before slicing the sleeve open with a scalpel, then did the same with the jumper and checked shirt underneath. The arm had that familiar mouldy cooked look, but where the nails went in the skin was darker.
She prodded at the base of one metal spike. ‘Signs of bruising…these were inserted before death. And do you see where some have obviously been removed?’ Pointing at a blackened hole in Polmont’s arm.
Logan nodded. ‘He was tortured.’
Isobel called for a set of pliers and eased one of the nails free, then held it up like a tiny Excalibur. ‘Four-inch wire nail, probably from a nail gun. Going by the diameter it’s probably the same thing that made the holes in the palm.’
Behind them, someone said, ‘Maybe he was crucified?’
Logan froze. Sodding hell — Steel.
He turned and there she was, standing less than a foot away, staring at him over her mask. A large figure in an SOC suit pushed through the flaps of the makeshift mortuary, limping slightly. That would be Danby. The big Geordie took up position at the head of the slab.
Steel grabbed Logan’s arm. ‘Sergeant McRae, can I have a wee word? Outside?’
‘I thought you were on holiday?’
Outside, the cash-and-carry car park was almost deserted, just the little cluster of IB vehicles, Logan’s manky brown Fiat, a pool car, and a fat man loading crates of tins into a mobile burger van — shoulders hunched against the sleet.
Steel ripped her mask off. ‘Tell me, Sergeant, was it too much to hope you bunch of dicks could get along without me for two sodding weeks?’ Her face had an unnatural orange-brown tint to it, like she’d been smearing Marmite into her skin.
‘I didn’t-’
‘WAS IT?’ The inspector turned her back and marched over to a row of oversized shopping trolleys and kicked one. ‘Susan’s spitting fucking nails. Crying. Shouting. Making my life a bloody misery because we’re
Logan took a step back. ‘Then why-’
‘But where am I? Here: in fucking Aber-fucking-deen because
‘But-’
‘Couldn’t cover for that prick Harvey from Fraserburgh CID for another sodding hour, could you? We were in the airport: forty minutes more and we’d’ve been on the fucking plane!’ Steel dug a bundle of paper from her pocket and hurled it at him. Passports, e-tickets, and boarding passes bounced off his SOC suit, fluttering down to the sleet-puddled tarmac.
He watched a duty free receipt flutter away on a gust of wind. ‘Fuck you.’
She froze, eyes bugging. ‘How dare-’
‘I didn’t stab the bastard, did I? You gave me all that shit yesterday about not being a team player and soon as I follow the rules, you throw a hissy fit?’
‘You can’t-’
‘What was I supposed to do: kid-on he’d turned up?’ Getting louder, shouting in her face. ‘And what about you? You could’ve told Finnie to get stuffed, but you didn’t, did you? No, you came trotting back here like a good little girl.’
‘I didn’t-’
‘So don’t blame me because Susan’s pissed off. You had your chance and screwed it up.’
She stood there, scowling at him. ‘I had a sodding bikini wax.’
Logan threw his hands in the air. ‘Then go on bloody holiday! Tomorrow: go to the airport and turn your phone
The word ‘tits’ echoed around the car park. The big man stopped in the middle of loading a box of burger buns to stare at them.
DI Steel slumped back against the cash-and-carry wall and hauled at the crotch of her trousers. ‘How am I supposed to tell Finnie to go screw himself if my phone’s turned off?’
Logan picked up the soggy bits of paper. ‘So…Susan’s really pissed off?’
‘Oh Jesus, like you wouldn’t believe.’ Steel sagged even further. ‘Last chance we had to go on holiday too: leave it any longer and the airlines get all wanky about pregnant women flying. Scared she’ll give birth in cattle class, and they’ll have to give the sprog free flights for life.’
‘Thought that was an urban myth.’
He wiped the gritty ice from a burgundy passport, then handed everything back.
Steel sniffed. ‘You know, we’ve no’ had sex in months.
‘Ow! For your information, you
She shrugged and peered out at the dreich afternoon. ‘Aye, well if your bloody sailors had been any good they would have taken the first time.’
Mr Burger-Van loaded three cases of Diet Coke, then slammed the van’s doors shut, abandoned his trolley in the middle of the car park, and drove off.
‘Lazy bugger.’ Steel had another dig at her parts. ‘You any idea how much it hurts to get a full Brazilian?’
‘What’s Danby doing here?’
‘Only did it cos Susan thinks it’s sexy…’ Scratch, rummage, fiddle.
‘Will you stop doing that!’
‘Itchy.’ She shivered. ‘Bloody freezing too.’
‘He just seems to be taking a lot of interest in Polmont. First the journals, now the PM…?’
Steel pulled out a packet of cigarettes, offered one to Logan, then lit them both. ‘The Ice Queen find anything we can pin on someone yet?’
‘He was tortured with a nail gun, then buried alive.’
‘Poor bugger…Anything else?’
‘Bite marks on his arms and neck. Look like dog.’
The inspector dug her hands deep into her armpits. ‘So we’re looking for a big violent bastard with a huge dog, and access to the building site. Think, think, think.’
Logan nodded. ‘I chased up the lookout request on Andrew Connelly — nothing yet. Lothian and Borders are keeping an eye open, just in case he really
‘Warrant?’
‘PF says we don’t have enough for an arrest. If they can get DNA off the body that matches Connelly or his dog-’
‘Whatever happened to the good old days, when you could just kick someone’s door in and beat a confession out of them?’ She smoked in silence for a minute. ‘What about those journals?’
‘Still working on them.’
‘Right.’ She ground her cigarette out against the cash-and-carry wall. ‘I’m taking over here. You go through that stuff we got from Polmont’s flat.’
Steel turned and hobbled back towards the door.
‘But-’
‘Team player, remember? And do something about your jewellery heist. I’m no’ running a holiday camp here.’
