Broken Skin

remembering about tomorrow night though, aren’t you?’

‘Tomorrow … Oh shite!’ She swore for a bit, then asked, ‘No way we could put it off till next week?’

‘It’s her fifty-fifth birthday party, so no.’

‘You don’t even want to go!’

‘No, but I have to. And you know what she’ll be like if you don’t show.’

More swearing. ‘OK, OK, we’ll go to the stupid party. Jesus. Happy now?’

‘Not especially.’ He tried being reasonable, ‘Look, we don’t even have to stay for all of it, we can-’

‘Fine. Whatever. I’ve got to go.’ And the line went dead.

Logan went to the pub.

26

The next morning DI Steel looked even more dreadful than usual; sitting very still in one of the Chief Constable’s visitors’ chairs, pretending to pay attention as the man told her, Logan and PC Rickards what a great job they’d all done. ‘It’s not often we get sixty-two crimes wiped off the books in one day,’ he said, leaning back against the windowsill, high, grey cloud scudding past behind him. ‘Even the papers have laid off us for once.’ And he was right: the front page of that morning’s Press and Journal was all about a local property developer turning up at Aberdeen Royal Infirmary with both legs broken.

It might have been Logan’s imagination, but Rickards seemed to be fidgeting more than usual, shifting about in his seat, trying not to wince. As if he’d got piles. ‘Now,’ said the CC, gifting them all a broad smile, ‘if we can just get to the bottom of this Fettes case it’ll be back to business as usual!’

Steel nodded carefully, and mumbled something about DI Insch doing a fine job in that department. ‘Excellent.’ The Chief Constable settled back behind his desk. ‘So, I take it we’re building a nice airtight case?’

‘Aye, well,’ Steel’s voice sounded like a cross between Darth Vader and a belt sander, ‘obviously I’ve got a bit more supervising to do, but Insch has my complete confidence.’ Making sure she could claim the credit if he succeeded and blame him if he didn’t.

‘I see. Well, given the recent “difficulties” I want you to be hands-on with this one, Inspector. I don’t want it turning into another disaster like Rob Macintyre.’ He picked up a silver letter opener, holding it by the point, as if he was about to throw it at someone. ‘Oh, and DS McRae,’

Logan got the feeling something nasty was coming. ‘Yes, sir?’

‘It’s not often I have to consider suspending and commending the same officer in one week. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.’

‘Er … thank you, sir.’ But Logan wasn’t entirely sure if he’d just been praised or threatened.

Logan and Rickards didn’t even get as far as the stairs before disaster struck in the shape of DC Rennie. ‘Been looking all over for you! Detective Inspector Insch requests the honour of your company, at your earliest possible convenience.’

‘What did he really say?’

‘Get your arse up to the incident room pronto, and bring Bondage …’ he stopped himself, gave a small ‘ahem’ and tried again, ‘and bring PC Rickards with you.’

Logan shook his head. ‘No way: we’re not even supposed to be here.’ If it hadn’t been for DI Steel phoning up at half eight to tell him to come get a pat on the head from the Chief Constable, he’d still be in his bed, sleeping off last night’s celebratory curry and late-night drinks. ‘I’m back …’ he worked it out on his fingers, three days off: ‘Saturday.’

Rennie put on a pained smile. ‘He did say ASAP, sir.’

Logan sighed. ‘Of course he did.’

DI Insch was deep in conversation with the admin officer when Logan and his band of merry policemen marched in. They hung around by the incident board, waiting for the inspector to finish. It didn’t take Rennie long before he started telling them all about how great it was being in The Mikado and how Sophie, Anna and Liz were all over him. ‘Tell you,’ he said, ‘I play my cards right I’m in for a threesome. Four if I’m lucky!’

Rickards snorted. ‘You’ve never had a threesome before?’

‘Well …’ Rennie shifted from foot to foot on the dirty, grey-green carpet tiles. ‘No.’

‘So,’ said Logan, changing the subject before anyone asked him, ‘how’s it going: rehearsals … and things.’

‘Better. Still not great, well, except for Debs. The rest of us are lumbering about the place like bloody Tellytubbies.’

Logan laughed. ‘Yeah, Jackie said you were a bit “challenged”.’ Rennie looked puzzled, so he explained, ‘The rehearsal on Sunday? When you lost your bet? Twenty quid?’

‘Nah,’ Rennie shook his head. ‘Rehearsals are Monday, Wednesday and Friday. You sure she … oh, Sunday, oh, yeah. Right, Sunday.’ He slapped his forehead. ‘Course. You know me: no brains. Sunday. Yeah.’

‘Rennie, get your backside over here!’ — DI Insch, glowering over the top of a report. The constable trotted across the room, there was some muttered discussion, and then he was off out the door on a new errand. Insch thrust the report back to the admin officer and creaked his massive frame off the desk. ‘Sergeant McRae, I’ve been calling you all morning.’

Logan nodded. ‘We were with the CC, sir, and you know what he’s like if a mobile goes off while-’

‘In my office, Sergeant, and bring your constable with you.’

The inspector waited till they were all in his room, then told Rickards to close the door. He settled into the large black leather chair behind the desk and stared at them in silence. ‘Where,’ he said, ‘is my status report from yesterday? It should have been on my desk first thing this morning.’ Prodding the wood with a huge sausage-like finger.

‘We had a large number of burglary reports-’

‘I don’t care. I sent you to do a job, I expect you to bloody well do it!’ His face was starting to take on that horribly familiar florid tinge.

Rickards broke the golden rule and answered back: ‘That’s not fair! We solved sixty-two burglaries yesterday, got a commendation from the Chief-’

‘Did I ask for your opinion, Constable?’ The words coming out low and dangerous.

Rickards straightened his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full five foot five. ‘With all due respect-’ Logan kicked him in the shin before he could get himself into any more trouble. The constable snapped his mouth shut as Insch worked himself up into a full fit of righteous fury.

‘Don’t you ever dare “with all due bloody respect” me, Rickards. You’ve got something to say: say it!’ He stood, towering over the constable.

‘No, sir, sorry sir. Nothing.’

‘SAY IT!

Logan closed his eyes and hoped to God that Rickards was bright enough to keep his big mouth shut. He wasn’t. ‘Sir, we cleared up a lot of crimes yesterday. We used our initiative — the CC said we were a credit to the force!’

‘Did he now?’ Insch had finally progressed from scarlet pink to dark purple, and Logan’s eyes were inexorably drawn to that throbbing vein in the fat man’s forehead, as if a worm was burrowing away under the skin. ‘Understand this, Constable: when I say frog, you jump. You do not backchat, you don’t “with all due respect” and you don’t whinge. You say “how high” AND YOU BLOODY JUMP!’

He swung a huge finger at Logan. ‘You should know better!’

‘Yes, sir.’ There was no point arguing, it would just prolong the bollocking; much easier and quicker to roll with the punches.

The fat man checked the pulse at the side of his neck, and rumbled his way back into his seat. ‘What happened yesterday?’