He slipped the shirt all the way off and turned around. The little square of wadding was frayed, the surgical sticky tape peeling and dirty around the edges. Should it not stay-
Cant believe youre still wearing that. She bounced off the couch, grabbed the wadding and tore it off.
A sudden sting of ripped out hair. Ow!
There. She nodded. Looks good told you the Reverend was an artist. You happy with it?
Steel says theyre investigating the IB, in case any of you lot kidnapped Alison and Jenny?
It suits you. Very minimalist.
Cant see it myself. Criminal masterminds? Half your team couldnt tie their shoelaces without adult supervision.
Let it breathe a bit: the redness will go down quicker. And for your information, we could run rings round you CID carpet-shaggers.
He sat on the arm of the sofa. Did you know Alison McGregor was a horror when she was young?
Well duh. Everyone knows. Then she met Doddy, and he swept her off her feet and she got pregnant, and vowed to put her life back on track for her husband and her little girl. Tres romantic.
Found a big pile of love letters when we searched her house on Friday. Logan picked at a tuft of thread, sticking up from one of the sofas seams. Does it bother you?
What?
That Ive well, Ive never written you any?
Oh dear Jesus, no. I read the bloody things when Bruce brought them back to the lab last week.
You read them?
Who do you think put them back in the bottom drawer? Someone had to check her mail for threats, or secret lovers. She clasped her hands to her chest. Oh how the embers of my heart burn with the heat of a million suns! Pffff Million suns. Id have more respect for the man if hed said he burned with the heat of a summers day in Banchory. Or a bag of chips. Samantha tilted her head on one side, and stared at him. If you ever write something like that at me, Im going to kick you in the nuts and leave. Understand?
Yeah, well, I wasnt planning-
Anyway, she pointed at his arm, that means a hell of a lot more to me than some cheesy moon-in-June bollocks.
She unfastened the thick leather belt from her jeans, popped the top button, unzipped the zip, then pulled her T-shirt up. So There was a little patch of wadding, not much bigger than a beer mat, stuck to her stomach, just beside her bellybutton. She peeled the sticky tape off. What do you think?
It was the number twenty-three, reversed out of a circle made up of squiggles. The ink was black, the skin slightly swollen, angry red fading to pasty-Scottish-white. It sat not far from the topmost spines of the tribal spider thing that reached all the way down to her knee; equidistant from a teddy bear with an axe in its chest, and a sort of bramble-twined rose.
Twenty-three?
Yup. Call it a reply to the love note on your arm. See, she pointed at the squiggles, now Ive got twenty-three little scars. Just like you.
Logan put a hand against his own stomach. Squinched up one side of his face. Thanks I think.
She pulled her T-shirt back down again. You dont like it.
No, its not that I He frowned. I just cant decide if its a really sweet gesture, or a little creepy.
Samantha grinned. Cant a girl be both?
Dunno, shes no looking that good.
Course shes not shes got a fever, you idiot.
Hot. Far too hot. Jenny forces her eyes open. Cold. And Hot. And the light stabs her head like a sharpened pencil. The room starts to twirl. Dirty ceiling, scribbled-on walls, a bare light bulb that swims across a dirty sky
So thirsty.
Well? What the hell are we supposed to do?
The monsters are in the corner, all crinkly and white. Like ghosts made of paper.
So, do we call a doctor, or what?
Her lips crack and burn. Mummy
Dont be a dick, Tom.
Whore you calling a dick, Sylvester?
Mummy? Her head thumps and whumps.
Its OK, darling, Mummys here. Shhh
A cool hand strokes Jennys forehead. Thirsty.
Use your heads. This monster isnt like the other ones. He has pointy horns and a red swishy tail. And when he steps on the floorboards little circles of fire sprout into life. How the fuck are we supposed to explain this to a doctor? Oh, you know those two off the telly whove been kidnapped? Well, guess what we found
Wheres bloody Colin when you need him?
Mummy raises her voice. She needs water.
The monsters stop arguing. Yeah, right. Sylvester, get her a bottle or something
Hes not answering his phone. Why isnt he answering his bloody phone? I said he was fucking unreliable, didnt I, David? Didnt I say he was a big fat fucking liability?
Here, its pretty cold. You maybe shouldnt let her drink it all at once, or shell puke.
Mummys face ripples into view. Her eyes are pink, so is her nose. She sniffs, wipes a drip away with the back of her hand. Here, sweetie, try and take little sips
The hard plastic shape presses against Jennys lips and she gulps. Cold, wet, soothing spreading out inside her. A frozen octopus reaching all the way from her elbows to her knees.
We got to do something, what if she dies?
Shes not going to fucking die. DAVID leaves a trail of fiery feet across the floor. Here: the useless tossers left his medical bag. She just needs more antibiotics or something.
The water goes away. Jenny reaches for it, but her hands wobble and flap. Two balloons filled with sausages
Shhh Itll be OK, sweetie, itll be OK. Mummy promises.
Found some Fluc Fluc-lox-acillin, sounding it out, thats right, isnt it?
How much do we give her?
I dunno. Can you overdose on antibiotics?
Gods sake, Tom. DAVID sighs, his shoulders hunching. Youve got an iPhone, Google it.
Right OK. Yeah. Here we go got it. Flucloxacillin How much does she weigh?
The fuck does that matter?
Dose depends on how much she weights: thirty milligrams per kilo. Shes about, what nineteen, twenty kilos? He fiddles with a needle and a little glass bottle, then squirts a little arc into the air, just like on the television. Right whos going to do it?
SYLVESTER backs away. Nah, thats Colins job.
Yeah, but Colins no here, is he?
Give me the bloody thing. DAVID holds out hand. Does it go into a vein or muscle?
Erm He looks at the shiny flat thing again. Either. Mummys voice wobbles. Please dont hurt her
You want another fucking lesson?
She flinches back. Didnt think so. Hold the kids arm still.
Jenny watches the shiny needle. It glints and sparkles in the sunshine. Out on the beach. A picnic with egg sandwiches, sausage rolls and Daddy. He lifts her up onto his shoulders and charges into the sea, laughing. Mummy waves from the sand.
The scratchy bee stings.
Chapter 30
The bear crinkled its top lip. What? Do I look like your fuckin mother? Its face was half fur, half scar tissue, the skin twisted into a permanent sneer.
Logan sneaked a look at the fridge. I dont know where it is.
A smile. Not a nice smile, an Im-going-to-bite-your-fucking-face-off smile You better hope thats-
The bears tummy started singing. Shite
Jennys toe has to go back in the fridge. Logan blinked. Darkness. Blink. The pale green glow of the alarm-clock-radio turned the bedroom monochrome. The room had a funky, spice-garlic-and-bleach post-coital smell, socks and pants thrown about the place like a Roman orgy.
Urgh Did the Romans wear pants under their togas?
His mobile was ringing.
Bloody It took two goes to grab the thing.
Bloody It took two goes to grab the thing.
Samantha grumbled and shifted in her sleep, mouth open just enough to expose the tip of her tongue and her top teeth. A snort. Smack, smack. Mumble.
Logan stabbed the button. What?
Yawn. He ground his right fist into his eye socket.
Silence.
Typical thats what he got for handing out his CID business card to every smack-head junkie tosspot in the north-east of Scotland.
Im not running a sex line for mimes here. You either say something, or Im hanging up in: five, four, three, two-
Fuckin gave you the chance
Logan held the phone out and squinted at the little screen. UNKNOWN NUMBER.
Who is this?
Consequences You know? Everything has fuckin conse quences.
Yeah, very funny. Now who the hell is He frowned. Shuggie Webster. Its you, isnt it? Next time I-
The line went dead.
Please Trisha Brown slumps back against the radiator. Please
Just that little movement sends sharp flashes of pain racing up her left leg, like some fuckers twisting screws into the broken bone.
Dont look at it.
But its like a car crash, you know? Gotta look. Gotta see the blood and that.
Oh Jesus The bit between her knee and her ankle is one huge fuck-off bruise, a lump, big as a scotch egg, sticking out the side. She wants to reach out and touch it, or pick at the scabbed bite marks on her ghost-white thighs. But she cant, not with both hands cuffed above her head. Naked and shackled, on display like meat in a butchers shop.
She looks away.
Its a basement, or a garage, something like that. Boiler for the central heating, big chest freezer. Washing machine. Shelves with tins and shit on them. No windows, just that fucking buzzing strip-light that he never turns off.
Her whole body aches and stings and burns. Cold and hot at the same time. Something deep inside her, torn and bleeding. Dirty.
She blinks back a tear. All that time down Shore Lane, making a bit of cash to keep herself in gear and her little boy in them wee frozen pizzas he likes so much and she never felt dirty before. Not like this.
Hows Ricky supposed to manage now? Stuck with his bloody smack-head grandmother. Trisha thumps her head back against the radiator. The cool metal sounds like a muffled bell or something. She does it again. Harder. Grits her teeth. Slamming her head into the thing at least if she knocks herself out it wont hurt any more.
It doesnt work.
Maybe I should go off on the sick? DS Doreen Taylor stared into her coffee, spreading out the red-and-silver foil wrapper from her Tunnocks Teacake on the canteen table, smoothing it to a shine with the back of her finger.
Ah Bob nodded. Womens problems, eh?
She didnt look up. No. I just dont know if I can take another day with that sanctimonious git-bag Superintendent Green. She sat up straight. There, I said it.
Logan smiled. Git-bag?
Well, he is. The foil square was perfectly mirror smooth. She scrumpled it up into ball. You know that Finnie and Bain are worried SOCA are going to take over the McGregor investigation?