Close to the Bone (45 page)

Marks just stared at the far wall.

‘OK, well, you think about it.’ Logan marched over to cell seven and banged on the door, then did the same to number six. The swearing and shouting kicked off again. ‘Enjoy.’

Rennie slouched in and collapsed into Logan’s visitor’s chair. ‘Urrgh. . .’

Logan glanced up from his door-to-door forms. ‘Well? ’

Rennie’s suit looked as if he’d slept in it, then taken it off and battered it to death with a cricket bat. ‘I quit. Sod this for a game of soldiers.’

‘What did Ding-Dong say? ’

He wrapped his arms around his head and let it fall backwards, knees clenched together. ‘How come Chalmers got the morning off, eh? She wasn’t even there all night.
I
was there all night, but do I get the morning off? Of course not, because every bicycle-seat-sniffing tosspot—’

‘My heart bleeds for you.’

‘Not as if we turned up anything, is it? No one’s seen Agnes the Nutbag; someone “thinks” they saw Roy Forman leaving the Green with an unidentified woman, but they reeked of meths and wee, so I wouldn’t trust them to ID their own reflection; and by the time I got back to the front of the queue they were all out of tiramisu.’

‘
Focus
.’

Rennie blinked at him. ‘Right: Ding-Dong. I sneaked into his briefing and he says he interviewed some Stacey woman last night? Apparently she’s being very cagey about her whereabouts and the death of Anthony Chung. So she’s become a person of interest.’

‘He say what’s happening to her? ’

‘Up in front of the Sheriff at ten for the assault and indecent exposure. You want me to check it out? ’

Logan swivelled back and forth in his chair for a bit. Then shook his head. ‘No: she’s a time-waster, looking for something she can shock Daddy with. Forget about her. And yesterday wasn’t a complete washout, was it? You found your missing tramp.’

Rennie sank even further into the chair. ‘Ah. . . Funny story. . .’

‘Oh, you are
kidding
me.’

His eyebrows pinched. ‘I had to go running after this guy who rocked up pished and picked a fight with Insch’s bouncers.’

‘Henry Scott was right there!’

‘It wasn’t my fault!’

Logan buried his head in his hands. ‘I swear to God. . .’

His computer made a pinging noise. Then another one. And another – new emails coming in thick and fast. He glanced up at the screen. Three hundred and sixty-two new messages.

What
now
?

He clicked on the last one to come in.

> From: [email protected]

> To: [email protected]

> Subject: You Sick Basterd!!!1!

>

> WTF is wrong with U man? Ur book is shit and U can’t write 4 shit and Ur a looser!!!

> Wiches is a powr for good in the wurld, an U can DIE!@

There was more of it, but the spelling and grammar didn’t get any better. OK. . . He tried the first one to come in instead. It was from William Hunter’s webmistress in Iowa, apologizing for the huge number of nutter emails she was about to forward to him. Apparently these were all the dodgy messages that had been left through the website.

Rennie slumped further in the seat and flopped an arm across his face. ‘Maybe I could go into private security or something? ’

‘You’re useless at public security, who’d hire you? ’ Logan’s mouse swept across the screen. No way he was going to sift through three hundred and sixty-two emails from random internet crazy people. He used a wizard to set up a rule and forwarded them all on to Dr Goulding instead, along with a short note to check them all for someone capable of necklacing Roy Forman and torturing Anthony Chung.

Look at it as penance for breaking into Dr Marks’s office.

‘Or I could be a PI, like in the films? Simon Rennie: Private Investigator. . .’

‘Simon Rennie: idiot, more like.’ The phone on Logan’s desk trilled. He jabbed the speakerphone button. ‘What? ’

‘
Don’t you “what” me, McRae
.’ Big Gary on reception. ‘
Just ’cos you’re a DI now, doesn’t mean I won’t take you over my knee and spank your arse for you.
’

Logan scowled at a grinning Rennie. ‘Say something, I
dare
you.’

‘
You’ve got a visitor: one Timothy Mair Esquire from Trading Standards.
’

‘What the hell does Dildo want? ’

‘
I don’t know, and I don’t care
.’ A clunk and the line went dead.

Rennie yawned, arms stretched way above his head. ‘Don’t take it personally: Big Gary’s been biting everyone’s head off since he found out someone got his little girl up the stick.’ He sagged back into place. ‘And before you ask: no, it wasn’t me.’

Tim ‘Dildo’ Mair pulled the scabrous council Transit van out onto Broad Street, the gearbox sounding like someone trying to run a set of maracas through the spin cycle. His eyes were narrowed behind a pair of John Lennon glasses, his black goatee beard bristling around a thin-lipped mouth.

Logan hauled on his seatbelt. ‘Seriously? You’re going to sulk at me the whole way? ’

Dildo didn’t look at him, kept his eyes on the road. ‘Constable Sim, would you please tell DI McRae that I’m not sulking, I’m trying not to give him another black eye to match the one he’s already got.’

Sitting on the second row of seats, PC Sim pulled a face, then wiped her hand on the van’s wall. ‘It’s all sticky back here. . .’

‘Look, I’m sorry I missed our appointment yesterday, but I’m having a pretty shitty day, so you can—’

‘
Appointments
. As in plural.’

The Transit rocked like someone was kicking it as it accelerated past Marischal College.

‘Didn’t think you were this delicate.’

‘Constable Sim, you can tell DI McRae I’m only doing this because
his
friend Insch promised to give my niece a tour of the set and a part as an extra if I caught who was counterfeiting the
Witchfire
stuff.’

She sniffed at her hand, then wiped it on the back of Logan’s seat. ‘What do you guys
do
in here to get it this sticky? ’

‘I’m in the middle of a murder enquiry, OK? I’m sorry that’s so bloody inconvenient for everyone, but I’ve got a killer to—’

‘Oh, bite me.’

They rumbled on in silence all the way up past the ugly concrete lump of Aberdeen College, then down the hill towards the massive Mounthooly roundabout.

Little muscles twitched along Dildo’s jaw, making the skin ripple.

Fine. Someone had to be the grown-up. ‘I’m sorry I blew you off yesterday. Can we just—’

‘Let’s get something straight: you’re just here to provide a police presence, because Insch said I had to use you. I’m in charge, get it? ’

‘You don’t have to be such—’

‘
I
did all the legwork.
I
found out who was selling the stuff.
I
found out who was making it. And
I’m
in charge.’

‘Fine, you’re in charge. You’re the big man. All hail, King Dildo the Great, Lord of the Shop Cops.’

Sim scooted forward in her seat, feet making scritchy noises on the sticky floor. ‘Why do they call you Dildo? ’

He glanced in the rear-view mirror, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘That’s
King
Dildo, to you.’

The council Transit van stuttered to a halt in the corner of a car park, facing a row of shops. A bakery, a newsagent’s, a dry cleaner’s, a tropical fish shop, an estate agent’s with a ‘F
OR
S
ALE
O
R
L
ET
’ sign in the window, and a bookie’s: J Stewart & Son – Bookmakers est. 1974. Heavy metal grilles covered the windows, empty crisp packets and bits of old newspaper were trapped in the gaps.

Up above, the sky was like dark-grey ink dripped onto wet paper, slivers of blue shining between the towering clouds.

Logan undid his seatbelt. ‘Ma Stewart.
Again
? Does the woman never learn? ’

Dildo reached back behind the driver’s seat and hauled out a large sports bag. ‘Oh, she’s done herself proud this time. . .’ He unzipped it, then paused.

Logan’s phone was singing Rennie’s theme tune.

They couldn’t leave him alone for five minutes, could they?

‘What? ’

‘
Guv? You better get back here: Ding-Dong and Leith just had a stand-up in the CID office. Proper toe-to-toe yelling match.
’

‘So? Get Steel to—’

‘
She’s going ballistic – and I mean intercontinental. Ding-Dong lamped Leith one, right on the nose.
’

So much for DI Bell’s pretentions to the throne. ‘Why? ’

‘
Leith made that bell-end crack again. They’re both standing there, yelling about how the other’s screwing up the case, then bang – swinging punches, blood, DCs shouting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”. . . You should’ve been here, it was
great
.
’

Dildo pulled a sword as long as his arm from the sports bag. The blade shone and glittered.

Logan frowned through the windscreen at the row of shops. The estate agent’s looked as if it had died a death a while ago. All the property notices abandoned in the barred window were stained yellow, their colours faded. Dead flies and wasps made a little line of bodies along the inside of the sills. Bars on the windows. A graffiti-covered shutter over the door. No way in or out. . .

‘
Guv? You still there?
’

How did Agnes and Anthony get into the house?

‘Put him on.’

‘
What, Ding-Dong? Can’t – Steel’s got him in with Professional Standards for a reaming, he’ll—
’

‘No: Leith.’

‘
Hold on, I’ll see if he’s done with the Duty Doc. . .
’ Rustling and crunching noises came from the earpiece.

Dildo pulled a dittay book from the bag and handed it to Sim, then went back in for what looked like a gold torque – the twisted metal band finished with ivory skulls in the end pieces. Then some T-shirts, a couple of baseball caps with the same ‘
Witchfire’
logo as the one Agnes Garfield wore to take out Anthony Chung’s money, a roll of posters, and what looked like a leather warrant card case. ‘Good, aren’t they? ’

Sim’s eyes went wide. ‘Ooh, a finder’s badge. . .’ She flipped open the leather case, and smiled at the shiny badge inside. ‘It’s
just
like the book.’ Then caught Logan staring at her and cleared her throat. ‘You know, if I was interested in that kind of thing. . . Which I’m not. Obviously.’

‘Thought you didn’t like
Witchfire
.’

‘Well . . . I never said that,
exactly
. . .’

Dildo went back into the sports bag and came out with a dagger. He slipped the knife out of its black sheath. The blade was as long as his hand, sharpened on both sides, and carved with squiggles and lines, topped off with a dull metal T-shaped guard, a handle wrapped in red leather, and a hexagonal pommel. The whole thing looked hard, functional.

Sim put the Finder’s badge on the seat beside her and held out her hand, mouth hanging open. ‘Jeepers. . .’

Dildo passed it across. ‘According to Insch, they’re all perfect replicas of the film’s props, right down to the tiniest detail. Look at the end of the handle bit.’

She turned the dagger around and peered at the hexagonal pommel. ‘A real-life pricking knife. . . It’s got the witch-finders’ crest on it, all mirror image so it’s the right way round when you use it to make a wax seal for death warrants.’ A grin plumped her cheeks. ‘This is so
cool
!’

More rustling from the earpiece, then Rennie was back, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘
Found him. But do me a favour – he’s in a crappy mood already, don’t set him off, OK?
’

‘Just put him on.’

A crackle, then Leith was on the line, voice all nasal and jagged. ‘
This better be important.
’

‘If it’s any consolation, at least you saw it coming. I just opened my front door one morning, and
bang
.’ The brotherhood of getting punched in the face. ‘Your deposition site in Kintore, how did Agnes and Anthony get in? ’

‘
Did you call up just to take the piss, because if you did, you can—
’

‘It’s not my fault Ding-Dong lamped you one. The first attending officer said the place was locked, he had to get keys from the estate agent’s. Agnes and Anthony didn’t break in, so they had to have a key.’

‘
Rennie – give me the list
.’ Pause. ‘
I got the boy to chase up everyone who’s seen the property since it went on the market fifteen months ago. Plus details of the owners’ relatives, and friends. We’re working our way through them now. That all right with you?
’

‘I wasn’t trying to tell you how to do your job, I was just—’

‘
That’s
exactly
what you’re trying to do. Now why don’t you sod off and let me do it?
’

‘Come on, Leith, it’s—’

‘
I was a DI long before you, McRae, and I’ll be one long after you’ve gone back to the Wee Hoose with the rest of the detective sergeants. Remember that
.’ And then he hung up.

Logan held the phone in front of his face. ‘Not surprised Ding-Dong punched you on the nose, you miserable
git
.’

Sim swished the dagger through the air, pommel forward, the blade resting back along her arm. Knife-fighter style. ‘The balance is great. Does it have the thing? ’

Dildo shrugged. ‘No idea.’

She took hold of the pommel and unscrewed it. Underneath was a tiny V-shaped blade, half as long as her pinkie was wide. Her grin got even wider. ‘It does!’ She held it up for Logan. ‘They use this end to find the Devil’s mark. Any deeper and you risk puncturing something. . . What? ’

A small V-shaped blade, no more than half a centimetre long, set on a round metal guard. Exactly like the illustration on Anthony Chung’s post-mortem report.