Which explained where Shuggie Webster had gone, and why hed left the CID pool car behind. Sodding hell. Now Logan had to call it in.
What about prints, fibres, that kind of thing?
The IB tech slung the camera strap over his shoulder. You want the full CSI treatment?
Logan looked back at the hacked-up Rottweiler. There was no way Shuggie Webster wouldve gone quietly, not after someone did that to his dog. Chances were his mutilated corpse would be turning up soon enough. Any trace evidence they could find would help. As if today needed to get any shittier. As much as you can give me, without Finnie throwing a wobbly about the cost.
Youll be lucky all this rain, outdoors, public place Cant promise anything. He patted the WCO on the shoulder. Its OK, Dunc, you can take him away if you like. Im done.
They left him stuffing chunks of butchered Rottweiler into a white child-sized body-bag.
The IB tech dumped his sample kit next to a couple of Tesco carrier bags, lying flattened on the muddy ground, weighed down with stones. He removed one of the rocks, and peeled back the plastic. There was a perfectly rectangular puddle of plaster-of-Paris underneath. Pure white in the middle, greying at the edges. He poked it with a finger. Sighed. Then wiped the digit on his oversuit. Still not convinced were going to get anything
What about fingerprints?
I mean, the footwear marks werent exactly in the best of shape to start with, were they? Doesnt help its pishing with rain.
You could dust the car while youre waiting for it to set? Maybe they touched the paintwork?
He flopped the bag back into place, and weighed it down again. I mean, muds great for taking footprints, but soon as it starts to rain again, they go all mooshy-
Ernie: the car.
Dont be daft. He pulled off his facemask, exposing a little ginger goatee beard and a smile full of squint teeth. What do you think fingerprint powders going to do on wet metal?
Ah Bugger. Exactly. Ernie peeled back the hood of his SOC suit, exposing a high forehead barely holding onto a crown of yet more ginger. Have to get it back to the ranch. Stick it somewhere dry for a couple of hours.
Right
Rennie was sitting in his pool car, head stuck in The Accidental Sodomist again.
Logan knocked on the window.
A pause while the intellectual marked his place with a lottery ticket, then the window buzzed down. Guv?
Steel says Im supposed to pick a minion: youre it. Rennie grinned. Then hunched up one shoulder, scrunched up his face, and put on a ridiculous voice. Yeth Maaaaathhhhhter?
Get your lopsided arse back to FHQ I want a breakdown of every kidnapping in the country for the last ten years.
The constable paused, biro hovering over his notebook. Ten years?
You heard. Logan watched the Wildlife Crime Officer waddling backwards into the car park, dragging the white body-bag. Find out whos running the drug gang investigations this week Im looking for Yardies with a thing for machetes.
Rennie scribbled it all down. Ten years
And, Logan pointed at his abandoned pool car, youre taking that back to the station. Wear gloves. Dont sign it back in, dont let anyone else touch it. Park it in the garage and let it dry off till Ernie can dust it for prints. If Big Gary gives you a hard time, tell him its evidence.
Anything else?
Yeah, if anyone asks What? How the hell was he going to explain this one? Stolen car; dead dog; probable abduction: possible murder. if anyone asks, tell them Ive been acting all concussed since you picked me up.
Rennie nodded. Thank God for that: thought you were going to ask me to lie for a minute
Chapter 26
Yes, yes, I know that Logan slumped sideways until his head clunked against the drivers window.
Finnies voice boomed out of the Airwave handset. Then what exactly were you thinking, Sergeant? That the magic La-La fairies would turn up and hand your pool car back to you?
I didnt It I was being attacked by a dog at the time. Then you said-
Youll be lucky if thats the only savaging you get today. Professional Standards: half-three.
He thumped his head against the glass again. Yes, sir.
Where are you?
Logan peered out through the rain-ribboned windscreen at a grubby house with a boarded-up window, GELLOUS BITCH!!! scrawled in dripping purple spray-paint across the wall and front door.
A bashed and battered Ford Fiesta sat at the kerb, the windows shattered or empty, the bodywork a collection of huge dents and scratches.
Outside Victoria Murrays house.
I see A pause. Tell me, Sergeant, do you actually think Vicious Vikki is going to give you information thatll have you scurrying off to solve the case? Meaning you can get out of your
meeting with Professional Standards? Because if you do, Ive got some bad news for you: you will be back at headquarters by half-three. And after youve spoken to Superintendent Napier, you and I are going to have a little chat.
Oh joy. Logan closed his eyes. Superintendent Napier, the Ginger Ninja.
Because I think weve got a bit of a communication problem, dont you, Sergeant? You see, I thought I said, Dont piss off the man from SOCA. And yet, for some unfathomable reason, you seem to have heard, Insult Superintendent Green and call him a moron. Isnt that strange?
Something smelled of shit. Logan checked the soles of his shoes: they were clean. He sniffed again. The stink got worse the closer he got to Victoria Murrays front door. There was no way he was touching the bell.
He knocked on the wood instead, next to the purple letter B in BITCH!!!
Waited for a minute.
Did it again.
Maybe she wasnt in? Maybe shed had enough of all the vandalism and hate mail, and gone into hiding?
One more, then he was heading back to the car.
A voice on the other side of the door: Fuck off, Im not in.
Mrs Murray?
If you dont fuck off, Im calling the police! I know my rights. Logan pulled out his warrant card and lifted the flap on the letterbox. Detective Sergeant- What the? There was something sticky on his fingers. He let the flap clack back into place.
Brown.
There was sticky brown muck all over his fingertips. Oh Jesus
Filthy bastards.
He wiped them on the door, leaving a chocolate-coloured rainbow. I am the bloody police!
There was a clunk. Then the door opened a crack, and a bloodshot eye peered out through the gap. Prove it.
Logan shoved his warrant card at her. Theres shite in your letterbox.
She nodded. Stopped the bastards from peering in, trying to take photos of me in my bloody pants, didnt it? The door thumped shut, then what sounded like a chain being removed, and it opened again. Serves them right.
Victoria Murray folded her arms underneath the sagging parcel shelf of her bosom. According to the article in last weeks Aberdeen Examiner, ex-exotic dancer and call girl Vicious Vikki (22) had a threesome with two city councillors.
God, they must have been desperate. A cigarette smouldered in the corner of her mouth, curling smoke around her narrowed eyes. Her chin disappeared into her neck, the pale skin speckled with spots around her nose and mouth. Making her head look like a used condom full of milk.
She hoicked her boobs up. What do you want?
I need to wash my hands.
That it?
Youre lucky Im not arresting you. Putting shite in your letter box is-
Aw, like they never did it. What the hell do you think happened to my carpet? She nodded at the floor.
A mat of newspaper was laid out across the bare floorboards. Piss, shite, rotting vegetables, fucking roadkill. Ive had the lot. So dont tell me Im not allowed to get my own back, OK? She jerked her head to the left. Toilets down there, first door on the left.
He squeezed past and she thumped the door shut, rattled the chain back in place, turned the key in the lock. There was a plastic bag taped over the inside of the letter box, bulging with something dark.
She was waiting for him in the kitchen when hed finished. His fingers didnt smell of shite any more, they reeked of lavender, washed again and again under the hot tap until his hands were pink and swollen. Victoria Murray had a Chunky Kit Kat in one hand and a mug in the other. If you want tea you can make it yourself.
I need to talk to you about Alison and Jenny McGregor. Her face curdled. Of course you do. Christ forbid youre here to tell me youve caught the bastards who wrecked my car. Or the ones who smashed my window. Or painted lies all over my house! She slammed her mug down on the working surface, black coffee slopping over the edge. I was spat at yesterday. Spat at. Some OAP cow howched up a mouthful of snot and spat it right in my face! Fucking papers.
Logan filled the kettle from the cold tap. Theyve not been very nice-
Didnt even tell them half of what that snooty bitch got up to when we were kids. But no: how dare I suggest the sainted Alison McGregor used to get pissed and stoned after school. Aye, and that was primary seven she was giving blowjobs for cigarettes when she was eleven!
The last chunk of Kit Kat disappeared, washed down with a gulp of coffee. There was this family moved in down the street, and they had this mongol kid. You know, Downs Syndrome and that, and Alison would rip the piss out of the poor bastard every fucking day. One night, right, we sank this bottle of vodka she nicked from the Paki shop on the corner, and she went round and panned in all their windows. A sniff. Course, I tried to stop her, but she wouldnt listen, would she? And Im the one they call Vicious Fucking Vikki?
Victoria pulled a packet of cigarettes from a kitchen drawer and lit one. Shook the packet at Logan.
Given up.
Shrug. Suit yourself. She sent a plume of smoke crashing against the extractor hood. Course, we used to be real tight
Best friends. Used to tell me everything. We were something special back then; sixteen years old, sexy as hell, men throwing themselves at us. A smile oozed across Victorias face, then disappeared. Now look at me.
The kettle rumbled to a boil. Logan filled a mug. Fished the teabag out with the handle of a fork. So what happened?
A long smoky sigh. Doddy McGregor happened. She thought he was just this big stupid lump of muscle, but he knew a good thing when he saw it. Victoria rubbed two fingers up and down the side of her face, pushing the skin into folds. Walked in and caught us at it, didnt she? Doddy says hes just getting it out of his system, before the wedding. Invites her to join in, says itd be hot. And shes standing there: six months pregnant. Fuck, I thought she was going to kill him. Victoria laughed. Thought she was going to kill me too. Never spoke after that.