Dark Blood

wouldn’t it? It was only for two weeks. DI Harvey, where ‘DI’ stood for Definitely Invisible.

‘And then,’ he told the ceiling tiles, ‘hilarity would ensue.’

Bugger it. He was going to have to tell DCI Finnie.

Logan dragged himself out of the chair, along the corridor, knocked on Finnie’s door, then waited.

‘Enter!’

The Chief Inspector’s office was about twice the size of Steel’s, with a bank of filing cabinets, a huge whiteboard, a couch, two comfy chairs, a big beech desk, a large computer screen, and a frog-faced git.

‘Ah, McRae, to what do I owe the dubious pleasure? Perhaps you’re lost? The Professional Standards office is upstairs. You’re spending so much time up there, I’m thinking of transferring you to their department, then you can give yourself a bollocking every morning and save everyone else a load of time. How does that sound?’

Wanker.

‘Very funny, sir. I’ve just chased up Fraserburgh CID. DI Harvey was stabbed last night and they can’t spare anyone else. To stand in for Steel?’

‘Yes, thank you, Sergeant, I am quite aware what DI Harvey was coming down here to do.’ Finnie sucked at his teeth for a minute, staring at Logan. As if he was thinking about eating him. ‘Tell me, Logan, has DI Steel had a word with you?’

Logan kept his face dead still. ‘About what, sir?’

‘Your attitude, Sergeant.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Finnie leaned forward. ‘And?’

‘We had a full and frank exchange of views.’

‘You know, last year I wouldn’t have hesitated to hand all her cases over to you and make you up to acting inspector. But now…?’

Logan could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. ‘It…I…’ He shut his mouth again, before it got him into any more trouble.

‘I’ve seen people resurrect their careers from worse than this, Logan. Not much worse, but it is possible.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Finnie nodded. Those wide rubbery lips pressed tight together. Watching him.

‘Er, is there something-’

‘You can assist DSI Danby this morning, while I decide what to do about DI Steel’s caseload.’

‘But they’re doing Steve Polmont’s post mortem at-’

‘Mr Polmont will survive without you, Sergeant. Now run along.’

Logan tried not to groan. He really did. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘And Sergeant, please remember that Danby outranks both of us. Try not to do anything too stupid.’

Logan parked the pool car outside Knox’s granny’s house, then pointed at the scabby old Transit van parked down the road with a half-hearted collection of orange plastic cones surrounding a couple of rusty road signs. The Aberdeen City Council crest sat on the side — two leopards holding a shield with three wee sandcastles on it — the sticker cracked and peeling, showing the burgundy paint underneath. ‘That’s the surveillance team.’

Wind battered down the road, whipping the trees and bushes, buffeting the pool car, slamming great icy gobbets of sleet against the windscreen. Quarter to ten on a Sunday morning and the streetlights were still on, their dim orange glow wobbling back and forth in the gusts.

Danby frowned. ‘Better wait till the weather lets up a bit, then we can…’ He trailed off, staring at Logan. ‘What?’

‘This is Aberdeen. Trust me, it’s only going to get worse.’

The DSI sighed, unclipped his seatbelt, counted to three, then opened the door and stepped out into the howling sleet. Logan took a deep breath and followed him, plipping the pool car’s locks as he hurried down the pavement after the limping Danby.

They banged on the council van’s grubby back door, then hauled it open and clambered in without waiting for an answer.

‘Shut the bloody door!’ A red-nosed plainclothes PC was huddled in a mountain of coats and scarves — gloves on his hands, woolly hat on his head.

His partner was fighting with the lid of a tartan thermos.

It wasn’t much warmer in here than it was outside.

Logan wiped the melting sleet from his face. ‘Anything happening?’

‘Sod all.’

The one in all the coats and scarves stuck up his hand. ‘I got frostbite.’

‘Your leg fell asleep, it’s not the same thing.’ PC Thermos gave the top one last twist and the smell of instant coffee drifted out into the van’s interior.

At one point the ancient council van must have been lined with metal shelving, now only the uprights remained, still bolted to the bare walls. The floor was a rust-streaked landscape of bumps, dents, old Burger King wrappers and Coke cans. A portable TV and video recorder sat on top of a stainless steel box, a thick black cable connected to a set of big batteries in the corner, another stretching up the van’s wall and across to a video camera mounted in the air ventilation unit on the roof. Everything held in place with masses of silver duct tape.

Seating was courtesy of a set of green plastic chairs that looked as if they’d been stolen from someone’s patio.

PC Thermos waggled his tartan container. ‘Coffee?’

Danby settled himself down on one of the plastic chairs, stretched his right leg out and rubbed at a spot on his calf, grimacing. ‘Long as it’s hot.’

Logan peered at the little TV — getting a bleary view of Knox’s front garden. ‘So what’s the plan for today then?’

PC Frostbite shrugged. ‘Maybe a barbecue later on, if the weather picks up a bit. Game of tennis on the lawn. Perchance some skinny-dipping in the Don.’ He took a slurp from his coffee. ‘We haven’t quite decided yet, have we Sandy?’

Thermos filled a plastic cup for DSI Danby. ‘Apparently Knox wants to go see his sainted granny’s final resting place. Sacro’s going to drive him, we’ll give them a thirty-second head start, then follow.’

Danby nodded. ‘What about the rest of the surveillance team?’

Thermos looked at Frostbite, then Logan, then back to Danby. Eyebrows squinched together, top lip curled. ‘Erm…we’re it.’

There was a pause. ‘Are you seriously telling me that the best Grampian Police can manage for a level one surveillance is two constables in a crappy old van?’

‘Well, it’s not like we have to keep it low-key, is it? He knows we’re watching him. We don’t need to do the whole line-of-sight-target-handover routine.’

Danby closed his eyes and massaged his big, pink forehead. ‘When’s he going out?’

PC Frostbite checked his watch. ‘About half an hour? Want a biscuit while you wait?’

Fucking Aberdeen. Not even snowing properly yet, and it’s already colder than a witch’s titties. Tony shifts in his seat, wriggles even deeper into his jacket and wishes he’d brought some decent gloves with him. Not just the latex ones that don’t leave any fingerprints. ‘Think I saw a polar bear over there, hiding behind a wheelie bin.’

Julie just smiles at him. She’s got Frank Sinatra on the Range Rover’s stereo. Old-fashioned shite warbled by some Mafia stooge. Whatever happened to proper music, eh? Bit of Coldplay, or Travis, or James Blunt: something with a decent tune.

But it keeps her happy, so they put up with it.

Neil turns round in the driver’s seat. ‘Yeah, but look on the bright side.’ He points through the windscreen at where Danby and some local plod from CID are clambering out of a maroon piece-of-shit Transit van. ‘Now we know where the surveillance is on Knox’s place. One council van and two cameras covering the front. Long as we go