sucking the smoke down, then letting it out in a long, contented sigh. 'Oh God, that's better.'
Logan told Rennie to close the door, while he opened the window. Outside, the city shone: all the dust of a long, hot summer washed away by the overnight rain, leaving everything sparkling clean. Not so much as a puddle of vomit on the pavements. Even the early morning fog had burned away.
Rennie dumped the manila folder on the inspector's desk. 'Got the initial forensics back on the fire.'
Steel didn't even look up, just stayed slumped in her chair, smoking at the ceiling. 'What fire?'
'At the Turf 'n Track? Arson? You're SIO?'
'I am?'
Rennie poked the folder. 'You were at the scene yesterday. DS McRae put you down as Senior Investigating Officer.'
And now she did sit up. 'I was there?'
'Technically.' Logan picked up the folder and flicked through the contents. The fire brigade were sticking with their first guess: fire started by a petrol bomb thrown in through the front door. 'Nothing from fingerprints?'
The constable shook his head. 'They're backed up doing all them guns we found. Say they might get round to it tomorrow, maybe Friday.'
Steel snatched the folder from Logan and grumbled through the contents. 'I'm SIO, remember? I'll ask the bloody questions.'
'Good for you.' Logan stopped on the way to the door. 'You still want me to give you a hand tomorrow?'
'What do I need you for when I've got Defective Constable Rennie here?' She levered herself to her feet, pinged the last nub of her cigarette out of the open window, then handed the three e-fit printouts to the constable. 'Did you like Pugwash when you were a kid, Rennie? Coz you're going looking for Seaman Staines.' 'For the benefit of the tape,' said DCI Finnie, holding up a clear plastic evidence pouch, 'I am now showing Mr McLeod Exhibit A: a claw hammer. We found this in your garage, Colin. Want to tell us about it?'
Colin McLeod scowled back from the other side of the interview room table. Other than a couple of small scratches there wasn't a mark on him, not even a bruise where Logan had bounced the spade off his head.
Leaning back against the wall, watching proceedings, Logan didn't think that was exactly fair. Especially given the mess his own face was in today.
McLeod barely glanced at the contents of the evidence bag. 'It's a hammer. You use it for hammering in nails.'
'Yes, I would use it for nails, but you use it for kneecaps, don't you?'
'No comment.'
'And last night you used it on Harry Jordan's head.'
'Bollocks.'
'No, just his head.' Finnie handed Exhibit A back to DS Pirie. 'You might want to have a wee think about that one, Colin. You see,' and at this the DCI leant over the table and put on a theatrical whisper, 'we have what are known in the trade as witnesses.'
'I…' The big man shied back. 'I never touched him.'
'Three witnesses say different, Colin. Or can I call you Creepy?'
'No you fuckin' can't!' McLeod's face got even uglier. 'I want my lawyer, and I want him right now.'
'Don't be such a drama queen; you know how this works. You get a lawyer when I say so, not before.'
'I NEVER TOUCHED HIM!'
DS Pirie — silent up to this point — leant over and whispered something in Finnie's ear.
The DCI nodded. 'If you never touched him,' he said, 'then why did Forensics find traces of Harry Jordan's blood on your hammer?'
'Told you, it's not my hammer.'
'Did you?' Finnie put on a show of frowning and asking the room, 'Does anyone remember Mr McLeod saying this wasn't his hammer?'
'It's not my-'
Pirie checked his notes. 'Then why does it have your fingerprints all over it?'
'I… I didn't fuckin' kill him!'
'Oh dear,' the DCI had the kind of smile you only normally saw on grizzly bears. 'We've got forensics, we've got witnesses, and thanks to DS McRae,' he pointed over his shoulder at Logan, 'we've got a threatening phone call from the victim on your answering phone. And we all know Harry Jordan beat the crap out of that tart you're soft on. Not bad enough he's renting out the love of your life-'
A knock at the door.
'Oh for…' He glanced back, 'Get that would you, McRae?'
Logan opened the door to find an out of breath PC Karim standing in the corridor. The constable huffed and puffed for a second, then blurted out his news.
They'd found another victim with his eyes gouged out in an abandoned building. Oedipus strikes again.
21
An ambulance sat in the middle of the narrow strip of tarmac that ran between the rows of Lego-brick homes on Burnbank Place, its engine still running as a paramedic in a green jumpsuit argued with the uniformed PC guarding the property. A skip sat by the front door, full of chunks of plaster, an old sink, and a pee-stained mattress.
'You've got to let us in: we need to get him to hospital!'
'I can't, OK? I've-' and then the constable spotted DCI Finnie, marching up the pavement, dragging Logan and DS Pirie in his wake. 'Chief Inspector! They really want to collect the victim and-'
Finnie pushed past him. 'No one in or out till the pathologist gets here.' And then they were inside.
It wasn't a big place, and about as boxy and featureless on the inside as it was on the outside. Like the house in Primrosehill Drive, it was in the process of being refurbished. The walls were stripped back to the bare breezeblocks, the concrete floor covered in dust and bits of plasterboard.
Another PC, presumably the partner of the one standing guard outside, stopped them at the bedroom door. 'We can't just leave the poor bastard here, it's not-'
Finnie waved him into silence. 'Why aren't you wearing an SOC suit? I said I want this treated as a murder scene.'
'He's in pain!'
The DCI stared at him for a moment, then rapped on the top of the PC's head with his knuckles. 'Hello? Hello? Is this thing on? Am I speaking too quickly for your little brain? Get — me — some — SOC — suits. I will not have the scene contaminated any further!'
For a moment, the constable looked as if he was about to introduce his truncheon to a private and internal portion of Finnie's anatomy. Then he gritted his teeth and forced out a, 'Yes, sir.' He was back two minutes later with a small stack of plastic-wrapped suits, a couple of facemasks and a collection of blue plastic overbooties. 'I still think-'
'When you make Sergeant you can think, till then it'd be nice if you could just do what you're bloody well told. Now go help your little friend guard the front door. And let me know the minute the pathologist gets here.' The bedroom was getting crowded. It wasn't the biggest of spaces to begin with, but now that Doc Fraser had arrived, it was even smaller. The old man dumped his medical bag by the doorway and hunkered down next to the body.
'Death been declared?'
Finnie shook his head. 'You said you wanted to see a live one before the hospital got their hands on him.'
'You mean he's…' The pathologist felt for a pulse — and the body on the floor groaned. Doc Fraser stared up at Logan. 'You've got to get those paramedics in here now! This man's-'
'This man,' said the Chief Inspector, 'is the only physical evidence we have. I know it sounds harsh, but we can't afford to just throw that away. Now can you be a team player long enough to examine him, or do I have to get
