She poked him again. If youd bloody well called it in we couldve tracked the car and grabbed Shuggie Webster before the Yardies got him! Probably hacked into a million pieces by now!
Its not like I handed him the keys to the bloody car and said, Nah, you go ahead and borrow it, mate; Ill just lie here in the pissing rain! His dog nearly ripped my face off.
See, youve got to keep your eye on wee shites like Shuggie.
Got to keep them under control. Cant bury your head in the clouds and expect them to behave themselves. Thats just common sense. She picked up her mug again, took a slurp. You try a GSM trace?
Of course I did. Hes only turning his mobile on for a couple of minutes at a time, then moving.
No as daft as he looks. She sucked at her teeth for a bit, staring off into the middle distance. Get a car organized.
But the shift finished-
Were going to sort out your cock-up before it gets any worse.
Chapter 28
Logan hauled on the handbrake. How many more?
Till we find him. And dont be so sodding ungrateful. Logan groaned. Shift finished two and a half hours ago, and Ive not had a day off in weeks. What happened to the Working Time Directive?
Pfff, Working Time Directives for poofs. Steel crumpled up the map and stuffed it into the already overflowing glove compartment. Dont see me complaining, do you? She climbed out into the evening light. Fiddled with her fake cigarette. Anyway, you think Jenny and Alison McGregor dont want a day off?
Thought you said Susan was up for sex again how come youre not off-
Steel scowled. Dont be so fucking personal. She turned and stomped towards the building.
It was a tenement in Hayton, a long row of four-storey apartment blocks: bland, grey-frontage with a stripe of red or blue paintwork marking out the stairwells. As if that was going to make the place look any better. A handful of tower blocks loomed over the buildings, rusty-oatmeal monoliths with balconies and satellite-dish acne. Someone was having a party in the nearest block, the music thumping out from an upper floor. A red balloon drifting away into the misty drizzle.
Typical: when he was in with Napier, or getting a bollocking from Finnie, it was blazing sunshine, but the minute he stepped outside FHQ sodding raining again.
You just going to stand there looking gormless? She pushed through the brown front door. Chop bloody chop.
The smell of frying onions filled the stairwell, making Logans stomach growl as he followed Steel up the stairs. I interviewed Victoria Murray today.
Oh aye, and what was Vicious Vikki saying to it?
Sounds like Alison McGregor isnt the paragon of virtue everyone thinks. Turns out she-
Used to vandalize stuff? Drink? Shagged about when she was still at school?
Oh. Logan paused on the landing, but Steel kept climbing. You interviewed her too, didnt you?
Nope.
Logan hurried after her. You must have. Its-
Dont be a prick, Laz: it was in all the papers. Howd you think Vicious Vikki got her nickname: embezzling the housekeeping? She sold their dirty wee childhood stories to the Daily Mail. Big cries of outrage. Then OK! magazine did a spread Alisons secret schoolgirl shame: I was a teenage tearaway, admits BNBS semi-finalist. Or some shite like that. Can you no at least try and keep up with popular culture?
Steel stopped on the third floor and puffed on her e-cigar ette for a bit. Right, same as last time. Only try no to look like your arse is eating your face, eh?
Its not my fault Susan wont shag you.
Just knock on the bloody door.
Logan pulled a little nub of Blu-Tack from his pocket and squidged it over the peephole, stepped to the side, then knocked.
Nothing.
Logan banged the flat of his hand against the wood, making it shudder.
Pause. Maybe theyre not
A voice from inside. OK, OK, calm your fucking monkeys. There was a shuffly silence. That would be them peering through the peephole and seeing sod all. Who is it?
Logan put a tremble in his voice. Dave Dave says you can you know? Set us up and that?
Another pause. How much?
It didnt matter who they were, they always knew a Dave. Fifty quid?
The clunk and rattle of deadbolts and chains. Then the door opened, and a short hairy man appeared with baggy jeans hanging down around his thighs, exposing his Calvin Kleins, a muscle top stretched over a pot belly, fur sprouting out across his shoulders. Gold chains dangling around his neck. White powder dusting his thick moustache. Whats your poison? Weve got His eyes went wide. Fuck.
DI Steel jammed her foot in the opening. Evening, Willy, hows the wife and kids?
The smell of onions got stronger. Fucking, fuck. Willy rubbed a hand under his nose, scrubbing the powder away. Its not what it looks like, I was just baking a cake, well, a quiche, and Erm
Its your lucky day, Willy: I dont give a toss about you violating your parole, or your dealing; just want a word with Shuggie. Know where he is?
The wee mans eyes darted left. I havent seen him. For ages.
Steel smiled. Then I take it back: its no your lucky day after all.
Logan pulled out his handcuffs. William Cunningham, Im arresting you on suspicion-
Hes a mate, I cant just-
Steel nodded. I understand, Willy, very noble of you. Sergeant?
Of possession of a controlled substance with intent to supply-
Come on, Inspector, Mollyll kill us: be reasonable.
Willy, Willy, Willy when have you ever known me to be reasonable?
He stared at the ground. Shuggies in the kitchen. Look, could you at least barge in or something? Make it look you know?
Nope. Steel patted him on the furry shoulder. Lead on, eh?
It was a nice flat. Not huge, but well laid out and tidy, painted in comforting shades with photos and prints on the walls. As they walked down the hall, Willy pulled the living room door shut, but not before Logan had seen a little kid dressed in a Spiderman costume and pink sparkly fairy wings, stomping about on stiff, chubby legs.
Willy stopped with one hand on the kitchen door handle. Give us a second, OK?
Steel gave him a shove.
In we go.
He staggered into the room, hands up. Shuggie, Im sorry. Didnt have any choice
Shuggie Webster was hunched over a small table, jammed into the space between the sink and the wall. A frying pan on the stove filled the room with the sweet meaty smell of caramelizing onions.
It seemed to take Shuggie a while to drag his head up and around. His eyes looked like two black buttons sewn onto his pasty face. Bruising on his cheek and chin. His right hand was wrapped in stained bandages, speckled with red and yellow, only the thumb protruding from its grubby prison. There was a splash of dried blood on his hooded top.
He blinked. Frowned. Blinked again. Then shook his head.
Willy sidled over to the frying pan and stirred his onions. Cant let them burn. A pale pastry case sat on a chopping board next to him.
Logan stepped into the little room. It was getting crowded. Come on, Shuggie. Time to go down the station.
The kitchen was uncomfortably warm, but Shuggie shivered. They killed my dog
Thats why youve got to tell us where they are.
Shuggie cradled his bloodied hand against his chest. Poor wee Uzi
Willy tipped his onions into the pastry case, then stuck the frying pan in the sink. Hes a bit out of it. Took something for the pain, you know?
Shuggie, theyll keep coming after you. Look what happened to Trishas mum.
Trisha A frown. He rocked back and forwards, as if he was on one of those childrens rides outside a supermarket. What if they hurt her again, or her kid?
Dont worry about Ricky, hes safe, OK? Now you just have to-
What about Trisha? He stopped rocking. She safe?
Well Logan looked back at DI Steel. No help there. Yeah, shes fine.
Willy broke eggs into a Pyrex jug.
Shuggie forced himself to his feet. Lying fuck.
See, youve got to get the mix of eggs and cream right, or-
He slammed his unbandaged hand down on the kitchen table, sending a tin of Special Brew spiralling to the lino. A spurt of foam. Is she fucking safe?
Aww, Shuggie! Its all over the floor.
Logan backed up a pace. Shes probably fine-
Where is she?
At least put a tea-towel down or something.
Aww, Shuggie! Its all over the floor.
Logan backed up a pace. Shes probably fine-
Where is she?
At least put a tea-towel down or something.
She left Ricky at her mums house yesterday. Shes not been back yet, but Im-
Another slam. They fucking raped her!
Hey, come on, man, Willy held up the fork hed been beating the eggs with, cool the beans, eh? My wee girls through the house.
Shuggie nodded, buried his face in his cupped hand. Sorry, its just His shoulders shook. Silence. Then a deep breath.
OK, so at least this was going to be a lot easier than last time.
Logan stepped forward and placed a hand on Shuggies arm, gave it a little squeeze. Its going to be OK.
The big man looked up, tears dripping from his pink eyes. Will it FUCK!
A shove, and Logan went staggering back. Then Shuggie grabbed a carton of milk from the working surface and hurled it. It went wide, crashing against the tiles, spurting out across the fridge.
Gods sake, Shuggie, calm the- A fist battered into Willys face, cracking him back into the cooker.
A carton of double cream flew across the room.
Logan ducked: it sailed over his head.
A chair followed it.
He scrabbled in his pocket for the pepper-spray.
Too slow.
Shuggie took hold of the table in his good hand and flipped it, slamming the Formica into Logans chest, sending him sprawling against the units. Something crunched under his foot the beer can and he went down, elbow bashing into the linoleum as he hit the floor.
Jagged pain rushed up his arm, like cramp and pins-and-needles all at the same time. Bastard!
Shuggie dived on top of him or on top of the upturned table. The bottom edge cracked into Logans shin, the upper edge hard across his chest. Shuggie drew back a massive fist and swung.
Logan wrapped his arms around his head, ducking down behind his forearms like a boxer, eyes screwed shut as the punch hammered into his right bicep. Then another one, catching him in the right armpit.
Aaaagh, get off, you-
One more on his right elbow, thumping his head back into the kitchen units.
This is all your fault! Another punch. I want them fucking drugs back!