Logan McRae Crime Series Books 7 and 8: Shatter the Bones, Close to the Bone. Stuart MacBrideЧитать онлайн книгу.
on, Inspector, Molly’ll kill us: be reasonable.’
‘Willy, Willy, Willy – when have you ever known me to be reasonable?’
He stared at the ground. ‘Shuggie’s 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, I’m sorry. Didn’t 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. ‘Can’t 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 …’
‘That’s why you’ve 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. ‘He’s a bit out of it. Took something for the pain, you know?’
‘Shuggie, they’ll keep coming after you. Look what happened to Trisha’s mum.’
‘Trisha …’ A frown. He rocked back and forwards, as if he was on one of those children’s rides outside a supermarket. ‘What if they hurt her again, or her kid?’
‘Don’t worry about Ricky, he’s 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, she’s fine.’
Willy broke eggs into a Pyrex jug.
Shuggie forced himself to his feet. ‘Lying fuck.’
‘See, you’ve 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! It’s all over the floor.’
Logan backed up a pace. ‘She’s probably fine—’
‘Where is she?’
‘At least put a tea-towel down or something.’
‘She left Ricky at her mum’s house yesterday. She’s not been back yet, but I’m—’
Another slam. ‘They fucking raped her!’
‘Hey, come on, man,’ Willy held up the fork he’d been beating the eggs with, ‘cool the beans, eh? My wee girl’s through the house.’
Shuggie nodded, buried his face in his cupped hand. ‘Sorry, it’s 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 Shuggie’s arm, gave it a little squeeze. ‘It’s 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.
‘God’s sake, Shuggie, calm the—’ A fist battered into Willy’s 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 Logan’s 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 Logan’s 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!’
The next one slammed into Logan’s arm again.
Always on the right side – Shuggie was using his left fist, saving his right …
Logan’s head bounced off the units, but this time he dropped his guard and grabbed the bloody bandage, wrapped his fingers around Shuggie’s right hand and squeezed hard.
‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!’ Shuggie’s face went pale.
Logan jerked the hand to the side, digging his nails in.
‘FUCK!’ The big man slapped at Logan’s wrist, scrabbled backwards. Out of reach. ‘FUCK!’ Eyes wide, a string of spittle spiralling down from his open mouth. And then he lurched forward and stomped on the table, sending Logan crashing back to the linoleum.
‘Fuck …’ Shuggie lurched out of the room, clutching his bloody hand to his chest.
Logan could hear him staggering down the hall, bumping into the wall, the crash and tinkle of framed pictures hitting the floor. Then the front door slammed.
So much for everything going easier than last time.
Get up. Get up and charge after him. Tackle him on the stairs and crack the bastard’s head off the concrete walls. Slap the cuffs on. Then kick him in the balls …
Logan slumped back against the soggy lino.
Sod that.
Just lie here a minute. Catch his breath.
His right arm throbbed.
Willy