Close to the Bone

graffiti-covered shutter over the door. No way in or out. .

‘Guv? You still there? ’

How did Agnes and Anthony get into the house?

‘Put him on.’

‘What, Ding-Dong? Can’t — Steel’s got him in with Professional Standards for a reaming, he’ll- ’

‘No: Leith.’

‘Hold on, I’ll see if he’s done with the Duty Doc. .’ Rustling and crunching noises came from the earpiece.

Dildo pulled a dittay book from the bag and handed it to Sim, then went back in for what looked like a gold torque — the twisted metal band finished with ivory skulls in the end pieces. Then some T-shirts, a couple of baseball caps with the same ‘Witchfire’ logo as the one Agnes Garfield wore to take out Anthony Chung’s money, a roll of posters, and what looked like a leather warrant card case. ‘Good, aren’t they? ’

Sim’s eyes went wide. ‘Ooh, a finder’s badge. .’ She flipped open the leather case, and smiled at the shiny badge inside. ‘It’s just like the book.’ Then caught Logan staring at her and cleared her throat. ‘You know, if I was interested in that kind of thing. . Which I’m not. Obviously.’

‘Thought you didn’t like Witchfire.’

‘Well. . I never said that, exactly. .’

Dildo went back into the sports bag and came out with a dagger. He slipped the knife out of its black sheath. The blade was as long as his hand, sharpened on both sides, and carved with squiggles and lines, topped off with a dull metal T-shaped guard, a handle wrapped in red leather, and a hexagonal pommel. The whole thing looked hard, functional.

Sim put the Finder’s badge on the seat beside her and held out her hand, mouth hanging open. ‘Jeepers. .’

Dildo passed it across. ‘According to Insch, they’re all perfect replicas of the film’s props, right down to the tiniest detail. Look at the end of the handle bit.’

She turned the dagger around and peered at the hexagonal pommel. ‘A real-life pricking knife. . It’s got the witch-finders’ crest on it, all mirror image so it’s the right way round when you use it to make a wax seal for death warrants.’ A grin plumped her cheeks. ‘This is so cool!’

More rustling from the earpiece, then Rennie was back, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘Found him. But do me a favour — he’s in a crappy mood already, don’t set him off, OK? ’

‘Just put him on.’

A crackle, then Leith was on the line, voice all nasal and jagged. ‘This better be important.’

‘If it’s any consolation, at least you saw it coming. I just opened my front door one morning, and bang.’ The brotherhood of getting punched in the face. ‘Your deposition site in Kintore, how did Agnes and Anthony get in? ’

‘Did you call up just to take the piss, because if you did, you can-’

‘It’s not my fault Ding-Dong lamped you one. The first attending officer said the place was locked, he had to get keys from the estate agent’s. Agnes and Anthony didn’t break in, so they had to have a key.’

‘Rennie — give me the list.’ Pause. ‘I got the boy to chase up everyone who’s seen the property since it went on the market fifteen months ago. Plus details of the owners’ relatives, and friends. We’re working our way through them now. That all right with you? ’

‘I wasn’t trying to tell you how to do your job, I was just-’

‘That’s exactly what you’re trying to do. Now why don’t you sod off and let me do it? ’

‘Come on, Leith, it’s-’

‘I was a DI long before you, McRae, and I’ll be one long after you’ve gone back to the Wee Hoose with the rest of the detective sergeants. Remember that.’ And then he hung up.

Logan held the phone in front of his face. ‘Not surprised Ding-Dong punched you on the nose, you miserable git.’

Sim swished the dagger through the air, pommel forward, the blade resting back along her arm. Knife-fighter style. ‘The balance is great. Does it have the thing? ’

Dildo shrugged. ‘No idea.’

She took hold of the pommel and unscrewed it. Underneath was a tiny V-shaped blade, half as long as her pinkie was wide. Her grin got even wider. ‘It does!’ She held it up for Logan. ‘They use this end to find the Devil’s mark. Any deeper and you risk puncturing something. . What? ’

A small V-shaped blade, no more than half a centimetre long, set on a round metal guard. Exactly like the illustration on Anthony Chung’s post-mortem report.

At least now they knew what Agnes had used to torture her ex-boyfriend.

Dildo took the dagger back, slid it into its sheath, screwed the pommel into place again, then dumped the whole thing in the sports bag, followed by everything else. ‘Right. Remember, I’m in charge. You pair just stand there and look menacing while I confiscate stuff.’

38

One wall was a solid bank of TV screens. Most of them were dark, just a handful playing various matches and races from the other side of the globe, so a pair of auld mannies could perch on red-vinyl stools and stare at them through milk-bottle-bottom glasses. Swigging from tins of Special Brew at twenty to nine on a Wednesday morning.

Ma Stewart sat behind the counter, one plump cheek propped up on her hand, pulling her face out of shape as she leafed through something glossy with telephoto snaps of celebrities in their bikinis. Big red circles drawn around their thighs and tummies so the reader could indulge in a bit of cellulite schadenfreude. Not that Ma had anything to gloat about, she was like an overstuffed sofa in a violent orange-and-gold silk blouse, unbuttoned to expose a vast crevasse of pale quivering cleavage bedecked with gold chains and little sparkly things. She’d swept her wiry grey hair up into a bun that wobbled on top of her head every time she sighed and turned a page.

Dildo marched over, the sports bag slung over one shoulder, and knocked on the countertop. ‘Shop.’

Ma looked up from ‘CELLULITE BIKINI BODIES SHOCKER!’ and a huge smile spread across her huge face. ‘Mr Mair, how nice to see you again. Would you. .’ Her eyes drifted across to Logan, then her scarlet lips parted in a wet O, like a bullet hole. ‘Sergeant McRae, we haven’t seen you in ages! Oh, what happened to your poor face? ’ She closed her magazine, then reached across the counter and pinched his cheek. ‘You’re skin and bone! That’ll never do.’

The cover had a photo of Nichole Fyfe on it, posing in her witch-finder’s costume. ‘NICHOLE’S TROUBLED PAST: “ACTING SAVED ME FROM A LIFE OF CRIME”’ in lurid Helvetica.

Dildo hefted the sports bag up onto the counter. ‘We need to talk.’

But Ma wasn’t looking at him. She turned towards the back of the shop and took a deep breath. ‘Janice! Janice, put the kettle on: the police are here. And see if we’ve got any rowies left, poor Sergeant McRae’s wasting away.’

The replica sword glittered in the overhead strip-lights. ‘You recognize this? ’ Dildo clunked it next to the sports bag, then went back in and came out with a dittay book. ‘How about this? ’

A little old man shuffled out of the door behind the counter, hands dug deep into the pockets of a shapeless cardigan. He’d wedged a Witchfire baseball cap onto his head, far enough down to make the tops of his ears stick out at right angles. He blew his nose on a tatty grey hanky. ‘Dougie says we’re running out of blanks.’

Ma patted him on one sloping shoulder. ‘I’ll chase the suppliers up. Everything else all right? ’