if he was grudging every syllable, but saying it nonetheless — before limping out into the chilly morning, just as the first flakes of snow began to fall. Logan stood beneath the canopy, in the cold, and watched him go. Wondering how it was possible to despise someone and feel sorry for them at the same time.
* * *
A night in the cells had done nothing to improve Russell McGillivray’s BO. Stale sweat mixed with the sour smell of someone rapidly plummeting through the nightmare world of the DTs. Needing his next fix like a suffocating man needs air. Twitching one minute, still as the grave the next, sweat making his face shine like the pale belly of a toad, eyes bloodshot and ringed with dark purple. Every mother-in-law’s nightmare.
Logan sat one of the two coffees he’d brought in with him on the off-green terrazzo floor and shut the door. ‘Well, Russell,’ he said, taking out what was left of DI Steel’s stolen cigarettes and rattling the packet, ‘you looking forward to your fifteen minutes of fame?’
Painful smile, wheedling voice: ‘Gie’s a … gie’s a ciggie. Go on, gie’s a fag, eh?’
‘Shouldn’t take long: into court, bish-bash-bosh, back to Craiginches for a couple of years on the parole violation. Not to mention all that extra time for driving while disqualified, without insurance, resisting arrest, perverting the course of justice, attempted murder-’
‘WHAT?’ McGillivray was up on his feet like a shot, twisting his fingers round and round, making the joints pop and crack. ‘I didnae murder no one!’
‘Oh, did I not mention that last night?’ Logan shrugged, ‘Must’ve slipped my mind. You think-’
‘I didnae murder nobody!’
Logan dug out a cigarette and the lighter. ‘One last smoke for the condemned man.’
‘I DIDNAE MURDER ANYONE!’
‘No, but you had a bloody good crack at it, didn’t you? That cleaner hadn’t come out when she did, you’d’ve beaten him to death.’
‘OhJesusfuck …’
‘Here.’ Logan lit one then passed it across, the long-forgotten burn of inhaled smoke making his scarred lungs twitch. ‘Might as well enjoy it while you can.’
McGillivray wrapped himself around the burning cigarette, puffing frantically, as if it could make this all go away. ‘Wasnae murder … I … wis just supposed to teach them a wee lesson.’
‘The lawyer and …?’ leaving a gap for McGillivray to fill, even though he knew the answer already.
‘An the fuckin’ footballer. Both of them for three hundred.’
‘Three hundred’s
‘It’s no’ my fault! I need my medicine …’
‘Who? Who gave you the three hundred?’
He shrugged, eyes on the floor, cigarette held in a cupped hand, as if he was trying to hide it. ‘Dunno, some bloke in a pub.’
Logan treated him to an uncomfortable silence. The kind of silence Insch would have used, if he hadn’t sodded off for an early lunch to go shout at the woman doing the ‘Gentlemen of Japan’ costumes.
‘I dunno! OK, I dunno … didn’t ask, three hundred for two fuckers.’
‘Cash in advance?’
McGillivray sooked the last gasping breath from the orange filtered stub, then ground it out beneath his foot. ‘Gie’s another fag, eh?’
‘Did you get paid in advance?’
He licked his lips, staring at Logan’s pocket, where the cigarettes were hiding. ‘Hunnerd up front. Hunnerd after the lawyer. Hunnerd after the footballer …’ More fidgeting. ‘He’s a fuckin rapist, isn’t he? No
Logan pulled out another cigarette and McGillivray’s junkie eyes lit up. ‘Which pub, Russell?’
‘Can’t remember.’
Logan shook his head, then snapped the fag in half. ‘Which pub?’
‘Ah fuck! Come oan! I’m no-’
Crack and the cigarette was half the size again.
‘Garthdee Arms!’
‘I want a name.’
‘He didnae gie’s his name! He didnae!’ Panicking, eyes on the tiny smokable stub. ‘Tall bloke, looked like shite, beard, glasses … for fucksake …’
Logan gave him what was left.
It took less than twenty minutes with the e-fit software to come up with a likeness — thin face, bags under the eyes, round glasses, high forehead, beard. Logan sighed and printed it out, not needing to post the picture on the force intranet to find out who it was. Macintyre’s third victim — Gail Dunbar — this was her husband, the man who’d accosted Insch outside the court when the footballer was released. The man Insch had promised justice.
They picked him up from work, taking him away in an unmarked CID car to be fingerprinted, DNA-sampled and photographed. Listening as he went from sullen silence to shouted complaints: the lawyer got that little fucker off with what he’d done to Gail. He deserved all he fucking got! His only regret was that McGillivray had started with Moir-Farquharson instead of that footballing little fuck. Far as he was concerned it was two hundred pounds well spent.
Insch was just coming back from lunch, passing through the rear doors as Rennie and Rickards manhandled Gail Dunbar’s husband down to the cells. The man took one look at the inspector and exploded. ‘YOU! YOU PROMISED ME! YOU PROMISED YOU’D PUT HIM AWAY! YOU PROMISED, YOU FAT FUCK!’ And then he got violent.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Logan, slumped back against the wall while Dunbar was dragged away, shouting, swearing and screaming.
‘He’s right,’ said Insch as the racket was muffled by a slamming cell door, ‘we can’t touch Macintyre. Someone rapes my wife: you better believe I’m going to do something about it.’ He sighed, staring off into the distance for a moment. ‘Only I wouldn’t use a junkie toe-rag like McGillivray. I’d do the bastard myself.’
35
Half past two and Logan was getting ready to shut down his computer when DC Rennie swore his way into the room, holding a wodge of damp paper towels against his cheek. ‘Bastard fucking shite bastard fuck …’
‘What happened to you?’
‘Your bloody beardy-weirdie took a swing at me! Took three of us to get him in a bloody cell.’
‘He’s a primary school teacher.’
‘He’s a bastard!’ Pulling away the damp towels and fingering the angry red welt beneath. ‘I was on a promise tonight as well …’ Rennie stopped and glowered at the tissue, then hurled it into the bin. ‘Insch wants to know if you need a lift tonight. To the rehearsal?’
Logan shook his head. ‘I’m going home. Anyway, thought you lot only met on a Monday, Wednesday and Friday.’
‘Two weeks till we’re on, so it’s pretty much every night from now till-’
‘So who’s supposed to watch Macintyre then?’
Rennie blushed. ‘I can come back later if-’
‘It’s Jackie, isn’t it? For God’s sake!’ If she was supposed to watch the footballer’s house every night for the next two weeks she’d be in a permanent foul mood. ‘What if she’s supposed to be on nights, or the back shift?’
Rennie shrugged. ‘I’m just doing what I’m told.’
‘This is stupid.’ Logan stood. ‘We know Macintyre’s not hunting in Aberdeen any more; all we have to do is stick his number plates into the ANPR system and call Tayside if he leaves the city.’
‘Er … the inspector doesn’t want anyone else knowing about-’
‘Yeah? Well guess what? I don’t care.’ He grabbed his coat and headed downstairs, Rennie trailing along
