Broken Skin

from the top of the pile, stuffed them into his heavy overcoat, and headed out of the door.

The whole flat sparkled. It was weird: the carpets had been hoovered, the surfaces dusted, and Logan got the sneaking suspicion that even the bathroom had been given a once over. And from the kitchen came the smell of baking. A sudden, very nasty thought occurred, but when he risked a peek in through the kitchen door, it wasn’t his mother standing in a blue-and-white-striped apron, it was Jackie. Which, if anything, was slightly more scary.

‘Did you fall on your head last night?’ he asked.

Jackie didn’t even turn around. ‘Don’t be daft, I was here all last night, remember? Now you go get changed and I’ll put the kettle on.’

Whatever she’d been up to she wasn’t going to talk about it without a fight. And Logan couldn’t face that right now. ‘I got some films from the raid yesterday.’

Jackie peered out of the kitchen window, watching the thick blobs of rain join together and run down the glass. ‘Good, it’s a shite day anyway. We’ll watch something, have lunch, go get a couple bottles of wine, something for tea, nice lazy afternoon. How does that sound?’

It sounded eerily like Jackie used to be before her obsession with Rob Macintyre. ‘Er… good. That’d be good.’ He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the front door. ‘They’re in my coat — big pocket at the back.’ He went through to the bedroom and swapped his damp work suit for jeans and a casual shirt, wondering how long this small bout of normality was going to last. How long it would be before she started-

‘What the hell’s this?’ Amusement and surprise sounded from the hall and then Jackie appeared, carrying a small stack of DVDs.

‘I told you: we raided Ma Stewart’s yesterday. I-’

‘You dropping a hint or something?’ She held up the DVD on top of the pile, showing him the cover: Crocodildo Dundee. ‘Think our love life needs spicing up with a bit of hardcore porn?’

‘What? No …’ He went to take the DVD from her, but she danced back into the hall, laughing.

‘You’re such a pervert McRae!’

‘It’s … No: the guy who made it — the film — he gave me and Rickards a copy for getting back some stolen goods. Insch got one too!’

‘Join Michelle “Crocodildo” Dundee, as she struggles to find her feet, and other bits, in the big city,’ she read, putting on an appallingly over-the-top Australian accent. ‘She’s a filthy girl who can’t wait to have adventures “Down Under”!’

‘I’d forgotten all about it! Look, I didn’t ask for it, OK? It’s not-’

‘Oh we are so going to watch this!’

‘Jackie…’ But she was already running into the lounge to close the curtains and fire up the DVD player.

‘Come on then! And put the heating on, just in case we get all carried away and naked.’

It was one of the most embarrassing things Logan had ever done in his life. Jackie roared with laughter the whole way through as the actors did a reasonable pastiche of the original film. He’d only ever seen the thing on fast forward before, looking for suspects that would match the e-fit of Frank Garvie, but to be fair it wasn’t as awful as it could have been. The jokes were actually funny, there was a plot, and enough sex to keep Jackie in hysterics as people from the north-east of Scotland pretended to be antipodeans. But it was excruciating sitting here watching it with her, not wanting to seem too turned on by the whole ‘other people having sex’ thing.

The heroine stood in a dark alleyway and a woman with a skimpy outfit and huge hair stepped out of the shadows, demanding, ‘Give me all your money!’ as she brandished an eight-inch rubber willy then twisted the end, setting it vibrating.

‘That’s not a dildo,’ said Michelle Dundee, hauling a massive eighteen-inch job from the holster on her back, ‘THIS is a dildo!’

Jackie could barely sit on the couch, she was laughing so much. ‘Oh, yeah!’ she yelled, in a better Australian accent than any of the actors, ‘Dan’t knaw about you, Cobber, but oim randier than a snake on a barbie! Show us yer didgeridoo!’ And then she jumped on him.

‘I don’t-’

‘Ooh, it’s all excited! Rippa!’ as she burrowed into his trousers.

Then Jason Fettes appeared onscreen — making his porn debut, not knowing that it would only be a couple of years before he’d be lying face-down on a slab in the morgue with a police photographer taking stills of his cold, dead body. The thought didn’t do a lot for Logan’s ardour.

‘Ah naw, Blue!’ Jackie pulled a startled face. ‘We’re losin’ it! Quick — mouth to mouth!’

And Logan suddenly found it very easy to forget all about Jason Fettes and his ruptured innards.

The happy, post-coital glow lasted a whole two hours, the pair of them lounging about in bed, laughing and joking, enjoying each other’s company for the first time in what felt like years. Ignoring the phone; letting the answering machine take care of it.

It wasn’t until some bloody-minded sod kept ringing, hanging up and ringing again and again and again that Logan grumbled his way through to the lounge — stark naked — and picked up. ‘What?’

DI Steel. ‘That’s no’ very friendly.’

‘We’re … busy.’

‘Aye, well, you can put it away for five minutes. Telly: ITV news.’

Logan sighed, picked up the remote and clicked the television on, getting the lunchtime news — something about the latest balls-up in the war against terror. ‘So what? It’s…’ and the picture switched to a stock photo of Rob Macintyre’s ugly mug. He cranked up the volume.

‘-missing from his home late last night. The twenty-one-year-old signed a seven-figure deal for three volumesof his autobiography this week-’

‘Maybe he’s just off getting drunk somewhere?’

Macintyre’s face was replaced by his fiancee at a press conference, looking distraught in a cleavage-revealing top and perfectly-styled hair, sniffing and crying away as she told the world that her husband-to-be hadn’t come home last night. That he’d missed practice this morning. That they were worried for his safety.

Someone from the media office appeared beside her and made an appeal to camera. Logan hit the mute button. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-

‘You still there?’

‘Er … yes. Yes.’ Eyes darting towards the bedroom where Jackie had started singing.

‘Right, get your arse back to the station — Hissing Sid’s shooting his mouth off, the press are all over us and the CC’s having kittens.’

‘I … You said I could have a day off and-’

‘Now, Sergeant!’

Cursing, Logan hung up. ‘Jackie?’ He found her in the kitchen, drinking orange juice from the carton. ‘Macintyre’s gone missing.’

‘Yeah?’ She shrugged, wiped her mouth and put the juice back in the fridge. ‘You want Thai or Italian for tea?’

‘Jackie, what happened last night?’

‘Nothing happened. I was here with you, remember?’

‘Jackie-’

‘I fancy noodles. If you’re going out, pick some up, eh?’

‘But-’

‘Dinner’s at seven.’ She planted a kiss on the end of his nose. ‘Don’t be late.’

43

The sky had taken on an ominous grey-blue tinge, spears of low, golden light sparking off the granite buildings, making them glow as if they were on fire as the sun sank towards the horizon. It was cold, leaching into Logan’s bones as they walked the search perimeter, checking in with the teams. ‘I still don’t see why we’re going to all this trouble,’ he said. ‘Macintyre’s a grown man, only been missing what, thirteen, fourteen hours?’ Just because the footballer had disappeared, it didn’t mean he was lying dead in a ditch somewhere … Please don’t let Jackie