Dark Blood

She stuck a cigarette between her teeth and lit it, blowing out a mouthful of smoke that oozed across the windscreen. ‘Beattie’s a moron.’

Unbelievable. ‘How come when I say he’s an idiot I’ve got an attitude problem, but when you say it—’

Steel smacked the back of her hand against his chest. ‘Shhhhh!’

‘No. It’s one bloody rule for—’

She hit him again. ‘Down there, you twit.’ She pointed through the snow at the main road, where a large Transit van was turning onto the farm track, bouncing and rolling along the icy, rutted surface. Steel fumbled with the handset again. ‘All teams, hold position. We’ve got visitors…’

‘Sodding hell. I’m up to my tits in a snowdrift here.’

‘I don’t care if you’re up to your tits in shark-infested tampons: keep your gob shut and your arse where it is!’

The big van jounced in through the gates, did a tortuous three-point-turn then reversed towards the door of the barn, brake lights flaring red through the falling snow and cloud of diesel exhaust.

Steel flicked ash into the footwell. ‘What do you think: doing a midnight flit?’

The driver hopped down from the cab, then crunched his way over to the cottage, leaving the engine running.

Logan turned the key in the ignition and the Fiat whined and groaned into life.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘Being proactive…’ He inched the car along the side road with the headlights off, navigating by the faint reflected glow of the snow. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Driver’s back out…got two mates with him…going round the back of the van…’

A whin bush grated along the side of the Fiat, scratching at Logan’s window.

‘They’ve opened the doors on the cattle barn…light’s on…Shite, can’t see anything – could you no’ get the bloody window fixed properly?’ She thumbed the button on the Airwave handset again. ‘What’s going on?’

‘We’re all getting hypothermia.’

‘Donald, you make me come down there and I’ll jam my boot right up—’

‘Looks like they’re unloading stuff from the back of the van.’

Logan had finally turned out onto the main road, the Fiat’s front wheels skittering from side to side, scrabbling for purchase.

‘Get into position.’

‘Finally!’

Bloody brakes weren’t working. Logan stomped his foot hard to the floor, and the car slithered to a halt, overshooting the end of the farm track. A bit of blind reversing, and the thing was pointing the right way again. He eased into the road.

‘Fuck…’ A ditch ran along one side, the verge invisible as the wind picked up, throwing snow against the windscreen.

‘Team One – good to go.’

‘Team Four – aye, we’re ready an’ a’.’

‘Team Three – in position.’

‘Team Two – Bastard, just stepped in something…’

‘Right, listen up.’ Steel took an inspirational sook on her fag. ‘There will be no getting shot. There will be no shooting anyone else. Most importantly, there will be no extra sodding paperwork for me to do, understand?’

There was a replying chorus of, ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Who are we no’ at home to?’

‘Mr Fuck-Up!’

‘Right. Russell, they’re all yours.’

Logan could hear the lead firearms officer giving his team instructions as the little Fiat juddered and snaked up the track. When he was roughly halfway to the cottage, Logan tapped the brakes again, grinding to a halt. He hauled on the handbrake. ‘Roadblock.’

Steel shrugged. ‘Good an idea as any.’

Probably unnecessary, but at least now they couldn’t do a runner in the Transit van.

‘All teams, move in on my mark. And…mark!’

The inspector wiped at the windscreen with her sleeve. ‘Can you see anything?’

‘No.’ Just the halo of the van’s headlights and the glow from the cottage. Everything else was swallowed by snow and darkness.

‘Police! Hands where I can see them!’

‘Susan asked if you want to be there.’