Shatter the Bones

want me to … you know.’ He made a gun with his thumb and forefinger.

‘No.’ Logan cleared his throat. ‘He’s under arrest.’

‘You sure? Cos you’ve really kinda fucked him up. What’s going to happen when he’s served his time, eh? You want some junkie scroat bag coming after you?’

Silence.

That’s what had caused this whole mess in the first place. ‘Tell you what.’ Urquhart hunkered down next to Shuggie. ‘Listen up, fuckwit, and listen really good, ’cos if I have to repeat myself, you’re screwed. You do anything to this nice police officer and we’re gonna find you. You’re gonna give yourself up, and you’re gonna cough to whatever he says, and you’re gonna to go to prison and do your time like a good little boy. You so much as whisper “police brutality” and I’ll get some huge bastard to rape your arse ragged, then cut your fucking throat. We clear?’

Shuggie coughed up a mouthful of dark red. ‘I said, are we fucking clear?’

‘Yeth…’ It was little more than a whisper, borne on a bubble of blood.

Urquhart ran a hand through his green hair. ‘Course he’s a junkie, and you know what their word’s worth. Sure you don’t want me to-’

‘No. Just…’ What? Drop him off at the station looking as if he’s been run over by a combine harvester? Take him to the hospital? Anything that ended up with Wee Hamish being connected to Shuggie Webster was eventually going to lead right back to him.

And maybe Logan deserved it.

He peeled off his three layers of gloves. His hands stank of elastic bands, the knuckles tainted deep pink, the skin puffy and tender. ‘I’ll deal with it.’

‘OK.’ Urquhart nudged Shuggie’s crying body with the toe of his boot. ‘You’re a lucky fuck, Shugs. See if you’d set my house on fire?’ A smile. ‘You just remember what I said: one step out of line and…’ he drew a finger across his throat.

Chapter 41

Logan hauled on the handbrake outside Accident and Emergency, pulse rushing and booming in his ears. ‘This is all your own fault. You should’ve turned yourself in when I gave you the sodding chance. You’d still have your fingers, and Samantha wouldn’t…’ He gritted his teeth. Then opened the car door and climbed out into the warm afternoon. ‘Stay here.’

Shuggie sat in the passenger seat, cradling his skinned hand, his face a bubbling mass of raw meat. Tears making clean tracks on his bloody cheeks.

Past the small knot of smokers and in through the automatic doors to A amp;E. There was a herd of wheelchairs just inside — not proper ones, just brown vinyl seats with four little wheels at the end of their legs. Logan grabbed one and performed a seven point turn with the thing, fighting to get it facing the right way.

‘Worse than a wobbly shopping trolley, eh?’ It was the guy from last night: Mop Dude, pushing a buggy loaded with newspapers, crisps, bars of chocolate, and assorted sweeties. There was a little stack of the Evening Express next to the Curlywurlies, ‘SICK COUPLE TRY TO CASH IN ON KIDNAP TRAGEDY’. He nodded. ‘Unbelievable, isn’t it? Got to wonder what’s wrong with some people, you know?’

He flicked a strand of long brown hair away from his face and grinned, the piercing in his nose sparkling in the hospital’s dismal fluorescent lighting. ‘How’s your girlfriend? She doing better?’

Logan looked away. ‘No change.’

‘Aw, man, sorry to hear it. You got some sleep though, yeah?’

‘A bit.’

‘Yeah, those pills are the mutt’s.’ He stared at Logan for a bit, then shook his head. ‘You’re looking kinda pale, man.’

‘Been a tough day.’

A laugh. ‘Tell me about it. Doing double shifts so I can afford T in the Park… Mind you, maybe I should stick it all in that fund for Alison and Jenny. One day to go. Nightmare, eh?’

One of the uniformed officers stationed at the hospital marched out from the reception area, pulling his peaked cap on over his bald patch. ‘Hoi, you with the chair!’ He pointed out through the doors. ‘That your car? You can’t park in an ambulance bay…’

Officer Baldpatch went pink and lowered his hand. ‘Sorry, Sarge; didn’t know it was you.’

Logan gave the wheelie chair a nudge and sent it trundling off towards the car park. ‘Shuggie Webster’s in the passenger seat. He needs a doctor.’

‘Yes, Sarge.’ The constable hurried out after the chair.

Mop Dude cleared his throat. ‘You’re a cop?’

After today, that was debatable. ‘Look … man … about those pills-’

‘Pills? What pills?’ Logan dug a handful of change from his pocket. Karma. ‘Now how much for an Evening Express and a packet of Skittles?’

‘Where’ve you been?’ DI Steel settled onto the end of Logan’s desk, her face creased into a scowl. ‘Ten to six, should be home by now.’

Logan pulled the next sheet of paper from his in-tray and gave it a skim before dumping it in the bin. ‘Hospital.’

‘Aye, I heard. How the hell did you get your hands on Shuggie Webster?’

The next three sheets were e-fits, printed off from the identikit software with no indication of who it was meant to be, who’d done them, or who the witness was. They were part of a little stack of unlawful removal forms and other assorted random gubbins, as if someone had grabbed the lot off the printer without bothering to check what they’d picked up. All of it anonymous. ‘I got a tip-off.’

‘And you thought you’d go after him on your own?’

‘Yup.’ Logan stuck the printouts on his desk — they didn’t even have case numbers. That was the trouble with people nowadays: no pride in their work, and no clue how to do it properly either. Not that he was in a position to hand out lectures on professionalism any more.

‘Laz, you daft sod, you had a bloody firearms team trying to track Shuggie down yesterday. You’re lucky he didn’t beat the shite out of you.’

Yeah… Lucky. ‘I got a tip-off, he came quietly. It was fine.’ Next down were the results of the GSM trace on Shuggie’s mobile phone. Apparently he was in Aberdeen Royal Infirmary.

Logan stuffed the next three reports in the bin. ‘You know anything about a pair of Yardies calling themselves Jacob and Robert?’

‘We had a deal, Laz. Five o’clock — you come home with me and let Susan spoil you.’ Steel picked up the Evening Express he’d bought at the hospital and flicked through it. She sucked on her top lip for a minute, then dumped the open newspaper back on his desk. ‘POLICE HERO IN HOUSE FIRE TRAGEDY.’

She tapped the story with a scarlet-painted nail. ‘Susan’s worried about you.’

Logan chucked a memo from Superintendent Napier in on top of the discarded reports. ‘I’m fine.’

‘No you’re no’.’ The inspector stood. ‘Did you see Samantha?’

Fifteen minutes of sitting at her bedside. Just sitting here, holding her hand and listening to the machinery breathing for her. Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to tell her what he’d done to Shuggie because of her.

She probably wouldn’t have been impressed. ‘…to Planet Laz, come in Planet Laz?’

He blinked. ‘Sorry. Didn’t get much sleep. Finnie about?’ Steel narrowed her eyes. ‘Did you no’ hear a single word I said?’

‘Just got to get something sorted before we go.’ Logan made for the door, but she was blocking the way.

‘Laz, look, I understand it’s-’

‘You do?’ He stared down at her. ‘You understand?’ Sigh. ‘Fuck’s sake, we’ve all-’