and he placed Steel's order, getting himself a jumbo haddock with pickled onions and a couple of tins of Irn-Bru, munching on the burning-hot chips as he walked back down to the docks. The AFC vomiter was gone, but a group of giggling girlies dressed in miniskirts, cropped tops and high heels filled the void by hurling abuse at passers-by. They staggered across the pedestrian crossing from the other side of the road, swigging at bottles of Bacardi Breezer, asking Logan for some of his chips, and calling him a 'miserable cunt' at the top of their lungs when he refused. Sighing Logan kept on going, over the crest and down the hill. The haddock was good, fresh and flaky and moist and, shit: that was his phone. He juggled his fish supper out of the way, wiping his greasy fingers on the paper it came wrapped in, before pulling the noisy clanging mobile out into the cold night air. 'Hello? This DSMcRae?' A man's voice. Logan admitted that it was. 'Right, right, got a message you wanted to speak to me. PC Taylor?' Logan had to think for a moment. 'Constable Taylor,' he said at last, trying to fold the paper back over the top of his chips to keep the heat in. 'You patrol the docks, don't you? Shore Lane, Regent Quay, that kind of thing?' 'Aye.' 'I'm looking for a young girl, fourteen to sixteen, been working Shore Lane. Lithuanian, not been in town long, pretty, hair like something out of an old rock video. Said her name was Kylie Smith. I want her and or her pimp.' Silence for a moment and then, 'Doesn 't ring any bells, but I can ask around.' 'Good. Next: woman, Caucasian, mid-forties, PVC raincoat, black lace top, long boots. Short permed blonde hair. Looks like a regular. Recently had the crap beaten out of her - I need to speak to her urgently.' The answer was immediate this time. 'Sounds like Agnes
Walker, Skanky Agnes to her friends. On some sort of methadone programme I think.' 'You got a home address?' PC Taylor didn't have it on him, but he'd find out. Logan thanked him and hung up. DI Steel's chips were still fairly warm by the time Logan made it back to the car. She wolfed the lot without a word while Logan skoofed his way through a tin of Irn-Bru. 'Right said Steel, sooking the last of the salt off her fingers and settling down in her seat. 'Back to the grindstone.' She was snoring within fifteen minutes. Logan sighed. It was going to be a long night.
Around about half two he roused the inspector. His back was beginning to ache from sitting in the car all night watching nothing happen. While Steel blinked, yawned and lit up yet another cigarette, Logan stepped out into the darkness to stretch his legs, breath misting about his head, caught beneath the harbour's arc lights. A massive blue-and-green supply vessel was docked behind them, the windows dark and empty, reflecting back the silent dtyscape. Distant sounds of clanging came from around the docks, the spark and flash of welding on a Russian boat, its red paintwork streaked with rust and grime. The clatter of a ship's door slamming shut. The whine of a crane. Drunken singing.
Hands rammed deep in his pockets, Logan set off on a lap of the streets that made up Aberdeen's red light district. The nightclubs would be chucking out soon, one final upsurge in business for the working girls, a drunken knee-trembler in a filthy doorway, or a once in a lifetime opportunity to be battered to death and abandoned in a ditch somewhere. And it wasn't as if the police had any idea where, when or even if the killer would strike again. Tonight, tomorrow, the day after . . . And suppose he did strike, how would they know? If he didn't take the bait, grabbed one of the real working girls instead of Operation Cinderella's ugly sisters,
I
Grampian Police wouldn't find out until the body turned up. Then there would be hell to pay. Logan scowled at the darkened alleys leading off the road, picturing the headlines: Local Woman Snatched While Police Look On!, or Serial Killer Strikes Under Police Noses!, or even just DS McRae Screws Up Again!!! 'It was my plan,' said disgraced former Police Hero, Logan (Lazarus) McRae. 'It was a sack ofs , but I made them go through with it anyway. All we had to do was watch the streets, and we couldn 't even manage that. He snatched her and we couldn't do a b thing.' Grampian Police gave notice today of DS McRae's immediate suspension . . . He turned left off Commerce Street, just shy of a tiny corporation car park - little more than a triangle of tarmac with a pay-and-display machine - empty now but for an unmarked Transit Van full of policemen. He resisted the urge to give them a wave. The wind was beginning to get up, freezing cold gusts that leached the feeling from his cheeks and made his ears sting. He wandered past the tile shop and the mini business park, peering down the side streets as he went. There weren't many girls left on the game tonight. Either frightened off by the cold or the huge police presence. Maybe the killer would be too? Maybe he couldn't get it up if there was an army of constables and CID watching. Or maybe his dick shrivelled up in the cold and no amount of pounding some poor cow's skull in with a rock would help. Whatever it was, Logan got the feeling their man wasn't going to show tonight. This had all been one huge waste of time.
� She's been standing on this street corner for ages, and it's bloody freezing. Shifting from foot to foot, trying to get some sort of circulation going, she cups her hands to her mouth and blows. Breath comes out in a fog, momentarily warming her fingertips, but even that small relief is soon whipped awaj in the icy wind. 'Fuckit,' she says to herself under her
breath. If she didn't need the money so much ... By all rights she should be at home tonight, curled up in front of the fire with a bottle of vodka and something nice on the telly. But that would be asking for too much, wouldn't it? God forbid Joe should get off his arse and go to work for a change. No: much better he should raid the fucking housekeeping and bugger off with the money for the electric. What the hell were they supposed to do with no bloody electricity? The sodding card meter was already down to its last flicker. So Joe goes out on the piss and she has to go out on the game. In the freezing cold. Just so they can have enough fucking electricity to see by. 'Selfish fuckhead.' He hadn't even left her enough for a packet of fags. She'd had to beg some off Joanna. She scrunched up her face and scowled at the deserted street. Enough was enough. The lazy bastard had to go. It wasn't as if he was even good to her. No, it was always demands and complaints and ... A car. She pulled herself upright and tried for a smile as it slowed down. It was a nice car, one of those new ones they were advertising on the telly. Whoever it was, they weren't short of a bob or two. She wriggled her bra down, getting as much cleavage on show as possible. Maybe tonight wouldn't be such a let down after all.
18
The sun was already well on its way up the sky when Logan finally slouched into work at half past nine. Yesterday's shift had been way too long: eight am on the Tuesday right round to five am on the Wednesday. Twenty two hours straight. By the time he was climbing the stairs to his flat things had started to get a little strange. His hands left vapour trails when he moved them, and his eyes made whooooshing sounds. Showered and barely shaved, Logan groaned his way up to DI Steel's incident room, just catching the end of an update meeting with the head of CID. Apparently every single person they'd detained last night had a cast-iron alibi for the Monday and Friday - surprisingly enough there was no mention of Councillor Marshall or his Anal Adventurer. Whoever the killer was, they hadn't caught him. When the DCS had gone, and the rest of the team was dispersed to perform the myriad tasks DI Steel had thought up for them, the inspector cornered Logan and told him he looked like warmed-up shit. Thanks a heap,' he said, rubbing his tired face. I've had about two hours' sleep in the last day and a half.' Steel stood up straight and peered down her nose at him.
'So have I, but you don't see me slouching in here looking like a zombie's armpit.' Which wasn't entirely true. Whatever magic the inspector had performed on her wild hair yesterday, it'd worn off. The suit was still new, if a little more creased than it had been, but the top of her head looked like a frightened mongoose. Logan stared at her in disbelief. 'You spent half the stakeout asleep! I watched the bloody alleyway while you were snoring your head off!' The inspector grinned at him, completely unabashed. 'Aye? Well, privilege of rank and all that shite. Come on, I'll buy you a nice bacon ro
ll on the way.'
'On the way where?' But she was already gone. For some reason DI Steel's assertion that shifts were for the weak didn't extend to DC Rennie: he wouldn't be in until later - so Logan had to pick up a CID pool car and drive them to the hospital, expending all his concentration on not crashing into anything. By the time they were sat at the traffic lights on Westburn Road, the lush green jungle of Victoria Park on one side, the wide-open spaces of Westburn Park on the other, Steel was onto her second post-bacon-buttie cigarette. 'You're no' still sulking are you?' she asked as the lights changed and they inched forward. I'm not sulking, I'm tired.' 'Aye?' The inspector eyed him sceptically. 'How come you've no' asked why we're going up the hospital then?' Logan sighed. 'We're going to see Jamie McKinnon.' Steel nodded. 'Aye. Want to guess why?' 'Not really, no.' 'Suit yourself.' The ward was fairly quiet when they arrived, most of the beds were full, their occupants sitting on their own, engrossed in the morning paper or staring morosely out of the window. Jamie McKinnon had been moved to a bed in the far corner
and was lying on his side with his back to the door, hiding under the blankets. Steel plonked herself down on the end of the bed and gave him a cheery, 'Jamie, my wee porridge-muncher, how's it hanging?' The man in the next bed harrumphed and ruffled his Press and Journal. 'Come on, Jamie, don't be rude: you've got visitors! I even brought grapes.' Steel pulled a tube of sweets from her pocket and tossed them onto the bedspread. 'Well, wine gums, but it's the thought that counts, eh?' Jamie McKinnon rolled over and scowled at her with his one good eye. For some reason his bruised face wasn't healing much. If anything it was worse than before. 'Go fuck yourself.' 'Ah, Jamie, Jamie, Jamie ... if only I had time. We found this huge dildo last night, but between you and me, it's a bastard on the batteries.' She picked up the wine gums. 'You wanting these or not?' He snatched them out of her hand and glowered. 'Nothing happened.' 'No . . . ?' Steel faded off into silence, looking over her shoulder at Logan standing at the foot of the bed. 'For God's sake get yourself a chair, you look like an undertaker standing there with your face like that.' Grumbling Logan did as he was told, dragging an orange plastic seat over from the next bed. He was just about to sit down when Steel told him to draw the curtains round the bed. 'There we go,' she said when he'd closed them off from the rest of the ward. 'Much more cosy. Now, Sunshine.' She poked Jamie in the shoulder. 'A nice nurse told me you had some visitors last night. And that when they were gone, you pressed your little "help me" button and she had to get your hand X-rayed.' Logan's eyes darted to Jamie's left hand. All four of the fingers were splinted together, wrapped in white gauze bandage.
'I... fell.' 'You fell.' Steel nodded. 'You fell and managed to break four fingers.' 'That's right.' 'Hit your eye on the way down too?' Steel pointed at the swollen mass of bruised flesh. 'I fell, OK? I fell on my face and I put my hand out to stop myself and I banged my fingers.' 'You sure?' Jamie suddenly found the packet of wine gums very interesting; he fumbled awkwardly at the wrapper with his splinted fingers before giving up and trying with his other hand. Logan had a bash at being the good cop. 'Who were they, Jamie? The people who came to see you last night?' Jamie shrugged, never taking his eyes off the packet in his hands. 'Just some people I know. You know, friends, like . . .' The inspector snorted. 'Bollocks. Tell you what, Jamie, I think your visitors were trying to pass you controlled substances. So, just to be on the safe side, I'm going to call a nice man from the Drugs Squad and get him to perform a full body-cavity search on you. Would you like that?' She smiled. 'Would you? Nice big hairy man's hand all the way up your backside looking for a package of fun? Mmm? Big, big hairy hands?' 'They didn't give me nothing, OK? They wanted to, but I wouldn't take it.' DI Steel's smile softened. 'I wish I could believe you, Jamie, I really do. But you're going to need to give me more information than that. I want their names.' 1 don't know their names!' Steel shook her head, then mimed pulling on an elbow length rubber glove, complete with sound effects. Jamie's eyes darted from the inspector to Logan. 'I don't know! They wouldn't tell me! Please!' 'What did they want?'
They said I had to use them as suppliers. I told them I wasn't doing that kind of stuff any more, I was going straight. . .' He held up his hand so Logan could see the bruises in between the fingers where the bandages didn't quite meet. Then they did this.' Logan winced. 'Why didn't you call for help?' Jamie laughed painfully. Think I didn't want to? Big fucker had me pinned to the bed, stuffed a rag in my mouth while his fucking friend giggled and snapped my fingers. Couldn't even scream.' 'And no one saw anything?' They pulled the curtains.' 'You could have said something afterwards.' Jamie raised his undamaged hand to his swollen eye, touching the puffy flesh with a wince. 'Said they'd be back. Said they knew where I lived. Said they could have a lot of fun with my sister if I fucked things up for them.' Steel listened to all this with a thoughtful look on her face. When she was finally certain that they weren't going to get anything more out of Jamie McKinnon she hopped off the bed and motioned for Logan to follow. Thanks for that, Jamie. Oh, and you'll be sad to know that some other tart got herself beaten to death on Friday night.' At that Jamie sat up straight in bed. 'Nah.' Steel shook her head. 'Don't get your hopes up, we're treating them as separate incidents. You're still going down for what you did to Rosie. See, we got the lab results back this morning: Rosie was up the stick with your kid. You knew that. Couldn't stand the thought of your baby inside her getting poked by strangers' dicks every night.' All the blood drained from Jamie's face and the inspector grinned. 'You have fun now.' Jamie was in tears as they pushed their way out of the ward, Steel making the call to her friend on the Drugs Squad to set up Jamie's full body-cavity search.
Ailsa stood at the kitchen sink washing the breakfast things in hot soapy water. Normally she would have done the washing up straight after breakfast, but she was a bit behind today. Gavin had bought her a dishwasher, he was good like that, but somehow it seemed so wasteful to put it on just for a couple of plates, and she couldn't bear the thought of the breakfast dishes festering in there all day, so she always did them by hand, staring out of the kitchen window through the fence, watching the schoolchildren troop across the grass and in through the doors. Praying that one day, she'd have one of her own .. . But it was late and they were all gone now, leaving the playground empty and silent, waiting for the morning break to come. She sighed and scrubbed dried-on egg off the good plates. Gavin had been in a foul mood last night. He'd had to work late yet again - even though he'd promised - and when he finally got home the horrible woman next door was out in the garden. Staggering about, screaming and swearing at her boyfriend. Gavin had dumped his briefcase in the hall and marched right round there to give them a piece of his mind. She had never, ever, heard her husband use language like that before. But it didn't make any difference to the harpy next door: she just started shouting and swearing at Gavin instead. Then she got violent! Screaming obscenities and swinging punches . . . Gavin came in with the beginnings of a black eye. He called the police, not that it ever did any good. After that he didn't want to eat the supper she'd made for him, preferring instead to drink a huge amount of whisky. And even though the schedule they'd got from the doctor said they had to try every night while she was ovulating, he said he couldn't. Not after a long day in the office and the fight. He was going to have another drink and watch the television. So Ailsa had gone to bed alone. That horrible woman next door had ruined everything . . .
With a sigh, Ailsa stacked the last mug on the draining board. The noise next door was getting worse again, the yelling, the foul language, the sound of something breaking. Then the pointy-faced boyfriend limped out into the back garden, covering his head with his hands as a beer bottle sailed out through the French windows. The horrible woman lurched out after it, drunk at half past ten in the morning, swigging from another bottle. The boyfriend tried to get out of the way, but she grabbed him by the collar and punched him in the face! She was going to beat him up again: right there in the back garden, where
everyone could see! He staggered back, blood streaming from his crooked nose and she tried to swing for him again, missing, collapsing on the grass. Crying. The boyfriend turned and ran into the house, screaming that he was leaving her, that he'd had enough, slamming the door behind him. Ailsa never saw him again. The horrible woman rolled over onto her back, like a beached whale in jogging pants, and started to snore. Ailsa shuddered - maybe she should call the police? But she didn't. Instead she picked up the dishtowel and started to dry.
The nurse who'd seen to Jamie McKinnon's fingers wasn't exactly the most attractive woman ever to don a blue uniform: bobbed brown hair, squinty nose, pointy ears and thinnish lips, but DI Steel was smitten from the outset. She perched on the edge of the nurse's desk, giving the young woman her undivided attention while she told them all about Jamie McKinnon's visitors last night. Two men, both neatly dressed in suits. One with really nice teeth and short blond hair, the other with shoulder-length black hair and a moustache. A little warning bell went off in the back of Logan's head.
McRae 2 - Dying Light Page 15
