Dark Blood

Our teams have spoken to everyone else.’

Brett’s eyes narrowed. ‘Andrew is on compassionate leave, Sergeant. His mother had a stroke yesterday.’

‘Well, that’s sodding convenient.’ Steel actually stopped rummaging for a moment. ‘You expect us to believe his dear old mum’s no’ well at exactly the same time we dig Steve Polmont’s body out from under one of your bloody houses? Four days after you catch the silly sod nicking electrical supplies? No way Malk the Knife—’

‘I repeat, Inspector, McLennan Homes had nothing to do with—’

‘Someone had to operate the bloody cement mixer—’

And they were off again.

Logan slouched his way downstairs, with yet another report wedged under his arm so he could burn his fingers carrying the two coffees from the canteen back to Steel’s office. He tried using his elbow to work the door handle and instantly regretted it as the metal dug into the bruised joint, making it ache again. He used his other arm, and froze as the door swung open.

Buggering hell…

That big git Danby was sitting in one of the visitor’s chairs, craning his thick neck around to see who was coming into the room. Steel sat behind her desk, which was actually tidy for once. Something had to be up. And then Logan saw the battered journals they’d taken from Polmont’s flat – the ones full of barely legible, drunken scribbles.

Logan stopped and nodded at the pair of them. ‘Ma’am, sir. You want me to come back later?’

One of Danby’s eyebrows climbed up that huge pink forehead. ‘So it’s “sir” now, is it?’

Might as well get it over with. ‘I’d like to apologize for my earlier comments, sir. It was unprofessional of me to let my personal feelings interfere with the meeting.’

Danby actually smiled. ‘Dear God, that was stilted. You been practising that?’

‘Erm, not really.’

‘Trust me, it shows, know what I’m saying?’

‘Yes, well…’ Shrug. ‘Sorry.’

‘So you should be.’ The man waved a huge hand at the other visitor’s chair. ‘Sit.’

Logan looked at Steel. ‘Ma’am?’

‘Park your arse.’ She stuck out a hand. ‘What did Fingerprints say?’

‘It’s Polmont.’ He held out the report and she snatched it from him, eyes flicking across the page. He pointed at the diagram. ‘They got a sixteen point match off the prints we lifted from the hand.’

She nodded. ‘Post mortem?’

‘Isobel…Dr McAllister’s got it scheduled for half nine tomorrow morning. They’re getting an archaeologist in to help dig the remains out of the concrete.’

Danby shifted in his seat, then reached out to take one of the coffees. Thieving bastard. ‘What did your project manager friend say?’

Logan looked at Steel. ‘Guv?’

‘Tell him.’ She took a sip of her cappuccino. ‘This got cinnamon on it? I don’t like cinnamon—’

‘It’s chocolate. According to Mr Brett, they poured half the new foundations on Monday night and the rest on Tuesday morning, due to some sort of equipment failure. Claims anyone could’ve sneaked onto the site after they shut up for the night, and buried the body in the damp cement.’

Danby frowned. ‘I see…’

‘All bollocks, of course.’ Steel wiped away a foam moustache. ‘If Polmont was dumped in wet cement it’d be all over him, ‘stead of down one side. It was poured in on top.’

The huge DSI drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Then stood. ‘Better be getting on, got the Sacro report on Knox to wade through.’ He picked up one of the journals on Steel’s desk and tucked it under his arm. ‘Don’t forget to keep me up to date.’

Logan waited until the door clunked shut. ‘Why’s he sticking his nose in?’

‘Never you bloody mind.’ She dug something out of her in-tray and threw it to him. ‘You’ll be happy to know, you’ve had papers served on you again. Douglas Walker’s brief thinks you’re unprofessional, overly aggressive, and offensive. How many times is that now?’

Logan scanned the official complaint. ‘Stopped counting when we got into double figures.’

‘Funny. It’ll be even funnier when you’re up in front of the rubber-heelers in half an hour, won’t it? You silly bastard.’

‘He was an idiot.’

‘I don’t care. As of tomorrow you’re someone else’s problem. I’m off on holiday and you can try your luck with whatever banjo-playing inbred loony they send down from Fraserburgh. Meant to be here today, but they’ve got some sort of big drug-raid-stakeout-thing tonight, so you’ll have to give him the handover tomorrow. I want you in the office seven sharp: sober. Understand?’

Logan dumped the complaint on the desk. ‘Yeah, so I can hold his bloody hand when we both know—’

‘Do you still want to be a police officer? I mean really? Or are you behaving like a tosser because getting fired is easier than quitting?’

Logan stared at the carpet.