A grin. Isnt that great? First time shes reacted to anything. I tried calling you. Didnt you get my message?
Dont get your hopes up. Small steps. Remember what the neurosurgeon said.
What was it? What made her smile?
Logan hunkered down on his haunches next to the wheelchair. Looked up into Samanthas face. Frowned. Took out his handkerchief and wiped a line of dribble from the side of her mouth. I hear youve been smiling at the guy who rubs your feet. You hussy.
No reaction. But then there never was.
Two thick Velcro straps held her upright in the chair, wrapped around the metal frame, then across her chest. Stopped her slumping over, or falling out.
Louise says youre now officially a ten on the Glasgow Coma Scale. How cool is that?
Nothing.
And were having you declared incapable, thats nice, isnt it? He puffed out his cheeks. Held them off for as long as I could, but apparently I havent got a choice any more. Im going to be your guardian. Like Bruce Wayne and Thingy the Boy Wonder. Only you dont have to wear a stupid yellow cape and big green pants over your tights.
Still nothing.
He wiped away another line of dribble.
Anyway, theyre talking about putting a metal plate in your head. Maybe September, if you keep going the way you are. Thatll be fun, wont it? He brushed a strand of long brown hair from her face. Doing his best not to touch the big dent over her left ear where they removed a chunk of skull to relieve the pressure on her brain. You could wear hats again. Or maybe we could stick fridge magnets on it
He settled his back against the glass balustrade. We caught a dead wee girl, Monday night. Down by the swimming pool. Steels up with the MIT. Susans tests came back and theres only a one in five hundred chance of the baby having Downs. Thats good, isnt it?
Samantha didnt move, staring straight through him as usual.
He cleared his throat. Turned his head. Yeah, thats what I thought.
The supply boat was smaller now, churning away across the slab of navy blue.
I screwed up. Graham Stirlings going to get away with what he did to Stephen Bisset. Hes going to beat the charges and walk because of me.
A herring gull flapped to the ground on the other side of the glass railing. Strutted up and down, glaring at him with its yellow eyes.
Should be spending the rest of his life in prison, and instead: theyre going to let him go
The gull cocked its head and crawked at him. Pacing. Demanding. Shouting. Like a miniature DCI Steel.
Hissing Sids trying to make out that I fitted Stirling up. Can you imagine that? Me? A small laugh that tasted as bitter as the spittle hed left in the toilet bowl. Never fitted anyone up in my life.
It raised its wings and screamed at him, high-pitched and grating. Digging into his brain with sharp little claws.
Spent half my life trying to put bastards like him behind bars, and the courts let them go. If Id been fitting him up, Id have made damn sure he couldnt wriggle out of it Logan scowled at the seagull. It glared back at him. Tell you what I should do: I should go round to Stirlings house, middle of the night, and batter his head in with a crowbar.
A sigh.
Well, we can always dream, cant we? Logan stood. Brushed the dust off his jeans. You dont want to hear about this crap, do you? Course you dont. Its just me being a whinge. He clapped his hands, fetched a chair from the nearest table and set it down next to Samantha. Now, how about we watch the ships and the seagulls for a bit?
Yeah, hold on Logan pinned the phone between his ear and his shoulder, shifted the heavy shopping bags to his other hand, then dug his keys out of his pocket. Sorry, what?
On the other end, Biohazard sounded as if he was chewing bits of broken glass. Couldve bloody swung for him. I swear to God, right there in the middle of the court. Homophobic? Me?
So were screwed then.
Said, and I quote, How long have Police Scotland been operating a vendetta against Aberdeens lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgendered communities? And you know why? Because Stirling was in that dress when we caught him, and I called him Danny the Drag Queen!
Its not Logan slid his key into the lock. Look, there was nothing we could do. We saved Stephen Bissets life. At least thats something.
Its not Logan slid his key into the lock. Look, there was nothing we could do. We saved Stephen Bissets life. At least thats something.
Tell that to his kids.
Logan let himself into the Sergeants Hoose. Closed the door behind him. Locked it. Held the phone against his chest. Cthulhu? Daddys home. No sign of her in the lounge. Or the kitchen. Back to Biohazard. Professional Standards say anything to you?
What do you think? Spent the last two hours getting my ear chewed off about gender bias and equal opportunities for trannies and drag queens.
He dumped the big bag of value tatties in the cupboard under the sink. Stuck the kettle on. They say anything about me?
No way the jurys going to convict the slimy little git now. No confession, no forensics, and no corroboration. All weve got is a couple of adverts placed in the lonely hearts column.
Biohazard: focus. What did Napier say about me?
No idea, got my spanking off Inspector Laird. Sour-faced nettle-licking old bag. Far as I know, theyre coming after you next.
Wonderful.
Tell you: when this whole thing collapses, you, me, and the boy Rennie, are going to be up to our ears in a septic-tank hot tub.
And on that cheery note.
Exactly. Now, if youll excuse me, Im off to get blootered. Biohazard hung up.
Logan stood in the kitchen, staring out of the window at Banff police station.
Might be a good idea to get the resignation in early. Take what he could get before they kicked him out. Go work offshore or something where you didnt have to haul on a stabproof vest to start your working day. And you got decent regular shifts. And more money. And loads of time off
Tempting.
But then, whod look after Cthulhu while he was away on the rigs?
He dug her special saucer out, then went looking for a pouch of wet food. Whistled two notes, high-then-low. Stood at the kitchen door with the saucer in his hand. Cthulhu?
No prooping noise. No sound of surprisingly heavy paws thumping down the stairs.
He climbed up to the first floor.
Stood in the hallway and listened to the rhythmic asymmetrical purr.
Let his head fall back, and swore.
Placed one hand on the bedroom door and pushed.
Steel was lying flat on her back, in his bed, one bare foot and one hand sticking out from beneath the duvet. Mouth hanging open, snoring.
A pile of clothes lay crumpled on the floor by the window. A copy of Fifty Shades of Grey on the bedside cabinet.
Cthulhu raised her head from the pillow, gave a wide triangular yawn, stood. Turned around, and settled down to sleep again.
Typical.
Logan put the saucer of cat food on the chest of drawers and poked Steel in the shoulder. Hoy!
Mmmnnnghphhhhh Her mouth made glistening wet circles. Then the snoring started again.
WAKEY, WAKEY!
Gnph ! She scrambled up in bed, eyes wide and blinking. What? I never touched her
Oh. Dear. God.
Steel wasnt wearing anything
Logan swallowed. Flinched back a step. A sour taste filled his mouth. Oh God, not again!
Noooo Then she grabbed the covers and hauled them up to her chin. Scowled at him. You rotten sod. I was dreaming about Claudia Schiffer! More blinking. What time is it?
What are you doing in my bed? Naked. Why are you naked in my bed? He backed up till he hit the wall. You swore this wouldnt happen again. You promised!
Steel thumped back onto the pillow. She was all covered in Nutella and everything.
You know what? Tough. Deep breath. Then Logan straightened. Im not running a B-and-B here. He crossed to the window and yanked the curtains open. Up.
Gah! Dont be a scumbag! She pulled the duvet over her head, exposing naked shins and knees. Couldnt stay in the hotel, some moron was snoring.
That was probably you. Come on, out.
The lump under the duvet didnt move. I dont snore.
Bloody well do. You sound like a drunk pig trapped in a wheelie bin. He picked up the pile of clothes and dropped them on her. Downstairs. Five minutes.
Steel scuffed into the kitchen wearing a hotel bathrobe and Logans slippers. Thumped into the single wooden chair and cracked a huge yawn, showing off her fillings. Coffee.
In my sodding bed!
Oh, dont be such a girl. I changed the sheets and duvet cover first. Wasnt going to get into your filthy pit, God knows what I might catch. Another yawn. Got any toast?
It wasnt my fault: Graham Stirling. I did what I had to and Im not apologizing for it any more. They dont like it, tough.
She stuck one hand down the front of her robe and had a scratch. Probably shouldve put on a bra
Oh God. Not again. Once was bad enough.
He turned his back. Stuck the kettle on to boil again. If you want to shout at me, you can get your stuff and bugger off. My shift starts at three: till then, I dont care.
Course you do. She picked the bottle of supermarket whisky from the floor. Gave it a shoogle. Otherwise you wouldnt be drinking this pish.
And while Im at it, how the hell did you get in here?
Another yawn. You left me a key, remember?
Outside the kitchen window, a knot of uniform in high-vis waistcoats clambered into the back of a big police van. Probably off to search the cliffs or the road again. As if that was going to make any difference.
He took two mugs from the cupboard and spooned instant coffee into them. You got an ID on your victim yet?
I wish. A little deflating noise came from behind him. Shes no in the misper database, so Finnie went on the news last night with a picture and did an appeal for info. No prizes for guessing what happened next.
Nothing at all?
Six hundred phone calls, and no a decent bit of intel between them. More yawning. Dont know why we bother.
The kettles clicking grumble built to a rattling boil.
He stuck two slices of floppy white bread in the toaster. Put on his casual voice. We still on for that raid today? Four OSU and a dog team?
Youve got a cheek. After your performance yesterday?
He poured boiling water into the mugs. I can still throw your arse out on the street. In your stolen dressing gown.