In the Cold Dark Ground (30 page)

‘She told us he was dead!’ His bloody mother. ‘All these years. The lying, manipulative,
cow
!’

‘
…after the tone.
’

Bleeeeeep
.

‘You lied!’ Logan paced back and forth, in front of the mantelpiece, phone rammed against his ear. ‘You said he was dead, and he was living in Dumfries the whole time! I grew up without a father, because you were too bloody
selfish
and petty and … and bloody…’ The phone case creaked in his hand. ‘We’re done. Understand? You’re not my mother. You’re nothing to me.
Never
call me again.’ He slammed the phone back into the cradle so hard it bounced and fell on the floor.

Logan snatched it up and slammed it down again. Stood there, glowering at it.

Sitting on the couch, Harper raised an eyebrow. ‘Feel better?’

‘No.’ He paced back to the other end of the mantelpiece. ‘How could he abandon us with that horrible woman? How? What the hell did we do to deserve that?’

A shrug. ‘He loved my mother more than yours.’

Not surprising. A rabid Alsatian would be more loveable than Rebecca McRae.

‘Thirty-four years. He could’ve got in touch!’

‘I’ve never really had a big brother before, do they normally moan this much?’

‘
Moan
? How would you like it? “Oh, your dad’s not dead, he just couldn’t be arsed being there your whole life?” Useless, lazy—’

‘Don’t you
dare
talk about my dad like that!’ She stood, fists clenched. ‘For your information, he sent letters and cards, presents every birthday and Christmas for
years
.’

‘We never got them.’

‘Then blame your mother.’

She glowered at him and he glowered back.

The doorbell rang.

Maybe this time it’d be Reuben, come to do them all a favour. And with any luck he’d kill Harper first and let Logan watch.

Another ring.

She folded her arms and stuck her chin out. ‘You going to get that,
Sergeant
?’

‘Blow it out your arse,
sir
.’ Logan turned and marched out into the hall. Peered through the spyhole.

Not Reuben. Calamity’s face was all distorted by the wide-angle lens. Tufty and Isla stood in the street behind her.

Oh joy.

Logan opened the door. ‘I know it’s snowing, but it’s the wrong time of year for carol singing.’

Calamity’s grin slipped as she stared at him. ‘What happened to your face?’

‘Cut myself shaving.’

‘OK… Anyway,’ she held up a bulging bag-for-life, ‘we come bearing beer and food.’

‘Right. Yes.’ He didn’t move. ‘Look, now’s really not a good—’

‘Trust me, Sarge.’ She lowered the bag. ‘I know you probably think you want to be alone after what happened with Samantha, but this is what teammates are for. It’s Valentine’s Day, you’re all alone, and we’re going to support you whether you like it or not.’

Tufty held up another bag. ‘I brought sausages!’

Because nothing said, ‘I’m sorry you had to kill your girlfriend’ like processed meat products.

He stepped back. ‘You’d better come in then.’

They bustled past him into the hall, then peeled off various scarves and jackets. Stamped their feet and blew on their hands.

Isla handed him a big lumpy bag full of what felt like tins of beer. ‘Least you won’t have to put them in the fridge. Bleeding perishing out there.’ The other two looked like normal people, out on a cold February night, but not Isla. No, she’d got all dolled up in a short tweed dress with a weird vintage collar and thick black tights. Like something off a Marks & Spencer advert. ‘Got some Southern Comfort and Bacon Frazzles too. I mean, who doesn’t love…’ She stood up straight, eyes widening. Then nodded over Logan’s shoulder. ‘Ma’am.’

Pink rushed up Calamity’s cheeks, turning them the same colour as her nose. ‘Ah. Sorry, Sarge. We didn’t know you were…’ She grabbed her bag-for-life and pointed at the front door. ‘We should probably…’

‘Constables Nicholson, Anderson, and Quirrel, this is Detective Superintendent Harper. And before you go any further down that line of thought: no. She’s my sister.’

Tufty squinted at the pair of them, then a smile blossomed on his thin face. ‘Ah, right: I see it now. You’ve both got the same ears!’

‘…useless unprofessional bunch of
turdbadgers
.’ Steel hurled the newspaper down on the conference table.

No one moved. Ten plainclothes officers, four uniforms, all squeezed into the Major Incident Room and all doing their best not to make eye contact with her.

Steel stomped off to the window, blocking the view of Banff bay and the gently falling snow. ‘Well?’ If anything, she looked worse than she had yesterday. The penguin PJs were gone, replaced by a charcoal-grey suit and red silk shirt, but the bruises had darkened and spread. A pair of truly impressive black eyes sat either side of her bandaged nose, their edges fading to green and yellow. The bruise on her cheek was the colour of over-ripe plums.

She glared at them out of her one good eye, the other still swollen up like a pudding. ‘Didn’t think so. Well believe me: I’m no’ forgetting and I’m no’ forgiving this. I find out which one of you gave the
Sunday Examiner
an exclusive, I’ll make sure you walk squint for a month. Understand?’

Someone cleared their throat.

Logan leaned back against the wall, keeping as still as possible. Every movement sent needles and knives jabbing through his back, ribs, and stomach.

More glowering from Steel. ‘Now, who fancies a bollocking?’ She raised a finger and pointed at the assembled officers one at a time: ‘Eenie, meenie, miny, mo, catch a slacker by the toe.’ The finger stopped with DS Robertson and his sideburns. ‘You, Pop Larkin, where’s my list of Milne and Shepherd’s sexual conquests?’

Pink bloomed across the skin above that ridiculous facial hair. ‘It’s not as easy as you’d think. I’m trying to get names for all the faces, but—’

‘THEN TRY HARDER!’ Steel mashed her hand against the table, making everyone flinch. ‘This is a murder investigation, not a game of sodding Cluedo. When I tell you to do something, you bloody well do it!’

The blush deepened. ‘Yes, Guv.’

‘Next! Which one of you idiots is meant to be hunting down the animals who attacked me and Buggerlugs McRae over there?’

There was a pause, then DS Weatherford raised her hand.

Suddenly, Steel was all sweetness and light. ‘Ah, Donna. Good. Tell me, Donna, have you caught them yet?’

‘Well…’ She glanced around the room, but no one would look at her. ‘Not as
such
, you see—’

‘WHY THE BLOODY HELL NOT?’

Weatherford shrank back in her seat. ‘There’s no fingerprints! And we can’t get DNA back till—’

‘AAAARGH!’ Steel bashed the table again. ‘This is what I’m talking about. Every single one of you: it’s not your fingers you need to get out, it’s your whole buggering fist!’

Then Harper stood. ‘Thank you, Chief Inspector.’ She pointed at the actions written on the whiteboard. ‘You all know what you’ve got to do, so go out there and do it. And try to keep your big mouths
shut
this time.’

Chairs scraped back and the MIT team scurried out, heads low, no doubt suitably motivated from being shouted at for the last ten minutes.

Logan waited till the door shut to sink into one of the vacated chairs. Winced. The knives were out again. He hissed out a breath.

Steel stuck two fingers up at him. ‘Don’t start. You’re getting no sympathy from me. Want to know what pain is? Try this on for size.’ She hauled her shirt up, exposing her side. The paisley-pattern map of Russia she’d complained about yesterday was there in all its blue, green, and purple glory. It stood out bright and clear against the milk-bottle skin, disappearing under the line of a scarlet bra.

‘God’s sake, put it away.’ He grimaced and turned his head away. ‘Trying to make me lose my Weetabix?’

‘Cheeky wee sod.’

Harper took her place at the head of the table. ‘All right. I think that’s quite enough banter. Let’s focus on the problem at hand.’ She sat back, steepling her fingers. ‘How much damage does this cause us, Roberta?’

Steel sniffed, then picked up the
Sunday Examiner
again. Opened it out so the front page was on display. A big photo of Martin Milne stared out at them beneath the headline, ‘
M
URDER
S
USPECT “
W
ORKING
W
ITH
P
OLICE”
S
AYS
O
FFICER
’. She dumped it back on the table. ‘No’ exactly great news, is it?’

‘Well, I suppose it would be naïve of us to think Malk the Knife wouldn’t expect something like this. The question is: does it change anything? Logan?’ The smile that accompanied his name was brittle, but at least it was there. Keeping it professional.

He pulled the paper closer.

An anonymous source on the Major Investigation Team confirms that Martin Milne (30) is working with Police Scotland to identify the people responsible for last week’s murder of his lover, Peterhead businessman Peter Shepherd (35). Mr Shepherd’s body was discovered in woodland south of Banff…

Well, if Milne was planning on keeping his relationship with Shepherd a secret, it was too late now.

Logan sucked on his teeth, staring at the picture. ‘If I were Malcolm McLennan, and I knew the police were watching, there’s no way I’d get Milne to smuggle things into the country for me now. Far too risky.’

‘So our whole operation is ruined, because someone on the MIT can’t keep their big mouth shut.’

‘Assuming Malcolm McLennan had anything to do with it in the first place. He denied it at the funeral…’ Frowning hurt, but Logan did it anyway. ‘What if it’s all a big distraction? Killing Peter Shepherd like that, leaving him lying about for people to find, it’s a bit high profile, isn’t it? We were
always
going to connect his body to McLennan. And then connect Shepherd to Milne. Maybe that’s the idea?’

‘True.’ Harper stared at one of the room’s windows.

Outside, the lights of Macduff were just visible through the pre-dawn gloom. Snow clung to the hill over there, pale blue and deep.

Steel prodded at the skin around her swollen eye. ‘What about one of the other scummers? Black Angus MacDonald, or Ma Campbell?’

Logan tapped at the table with a fingertip. ‘Could be. Campbell’s got drugs in Macduff already, maybe this is her way of making sure we’re all focusing our attention on McLennan instead of her? Make enough noise and the signal gets hidden.’

‘Hmmm…’ Harper kept her eyes on the window. ‘What about the money Milne and Shepherd borrowed?’

‘The only reason Milne thinks it came from Malcolm McLennan is because Shepherd told him it did. They could have been dealing with anybody and Milne wouldn’t have known, would he? Plus it means the local mob believe
McLennan
’s the one moving in on their turf, not Jessica Campbell. Any retaliation’s going to be aimed at Edinburgh, not Glasgow.’

A knock on the door, and Narveer poked his head in. Today’s turban was a greeny-blue tartan with yellow lines through it. ‘Super? That’s the Assistant Chief Constable on the phone for you.’

‘Thank you, Narveer.’ She stood. ‘We can’t afford to take our eye off Milne, but I agree it’s possible this is all sleight of hand. Logan, I want you to look into the Ma Campbell angle. Get descriptions of anyone Milne met with and see if they match. See if we can turn down the noise a bit and let the signal come through.’

Logan nodded. ‘Sir.’

‘Good work. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go explain to our lords and masters why we haven’t made any progress on this bloody case since Thursday.’

When Harper was gone, Steel sagged in her seat. ‘So, are you two shagging yet?’

He stuck two fingers up at her. ‘Did you have to rip a strip off Robertson and Weatherford in front of everyone? Poor sods are doing their best.’

‘Come on, I saw her checking you out all through the briefing. Yesterday she thought you were a two-foot wide skidmark on the hand-towel of life, now she’s throwing you meaningful glances like they’re on buy-one-get-one-free.’ Steel grinned. ‘You shagged her, didn’t you?’

‘She’s my
sister
. OK?’

‘You shagged your sister? You’re disgusting. Told Susan we shouldn’t have got you that boxed set of
Game of Thrones
.’

He stood. ‘You know what? I’m glad your ribs hurt. Serves you right.’

Snow-covered fields drifted by the car windows. Robbed of colour, everything looked dead beneath the grey sky.

‘Ooh, I like this one.’ Rennie took a hand off the steering wheel and turned the radio up. The sound of some insipid auto-tuned X-Factor-wannabe cover of a Marilyn Manson song glopped out of the speakers.

Logan reached forward from the back seat and flicked his ear, at almost exactly the same time as Steel clouted him on the shoulder from the passenger seat.

‘Ow!’

A glower from Steel. ‘If you’re thinking of singing along, I’m going to make sure it’s falsetto, understand?’

‘Philistines.’ But he turned the radio down again.

A bright-orange Citroën Saxo lay on its back, half in the ditch at the side of the road and half in the field beyond, scattering a path through the drystane dyke in between. Its oversized spoiler lay six feet away, buckled and torn. A ‘
P
OLICE
A
WARE
’ sticker graced its upside-down rear window.

Rennie hooked a thumb at it. ‘Had one of those when I was a boy racer. Mental car.’

‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Logan watched it slide past: big flared wheel arches, twin exhausts, and alloy rims.

It was the same, every winter. Most people drove like little old ladies at the first sign of snow, but the wee loons still screeched about as if nothing had changed.

Steel turned in her seat, grimacing. ‘How come you never said you had a sister?’

‘Didn’t know till last night.’ Logan unhooked his Airwave handset from its clip. Say what you like about having to cart about a heavy stabproof vest all day, but the Velcro straps and armoured panels supported his back and stopped it from moving too much. Which kept the sudden stabs of pain down to a minimum.

‘Oh aye? And did you find out before or after you shagged her?’

‘Grow up.’ He punched the Duty Inspector’s shoulder number into the handset and pressed the talk button. ‘Bravo India, safe to talk?’

‘A McRae always pays his debts.’

‘Seriously, you can stop talking now. Your—’

A man’s voice boomed from the Airwave’s speaker. ‘
Go ahead, Logan.
’

‘Guv, I need in on tonight’s dunt again.’

Inspector Mhor sighed. ‘
Believe it or not, Sergeant, I didn’t float into Fraserburgh on a half-buttered rowie.
’

‘Guv?’

‘
Do you really think the dayshift Duty Inspector doesn’t talk to the backshift one? Inspector McGregor and I go through the roster every day when I hand over to her, and that includes what’s going on with her shift. I
know
you’ve been seconded to the MIT.
’

‘Yes, but—’

‘
No buts. Sergeant Ashton is running the raid on Ricky Welsh’s house. What, did you think that I’d say yes when McGregor said no? I’m disappointed in you, Sergeant.
’

The rising sun found a chink in the heavy lid of grey, sending blades of gold carving across the white fields.

‘I’m not trying to play anyone off against anyone else, Guv. Detective Superintendent Harper wants me to look into Jessica Campbell’s possible involvement in Peter Shepherd’s death. The drugs at Ricky and Laura’s are the only known link we have up here. So…?’

‘
And Harper’s all right with this?
’

‘It was her idea.’ OK, so that was stretching the truth a bit, but hey-ho.

Up ahead, Whitehills loomed in the distance. Its streetlights gave the place an unhealthy yellow glow.

Still nothing from Bravo India.

They were through the thirty limits before Inspector Mhor’s voice came through the speaker again. ‘
Right. Logan, I’m prepared to put you in charge of the dunt again. But I want a big result from this one – it’s costing us a fortune, so make it count.
’

‘Will do. Thanks, Guv.’

He twisted his Airwave back into place. Finally
something
was going his way.

Rennie took a right before they got into Whitehills proper, heading down the hill towards Martin Milne’s house.

Steel turned and squinted back at Logan again. ‘You set that whole thing up, didn’t you?’

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘All that guff about only having Peter Shepherd’s word for it – you just wanted your dunt back.’

‘You heard Detective Superintendent Harper, she thought it was worth investigating.’

‘You manipulative wee sod.’ A smile twitched the corner of Steel’s mouth. ‘I’ve taught you well, young Grasshopper.’

A line of wire fencing appeared on the right, surrounding the suspended building work. It looked as if they weren’t the only ones who’d read that morning’s
Sunday Examiner
: the media blockade was back. Three outside broadcast vans and a dozen cars were parked on the part-finished road, trails of exhaust coiling out into the morning air. Some of the rustier cars had their passenger windows rolled down a crack, cigarette smoke joining the exhaust fumes.

Their occupants turned to stare at the pool car as it bumped through the potholes.

Rennie parked in front of Milne’s house. ‘Boss?’

‘See if I catch the rancid wee turd who leaked that story?’ Steel curled her lip and scowled through the windscreen. ‘Where are they? Supposed to be babysitters minding the roost.’

No sign of a patrol car. No sign of DS McKenzie,
or
her minions.

Steel pulled out her phone and fiddled with the screen. Held the thing to her ear. ‘Becky?… Yeah, I’m great, thanks, bit sore, but can’t complain. How are you?… That’s good. Becky, got a wee question for you: WHERE THE GOAT-BUGGERING HELL ARE YOU?’

Rennie flinched, both hands over his ears.

‘No, you’re not, and I know that because I’m sitting outside the house
right now
. … Angry? Why would I be angry? Oh, wait a minute, now I remember – I TOLD YOU TO KEEP AN EYE ON MARTIN MILNE!… Yes, I think you better, Sergeant, and when you get here we’ll see how far my left boot will fit up your backside!’