Close to the Bone (23 page)

The smile looked forced, making tiny wrinkles around her narrowed eyes. She glanced sideways at a door on the far side of the room. ‘Mr Moir-Farquharson is with a client and isn’t to be. . . Hey: you can’t go in there!’

Logan hauled the door open. ‘What the hell are you playing at? ’

Sunlight gilded the wood-panelled room, glinting off the bald head of a shaven gorilla in an expensive suit with ‘H
ATE
’ tattooed on one set of knuckles and ‘P
AIN
’ on the other. Scars knitted their way over the back of his scalp, like cracks in an eggshell. He didn’t look around as Logan barged in, just sat there, silent as a slab of meat.

Sitting behind the wide oak desk, Hissing Sid sighed and closed his eyes – pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. ‘Mrs Jefferies!’

Logan shook a fistful of brown envelope at him. ‘Attempted bribery of a police officer is an offence under the Criminal Justice, Scotland—’

‘How many times do I have to tell you: it’s
not
a bribe.’

‘Don’t give me that shite!’ He hurled the envelope across the desk. It hit the lawyer on the chest and fell to the floor. ‘Think I don’t know a bribe when I see one? ’

The receptionist appeared at his elbow. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Moir-Farquharson, I told him you were with a client.’

The hulk of muscle in the suit sniffed, then hooked a thumb over his shoulder. His voice was a nasal Borders growl. ‘You want I should, you know, remove him from the premises, like? ’

Another sigh. Then Hissing Sid pushed his chair back, bent down and picked the envelope from the ground. ‘Will you excuse me for a couple of minutes, Mr Harris? I’m afraid DI McRae requires things to be explained to him slowly and with pictures wherever possible.’ He stood. ‘Mrs Jefferies, will you fetch Mr Harris a pot of tea? I’ll be in the conference room with our uncivilized visitor.’

Sandy Moir-Farquharson settled into a chair at the end of the long table, sitting with his back to the window. Sunshine cast dappled shadows on the cars parked around Golden Square, rippling gently as wind brushed through the leaves of the parched trees.

The lawyer placed the brown envelope on the table in front of him and smoothed it out with careful fingers. ‘DI McRae, I don’t appreciate you coming in here and making a nuisance of yourself when I’m with a client. Or any other time, come to that. If you wish to see me, you can make an appointment with Mrs Jefferies like everyone else.’

‘Thirty
thousand
pounds! And what the hell is
this
? ’ Logan dug out the power of attorney forms and slapped them down on the table. ‘Get it through your pointy little head, I am not for sale. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? ’

Hissing Sid pulled the cheque from the envelope. Held it up. ‘As you will see, the payee section has been left blank. Mr Mowat has no interest in bribing you, he merely wishes you to select a worthy cause you’d like to support.’ The lawyer went back into the envelope and pulled out a Post-it note covered in cramped handwriting. ‘As you would have known if you’d bothered to read my message. All you have to do is fill in the missing details.’

Logan stared at the note. Bloody thing must’ve been stuck to the inside of the envelope. . . Still, that wasn’t the point, was it? ‘So you’ll have
my
handwriting on a huge cheque from Wee Hamish Mowat? Do you think I’m
stupid
.’

Hissing Sid puckered his lips and raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m certainly coming to that conclusion.’ He laid the cheque on the table. ‘It’s really not that complicated. Name the cause you wish to support and I’ll have someone complete the relevant details for you.’

‘I’d . . . it’s thirty thousand pounds!’

‘With keen observational skills like that, it’s no wonder you made detective inspector. Now, is there anything else? Or can I get back to my client? ’

‘It. . . What’s with this power of attorney bollocks? ’

Hissing Sid did the sighing and nose-pinching thing again. ‘We could have discussed all this when I came to see you at the station, but instead you had to play your little power games and keep me waiting in that room without so much as a glass of water.’

Heat spread out across Logan’s cheeks. ‘I didn’t even know you were there.’ He sank down into the nearest chair. ‘Someone was playing silly buggers.’

‘Mr Mowat has recently updated his will, and has named you as sole executor. That means on the sad event of his demise you will be responsible for disposing of his assets and ensuring the distribution of behests according to his wishes. If, on the other hand, he becomes incapacitated due to illness he has granted you continuing and welfare power of attorney. That means you are authorized to look after his property and assets, and if necessary make end-of-life decisions.’

‘And by “assets” you mean “criminal empire”. What am I supposed to do with it: divvy the drugs operation up between Wee Hamish’s lieutenants? Give the prostitutes and people-trafficking to someone else? Devolve power to the loan sharks? ’

A sniff. ‘I really couldn’t comment. And you should be careful about making accusations of legal impropriety about Mr Mowat if you don’t want to be on the receiving end of a suit for slander.’

‘I can’t do it. I’m a
police
officer.’

Hissing Sid slipped the cheque back into the envelope. ‘Then there is the matter of his bequest to you: six hundred and sixty-six thousand, six hundred and sixty-six pounds. And sixty-six pence.’

Oh God. . . thirty grand was bad enough.

‘I’ll admit the amount of the bequest is unusual, but I’m sure Mr Mowat has his reasons for giving you two-thirds of a million pounds.’

Logan’s bowels churned. ‘He can’t
do
that.’

‘My dear Mr McRae, Mr Mowat can leave whatever he wants to whomever he wants. And for some unfathomable reason he’s seen fit to leave you a rather large sum of money.’

‘But. . .’

‘Of course, it doesn’t have to be deposited straight into a UK bank account, or handed over in cash. In order to avoid questions of impropriety it can be discreetly placed in a trust to await such time as you cease being a police officer. Think of it as a nest egg to support you in your retirement.’

‘But if someone finds out—’

‘Mr Mowat has left provision in his will for my firm to represent you.’ The lawyer stood. ‘Now, I really must return to Mr Harris.’

Logan stared up at him. ‘How am I supposed to—’

‘You can see yourself out.’

20

The sun burns like a glowing cigarette end pressed into pale skin. Rowan closes the bathroom window and leans on the sink, head down, blood-red hair hanging like a curtain in front of her face. Don’t be sick. She’s stronger than that. She did what had to be done.

‘The Kirk. . .’ The words stick in her throat. She takes a deep breath and forces them out. ‘The Kirk is my mother and father. It is my rod and my staff. My shield and my sword. What I. . .’ She closes her eyes. ‘What I do in its service lights . . . lights a fire in God’s name.’

Don’t be sick.

‘Lights a fire in God’s name, lights a fire in God’s name, lights a fire in God’s name. . .’

The churning fizz inside her settles, leaving a hollow shell behind. Like a chrysalis after the moth has gone. Empty and brittle.

Her black leather gloves leave scarlet smudges on the porcelain.

Tenet Three: ‘Leave nothing of thyself behind: lest thine enemies use it against thee.’ Rowan turns the hot tap on and lets it run until it steams, then washes her hands. The water runs pink, soaking through the gloves’ stitching, leaving the leather shiny like fresh liver.

‘What I do in its service lights a fire in God’s name.’

She pulls a towel from the rail by the door and wipes the sink clean.

There. That’s better, isn’t it?

Did what needed to be done.

She raises her head and looks at the woman in the mirror. Empty and brittle. Tendrils of dark red and black make wings across her shoulders, jagged with barbs and thorns and claws.

She bares her teeth. ‘WHAT I DO IN ITS SERVICE LIGHTS A FIRE IN GOD’S NAME!’ Spittle flecks the mirror.

And slowly the red fades to pale blue, then gold.

A little smile pulls at the corner of her lips.

All better.

‘. . .or not? Guv? ’

Logan blinked.

‘Guv!’ Sitting in the visitor’s chair, Rennie crossed his arms and stuck his bottom lip out. ‘Least you could do is
pretend
to be interested.’

Logan frowned, then checked his watch. ‘What are you doing in here anyway? Not even half-seven yet.’

Rennie screwed his face up. ‘Aaaaaargh! I just
told
you. I’m in because bloody DS bloody Chalmers phoned me – while I was in bloody bed, by the way – wanting to know where all the hate crime files were. And—’

‘Did you tell her? ’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Then what’s the problem? ’

‘What’s the. . .’ Rennie screamed at the ceiling again. ‘Why did you tell her to check up on me? We used to be a
team
. But now it’s all: Chalmers this, and Chalmers that.’

‘Oh for God’s sake.’ Logan moved onto the next budget requisition form: DI Bell wanting DNA analysis for a series of housebreakings. It went on the ‘possibly’ pile along with a request to set up a surveillance operation in Blackburn, looking for a cannabis farm, and one for a forensic archaeologist to consult on what might or might not be a body deposition site outside Fraserburgh.

‘What, I’m not good enough for you any more? I used to be the Robin to your Batman. The Rodney to your Del Boy. The Branston Pickle to your cheese on toast!’

Silence.

Logan stared at him. ‘Seriously? ’

‘The hate crimes aren’t Chalmers’s, they’re mine!’

‘The Robin to my
Batman
? ’

He shrugged one shoulder. ‘I couldn’t get back to sleep. Just lay there thinking about all the ways you were screwing me over with this bloody Chalmers woman.’

‘No, but seriously: Robin? ’

‘It’s not
fair
.’

Logan shook his head. ‘I hate to disappoint you, Rennie, but we’re not a gay couple, OK? And I’m
not
screwing you over with Chalmers.’

The other shoulder came up, making him look like a grumpy teenager. ‘Well . . . that’s how it feels.’

Logan sat back, drummed his fingers on the desktop. ‘Tell you what, find me some bloody suspects and you can be the favourite again. And while we’re at it: what’s happening with your shoplifting tramps? ’

‘It’s. . .’ He wriggled in his seat. ‘It’s not as easy as you’d—’

The door clunked open and Steel stood there, one hand hauling up her trousers, the other plucking the electronic cigarette from her mouth. She narrowed her eyes, making everything all wrinkly. ‘What are you pair of dinks doing here? ’

Logan pointed across the desk. ‘Poor wee Rennie’s feeling all unloved and unappreciated. So he’s come in early to moan about it.’

‘Oh aye, and what’s your excuse? ’

‘Doing
your
paperwork.’

She smiled, both arms extended as if she was waiting to be crucified. ‘Then all is forgiven. Now grab your coat – we’re going out.’

Logan stood. ‘Another body? ’

Steel frowned. ‘No: pub. Why does it always have to be work, work, work with you? ’ She slapped Rennie on the back of the head. ‘Arse in gear, Stinky, you’ve got tramps to find.’

Rennie grumbled his way out of the chair, then out of Logan’s office.

She waited till he’d shut the door behind him. Then collapsed into the vacant chair. ‘We’re screwed.’

‘What’s wrong this time? Did. . .’ Logan sat down again. ‘Hold on, if you thought I wasn’t here, why did you barge in? ’

She dug a hand down her cleavage and went rummaging. ‘You
were
here.’

‘Yeah, but you didn’t know that.’

Rummage, rummage. ‘My underwire’s killing us. I keep telling Susan, you’ve no’ to put them in the washing machine, but will she listen? ’

‘Answer the question.’

‘We’re getting a visit tomorrow from the National Police Improvement Authority.
Apparently
our necklacing case is going nowhere. Boardroom, half two in the afternoon, attendance is mandatory.’

Just what they needed. ‘Who they sending? ’

‘Who do you think: a bunch of cockshites from Strathclyde up to point out the sodding obvious and tell us how to do our jobs.’ She gave her cleavage one last dig, then puckered her lips around the fake cigarette, sending a little puff of steam up into the room. ‘Well, I’m no’ giving up that easy. Tell everyone I want their arses in the briefing room at quarter to eight sharp. And I mean
everyone
. This case isn’t turning into a runner, understand? I want its bloody legs hacked off before our Weegie visitors get here. I want it like Stumpy McStumperton, so we can tell them to turn round and sod off back from whence they sodding came.’

Yeah . . .
that
was going to happen.

Logan looked up at the door. ‘So come on then, why
did
you barge in here? ’

Steel sniffed. ‘Sometimes, when you’re all out, I like to rummage through your desks and see what lies you’re hiding from me.’

Good job he still had the form about being an executor for Wee Hamish Mowat and the dirty big cheque in his pocket then.

Steel pulled a face. ‘God’s knickers, the place is
hoaching
.’

O’Donoghues was a barn of a place off Justice Mill Lane, the walls painted a mucal shade of shamrock green. As if all the Guinness and Beamish memorabilia wasn’t enough of a giveaway. The crowd was three deep at the bar, the tables around the outside already taken.

An all-girl six-piece band crowded the stage: electric guitar, bass, fiddle, drums, accordion, and a lead singer belting out the Stereophonics’s ‘Have a Nice Day’. They were good. Good, but
loud
.

Logan frowned around him. ‘Could we not go somewhere quieter? ’

‘Don’t be so wet.’

‘Remember, I’m only staying for the one. Got to go up the hospital.’

‘Wah, wah, wah. Get us a table.’ She stuck out her elbows and waded for the bar.