Shatter the Bones

the sour, cloying smell of burnt carpet.

He started in the lounge. No need for a crime scene walkway in here — everything that mattered had happened in the hall. The TV was a hollow skeleton of metal struts, the plastic casing melted away, the CRT screen shattered. CDs lay heaped in the corner where the shelving unit had collapsed, grimy silver disks glittering like discarded fish scales. The bay window was just a collection of empty, scorched frames, all the glass long missing.

The kitchen was a mess, all the units stained with soot, the fridge-freezer door cracked and part- melted.

But the bedroom was worse. The mattress was a pile of ash and springs in a sagging metal frame. Chunks of ceiling had come down, and only two sides of the tipped-over wardrobe remained.

Logan wiped a gloved hand across his eyes. Swallowed hard. Then stepped over to the shattered window.

Three floors down, the flat roof still had its dusting of underwear snow, Samantha’s boots, ball gown, and corset lying twisted and empty.

He stood there, staring down at the hole she’d made with her falling body.

Fucking Shuggie Webster… No matter what happened, the doped-up junky bastard deserved everything he was going to get. Every single last fucking-

A hand on Logan’s shoulder made him flinch. ‘You OK? You’ve been standing there for about fifteen minutes.’ It sounded like Elaine Drever, but with all the SOC gear on it was difficult to tell.

‘Can you…’ He pointed down at Samantha’s things. ‘I don’t … want people…’

‘I’ll take care of it. Get it all bagged up for you.’ The rumpled figure sighed. ‘I know you don’t want to hear it, but if you’d stayed in here, we’d be digging your bodies out of the rubble. It doesn’t take a lot of smoke to kill someone. You did the right thing.’

Tell that to Samantha.

The head of the IB patted his shoulder. ‘Got one bit of good news for you though — come see.’

She led him out and across the landing to the other top floor flat. Logan’s front door was propped up against the wall, the paint on one side all blistered and peeling, pristine Saltire blue on the other. The little brass plaque engraved with, ‘LOGAN AND SAMANTHA’S SECRET HIDEOUT’ shone in the sunlight, but the letterbox was covered with a thin film of fingerprint powder.

‘Like I said, our arsonist waited too long to light the petrol. So he was standing right in front of the door when, boooooom!’ She did the thing with her hands again. ‘Right off its hinges. Must have hit him like a battering ram. Force of the blast threw him across the landing, slamming him back against your neighbour’s door. Probably hurt like hell.’

‘Good.’

‘That’s not the best bit.’ She pointed at the exterior side of the door. ‘When it hit him, it cracked his head against the paintwork. You see here?’ She pointed with a purple-gloved finger at a small matt patch on the blue gloss surface. ‘That was his cheek, and this…’ She described an oval with her fingertip, just left of the smudge. ‘Looks like we’ve got sputum, and maybe some tiny drops of blood. Incredibly lucky: normally when you get a big blaze like this the fire brigade sod-up all our evidence. All that water hits the flames, you get huge plumes of steam, and any DNA gets cooked to oblivion.’

Samantha’s boss smiled. ‘Because it got blown across the hallway — and the outside surface’s facing away from the fire — it’s been protected from the heat and the worst of the water. I think we’re going to get DNA.’

Logan tried to force some enthusiasm into his voice. ‘That’s great.’

‘Don’t you worry: we’ll catch them, whoever they are.’

‘I know you will.’

But right now Shuggie Webster had better be praying Grampian Police got there before he did.

‘What on earth do you think you’re doing here?’ DCI Finnie stood in the doorway to Logan’s office/building site, fists on his hips. ‘You should be home resting…’ Pink rushed up Finnie’s jowly cheeks. ‘I mean … not home, but… You know what I mean.’

He stepped into the gloomy room and closed the door behind him. ‘Seriously, Logan, you shouldn’t be here. You’ve had a horrible shock and-’

‘I’m fine. Really. I appreciate the concern, but if I sit about for much longer-’

You’re on compassionate leave. And that’s an order.’

‘I don’t want-’

‘An order, do you hear me?’ Finnie perched himself on the edge of the desk. ‘Come on, Logan, be sensible. You know you can’t have anything to do with the arson investigation. It’s-’

‘I’m not. Look,’ Logan turned the monitor screen around, and pointed at the spreadsheet, ‘I’m going over the Trisha Brown case. I’m not going anywhere near the fire. I want whoever did it caught and banged up; I’m not going to screw up the prosecution by giving the defence a conflict of interest to scream about. I just need…’ He rubbed a hand across his forehead. ‘I just need something to keep busy with. I can’t sit about in the dark worrying about Samantha any more. It’s driving me mental.’

Finnie sighed. ‘Logan-’

‘I can keep reviewing the McGregor case too. It’s belt and braces stuff, nothing that’s going to get in anyone’s way.’

The head of CID pinched up his face. ‘I understand your need to be doing something, but-’

The door banged open. ‘Are you no’ right in the sodding head?’ Steel marched into the room, waving a rolled-up newspaper like it was a machete. ‘You nearly died last night!’

‘I didn’t-’

‘I was just telling Sergeant McRae he-’

‘Oh no you bloody don’t.’ She turned on Finnie and poked him in the shoulder with her newspaper. ‘I don’t care how short staffed you are, he’s going home. What the hell’s wrong with you?’

Finnie bristled. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, did I somehow give you the impression I was running a democracy here? I don’t need your permission to decide who can and can’t come to work, understand?’

Wonderful. Logan scrubbed a hand across his eyes, rubbing them until little yellow dots sparked in the darkness. ‘I’m fine, I just need-’

‘Andy, for Christ sake, his girlfriend’s lying up in intensive care. In a sodding coma!’

‘I am well aware what the situation-’

‘Then do something about it! Send him home! He can crash at my place, Susan’ll look after him.’ Another poke. ‘Don’t be a prick all your life!’

Finnie’s eyes went wide, fists trembling at his sides. ‘That’s enough! If you ever speak to me like that again, you’re going to be on a disciplinary charge, do you understand?’

‘You’re no’ being-’

‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND?’ Spittle flying everywhere. Steel’s chin came up, pulling the wattle of skin beneath it taut. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘DS McRae,’ Finnie shot a finger in Logan’s direction, ‘you will not go anywhere near the arson investigation. You will confine yourself to Trisha Brown’s disappearance and reviewing the McGregor investigation, is that in any way too vague and fuzzy for you?’

Logan shook his head. ‘No, sir.’

‘If I find you even thinking about interfering: you’re out of here.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Finnie glowered at Steel a moment longer, then turned and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Pause.

Steel let out a huge hissing breath, then sagged against the plastic covered wall. ‘Oh thank God… Thought the rubber-faced bastard was going to fire me for a minute there.’ She pulled out her e-cigarette and took a deep