In the Cold Dark Ground

by Stuart MacBride

  ‘Aye, no offence,’ Steel brushed pastry crumbs from her cleavage, ‘but fascinating as the history lesson is, Super, when do we get to the bit that’s got anything to do with Peter Shepherd?’

  Harper laughed. ‘A very good point, Roberta.’

  Roberta? So she’d gone from ‘Do what you’re told’ to first-name terms in fifteen minutes?

  She raised the remote. ‘Let’s fast forward a bit.’

  Click. Blood. Click. Death. Click. Blood. Click. Bodies. Click. Blood. Click. Death. Click. More bodies.

  ‘And then we arrive at Michael Webb.’

  Click.

  Another young man, this one lying on his back, naked, with his arms behind him. Black plastic bag taped over his head. His torso was a mass of green and purple bruises, then porcelain skin, then a line of red where the blood had pooled nearest to the ground after death. Settling through the tissues.

  ‘Low-level drug dealer. His hands were tied behind his back, then he was beaten around the head, neck, and torso. Then they duct-taped a bin-bag over his head and watched him suffocate to death. The remains were dumped in woodland just south of the Forth Bridge and drenched in bleach to destroy any trace on the body.’

  Click.

  Different body, different woods, but the MO was the same.

  ‘Daniel Crombie – used to smuggle cigarettes and alcohol in from the Continent.’

  Click.

  And again.

  ‘Alex Ward – pimp.’

  Click.

  ‘Walter Gibson – retired police officer turned loan shark.’ Harper dumped the remote on the table. ‘I’ve got another dozen of these, spread over a space of twenty-six years. All our victims were rivals or inconveniences to Malcolm McLennan, but there’s nothing but rumour connecting him to the killings.’

  She picked up one of the empty cake bags and scrunched it into a ball. ‘We’re pretty certain he doesn’t kill them personally, but he does order it. The actual murders are carried out by multiple, unknown, persons. No one has ever been arrested for these crimes, never mind prosecuted.’ Harper lobbed the bag into the bin from a distance of about eight feet. ‘Any comments?’

  Rennie put his hand up. ‘What about trace inside the bin-bags? The bleach can’t get in there, if the seal’s reasonably tight. And black plastic bags are like static electricity hoovers for dust and fibres.’

  ‘Good question …’ she checked a sheet of paper, ‘Simon. No viable DNA from anyone other than the victim – which isn’t surprising, given the warm moist environment inside the suffocating hood. No fingerprints on the bags either. And there hasn’t been any correlation between fibres found on the various bodies. So no two of them were killed in the same place. And none of the fibres match anything at Malcolm McLennan’s home or place of work.’

  Another hand.

  Harper checked her paper again. ‘Yes, Becky, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s all very flashy and unnecessary – leaving the bodies lying about when you could make them disappear. It’s sending out a message: this is what happens when you mess with Malk the Knife.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘So,’ Becky sat forward, ‘what we need to do is figure out who this is a message for. There’s no point killing Shepherd like this if the intended recipient doesn’t find out about it.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Harper gave her a smile. ‘I want you to produce a list of all the local villains running more than a one-man operation. Let’s see if we can rattle their tree a bit. Anyone else?’

  Logan had a go. ‘What about our prime suspect, Martin Milne, ma’am? We’ve got him tied to Shepherd sexually and financially. They embezzled nearly quarter of a million pounds from their company. And Milne did a runner three days before we found Shepherd’s body.’

  She stared at him.

  The radiators creaked and pinged.

  One of Steel’s DIs cleared their throat.

  ‘Firstly, Sergeant, I do not appreciate your casual sexism. You will address me as “sir”, “superintendent”, or “super”. Are we clear?’

  Warmth bloomed in Logan’s ears, spreading down the back of his neck. ‘Yes, Super.’

  ‘Secondly, Martin Milne is no longer a suspect, he’s a potential victim. It’s much more likely he’s on the run because Malk the Knife’s boys are after him. Assuming he isn’t dead already.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Milne didn’t kill Shepherd, you idiot.’ She pointed at the DS sitting on the far end. ‘Donna, tell Sergeant McRae what you found in Shepherd’s house, please.’

  She turned in her seat to face him. Brushed the lank greying fringe from her eyes. ‘We turned up two residency visas and work permits for Dubai, one lot in Peter Shepherd’s name, the other in Martin Milne’s. They’ve been hired to run logistics for one of the contractors building infrastructure for the World Expo there in 2020. You wouldn’t believe how much they were getting paid, and dirty-big bonuses every quarter too.’ She held up an evidence wallet. ‘Visa’s valid from the end of the week. They were running away together.’

  Probably with two hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds of GCML’s money.

  ‘That doesn’t mean Milne didn’t kill him.’

  She sighed. ‘And it doesn’t mean he did.’

  ‘But if Milne—’

  ‘Enough.’ Harper thumped her hand down on the table. ‘If you’ve quite finished wasting everyone’s time, Sergeant McRae, perhaps you’d like to sod off and make the tea? Don’t worry if it’s too complicated for you, Narveer will supervise.’ She nodded towards the door. ‘Off you go.’

  15

  Logan slammed the milk down on the work surface, next to the line of mugs. Yanked the drawer open and jammed his hand in, ripped out a spoon. Clattered that next to the milk.

  Leaning back against the canteen table, DI Singh sighed. Shook his head. ‘I don’t understand it. I have never seen her take against someone like this.’

  Teabags were hurled into five of the mugs. Coffee granules got thrown into the other four.

  ‘And I’m including the tosser who set fire to that block of flats in Arbroath last year, because the residents dobbed him in for selling drugs to kids.’

  Logan snatched the kettle off its stand and filled it, before thumping it back on its charger.

  Narveer sucked his teeth. ‘Are you sure the pair of you haven’t met before? Maybe you ran over her dog, or her grandma, or something?’

  The kettle growled and hissed.

  ‘I don’t get it, this really isn’t like her. I swear.’

  Logan rammed the sugar back in the cupboard and slammed the door shut. ‘What the hell is her problem?’

  A shrug. ‘Genuinely, if I knew I’d tell you. Giving me heartburn, all this tension.’ Then he puffed out a breath. ‘Her dad died a couple of months ago, maybe that’s it?’

  ‘All she’s done is bitch and whine and moan and act like a complete and total—’

  ‘Now, Sergeant, let’s not forget ourselves. There is such a thing as chain of command.’

  He put a hand on the kettle. Took a deep breath as it grumbled. ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘Hmm…’ Narveer turned and picked the concrete gnome off the canteen windowsill. ‘Heavy little fellow, isn’t he?’

  ‘And what was with the “casual sexism” remark? You called her “ma’am” earlier and it was fine, but when I do it?’

  ‘Don’t know. That’s a new one on me too.’ He frowned down at the white lump in his hands. ‘Why do you have a lawn ornament in here?’

  ‘I don’t even want to be on the bloody MIT. I’ve got a division to run, a drugs raid to organize, and what am I doing? Making the tea.’ The kettle rattled to a halt and Logan drowned the teabags and coffee granules. Glowered at them. Then mashed the teabags against the side of the mugs and hurled their remains in the bin. ‘You’re here to make sure I don’t spit in Harper’s tea, aren’t you?’

  ‘Couldn�
�t possibly comment.’ There was a clunk. ‘Sergeant… Logan. I don’t know why the Superintendent has it in for you, but if I find out I’ll let you know. Meantime, till we figure it out, it’s probably best you keep out of her way.’

  With pleasure.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Steel’s voice grated down the corridor as Logan’s hand hit the doorknob.

  ‘Home.’ He hauled open the door. ‘My shift ended at three. It’s nearly quarter past six.’

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you, Laz? Shifts are for the weak.’

  Outside, the rain had given up. Or at least called a truce. The road was slick and shiny in the orange streetlight glow.

  He turned. ‘Detective Superintendent Harper has made it perfectly clear I’m not wanted. And that’s fine with me.’

  ‘Come on, Laz, don’t be like that.’

  ‘Oh, and thanks for the support, by the way. When she was tearing me off a strip and calling me an idiot. Thanks. I really appreciate it. Hope you liked your coffee.’ He stepped out into the night and thumped the door closed behind him.

  It opened a moment later. ‘What did you do to my coffee? Did you put bogies in it? You did, didn’t you? You filthy wee—’

  ‘You told Inspector McGregor you wanted me for local knowledge and experience.’ Getting louder and louder. ‘So why am I in there playing SODDING TEABOY?’

  Steel took out her e-cigarette and stuck it in her gob. Sucked on it, setting the LED in the tip glowing blue. ‘Are we finished having our whiney little strop?’

  ‘Get stuffed.’ He stuck his hands in his pockets and marched off.

  Her voice rang out behind him. ‘So you’ll no’ care that Martin Milne’s just turned up.’

  Logan froze. ‘Is he alive?’

  ‘Get in the car.’

  The car screeched to a halt on the kerb, outside Milne’s house. Logan yanked the keys out of the ignition and scrambled out into the darkness. Wind slammed into the garden, making the bushes writhe, snatching the breath from his throat as he jammed the peaked cap on his head and followed Steel up the drive to the front door.

  Only when they got there she slapped him on the arm. ‘Round the back, you great lump. What if he does another runner? Count of ten.’

  Logan ducked and ran, keeping low past the front of the house and around the side. The wail of a siren grew louder in the distance. Backup on its way.

  Nine. Eight.

  Around the side of the house. He vaulted the gate, set into a knee-high drystane dyke. Stumbled in the darkness beyond. Kicked something plastic. Swore at it. Then hobbled around the back.

  Five. Four.

  The lights were on in the kitchen, spilling out into the garden.

  A paved patio stretched almost the length of the house, with built-in barbecue and raised beds around the outside. A shovel, a trowel, a fork and a hoe were stacked against a water butt, their wooden handles faded and cracked by the winter. The set of rattan garden furniture hadn’t fared much better.

  Three. Two.

  Logan eased himself along the wall and peered in through the kitchen window.

  Katie Milne stood by the sink, glass of wine in one hand, the other massaging her forehead. Black streaks on her cheeks where the mascara had run. So where was… There. Martin Milne sat at the kitchen table, slumped over a very large tumbler of whisky. His face was either dirty or bruised, difficult to tell from the garden.

  One. Zero.

  Then Steel must have rung the bell, because they both jerked upright and turned to face the front door.

  Katie said something, but Milne shook his head and stood. His whole body trembled.

  Outside, the siren got louder. Couldn’t be far away now.

  Then Katie shook herself. Pulled her chin up, and headed for the kitchen door. As soon as she closed it behind her, Milne was up, running for the French doors.

  He flung one of the doors open and leapt out onto the paving slabs.

  Logan stepped out of the shadows. ‘Leaving so soon, Mr Milne?’

  Milne’s mouth fell open, eyes wide. One of those high cheekbones of his was coloured purple and blue, another bruise on his dimpled chin. Another on his forehead. Crusts of dried blood made dark rings around both nostrils.

  He tensed, legs bent. One hand reached for the shovel.

  ‘You’ll get four, maybe six, feet tops.’ Logan pointed. ‘And if you pick that up, I’ll be doing you for resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer as well.’ He unclipped his extendable baton and clacked it out to its full length. ‘Want to risk it?’

  The siren’s wail died away, followed by the slamming of car doors.

  ‘Come on, Martin. It’s over.’

  Milne sank down to the patio floor, curled his arms around his head and sobbed.

  The convoy of police vehicles threaded their way through the damp and the dark – a glowing caterpillar of crisp white headlights and scarlet tail-lights, following the flashing blue-and-whites of the lead car.

  Last in line, Logan followed them down the hill, then up again.

  Steel shoogled back and forth in the passenger seat. ‘Does this thing no’ go any faster?’

  ‘We could’ve taken your car.’

  ‘You’re no’ man enough to drive my car. That’s why you own a manky old Fiat Punto. I’ve seen BBC costume dramas that move faster than this.’

  ‘Feel free to get out and walk.’

  She folded her arms and scowled out of the window. ‘All the way to bloody Fraserburgh. We should be interviewing the murdering wee sod, no’ driving halfway across the country!’

  God, it was like sharing a car with a sulky teenager.

  He gritted his teeth, squeezing the words out between them: ‘It’s not halfway across the country, it’s twenty-five miles. And we’re going there because it’s the nearest station with a custody sergeant and up-to-date interview rooms. OK? This is how it works now.’

  ‘Waste of time, that’s what it is.’

  ‘Then why don’t you wave your magic wand and give me another dozen full-time officers? Go on. It’ll make my life a hell of a lot easier.’

  Steel shook her head. ‘You’re such a moan.’ She dug out her phone and poked at the screen. Listened to it for a bit. Then, ‘Detective Superintendent Young, you’re sounding very sexy this evening. … No. … Oh, she told you. Yeah, we caught Martin Milne. And when I say “we” I mean me and grumpy old Sergeant McRae. … That’s right. We’re wheeching him off to Fraserburgh now.’

  They roared through New Aberdour without slowing down.

  ‘Uh-huh. … Uh-huh. … No, Superintendent Harper turned up and called dibs. He’s riding with her. … Yeah, well I wasn’t quite so polite about it. … Yup.’ Then Steel threw back her head and laughed, setting her cleavage wobbling in the dashboard light. The laughter faded, replaced by a frown instead. ‘She did? Seriously?… Hold on.’

  Steel stuck the phone against her chest. ‘You’ll no’ believe it, but Madame Bipolar Panties told the Boss that catching Milne was all down to me. If it wasn’t for my magnificent performance on the news, the neighbour would no’ have known to give us a shout when he turned up. Apparently, my initiative is to be lauded, admired, and rewarded with cake and nipples.’

  Logan tightened his grip on the wheel, ground his teeth together. ‘Course it is. Because all those interviews my team did with the neighbours and the posters we put up had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Blah, blah, blah.’ Back to the phone. ‘You still there?… Good. Looks like someone’s given Milne a bit of a hiding, but nothing a night in the cells won’t sort out. … Not sure. If Laz had let Milne take a swing at him we could’ve done him for assault. But no, he had to be all peaceful resolutiony about it.’

  A gap in the clouds opened up just long enough for a half-moon to glare down. Pale grey light turned the countryside into a washed-out monochrome as it rushed by the Punto’s windows.
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br />   ‘Yeah, I will. … What?… No, we got a tip-off from one of the neighbours. She saw Milne rock up and gave us a call so we wouldn’t worry about him any more. … Yeah, OK. Will do. … Bye.’

  Steel hung up, then squinted out through the windscreen with a pinched face. ‘No idea what we’re going to charge Milne with. Knowing our luck he’ll clam up, call his lawyer, and walk right out again.’

  The silhouetted bones of a forest scratched by on the left, before the clouds swallowed the moon again – returning everything to darkness.

  Steel had another go at a smoke ring. Failed. ‘Are we having a sulk?’

  ‘You know what? Fine. I’m off tomorrow and Saturday. You can all stand round in a circle patting each other’s backsides till they fall off. This is nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t: you work for me now, remember? All leave is cancelled till— AAAAGH!’

  He kept his foot hard on the brake as the Punto slithered on the wet tarmac. It jerked to a halt, sideways across the road, nose inches from a deep ditch.

  Steel was frozen in the passenger seat, both hands gripping the dashboard like talons. Eyes wide. Breath coming in tiny gasps. Then she turned her head and stared at him. ‘What the goat-buggering hell do you think you’re—’

  ‘No.’ The words came out smooth, slow, and level. ‘I’m switching Samantha off tomorrow. Then I’m going into town to clean out the caravan. Then I’m going to get very, very drunk. And if you’ve got a problem with that, my resignation will be on the Inspector’s desk two minutes after we get to Fraserburgh.’

  She unpeeled her fingertips from the dust-paled dashboard. ‘Don’t be so melodramatic. It’s—’

  ‘I don’t care if I have to write it on the back of a fag packet, I’m done.’

  Steel held up her hands. ‘OK, OK. Two days off.’ She pointed. ‘Now get this bucket of sharny rust turned the right way round, before someone comes round the corner and squishes us.’

  Logan swallowed the knots in his throat. Deep breath. Then turned the key in the ignition, doing a four-point turn to get the Punto pointing towards Fraserburgh again. ‘I mean it.’

  Reuben, Napier, Harper: they could all tie rocks around their necks and jump in a septic tank. Let them sink in the filth while he disappeared off somewhere warm to start a new life.