and hirsute DC David Insch standing off to one side.‘SUSPECT REMANDED IN CUSTODY’.

      He laid the article out on the desk and sat back, staring at the death board. How many of them died because Brooks couldn’t get over his Wiseman-focussed monomania?

      Logan called Colin Miller and asked for a favour.

      ‘What, again? You still owe me lunch from last time.’

      ‘Do this one and we’ll call it dinner – takeaway Thai?’

      ‘I’m listening…’

      ‘Need you to go through the paper’s archives. Missing persons, housebreakings, outbreaks of food poisoning, CJD … that kind of thing. 1987 to 1990.’

      There was silence on the other end.

      ‘You gonnae tell me what this is all about?’

      ‘Nope.’

      ‘You expect me to go huntin’ through three years’ worth of pish, and you’re no’ gonnae tell me anythin’?’

      ‘Look we—’

      ‘Exclusive. I get the scoop on whatever it is, or I’m no’ liftin’ a finger.’

      ‘I’m just trying to put the original investigation into context.’

      ‘No exclusive, no deal.’

      Logan said he’d see what he could do. ‘It’s up to the inspector.’

      ‘Which one: Fatty or Wrinkly?’

      ‘Steel. Insch is on compassionate leave. His daughter—’

      ‘Fuck – sorry, man, I forgot. Look, I’ll do what I can, but I’ve got to go interview some scientist at the Rowett this afternoon. “HEPATITIS C IN THE FOOD CHAIN: HOW SAFE IS YOUR DINNER?” kind of thing.’

      Just what they needed, the papers stirring up more panic.

      ‘Tell you what: the Howff, eight o’clock, buy us a pint and we’ll talk about that exclusive.’

      ‘OK, we …’ Logan closed his eyes and swore quietly. ‘I can’t tonight, I’ve got a thing. Tomorrow?’

      ‘Fine, but you’re buying.’

      ‘Deal.’ Logan hung up and went back to the McLaughlin case file – putting off the inevitable, until guilt and hunger got the better of him. Like it or not, he had to go see the parents of the little girl he’d got killed.

      Logan pulled the CID pool car up to the kerb and killed the engine. Then sat there, looking out at the night-shrouded countryside. Psyching himself up. Two deep breaths. Count to ten.

      Count to ten again.

      ‘Come on …’ Logan grabbed the plastic bag from the passenger seat.

      There were no lights on at the front of the house, but a dented Renault Clio with ‘I’M DRIVING COURTESY OF TAM’S TURRIFF MOTORS!’ emblazoned down the side, was parked in the drive where the inspector’s Range Rover usually sat. Logan tried the bell.

      Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrringggggggggggg…

      It was cold out here. The faint yellow glow of streetlights filtered through the trees, making the autumn leaves shine like reptile skin. A gust of wind sent a couple swirling to their death, adding to the greasy slick that littered the front garden.

      He pressed the bell again.

      One more time, then he was going to give up and go home.

      Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrringggggggggggg…

      A light blossomed above the door.

      ‘Inspector?’

      Clunk, jingle, and the door drifted open a crack. Then came the sound of someone shuffling off back into the house.

      ‘Inspector? Hello?’ Logan put one hand on the wood and pushed. The hallway was in darkness, but down at the far end he could just make out Insch’s rounded bulk as he placed a foot on the stairs and began to climb.

      Logan СКАЧАТЬ