Partners in Crime: Two Logan and Steel Short Stories. Stuart MacBride

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СКАЧАТЬ as Steel got back he was going to give her a piece of his mind. Put her in her place. Let her know this wasn’t acceptable. He hadn’t joined the force just so she could go on shopping expeditions.

      Clunk. The passenger door swung open and an avalanche of plastic bags clattered into his lap.

      Steel clambered in, pulled the door shut, and shuddered. ‘Oooh, bleeding heck: brass monkeys out there.’ She frowned. ‘How come you’ve no’ got the heating on?’

      Allan glowered at her. ‘With all due respect, Inspector, you—’

      ‘Don’t be a prawn, or you’ll no’ get your present.’

      ‘Present?’ That was more like it. He turned the key in the ignition and cranked up the heater. ‘Is it good?’

      ‘Course it’s good. Has your aunty Roberta ever let you down?’ She dug into one of the plastic bags and came out with something bright red with white furry bits. ‘Here.’

      He turned it over in his hands, the smile dying on his lips. ‘Oh...’ It was one of those cheap Santa hats they flogged in the Christmas market on Belmont Street.

      ‘Well, put it on then.’

      ‘It’s ... not ... with the uniform and everything...’

      Steel poked his black stab-proof vest with a red-painted fingernail. ‘Put – it – on.’

      Brilliant. Allan hauled the hat on over his head, the bobble on the end dangling against his cheek. Like he was being tea-bagged by a Muppet.

      She peered at him for a bit. ‘It’s missing something.’ Then she leaned over and grabbed him by the lapel, hauling him towards her.

      Oh God, she wasn’t going to kiss him, was she? But there wasn’t so much as a sprig of mistletoe in the car. It wasn’t fair! You couldn’t just go about kissing people – you had to give them fair warning about stuff like that. It was sexual harassment!

      Run. Get out of the car and run. RUN!

      She grabbed the bobble on the end of his Santa hat and something inside went ‘click’. Little coloured lights winked on and off inside the fur. Like it wasn’t undignified enough in the first place.

      Then again, given the alternative...

      Steel nodded. ‘Much better.’

      A deafening HONNNNNNNNNNK! belted through the air behind them and a massive eighteen-wheeler loomed in the rear-view mirror, lights flashing.

      She peered over her shoulder. ‘Well, don’t just sit there: you’re holding up traffic.’

      Mrs Griffith scrubbed a soggy hanky under her plump red nose, getting rid of the twin lines of silver. She sat on the couch in an over-warm living room, her pale-pink twinset and pearls looking all rumpled and out of kilter. As if she’d got dressed in the dark then fallen down the stairs a couple of times. Her chocolate-brown hair was starting to go grey at the roots, watery eyes blinking behind Dame Edna glasses. A big woman who wobbled when she sniffed.

      A Christmas tree sat in the corner of the room, decorated with scarlet bows, gold dangly things, and white lights – very tasteful. A mound of presents sat on the floor, beneath a thin layer of fallen pine needles, much more professionally wrapped than the Frankenstein’s monsters in DI Steel’s office. The mantelpiece was covered in cards, and so were the sideboard and the display cabinet by the large bay windows. Popular couple.

      Allan underlined the words ‘MISSING SINCE LAST NIGHT’ in his notebook. ‘And your husband’s never gone off like this before?’

      She blinked and shook her head. Not looking at him.

      Couldn’t really blame her. When you call the police to help find your missing husband, you probably don’t expect a uniformed PC to turn up wearing a flashing Santa bobble hat.

      ‘And he didn’t mention anything that was bothering him?’

      Mrs Griffith sniffed again, blinked, then stared up at the ceiling as the sound of a toilet flushing came from the floor above. Nice house. Fancy. Three bathrooms; four bedrooms, one en-suite; dining room; living room; drawing room; kitchen bigger than Allan’s whole flat; conservatory; dirty big garden hidden under a thick blanket of snow. Had to be at least knee deep out there.

      ‘Well, it’s early days yet. Might just have got stuck in the snow, or something. Did you try his work?’

      Mrs Griffith stared down at the crumpled hankie in her thick fingers. ‘I... I phoned the hospital all night, just in case he’d ... you know, with the icy roads... An accident.’ A single drip swelled on the tip of her nose, clear and glistening in the lights from the tree. ‘Then I tried his work first thing this morning...’

      It was the most she’d said in one go since they’d got there.

      ‘I see.’ Allan made a note in his book. ‘And where does your husband work?’

      She tortured her hanky for a bit. ‘He doesn’t.’ The drip dropped, splashing down on the sleeve of her cardigan. ‘The man I spoke to, Brian, he was Charles’s boss. He said... He said Charles was made redundant three months ago. Said they couldn’t keep everyone on with the economic downturn.’ She gave a little moan in the back of her throat. ‘Why didn’t Charles tell me?’

      Clump, clump, clump, on the stairs, then the living room door opened and DI Steel shambled into the room, hauling up her trousers with one hand. ‘Sorry, went to the panto last night. Too many sweeties always go right through me. You know what they say: you don’t buy chocolate buttons, you just rent them.’ She collapsed down on the other end of the sofa, then patted Mrs Griffith on a chunky knee. ‘Went for a rummage through your bedroom while I was upstairs, knew you’d no’ mind.’

      Mrs Griffith opened her mouth, as if she was about to disagree, then closed it again. ‘What am I going to tell the children?’

      Steel wrinkled her lips and raised one shoulder in a lopsided-shrug. ‘You sure there’s nothing missing? Clothes, toothbrush, razor, stuff like that.’

      ‘He wouldn’t just run out on Jeremy and Cameron and me. He dotes on those boys, nothing’s too good for them.’ Her eyes flicked towards the pile of presents under the tree. ‘Something must have happened. Something terrible...’

      ‘Found this stuffed under the mattress.’ The inspector produced a big clear plastic envelope thing, with ‘Ho-Ho-Ho! HAPPY SANTA SUIT!’ printed in red and white on a bit of card. The hanger was stuffed inside, but there was no sign of the costume. ‘Your Charlie like to dress up for a bit of kinky fun?’

      Mrs Griffith sank back in her seat, eyes wide, one chubby hand pressing that soggy hanky to her trembling lips. ‘No! Charles would never do anything like that.’

      ‘Shame. Partial to a bit of the old “naughty nun” myself.’ Steel patted her on the knee again. ‘Any chance of a cuppa? Digging through other people’s drawers always gives us a terrible drooth.’

      A bit of flustering, then Mrs Griffith hauled herself up from the couch and lumbered off to the kitchen, sniffing and wobbling.

      Allan СКАЧАТЬ