Shatter the Bones

by Stuart MacBride

  Logan stifled a yawn. Shuddered. Then put the phone back on the hook. Stretched in his seat. Sagged. ‘Christ…’ He ran a hand over his face. ‘What do you think?’

  Goulding raised an eyebrow. ‘Could Beatrice have hurt them? Oh yes, definitely. She seems to have compartmentalized her life – the dedicated student, the obsessive fan, the dutiful friend, the loyal protector… If she thought Alison McGregor had rejected her, I wouldn’t be surprised to see her falling back into her old behaviour patterns. Mummy has spurned me again, I will punish her. I will—’

  The door banged open and there was DCI Finnie in all his rubber-faced glory. ‘Well?’

  ‘The Met are on their way to the studio.’ Logan pointed at the phone. ‘Maguire’s still broadcasting the round-up of tonight’s semi-final.’

  ‘Excellent, excellent.’ The head of CID rubbed his hands together. ‘Are they flying him up to Aberdeen?’

  ‘Can’t. The CPS say we don’t have enough to arrest him. I’ve asked for a video-conference thing when they talk to him, so at least we’ll get to sit in.’

  Finnie’s smile slipped. ‘Oh, well, I suppose we shouldn’t lose sight that it’s a result. And this all came from interviewing the Eastbrook woman? The Eastbrook woman McPherson was supposed to have interviewed?’

  ‘Ah…’ Logan shifted in his seat. ‘Yes, well—’

  ‘I think I might have to have a few words with Detective Inspector McPherson, don’t you agree? I might start with, “idiot” and see how it goes from there.’ A nod. He reached out and patted Logan on the shoulder, keeping his body stiff, as if he’d heard about this kind of thing, but had never done it before. ‘Good work, Sergeant.’ A pause. ‘Now, have you written up that formal complaint yet?’

  ‘No, I don’t…’ Logan sighed. ‘I know, but what am I supposed to do?’

  The silence on the other end of the phone kept on getting colder.

  He took a sip of tea, watching as the macaroni cheese and chips congealed on his plate. Killing time with Goulding, waiting for the Metropolitan Police to call and say they were ready to question Gordon Maguire.

  The canteen was quiet, just a couple of the back shift in for bacon rolls and strong coffee.

  ‘Sam, it’s the only break we’ve had in nearly two weeks, I can’t—’

  ‘It’s half nine! We were supposed to book a holiday tonight, remember?’

  ‘Yes, but you know what the job’s like, I—’

  ‘Don’t you dare play the “job” card with me, Logan McRae. Every time there’s a big case on you disappear up there and never come home. Well, if you’d rather hang out with that wrinkly lesbian mother-substitute of yours than come home to me, you—’

  ‘She’s not even here! It’s just me and Finnie and Goulding. We’re waiting—’

  ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just now and then, but it’s all the sodding time.’

  ‘—Gordon Maguire, because he lied and—’

  ‘And I know there’s a little girl and her mum missing, but killing yourself isn’t going to change—’

  ‘—video conference. I’ll be home as soon as I—’

  ‘And you can pick up a bottle of wine as well.’

  ‘It’s…’

  She’d hung up.

  Wonderful. Logan stuck the phone back in his pocket. Goulding leaned forward. ‘So, do you fancy Aberdeen’s chances against Toulouse this weekend?’

  ‘Don’t even pretend.’ He stabbed a chip and dragged it through the wrinkly cheese sauce. ‘And before you start: I know she’s right, OK? I’m knackered, I’ve not had a day off in ages, and Big Gary keeps moaning about the overtime bill.’ The chip was cold, the sauce lukewarm. ‘But what am I supposed to do: sod off home and miss Gordon Maguire’s interview?’

  ‘Well,’ the psychologist dabbed the napkin at the corners of his mouth, ‘I suppose that depends on what you feel’s more important. Doesn’t it?’

  Guilt – even better. ‘I’m not…’ His phone was ringing again. He pulled it out and hit the button. ‘Sam, I’ve been thinking: how about—’

  ‘All your fucking fault.’ Shuggie Webster. ‘It’s all your fucking fault!’

  Not again. ‘It’s getting old, Shuggie. We know about Trisha, OK? If your mates Jacob and Robert have got her we can help. But you’ve got to stop—’

  ‘I want them fucking drugs back, and if you won’t give us them…’

  ‘Stop sodding around and turn yourself in. OK?’

  ‘I warned you. I fucking warned you.’

  ‘Shuggie—’

  ‘Consequences…’

  Consequences? Silly bugger. This wasn’t the bloody Godfather, and Shuggie Webster was no Al Pacino. Logan hung up on him.

  ‘You know what?’ He pushed his plate away. ‘I’m getting sick and tired of…’

  His phone. Again.

  He stabbed the button. ‘God’s sake: what?’

  ‘Logan?’ Samantha. ‘Look, I’m sorry … it’s been a crappy day. I didn’t mean to be a nag.’

  ‘Sam, I—’

  ‘If you’ve got someone for the McGregor thing, nail the bastard to the wall by the balls.’

  Pause. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Spent the whole day scraping bits of brain and skull off the roof of some poor sod’s bedroom. I hate suicides.’

  Logan smiled. ‘Well, at least you’ve finally got something in common with Biohazard.’

  ‘Urgh… Great: now I feel dirty and depressed.’

  ‘How about I take you out to dinner tomorrow night? And I’ll be home as soon as I can. Promise.’

  ‘Love you.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  ‘Well I sodding hate you!’ DI Steel stood at the end of the table, arms folded, face creased into a scarecrow scowl.

  ‘Sam? I’ve got to go…’ He put the phone back in his pocket. ‘What the hell were you thinking?’

  Dr Goulding pulled on a smile. ‘Good evening, Inspector.’

  ‘Fuck off, Ringo.’ She stabbed a finger at Logan. ‘He’s gone. Done a runner.’

  ‘Who’s—’

  ‘Frank Sodding Baker, that’s who. Didn’t turn up for work this morning – the Diddymen went round tonight and his flat’s a tip. Packed his clothes, his toothbrush, and sodded off!’

  Logan stared at her. ‘That’s not my fault. How’s that my fault?’

  ‘You and that cock-burger Green! Charging about like—’

  ‘Oh, no you don’t.’ He stood, chest out, shoulders back. Goulding groaned. ‘Logan, maybe now’s not the best time to—’

  ‘One: Green was the one doing all the shouting. Two: I tried to stop him! The bastard wouldn’t listen—’

  ‘Oh, don’t give me that, you—’

  ‘I put in a formal complaint about it. In writing!’

  The psychologist held up his hands. ‘I really think you should both—’

  ‘Shut up.’ Steel ran a hand across her eyes. ‘Are you telling me you put in a formal, written complaint about Stupidintendent Green?’

  ‘Yes. I had nothing to do with—’

  ‘Are you mental? Never go on the record moaning about a superior officer, no matter how much of a tosser they are!’ She clenched her fists at the ceiling. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘The minute you made it official, you gave that arsehole Green a target.’

  Goulding stood. ‘I really think—’

  Steel glared at him. ‘What part of “shut the fuck up” do you no’ understand?’

  The psychologist just pointed over her shoulder.

  Oh … bollocks. Logan turned.

  Superintendent Green was standing in the canteen doorway with DCI Finnie. The man from SOCA stuck his nose in the air, turned, and stormed from the room.

  Chapter 35

  ‘Well, that could have gone better, don’t you think?’ Finnie settled into the chair on the other side of the boardroom table, then shuffled around until he was facing the screen.


  Logan doodled a little skull and crossbones in the corner of his notepad. ‘I didn’t know he was there.’

  ‘I hardly think that’s relevant. Do you, Doctor?’

  Goulding shrugged. ‘Sometimes it’s better to get interpersonal issues out in the open. If we never let people know how we feel, how can we expect them to change?’

  The TV flickered, then settled on a view of a small room. A round table with a chair behind it – facing the camera, two more on this side, facing away.

  A voice boomed out of the speakers. ‘How’s that? Any better?’ Then a figure bent into frame and waved at them. He was too close for the camera to focus properly.

  Logan clicked the button on the conference phone. ‘We can see you now.’

  ‘I bloody hate IT.’ He sat with his back to the camera, just the edge of his shoulder visible on the screen.

  Logan let go of the button. ‘That’s DI Broddur, he’s the one’s been looking into Maguire for Mark.’

  Finnie shifted in his seat. ‘Can they see us?’

  ‘Video link’s one way. The inspector can hear us, but only if you press the “talk” button. He’s got an earpiece so no one else in the room knows what you’ve said.’

  Finnie drummed his fingers on the boardroom table. ‘You do realize that Superintendent Green is probably going to demand an apology?’

  ‘I told him threatening Frank Baker was would just make him run.’

  Broddur’s voice crackled across the room. ‘We ready?’ Logan pressed the button. ‘Whenever you are, Inspector.’

  A blurry hand waved across the screen. ‘Bring him in, Charlie.’

  Gordon Maguire looked very shiny over a video link, his bald head flaring in the overhead light. He took the chair facing the camera and scowled. ‘You do know we’ve got a live update on the voting in fi fteen minutes, don’t you? Not to mention half a million other things that have to be—’

  Broddur: ‘You’ve not been entirely honest with us, have you Mr Maguire?’

  The producer licked his lips. ‘This is all a big misunderstanding. Like I told those Aberdonian idiots: I can’t afford to have Alison and Jenny out of circulation. If I don’t get that album out soon I’m going to lose everything.’

  Logan pressed the ‘TALK’ button again. ‘Then why did our witness see Alison McGregor getting into his car the—’

  ‘Yes, I was actually getting to that.’ Broddur leant forward, showing more of his back to the camera. ‘Then why do we have a witness that saw Alison McGregor getting into your car the night she went missing?’

  ‘Ah…’ Maguire looked off to the left. ‘Well, yes, but you see … we had to discuss some business. So I gave her a lift home.’

  ‘And you conveniently forgot to mention that fact, even though you’ve been questioned three times?’

  ‘Look, it’s … God.’ Maguire scrubbed a hand across his face. ‘We were … seeing each other. We went back to my hotel, had a few

  glasses of wine, and…’ He cleared his throat. ‘Look, do I really have to spell it out for you?’

  ‘Some of my colleagues north of the border can be a bit dim when it comes to the social niceties, Mr Maguire. Better make it nice and clear.’

  He sighed. ‘We met last year during the auditions for Britain’s Next Big Star. We got chatting, ended up having coffee, then dinner. We got on, liked each other.’ He rubbed a hand across his bald scalp. ‘If anyone found out I was … involved with one of the contestants there’d be people shouting, “fi x” and it’s not true: I didn’t infl uence the judges. I didn’t have to. She was brilliant.’

  He shifted in his seat, scooting back and forward. ‘On Wednesday night we went to my room, and afterwards I gave her a lift home, then went back to the hotel to pack. Had to get the redeye back to London. That’s it, I swear: I know nothing about her going missing.’

  He fidgeted in silence for a minute. ‘You won’t tell anyone about me and her will you? You know how the media like to blow stuff like this out of all proportion.’

  ‘Hey kiddo, how you doing?’ A robot voice in the darkness.

  Eyes are all crusty… Jenny wipes the eye-bogies away and blinks, screwing her face up against the light. ‘Sleeping.’

  ‘I know, but it’s time for another shot, OK?’ SYLVESTER pulls up her sleeve, his white suit all rustly. ‘Should be getting good at this by now, shouldn’t we?’

  The scratchy bee stings. Jenny bites her bottom lip and doesn’t cry. She is a Brave Little Girl.

  ‘OK, perfect, we’ll just give that a wee swab…’ He rubs a little cloth across the sting. ‘And a plaster…’ Small, round, and pale as Barbie’s skin. ‘And we’re done.’ He holds a lollipop in his purple-gloved hand.

  Jenny takes the lollipop. Unwraps it. Sniffs it.

  ‘It’s cola-flavoured. Chewy in the middle too. Just don’t tell your mum.’

  Never take sweeties from strange men. She puts the lollipop on the mattress, next to the chain around her neck.

  The other monsters are in the corner of the room, DAVID, TOM, and another one – a woman. Jenny can’t read the name badge from here, but the new monster has a huge camera slung around her neck all wrapped up in clear plastic.

  SYLVESTER reaches down and strokes Jenny’s hair, but she doesn’t even flinch. Brave. ‘It’s going to be OK. It’ll all be over in a couple of days, and you can go home with your mum. That’ll be good, won’t it?’

  The other monsters are arguing.

  DAVID: ‘…fucking police.’

  TOM: ‘I know. But what are we supposed to do about it?’

  The new monster gives herself a hug. ‘Poor Colin. I can’t believe he’d do something like that…’ She sounds the same as the others.

  DAVID shakes his head, that horrible shiny plastic face all dead and glinty. ‘Get a grip, Patrick, fuck’s sake. He was a moron, OK? It’s his fault the police are sniffing round.’

  TOM shrugs one shoulder. ‘Come on, the guy’s dead, it’s no’ like—’

  ‘Everything we’ve done, everything we’ve achieved,’ DAVID pokes him in the chest with a purple finger, ‘only matters if no bastard ever finds out.’ Another poke. ‘You got any idea what they’ll do to us if they catch us? Any idea what we’ll get in prison? The bastards that cut off Jenny McGregor’s toes?’

  TOM backs off a step. ‘I’m just saying, OK? He killed himself.’

  SYLVESTER strokes Jenny’s hair again. ‘Don’t worry about them, they’re just upset. It’s going to be OK. No one’s going to hurt you…’

  PATRICK shifts her feet. ‘What if he left a note? What if he told them what we’ve done?’

  ‘Don’t be fucking stupid. If he did that we’d all be in a cell by now. He didn’t say anything about us.’

  Silence. Then PATRICK tilts her head to one side. ‘How do you know?’

  There’s a clunk, then Mummy comes out of the poopy room, and closes the door behind her. It’s not a toilet, not like in a proper house, it’s a cupboard with a bucket in it and it smells like nappies left in the bin for too long.

  The chain around Mummy’s leg clanks and rattles as she shuffles across the bare floorboards. Then it pulls tight and she has to wait until SYLVESTER undoes the padlock holding it to the radiator, and fastens it to the bed again. She sinks onto the mattress next to Jenny, curls up on her side with her back to the room.

  SYLVESTER stands over Jenny for a moment. Looking down at her. Then he goes to be with the other monsters.

  Jenny watches him shuffling on the outside of the group, like a fat boy in the playground. Then someone’s pocket makes the Doctor Who music.

  DAVID pulls out a shiny phone. ‘What? … Yes, I know, they spoke to us too. … No, I don’t know. … Because I’m not fucking psychic, that’s why!’

  Jenny closes her eyes, grits her teeth, and struggles onto her side. The holes where her little toes used to be throb and sting. But she doesn’t make a sound. Brave Little Girl.

  Chapter 36

&
nbsp; Someone was in the house. Someone was in the house, with a knife, standing over the bed and he couldn’t move, and—

  Logan jerked awake. Lay on his back staring at the ceiling, heartbeat pounding in his ears. He held his breath, listening.

  Nothing, just the faint-raspy sound of Samantha sleeping beside him.

  A dim orange glow oozed in around the edges of the curtains, not enough to light the room, just enough to make the wardrobe and chest of drawers look like monsters looming in the shadows. Big rectangular wooden monsters. Full of socks.

  The alarm clock radio glowed 03:00.

  He let the breath out in one long hiss. Sodding hell… Why couldn’t he dream about a bouncy castle full of naked Page 3 girls for a change?

  Logan settled back into the pillow and frowned at the ceiling. Gordon Maguire – what a dodgy baldy little sod, sleeping with one of the contestants on his show. Jammy too. What the hell did Alison McGregor see in him? Other than a TV company, of course.

  And all that stuff about bankruptcy and evil investors: they only had his word for it. Might be an idea to call up someone in the Met’s fraud division first thing tomorrow morning, see if they couldn’t give Blue-Fish-Two-Fish Production’s accounts a going-over. Find out if Maguire was telling the truth.

  A clack.

  Then there was creepy stalker Beatrice ‘Mummy Issues’ Eastbrook…

  Probably should get someone to look into Edward Buchan’s property arrangements too, just in case the pathetic excuse for a human being had a lock-up or an old relative’s house he was looking after. Somewhere to stash Trisha Brown where no one would hear her screaming for help.

  If the Yardies didn’t have her.

  Thump.

  And assuming Superintendent Green didn’t get him fired first…

  Logan frowned. Did he need to pee? Possibly. But that meant getting out of bed.

  A huge, jaw-cracking yawn.

  Unless Shuggie and Trisha really were trying to pull off a scam?

  Logan rolled out of bed and stood, naked and pale, in the green glow of the clock radio. Like a scrawny version of the Incredible Hulk. He flexed his right arm a couple of times, trying to work the stiffness out of it, aggravating the bruises, then creaked open the bedroom door.