The Missing and the Dead. Stuart MacBride

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      The buildings faded in the pool car’s rear-view mirror. Banff twinkled on the other side of the bay.

      More silence from Steel. Then, finally, ‘OK, OK, overtime. You’re a greedy—’

      ‘I’m not greedy, I’m skint. You got any idea how much of a pay-cut came with the “development opportunity” you lumbered me with? I’m living on bargain-basement soup and pappy sliced white.’

      ‘That’s no’ my fault! How was I supposed to know Big Tony Campbell would stick you in a bunnet in the arse-end of nowhere?’ Her voice dropped to what was probably meant to be a sultry purr. ‘Come on: you and me, questioning sex offenders like the good old days.’

      ‘Yeah, well … Too late to do anything about it tonight anyway.’ Up and over the bridge into Banff.

      ‘Laz, Laz, Laz. Did you learn nothing from our time together? It’s never too late to rattle a nonce.’

      Nicholson leaned forward from the back seat. ‘I want to say thank you, again, for the opportunity to work on the Tarlair Major Investigation Team.’

      Sitting in the passenger seat, Steel took a long draw on her e-cigarette, setting the tip glowing blue. ‘Calm down, eh? No one likes a brown-noser.’ Then poked Logan in the shoulder. ‘Are we there yet?’

      ‘For the last time: we’ll get there when we get there.’

      A shrug. ‘No’ my fault you drive like an old lady, Laz.’

      Nicholson tapped Steel on the arm. ‘Erm … Why do you call him “Laz”?’

      ‘Short for Lazarus. You remember the Mastrick Monster? Laz here caught him. Got into a knife fight on top of a tower block.’

      ‘It wasn’t a knife fight.’

      ‘Who’s telling this story, you or me?’ Another puff. ‘Knife fight.’

      Nicholson frowned. ‘But why Lazarus?’

      ‘Cause our wee boy here got himself killed stone dead.’

      Her eyes went wide in the rear-view mirror. ‘What happened?’

      Logan shifted his grip on the steering wheel. Took the turning onto Duff Street. ‘I got better.’

      Steel sniffed. ‘Are we there yet?’

      ‘Shut up.’

      The short man blinked back at them from behind thick-framed spectacles. ‘I’m sorry?’ He clutched his dressing gown tight shut across his chest, hiding the patchwork of scars and shiny cigarette burns. Ran his other hand across the shiny top of his shiny head.

      Steel scooted forward, until she was sitting right on the edge of the armchair. ‘No’ a difficult question, is it, Markyboy? Where were you?’

      He puffed out his cheeks. Shrugged. ‘Here, probably. I don’t really like to go out much. After …’ Mark Brussels cleared his throat. ‘Well, it’s probably for the best. Probably. I mean, you hear stories, don’t you? People on the register getting beaten up.’ He flapped a hand at the outside world. Then pressed his knees together. ‘People on the register going missing.’

      She pulled out her e-cigarette and gave it a sook. ‘Missing like Neil Wood?’

      ‘Been a lot of that kind of thing going on. Kickings. Disappearings. Concerned citizens taking it out on poor sods like us.’

      ‘Poor sods?’ She hauled out her list. ‘Says here you abused girls as young as seven over a twelve-year period.’

      Logan rocked back and forwards on the balls of his feet. ‘When’d you last get a supervisory visit, Mr Brussels?’

      The clock on the mantelpiece ticked into the silence. A small smelly terrier snored on its back in a tartan beanbag in the corner. A radio in another room, played saccharine boy-band pop. The floorboard creaked overhead as Nicholson crept about, pretending she was off to the toilet. Have to have a word with her about not sounding like an elephant in tap shoes.

      Steel puffed out her cheeks. ‘Come on, Markyboy, it’s like pulling teeth here. When’d you last get a visit from the Perv Patrol?’

      ‘Well …’ His eyes slid towards the zombie-grey gaze of the off television. ‘They said I wasn’t really a risk any more, so I could go to once every six weeks. To be honest, I miss the company.’ He stood. ‘Can I get anyone a cup of tea?’

      ‘Sounds like a load of old bollocks to me, Billyboy.’ Steel stuck her feet up on the low coffee table. Had a squint about. ‘Someone like you, passing up a sweet young thing in a school uniform? Nah, that’s no’ your style.’

      The man in the beige cardigan stared at her with striking blue eyes that lurked beneath heavy white eyebrows. ‘It’s William, not “Billyboy”, and I’ll thank you to get your feet off my furniture.’ Spine ironing-board stiff, grey hair swept back from a high forehead. ‘It’s bad enough you turn up at this ungodly hour, the least you can do is have the civility not to treat my home like whatever kind of pigsty you live in.’

      Logan stepped forward. ‘Perhaps—’

      ‘No, no, no.’ Steel held up a hand. ‘Billyboy’s got every right to moan if he wants to.’ She grinned at him with unnaturally white teeth. ‘“Pigsty”, because we’re police officers. Very droll. Your file didn’t say you were such a wit.’ She took her feet off the table. ‘What it does say is you’ve got a thing for wee girls. Four to nine years old, wasn’t it?’

      His face hardened – a granite slab with a hooked nose. ‘That was nothing more than scurrilous rumour. The whole trial was a farce from start to finish. A sick vendetta by a handful of ignorant troglodytes!’

      The sound of a toilet flushing rattled the pipes behind the wall.

      Steel pursed her lips – the wrinkles lined up to turn her mouth into a rouged cat’s bumhole. ‘Good enough for the jury to give you eight years, though, wasn’t it?’

      ‘Vile lies.’

      ‘What was it the tabloids called you? No, don’t tell me … Ah, got it: Dr Kidfiddler!’

      Yes, because that was helping.

      Logan took out his notebook. ‘Mr Gilcomston—’

      ‘Doctor. It’s Dr Gilcomston.’

      ‘Dr Gilcomston, has anyone threatened you? Implied they were going to attack you?’

      ‘Ignorance runs rampant throughout our society, Sergeant.’

      Steel rested her chin on her hands. ‘And no one’s tried to make contact?’ She fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘Maybe, oh, I don’t know, someone like Neil Wood?’

      A pause. ‘If you’re implying СКАЧАТЬ