Close to the Bone

A wrinkled satchel of a face frowned out at them from the TV. ‘. .important to remember that these are the people who support police investigations. They help catch killers. How can they do their job if the SPSA keeps changing everything? ’

‘You didn’t answer the question.’

‘I. .’ Her face pinched, eyes narrowed, then she turned and grabbed a pair of low-heeled boots from under the coffee table. ‘Going to be late.’

Mr Satchelface was replaced by a woman in an ugly blouse. ‘Aberdeen now, and Grampian Police have issued a fresh appeal for information regarding the whereabouts of Agnes Garfield. .’

‘Jackie, it’s-’

‘Of course I feel bloody guilty! OK? And I shouldn’t, he doesn’t deserve my guilt — he’s a selfish, thoughtless bastard who never even sees me any more. Even when he does come home, it’s like I’m not there.’

‘. .any information to call the hotline number, or contact your local police station. .’

Jackie thumped down on the couch and hauled on her boots. ‘But would I leave him? Nooooo, I had to make it work for Rory’s sake, didn’t I? Why be happy in life when you can be bloody miserable? ’

‘So leave him.’

‘What about Rory? ’

‘In other news, police checkpoints are in place on the A96 between Kintore and Blackburn. .’

Logan sat down on the couch beside her. ‘What’s going to be better for him growing up: you happy, or you miserable? ’

‘. .witnesses following the discovery of what appears to be a satanic murder inspired by the bestselling novel Witchfire on Monday evening. .’

She stared at the screen. ‘It’s not that simple.’

‘Never is.’

‘We spoke to two the film’s stars, Nichole Fyfe and Morgan Mitchell.’ Onscreen, Mrs Uglyblouse was replaced by the familiar PR setup of Nichole and Morgan sitting in front of Witchfire posters.

‘What am I going to do, Logan? Leave Bill and come back and shack up with you? You me and Rory crammed in your girlfriend’s caravan? ’

Oh dear God. . Don’t say anything. Don’t even breathe!

Jackie stood. ‘That’s what I thought.’

Nichole leaned forward. ‘First I have to say on behalf of everyone working on the film, that our hearts go out to those poor families.’

Morgan nodded. ‘They really do. It’s awful that these guys went through what they did- ’

‘I can’t. There isn’t. .’

‘You’re just going to sit here, like a bug stuck in fucking amber till she comes back.’

‘. .so important to stop this happening to anyone else. Which is why we’re going to do everything we can to help.’

‘I am not stuck in amber.’

‘LOOK AT YOURSELF! It’s been two years and you’re still here. Why haven’t you finished fixing up the flat? I’ll tell you why: because you can’t move on. You were always the bloody same!’ She turned and banged out of the room.

‘Jackie!’

Out into the corridor.

‘Jackie, wait.’

She was in the bedroom, grabbing her rucksack from the floor. ‘You want a sign, Logan? Here’s your sign.’ She ripped down the sheet of paper Sellotaped to the wardrobe mirror and hurled it at him. ‘That’s what’s wrong with you.’

She shoved past, wrenched open the front door, then slammed it hard enough to make the mugs in the kitchen clatter.

Silence.

‘-ask if anyone’s seen, or knows anything about these terrible deaths, to come forward.’

‘That’s right, people, you have to call the police before anyone else gets hurt.’

Bit late for that.

Logan bent down and retrieved the sheet of paper. Smoothed it out against the wall. ‘LIKE IT OR NOT, YOU’RE STILL ALIVE’ printed in big black letters.

‘And now here’s Russell with the weather.’

‘Thanks, Steve. Well, it’s going to be an unsettled couple of days-’

The doorbell rang out its long mournful chime.

He reached for the handle, paused. The pickaxe handle waited patiently, propped up in the corner. He took it and peered through the spyhole.

Jackie scowled back at him, her features distorted by the lens.

He opened the door. ‘You already had the last word.’

Her eyes went from his face to the pickaxe handle. ‘Didn’t think you were so sensitive.’ Then she hoiked a thumb over her shoulder at a green-haired lanky young man leaning back against Logan’s Fiat. One of Wee Hamish Mowat’s boys, with a courier’s satchel slung over one shoulder. ‘You got a visitor.’

The young man grinned at him as Jackie roared off in her Audi. ‘Bit on the side, eh? McRae, you old hound you.’ Acne scars pocked his cheeks, disappearing into a set of wiry sideburns. Eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. Shoulder-length lime green hair swept back from his forehead. ‘Though, how you manage to pull the chicks drivin’ this manky piece of crap. .? ’ He rapped his knuckles on the Punto’s bonnet.

The bloody magpies had been at the car again, spattering it with grey-and-white droppings, wedging twigs into the windscreen wipers. Logan hefted the pickaxe handle onto his shoulder. ‘What do you want, Jamie? ’

‘No’ to be up at this soddin’ hour. Brutal, man.’ He nodded at the caravan. ‘You gonnae invite me in? ’

‘How’s your friend Reuben? ’

‘Yeah. ..’ Jamie stuck the tip of his pale-yellow tongue out between his teeth. ‘I heard you and him had a thing. What can I say? The Rubester’s a passionate man.’ He pulled his sunglasses down to the end of his nose and winked a bloodshot eye. ‘But just so you know: if there’s a change of management and that, I’d have no problems workin’ with the new administration. Just between us.’

‘What — do — you — want? ’

Jamie dipped into the satchel and came out with a large brown envelope. ‘Been lookin’ into your battered Chinkies for Mr Mowat. Sod-all clue who the other side are, but the ones doing the hammerin’ are definitively the McLeod brothers.’

No surprise there.

Jamie dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘I’m just sayin’, you know, if the time comes, you can rely on us. The Reubinator’s great and all that, but it’s like doing Strictly Come Dancin’ through a minefield some days.’

‘I’m not taking over, and I’m not killing Reuben.’

‘Ahhh. . Right. Just a wee coma or a bit of brain damage. Gotcha. Anyway, Mr Mowat says he’s keen on this batterin’ cannabis thing being over soon as. Word is Creepy and Simon McLeod are going after anyone they think’s in on it — and they’re all about the “cripple first, ask questions later”.’

‘No coma. No brain damage.’

Jamie shrugged. ‘We’ll talk later. Meantime,’ he waggled the envelope at Logan, ‘got a couple addresses for the McLeod’s cannabis farms: Blackburn and Westhill. Might wanna get your boys to take a squint? ’

Logan didn’t move. ‘Seriously? Handing over a brown envelope, in a public place? You got someone lurking in