Close to the Bone

Witchfire? ’

‘Thought you didn’t like the book.’

‘It’s just, if I’d known, I could’ve taken a copy along for signing.’ She stared straight again, picking at the steering wheel cover. ‘Not for me, for my niece.’

Yeah, right.

‘According to Insch, the guy’s going to be there all day, doing script rewrites.’

Sim nodded. Smiled. Picked at the steering wheel some more. ‘And you’re sure we shouldn’t go speak to Anthony Chung’s parents first? ’

A sigh stole the air from Logan’s lungs. ‘Their son’s dead. Soon as we tell them, that’s it: their lives are blighted forever. Half an hour isn’t going to change that.’

‘Yeah, I’m not looking forward to it either.’

A battered Daihatsu 4Trak growled past in the outside lane, blue-grey smoke sputtering from the four-by- four’s exhaust pipe.

Sim pointed at a manila folder on the dashboard. ‘I searched through everything reported in the UK for the last two years — only one dead body still missing: a middle-aged man, killed in a motorbike crash in Shropshire fifteen years ago. They dug up one corner of the graveyard to move a gas main and can’t remember where they put him.’ She changed smoothly into fourth. ‘So I got in touch with every council in Scotland and asked them to check their graveyards, just in case there’s an open grave they don’t know about, and the occupant’s gone walkabout.’

‘And? ’

‘The words “don’t hold your breath” spring to mind. You know what councils are like: it’ll take months.’

Ah well, too much to hope for an easy solution.

The 4Trak switched lanes right in front of them. PC Sim slammed on the brakes, missing it by inches, her face constricting around two flared nostrils. ‘Dirty. . bleeding. . poop-head!’

‘How can no one be missing a seventy-year-old dead woman? ’

Sim leaned on the horn, the harsh ‘Breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!’ cutting through the drizzly afternoon. ‘PICK A LANE!’

‘Will you calm down? ’

‘It’s flipping idiots like that who cause accidents. .’ Her eyes bugged. ‘Did he just give me the finger? ’

The 4Trak driver’s arm was silhouetted between the front seats. Fist clenched, middle finger extended.

A cold, jagged smile spread across Sim’s face. Then she reached forward and flipped the switch — blue- and-white lights flickered behind the pool car’s radiator grille, the siren giving its two-tone wail.

‘Can you not just let it go? ’

‘Sorry, Guv, but we’ve got a duty to uphold.’

In the 4Trak, the middle finger was joined by the rest of its friends. But the silly sod slowed, then pulled into the bus stop up ahead.

Sim pulled in behind, lights flickering back at them from the four-by-four’s muddy paintwork. ‘Right, you little stinker. .’ She grabbed her hat off the dashboard and climbed out into the drizzle.

Might as well let her get it out of her system.

Logan pulled out his phone and settled back in his seat. Dialled Chalmers’s number. ‘Professor Marks: has he cracked yet? ’

‘Guv, was just about to call you. We’ve got another Oriental gentleman in A amp;E — says he “fell down some stairs”. Managed to shatter both his kneecaps. According to the orthopaedic surgeon he must’ve fallen on a bag of hammers on the way down.’

Now there was a blast from the past. ‘Claw hammers? ’

‘Can’t tell. Gentleman in question is a Hong Gil-dong. Mr Hong entered the country legally on a student visa from South Korea twelve years ago. Never went home.’

Obviously.

Logan drummed his fingers on the dashboard for a minute. ‘What was he studying? ’

‘I. .’ A pause. ‘Sorry, Guv, I’ll find out.’

‘Want to bet it was horticulture? ’

31

A deep bass rumble filled Soundstage Two, low and loud enough to make Logan’s lungs vibrate in his chest. All around him, people stood in silence, staring at the four-storey block-of-flats set as Nichole Fyfe scrambled across the roof, chased by three men dressed entirely in black. The action flickered across a massive widescreen TV down on the studio floor.

Half a dozen sprinkler heads were going full pelt, drenching the roof in fake rain, making everything glisten. Then a flash of light turned the world monochrome, followed by another bellow of thunder.

Nichole skidded to a halt at the edge of the roof, arms pinwheeling as a camera swooped up the building on a massive crane.

The three men behind her fanned out, knives and swords sparking in the lights as-

Someone tugged at Logan’s sleeve.

He turned, and there was Nichole Fyfe, looking up at him.

Eh?

Logan glanced back at the roof. No. . she was still up there. Back to the one on the ground.

The likeness was uncanny.

She smiled. Then stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, her breath warm and sweet against the side of his face. ‘Body double. They won’t let me do my own stunts.’ A shrug. ‘Insurance.’ She backed off an inch or two and blinked at him. Then closed in again. ‘I wanted to say thank you for. . well, you know, this morning.’

He moved around, his lips brushing her hair on the way to return the favour. It smelled of mandarins. And something sweet and slightly sweaty. ‘I’m just glad you’re OK.’

Why was it suddenly getting uncomfortably warm?

Another flash, and a BOOM of thunder.

She wrapped her arms around his chest and kissed him on the cheek. Mouthed, ‘Thank you’ at him. Her eyes were huge and dark.

Logan cleared his throat.

And then the word ‘CUT!’ boomed out of the speakers, followed by Zander’s voice. ‘Sorry people, we’re getting terrible lens-flare off Inquisitor Three’s sword. Can we get it sprayed? ’

As soon as the instruction was given an army of people swarmed out onto the roof, and everyone on the studio floor started talking at once.

Nichole stepped back. ‘Is Robbie going to be all right? ’ Then a frown. ‘I mean, the real Robbie, not. . you know.’

‘He’s going to be detained under the Mental Health Act so they can run some tests. Then he’s probably going to be treated in a secure facility for a while.’

‘That’s good, isn’t it? That he’s getting help? ’ She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I can’t believe he’d do that to Wee Robbie.’

‘Sometimes people do strange things.’

She stepped in close and kissed Logan on the cheek again. ‘Thank you for looking after him. And me.’

‘Yes, well. .’

A dark rumbling voice cut through the background noise. ‘Nichole? ’ Insch. ‘They’re ready for you in makeup, if you’re sure you’re up to it? ’

She nodded, patted Logan on the chest. ‘Thanks again.’ Then turned and marched away, arms swinging at her sides, as if she was on parade.

Insch scowled, dug into his pocket, and came out with a little bag of apple slices. Popped one in his mouth.