Close to the Bone

It looked as if most of the cells in the women’s section were empty. According to the boards by the doors, only three still had their occupants: an Amy Brooke — shoplifting; Morgan Mitchell — assault; and Agnes Garfield — four counts murder.

Logan slid the hatch back.

Agnes was sitting on the edge of the blue plastic mattress, her knees together, feet together, arms at her sides, hands folded in her lap. Still as a stone. Then she turned her head to face him. The heavy black eye makeup made streaks down her cheeks, like ravens’ wings.

A blink. Then she opened her mouth. Closed it. Swallowed. Then tried again. ‘I’m. . sorry.’

Bit late for that. ‘It’s not your fault. You’re ill.’

‘I never touched your girlfriend, I just. . She’s very pretty, lying there, all peaceful. .’ A little smile. ‘I was so jealous. Sleeping for years and years, waiting for her prince to kiss her and wake her up.’

‘That why you hung bones beneath her bed, so she wouldn’t wake up? ’

Agnes frowned at him, as if he’d just said something incredibly stupid. ‘Why would I do that? The bones were meant to protect me from you. Tenet Nine: “The Lord helps those that help themselves.”’ She licked her lips. ‘But they weren’t working. I tried everything I could think of, but you kept looking for me, so. . I’m sorry I cut your brakes.’

‘That was you? I could’ve died!’

Agnes nodded. ‘I’ve been. . confused.’ She looked down at her fingers, twisted them into a knot. ‘Is your police officer friend all right? ’

‘You shaved her head, stabbed her, and tried to drown her. What do you think? ’

A pause. ‘Are you going to kill me? ’

What? ‘No, I’m. . Why would we kill you? ’

‘I hurt so many people. I thought they were witches. We. .’ Her red hair fell forward, covering her eyes. ‘I thought I was doing the Lord’s work. Purifying them with the trial by blood. Making them confess. Saving their souls. .’

So Reuben was right: Word is, the new kids on the block have an enforcer who’s a card-carrying psycho. Gets off on maximum pain.

‘It was you, wasn’t it? The enforcer.’

The words came out as a low murmur. ‘The Kirk is my mother and father. It is my rod and my staff. My shield and my sword. What I do in its service lights a fire in God’s name.’

‘The witches worked for a rival drug gang, I get that, but what did Roy Forman do? Did he see something he shouldn’t? Was Anthony dealing at the soup kitchen and he found out? Is that why you burned him? ’

Agnes peered up at Logan from behind her curtain of hair. ‘Burned? ’

‘Necklaced. Staked to the ground with a tyre wedged over-’

‘No!’ She shook her head. ‘The trial by fire is barbaric. A stain on the Kirk.’

‘But he was-’

‘Rowan would never do that.’ She shuddered. ‘Not ever.’

Logan stared at her. ‘You didn’t burn Roy Forman? ’

Sodding hell.

Steel scowled at him, mouth pulled down, making the wrinkles stand out. ‘Well, of course she’d say that, wouldn’t she? ’

‘Why? She’s got nothing to gain — she’s already admitted to torturing three people to death, robbing graves, and trying to drown Chalmers. She knows she’s going to spend the next twenty to thirty years in a secure psychiatric ward. What’s one more death? ’

‘Arrrgh. .’ Steel slapped both hands over her face then folded over until her head rested on her desk. The words came out all muffled. ‘You’re no’ seriously suggesting we’ve still got some mentalist out there burning people? ’

He pulled out his phone and got Control to put him on to PC Sim.

Not answering her Airwave handset. Try her house instead.

She picked up on the seventh ring. ‘Oh, come on, can’t I even have one day off? I got shot yesterday!’

‘You’ve read Witchfire-’

‘Yes, I’m feeling much better, thanks for asking. The stitches itch a bit where a shotgun went off in my face, and my whole chest is one big bruise, but other than that. .’

‘Do you want me to send Steel over to kiss it better? ’

A pause. ‘Urgh. . I think I just threw up a bit in my mouth.’

Steel peered up at him between her fingers. ‘What am I kissing now? ’

‘The necklacing — trial by fire — does Rowan ever do it? ’

‘No. That’s all Mrs Shepherd. Rowan doesn’t believe in witches so the whole burning people thing sickens her. . Why? ’

Of course it did. ‘Thanks. Enjoy your time off, OK? ’ He hung up.

If Rowan wouldn’t do it, Agnes Garfield wouldn’t either. . But maybe a method-acting nut-bag would. The kind of person who’d go all the way to Iowa to learn about witchcraft. The kind of person who thought they had to live the role in order to play the character. The kind of person who could turn up at a soup kitchen and abduct someone like Roy Forman.

Logan’s phone blared at him as he hurried down the stairs to the cell block. Unknown number. He pulled it out. ‘McRae? ’

‘You the one put an ASAP request on DNA samples from a body? John Doe, torture victim? ’

‘On Tuesday.’ Logan pushed through the doors at the bottom. ‘This is what counts as ASAP now, is it? ’

‘Sarcasm. Helpful. You try getting anything done when they reorganize your department every three sodding minutes, then lump you with a sodding software upgrade that throws false positive and negatives the whole time!’ A pause, filled with what sounded like angry breathing. Then a slow hissing noise. And finally he was back. ‘We’ve a ninety-nine percent match with a Mai Shi-tu, arrested half a dozen times for possession, housebreaking. Low-level drug dealer from Glasgow.’

The double doors onto the rear podium burst open and Rennie swaggered in, then stuck his arms up, fingers making the victory signs. Like a young, blond, Richard Nixon. ‘Who’s the daddy? Oh yes!’

‘Yeah, well, that would’ve been really useful information yesterday when it actually mattered.’

‘There’s no need to be a dick about it, it’s not like-’

‘Next time we say ASAP, we mean ASAP.’ Logan hung up on him.

A hunched figure hurpled in behind Rennie, leaning heavily on a walking stick, his left leg encased in a filthy cast from the knee down. His face was covered in scabs and scratches, his hair plastered to his head by the rain.

Rennie waved at Logan. Grinned. Then turned and swept an arm towards his limping friend. ‘Ladies, and gentlemen, the one, the only, Mr Henry Scott!’

Henry Scott stopped where he was, licking his chapped lips, eyes shifting left and right. ‘I’m sorry. .? ’

Rennie beamed at Logan again. ‘See: told you I could do it. Found him in Kincorth, hiding in a derelict building.’

‘I didn’t do anything. .’

The smile slipped from Rennie’s face. ‘I know you didn’t, Henry.’ He patted him on the shoulder. ‘I tracked down your sister, she’s been worried about you. Wants you to go live with her and the family in Perth. Help you get better.’ Then Rennie backed off a pace and sniffed the hand he’d just patted Henry Scott with. He shuddered. ‘But first, we need to get you a bath. .’

Logan stayed where he was while Rennie led Henry Scott away. As soon as they were out of sight, the sound of Rennie whistling ‘We Are the Champions’ echoed up the stairwell.

He slid the hatch open on cell number three.

Morgan Mitchell lay on her back on the mattress, staring up at the advert for Crimestoppers painted on the