Dark Blood

somewhere underneath the little Formica desk.

Butler fumbled with the remote, and the image on the screen froze: Henderson’s the Jewellers in glorious black-and-white.

A woman stood by a display stand of porcelain figurines, a small boy clutching at the hem of her skirt. A shop assistant slouched behind a long glass counter. A lumpy man was halfway across the shop floor, flat cap on his head, pushing one of those mountain-bike-style strollers — all chrome and big chunky wheels. He had a little child strapped into the seat, wearing a knitted bobble hat, sooking on the floppy ear of a cuddly bunny.

They didn’t exactly look like a crack team of armed robbers.

Logan put a hand over the mouthpiece of his phone as Steel ranted away.

‘…is it no’ bad enough I’ve got idiots like Beattie to deal with, without…’

He pointed at the screen. ‘This digital, or DVD?’

Butler shook her head. ‘Tape.’

‘…show some sodding responsibility for your actions? And another thing…’

That meant the image probably wouldn’t be good enough to enhance beyond an indistinct blur. ‘OK, let it play again.’

The man stepped up to the counter, head down — looking at the shiny things arrayed beneath the glass. He’d been in the shop two minutes now and the camera still hadn’t got a decent shot of his face.

There was a moment’s silence from the phone, then, ‘McRae! Are you listening to me?’

‘Uh-huh.’

Logan tapped the screen again. ‘Look at the front door.’

‘I swear to God I’m going to snap my foot off in your arse if you don’t start…’

Butler leaned in closer, face screwed up. ‘What?’

‘Bottom right corner. He’s dropped something where the door meets the jam, so it won’t shut all the way.’

‘…bastard Beattie: see how you like that!’

The man pointed at something glittering away beneath the counter’s glass surface, and the shop assistant nodded. She undid some sort of catch, then opened the back of the display, pulling out a black velvet tray. There was no audio, everything happening in complete silence.

Outside the shop window a bus juddered past. The time stamp in the corner of the screen read ‘09:14’.

‘…bloody solicitors crawling up my…’

The assistant held up one of the items from the tray.

The man in the flat cap nodded, then reached into his long black overcoat.

PC Butler smiled. ‘See, told you.’

The sledgehammer was about half the length it should have been, but that didn’t stop it shattering the glass counter top into a million glittering fragments. Another swing and the cash register went flying. Another, and a display case exploded. A silent ballet of destruction.

‘…should know better by now! Honestly, you’re no’ a child so stop acting…’

The woman in the corner scurried back against the wall, hauling her little boy with her. Mouth open. Screaming.

‘…your own. That what you want?’

The man hoisted the sledgehammer over his head and brought it crashing down, double handed, into the counter again. The flat cap went flying, exposing a swath of bald head hiding beneath a thin comb-over.

‘…but no, you have to play the bloody idiot…’

A scramble of black gloves through the wreckage, stuffing rings and bracelets and necklaces and bits of broken glass into his pockets, then the flat cap was snatched up and rammed down on the balding head again. Not once had he looked at the camera.

The man backed away through the open door, pulling the stroller with him, and-

Logan sat forward and poked the screen. ‘There: the cuddly rabbit.’

The little kid in the stroller must have lost its grip, because the rabbit went tumbling to the glass-strewn shop floor. Bounced once. Then lay there.

‘The kid was sooking on it, we’ll be able to get DNA from the saliva.’

Butler stared at him. ‘The kid didn’t rob the shop, it was-’

‘You don’t hold up a jewellers with someone else’s kid, do you? What sort of crappy babysitter would that be? It’s his. Or maybe a grandchild, but it’s definitely related. We’ll get a familial DNA match.’ Logan sat back in his seat, pleased with himself. ‘Get round there and pick up…’

He drifted to a halt, then swore as a hand reached back into the shop from outside and grabbed the fallen bunny. Then kicked away whatever had been keeping the door ajar, allowing it to finally clunk shut.

So much for that.

And then Logan realized Steel had stopped ranting in his ear. ‘Inspector?’ Silence. ‘Hello?’ He looked at the phone’s display. She’d hung up.

Couldn’t have been that important then.

Logan sat back in his seat, tapping the mobile against his chin. ‘There’s something not right about this.’

He told Butler to wind the tape back to the start, then sat and watched everything unfold again. ‘See, he blocks the door from closing, so he obviously knows the first thing jewellery shops do is trip the silent alarm. Bang, all the exits lock till the police turn up. But when he does the smash and grab, he goes for sparkly, worthless crap…’

PC Butler shrugged. ‘Maybe he watches too much telly? CSI, The Bill, that kind of thing?’

‘Could be. Get the shop assistant in front of an e-fit artist, maybe we can-’

BANG. The viewing room door flew open, and there she was: DI Steel, face flushed, teeth gritted. ‘You!’ She threw a finger in Logan’s direction. ‘Where the bloody hell do you think you’ve been?’

Butler shrank in her seat, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

Logan opened his mouth, but Steel wasn’t finished yet.

‘Interview room three, now.’

‘But-’

‘NOW!’

‘The treatment of my client has been appalling!’ The little man shifted in his seat and poked the tabletop with a finger. ‘It’s an absolute outrage!’

Sitting next to him, Douglas Walker was a mass of bruises and misery. He cleared his throat, but the lawyer placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘It’s all right, Mr Walker, I’ll deal with this.’ The little man glared at Logan, the strip light shining back off his little round glasses and bald head. ‘You held my client for hours, without any sort of formal charge, then you forced him to submit to interview without legal representation!’

Logan stared at him in silence for a while. Jumped-up baldy little git. All squint teeth and Armani suit. DI Steel was slouched against the side wall, scowling, playing the disapproving senior officer. Making sure he didn’t duck out of being shouted at by Douglas Walker’s brief.

‘Well?’ The lawyer poked the table again. ‘We demand an immediate apology and an independent investigation into your-’

‘You’ve not done a lot of criminal work, have you, Mr…?’

The little man flushed, pulled out a business card and slapped it down in front of Logan. ‘Barrett. Of McGilvery, Barrett, and McGilvery. And I suggest-’

‘What are you: friend of the family? I bet you normally do conveyancing, don’t you? Maybe a few wills every now and then to keep your hand in. But mostly it’s the legal side of buying and selling properties, right?’

‘What does that-’

‘So basically, you’re just a glorified estate agent.’

‘How dare-’

‘You see, if you knew anything about criminal law, you’d know we can question your client as often as we like