In the Cold Dark Ground (31 page)

Logan climbed out into the cold, then reached back in for his high-viz jacket.

‘No excuses!’ She glowered at him with her good eye. ‘Door!’ Then back to the phone. ‘No’ you, Becky, McRae’s letting all the heat out. Where was I? Ah, right: WHAT THE HELL DO YOU—’

He thumped the door shut and marched up the driveway to the house.

Rennie scampered along behind, catching up as Logan leaned on the doorbell. He pulled out a little squeezed smile. ‘How you doing? You know, with Samantha, and Superintendent Harper, and your dad, and everything?’

‘Didn’t know you cared.’ Logan stepped back and peered through the frosted glass at the side of the door. No sign of life.

‘No, I mean it. Can’t imagine how hard that kinda thing must be.’ The smile turned into a frown, then he patted Logan on the shoulder. ‘I’m … you know?’

‘Yeah. Thanks.’

‘So what’s it like suddenly having a wee sister?’

Logan leant on the bell again. ‘Slightly less annoying than you.’

A grin. ‘So, what’s the plan?’

‘You heard Steel: Malcolm McLennan’s not going to make contact with this lot hanging about.’ He pointed at the phalanx of cars. Some of the occupants were already out, cameras poised. ‘Go check every single road tax, tyre, brake light, and anything else you can think of.’

The bottom lip protruded a half inch. ‘Why me? You’re the one in uniform, surely you should be… Erm.’

Logan stared at him.

He cleared his throat. ‘Right. OK.’ Then turned and marched back down the drive again, intercepting the vanguard as they made it as far as the pavement outside the house. ‘All right, ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to need to see your driver’s licences.’

The door opened and a rumpled Katie Milne blinked out at Logan. ‘Do you have any idea what time it is?’ Her gaze slid over his shoulder and she sagged. ‘Oh God, not them
again
. Why can’t they leave us in peace?’

‘Mrs Milne, I know it’s early, but we need to have a word with your husband. There’s a story in today’s paper that you’re probably going to want to discuss too.’ Which was an understatement. Hey, your husband was having an affair with his business partner and as many women as they could talk into having a threesome with them.

Happy Sunday.

Martin Milne’s eyes got wider and wider as he read the front page of the
Sunday Examiner
. His bottom lip wobbled when he turned the page and saw the rest of it. ‘Oh God…’

They’d left the curtains shut in the living room, so the press couldn’t leer in through the windows. A pair of standard lamps cast a cheery glow on the ceiling completely out of keeping with the horrified expression on Milne’s face.

‘How did… Who? It’s…’ He lowered the newspaper, then jerked up in his seat – turning to face the closed door. ‘Has Katie seen this?’

‘No’ yet, no.’ Steel winced her way down onto the couch, hissing like a deflating balloon. ‘But it’s only a matter of time.’

‘But I
trusted
you!’ He grabbed his head with both hands, forcing the hair back from his face. ‘How could… Oh God…’

Logan took the newspaper back and folded it, hiding the offending front page. ‘We’ll find out who spoke to the journalist and we’ll make sure they’re properly punished. If you want to make a formal complaint we have guidelines to help you through the process. Here.’ He reached into a pocket of his stabproof vest and pulled out a leaflet. Handed it over.

‘What’s my wife going to say? What’s Katie going to think when she finds out?’

Steel pursed her lips. ‘My guess? She’ll no’ be too happy about you shagging a bloke. Doubt she’ll be too keen on the other women either.’

He crumpled the leaflet. ‘This is all your fault!’

‘Aye, with all due respect, Martyboy, I’m no’ the one who forced you into bed with Peter Shepherd and half the slappers between here and Ellon. That was all you.’

‘Oh God.’

Logan took out his notebook. ‘Can you describe the people who gave you and Peter the loan?’

Milne glared up at him. ‘Are you
insane
? I’m not helping you any more. I trusted the police and you told a newspaper who I was sleeping with! Private, personal details.’

A sigh. Then Logan lowered himself onto the edge of the couch, the stabproof vest making sure he sat bolt upright. ‘I’m sorry, Martin, but you can’t back out of this now.’

‘I want you out of my house.’

‘Let’s say you don’t cooperate with our investigation. Do you think Malcolm McLennan will forget about the two hundred and twenty-five
thousand
pounds you owe him? No, he’ll make you smuggle things into the area for him whether you like it or not. And we’ll be watching you.’

‘I don’t—’

‘Sooner or later we’re going to catch you bringing in a boatload of drugs – or counterfeit goods, or weapons, or illegal immigrants – and we’re going to arrest you and put you away for sixteen to twenty years. And Malcolm McLennan isn’t going to be very pleased about losing a shipment, is he? He’ll be even less pleased when you try to cut a deal to get out of prison before you’re fifty.’

Milne bit his bottom lip and stared down at his hands.

‘Or maybe you’ll refuse to smuggle anything for him, because you know we’re watching you. He won’t like that either; all that money you owe. What do you think the chances are of you being found in the not too distant, battered to death, naked, with a bag over your head?’

Milne’s voice was barely audible. ‘Why can’t you just leave me alone?’

Steel shook her head. ‘Never going to happen, Martyboy. That ship sailed soon as you fessed up in the cells. You help us, or you’re screwed.’ She gave him a big grin. ‘Now, any chance of a cuppa? I’m parched.’

The little boy sat at the kitchen table, wearing thick socks and fleecy pyjamas with dinosaurs on them. A graze sat on his left cheek, about the size of a walnut, the skin scabby and brown as it healed. His face was creased with sleep and his blond hair stood out at all angles, so the resemblance was uncanny when Steel sat down next to him and pushed a piece of jam-smeared toast and a big glass of milk in front of him.

‘There you go, Ethan. You eat that up like a good wee boy.’

He turned his head to the door.

Muffled shouting filtered through from the living room. Not clear enough to make out actual words, but the tone obvious. Katie Milne wasn’t pleased about her husband’s extramarital activities.

Logan tucked his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he rinsed out his mug and placed it on the draining board. ‘We’ve got descriptions of three I-C-One males, two in their late twenties, one early forties. Couple of distinguishing features we can run past the National Crime Agency, see if we can’t get a match.’

‘
Good.
’ Rustling came from the speaker, as if Harper was rummaging through a pile of paper. ‘
What about names?
’

‘No luck. Milne says they always referred to each other by number: One, Two, and Three. “One” was the older guy.’

‘
Hmmmm… So definitely organized. How did Milne take the article in the paper?
’

The sound of something smashing against the wall made Ethan flinch, toast halfway to his mouth.

‘He and his wife are discussing it now.’

‘
Logan?
’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘
I appreciate you keeping our relationship professional at work – I know a lot of people would have a problem with taking orders from their little sister – but when we’re off duty you can call me Niamh. OK?
’

‘OK.’

‘
Good. Right. Well, get cracking with the IDs and we’ll see if your theory pans out.
’ The line went dead.

His little sister. Yeah, that still sounded weird.

He put his phone away. ‘Time to head.’

Steel held up a finger. ‘Just a minute.’ Then she scooted around in her chair, until she was facing the wee boy. ‘Ethan? Can you tell your Aunty Roberta what happened to your face?’ She pointed at her own cheek, mirroring the scabby patch.

The little boy shrugged, then stared at his toast. ‘Fell down.’ His voice was tiny, barely more than a whisper.

‘Where did you fall down?’

‘Outside.’ He picked at his toast. ‘Some boys pushed me.’

‘Wee shites.’ Steel sighed, then popped a couple of pills from a blister pack, washing them down with a scoof of Ethan’s milk. She levered herself to her feet. ‘Right, wee man, we’re off. Make sure you look after your mum. Can you do that for your Aunty Roberta?’

The six-year-old lowered his eyebrows, pursed his lips and nodded.

‘Good boy.’

Out in the corridor, the sound of fighting was much clearer.

‘
HOW COULD YOU? YOU FILTHY, DIRTY, PERVERTED—
’

‘
Now you just sound homophobic.
’

‘
HOMOPHOBIC? I’LL GIVE YOU HOMOPHOBIC, YOU CHEATING BASTARD!
’

‘
OW! Don’t—
’

Something smashed.

Logan nodded at the living room door. ‘Think we should break it up?’

‘Nah.’ Steel hoiked up her suit trousers. ‘Do them good to let off a bit of steam before she chucks him out of the house. Besides, I’m starving – time for second breakfast.’

‘
I HATE YOU!
’

They slipped out and shut the front door behind them.

‘Ooh, bleeding hell.’ Steel wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. Then narrowed her eyes.

A patrol car had pulled up at the back of the press pack. Two faces blinked out through the windscreen, one with curly brown hair, the other grey. DS McKenzie and DC Owen.

Steel produced her phone. Listened to it ring with a big smile plastered across her face.

In the patrol car, McKenzie flinched, then took out her own mobile.

‘Becky. Sweetheart. Can you guess what I’m thinking?… That’s right. … No, I don’t think so. I think I’ll aim for right up to the knee. … That’s right.’

McKenzie’s face drooped.

‘Aye, you better believe it. But as all these lovely members of the press are watching, I’m going to give your lazy wee bumhole a temporary reprieve. Milne’s getting chucked out of the family home and you’re sticking to him like sick on a ballgown. … Because I don’t want Milne disappearing, suitcase in hand,
that’s
why. Probably going to crash at a friend’s house, but in case he fancies hopping a flight to Rio, you’re watching him.’

In the car, McKenzie folded forward and rested her head on the dashboard.

‘And while you’re at it, get onto DS Robertson – tell him to get his comedy-sideburn-wearing arse down here and babysit the wife and kid. Now did you get all that, or do I have to tattoo it on your lower intestine with my size nines?… Good girl.’ Steel hung up. ‘Right, where’s the Boy Blunder?’

Logan pointed.

The media encampment didn’t look too happy. A lot of them stood about with faces like a spanked backside, glowering as Rennie squatted down beside an ancient Volvo estate and poked at its tyres.

Steel made a loudhailer from her hands. ‘HOY! CAPTAIN KWIK-FIT, WE’RE LEAVING!’

‘What hacks me off is how she lied all those years.’ Logan leaned forward, poking his head between the front seats. ‘How could anyone be so self-centred, so
awful
a human being, that they thought it was OK to make two wee boys think their dad was dead?’

Snow drifted down, melting as it hit the pool car’s windscreen.

Steel tucked her hands into her armpits. ‘What’s keeping Rennie? Can he no’ see I’m wasting away here?’

An old man hobbled out of the Tesco humping two hessian bags in one hand, working a walking stick with the other.

‘Thirty-four years and not so much as a word.’

‘Bet he comes back with the wrong grub.’

‘There was a headstone and everything! Right there in the graveyard with his name, date of birth and death carved on it. How sick would you have to be to get a headstone made?’

‘Should’ve sent you instead. Rennie’ll be back with a pair of tights, a grapefruit, and a pack of ice lollies.’

‘Then drag your two kids to lay flowers in front of it every year? She faked his
grave
!’

Steel puffed out her cheeks. ‘Yes, your mother’s a heartless, vindictive, nasty, complete-and-total swivel-eyed loony, we get it. Now where’s my pies?’

‘Thanks. Your support means a lot to me. I’ve just found out the father I thought was dead since I was five
wasn’t
. Oh and he had another family that apparently was nice enough not to abandon. And while we’re at it, he died two months ago.’

‘You lost a dad you thought was dead anyway, and gained a sister. By my reckoning, you’re ahead on the deal.’

‘Ahead? What’s wrong with you?’

She shrugged. ‘Might be the pills. Or, it might be you being a whiny little bitch. How many years have you been on the job? All you had to do was look your dad up on the system. You didn’t bother.’

‘I thought he was dead. Why would I look him up?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Because he was your
dad
?’

Logan sat back, folded his arms and stared out of the window. ‘You’re a lot of help.’

A sigh. ‘Laz, it’s no’ my fault you’ve got a pineapple wedged up your bum. This thing with Samantha, it was only two days ago. That takes some getting over. You need some time off. Go away for a bit.’

‘And who’s supposed to catch Peter Shepherd’s killer?’

Steel stared at the ceiling. ‘Such a martyr.’

‘I am
not
a martyr.’

‘Yeah, because the whole MIT, the entire might of B and A Divisions – they can’t solve a murder. Only the
great
Sergeant Logan McRae can do that.’

Outside, the snow fell.

A couple walked past, arm in arm. Couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen years old. Young and in love. They’d learn soon enough.

Steel took out her fake cigarette and popped it in her mouth. ‘Take some time off.’

‘I went to see Jack Wallace yesterday.’

She blew a puff of steam at the windscreen, turning it opaque. ‘Oh aye?’

‘Sends his love.’

‘Good. Hope he’s getting
lots
of love himself. Aye, from some big hairy bloke giving him fourteen-inches of non-consensual prison-issue-sausage after lights out.’ Another puff. ‘Couldn’t happen to a more deserving arsehole.’

Rennie bustled out of the Tesco clutching an armful of something.

‘About time.’ One more puff, then Steel put her e-cigarette away. She kept her voice light and neutral. ‘Any reason you felt the need to go see our friendly neighbourhood kiddy-fiddler, Laz?’

Rennie hurried across the street, high-stepping through the snow.

‘Believe it or not, I was looking out for you.’

Her voice didn’t change. ‘Were you now?’

The driver’s door opened and Rennie climbed in behind the wheel. ‘Holy Mother of the Sainted Aardvark, it’s cold out there.’ He handed his armful to Steel, then stuck the keys in the ignition. The engine roared into life, heaters howling lukewarm air into the space, spreading the crackling scent of hot pastry. ‘Brrrrrr…’

‘’Ello, ’ello, ’ello, what’s all this then?’ She pulled a package from the bag. ‘Hot Cornish pasties? Well, DS Rennie, looks like you just became my favourite sergeanty type. Sorry, Laz. No hard feelings.’

Yeah, right.

‘OK, thanks anyway.’ Logan hung up the desk phone and frowned at the computer screen. Then hit print.

The Sergeants’ Office seemed to have become the dumping ground for a collection of blue plastic crates that smelled vaguely of fish.

Logan picked up his empty mug and headed out into the main office.

No one there. The blinds were open: snow drifted down from a coal-coloured sky, the waters of the bay had receded, leaving a dark curve of wet sand behind.

A grinding whirring noise burst from the big photocopier/printer and two dozen sheets of A4 clicked and whined into the tray. He left them there and went to make a cup of tea.

The TV was on with the sound turned down to a murmur. A balding Italian chef smeared fillets of white fish with a snot-coloured paste then wrapped them in ham.

Logan chucked a teabag in his mug and stuck the kettle on.

Someone had obviously decided that the station’s resident gnome wasn’t classy enough and given him a bright-blue bowtie. They’d replaced his paper dagger with a magic wand and—

‘Can I not get
two
minutes peace?’ Logan pulled out his ringing phone. ‘McRae?’