Close to the Bone

He shrugged one shoulder. ‘I couldn’t get back to sleep. Just lay there thinking about all the ways you were screwing me over with this bloody Chalmers woman.’

‘No, but seriously: Robin? ’

‘It’s not fair.’

Logan shook his head. ‘I hate to disappoint you, Rennie, but we’re not a gay couple, OK? And I’m not screwing you over with Chalmers.’

The other shoulder came up, making him look like a grumpy teenager. ‘Well. . that’s how it feels.’

Logan sat back, drummed his fingers on the desktop. ‘Tell you what, find me some bloody suspects and you can be the favourite again. And while we’re at it: what’s happening with your shoplifting tramps? ’

‘It’s. .’ He wriggled in his seat. ‘It’s not as easy as you’d-’

The door clunked open and Steel stood there, one hand hauling up her trousers, the other plucking the electronic cigarette from her mouth. She narrowed her eyes, making everything all wrinkly. ‘What are you pair of dinks doing here? ’

Logan pointed across the desk. ‘Poor wee Rennie’s feeling all unloved and unappreciated. So he’s come in early to moan about it.’

‘Oh aye, and what’s your excuse? ’

‘Doing your paperwork.’

She smiled, both arms extended as if she was waiting to be crucified. ‘Then all is forgiven. Now grab your coat — we’re going out.’

Logan stood. ‘Another body? ’

Steel frowned. ‘No: pub. Why does it always have to be work, work, work with you? ’ She slapped Rennie on the back of the head. ‘Arse in gear, Stinky, you’ve got tramps to find.’

Rennie grumbled his way out of the chair, then out of Logan’s office.

She waited till he’d shut the door behind him. Then collapsed into the vacant chair. ‘We’re screwed.’

‘What’s wrong this time? Did. .’ Logan sat down again. ‘Hold on, if you thought I wasn’t here, why did you barge in? ’

She dug a hand down her cleavage and went rummaging. ‘You were here.’

‘Yeah, but you didn’t know that.’

Rummage, rummage. ‘My underwire’s killing us. I keep telling Susan, you’ve no’ to put them in the washing machine, but will she listen? ’

‘Answer the question.’

‘We’re getting a visit tomorrow from the National Police Improvement Authority. Apparently our necklacing case is going nowhere. Boardroom, half two in the afternoon, attendance is mandatory.’

Just what they needed. ‘Who they sending? ’

‘Who do you think: a bunch of cockshites from Strathclyde up to point out the sodding obvious and tell us how to do our jobs.’ She gave her cleavage one last dig, then puckered her lips around the fake cigarette, sending a little puff of steam up into the room. ‘Well, I’m no’ giving up that easy. Tell everyone I want their arses in the briefing room at quarter to eight sharp. And I mean everyone. This case isn’t turning into a runner, understand? I want its bloody legs hacked off before our Weegie visitors get here. I want it like Stumpy McStumperton, so we can tell them to turn round and sod off back from whence they sodding came.’

Yeah. . that was going to happen.

Logan looked up at the door. ‘So come on then, why did you barge in here? ’

Steel sniffed. ‘Sometimes, when you’re all out, I like to rummage through your desks and see what lies you’re hiding from me.’

Good job he still had the form about being an executor for Wee Hamish Mowat and the dirty big cheque in his pocket then.

Steel pulled a face. ‘God’s knickers, the place is hoaching.’

O’Donoghues was a barn of a place off Justice Mill Lane, the walls painted a mucal shade of shamrock green. As if all the Guinness and Beamish memorabilia wasn’t enough of a giveaway. The crowd was three deep at the bar, the tables around the outside already taken.

An all-girl six-piece band crowded the stage: electric guitar, bass, fiddle, drums, accordion, and a lead singer belting out the Stereophonics’s ‘Have a Nice Day’. They were good. Good, but loud.

Logan frowned around him. ‘Could we not go somewhere quieter? ’

‘Don’t be so wet.’

‘Remember, I’m only staying for the one. Got to go up the hospital.’

‘Wah, wah, wah. Get us a table.’ She stuck out her elbows and waded for the bar.

‘It’s packed, how am I supposed to. .’ But she wasn’t listening, she was barging through the crowd like a wrinkly icebreaker that stank of cigarette smoke.

Well, maybe someone would be sodding off soon? Then he could nick their table. He did a slow three-sixty, staring through the mass of bodies. . then stopped. Someone at a table crowded with empty glasses was standing up and waving at him.

‘Guv? ’ PC Guthrie had changed out of his all-black-ninja-police officer uniform and into a tweed sports coat and a pair of jeans, as if he was channelling the spirit of Jeremy Clarkson. He smiled, the fair hair and pale eyebrows looking like mould on his happy potato face. ‘Over here.’ Guthrie shifted his chair over a couple of hops, and pointed at an empty one beside him. ‘Great band, eh? ’

Logan settled into the seat, the other three people at the table rearranging their chairs to make room for him. PC Hannah had a big droopy smile on her face, eyes heavy and lidded in her wobbly head, dark wiry hair sticking out in a frizzy crash helmet. PC Stringer covered his mouth for a belch, blinked a couple of times, then went back to making little knots out of empty crisp packets. Forehead creased up in concentration.

Contestant number three was Dr Graham, sipping what was either a huge gin-and-tonic or a pint of sparkling water. She leaned forward. ‘I should have a face for you by mid-morning tomorrow.’

Stringer patted her on the shoulder. ‘Your round, April. Can we. . can we have more crisps? ’

Hannah banged a hand down on the table, making the empties clink and rattle. ‘Eating’s cheating!’

‘Making a night of it then? ’

Guthrie shrugged, then drained the last of his latte. ‘Supporting the troops.’

Another thump. ‘Drink!’

‘OK, OK. Drink it is.’ Dr Graham stood and gathered up an armful of empties. ‘DI McRae? ’

‘Not for me, thanks. Got one coming.’

She shuffled off, looking as if she was carrying nitroglycerine rather than a few empty glasses, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth.

Up on the wee stage, the song jangled to the end and applause crackled around the room, along with the occasional whoop.

The singer let it die down, then her voice boomed out of the speakers. ‘Thanks, guys, here’s a number we haven’t done in a little while, it’s called “The Importance of Being Idle”.’ And off they went again.

Logan turned and peered over his shoulder, through the crowd. ‘Is that Constable Sim up there? ’

Guthrie nodded. ‘Every other Monday. Good, aren’t they? ’ He cleared his throat, leaned in close, not quite shouting over the band. ‘Have you talked to Rennie recently, only he’s on a real moan about this tramp thing.’

‘It’s all he ever does these days: moan.’

‘I know, but he looks up to you and. .’ Guthrie sat upright, cranking up the smile. ‘Chalmers, thought you weren’t going to make it? ’

DS Chalmers stood to attention, nodding at Logan. ‘Sir. Can I get anyone a drink? ’

‘Nah, you’re good — April’s just gone up for-’

There was a crash of broken glass, then a cheer and some swearing. Dr Graham strikes again.

Chalmers looked left, then right, then marched off and came back a minute later with another chair. Parked it next to Logan. ‘Hoped I’d bump into you, sir. I went through DS Rennie’s notes for the hate crimes, and I think I’ve got a connection. All the victims are male, from the Far East, and none of them are prepared to make a statement.’