Shatter the Bones

‘I said, do you want to kiss your daughter good night?’

‘Oh, er… yeah. Sure.’ He stood and planted a little kiss on the top of her head. Steel was right — Jasmine smelt like she’d been rolling around in something brown and sticky. ‘Sweet dreams.’

‘Say nighty-night to Daddy, Jasmine.’ Susan took hold of a little chubby wrist and waved it at Logan. ‘He gave your mummies a little tub of wriggly sperm, so doctors could put you in my tummy.’

‘Do you have to do that every single time I come round?’ Susan laughed. ‘Could you be any more uncomfortable?’ He could feel the blush crawling up his neck. ‘So…’ He went back to the TV. ‘Do you really watch this rubbish all the time?’

‘I know.’ Susan laughed, Jasmine cradled against her chest making big wet- mouthed yawns. ‘You get used to it.’

‘Whisky helps.’ Steel finished her glass. ‘Tell you, half the sodding licence fee must go on heroin and tequila.’

‘…movement out the back. Hang on…’ There was a pause, then the harsh whisper came from the Airwave handset again. ‘Nah, you’re OK — just a cat.’

Logan propped the lumpy grey rectangle against the vase of daffodils on the breakfast bar, then turned the volume up.

‘Jesus, that’s no’ a cat, it’s a fucking tiger! Did you see the size of its-’

‘All right, settle down.’ DI Bell sounded as if he was eating something. ‘Timecheck: oh two-fi fty. We are live in ten. Teams Two and Three, take up positions.’

Logan glanced at the clock on the cooker: nearly five minutes fast. The room was bathed in the pale orange glow of the overcast sky, the back garden a jungle of silhouettes and shadows through the window. He filled the kettle, then poured half of it out, before sticking it on to boil. The growing rumble drowned out the babble on his Airwave handset as DI Bell got his firearms team into place.

Mug. Teabag. Boiling water. Milk-

The kitchen burst into sudden brightness.

Logan screwed his eyes up, peering through the glare. Steel was standing in the doorway, wearing a pair of tartan pyjamas, clutching a brass poker like a baseball bat.

‘Christ’s sake, Laz, thought you were burglars.’ Her hair looked as if she’d lent it out to a colony of howler monkeys. She flicked the light off again. ‘Couldn’t sleep?’

He fished the teabag out and dumped it in the bin. ‘Kind of.’ DI Bell: ‘And we’re live in fi ve. Everyone where they’re meant to be?’

Steel sighed. ‘What’s going on?’

‘You want tea?’

‘Peppermint. What’s going on?’

‘Team One, ready to rock.’

‘Team Two, readiness: we has it.’

‘Logan?’

‘Team Three, good to go.’

‘Team Four, hot to trot.’

He rinsed the teaspoon under the cold tap. ‘Ding-Dong’s raiding the Yardies’ flat in Kittybrewster.’

‘Aye, I gathered that. What I want to know is why you’re down here keeping tabs on it, and no’ upstairs in your beddie-byes.’

Logan placed Steel’s tea on the breakfast bar, the smell of mint curling through the air, the little paper tag dangling over the side of the mug like the tail on a herbal tampon. ‘Told you: couldn’t sleep.’

She hauled a stool out and settled down opposite. ‘Do I look like a sodding idiot?’

‘Here we go: five, four, three, two, one. Do it.’

The bang and crack of a Big Red Door Key smashing into wood crackled out of the handset.

Steel’s eyes narrowed to wrinkly slits. ‘You think they’re the ones who torched your house, don’t you?’

‘I didn’t-’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Laz — do you never bloody listen? Finnie’ll do his nut when he finds out!’ She buried her head in her hands. ‘Why did I let that wee jobbie Rennie talk me into helping you come back to work today?’

Logan stared out of the window. There was a hollow-eyed face staring back at him. ‘I couldn’t get them on my own. Not both of them…’

‘So what, you thought Finnie would let you grab an MP5 and go shoot the wee buggers?’ She looked up. ‘What about Shuggie Webster?’

The ghost in the glass shrugged. ‘I don’t think I want to be a police officer any more.’

‘Fuck’s sake, Laz. Are you the one beat the poor sod up?’

‘I…’ He rubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘It’s…’

‘You bloody idiot! Soon as they question him, he’ll land you in it. Do you no’ remember what happened to Insch? They’ll lock you up, you daft bastard.’

‘Probably. Maybe. I don’t know.’ There was nothing funny about it, but Logan couldn’t help laughing, just a little bit, the sound bitter and cold. ‘Might not be a bad idea.’

Steel hunched over her mug. ‘I can’t get you out of this one. I mean … fucking hell, Laz.’

‘I know.’

‘ON THE FLOOR! ON THE FLOOR NOW!’

They both turned and looked at the handset. ‘You sure they’re the ones who torched your flat?’

‘Find out soon enough.’

She sighed. ‘Then what? You go for them in the cells? Get yourself up on a couple of murders as well as the assault? You really think that’s what Samantha wants?’

‘What would you do if someone tried to kill Susan, or Jasmine? Bake them a cake?’

‘GOOD. NOW MOVE AND I’LL BLOW YOUR ARSE OFF!’

‘I’d…’ She fiddled with her mug, making it click against the working surface. ‘Doesn’t make you any less of a daft bastard.’

‘Team One: clear.’

‘Team Four: clear.’

He stared down at his hands. ‘Don’t think I can’t do this any more.’

‘Team Three: we have the suspects.’

‘Team Two: Guv, we’ve got enough smack, coke, speed, and weed up here to keep Keith Richards stoned off his tits till he’s ninety! Holy crap, Cath, you ever see so much weed in your life?’

Steel dumped her teabag on the draining board. ‘Don’t be an arse: you can’t quit. What the hell would you do? Go be a rentacop down the Trinity Centre? Shoplifting and old ladies who’ve peed themselves?’

‘Believe it or not, I got a job offer this morning.’

If you ever decide police work is no longer the career for you… Well, as I said, it would be nice to know that my legacy was in good hands.

Go from a police officer to heading up Aberdeen’s biggest criminal empire… Let’s face it, he was already halfway there.

Strange how much could change in just twenty-four hours.

Chapter 42

Logan straightened his tie. ‘OK.’

Steel looked him up and down. ‘I still think you’re a bloody idiot. Get a Federation rep in there with you!’

The summons to DCI Finnie’s lair had been sitting on his desk when he got in, gritty-eyed and yawning, feeling as if someone had replaced his insides with burning snakes. ‘MCRAE? MY OFFICE? ASAP!’