No, but Ill take an egg buttie on my desk for quarter past seven. And a tea. Logan turned the key in the lock. Swung the door open. And dont think youre-
Something exploded in his face, hard, driving pepper and bees through his nose, making the edges of the world scream with yellow fog as he crashed back onto the carpet. Thunk his head bounced off the plasterboard. One knee caught the edge of the doorframe. Nnnghn. .
Everything tasted of hot copper wire.
Something wet on his face.
Blink.
Gagh. . Tiny scarlet drops burst out of his mouth, then pattered down onto his cheeks and forehead.
Get up. GET UP NOW.
Ow. . Fire burned through his head, radiating out from his nose. Screaming at him. Making his ears ring.
A huge bulk blotted out the sunshine streaming in through the door: Reuben. Not in the suit and tie any more. He was wearing a pair of blue overalls, the cuffs frayed and stained dark with oil and dirt, the knees too. A pair of heavy boots on his feet, the leather scuffed away in patches, metal toecaps glistening within.
Oh. Shit.
Logan scrabbled back against the wall.
But Reuben didnt step inside and kick the living hell out of him. Didnt stomp on his head and ribs. Didnt pummel his face to mince. Instead the big man wobbled a bit, clutching the door frame, mouth hanging slightly open, eyes bleary and blinking.
The sharp, smokey stench of stale whisky and sweat came off him in a greasy fug. Chest heaving as he hauled in a breath through his flattened nose. The words came out slurred, riding a little mist of spittle. I know. . I. . I know what you. . youre doing.
He rocked back and forward a couple of times, the knuckles on his right hand sticking out like rivets on a steel sheet. You. . youre not gonnae. . get. . Fuckin kill. . kill you. .
Then Reubens legs gave up and he slid down the side of the caravan until he was slumped on the top step, shoulders juddering, tears running through the webs of scar tissue, snot glittering through his patchy moustache.
And dangling from the door handle, another knot of little bones.
Bastard. .
Logan wiped at the drop of scarlet staining the report, leaving a dirty smear through the words. He leaned back in his chair, head tilted to the ceiling, clutching a wodge of paper napkins to his nose.
Detective Sergeant Rennie tutted. Took me ages to type that up, and youre getting blood all over it.
Logans office was just big enough to fit a couple of filing cabinets, a chipped Formica desk, two whiteboards, a creaky swivel chair, and a visitors seat that looked as if it belonged in a skip.
Rennie shifted in it, making the vinyl squeak. Hed gelled his hair up into a blond tuft at the front, his cheeks glowing with sunburn, a curl of skin peeling off the end of his shiny nose. And you didnt eat your buttie. It still sat in the middle of the desk, half unwrapped from its tinfoil shroud. Congealing.
Logan glowered at him. The words came out all bunged up and flat. Do you want to be partnered with Biohazard for the next month? Stuck in small confined spaces with him? Because I can arrange that.
Had to go down the bakers: canteens still closed for the refurb. He sniffed. Be cold by now.
Just. . bugger off.
The door banged open, rattling the memos pinned to the wall. DCI Steel posed in the doorway. Grinning.
Logan gave her a glower as well. Its not funny!
Is it no? Her suit was as unfashionably baggy as her neck; crows feet and wrinkles turning her face into a jumble of planes and lines. But it was the hair that really stood out. And up. And in every other direction too. As if shed brushed it with an angry cat. Looks funny to me. She wafted in, bringing a fug of stale-cigarette-stink with her.
Steel gave Rennie a wee slap on the back of the head. Shift it, Tintin.
He grumbled, then hauled himself out of the visitors seat. He pointed at the tinfoil package on Logans desk. Booby-trapped buttie going spare, if you want it?
Steel settled into the seat. Looks like you might make a decent DS after all. She reached out and plucked the thing from the desktop. Now be a good boy and sod off. Youve got tramps to find, and the grown-ups need to talk.
She unwrapped the foil and took a big bite. Then froze, face creasing up around a soured mouth red lipstick spidering out into the skin. Urgh, this is cold!
Rennie disappeared, giggling, closing the door behind him.
Logan pulled the napkins from his nose and peered at the paper, stained a deep poppy red. He dumped them in the bin and grabbed a fresh handful from the pile. It was as if someone had lodged a burning coal in the middle of his face, filling his head with smoke and fire. If you want to give me a hard time about the jewellery heist: dont. Were doing everything we can.
Doc Ramsey tells me youre lucky its only broken. Couldve been a lot worse.
And yes, there was another racial attack last night, but the victim refuses to talk. Wont even admit to speaking English.
Says youre in for a full-on panda set of shiners when the swelling goes down. Like a grumpy raccoon. We should get you a stripy jumper and a big sack with Swag written on it.
He stared up at the ceiling tiles. Big brown stains made continents on the pockmarked grey squares. If its not the jewellery heist, and its not the racial attacks, what is it?
Do you know you can die of a nosebleed? Seriously: fifteen minutes and youre a corpse. She checked her watch. How longs it been?
Feel free to sod off at any point.
She took another bite of buttie, chewing around the words. Its no that bad if you pretend its just an egg sandwich. You got any salad cream?
Top drawer.
Any porn?
Just salad cream.
A shrug. She dug through the desk, coming out with two blue sachets hed liberated from the canteen. So how come you let Reuben get away?
I didnt. Logan dabbed at his nostrils. The napkins came away with scarlet blooming across the white. He lumbered off before the patrol car got there. Useless sods couldnt arrest books in a library.
I didnt. Logan dabbed at his nostrils. The napkins came away with scarlet blooming across the white. He lumbered off before the patrol car got there. Useless sods couldnt arrest books in a library.
Well get him picked up, do him for assaulting a police officer or what passes for one these days and get him off the streets for a year or two. Cant be bad, can it? She tore open the sachets and squeezed them into the roll. Shouldve let him punch you in the face ages ago.
Have you not got flying monkeys to train or something?
Another bite left her with a smear of white on her cheek. Where are we with the necklace guy?
No witnesses. The Joyriders Graveyard isnt exactly on the beaten track, which was probably the point. We ran a check on all the burned-out cars. . He waved a hand at his in-tray, then tipped his head back again. Reports on the top.
Very good. Want to give me the quick version?
Sigh. Forgot your glasses, did you?
Dont need sodding glasses. Nothing wrong with my eyes, Im just busy: so summarize.
DVLA gave us plates to match the chassis numbers. Got DS Chalmers to check out the registered keepers on the police national computer.
A yawn. God, the suspense is killing me.
A couple with form for drunk and disorderly. One guys done four years for assault. Theres nothing more than a handful of parking tickets between the rest of them.
ID on the victim?
Face is gone, and his hands were chained behind him so the tyre dripped burning rubber all over them. Theyre scorched; apparently we might get a partial off whats left of the right thumb, but no ones holding their breath. We could try matching dental records, but for that-
Wed need to know who he was in the first place. Steel chewed in silence, scowling out of the window. Do you have any idea what the CID budgets like right now? Cant buy a bag of crisps without the ACCs say so. And you know what hes like. She dropped her voice an octave and put on a posh Morningside accent. I can assure you, Roberta, that the press are only too happy to make Grampian Police look like idiots on this. I would appreciate your team not helping them out on that front. We need a swift and decisive result! She let out a long wet raspberry. Like were sitting about on our bumholes doing sod all about it.
What do you mean, we?
Lucky our victim copped it on a Saturday night. Be all over the papers come Monday. Editorializing tosspots. . Get your victim DNA tested, and if the ACC moans Ill drop my breeks and tell him to pucker up. Steel stuck her feet up on Logans desk and polished off the last of the buttie. Speaking of tosspots, have you done anything about Agnes sodding Garfield yet? Steel dug into her pocket and hauled out a wad of WHILE YOU WERE OUT stickies. She chucked them onto his desk. All from the mother. Says shes going to the papers if we dont get our finger out and find her wee girl.
Logan picked them up and dumped them in his bin. Shes not a wee girl, shes eighteen. And shes not missing: shes run away with her boyfriend.
Dont care if shes sodded off to join the circus her mums going to make a pain in the arse of herself till we find her. Can you no at least look as if youre trying to find her?
Yeah, because he didnt have anything better to do. Is that it? Nothing else you want?
Steel sooked her fingers clean. Could murder a cup of coffee.
Logan groped for the office phone, then punched in DS Chalmerss number.
She picked up on the second ring. Guv?
Got a minute?
Be right through.
Steel waved at him. Tell whoever it is to bring coffee!
Logan blinked at the printout a couple of times, then handed it back. The bleeding had stopped, but burning army ants were marching through his sinuses, trying to force his eyes out of their sockets. A scrunched-up tail of white paper stuck out of each nostril, just in case his head started leaking again. Nothing at all?
DS Chalmers stood to attention in front of his desk, her curly hair more or less under control in a lopsided ponytail. She consulted her notebook. I chased them up at eight, on the dot; told them to put a rush on the DNA, and got an earful of moaning about the new procedures, and the re-organization, and the software upgrade, and its Sunday. .