Close to the Bone

Rennie sank even further into the chair. ‘Ah. . Funny story. .’

‘Oh, you are kidding me.’

His eyebrows pinched. ‘I had to go running after this guy who rocked up pished and picked a fight with Insch’s bouncers.’

‘Henry Scott was right there!’

‘It wasn’t my fault!’

Logan buried his head in his hands. ‘I swear to God. .’

His computer made a pinging noise. Then another one. And another — new emails coming in thick and fast. He glanced up at the screen. Three hundred and sixty-two new messages.

What now?

He clicked on the last one to come in.

› From: [email protected]

› To: [email protected]

› Subject: You Sick Basterd!!!1!

›

› WTF is wrong with U man? Ur book is shit and U can’t write 4 shit and Ur a looser!!!

› Wiches is a powr for good in the wurld, an U can DIE!@

There was more of it, but the spelling and grammar didn’t get any better. OK. . He tried the first one to come in instead. It was from William Hunter’s webmistress in Iowa, apologizing for the huge number of nutter emails she was about to forward to him. Apparently these were all the dodgy messages that had been left through the website.

Rennie slumped further in the seat and flopped an arm across his face. ‘Maybe I could go into private security or something? ’

‘You’re useless at public security, who’d hire you? ’ Logan’s mouse swept across the screen. No way he was going to sift through three hundred and sixty-two emails from random internet crazy people. He used a wizard to set up a rule and forwarded them all on to Dr Goulding instead, along with a short note to check them all for someone capable of necklacing Roy Forman and torturing Anthony Chung.

Look at it as penance for breaking into Dr Marks’s office.

‘Or I could be a PI, like in the films? Simon Rennie: Private Investigator. .’

‘Simon Rennie: idiot, more like.’ The phone on Logan’s desk trilled. He jabbed the speakerphone button. ‘What? ’

‘Don’t you “what” me, McRae.’ Big Gary on reception. ‘Just ’cos you’re a DI now, doesn’t mean I won’t take you over my knee and spank your arse for you.’

Logan scowled at a grinning Rennie. ‘Say something, I dare you.’

‘You’ve got a visitor: one Timothy Mair Esquire from Trading Standards.’

‘What the hell does Dildo want? ’

‘I don’t know, and I don’t care.’ A clunk and the line went dead.

Rennie yawned, arms stretched way above his head. ‘Don’t take it personally: Big Gary’s been biting everyone’s head off since he found out someone got his little girl up the stick.’ He sagged back into place. ‘And before you ask: no, it wasn’t me.’

Tim ‘Dildo’ Mair pulled the scabrous council Transit van out onto Broad Street, the gearbox sounding like someone trying to run a set of maracas through the spin cycle. His eyes were narrowed behind a pair of John Lennon glasses, his black goatee beard bristling around a thin-lipped mouth.

Logan hauled on his seatbelt. ‘Seriously? You’re going to sulk at me the whole way? ’

Dildo didn’t look at him, kept his eyes on the road. ‘Constable Sim, would you please tell DI McRae that I’m not sulking, I’m trying not to give him another black eye to match the one he’s already got.’

Sitting on the second row of seats, PC Sim pulled a face, then wiped her hand on the van’s wall. ‘It’s all sticky back here. .’

‘Look, I’m sorry I missed our appointment yesterday, but I’m having a pretty shitty day, so you can-’

‘Appointments. As in plural.’

The Transit rocked like someone was kicking it as it accelerated past Marischal College.

‘Didn’t think you were this delicate.’

‘Constable Sim, you can tell DI McRae I’m only doing this because his friend Insch promised to give my niece a tour of the set and a part as an extra if I caught who was counterfeiting the Witchfire stuff.’

She sniffed at her hand, then wiped it on the back of Logan’s seat. ‘What do you guys do in here to get it this sticky? ’

‘I’m in the middle of a murder enquiry, OK? I’m sorry that’s so bloody inconvenient for everyone, but I’ve got a killer to-’

‘Oh, bite me.’

They rumbled on in silence all the way up past the ugly concrete lump of Aberdeen College, then down the hill towards the massive Mounthooly roundabout.

Little muscles twitched along Dildo’s jaw, making the skin ripple.

Fine. Someone had to be the grown-up. ‘I’m sorry I blew you off yesterday. Can we just-’

‘Let’s get something straight: you’re just here to provide a police presence, because Insch said I had to use you. I’m in charge, get it? ’

‘You don’t have to be such-’

‘I did all the legwork. I found out who was selling the stuff. I found out who was making it. And I’m in charge.’

‘Fine, you’re in charge. You’re the big man. All hail, King Dildo the Great, Lord of the Shop Cops.’

Sim scooted forward in her seat, feet making scritchy noises on the sticky floor. ‘Why do they call you Dildo? ’

He glanced in the rear-view mirror, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘That’s King Dildo, to you.’

The council Transit van stuttered to a halt in the corner of a car park, facing a row of shops. A bakery, a newsagent’s, a dry cleaner’s, a tropical fish shop, an estate agent’s with a ‘FOR SALE OR LET’ sign in the window, and a bookie’s: J Stewart amp; Son — Bookmakers est. 1974. Heavy metal grilles covered the windows, empty crisp packets and bits of old newspaper were trapped in the gaps.

Up above, the sky was like dark-grey ink dripped onto wet paper, slivers of blue shining between the towering clouds.

Logan undid his seatbelt. ‘Ma Stewart. Again? Does the woman never learn? ’

Dildo reached back behind the driver’s seat and hauled out a large sports bag. ‘Oh, she’s done herself proud this time. .’ He unzipped it, then paused.

Logan’s phone was singing Rennie’s theme tune.

They couldn’t leave him alone for five minutes, could they?

‘What? ’

‘Guv? You better get back here: Ding-Dong and Leith just had a stand-up in the CID office. Proper toe-to-toe yelling match.’

‘So? Get Steel to-’

‘She’s going ballistic — and I mean intercontinental. Ding-Dong lamped Leith one, right on the nose.’

So much for DI Bell’s pretentions to the throne. ‘Why? ’

‘Leith made that bell-end crack again. They’re both standing there, yelling about how the other’s screwing up the case, then bang — swinging punches, blood, DCs shouting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”. . You should’ve been here, it was great.’

Dildo pulled a sword as long as his arm from the sports bag. The blade shone and glittered.

Logan frowned through the windscreen at the row of shops. The estate agent’s looked as if it had died a death a while ago. All the property notices abandoned in the barred window were stained yellow, their colours faded. Dead flies and wasps made a little line of bodies along the inside of the sills. Bars on the windows. A