‘. .expect the sunshine to continue all the way through till Tuesday morning, when an area of high pressure from the east’s going to bring rain with it. .’
He blinked and yawned, scratched, then flopped back in the bed. ‘Come on, you lazy sod: up.’
Maybe in a minute.
Logan dug his knife into the jar. ‘Tea and toast, tea and toast, la-la-la-la tea and toast. .’ There was only just enough Marmite in the jar to leave a thin skid mark across the melted butter. Better than nothing. He slouched through to the living room, taking breakfast with him.
A permatanned face on the TV grinned out at the piles of books and cardboard boxes littering the room. ‘. .February next year. I went to see two of the film’s stars on the set. .’
The little red light on the answering machine blinked at him. Four messages. Probably all from Steel, moaning at him.
Two women appeared on the telly, sitting in director’s chairs in front of a poster for Witchfire. They smiled and waved at the camera. Pretty, in a superficial, Hollywood, FHM-calendar-girl kind of way. One with natural-looking ginger hair, the other with full-on post-box scarlet like Samantha’s. The words ‘NICHOLE FYFE’ and ‘MORGAN MITCHELL’ appeared across a banner at the bottom of the screen.
Logan pressed the button on the answering machine and the electronic voice droned into the untidy room, ‘Message One:’ It was replaced by DCI Steel’s familiar, gravelly tones. ‘Laz? You there? Pick up.’ Pause. ‘I’m no’ kidding, get your arse-’
Delete.
On the TV, Mr Fake-Tan simpered. ‘And you’re a redhead now!’
The one called Nichole laughed. There was a slight trans-Atlantic twang to her accent, but the Aberdonian was still there underneath: ‘I know, isn’t it great? We both had to do it for the film, but I really like it, it’s so liberating. And absolutely no one recognizes me: it’s like being a completely different person!’
Morgan twirled a lock of her screaming red hair, smiling at the camera as if she was about to rip its clothes off and make it do unspeakably kinky things right there on the studio floor. Her accent was pure New York, ‘Everyone should try it at least once. Unleash the naughty, people!’
‘Message Two:’ was followed by, ‘Laz, I’m serious-’
Delete.
‘Nichole, what’s it like starring in something as big as Witchfire? ’
‘It’s immense. My first really meaty dramatic role, and-’
‘Message Three:’ A man’s voice, sounding depressed. ‘Hello? This is a message for Logan McRae. Logan, it’s Preston’s the architects, it’s been two years since we got the roof on the flat. .’ Sigh. ‘And I wondered if you’re any nearer making a decision about going ahead with the build? ’
Should really call him back.
Delete.
‘-was such a shock: I’d actually auditioned for Mrs Shepherd.’
Morgan flapped her hands, grinning. ‘And I was up for Rowan, but apparently someone was just too fabulous-’
Logan ripped a bite out of his toast, chasing it down with a slurp of tea.
‘Message Four:’ An ominous pause. ‘Logan, it’s your mother. You know I don’t like talking to this thing-’
Delete.
‘-so much more fun not having to be a goody two-shoes the whole time.’ Morgan placed a hand on her chest. Lucky hand. . ‘Three years on CSI New Orleans, and I really wanted to get to grips with a darker character for a change. Get back to my roots.’
‘You Have No More Messages.’
He finished off the toast. Have to buy another jar of Marmite. And maybe some squeezy cheese. Breakfast of champions.
‘Nichole, I have to ask you about coming back to Aberdeen after Hollywood.’
‘It’s so great to be home! People in the north-east are so real and down to earth, it’s incredibly refreshing after all that,’ onscreen, Nichole Fyfe made quote bunnies with her fingers, ‘“show business” stuff.’
Quote bunnies. What kind of person did that?
‘And I understand you’re running a competition so one lucky viewer can win a walk-on part in- ’
Logan jabbed the remote control’s off button and the picture disappeared into darkness.
In the bedroom, Madness were banging on about finally being old enough to buy condoms. He slouched through to join them, drinking his milky tea between hauling on socks and pants and trousers.
‘. .and “House of Fun”. Speaking of fun, fancy winning yourself an exclusive VIP tour of the new Witchfire movie being filmed right here in the north-east? Well, stay tuned because you’re in for a treat after David Bowie. “Let’s Dance”!’
Bloody film was like a virus.
He pulled on a white shirt that deserved a much better iron than the one he’d given it, sooking his fingers clean of butter and Marmite before doing up the buttons.
Tie, or no tie? He picked a couple from the wardrobe, then stood there, staring at the sheet of paper taped to the glass.
A blaring rendition of ‘If I Only Had a Brain’ came from his mobile. Logan blinked. Checked his watch. Been standing there like a turnip for five minutes.
Shudder.
He sank onto the bed and worked his feet into his shoes with one hand, answering the phone with the other. ‘What? ’
Rennie sniffed. ‘And good morning to you too.’
For God’s sake. ‘You’re not six.’
‘Fine. We’ve got another battered Oriental male — this one’s from Laos. They beat the crap out of him, then took a hammer to his knees and ankles.’
‘Anything? ’
‘Won’t say a word. According to the ambulance crew, he was off his tits when they brought him in — doped to the eyeballs, reeking of cannabis.’
‘What about the jewellery heist? ’
‘Like juggling mud. Been dragging people out their beds all night — thanks for that, by the way, always nice to be sworn and spat at for a whole shift. Really boosted my morale.’
‘So what you’re saying is: you didn’t get anywhere.’
‘That’s not fair! Not my fault the gang haven’t tried shifting the stuff yet, is it? Maybe they’ve taken it down south, maybe they’re stashing it for a couple of years, or shipping it overseas. How am I supposed to deal with that? ’ Moan, whinge, complain, grumble, whine. On and on and on.
He stuck his phone on the bedside cabinet, let Rennie enjoy his wee petulant moment while he laced up his shoes.
When he picked up the phone again, Rennie was still going.
‘. .never get any credit. And how come I’m always on nights? It’s not-’
‘Much though I’d love to sit here and listen to you bitch the day away, I’ve got work to get to, so-’
A knock on the caravan’s door, loud and insistent.
‘God’s sake. .’ Logan put a hand over the mouthpiece. ‘JUST A MINUTE!’ Then back to the phone, marching out of the bedroom and across the hall to the front door. ‘Get on to the lab — I want those forensics chased. And don’t let them give you any crap about “three to six weeks”. Tuesday, by the latest.’
‘Would you like a magic flying unicorn while I’m at it? ’
‘No, but I’ll take an egg buttie — on my desk for quarter past seven. And a tea.’ Logan turned the key in the
