Dark Blood

the hip since you did over that Post Office in Leith.’

Steel nodded. ‘Very romantic.’

Sniff. ‘Never seen him before in my life.’

Steam was starting to rise off of Logan’s trousers. ‘Where’s Andrew Connelly? Big bald bloke with a huge dog? Supposed to be your boss?’

Gallagher stared at him with one blue eye. ‘I only stopped here to ask directions. Never seen any of these guys before in-’

‘Your life, aye, we get it.’ Steel stood. ‘This mercenary wee shite’s no’ going to tell us anything. Get his arse back to the station.’

It took four burly police officers, their van, a tow rope, and a lot of swearing to get Logan’s battered Fiat out of the ditch. It thumped down on the snowy track, and the front bumper fell off, the bonnet flapping open and closed like the car was laughing at him.

‘Fucking hell…’ Logan stared at the buckled mess.

The lead firearms officer patted him on the shoulder, grinning. ‘It was a mercy killing.’

‘Bugger off, Russell.’

Russell waved at the rest of his team. ‘We’ll drag it back to the farm, you can give it a decent burial later.’

Logan hauled open the driver’s door and threw the dented bumper into the back, then stood there, looking down at the keys, still dangling from the ignition. He reached in and gave them a twist.

The Fiat’s starter motor made whining, gurning noises.

‘God, you’re hopeful, aren’t you?’ Russell blew into his hands. ‘Come on, give it up. Ambulance needs-’

The engine spluttered, then gave a painful growl.

‘Bloody hell.’ The firearms officer stepped back, and threw his arms in the air, spotlit by the Fiat’s one remaining headlight. ‘IT’S ALIVE! ALIVE!’

Logan stared at him. ‘You’re a dick, you know that, Russell, don’t you?’

34

Logan pushed through the flat’s front door, into the scent of garlic, herbs and cheese. He banged the snow off his feet, took off his shoes, and padded through into the lounge. His head was pounding — they’d had to tie the resurrected Fiat’s bonnet down with hairy string and nearly a whole roll of silver duct tape, driving it back to town in the rattling growl of a broken exhaust. ‘God what a day…’

Samantha looked up from the couch, then away again. She was wearing her pink fluffy robe again, red-and- black stripy socks sticking out of the end. Her nose was deep pink, eyes too. ‘What happened to you?’

‘Raid out by Balmedie — someone got shot.’

‘I waited for you.’

‘Did you?’ He peeled off his jacket. ‘Were we going…’ He stopped.

Samantha sniffed. ‘I can’t do this any more.’

Pause. ‘Do what?’

‘This.’ She waved a hand, staring at the blank TV screen. ‘Playing the tart. Being the good little woman. Never rocking the boat.’

‘Playing the-’

‘Do you have any idea how difficult this is? Watching you destroy yourself. Trying not to say anything. Living with your constant-’

‘Where the hell’s this coming from?’ Logan dumped his jacket on the back of the couch.

‘When was the last time you came home and said something positive? About anything?’

‘Someone rammed my car with a Transit van! What am I supposed to say, “everything’s fucking peachy”?’

She wiped her sleeve across her face. ‘I can’t…’ Stood. Turned to march out of the room.

Logan grabbed her. ‘What happened?’

She wouldn’t look at him. ‘I can’t be your security blanket any more. It’s too much.’

‘I don’t need a security-’

‘Just stop it.’ Samantha placed two hands on his chest and shoved him away. She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

‘Oh for fuck’s…Samantha!’ Logan followed her through to the bedroom. She was stuffing clothes in a holdall.

‘Can we at least talk about it?’

‘What’s to talk about?’ She rammed a pair of black leather pants in the bag, voice clipped and angry. ‘You’re going to be a father. You’ll have a family. What the hell do you need me for?’

‘What do I need…? I don’t love Steel, or Susan. OK? I love you. I don’t want-’

‘Then why is it always me? Why do I always have to be the one who suggests sex? Why do you never want me?’

‘I do! I’m just…Bloody hell.’ The phone was ringing, a handset warbling away on top of the bedside cabinet. ‘I’m trying to-’

She pushed past, back out into the hall.

‘Samantha, it’s not…’ Through into the lounge again. ‘Will you stand still for two minutes?’

She grabbed a handful of CDs from the pile by the TV. ‘When you figure out what you want you can call me.’

‘I want you!’

The ringing stopped and the answering machine picked up: Logan telling whoever it was to leave a message.

DI Steel’s voice growled out of the speakers. ‘Laz?’

‘I’m sorry, OK? I’m just…everything’s screwed up and I don’t…’

‘Laz, I know you’re there — pick up the bloody phone!’

He reached for her. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

‘Don’t make me send someone round!’

Samantha wiped her eyes again. ‘You’re supposed to know.’

‘Laz?’

‘I didn’t. I’m sorry.’ This time, when he held her, she didn’t push him away. ‘Stay, OK?’

‘Laz, I’m serious!’

Samantha sighed. Looked away. ‘Go on then. Answer it.’

‘Screw her, it’s-’

‘You know what the old bag’s like — she’ll just keep ringing and ringing till you do.’

Logan snatched the phone out of its cradle. ‘Are there no other bloody police officers in Aberdeen you can annoy?’

‘Get your arse back to the station. Someone’s set fire to Knox’s house.’

There was something strangely comforting about watching a house burning in the middle of a snowstorm. Choking black smoke curled up to meet the low clouds: the sharp smell of bubbling plastics, the soft edge of charring wood. Up close, the snow had melted away, beaten back by the blistering heat, but that didn’t stop more from whipping down from the February night sky.

Logan sidled up next to DI Steel. Her face was all pink and shiny and she’d put on a thick, padded parka, the front unzipped and pulled wide while she sipped at a polystyrene cup of something brown. ‘Hope you brought some marshmallows.’

‘Fire Chief says it’d be out already if it wasn’t for the wind. At least they’ve managed to stop it spreading.’