‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘How many more bodies? You’ve got planning permission for four hundred houses, that’s a lot of concrete. The whole place could be a graveyard for all we know.’
The project manager took off his glasses and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘We’ve been over this. McLennan Homes had nothing to do with—’
Steel banged the table. ‘Then how come there’s a dead body—’
‘—actions of a disturbed individual, who—’
‘—no’ supposed to believe you don’t know—’
‘—had access to the site. It’s not—’
This was all they’d done for the last hour and a bit, go round and round with Brett denying any knowledge or responsibility, and Steel trying to wind him up. It didn’t seem to be working.
The latest bout over, the project manager smoothed the hair over his bald patch again. ‘Now, I think I have been extremely patient with your questions, but I’m going to have to draw this conversation to a close.’ He stood. ‘If you wish any further statements you can contact our legal team.’
Steel glowered at him. ‘Sit your arse down.’
Another sigh. ‘Inspector, I came here voluntarily to assist with your enquiries. And now I’m going back to work. Good day.’
Logan tapped the sheet of paper. ‘Tell me about your site security, Mr Brett. The large, bald man with the big dog.’
Brett raised an eye brow. ‘What about him?’
‘How about we start with his name?’
Pause. ‘Andy. Andy Stephenson. It says that on the—’
‘The list of employees you gave us?’ Logan made a show of scratching his forehead. ‘That’s odd, because the DNA sample I took came back belonging to a Mr Andrew Connelly.’ He held up the paperwork he’d just printed out. ‘According to the police national computer, Andrew Connelly served three years for aggravated assault. Two years for demanding money with menaces. Got a suspended sentence for his part in a security car heist…There’s more if you want to hear it?’
The project manager sniffed. ‘At McLennan Homes we believe every large organization has a responsibility to help integrate people from troubled backgrounds into society. It’s part of our Community Commitment Programme to—’
‘Blah, blah, blah.’ Steel hauled at herself under the table. ‘He’s a bloody enforcer for Malk the Knife and we all know it.’
‘That’s slander, Inspector.’
‘And my arse is—’
‘Where is he?’ Logan ignored Steel’s glare. ‘Andrew Connelly wasn’t at the site when we recovered the body. Our teams have spoken to everyone else.’
Brett’s eyes narrowed. ‘Andrew is on compassionate leave, Sergeant. His mother had a stroke yesterday.’
‘Well, that’s sodding convenient.’ Steel actually stopped rummaging for a moment. ‘You expect us to believe his dear old mum’s no’ well at exactly the same time we dig Steve Polmont’s body out from under one of your bloody houses? Four days after you catch the silly sod nicking electrical supplies? No way Malk the Knife—’
‘I repeat, Inspector, McLennan Homes had nothing to do with—’
‘Someone had to operate the bloody cement mixer—’
And they were off again.
Logan slouched his way downstairs, with yet another report wedged under his arm so he could burn his fingers carrying the two coffees from the canteen back to Steel’s office. He tried using his elbow to work the door handle and instantly regretted it as the metal dug into the bruised joint, making it ache again. He used his other arm, and froze as the door swung open.
Buggering hell…
That big git Danby was sitting in one of the visitor’s chairs, craning his thick neck around to see who was coming into the room. Steel sat behind her desk, which was actually tidy for once. Something had to be up. And then Logan saw the battered journals they’d taken from Polmont’s flat – the ones full of barely legible, drunken scribbles.
Logan stopped and nodded at the pair of them. ‘Ma’am, sir. You want me to come back later?’
One of Danby’s eyebrows climbed up that huge pink forehead. ‘So it’s “sir” now, is it?’
Might as well get it over with. ‘I’d like to apologize for my earlier comments, sir. It was unprofessional of me to let my personal feelings interfere with the meeting.’
Danby actually smiled. ‘Dear God, that was stilted. You been practising that?’
‘Erm, not really.’
‘Trust me, it shows, know what I’m saying?’
‘Yes, well…’ Shrug. ‘Sorry.’
‘So you should be.’ The man waved a huge hand at the other visitor’s chair. ‘Sit.’
Logan looked at Steel. ‘Ma’am?’
‘Park your arse.’ She stuck out a hand. ‘What did Fingerprints say?’
‘It’s Polmont.’ He held out the report and she snatched it from him, eyes flicking across the page. He pointed at the diagram. ‘They got a sixteen point match off the prints we lifted from the hand.’
She nodded. ‘Post mortem?’
‘Isobel…Dr McAllister’s got it scheduled for half nine tomorrow morning. They’re getting an archaeologist in to help dig the remains out of the concrete.’
Danby shifted in his seat, then reached out to take one of the coffees. Thieving bastard. ‘What did your project manager friend say?’
Logan looked at Steel. ‘Guv?’
‘Tell him.’ She took a sip of her cappuccino. ‘This got cinnamon on it? I don’t like cinnamon—’
‘It’s chocolate. According to Mr Brett, they poured half the new foundations on Monday night and the rest on Tuesday morning, due to some sort of equipment failure. Claims anyone could’ve sneaked onto the site after they shut up for the night, and buried the body in the damp cement.’
Danby frowned. ‘I see…’
‘All bollocks, of course.’ Steel wiped away a foam moustache. ‘If Polmont was dumped in wet cement it’d be all over him, ‘stead of down one side. It was poured in on top.’
The huge DSI drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Then stood. ‘Better be getting on, got the Sacro report on Knox to wade through.’ He picked up one of the journals on Steel’s desk and tucked it under his arm. ‘Don’t forget to keep me up to date.’
Logan waited until the door clunked shut. ‘Why’s he sticking his nose in?’
‘Never you bloody mind.’ She dug something out of her in-tray and threw it to him. ‘You’ll be happy to know, you’ve had papers served on you again. Douglas Walker’s brief thinks you’re unprofessional, overly aggressive, and offensive. How many times is that now?’
Logan scanned the official complaint. ‘Stopped counting when we got into double figures.’
‘Funny. It’ll be even funnier when you’re up in front of the rubber-heelers in half an hour, won’t it? You silly bastard.’
‘He was an idiot.’
‘I don’t care. As of tomorrow you’re someone else’s problem. I’m off on holiday and you can try your luck with whatever banjo-playing inbred loony they send down from Fraserburgh. Meant to be here today, but they’ve got some sort of big drug-raid-stakeout-thing tonight, so you’ll have to give him the handover tomorrow. I want you in the office seven sharp: sober. Understand?’
Logan dumped the complaint on the desk. ‘Yeah, so I can hold his bloody hand when we both know—’
‘Do you still want to be a police officer? I mean really? Or are you behaving like a tosser because getting fired is easier than quitting?’
Logan stared at the carpet.
‘I’m getting tired of going through the same bastarding crap every time you have a bad week!’
He cleared his throat. ‘Dr Goulding wants access to Knox.’
‘I’m being serious, Laz.’
‘I…You haven’t called me “Laz” for months.’
Steel sighed. ‘Fuck’s sake, you’re hard work. You know that, don’t you
?’
For a minute the only noise in the little office was the gurgling rattle of the radiator. Logan shifted in his seat. ‘I’m sorry.’
Another awkward pause.
Another sigh. ‘Thought you were supposed to be getting yourself sorted out.’
‘Yeah, well…Not going quite so well at the moment.’ Fidget. ‘What do you want to do about Polmont’s post mortem?’
‘Don’t look at me – got a flight to sunny Puerto de la Aldea at eleven, need to pack my bikini.’
Now there was an image worth a thousand condoms.
‘Can’t believe you’re still going, when—’
‘Course I’m still bloody going. I’m no’ giving up my last holiday of freedom just cos there’s a murder on the go. Susan would sodding kill me.’ She sniffed. ‘Get DI Whatshisface from Fraserburgh to attend. Be a nice welcome to Aberdeen: seeing an alcoholic sparky getting hacked out of a concrete block. Meantime,’ she thumped a hand down on Polmont’s journals, ‘take a squint through these, see if there’s anything worth taking a punt on. And get someone to process all that stuff he nicked.’
‘What about the book Danby took?’
She pursed her lips. ‘You let me worry about that.’
Logan hauled himself out of the chair. ‘Anything else?’
‘Aye, try no’ to fuck anything up, or anyone off, while I’m away. I can’t be arsed breaking in a new DS.’
Logan deleted the last sentence and rewrote it again, before firing the whole thing off to the printer in the corner of the sergeants’ cubbyhole. One formal letter of apology.
Someone said, ‘Knock, knock?’ and he looked up to see PC Butler standing in the doorway, holding a sheet of paper. ‘Thought you’d be gone by now.’
Logan groaned. ‘Not another bloody armed robbery…’
Biohazard Bob grinned. ‘Sergeant McRae’s feeling a bit down this evening, Vicki. Professional Standards gave him a rough seeing to. Without the benefit of foreplay or lubricant.’
‘Up yours Bob.’
‘No, up yours. That was the problem, remember?’
Butler held up the sheet. ‘It’s that e-fit you asked for.’
Logan took a look. Then groaned again. ‘This is crap.’
‘Yup.’
The computer identikit face was dominated by a big comedy beard and a pair of dark glasses. ‘So all we need to do is arrest every member of ZZ Top and we’ll be laughing.’ He stuffed the e-fit in his in-tray and slumped back in his seat. ‘Brilliant.’
‘He wore gloves, a disguise, kept the door from locking when they tripped the silent alarm, and never even glanced at the CCTV camera once.’
Logan covered his face with his hands, mumbling through the fingers, ‘But he grabs the crappest, shiniest baubles and doesn’t even think to go for the cash register.’
Bob performed a little drum roll on his desk. ‘You want to know what I think?’
‘Not really.’
‘Suit yourself.’
Logan let his hands drop and watched Bob gather up a handful of Unlawful Removal forms, stand, and make for the door. He stopped right on the threshold, turned back, scrunched up his eyes, raised a finger and said, ‘Just one more thing…’ in his best Columbo voice.
‘What?’
But Bob just grinned, stepped outside and closed the door.
PC Butler turned back to Logan. ‘So what do you want me to do about our armed robber?’
‘Go round anyone we’ve done for resetting in the last five years, better do the pawn shops too. Whoever he is, he’ll be trying to flog his takings…’ Logan drifted to a halt as he saw the expression on Butler’s face sour. ‘Are you—Oh Jesus! Bob, you filthy bastard!’
‘What’s that, Sweetheart? No, you’ll have to speak up.’ Julie sticks a finger in her ear, face turned away from the steering wheel. ‘Yeah, that’s better…How’s Tiggy and Milly?’ She laughs. ‘Did she?’
Tony sits in the passenger seat, trying not to eavesdrop as she asks after her tabby cat and Tibetan terrier. The Range Rover’s illegally parked on a double yellow, but when Julie’s driving stuff like that kinda gets forgotten about. Along with the speed limit and the number of obscene gestures you should make at other motorists.
He stares out of the window, watching the main entrance to the hotel. It’s a fancy looking place, all carved granite and sticky-out bits.
Still no sign of Neil.
Tony searches through his pockets for a packet of chewy antacids, pops one in and grimaces his way through it. Bloody balti lamb.
Finally…
He nudges Julie and points across the road. Neil’s marching down the hotel steps and out onto the pavement. The big man looks left, then right, then left again – like a good little boy – then hurries across to the car and clambers in the back seat.
‘Bloody freezing out there, like.’ He shuffles forward. ‘Turn the blowers up.’
‘Yeah…No. I gotta go, OK? Bye, Darling.’ And Julie hangs up. Doesn’t turn around. ‘What’s the score on the doors?’
Neil grins. ‘You were right: we can stake out a Jock cop shop and no bugger’ll notice.’
She nods. ‘Told you.’
‘He’s staying in room Three Twenty-Two.’
‘You sure?’
‘Followed him down the corridor, like. Watched him go into his room – it’s a king-sized double, if it helps?’
Julie turns in her seat and smiles at him. ‘You did good, Babe.’
‘Checked out the back too. There’s a loading dock we can jimmy open and a couple of CCTV cameras. But the cables run along the wall, so you can cut them without the daft sods seeing nowt.’
Tony pops another antacid. ‘You want to take him tonight?’
She pauses, head on one side, chewing the inside of her cheek. ‘Think we’d better call the boss first, don’t you?’
Neil nods. ‘Then grab something to eat?’
Tony burps and winces. ‘Not bloody curry again.’
Then Neil asks the Who Wants To Be A Millionaire £500,000 question: ‘What about Knox?’
‘What about him?’
‘Well…shouldn’t we be doing something? Getting ready, like?’
‘All in good time, Babe.’ She draws a smiley face on the inside of her window with a fingertip. ‘All in good time.’
19
Logan sat bolt upright on the couch, blinking, head reeling. The lights were all on, the TV grumbling away to itself in the corner. ‘Urgh…’
Steve Polmont’s journals were scattered across the lounge carpet, one open on the coffee table, the tatty pages marked with the occasional bright yellow Post-it note, where Logan had found something at least partially legible.
Blink. He checked the time on the DVD player. Quarter to midnight.
Yawn.
‘Sam? You home?’ Logan scrubbed his face with his hands. The message on the answering machine said she was pulling yet another green shift – saving up for a new tattoo.
And then the doorbell went again.
‘Bloody hell, Sam…’ He peeled himself upright, then lurched to the front door, shivering and feeling like crap. Hadn’t even been drinking, just came home, microwaved some vegetarian lasagne, and sat down with Polmont’s journals and a rerun of Taggart. ‘There’s bin a murrrrrrdurrrrrrrrrrr…’
Cold leached through Logan’s socks as he padded down the stairs to the communal front door. The bell went again, an irritating dringing buzz. ‘All right, all right.’ He undid the latch. ‘Why can you never remember your damn—’
Reuben.
Fuck.
The big man’s face was a mass of bruises, radiating out from a nose covered in gauze and white bandage. His eyes were swollen, shrouded in blue and purple. The left one didn’t have any white left, it was a sea of scarlet, with the iris floating in the middle. An angry olive in a bloody Mary. Butterfly stitches on his forehead.
Logan tried to slam the door shut, but Reuben had his foot jammed in the opening
. It didn’t budge.
Run. Turn around right now and run like hell up the stairs. Maybe he’d get into the flat before Reuben caught him and beat him to death.
Logan took a step backwards.
The big man held up a package. It was about the size of a laptop, only thicker, wrapped in cheery yellow paper tied up with a blue ribbon, the ends all curly and worked into a bow.
‘Compliments of Mr Mowat.’ Voice all bunged up.
Logan cleared his throat. ‘Look, Reuben, I—’
‘I have to apologize for my lack of respect yesterday. I was out of order.’ Reuben stood stock still, delivering his message in a nasal monotone.
‘It was a…Look, I’m sorry, OK? I just snapped. I didn’t mean to—’
‘Can I tell Mr Mowat you accept my apology?’
‘Yes, of course. I shouldn’t have—’
Something slammed into Logan’s stomach. Pain tore through him, radiating out like a wave of fire. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a rasping wheeze as his knees gave way and he fell to the hallway floor.
Jesus, God that hurt…
Reuben flexed a huge hand, open, then closed again. ‘You’re fucking lucky Mr Mowat likes you, McRae, or you and me’d be taking a wee trip out somewhere quiet, with a welding torch.’
He bent down, looming over Logan. ‘Understand this, you’re nothing more than a wee piece of shite to me. Mr Mowat’s no’ a well man. See if he dies? You and me are going to have another talk.’
Reuben tossed the rectangular package at Logan. A sharp edge clunked against his head, making hot stars flash across the dark sky.
‘Enjoy your fucking present.’
‘Logan? Why are you sitting here in the dark?’ Click, and the kitchen light blossomed slowly to life, the energy efficient bulb flickering to a dull-white glow. Sam stood with one hand on the switch, eyebrows knitted together. ‘Are you OK?’
Logan looked up from the table, clutching a bag of defrosting peas to the top of his head. One hand wrapped around his stomach. ‘Not really.’
Dark Blood Page 14