Logan McRae Crime Series Books 7 and 8: Shatter the Bones, Close to the Bone. Stuart MacBrideЧитать онлайн книгу.
hell …’ Willy turned on the spot, arms held out from his sides. ‘Look at the place. Molly’s going to kill me!’
DI Steel’s gravelly voice came from the hallway. ‘Little help?’
Logan cradled his battered arm, scowling. ‘Where the hell were you?’
A single black-shoed foot appeared in the doorway, about two-feet off the ground, toe pointing upward, followed by a short length of crumpled sock, a flash of bare ankle, then a wrinkled grey trouser leg. ‘Argh.’
He picked his way across the beer-and-milk-slicked linoleum to the door.
She was lying on her back, tangled up in the chair Shuggie had tried to take Logan’s head off with. The battered carton of cream lay beside her, its contents splattered all over her.
Steel wiped her eyes, flicking droplets of thick white against the walls. ‘Sodding hell … Pfffffffp … Ack …’ She stared at her hands, her arms, her chest – all dripping with double cream. Smeared another handful from her cheeks and chin. ‘Now I know what it feels like to star in a porn film…’
Logan hauled her to her feet. ‘You were a lot of bloody good.’
She scowled. ‘He threw a chair at me! What was I supposed to do?’
What happened to, “You’ve got to keep an eye on people like Shuggie”, “Can’t bury your head in the sand and expect them to behave”, “That’s just common sense”?’
‘Oh … shut up.’
‘And an orange-and-soda for the big girl’s blouse.’ Big Gary clunked the pint glass down on the coffee table in front of Rennie.
‘I’m driving, OK?’ The constable took a sip.
The Athenaeum was relatively quiet for a Sunday night, meaning they’d managed to bag two of the big saggy sofas, with a view out onto the Castlegate: a couple trying to conceive in the bus stop, some drunken singing, a lone idiot marching up and down with a placard proclaiming ‘JESUS WILL SAVE ALISON AND JENNY IF YOU BELIEVE!’
Logan reached for his pint of Stella, winced, then tried with his left hand instead. His whole right arm was seizing up, probably covered in thick black bruises. Sodding Shuggie Webster …
Big Gary levered his huge arse down into a creaking sofa. Raised his Guinness. ‘To Superintendent Green – our man from SOCA – may his life be long … and plagued with piles.’
Doreen clinked her white wine against Gary’s glass. ‘And verrucas.’
Steel joined in. ‘Impotence.’
Logan: ‘Anal leakage.’
Rennie: ‘Premature ejaculation!’
Steel hit him. ‘How can he have premature ejaculation if he’s impotent, you tit?’
‘Ow! Just means if he ever does get it up, it’s going to be sod all use to him.’
Big Gary nodded. ‘The loon’s got a point.’
‘Meh.’ Steel tried her whisky, following it down with a big glug of IPA. ‘Right, before we all get irredeemably blootered, how do we find Alison and Jenny McGregor?’
Doreen groaned, let her head fall back until she was staring at the ceiling. ‘I’ve been doing this all bloody day!’
‘Tell that to a wee girl who’s no’ got her little toes any more.’
Rennie popped open a packet of cheese and onion. ‘What about the forensic thing? I mean, they don’t leave a single trace – that’s not normal, is it?’
‘And?’
Shrug. ‘Maybe we should, you know, be looking at police officers? Or the IB? Maybe someone retired, or fired, or something?’
Doreen nodded. ‘Would make sense. They’d have motive for making the rest of us look like idiots.’
Steel’s mouth fell open, eyes wide. She snapped her fingers. ‘That’s brilliant! Rennie, you’re a genius!’
The constable sat up straight. ‘Well, sometimes it’s—’
‘Why did no one think of that earlier? A whole squad of highly experienced officers, and no one thought to look at the forensics angle. You’re some sort of deductive god!’
Rennie’s shoulders sagged a bit. ‘What?’
‘We certainly haven’t had a team looking into that for the last week and a bit!’
‘Oh …’
Steel hit him again. ‘Twit.’
Logan helped himself to one of Rennie’s crisps. ‘What about the students in her psychology class?’
Steel sucked her teeth for a moment. ‘… McPherson’s looking into it, I think. Well, him or Evans. Don’t see a bunch of spotty layabouts managing to pull this off though, do you? They’d have to get up in the morning. Be too busy analysing each other’s bumholes.’
‘No, I’m going home.’ Logan stood. His shins bumped the low table, setting the graveyard of empty glasses clinking against each other. ‘Samantha’s waiting.’
The pub had got busier, the noise level rising with the alcohol consumption.
A group of middle-aged women, dressed in clothes far too young for them, were singing ‘Happy Birthday to You’ for about the sixth time, complete with shrieks of laughter. Rennie had been sent over to complain, and returned with a paper plate heaped with slices of chocolate cake and a cheek smeared with bright-red lipstick.
‘Aw, go on.’ The constable waggled his third pint of Tennent’s at Logan. ‘One more for the road!’
‘Thought you were driving?’
Rennie shook his head. ‘Emma says she’ll come get me.’ Grin. ‘Isn’t she great?’
Doreen tipped the last of the white wine into her glass, and sagged. ‘Everyone’s got someone to go home to, but me …’
DS Bob Marshall appeared through the throng, carrying a fresh pint of something dark. ‘You can come home with us, if you like, Doors? You me and Deborah can re-enact the Swinging Sixties.’ He gave her a big leering wink.
‘Urgh …’ Doreen shuddered. ‘I think I just threw up a little.’
‘Charming.’ He dragged a seat over. Paused, wrinkled his top lip and sniffed. ‘Why can I smell cheese?’
Logan pulled on his stained jacket. ‘Don’t worry, I’m leaving.’
Bob hump-shuffled his chair closer to the table. ‘Surprised I can smell anything at all: Stinky Tam was like … Actually, you don’t want to know. But Jesus, what a stench. Found him in the bushes at the side of the road, all bloated and leaky and bits falling off. Pretty sure the rats had been at him too.’
Doreen scowled. ‘You were right, we didn’t want to know.’
‘How can someone drop dead in the middle of the city, and no bastard notices, eh?’ A slurp of beer. ‘I’d’ve been here ages ago, but those GED bastards dragged me off to some poor sod who’d topped himself. General Enquiries Division my arse – Gormless Evil Dickheads more like.’ Another slurp. ‘Anyway, so come on then: who’s the bird with Steel?’
‘With the dark hair?’ Big Gary peered over Doreen’s head towards the bar.
Logan turned and did the same. DI Steel was just visible through the throng, her hand on the small of some woman’s back. Curly dark hair shot through with grey; jeans and a tight silk shirt; glasses perched on the top of her head; party hat set at a jaunty angle.
Steel leaned in and said something. The