Dark Blood

hand across the bald patch at the back of his head. ‘Then there’s the secret phone calls. Cryptic messages on the machine.’

‘Well…maybe…’ Logan blew a breath at the ceiling. Searching. ‘Maybe you should talk to her?’

A short, bitter laugh. ‘What if she says “yes”? I can’t-’

‘God, you’re a happy looking pair of monkeys.’

Logan looked up to see Samantha standing over him, carrying a tray of wax-paper cups and tinfoil parcels. She slid the tray onto the table, then plonked herself down in the seat opposite.

Today’s outfit was black jeans, black boots, and a black hoodie top over a Ragamuffin T-shirt, her scarlet hair sticking out at improbable angles. Her smile looked forced, the cheerful voice a little strained. As if she was trying too hard. ‘So come on, what’s up? Did naughty Mrs Steel touch you two and make you feel dirty?’

Bob patted her hand. ‘Sammy, my dear, if you ever get tired of this pudding-faced loser, I’ll happily abandon the wife and kids for you. OK, so I’m not the prettiest, but I make up for it with an unfeasibly large dick and ear-breathing techniques.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ She stole a scoof of Logan’s coffee. ‘Urgh, that’s cold. Listen, I got the results back on that second batch of forged notes you dropped off. Fingerprints aren’t up to much, but if you can get me a printing press I can match the ink.’

‘If I ever come up with a suspect I’ll let you know.’

Samantha sat back. ‘Boy, you do have a dose of the dark-and-moodies, don’t you?’

‘Been one of those days…’ Mistake.

When was the last time you came home and said something positive?

He cleared his throat. ‘Well, it’s…you know.’ He tried a smile. ‘This Knox thing’s just getting to me a bit.’

Bob held out his tea again. ‘Welcome to the World’s a Bag of Shite Club.’

‘No thanks, I’m what you’d call a happy-go-lucky kind of goth.’ She stood and picked up her tray again.

‘If it makes you feel any better, I hear on the grapevine that our home-grown counterfeit twenties are being spotted as far away as Carlisle. Who says local business can’t make a difference?’

Great, so now Cumbria Constabulary would be moaning to Aberdeen’s Chief Constable, who’d pass it on, till it dolloped onto Logan’s head in a great steaming pile. Hurrah.

‘God…Now you look even worse.’ A frown creased her forehead, making the piercing in her eyebrow sparkle. ‘Listen, Knox escaping: it wasn’t your fault.’

‘Doesn’t help Harry Weaver, though, does it? Poor bastard was tied to the bed, beaten and raped.’

‘No he wasn’t.’

‘I was there, I saw him. Covered in burns and bites and-’

‘No, I mean he wasn’t raped. They did the tests up at the hospital and it came back negative. No semen, no lubricant, no anal bruising. Looks like your boy Knox couldn’t get it up. Probably explains why he went to town on the burning and biting.’

Bob held up a finger. ‘Maybe it’s because Harry Weaver wasn’t old enough? Knox likes oldies, yes?’

Samantha reached out, grabbed Bob’s finger, and pulled. ‘Got to go.’ Then ran away, giggling.

Logan shrank back as the smell of rotten eggs wafted out from under the table. ‘Bob! You dirty-’

The canteen doors banged open. DI Beattie stormed in, paused for a second, then bellowed, ‘MCRAE! MY OFFICE! NOW!’

39

Finnie was already in there, sitting in one of the visitor’s chairs, thumbing away at his BlackBerry as Logan stepped into Beattie’s office, still carrying his mug of coffee.

The bearded DI stomped round behind the desk and sat, glowering. ‘Well?’

Logan stared back at him. ‘Well what?’

‘Sergeant McRae.’ Finnie slipped his little email/phone thing back in its leather case. ‘Tell me, did I imagine it, or did we not have a talk about being a team player?’

‘No, you got Steel to do it.’

The head of CID raised an eyebrow and pursed those thick rubbery lips. ‘I see…Tell me, Sergeant, do you have some sort of alternative definition of the term “Team Player?” In the wonderful world of Logan McRae, does it mean something entirely different? Hmm?’

Logan folded his arms. ‘What’s he told you?’

‘Don’t you dare!’ Beattie thumped a fist on the desktop. ‘The counterfeit goods were my case, and you damn well knew it. I spent a lot of time and effort putting that meeting together yesterday, and what do I find when I come in this morning? You arrested someone last night — you had a suspect the whole time and didn’t even bother telling me!’

‘Is that it? You didn’t arrange a bloody thing yesterday, I had to set it all up.’

‘That’s not-’

‘All you did was turn up with that awful PowerPoint presentation and make an idiot of yourself!’

Beattie went pink, trembled, then turned to Finnie. ‘You see what I have to put up with?’

‘Oh, grow up.’

The DI jumped to his feet. ‘Don’t you tell me to grow up! I am your superior officer, and it’s about time you bloody learned that!’

Finnie steepled his fingers and tapped them against his chin. ‘Well, Sergeant?’

‘No. You know what? I’m sick and tired of being a chewtoy in this sodding department. You want to know why I didn’t tell you about Gallagher and Yates? Ask Steel, she was down as SIO last night — go bust her hump for a change!’

There was silence.

Beattie: ‘I demand that Sergeant McRae-’

Finnie: ‘That’s hardly-’

Logan: ‘Blow it out your-’

‘Hoy!’ Steel stood in the doorway, mobile phone clamped to her chest. ‘Keep it down, some of us are trying to work here.’ She nodded at Finnie. ‘Morning, Guv, nice tie: didn’t know the circus was in town. You’ll no’ mind if I borrow McRae here, will you? Need him for the Knox media briefing.’

‘But…With…’ Spittle fell into Beattie’s beard. ‘This is exactly what I’m talking-’

‘I’ll leave you to it.’ She grabbed Logan by the sleeve and hauled him out of the office, closing the door behind them.

‘…always have to be such a pain in the arse?’ Logan feathered the brakes, turning the CID pool car into the entrance to Cairnview Terrace. The road was like glass — all that water the Fire Brigade pumped into the place had frozen overnight, covering the tarmac in a thick layer of ice.

‘Give it a rest, eh? Doing my head in.’ Sitting in the passenger seat, Steel stared out of the window. ‘Are detective sergeants this bad down in Newcastle?’

‘Always.’ Danby’s deep, bass rumble filled the car from the back. ‘What about the CCTV cameras?’

‘Don’t ask. Bloody things were meant to be installed before Knox moved in. “Technical difficulties” my fruit- flavoured arsehole. Idiots in the surveillance van weren’t much better — thing was parked the wrong way round. Knox probably walked right past them, and they never even blinked. Should’ve heard the bollocking they got; thought one of them was going to cry.’

The song on the radio ended, and the DJ announced that the news was coming right up, after these messages.

Danby drummed his fingers on the back of Logan’s seat. ‘Search teams?’

‘Somewhere between sod and bugger all. Got lookout requests on the go with every force in the UK, emailed posters to every port, airport and bus terminal…’ Steel shrugged. ‘I’m no’ holding my breath, though. If our wee raping tossbag’s sitting on X-million quid’s worth of gangster’s money he’ll be away on a fake passport to the Costa del Pervert by now.’