Close to the Bone

‘He was burning when you got there? ’

A nod. ‘We. . we ditched the car, divvied up the watches and rings and necklaces and stuff, and. . and there he was.’ Guy held up the boxes where his hands should have been. ‘They’re going to cut off my fingers, because I tried to help someone. .’

7

A woman’s voice blared in the corridor outside the hospital room. ‘I don’t bloody care — you let me in to see my son right now!’ Mrs Ferguson.

DS Chalmers sniffed. ‘You think he’s telling the truth? ’

‘Well. .’ Logan leaned against the room’s little sink, staring down at the bed.

Guy was curled over, boxed hands against his chest, great heaving sobs rocking him back and forward.

‘Guv? ’

‘Necklacing, it’s. . it’s a big-city gangland organized crime thing. Not something I can see a bunch of teenage wannabes doing. So. . maybe. Probably.’

‘He did it so the victim wouldn’t suffer any more.’ She puffed out her cheeks, hissing out a breath. ‘Did the right thing, and it’s going to cost him his fingers.’

‘When everyone’s calmed down a bit we’ll interview his mates. See if they corroborate.’

That voice again. ‘I demand to see my son!’

Here we go. .

Logan pointed at Chalmers. ‘Tell him to let them in.’

As soon as she stuck her head around the door, Mrs Ferguson barged her way past the uniform on guard, into the room. ‘Guy? ’

Mr Ferguson scurried in behind her, crying. ‘They told us you were dead.’

Guy’s mother wrapped him up in a hug. ‘My baby. .’ Then she straightened up and glared at Logan. ‘YOU! You told us he was dead. How could. .’ Her eyes went wide, staring down at her son’s ankle: at the handcuff. ‘He’s in a hospital bed!’

‘It’s not-’

‘How dare you!’ She clenched her fists, took a step forward. ‘You take that off him, and you take it off him now.’

The stairwell echoed with footsteps and murmured conversations, overlaying the background hum of the hospital. Then Logan’s phone joined in — Darth Vader’s theme again. Should have left the damn thing turned off. He pulled it out. ‘It’s not-’

‘Have you got him? Where are you? ’ She sounded like a small child with a new puppy. If the kid had smoked forty a day for its whole life.

Chalmers pushed through the doors onto the ground floor, holding them open for Logan.

‘We’re heading back to the car, but-’

‘There! I see you!’

He froze.

DCI Steel was marching along the corridor towards them, mobile held against her ear, a big Cheshire grin pulling her wrinkles into a starburst. ‘Who’s Aunty Roberta’s special wee soldier then? ’

He hung up. Stood there, waiting for her.

Steel gave a hop-skip, then grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a little squeeze. Then frowned. ‘Where is he? How come you’re no’ taking him in? ’

‘He’s. . upstairs under guard. They’re amputating most of his fingers this afternoon.’

‘And you’re sure he’s our boy? ’

DS Chalmers held up her notebook. ‘Confessed to the killing, and the jewellery heist too.’

‘Excellent!’ Steel let go of Logan and gave Chalmers a hug. Holding on for long enough that the DS started fidgeting.

Logan took a deep breath. ‘There’s something I need to-’

‘The ACC looks like he’s won free boobs for a year; scheduling a press conference for half three.’ She released Chalmers. ‘You’re both invited. Is this no’ great? ’ Steel poked at the screen of her mobile, then held it up to her ear. ‘ACC wants a word. .’

‘Actually, Guy Ferguson-’

‘Aye.’ She stuck a finger in her other ear. ‘Dougie? Is his nibs about? Yeah. .’

‘Look, it’s not as simple as-’

‘Sir? I’ve got him here. . Yup, under arrest and under guard as we speak.’ The grin got bigger. ‘Well, you know us: CID always gets its man.’

‘Seriously, we need to-’

‘I’ll put him on.’ Steel held the phone out to Logan. Nodded at him. ‘Go on then.’

Sod.

He took the phone. ‘Sir? ’

‘McRae, well done.’ The Assistant Chief Constable’s put-on posh telephone voice wasn’t enough to cover up the Teuchter underneath — all elongated vowels, dipping for no reason in the middle of random words. ‘Excellent to get a result so quickly.’

‘Sir, it’s-’

‘No, no: credit where it’s due. Why haven’t you applied for that permanent DI’s position in Peterhead yet? You’re obviously qualified, and a shoo-in after this!’

A frown. ‘There’s a permanent DI’s job? ’

Steel cleared her throat, stared up at the ceiling tiles. ‘I. . Must’ve slipped my mind.’ Scheming old bag.

‘Didn’t Roberta tell you? I could have sworn I asked her to disseminate it to the troops. Anyway, you should definitely get your name down.’ He lowered his voice a notch, as if there was a secret on the way. ‘Listen, we’re having a press conference here at half three, and you know me: I like to ensure my team gets the kudos it deserves. Make sure you’ve got a decent suit on, don’t want them thinking we all fell off the back of a tractor, do we? ’

Deep breath. ‘Actually, sir, it’s a bit more complicated. .’

‘You don’t have a clean suit? ’

‘No. I mean yes, I’ve got a clean suit, I mean it’s Guy Ferguson. He claims someone necklaced the victim before he got there. He tried to get the tyre off. And when that didn’t work Ferguson stabbed him so he wouldn’t just. . burn to death.’

Steel’s eyes went wide. ‘You. . what? ’

Logan turned his back on her. ‘Ferguson got molten rubber all over his hands trying to save the victim. They’re going to amputate most of his fingers this afternoon.’

Silence on the other end of the phone.

‘Sir? ’

The posh telephone voice was slipping. ‘Are you telling me you arrested a good Samaritan? ’

‘He confessed. And he was in on the jewellery heist too. We’ve got two of his associates in custody and-’

‘How the hell am I supposed to spin that? For God’s sake, McRae, could you not have arrested someone who wasn’t a hero? ’

‘But the jewellery heist-’

‘Please tell me he’s not photogenic.’

Acne scars, thick eyebrows, junior moustache. ‘No, he’s not photogenic.’

A sigh. ‘Well that’s something at least. .’ The ACC hung up.

Logan returned Steel’s phone. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the DI’s job? ’