Close to the Bone

Logan copied it down into his notebook. It wasn’t the one Agnes’s parents had given them, so it looked as if Chalmers was right: she’d ditched the old phone and bought herself a brand-new pay-as-you-go. ‘Call her.’

A frown. ‘And say what? That the police are here and they want to speak to her? I don’t think she’ll like that.’

‘Just. . Call her and tell her you’ve got something from the film company waiting for her. Tell her someone dropped it off, specially for her.’

‘Who? ’

‘I don’t know: someone who wants to remain anonymous? ’

‘Tsk. .’ Ma shook her head, making everything wobble. ‘For a man, you’re a terrible liar.’

She took out her phone and punched in the number, then let it ring. And ring. And ring. . ‘Hello? Rowan, it’s Ma Stewart, how are you?. . Oh, you know, the usual. Can’t complain. . Yes. .’ She put her hand over the mouthpiece and winked at Logan. ‘It’s her.’ Then back to the phone: ‘I don’t think so, dear, but I’ll check. . Yes. . Listen, I’ve still got your first share of the proceeds sitting here, and Peggy’s knitted a lovely cardigan for you. You know, like the one Rowan wears in the tower-block scene?. . Yes, that’s right. It looks smashing. And did you know it’s her birthday today?. . I know!’ A long pause, with lots of nodding. ‘Yes, no, twenty minutes will be lovely. I’ll save you some cake.’

Then Ma hung up and smiled at him. ‘There we go. All sorted.’

Twenty minutes. ‘Thanks.’ Logan hurried out through the door to the car park, already dialling Steel. ‘We need an Armed Response Unit: Agnes Garfield’s coming in.’

‘Laz, I’m no’ in the mood for jokes. Bad enough I’ve got Bell and Leith taking swings at each other like drunken-’

‘She’s going to be at Ma Stewart’s place in about twenty minutes.’

‘For real? ’

‘Positive.’

A pause. ‘Now that’s more sodding like it! We nab her, we tell those Weegie bastards to stuff their case review up their fundament, then we go down the pub and booze it up till we can’t stand. Ha! Hold on, I need to go tell the ACC. He’ll cream his frilly pink undies.’

Five minutes later Steel was back on the phone. ‘We’re screwed.’

‘Already? How did-’

‘Can’t get a firearms team to you in twenty minutes. It’ll take at least half an hour — silly sods are doing a training exercise in Fraserburgh and took the armoury keys with them.’

Logan checked his watch. ‘Fifteen minutes now.’

‘Can you no’ get her to come back later? ’

‘Yeah, why don’t I do that. And maybe I can ask her to bring some biscuits for when we arrest her? ’ He took a couple of paces towards the van, then back again. Time to improvise. ‘OK, forget the firearms team. Far as we know she’s probably got a knife, but that’s it. Sim’s got her stab-proof vest and a thing of pepper-spray. We’ll be fine.’

‘We’re scrambling every patrol car we can find. She’ll-’

‘A bunch of cars hammering through the streets with blues-and-twos going? That’s not going to scare her off, is it? Plainclothes only: stick to the speed limit, nothing flashy.’

A grumble came from the other end of the phone. ‘Fine. But when you get back, you and me are going to have a wee chat about the chain of command. In the meantime, you’re no’ to do anything stupid. Like let her get away.’

‘I know.’

‘I’m serious, Laz! Mr Fuckup is not coming to visit, understand? ’

‘OK,’ Logan downed the last of his tea and put the cup and saucer on the nearest workbench, ‘so I hide under the counter out front. We wait till she comes through to the back of the shop, then Dildo blocks the back door, I block the front, and Sim tackles Agnes. Any questions? ’

The counterfeiting room was virtually empty — all the merchandise loaded into the back of Dildo’s council van. The OAP workforce was squeezed into Ma’s office, complaining about not being able to sit down, and what did that poor Garfield girl ever do to deserve getting pounced on?

Logan closed the door on them. Now it was just him, Dildo, and Constable Sim.

Sim sniffed. ‘You sure we shouldn’t get them out of the building? ’

‘Agnes would see them milling about and know something was up. You got your pepper-spray? ’

A lopsided smile. ‘She’s an eighteen-year-old girl, Guv, not Genghis Khan.’

Logan’s phone rang: the Beatles and ‘Octopus’s Garden’. He pulled it out. ‘Dave, I’m kind of busy, so-’

The psychologist’s voice was clipped. ‘Do you not think you could’ve asked before clogging up my inbox with three hundred and sixty-two emails? ’

Ah. . ‘Look, I just need you to work your magic and tell me which of them are deluded and which are genuinely dangerous.’

‘Now I’ve got IT on my back moaning about server space. And if you’d bothered to check: the profile I gave you clearly shows that Agnes Garfield is-’

Something bleeped at the front of the betting shop. The door.

Sodding hell.

Logan checked the security-camera monitor mounted above the entrance through to the front of the shop. A figure in a hoodie and baseball cap stood in the middle of the screen in fuzzy black-and-white-ovision.

‘Sorry, Dave, I’ve got to go.’

‘Logan, I’m not-’

He hung up.

Sim peered up at the picture, her voice lowered to a whisper. ‘That Agnes? ’

‘Difficult to tell. .’ The general size and shape was right, but the baggy hoodie and cap did a pretty decent job of hiding any distinguishing characteristics. ‘Might be? ’

If it was, she was five minutes early and Steel was right: they were screwed. There was no way he’d be able to sneak out front now and hide under the counter. Plan B, plan B, plan B. .

Logan pointed into the room. ‘Move!’

Dildo scurried over to the back door and hid behind a stack of cardboard boxes. Sim ducked under a workbench in the middle of the room. Logan flattened himself against the wall beside the door, on the opposite side to the handle. So when it opened it’d hide him from view.

A voice floated through from the betting shop, high, wobbly at the edges. Definitely female. ‘Hello? Ma? ’

‘Hello, Rowan love. Oh, I love the new hair — that colour is just so you!’

Stop sodding about, you old trout. Send her through the back. .

‘You go on through, there’s cake and tea.’

‘Em, OK. .’

Logan licked his lips.

The door handle turned.

Here we go. Nice and easy. No one gets hurt.

The door swung open.

39

Rowan steps into the room. Normally the place is alive with pale yellow and blue: the fuzzy-edged auras of old men and women. Short twists of beige for forgotten dreams. Wisps of grey for lost loved ones.

But today it’s empty.

Someone’s cleared the benches, emptied the shelves.