She glared at them out of her one good eye, the other still swollen up like a pudding. ‘Didn’t think so. Well believe me: I’m no’ forgetting and I’m no’ forgiving this. I find out which one of you gave the Sunday Examiner an exclusive, I’ll make sure you walk squint for a month. Understand?’
Someone cleared their throat.
Logan leaned back against the wall, keeping as still as possible. Every movement sent needles and knives jabbing through his back, ribs, and stomach.
More glowering from Steel. ‘Now, who fancies a bollocking?’ She raised a finger and pointed at the assembled officers one at a time: ‘Eenie, meenie, miny, mo, catch a slacker by the toe.’ The finger stopped with DS Robertson and his sideburns. ‘You, Pop Larkin, where’s my list of Milne and Shepherd’s sexual conquests?’
Pink bloomed across the skin above that ridiculous facial hair. ‘It’s not as easy as you’d think. I’m trying to get names for all the faces, but—’
‘THEN TRY HARDER!’ Steel mashed her hand against the table, making everyone flinch. ‘This is a murder investigation, not a game of sodding Cluedo. When I tell you to do something, you bloody well do it!’
The blush deepened. ‘Yes, Guv.’
‘Next! Which one of you idiots is meant to be hunting down the animals who attacked me and Buggerlugs McRae over there?’
There was a pause, then DS Weatherford raised her hand.
Suddenly, Steel was all sweetness and light. ‘Ah, Donna. Good. Tell me, Donna, have you caught them yet?’
‘Well…’ She glanced around the room, but no one would look at her. ‘Not as such, you see—’
‘WHY THE BLOODY HELL NOT?’
Weatherford shrank back in her seat. ‘There’s no fingerprints! And we can’t get DNA back till—’
‘AAAARGH!’ Steel bashed the table again. ‘This is what I’m talking about. Every single one of you: it’s not your fingers you need to get out, it’s your whole buggering fist!’
Then Harper stood. ‘Thank you, Chief Inspector.’ She pointed at the actions written on the whiteboard. ‘You all know what you’ve got to do, so go out there and do it. And try to keep your big mouths shut this time.’
Chairs scraped back and the MIT team scurried out, heads low, no doubt suitably motivated from being shouted at for the last ten minutes.
Logan waited till the door shut to sink into one of the vacated chairs. Winced. The knives were out again. He hissed out a breath.
Steel stuck two fingers up at him. ‘Don’t start. You’re getting no sympathy from me. Want to know what pain is? Try this on for size.’ She hauled her shirt up, exposing her side. The paisley-pattern map of Russia she’d complained about yesterday was there in all its blue, green, and purple glory. It stood out bright and clear against the milk-bottle skin, disappearing under the line of a scarlet bra.
‘God’s sake, put it away.’ He grimaced and turned his head away. ‘Trying to make me lose my Weetabix?’
‘Cheeky wee sod.’
Harper took her place at the head of the table. ‘All right. I think that’s quite enough banter. Let’s focus on the problem at hand.’ She sat back, steepling her fingers. ‘How much damage does this cause us, Roberta?’
Steel sniffed, then picked up the Sunday Examiner again. Opened it out so the front page was on display. A big photo of Martin Milne stared out at them beneath the headline, ‘MURDER SUSPECT “WORKING WITH POLICE” SAYS OFFICER’. She dumped it back on the table. ‘No’ exactly great news, is it?’
‘Well, I suppose it would be naïve of us to think Malk the Knife wouldn’t expect something like this. The question is: does it change anything? Logan?’ The smile that accompanied his name was brittle, but at least it was there. Keeping it professional.
He pulled the paper closer.
An anonymous source on the Major Investigation Team confirms that Martin Milne (30) is working with Police Scotland to identify the people responsible for last week’s murder of his lover, Peterhead businessman Peter Shepherd (35). Mr Shepherd’s body was discovered in woodland south of Banff…
Well, if Milne was planning on keeping his relationship with Shepherd a secret, it was too late now.
Logan sucked on his teeth, staring at the picture. ‘If I were Malcolm McLennan, and I knew the police were watching, there’s no way I’d get Milne to smuggle things into the country for me now. Far too risky.’
‘So our whole operation is ruined, because someone on the MIT can’t keep their big mouth shut.’
‘Assuming Malcolm McLennan had anything to do with it in the first place. He denied it at the funeral…’ Frowning hurt, but Logan did it anyway. ‘What if it’s all a big distraction? Killing Peter Shepherd like that, leaving him lying about for people to find, it’s a bit high profile, isn’t it? We were always going to connect his body to McLennan. And then connect Shepherd to Milne. Maybe that’s the idea?’
‘True.’ Harper stared at one of the room’s windows.
Outside, the lights of Macduff were just visible through the pre-dawn gloom. Snow clung to the hill over there, pale blue and deep.
Steel prodded at the skin around her swollen eye. ‘What about one of the other scummers? Black Angus MacDonald, or Ma Campbell?’
Logan tapped at the table with a fingertip. ‘Could be. Campbell’s got drugs in Macduff already, maybe this is her way of making sure we’re all focusing our attention on McLennan instead of her? Make enough noise and the signal gets hidden.’
‘Hmmm…’ Harper kept her eyes on the window. ‘What about the money Milne and Shepherd borrowed?’
‘The only reason Milne thinks it came from Malcolm McLennan is because Shepherd told him it did. They could have been dealing with anybody and Milne wouldn’t have known, would he? Plus it means the local mob believe McLennan’s the one moving in on their turf, not Jessica Campbell. Any retaliation’s going to be aimed at Edinburgh, not Glasgow.’
A knock on the door, and Narveer poked his head in. Today’s turban was a greeny-blue tartan with yellow lines through it. ‘Super? That’s the Assistant Chief Constable on the phone for you.’
‘Thank you, Narveer.’ She stood. ‘We can’t afford to take our eye off Milne, but I agree it’s possible this is all sleight of hand. Logan, I want you to look into the Ma Campbell angle. Get descriptions of anyone Milne met with and see if they match. See if we can turn down the noise a bit and let the signal come through.’
Logan nodded. ‘Sir.’
‘Good work. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go explain to our lords and masters why we haven’t made any progress on this bloody case since Thursday.’
When Harper was gone, Steel sagged in her seat. ‘So, are you two shagging yet?’
He stuck two fingers up at her. ‘Did you have to rip a strip off Robertson and Weatherford in front of everyone? Poor sods are doing their best.’
‘Come on, I saw her checking you out all through the briefing. Yesterday she thought you were a two-foot wide skidmark on the hand-towel of life, now she’s throwing you meaningful glances like they’re on buy-one-get-one-free.’ Steel grinned. ‘You shagged her, didn’t you?’
‘She’s my sister. OK?’
‘You shagged your sister? You’re disgusting. Told Susan we shouldn’t have got you that boxed set of Game of Thrones.’
He stood. ‘You know what? I’m glad your ribs hurt. Serves you right.’
Snow-covered fields drifted by the car windows. Robbed of colour, everything looked dead beneath the grey sky.
‘Ooh, I like this one.’ Rennie took a hand off the steering wheel and turned the radio up. The sound of some insipid auto-tuned X-Factor-wannabe cover of a Marilyn Manson song glopped out of the speakers.
Logan reached forward from the back seat and flicked his ear, at almost exactly the same time as Steel clouted him on the shoulder from the passenger seat.
‘Ow!’
A glower from Steel. ‘If you’re thi
nking of singing along, I’m going to make sure it’s falsetto, understand?’
‘Philistines.’ But he turned the radio down again.
A bright-orange Citroën Saxo lay on its back, half in the ditch at the side of the road and half in the field beyond, scattering a path through the drystane dyke in between. Its oversized spoiler lay six feet away, buckled and torn. A ‘POLICE AWARE’ sticker graced its upside-down rear window.
Rennie hooked a thumb at it. ‘Had one of those when I was a boy racer. Mental car.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Logan watched it slide past: big flared wheel arches, twin exhausts, and alloy rims.
It was the same, every winter. Most people drove like little old ladies at the first sign of snow, but the wee loons still screeched about as if nothing had changed.
Steel turned in her seat, grimacing. ‘How come you never said you had a sister?’
‘Didn’t know till last night.’ Logan unhooked his Airwave handset from its clip. Say what you like about having to cart about a heavy stabproof vest all day, but the Velcro straps and armoured panels supported his back and stopped it from moving too much. Which kept the sudden stabs of pain down to a minimum.
‘Oh aye? And did you find out before or after you shagged her?’
‘Grow up.’ He punched the Duty Inspector’s shoulder number into the handset and pressed the talk button. ‘Bravo India, safe to talk?’
‘A McRae always pays his debts.’
‘Seriously, you can stop talking now. Your—’
A man’s voice boomed from the Airwave’s speaker. ‘Go ahead, Logan.’
‘Guv, I need in on tonight’s dunt again.’
Inspector Mhor sighed. ‘Believe it or not, Sergeant, I didn’t float into Fraserburgh on a half-buttered rowie.’
‘Guv?’
‘Do you really think the dayshift Duty Inspector doesn’t talk to the backshift one? Inspector McGregor and I go through the roster every day when I hand over to her, and that includes what’s going on with her shift. I know you’ve been seconded to the MIT.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘No buts. Sergeant Ashton is running the raid on Ricky Welsh’s house. What, did you think that I’d say yes when McGregor said no? I’m disappointed in you, Sergeant.’
The rising sun found a chink in the heavy lid of grey, sending blades of gold carving across the white fields.
‘I’m not trying to play anyone off against anyone else, Guv. Detective Superintendent Harper wants me to look into Jessica Campbell’s possible involvement in Peter Shepherd’s death. The drugs at Ricky and Laura’s are the only known link we have up here. So…?’
‘And Harper’s all right with this?’
‘It was her idea.’ OK, so that was stretching the truth a bit, but hey-ho.
Up ahead, Whitehills loomed in the distance. Its streetlights gave the place an unhealthy yellow glow.
Still nothing from Bravo India.
They were through the thirty limits before Inspector Mhor’s voice came through the speaker again. ‘Right. Logan, I’m prepared to put you in charge of the dunt again. But I want a big result from this one – it’s costing us a fortune, so make it count.’
‘Will do. Thanks, Guv.’
He twisted his Airwave back into place. Finally something was going his way.
Rennie took a right before they got into Whitehills proper, heading down the hill towards Martin Milne’s house.
Steel turned and squinted back at Logan again. ‘You set that whole thing up, didn’t you?’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘All that guff about only having Peter Shepherd’s word for it – you just wanted your dunt back.’
‘You heard Detective Superintendent Harper, she thought it was worth investigating.’
‘You manipulative wee sod.’ A smile twitched the corner of Steel’s mouth. ‘I’ve taught you well, young Grasshopper.’
A line of wire fencing appeared on the right, surrounding the suspended building work. It looked as if they weren’t the only ones who’d read that morning’s Sunday Examiner: the media blockade was back. Three outside broadcast vans and a dozen cars were parked on the part-finished road, trails of exhaust coiling out into the morning air. Some of the rustier cars had their passenger windows rolled down a crack, cigarette smoke joining the exhaust fumes.
Their occupants turned to stare at the pool car as it bumped through the potholes.
Rennie parked in front of Milne’s house. ‘Boss?’
‘See if I catch the rancid wee turd who leaked that story?’ Steel curled her lip and scowled through the windscreen. ‘Where are they? Supposed to be babysitters minding the roost.’
No sign of a patrol car. No sign of DS McKenzie, or her minions.
Steel pulled out her phone and fiddled with the screen. Held the thing to her ear. ‘Becky?… Yeah, I’m great, thanks, bit sore, but can’t complain. How are you?… That’s good. Becky, got a wee question for you: WHERE THE GOAT-BUGGERING HELL ARE YOU?’
Rennie flinched, both hands over his ears.
‘No, you’re not, and I know that because I’m sitting outside the house right now. … Angry? Why would I be angry? Oh, wait a minute, now I remember – I TOLD YOU TO KEEP AN EYE ON MARTIN MILNE!… Yes, I think you better, Sergeant, and when you get here we’ll see how far my left boot will fit up your backside!’
Logan climbed out into the cold, then reached back in for his high-viz jacket.
‘No excuses!’ She glowered at him with her good eye. ‘Door!’ Then back to the phone. ‘No’ you, Becky, McRae’s letting all the heat out. Where was I? Ah, right: WHAT THE HELL DO YOU—’
He thumped the door shut and marched up the driveway to the house.
Rennie scampered along behind, catching up as Logan leaned on the doorbell. He pulled out a little squeezed smile. ‘How you doing? You know, with Samantha, and Superintendent Harper, and your dad, and everything?’
‘Didn’t know you cared.’ Logan stepped back and peered through the frosted glass at the side of the door. No sign of life.
‘No, I mean it. Can’t imagine how hard that kinda thing must be.’ The smile turned into a frown, then he patted Logan on the shoulder. ‘I’m … you know?’
‘Yeah. Thanks.’
‘So what’s it like suddenly having a wee sister?’
Logan leant on the bell again. ‘Slightly less annoying than you.’
A grin. ‘So, what’s the plan?’
‘You heard Steel: Malcolm McLennan’s not going to make contact with this lot hanging about.’ He pointed at the phalanx of cars. Some of the occupants were already out, cameras poised. ‘Go check every single road tax, tyre, brake light, and anything else you can think of.’
The bottom lip protruded a half inch. ‘Why me? You’re the one in uniform, surely you should be… Erm.’
Logan stared at him.
He cleared his throat. ‘Right. OK.’ Then turned and marched back down the drive again, intercepting the vanguard as they made it as far as the pavement outside the house. ‘All right, ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to need to see your driver’s licences.’
The door opened and a rumpled Katie Milne blinked out at Logan. ‘Do you have any idea what time it is?’ Her gaze slid over his shoulder and she sagged. ‘Oh God, not them again. Why can’t they leave us in peace?’
‘Mrs Milne, I know it’s early, but we need to have a word with your husband. There’s a story in today’s paper that you’re probably going to want to discuss too.’ Which was an understatement. Hey, your husband was having an affair with his business partner and as many women as they could talk into having a threesome with them.
Happy Sunday.
33
Martin Milne’s eyes got wider and wider as he read the front page of the Sunday Examiner. His bottom lip wobbled when he turned the page and saw the rest of it. ‘Oh God…’
&
nbsp; They’d left the curtains shut in the living room, so the press couldn’t leer in through the windows. A pair of standard lamps cast a cheery glow on the ceiling completely out of keeping with the horrified expression on Milne’s face.
‘How did… Who? It’s…’ He lowered the newspaper, then jerked up in his seat – turning to face the closed door. ‘Has Katie seen this?’
‘No’ yet, no.’ Steel winced her way down onto the couch, hissing like a deflating balloon. ‘But it’s only a matter of time.’
‘But I trusted you!’ He grabbed his head with both hands, forcing the hair back from his face. ‘How could… Oh God…’
Logan took the newspaper back and folded it, hiding the offending front page. ‘We’ll find out who spoke to the journalist and we’ll make sure they’re properly punished. If you want to make a formal complaint we have guidelines to help you through the process. Here.’ He reached into a pocket of his stabproof vest and pulled out a leaflet. Handed it over.
‘What’s my wife going to say? What’s Katie going to think when she finds out?’
Steel pursed her lips. ‘My guess? She’ll no’ be too happy about you shagging a bloke. Doubt she’ll be too keen on the other women either.’
He crumpled the leaflet. ‘This is all your fault!’
‘Aye, with all due respect, Martyboy, I’m no’ the one who forced you into bed with Peter Shepherd and half the slappers between here and Ellon. That was all you.’
‘Oh God.’
Logan took out his notebook. ‘Can you describe the people who gave you and Peter the loan?’
Milne glared up at him. ‘Are you insane? I’m not helping you any more. I trusted the police and you told a newspaper who I was sleeping with! Private, personal details.’
A sigh. Then Logan lowered himself onto the edge of the couch, the stabproof vest making sure he sat bolt upright. ‘I’m sorry, Martin, but you can’t back out of this now.’
‘I want you out of my house.’
‘Let’s say you don’t cooperate with our investigation. Do you think Malcolm McLennan will forget about the two hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds you owe him? No, he’ll make you smuggle things into the area for him whether you like it or not. And we’ll be watching you.’
In the Cold Dark Ground Page 30