In the Cold Dark Ground. Stuart MacBride

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СКАЧАТЬ it’s just bacon and cheese, yeah? Not like it’s anything major.’

      He picked up a clear evidence bag and held it in front of Lumpy’s face. ‘For the tape, I am now showing Mr Hay the two wrappers of heroin found in his pocket when he was arrested.’ Logan put them back down again. ‘And before you deny it: we know they’re heroin, because we tested them.’

      ‘Ah…’ A nod sent greasy wisps of hair rocking. ‘Well, supposing I told you where you could, like, get a whole lot more of that stuff? Yeah, right?’ His pale tongue crawled out between his chapped lips, glistening. Then Lumpy leaned forward, enveloping Logan in his stench. ‘Way I hear it, Ma Campbell’s got herself a shipment coming up from Weegietown. Yeah?’ He held his filthy hands up, about two feet apart. ‘Big shipment. You like that?’

      Calamity leaned back against the wall by the open window. ‘Who’s the delivery for?’

      ‘Oh no. We do us a deal first, yeah? I tell you stuff, we forget all about the shoplifting and that. Deal?’

      ‘Depends on whether you’re telling us the truth or not.’ Logan pulled out his pen and pointed it across the table. ‘Who’s it for?’

      The smile that bloomed on Lumpy’s face was like watching something rot, it exposed a set of grey gums almost devoid of teeth. ‘You know Ricky Welsh?’

      That got him a groan from Calamity. ‘Oh God. Not Ricky and Laura…’

      ‘Yeah. Big shipment coming in from Glasgow. All them Weegie drugs.’

      Logan tapped his pen against his notebook. ‘Not meaning to be funny, Lumpy, but are you seriously sitting there clyping on Ricky and Laura Welsh? After what happened to Abby Ritchie?’

      When Lumpy shrugged, his whole body slumped to the side, until the ends of his hair made little oily marks on the table. ‘Me civic duty, isn’t it? Can’t have Weegie imports ruining it for local businessmen. Not right.’

      Yeah, because Lumpy Patrick was a fine upstanding member of the Banff and Macduff Chamber of Commerce.

      Logan clicked his pen out. ‘When and where?’

      ‘Noooo. First we gotta talk my reward for being civic. I get…’ He tilted his head, coiling more hair on the tabletop. ‘Three thousand quid and you get me off on the shoplifting and possession. Yeah?’

      Outside, a car grumbled past.

      The rain hissed down on the world outside, the sound clear through the open window as the vertical blinds swayed in the breeze.

      A phone rang somewhere in the depths of the station.

      Calamity was the first one to crack, spluttering out a snigger that exploded into a full-on laugh.

      Logan wasn’t far behind, rocking back in his chair, hooting. Letting it ring out.

      Lumpy just stared at them.

      Eventually the laughter rattled to a halt.

      Logan sighed. Wiped his eyes. ‘Priceless.’

      ‘Three grand, Lumpy?’ Calamity shook her head, still grinning. ‘You’ll be lucky if we don’t bang you up for wasting police time. Remember the last red-hot tip of yours?’

      He shifted on his bench. Lowered his voice and his gaze. ‘Wasn’t my fault.’

      ‘Any idea how many crimes we could’ve been solving, instead of traipsing round the countryside trying to find your non-existent dealer from Newcastle?’

      ‘Wasn’t my fault.’

      ‘And now you’re giving us this rubbish about Ma Campbell and the Welshes?’

      Logan tapped the pad again. ‘Who do you owe three grand to?’

      No answer.

      ‘Come on, Lumpy. You didn’t come up with that figure out of the blue, you owe someone, don’t you? Let me guess…’ Logan bit down on his bottom lip for a moment. ‘It wouldn’t be Ricky Welsh, by any chance, would it? That’d be a coincidence. You owe him a big chunk of cash, and here you are dobbing him in.’

      Calamity sucked a breath through her teeth. ‘Lumpy, Lumpy, Lumpy. Clyping on someone you owe money to, just so we’ll bang them up and you won’t have to pay them back. Should be ashamed of yourself.’

      ‘No!’ Lumpy’s bottom lip wobbled for a bit. Then he shrugged his way down to the tabletop, so his cheek was resting against the chipped white surface. ‘Civic duty…’

      ‘OK. Well, we’re done here.’ Logan stood. ‘Good luck sorting things out with the Welshes. I’m sure Laura will be very understanding when she finds out you tried to weasel out of paying by informing on the pair of them. She’ll probably bake you a cake. She can send it to you, care of HMP Grampian, where you’ll be spending the next four to six months.’

      ‘Noooo…’ The thin arms came up over his head.

      ‘Officer Nicholson will show you back to your cell.’

      She snapped her fingers. ‘Come on, Lumpy, on your feet. Maybe we can ask the Custody Sergeant to hose you down before beddy-byes?’

      ‘All right! All right, I’ll tell you.’

      ‘What do you think?’ Logan sat back in the visitor’s chair.

      The room’s dark-blue carpet was getting a bit scuffed near the door. Large corkboards covered the two walls either side of the desk, one with a street map of Fraserburgh covered in little red, green, and yellow pins; the other with a map of B Division, surrounded with memos and official leaflets. And a poster of a kitten peeking out of an old boot.

      ‘And you’re sure it’s Ma Campbell?’ Inspector McGregor swivelled from side to side in her seat, chewing on one leg of her glasses. ‘Hmm…’ Her heart-shaped face creased itself into a frown, pulling wrinkles around her eyes. A thick streak of grey hair reached back above each ear, disappearing into a no-nonsense bun that matched the two no-nonsense silver pips on each epaulette fixed to her black Police Scotland T-shirt. She stopped swivelling and pointed her glasses at the only other person in the room. ‘What do you think, Hugo?’

      ‘What do I think?’ Inspector Fettes shrugged. Standing beneath the overhead strip light, his hair was a spectacular mop of fiery curls. As if Little Orphan Annie had a sex change and joined the rozzers. He folded his arms, hiding a pair of huge hands covered in freckles, like the ones that spattered across his nose and cheeks. ‘Honestly?’ He screwed one side of his face up. ‘I think Logan needs to go on a diet. Crashing through a garage roof? That’s too many pies, that is.’

      Logan reached down and rubbed at his swollen ankle. ‘I am not fat.’

      A smile twitched at the corner of McGregor’s mouth. ‘I meant, what about Patrick Hay?’

      Fettes checked the clock mounted on the desk. ‘You’re still Duty Inspector. Not my problem for five more minutes.’

      ‘Thanks a heap.’

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