Logan sighed. Just a stupid nickname. Its nothing
Laz short for Lazarus. Steel grinned and clinked her latest bottle of beer off of the Chief Constables pint, DS McRae here came back from the dead, didnt you?
It wasnt
Oh aye, our wee boys a bona fide police hero! She wrapped her arm round Logan and gave him an affectionate shoogle. Shame hes so bloody ugly.
EXTERIOR:A graveyard in Aberdeen Union Street. Church in background. Noises of traffic and seagulls.
CAPTION:Detective Sergeant Logan McRae
MCRAE:Id rather not, to be honest.
VOICEOVER:But you were instrumental in catching The Mastrick Monster?
MCRAE:Do we have to do this, Alec?
VOICEOVER:Come on, itll make for good telly. And if you dont tell us well just get it from someone else.
MCRAE:[shifts uncomfortably] Look, theres nothing to tell. It was a joint operation, I just happened to be there at the end. Now can we just drop it?
[end tape]
INTERIOR:An untidy office in Grampian Police Headquarters.
CAPTION:Detective Inspector Roberta Steel.
STEEL:[finishes a cigarette and flicks it out of open office window] Right, where were we?
VOICEOVER:Weve done Insch, Rennie and McInnis. That leaves DS Beattie, Doctor McAllister, Inspector Nairn and DS McRae.
STEEL: Right, well do McRae next. My hair look OK to you?
VOICEOVER: Well... itll be fine.
STEEL: Good, got my public to think of... youll edit out that bit with me smoking, aye? Ill no hear the end of it otherwise. OK, June 2004, and weve got fifteen women in the morgue. The press are calling him the Mastrick Monster he stabs his victims, then rapes them while they die. Sick bastard. Anyway, the investigations going nowhere when up pops Detective Constable Logan McRae. He goes digging and unearths Angus Robertson turns out Robertson works in a sandwich shop that delivers all over Aberdeen, thats how he was picking his victims
[loud rattling cough goes on for nearly a minute]
Ah... fucking hell...
[presses hand to chest]
Bastard...
Anyway, something happens and Robertson finds out hes a suspect: he goes bonkers, snatches McRaes girlfriend, and theres a big showdown on the roof of this tower block. All very dramatic. McRae takes Robertson down, but gets himself stabbed about twenty times in the stomach doing it. Robertson gets thirty to life; McRae gets a year in hospital and promoted to DS.
[clears throat and spits into wastepaper basket]
OK, whos next? Beattie? Useless, fat, beardy arsehole. Next!
11
The Press Liaison Officer slammed the incident room door. Bastards!
Logan looked up from a pile of search reports and watched her march up to DI Insch and wave a newspaper in his face.
Have you seen the front page? Have you? Theyre eating us alive out there! Which was a pretty unfortunate choice of words. This mornings Aberdeen Examiner had, CANNIBAL HORROR FOR HUNDREDS OF NORTH EAST RESIDENTS! plastered all over the front page. Colin Miller strikes again.
Insch snatched the paper and skimmed the article, face rapidly darkening to a furious scarlet. MCRAE! My office: NOW! He stormed out, nearly flattening a constable carrying a big stack of actions from the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System.
Logan slumped back in his seat, stared at the ceiling, and swore. Then followed in the inspectors wake.
Inschs office wasnt its usual tidy self: the floor was littered with screwed-up bits of paper and sweetie wrappers. The inspectors bin lay on its side against the wall, with a dirty big dent in it. He didnt even wait for Logan to close the door. WHY THE HELL DIDnt YOU TELL ME ABOUT THIS?
I thought you knew! Its not
How did your bloody Weegie friend know people have been eating... he narrowed his angry, piggy, eyes. Did you
I never said a word! He
That two-faced cow! The inspectors face got even uglier. He stabbed a button on his phone and demanded to be put through to the mortuary.
It wasnt long before Isobels voice crackled out of the speakerphone: This had better be important! Do you have any idea
WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?
What? I
Did you really think I wouldnt find out?
Isobels voice dropped about twenty degrees. If youve got something to say to me Inspector, youd better say it, because I will not have you shouting down the phone at me like some sort of petulant child, do you understand?
Your boyfriend. The front page of the Examiner. I expected you to act like a professional
A loud brrrrrrrrrrrrrr came from the speaker: shed hung up on him.
Insch stabbed the off button hard enough to make the whole phone creak. You... He screwed up his face, grimaced, held two fingers to the side of his throat and tried to breathe slowly. In and out. In and out.
Logan watched him do his Zen breathing thing, wondering how much mess it was going to make when the inspectors head finally exploded. Er... do you want me to get you a glass of water, sir?
Insch didnt open his eyes, didnt stop his slow, shuddering breaths.
The office door slammed open. How dare you! Isobel stormed into the room, still dressed in her white paper SOC suit, green plastic apron, hairnet, and white morgue clogs. She snapped off her surgical gloves and hurled them onto the inspectors desk. If you ever speak to me like that again
Insch slammed a fat fist down on the newspaper. How did he know? Your boyfriend? How did he get sensitive information about an ongoing investigation? One youre involved in? One
Isobel slapped him, hard, leaving a perfect white handprint on his florid face. She snatched the phone off the desk and dialled. Probably making a complaint to Professional Standards. Hello?... Yes. She pressed the button and asked, Can you hear me?
Colin Millers broad Glaswegian accent blared out into the room, Aye, is this goin... Am I on a speakerphone? Izzy, you know Im no
Colin, did I tell you anything about the Wiseman case?
Eh? Whats going
Did I tell you?
A small pause, then. What? No, you know you didnt.
Isobel stared at Insch, triumph written all over her face, but the inspector wasnt finished yet: Do you really expect me to believe he just happened to come up with this all by himself?
Whos that? Is that DI Fatbastard?
Insch looked as if he was about to burst. Just answer the bloody question: who told you?
I dont believe this... You lot are down the docks crawlin all over a container thats meant to be goin offshore; next thing youre screamin off tae a cash and carry; couple hours later you raid a butchers shop. Its a fuckin supply chain isnt it? What you think people were doin with all that meat they bought? Givin it a decent burial? Course theyve been eatin the fuckin stuff!
Are you
Its no exactly rocket science, is it?
Isobel folded her arms. Well, inspector? I think youve got something to say, dont you?
Insch did, but not to her: Do you have any idea how much trouble youve caused? Printing that? The bloody switchboards jammed with people complaining their sausages taste funny! How are we supposed to conduct a murder enquiry when
Aye, right. Its my fault you cant catch Wiseman. I told people they were eatin deid bodies, because its the truth. Stead of blamin me, you should be out there doin somethin about it. And if you ever talk to Izzy like that again, Im gonnae come down there and punch your fat fuckin lights out! And he was gone.
Richard Davidson wasnt the sort of person youd leave your children with. Not unless you really, really didnt like them. Five foot eleven of tattooed resentment, he wore the standard institution-grey HMP ABERDEEN T-shirt, stripy shirt and blue jeans with all the panache of a grumpy rottweiler. He scowled at Logan and Faulds from the other side of the tiny table in the prison interview room.
The Chief Constable tried his disarming smile. Do you remember me, Richard? I was
I know who you was. OK? Answers still fuck off.
Richard, Im sorry its all worked out like this for you, but
Aye, well thats just great. Makes everythin all better that does. Youre sorry. Jamies mum and dad get kilt and he goes to live with his Nan. Goes to university. Writes a fuckin book. What do I get? A father who drinks himself to death; foster parents whore bastards; and a criminal record. He stabbed himself in the chest with a thumb. Wheres my fuckin publishin deal?
Richard, I
And his books are shite.
Logan watched the pair of them staring at each other. Look, he said, we just want to ask you a couple of questions about what happened twenty years ago. OK? Nothing else.
Richard Davidson scowled. I didnt do nothin else. Whatever they told you, its a fuckin lie.
Fine. Dont care. We just want to know what happened in 1987.
Nothin else?
Nothing else.
Davidson shifted in his seat, then stared at the camera bolted high in the corner of the room. Were walkin Jamie home, in the dark, me and Mum. And we get to the jungle just this wee bit of park, couple of trees and some shitey bushes, but Jamie and me played Japs and British there the whole time. He looked down at his hands, flexing them open and closed, open and closed, like a heartbeat, the knuckles bruised between the DIY prison tattoos. Jamie and me run off into the jungle... Mum tries to call us back, only we dont listen. Jamies got some crappy fancy-dress party to go to for his dads work and Jamie dont want to go, cos his dads a dick.
He sighed. After a while we get bored bein soldiers, but we cant find Mum anywhere. We shout, look all over the place... Davidson bit his bottom lip. Cant find her. Nowhere... Shes gone. He rubbed a hand across his eyes. Deep breath. And then he turns up: Wiseman, in his fuckin butchers costume. And he takes our hands and... and we walk back to Jamies house... Never saw my mum again.
Logan let the silence go on for nearly a minute. What happened at the house?
Stupid, isnt it? All this time and I still miss her... Davidson shook his head and wiped his eyes again. Jamies dickhead father was on the phone, shouting at my dad, then he shouted at us and we ran upstairs and... and Jamie put on this stupid Viking costume and we sat there. We could hear more shouting and we didnt want to go downstairs in case we got into even more trouble Jamies dad was one of those wankers didnt worry about clobbering other peoples kids. So we just sit there for ages, waiting for him to come get us. Only he doesnt...