Close to the Bone

Hot water pounded against his back, washing Dildo’s blood down the drain. Soothing the burning in Logan’s stomach.

By the time he was towelling himself dry, his mobile was singing Rennie’s theme tune. He snatched it up and pressed the button. ‘Any word? ’

‘Still in surgery, Guv. Doctors say he’s lucky to get off with a punctured lung — any higher and it would’ve nicked his heart.’

That was something at least. He pulled on a clean shirt, the fabric sticking to his damp back. ‘They find Agnes Garfield? ’

Silence. Then Rennie cleared his throat. ‘You’ve got an appointment with Professional Standards at noon. And Strathclyde are going to do the independent review. You know, as they’re up here anyway.’

‘And Steel couldn’t be bothered to tell me herself.’

‘She’s. . kinda pissed-off at the moment. Last time I went past her office, sounded like she was battering the crap out of everything with a sledgehammer.’

Wonderful. Because today wasn’t bad enough already.

‘Not like it was your fault though, was it? You had to do what you could in the time that you had. Only other option was to let her get away. . Erm. . Sort of. We’ve got a lookout request on for Agnes Garfield.’

Logan picked his notebook off the bedside table and thumbed through it until he got to the last entry from Ma Stewart’s shop and read out the number for Agnes Garfield’s new mobile. ‘Get a GSM trace on that, pronto. She’s probably ditched it, but it’s worth a go.’

‘Will do.’ Pause. ‘Dildo’s going to be OK. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘Just get your arse over here and give me a lift back to the station.’ Logan hung up. Returned the phone and the notebook to the table. Sank down on the edge of the bed and stared at the crumpled sheet of paper taped to the wardrobe mirror.

‘LIKE IT OR NOT, YOU’RE STILL ALIVE’

His phone trilled and buzzed at him.

Couldn’t even leave him alone for five minutes. .

‘What? ’

‘Mr McRae? Yes, hi, it’s Kwik Fit, you left a car outside the garage this morning? ’

Nursing it slowly around the massive bulk of Mounthooly roundabout with a firm grip on the handbrake.

He stared at the ceiling. ‘How much is it going to cost? ’

‘Well, you need two new brake lines, and all your brake fluid needs replaced. The disc and the drums on the rear wheels are corroded, the suspension arm on the passenger-side front is almost rusted through, back tyres are worn almost to the canvas, the exhaust is-’

‘The brakes. How much to fix the brakes? ’

‘Right, sorry.’ Some rustling. ‘You know, you’re lucky they didn’t give out on the motorway, or a junction or something. Really nasty thing to do to someone. . Right, OK, just to fix the brakes is going to be-’

‘Hold on: “nasty thing to do to someone”? ’

‘Well, yes. Cut their brake lines. It’s really irresponsible. And indiscriminate too, you don’t just hurt the person in the car, anyone they hit-’

‘Someone cut my brake lines? ’

40

‘How can she still not be in? ’ Logan scowled out of the passenger window at the bulky three-storey tenements of Sandilands as they drifted slowly by. The ones nearest the road had been given a fresh coat of paint, but it wasn’t helping.

Rennie tootled the pool car along behind a number seventeen bus. ‘’Cos she’s special and clever and doesn’t have to actually work like the rest of us? ’

‘Oh, is she. .’ He pulled out his phone, found her number in the contact list, and thumbed the button. Then listened to it ring.

‘When this is all over, think I’m going to take Emma to Paris for a long weekend.’

Logan frowned. ‘PC Sim? ’

‘No, not that Emma, my Emma. Why would I take Sim on holiday? ’

‘Because you’re a-’

A click and Chalmers’s voice came on the line. ‘You’ve reached Lorna Chalmers. I can’t come to the phone right now, but you can leave a message after the beep.’

‘This is DI McRae. When we discussed you joining the soup-kitchen team, I don’t remember saying anything about you having the morning off afterwards! Get your arse into the station now, Sergeant.’ He hung up.

Rennie whistled. ‘Oooh, someone’s in trouble.’

‘Don’t be a dick.’

That just got him a grin.

The number seventeen hissed to a halt, indicator blinking as a couple of middle-aged ladies dressed like oversexed teenagers clambered onboard.

A nasal Doric accent crackled out of the pool car’s radio. ‘Charlie Six, from Control, over? ’

Rennie flipped the switch. ‘Morning, Jimmy.’

‘Aye-aye, loon, you got DI McRae with you? ’

He looked across the car and mouthed the words, ‘Are you here? ’

Idiot.

Logan stuck his phone back in his pocket. ‘What do you want, Jimmy? ’

‘We’ve had a wee call from someone says they know who your clay-head thingy is.’

He grabbed his notebook. ‘You got an address? ’

Rennie sniffed, wrinkled his nose, then did a slow three-sixty. ‘Smells like someone’s burning old nappies.’

The house was on the end of a row of three terraced cottages, all huddled together at the edge of a patch of woodland on the Kemnay Road. Bennachie was just visible through jagged pine-tree branches, the shadows beneath them dark and deep. Throw in a gingerbread house and Hansel and Gretel would have flashbacks.

Cottages one and two bore satellite dishes and maintenance-free swathes of gravel where front gardens should have been, but number three was a riot of colour — flowers and shrubs and herbs laid out in intricate patterns around a winding bark path.

Logan opened the heavy wooden gate and stepped onto scrunchy chips of brown, surrounded by tall spiky leaves. Should’ve brought some breadcrumbs to scatter behind him. .

Rennie stuck his hands in his pockets and meandered after him, stopping to sniff the flowers along the way.

The doorbell sounded deep inside the house, a faint diiiiiing-donnnnnng just audible through the wooden front door.

A bee bumbled from one purple foxglove to the next. A pigeon cooed. Rennie rocked on his heels.

Logan tried the bell again. ‘You sure they know we’re coming? ’

‘Yup.’

Two minutes later, the door creaked open and a pale lined face peered up at them, eyes squinted almost shut. She couldn’t have been an inch over four foot five, grey hair up in a lopsided bun, neck like a deformed sock