She turned her head and spat a frothy blob of red on the rubber matting. Bit my tongue. .
DS Chalmers limped in, clutching an icepack to her chin. Howd you get there before us anyway?
The ward was broken up into rooms of four beds a piece. Clunky screen things on flexible arms sat above the headboards, flickering adverts at them promising a glorious world of entertainment for any patient willing to pay for it.
Guy Ferguson had the bed by the window, propped up on a cliff-face of pillows, blinking slowly in the sunlight. His arms disappeared into what looked like shoe boxes covered in gauze bandages. Shiny metallic GET WELL SOON balloons were anchored to the rail at the foot of the bed, glittering in the sunshine, trailing coils of ribbon like poisonous jellyfish. Grapes, lads mags, and bottles of Lucozade cluttered the bedside cabinet.
His acne had cleared up since the mugshot, leaving his cheeks and forehead a moonscape of pockmarks. The eyebrows were even thicker, but the bumfluff moustache hadnt improved any.
Logan sat back in his padded seat, and pointed Chalmers at the empty plastic chair on the other side of the bed. One of the benefits of spending a lot of time in hospital: you get to know all the shortcuts.
Oh. She sank into the chair, winced, then slumped slightly. Ive put in a lookout request for our missing hoodie; the other two are on their way back to the station.
A pair of handcuffs fixed Guys ankle to the bed, by the balloons. As if there was a risk of him floating away. Which, given the amount of morphine he was apparently on, probably wasnt a bad idea.
So, Logan helped himself to a grape, do you want to come clean and save everyone a load of trouble?
Trouble? He squinted one eye, then did the same with the other, as if Logan was bobbing in and out of focus. Both eyes were red-veined and puffy, the pupils dilated, tears glittering along the bottom lid. A little laugh. Trouble. .
Stoned out of his tiny mind.
Your mates, the hoodies: who are they?
Trouble. Theyre trouble. . thats what mum always says. .
What about the man you killed, was he trouble too? Did he try to screw you out of your share of the jewellery, that it? What was he, the inside man?
Doctors came round. . Guy held up the boxy things hiding his hands. Theyre going to cut off my fingers. . All. . all the ones on the left, and. . and two on the right. . My fingers. .
Chalmers poked a finger into the bedclothes. Thats what you get for necklacing someone, isnt it? Serves you right.
All burned. . Cant save them. A deep breath. Then he screwed his eyes tight shut and bit his bottom lip. Going to cut them off today. . Tears rolled down his cheeks, glinting. As if that was going to make them feel sorry for the murdering little bastard.
Hed burned his hands so badly theyd have to amputate more than half his fingers: maybe Isobel was right? Maybe Guy Ferguson was stupid enough to strangle someone on fire? You did it, didnt you?
I. . I cant-
You killed him. You chained him to a stake, stuck a tyre over his head and set fire to it.
It wasnt-
Twenty minutes, thats how long it takes someone to burn to death like that. Twenty minutes.
Guys mouth fell open, bottom lip sticking out, tears spilling down his cheeks. I. . I dont-
Guy Ferguson, Im arresting you on suspicion of murdering an unknown male yesterday afternoon. You do not have to say anything-
I did it. . He sniffed, then blinked in slow motion. I killed him. . Guy wiped his eyes on his forearm, tears darkened the white bandage. What else could I do? He was screaming and burning and I couldnt get the tyre off and its all over my hands and theyre on fire and its horrible and it hurts and I had a. . I had the knife. A deep, rattling breath. So I stabbed him. And stabbed him, and stabbed him, and my hands are on fire and it hurts so much and. . I couldnt just leave him like that!
Ah. . Logan sat back in his seat. He wasnt part of your crew for the heist?
His face. . you should have seen his face. . screaming.
He was burning when you got there?
A nod. We. . we ditched the car, divvied up the watches and rings and necklaces and stuff, and. . and there he was. Guy held up the boxes where his hands should have been. Theyre going to cut off my fingers, because I tried to help someone. .
7
A womans voice blared in the corridor outside the hospital room. I dont bloody care you let me in to see my son right now! Mrs Ferguson.
DS Chalmers sniffed. You think hes telling the truth?
Well. . Logan leaned against the rooms little sink, staring down at the bed.
Guy was curled over, boxed hands against his chest, great heaving sobs rocking him back and forward.
Guv?
Necklacing, its. . its a big-city gangland organized crime thing. Not something I can see a bunch of teenage wannabes doing. So. . maybe. Probably.
He did it so the victim wouldnt suffer any more. She puffed out her cheeks, hissing out a breath. Did the right thing, and its going to cost him his fingers.
When everyones calmed down a bit well interview his mates. See if they corroborate.
That voice again. I demand to see my son!
Here we go. .
Logan pointed at Chalmers. Tell him to let them in.
As soon as she stuck her head around the door, Mrs Ferguson barged her way past the uniform on guard, into the room. Guy?
Mr Ferguson scurried in behind her, crying. They told us you were dead.
Guys mother wrapped him up in a hug. My baby. . Then she straightened up and glared at Logan. YOU! You told us he was dead. How could. . Her eyes went wide, staring down at her sons ankle: at the handcuff. Hes in a hospital bed!
Its not-
How dare you! She clenched her fists, took a step forward. You take that off him, and you take it off him now.
The stairwell echoed with footsteps and murmured conversations, overlaying the background hum of the hospital. Then Logans phone joined in Darth Vaders theme again. Should have left the damn thing turned off. He pulled it out. Its not-
Have you got him? Where are you? She sounded like a small child with a new puppy. If the kid had smoked forty a day for its whole life.
Chalmers pushed through the doors onto the ground floor, holding them open for Logan.
Were heading back to the car, but-
There! I see you!
He froze.
DCI Steel was marching along the corridor towards them, mobile held against her ear, a big Cheshire grin pulling her wrinkles into a starburst. Whos Aunty Robertas special wee soldier then?
He hung up. Stood there, waiting for her.
Steel gave a hop-skip, then grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a little squeeze. Then frowned. Where is he? How come youre no taking him in?
Steel gave a hop-skip, then grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a little squeeze. Then frowned. Where is he? How come youre no taking him in?
Hes. . upstairs under guard. Theyre amputating most of his fingers this afternoon.
And youre sure hes our boy?
DS Chalmers held up her notebook. Confessed to the killing, and the jewellery heist too.
Excellent! Steel let go of Logan and gave Chalmers a hug. Holding on for long enough that the DS started fidgeting.
Logan took a deep breath. Theres something I need to-
The ACC looks like hes won free boobs for a year; scheduling a press conference for half three. She released Chalmers. Youre both invited. Is this no great? Steel poked at the screen of her mobile, then held it up to her ear. ACC wants a word. .
Actually, Guy Ferguson-
Aye. She stuck a finger in her other ear. Dougie? Is his nibs about? Yeah. .
Look, its not as simple as-
Sir? Ive got him here. . Yup, under arrest and under guard as we speak. The grin got bigger. Well, you know us: CID always gets its man.
Seriously, we need to-
Ill put him on. Steel held the phone out to Logan. Nodded at him. Go on then.
Sod.
He took the phone. Sir?
McRae, well done. The Assistant Chief Constables put-on posh telephone voice wasnt enough to cover up the Teuchter underneath all elongated vowels, dipping for no reason in the middle of random words. Excellent to get a result so quickly.
Sir, its-
No, no: credit where its due. Why havent you applied for that permanent DIs position in Peterhead yet? Youre obviously qualified, and a shoo-in after this!
A frown. Theres a permanent DIs job?
Steel cleared her throat, stared up at the ceiling tiles. I. . Mustve slipped my mind. Scheming old bag.
Didnt Roberta tell you? I could have sworn I asked her to disseminate it to the troops. Anyway, you should definitely get your name down. He lowered his voice a notch, as if there was a secret on the way. Listen, were having a press conference here at half three, and you know me: I like to ensure my team gets the kudos it deserves. Make sure youve got a decent suit on, dont want them thinking we all fell off the back of a tractor, do we?
Deep breath. Actually, sir, its a bit more complicated. .
You dont have a clean suit?
No. I mean yes, Ive got a clean suit, I mean its Guy Ferguson. He claims someone necklaced the victim before he got there. He tried to get the tyre off. And when that didnt work Ferguson stabbed him so he wouldnt just. . burn to death.
Steels eyes went wide. You. . what?
Logan turned his back on her. Ferguson got molten rubber all over his hands trying to save the victim. Theyre going to amputate most of his fingers this afternoon.
Silence on the other end of the phone.
Sir?
The posh telephone voice was slipping. Are you telling me you arrested a good Samaritan?
He confessed. And he was in on the jewellery heist too. Weve got two of his associates in custody and-
How the hell am I supposed to spin that? For Gods sake, McRae, could you not have arrested someone who wasnt a hero?
But the jewellery heist-
Please tell me hes not photogenic.
Acne scars, thick eyebrows, junior moustache. No, hes not photogenic.
A sigh. Well thats something at least. . The ACC hung up.
Logan returned Steels phone. Why didnt you tell me about the DIs job?
Dont change the subject: you made me look like a right fanny!
Tried to tell you, but you wouldnt listen, would you? He turned and headed back into the hospital.
Hoy! Steels voice boomed down the corridor behind him. Where do you think youre going were no finished!