In the Cold Dark Ground (12 page)

‘
Yeah, hi, Mr McRae. It’s John?
’

Took a moment, but then it clicked. John Urquhart. Wee Hamish’s designated driver. ‘Give me a minute.’ He held his hand over the microphone and grimaced at Calamity. ‘Got to take this.’ Then slipped out of the door, through the bedlam of the main office, past the stairwell, down the corridor, and into the old cellblock.

Pale blue walls, grey-blue floor, an ancient wooden desk/unit thing, and two cells.

No sign of Steel’s sticky minions.

Better safe than sorry, though. Logan pulled open the door to cell number two and slipped inside. It was a small magnolia box of a room, with a glass-brick window and grey-painted concrete floor. The blue plastic mattress had been propped up against the wall, one end resting on the ankle-high concrete sleeping platform.

He closed the cell door and took his hand off the microphone. ‘Mr Urquhart.’

‘
You heard the news, right? Mr Mowat passed away last night.
’ His voice sounded thick and forced, as if someone was choking him. ‘
Doctor says it was pretty painless.
’ A sniff. ‘
He would say that, though. We find out it was anything but, and he’s going home without legs.
’

‘Yes. I heard. I’m sorry.’ For more than one reason.

‘
Yeah. Thanks.
’ Urquhart cleared his throat. ‘
Anyway, funeral’s at half twelve, Friday, Old Ardoe Kirk. No flowers. Be good to see you there.
’

Logan let the silence grow.

Urquhart puffed out a breath. ‘
And Reuben wants me to pass on a message. He says you’ve got one last chance to get with the team. Which is kinda unique, normally he goes from nought to wrath-of-God like that.
’ A clicking noise.

‘I’m a police officer.’

‘
There’s a guy called Stevie Fowler going to be in your neck of the woods next week. You collect a package from him and keep it somewhere safe till Reuben tells you who to hand it over to and where.
’

Even though there’d been no one banged up in the cells for over a decade, the power was still on. There was a radiator hidden inside the ceiling – behind the render – and it belted out heat, making the tips of his ears glow. ‘What’s in the package?’

‘
Don’t tell anyone you’ve got it, and squirrel it
really
out of the way. OK?
’

‘What – is – it?’

‘
No idea.
’

Logan raised his chin. ‘And if I don’t?’

Urquhart sighed. ‘
Then Reuben sends round the three guys in the Transit van, and you get to feed the pigs.
’

Not much of a choice, was it?

Become a crooked cop or die.

Samantha’s voice was warm and soft in his other ear. ‘Or you could kill Reuben. You won’t have to do favours for him if he’s dead.’

Logan licked his lips. ‘I can’t.’

‘
Mr McRae, you can… Look, it doesn’t have to be like this.
’ A deep breath sounded in the speaker. ‘
You can still take over from Mr Mowat, like he wanted.
’

‘Kill him.’ She wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘Get that rifle from the firearms store and blow his big fat head off.’

‘
If you took over, you could get the guys in the van to go pick
Reuben
up instead. Turn
him
into pig food.
’

From Duty Sergeant in B Division to head of Aberdeen’s biggest criminal empire in one easy step.

Yeah.

Right.

Samantha’s lips brushed his ear. ‘One way or the other, he has to die.’

Logan closed his eyes and leaned forward until his forehead thunked against the cell wall. ‘Steve Fowler. When and where?’

Rain lashed the window, rattling the glass in its peeling wooden frame. ‘Well I hope you’re happy.’

The little room was a bit of a hole. Wedged in at the top of the stairs, the walls were close enough to reach out and touch with both hands. And yet, somehow, Steel’s minions had managed to cram a desk and two chairs in, amongst the filing cabinet, a filing cupboard, and the two lockers that usually lived there.

On the other end of the phone, Steel’s voice was all tinny and echoey – as if she was calling from inside a porta potty. ‘
Aye, I’m dancing a jig here, can you no’ hear the band?
’ She blew a wet raspberry.

Whoever had shifted the desk in had piled all the existing boxes of files into the corner, where it made a wobbly tower of grey cardboard and archived crimes.

‘
Wifie Milne swears blind her husband’s no’ run off. He’s a model husband and father.
’

Logan sat on the edge of the desk. ‘You didn’t show her the photos then?’

‘
No, but it’s going to come out eventually, Laz. Can’t protect her forever.
’

‘What about holiday homes, or family and friends?’

‘
If you were her, would you want the first time you hear about your hubby having threeways and hot man-on-man action with his business partner to be right there, in open court? When the defence try to make out he’d never kill Shepherd because he loved him? Several times a week. Oh, and here’s the photographic evidence.
’

She had a point.

‘We need to get posters up at all the ports and stations. Set up a Scotland-wide lookout request.’

‘
Do we? Wow. I’d no’ have thought of
that
all by my little old self. Good job we’ve got a big strong man like you on the team to keep us right.
’

Logan scowled at the carpet tiles. Someone had tried to fix a couple of them with duct tape. ‘Are you finished?’

‘
Becky’s already done it. Now get rid of the PC Plod outfit: I want your scarred backside in a fighting suit and ready to go in ten. You, me, and the boy Rennie are off on a family outing to Peterhead.
’ The grin was obvious in her voice. ‘
Be just like old times.
’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’

Rennie peered out of the car windscreen. ‘How do you think you pronounce it? Gayrod? Geeirod? Jerryod?’

Rain dripped off the big green sign: ‘
G
EIRRØD ~
C
ONTAINER
M
ANAGEMENT
A
ND
L
OGISTICS
’ with the same Viking logo Milne and Shepherd had been wearing in the photo. An angry bearded man, in a winged helmet, with a double-headed axe in his hands.

The sign sat in front of a bland two-storey office block of brick and glass, with a handful of cars parked out front on a stretch of potholed tarmac. A security hut sat to one side, where a fat old man watched the metal barrier that controlled entrance to the container yard. The whole place was wrapped around with chain-link fence, punctuated with warning notices about razor wire and guard dogs patrolling this area.

Steel reached across from the passenger seat and whacked Rennie on the arm. ‘Yes, because they set up a company, and called it “Gay-Rod”.’

‘Ow.’

‘Well, don’t be so homophobic. What, two blokes are shagging each other so they’re going to call their company “Gay-Rod”?’

Sitting in the back, Logan kept his mouth shut.

She gave Rennie another thump. ‘That’s a “slashed O”, you ignorant spud. It’s pronounced “
eau
”.’ Steel made a noise like a dying sheep. ‘Now park.’

He lumped the pool car through the holes and into the spot marked ‘
V
ISITORS
’ by the front door. Then sat there, rubbing his arm. ‘Why have you got to be so horrible?’

‘I’ll be horrible to your backside with my boot in a minute.’

Yeah, just like old times.

Logan unclipped his seatbelt and climbed out of the car.

Heavy grey clouds covered most of the sky, but at least it had stopped raining. There was even a patch of blue big enough to let shafts of golden light shine through. They set off a glowing rainbow above the power station in the distance.

GCML’s office and yard sat on the southernmost corner of a small industrial estate. Lots of chunks of machinery and pipes, locked away behind high fences. A place that specialized in refrigerated lorries sat across the road, the sound of shrieking metal coming from a large open-fronted garage.

Steel slammed her door shut, then had a dig at her bra – jiggling its contents. ‘Right, listen up, children. You will be on your best behaviour. You will do what you’re told. You,’ she pointed at Rennie as he locked the car, ‘will no’ embarrass me. Are we clear?’

He stuck his nose in the air. ‘Not going to dignify that with an answer.’

‘Right, here’s the plan: I want… Hoy, Laz, where do you think you’re going?’

‘To do your job for you.’ Logan marched up the steps and into the building. ‘As usual.’

Reception was a small room with a row of plastic seats along one wall and a closed hatch in the other. A doorbell sat on the counter, with ‘
R
ING
F
OR
A
TTENTION
’ on a small plastic plaque.

He did.

Steel bustled in behind him. ‘Cheeky sod.’ She peered at the sign next to the bell. Then mashed her thumb down on the button. Holding it there as the sound of ringing droned out somewhere inside the building. ‘SHOP! ANYONE IN? COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP! HELLO? SHOP!’

Logan slapped her hand away and the ringing stopped. ‘OK, I
think
they heard you.’

She raised an eyebrow and stared at him. ‘Where’d you get that suit, Tramps-R-Us?’

‘We kick off with the third partner – the financial director. Assuming he’s not disappeared as well.’

‘Looks more like a sleeping bag than a suit.’

‘Then we split the staff in three, take one third each.’

‘Trousers are hanging off you.’

‘Anyone seems a bit sketchy, we double up on them.’

‘And that’s possibly the ugliest tie I’ve ever seen.’

He glanced down at it: blue with tiny red dots. ‘Jasmine gave me this for Christmas.’

‘She did?’ A frown. ‘For a seven-year-old, she’s got horrible fashion sense.’

‘Maybe Martin Milne has an accomplice?’

‘She gets that from
your
side of the family.’ Steel banged her open palm down on the desk.
Bang
.
Bang
.
Bang
. ‘SHOP! HELLO? GET A SHIFT ON!’

‘We should get Rennie to run a quick PNC check on all the employees before we start.’

‘They never warn you about that when you get your wife up the stick with a turkey baster, do they? Warning: donor sperm may cause your child to buy ugly ties.’

Logan stared at her. ‘Are you finished?’

A grin. ‘Any other skeletons lurking in your family cupboard I should know about? Any history of mental abnormality?’ Steel went back to hoiking at her underwear. ‘Mind you, I’ve met your mum, she’s about as normal as morris dancing. What about your dad, was he a nutter too? Suppose he must’ve been to marry your mum.’

‘Can we get back to the case, please?’

The hatch rattled open, revealing an orange-skinned bottle-blonde in a polo shirt and fleece – both of which had the Geirrød logo on them. She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes, playing the coy young thing. Which, given the fact that she had to be pushing fifty, was a bit of a stretch.

Steel sniffed. ‘Beginning to think you didn’t exist.’

The smile slipped a little, leaving its wrinkles behind. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Aye: your financial director about?’

‘I’m afraid Mr Chapman is
very
busy. Do you have an appointment?’

Steel pulled out her warrant card. Held it under the woman’s nose. ‘And while you’re at it, I’ll have a coffee. Milk and two.’

‘I don’t know, all right? I don’t know.’ Brian Chapman paced back and forth, in front of his office window. The room sat on the first floor, looking down on the rows of containers laid out in the yard. Chapman ran a hand through what was left of his hair, pausing to tweak the big brown mole growing just above his right eyebrow. As if he were trying to tune his head in. Dark stains lurked in the armpit of his denim shirt. A smudge of dirt on the backside of his tan chinos. He got to the line of filing cabinets and started back again. ‘If I knew where he was, I’d tell you.
Believe
me.’ His other hand clenched into a fist, then spread out, then clenched, then spread. Like a throbbing pulse.

Steel slouched in her seat, dunking a chocolate biscuit in a mug of coffee. ‘What about Shepherd, you been in touch with him?’

Chapman stopped pacing and glared at the mound of paperwork on his desk. ‘Oh, I’ve tried. If I get my hands on him, he’s dead. I’ll bloody kill him.’ Then Chapman must have remembered who he was talking to, because he licked his lips, then went back to pacing again. ‘You know what I mean.’

Logan tilted his head to one side. ‘Why don’t you explain it to us?’

‘Do you know what I got yesterday? Do you know what came in the post?’ He dug into the pile and pulled out a letter. Waved it at them. ‘What the hell were they thinking?’

Steel clicked her fingers and Chapman handed the letter over. She squinted at it for a bit, then held it out to Logan. ‘Do the honours.’

The Royal Bank of Scotland logo sat in the top corner. ‘It’s from the bank. A final demand on a loan of a hundred and fifty thousand pounds, plus interest.’

‘First I’d heard of it was when it landed on my desk. I’m supposed to be the financial director. How can I financially direct if I haven’t got a clue what’s going on?’

A shrug from Steel. ‘So pay it off.’

‘How? What with?’ He held his arms out, exposing the stains again. ‘Magic fairy-dust and wishes? We’re skint!’

‘Oh.’

‘I’ve managed to keep us afloat this long, but the downturn in the oil price is killing us. No one wants to pay for anything any more. I had to lay three people off last week. Do you have any idea what that
feels
like?’ He reached across the desk and snatched the letter from Logan. ‘So I phoned the bank and told them it had to be a mistake. We hadn’t borrowed any money. And do you know what I found out?’ Chapman scrunched the letter into a ball and hurled it at the wall. ‘I found out that this isn’t the only loan. There’s another one for seventy-five thousand that’s due in three weeks.’ Spittle flew from his lips. ‘THREE WEEKS!’

His face had taken on an unhealthy redness, his whole body trembled. ‘I’ll bloody kill the pair of them.’

‘Aye, well, we can save you the trouble there, Brian.’ Steel licked the melted chocolate off her bit of biscuit then dunked it again. ‘We found Peter Shepherd’s body, dumped in the woods, yesterday morning.’

Chapman froze. ‘Peter’s
dead
?’ He sank into his office chair and blinked at them, mouth hanging open. ‘I can’t… He’s really dead?’

Logan pointed at the letter, lying crumpled on the floor. ‘Who took the loans out?’

‘Peter and Martin. They countersigned for each other, with the business as guarantee. Two hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds we don’t have.’ His hand crept up and twiddled the mole again. ‘I’m going to have to call in the liquidators.’

‘What did they use the money for?’

‘I’ll lose everything. We put our houses up as collateral when we started the business. Oh God…’

‘Did they buy equipment, or supplies?’

‘It never even touched the company bank account.’ His eyes shone, the tip of his nose reddened. ‘They had the money paid into a different account then emptied it. What am I supposed to tell Linda?’

Steel polished off the last of her biscuit. ‘How come you didn’t call us soon as you got the letter, Brian? You know we’re looking for Martin Milne.’

‘Why didn’t…? I’ve been trying to save the company,
that’s
why!’ The tears broke free, dribbling down his flushed cheeks. ‘I’ve been trying to save everyone’s jobs. I’ve been too busy finding out how screwed I am.’ He scrubbed a hand across his face. ‘They took the money, they lumbered me with the debt, and then they disappeared. Martin and Peter can burn in hell for all I care.’

Steel blew a lopsided cloud of steam into the drizzle. ‘Any luck?’

‘Nope.’ Rennie checked his phone. ‘Most we’ve got is a couple of outstanding parking tickets, and one guy not allowed within two hundred yards of his ex-wife.’

‘Can’t say we haven’t got a motive now.’ Logan stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. Say what you like about Police-Scotland-issue itchy-trousers-stabproof-vest-and-high-viz-jacket combination, at least it kept you warm.

The container yard was full of large metal boxes, all painted blue with a big angry-Viking logo on the side. Some were just about big enough to park Logan’s Fiat Punto in, others could’ve fitted a full-sized minibus. Some with external refrigeration units, others with fancy sliding doors. Like the one they were standing in, sheltering from the thin misty rain.

‘What about the death message? Those lazy Weegie sods delivered it yet?’

Rennie nodded. ‘Becky says Greater Glasgow Division tracked down Shepherd’s next of kin half an hour ago.’

‘Cool. Tell the Media Office I want a slot on the evening news. Appeal for witnesses, heinous crime, blah, blah, blah.’

Logan checked his watch. ‘Better head back to Banff. Shift ends in forty minutes.’

‘You’re no’ in the Bunnet Brigade today, Laz, you’re in the Magnificent Intellectual Team. We don’t do shifts. Shifts are for the weak, remember?’

He closed his eyes and thunked the back of his head off the container’s metal wall, getting a ringing
bonggggg
in return.

‘Rennie, how many of these GCML monkeys we got left?’

‘Erm… Just the receptionist.’

‘Right, you trot off like a good wee boy and have a word with her. And try no’ to fall for her wrinkly sunbed charm, we all know how you like an older woman. Pervert.’