In the Cold Dark Ground (49 page)

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Authors: Stuart MacBride

Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Crime, #Suspense, #Crime Fiction, #Thrillers

BOOK: In the Cold Dark Ground

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She stuck her chin out. ‘So, let him come.’

‘Look … keep an eye out, OK? If something happens to me, you’ll know he’s back.’

Harper stuck her hands in her pockets and hunched her shoulders against the wind. ‘You’re a strange fish, Sergeant McRae. You handed your old boss to Professional Standards because she broke the law, but you’re on first-name terms with gangsters. I’m not sure what to make of that.’

‘Yeah, neither am I.’

High-pitched twangs sang their way along the rails, getting louder.

Logan cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry our father wasn’t more on your side.’

‘I’m sorry he abandoned you and your brother.’

Not much they could do about that now.

The train roared into view, slowing as it approached the station, its blue, pink, and white livery streaked with filth. A bleeping, then the doors hissed open.

‘Right, well, this is us.’ She stepped back. Stuck out her hand for shaking. ‘It’s been … different.’

He ignored the hand and hefted her case onboard instead. ‘Don’t leave it another thirty-four years.’ Then took a deep breath and gave her a hug.

A moment passed, then she hugged him back.

Kind of awkward, but it was a start.

‘Tufty, you in the vicinity of Portsoy? We’ve got another fire in a wheelie bin.’ Logan took the Big Car on a slow drift through New Pitsligo.

‘
Can be in fifteen, Sarge.
’

‘Maybe this time someone will have seen something.’ Rows and rows of little grey Scottish houses with dormer windows and slate roofs. ‘Any luck with the dogs?’

‘
Work in progress: you know what these Dogmen scummers are like. Everyone hates everyone else, but they’re too scared to dob each other in.
’

‘Friday, remember?’ A few chunks of snow clung in the lee of buildings, the drifts gone from pristine white to grit-flecked piddly yellow.

‘
Balls in a vice, Sarge.
’

‘Good boy.’ On the right, the houses gave way to dark fields and the bones of trees. And then it was just farmland, skulking beneath the light of a miser’s moon.

‘
Hold on, Calamity wants a word.
’

‘It’s not a phone, Tufty, she’s…’ What was the point? ‘Put her on.’

‘
Sarge? Are we aiming for tenses?
’ She lowered her voice. ‘
Only we’ve still got visitors.
’

‘Napier hasn’t gone home?’

‘
Tell you, even Hector’s scared to go upstairs.
’

‘Don’t care: Bingo baked a cake. We’re having tenses.’

‘
Sarge.
’

‘Now go do something productive.’

The road straightened out, the tyres hissing through the meltwater.

A badger flashed by at the side of the road, the top half of it anyway. The rest was smeared into a dark-red paste on the tarmac, glistening in the headlights then disappearing into the darkness.

How long would it be before Reuben got over his bullet in the head?

Any normal person would have had the good grace to die, but not Reuben. Not with a solid granite skull.

Three weeks? Four?

Probably be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, but that wouldn’t stop him. OK, so he might not be up to swinging the hammer
himself
any more, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun watching.

‘
All units be on the lookout for a turquoise Vauxhall Astra in the Pennan area. Driver acting suspiciously.
’

‘It’s not fair.’

The Logan in the rear-view mirror nodded. ‘We shot him in the head. In the
head
.’

‘Got no business being alive.’

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘So what are we going to do about it?’

‘What
can
we do?’

‘Track him down and finish the job.’

‘And how are we going to do that, Officer Rambo? You heard Napier: they’ve got all of Police Scotland hunting for him. Think you can do better?’

‘
Sierra Two-Two to Control, you can tell the ambulance there’s no rush on that OAP. Better get the pathologist up.
’

‘And what’s going to happen if you
do
manage to find Reuben? Murder him in cold blood?’

‘I shot him in the face.’

‘Yeah, to save your sister. But in cold blood? Remember what happened last time?’

Logan’s shoulders dipped. ‘I am so screwed.’

‘You’re too much of a wimp. Couldn’t sleep for days afterwards.’

True.

Fields and trees, as far as the eye could see.

‘
Anyone seen Stinky Sammy Wilson on their travels? Suspected breaking and entering on Gellymill Street, Macduff.
’

The countryside flattened out, widening the pale-grey view.

All that heartache and soul-searching and falling off a sodding cliff for nothing.

The road into Lovie’s came up on the right, and Logan pulled onto the apron. Sat there with the engine running, frowning out at the night.

Of course,
one
person would know where Reuben was.

Logan pulled out his phone and called John Urquhart.

It rang, and rang, and rang, and rang…

‘
Yellow?
’

‘It’s Logan.’

‘
Mr McRae? Dude. Heard you beat the shooting rap, congrats.
’

‘Reuben’s missing.’

‘
Yeah. Shame about that.
’ There was something in the background: a snuffling grunting noise, as if a lot of people had the cold. ‘
Still, on the bright side, things are settling down again. And no war, which is cool.
’

‘He’s going to come after me.’

‘
Nah, he’s really not. Hand on heart, Reuben’s never going to bother you, or anyone else, ever again
.’ More snuffling. Then what sounded like squealing, getting louder and more excited.

‘Urquhart? Why can I hear—’

‘
Listen, I know you don’t want to step into Mr Mowat’s shoes, but you don’t mind if I do, yeah? I figure it’s what he would’ve wanted. Bit of common sense and continuity, and stuff.
’

OK, that was definitely a scream.

‘Urquhart—’

‘
Anyway, got to go. There’s an old mate I need to see off.’

Logan slotted the Big Car in between a patrol car with a flat tyre and the Postman Pat van. Both of them needed a damn good wash – could barely see the Police Scotland logo on the sides.

Banff station loomed above him, in all its ominous glory. The lights were on way up there on the top floor. That would be Napier in the Major Incident Room, tidying up loose ends. Fashioning them into nooses.

Yeah, well, maybe some people deserved to hang.

‘And you’re one of them.’

Mirror Logan scowled back at him. ‘Shut up.’

‘You sacrificed Steel for the sake of your grubby bloodstained “integrity” and here you are up to your neck in organized crime.’

‘I’m not up to my neck in anything.’

‘And they want to give you a job in Professional Standards?’

‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘Of course not. Other than entering into a conspiracy to commit murder. Culpable homicide. Failure to report a death. Possession of an illegal firearm. Attempted murder. And multiple counts of conspiracy to pervert the course of justice. Other than that, you’re
golden
.’

He folded forward and rested his head on the steering wheel. Biting his bottom lip.

‘Yes, but I got away with it.’

‘That doesn’t make it
better
. You’re not a police officer any more, you’re a…’ Logan sighed. Then sat up. ‘I don’t know what you are.’

‘Neither do I.’

A smile spread across his face. ‘Why don’t we go and find out?’

He climbed out of the car and let himself in through the tradesman’s entrance.

The station was quiet, just the hum and buzz of the vending machines in the canteen to break the silence. He straightened his back and marched through the main office. Up the stairs to the top floor.

Took a deep breath.

And knocked on Napier’s door.

If you’re a fan of Logan & Steel, this collection of stories will keep you going until the next instalment!

You can click
here
to buy your copy

About the Author

Stuart MacBride is the
Sunday
Times
No. 1 bestselling author of the Logan McRae and Ash Henderson novels.
His work has won several prizes and in 2015 he was awarded an honorary doctorate by
Dundee University.

Stuart lives in the north-east of Scotland
with his wife, Fiona, cat Grendel, and other assorted animals.

For more information visit
StuartMacBride.com

Facebook.com/stuartmacbridebooks