Close to the Bone

the bushes taking pictures? ’

He sighed, pushed his glasses back into place again. ‘Man, you are cynical.’ He slipped the envelope under one of the Fiat’s windscreen wipers, sending a little avalanche of twigs and grass tumbling onto the bonnet. ‘No skin off my nose, man. But if you’re no’ going to sort it out. .’ Jamie bared his teeth and sooked air through them. ‘Gonnae get messy.’

‘Always does.’

‘Later, OK? ’ He backed away, grinning. ‘And I meant what I said about Reuben.’

‘. .talk of industrial action across the whole Scottish Police Services Authority. We spoke to Grampian Police Assistant Chief Constable Denis Irvin. .’

Logan turned the radio down a bit, shifted his phone from one ear to the other, and changed down into third as Mounthooly roundabout loomed into view. A vast hump of grass and trees, easily big enough for a full-sized football pitch, like an island in the stream of traffic. ‘Look, how difficult can it be? Just get a copy of Anthony Chung’s criminal record from San Francisco.’

On the other end of the phone, PC Guthrie groaned. ‘You know what getting anything out of the Yanks is like.’

‘. .inconceivable they’d do anything as counterproductive and ill-judged as strike. .’

‘Someone’s got to have a liaison officer with the US Justice Department: try the Serious and Organized Crime Agency.’

‘They’re even worse than the bloody Americans.’

True.

‘. .assure the people of the north-east that Grampian Police won’t let this impact on public safety or pursuing criminals to justice. .’

A taxi’s brake lights flared at the entrance to the roundabout, it juddered to a halt, just missing getting obliterated by an eighteen-wheeler loaded down with offshore drilling pipes. Idiot should’ve been watching where he was going. Logan drifted over into the outside lane. ‘If they give you any lip, tell them there’s a suggestion he’s connected to a terrorist organization.’

‘He is? ’

‘No, but it’ll get their finger out of their bumholes.’

‘. .other news, to celebrate national sandwich week, one group of Ellon school pupils aim to create the world’s longest chip buttie. .’

The junction was coming up. Logan put his foot on the brake. ‘Just make sure you say it’s “unconfirmed sources”. .’ The car wasn’t slowing down.

He did it again. Still nothing.

One more time, jamming his foot to the floor.

The rattling Fiat Punto just kept on going.

‘. .weather’s going to remain overcast, but we could see some heavy rain later in the day. .’

Handbrake! Logan yanked it on and the rear wheels locked, screeching across the road surface, heading right out onto the roundabout in a stinking cloud of hot rubber. Teeth gritted, eyes screwed to narrowed slits, arms straight out in front, hands wrapped tightly enough around the steering wheel to turn his knuckles bone-white. Right into the path of a dozen vehicles.

‘STOP YOU RUSTY PIECE OF CRAP!’

A people carrier slammed on its brakes as he slid to a halt right in front of it. Its horn blared an angry tattoo into the early morning air, the driver’s face dark pink as she screamed obscenities behind the windscreen.

‘. .just to rub it in: here’s the Eurythmics with “Here Comes the Rain Again”.’

Logan closed his eyes, rested his forehead against the steering wheel. Everything inside him sagged, as if someone had pulled the plug out. Not crushed to death in a mangled ball of rusty metal after all.

More horns joined the people carrier’s angry song.

He sat up straight, blinked, then wound down his window.

Exhaust fumes and burning rubber never smelled so sweet.

The people-carrier’s driver was still swearing at him through the glass, veins standing out in her neck like angry snakes.

He held up a hand and turned the engine over again, stuck the Punto in reverse and slowly dragged it backwards onto Causeway End. Pumping his foot on the brake pedal did sod all, so he used the handbrake again.

Christ, that was close. .

‘Tada. .’ Dr Graham whipped the cloth away, exposing a clay head: large nose, high cheekbones, jowls, a small mouth set between two deep crevices. She placed it on Steel’s desk. ‘Of course, I had to use a bit of artistic licence on the wrinkles, but all in all I’m pretty happy with it.’

Steel screwed up her eyes, leaned forward in her chair and peered at it. ‘No’ a sodding clue. You? ’

Logan shrugged. ‘Just a random old lady.’

‘Nah: one thing I know about nutjobs, Laz, is they don’t do things for no reason. She’s no’ random, she’s somebody special. We just don’t know why yet.’

Dr Graham shuffled her feet. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve turned up another body needing facial reconstruction, have you? Maybe more skeletonized remains? ’

Steel leaned back in her chair and puffed on her fake cigarette. ‘Laz, get the auld wifie’s head up to Media: I want her on the telly news by lunchtime, all the papers, blah, blah, blah.’ She stared at him. ‘Sometime before we all die of old age would be good. And try to crack a smile, eh? Won’t kill you.’

‘Thanks. Very funny. I nearly died, OK? ’

‘Serves you right for being a tightwad and buying crappy old rustbuckets then, doesn’t it? ’

‘Just. .’ The muscles in his jaw clenched. ‘Fine.’ Logan grabbed the head — surprisingly heavy, almost as bad as the real thing — and stomped out, slamming the door shut behind him.

Steel’s voice oozed through the wood. ‘Touchy. . Now, Doc, about your invoice. .’

The Wee Hoose echoed with laughter that died as soon as Logan walked in. Biohazard Bob and three PCs cleared their throats, Biohazard sticking something in his pocket as the uniforms shuffled out of the room, faces flushed, not making eye contact.

Logan pushed the door shut with his heel. ‘Do I want to know? ’

‘Probably not.’ Bob sank into his chair. ‘Nice severed head, by the way: suits you.’

The other desks were covered in piles of forms and file boxes, only one was clean and tidy: DS Chalmers’s. ‘Where’s the new girl? ’

‘Buggered if I know. .’ He frowned. ‘Rennie’s right, you’re playing favourites, aren’t you? ’

Logan stared at him. If Biohazard wanted favourites, he could bloody well have them. ‘You know what: maybe I am putting too much on DS Chalmers’s shoulders. So. .’ He plonked the head down on Biohazard’s desk. ‘“Who is this woman?” TV, papers, posters. You know the drill.’

‘Noooo.’ Bob covered his face with his hands. ‘Can’t someone else-’

‘You’re the one feeling neglected.’ He pointed at the head. ‘Steel wants that done ASAP. If it’s not on the lunchtime news, you know what’ll happen to you.’

Bob groaned. Stood. Then picked up the head. ‘Come on, Sexy.’ He paused at the door. ‘One thing. Chalmers might be the new girl, but there’s something you’ve got to remember. .’ He squeezed one eye shut, leaned to the left, then hurried out, thumping the door shut.

The smell he’d left behind wasn’t far off being weaponized.

37

Kelly the PCSO pulled her chin in, eyebrows furrowed. ‘What happened to you? ’

‘Biohazard.’