Shatter the Bones (40 page)

Finnie got to his feet. ‘As
Acting
Detective Inspector MacDonald says, the media are wetting themselves with anticipation. But that does
not
excuse this.’ He clicked the remote and the front page of today’s
Aberdeen Examiner
filled the projection screen. ‘D
ID
M
ISSING
P
AEDOPHILE
K
IDNAP
A
LISON
A
ND
J
ENNY
?’ above a photo of Frank Baker.

Finnie glowered around the room. ‘When I find out which unprofessional, unscrupulous
bastard
talked to the press I will make Hannibal Lecter look like Tinky-Bloody-Winky. Do I make myself clear?’

Uncomfortable silence.

He curled his top lip. ‘Need I remind you
boys
and
girls
that we have less than twenty-four hours to find Alison and Jenny McGregor? Let’s try to concentrate on doing our
jobs
.’

Rennie stuck his hand up. ‘What if the kidnappers decide we haven’t raised enough cash?’

‘Mr Maguire from Blue-Fish-Two-Fish informs me that the official freedom fund now stands at just over six million pounds.’

Someone whistled.

‘If we fail to find these people it’s going to be open season on every D-list celebrity in the country.
After all
, if the guys who snatched
Alison and Jenny
can get away with six point three million pounds, maybe
I
can too?’

Finnie glowered at them all again. ‘Now tell me, ladies and gentlemen, do we really want to be responsible for that, because I don’t think we do. Do you?’

No one answered that.

He nodded at Superintendent Green and the man from SOCA stood. ‘As soon as Jenny and Alison McGregor are released, a report will be submitted to the Independent Police Complaints Commission asking them to review Grampian Police’s handling of the investigation, which is
standard policy
for high-profile cases like this.’ Green held up his hands, as if he was about to bless them all, instead of crap on them from a great height. ‘The Serious Organized Crime Agency will, at that point, move from an advisory capacity to an executive role.’

‘Let me guess,’ DI Steel hauled up her trousers, ‘that means you’re going to take over.’

Angry noises filled the briefing room.

Finnie banged his coffee mug on the nearest desk. ‘All right, that’s enough. Let’s try to behave like grown-ups and
professionals
.’

Superintendent Green sat back down again. ‘We have one last item of business.’ A smile spread across Finnie’s face. ‘You’ll have heard we made a significant seizure of drugs last night – thanks to DS McRae – and expect to make further inroads into the supply chain over the next few days. You’ll
also
have heard that DI McPherson met with an unfortunate accident yesterday. As he’s going to be out of commission for at least three weeks, I’m promoting DS McRae to the rank of Detective Inspector effective immediately. I’m sure you’ll
all
…’ he turned his smile on Green for a moment, then back to the rest of the room, ‘join me in wishing him every success in this challenging role.’

Logan stared. ‘What…?’

‘Woohoo!’ Rennie started a round of applause that rippled around the room, then grew.

Logan stared at his hands. The knuckles were still slightly swollen, the skin around them mottled with faint bruises. That was what they were clapping for – because he beat the crap out Shuggie Webster, a crippled junkie with his hands cable-tied behind his back.

Go Team Logan.

He should have resigned when he’d had the chance.

‘I know, OK?’ Logan covered his head with his hands, then slumped back in his seat in the make-shift office. ‘It’s not like I planned it, is it?’

He could hear Steel sighing. ‘You’re a sodding lucky bugger, Laz. But if Shuggie changes his mind…’

‘He won’t.’ Not unless he wanted to feel the wrath of Wee Hamish Mowat. And Jonny Urquhart had made it quite clear what would that would involve.

There was a pause. Then her voice went cold. ‘That what you were doing up the hospital yesterday afternoon? Threatening him to keep his gob shut?’

‘No…’ Logan crumpled forward until his elbows touched the desk. ‘I spoke to Trisha’s mum, I sat with Samantha. That’s
all
.’

‘You used to be…’ Steel grunted. He could picture her, standing behind him, shaking her head, eyes closed, chewing on her top lip. ‘Fuck’s sake, Laz.’

The door banged open. ‘Celebrations!’ Rennie danced into the room – a one man conga line. ‘Da-da-dada-da,
da
! Da-da-dada-da,
da
!’

He grabbed Steel’s hips and kept on dancing. ‘Da-da-dada-da,
da
! Da-da-dada-da,
da
!’

‘Get off me you daft wee sod!’ She smacked his hands away. ‘Oh, come on Guv, not every day one of our own gets bumped up the ranks.’ He performed a little curtsey. ‘Detective
Inspector
McRae, may I be the first to tell you how gargantuanly sexy you look as a DI, and if you ever need a sidekick—’

‘Thanks, but—’

‘I think Detective Sergeant Simon Rennie has a certain ring to it, don’t you? I mean, if you’re being promoted, they’ll need someone to fill in for you at the Wee Hoose, yeah?’ He grinned, his teeth sparkling white against the unnaturally orange tan. ‘Then
I
can get some poor sod to make the tea for a change.’

‘Good idea.’ Steel clicked her e-cigarette into life and sooked on it. ‘Latte: three sugars, extra chocolate, and some of that hazelnut syrup if they’ve got it. DI McRae’ll have decaf: two and a coo.’

Rennie’s grin slipped. ‘Can’t I get someone else to—’

‘If you’re no’ back in two minutes with those coffees, you’re going to spend the rest of the day as Biohazard’s bitch, understand?’

Rennie pretty much sprinted from the room.

Steel waited until the door was closed and they were alone once more. ‘I’m no’ going to say this twice, so pin back your lugs: you ever,
ever
do anything like this again, I’ll hang your arse out like a pair of scabby knickers, understand?’

‘Then let me
quit
.’

She thumped him on the shoulder. ‘You’re no’ getting off that lightly.’

Of course he wasn’t. ‘Now what?’

Steel sent a perfect smoke ring crashing against his computer monitor. ‘I mean it, Laz. I’ll no have wee Jasmine growing up with a bent copper for a dad.’

Logan logged into his email, scrolling through the backlog of messages. ‘Anything else?’ Not looking at her.

‘Yes.’

‘What?’ He clicked on an email from DI Bell – an update on the interviews conducted overnight with the ‘Marley brothers’.

‘I’m sorry about Samantha. If you need to talk to anyone…’

‘I don’t need to—’

‘’Cause if you do, you can call your pet psychologist. All that touchy-feely bollocks gives me the dry boak.’ She sniffed. ‘Now, maybe we should—’

Logan’s mobile burst into song.
‘Laz?’
Colin Miller.
‘We got another message from the wankers in the white sperm-suits. You near your computer?’

The email package chimed at him, a little window popping up in the bottom left corner of the screen: ‘C
OLIN
M
ILLER
.

FWD: O
NE
D
AY
T
O
G
O
.’

The door banged open and Rennie lurched over the threshold, breathing like a pervert, clutching his side. ‘They’ve… They’ve got a … got a … a new video!’

Logan opened the message: a link to YouTube. He clicked on it.

‘No’ more toes, is it?’ Steel pulled the fake cigarette from her mouth.

The video finally downloaded enough to start playing. Logan hauled the headphones out of the socket and the speakers crackled with static, then that cold computer voice boomed into the room.

Steel tapped the screen. ‘Play it again.’

‘You have twenty-four hours left to save Jenny’s life.’

On the screen a fuzzy image snapped into focus – Jenny McGregor lying curled up on a bare mattress. A chain was wrapped around her neck, the other end padlocked to the metal bed frame. Her Winnie the Pooh pyjamas were grubby, but the bandages on her feet looked fresh – a faint stain marking where her little toes had been hacked off.

Steel bared her teeth. ‘Bastards.’

‘Some newspapers insist on telling you that this is all a hoax: it is not. I promise you Jenny will die if you fail to raise enough money.’

A figure stepped into shot, dressed in the familiar white SOC outfit with gloves and a plastic mask that distorted their features. They held up an eight-inch carving knife.

‘She will die, and the police will receive a different part of her dismembered body every day for fourteen days: one piece for every day you failed to raise enough money.’

The speakers crackled. A woman screamed,
‘Don’t hurt my baby!’
and the camera swung around to show Alison McGregor, scrabbling at the bare floorboards with her finger-nails, trying to drag herself away from the radiator they’d chained her to. Her hair was a mess, face bright pink, tears streaming down her cheeks. Then the sound cut off, leaving Alison screaming and shouting in silence.

Jenny filled the screen again.

‘If you fail her, she will die. Then we will start the process all over again with her mother.’

The white-suited figure took a handful of hair and hauled the little girl’s head up, then held the knife against her throat.

The picture zoomed in. Jenny’s nose bright pink and shiny, her bottom lip trembling. Her eyes darted up to the right, probably looking at the bastard with the knife, then she nodded. It wasn’t a big nod, but it was still enough for the blade to make a little crease in her skin. She looked straight into the lens, and fat tears sparked in the corners of her eyes.

Her voice came from the laptop’s speakers, small and trembling.
‘I don’t… I don’t want … to die…’

‘You have until midnight.’

The screen went dark, then YouTube’s little line of ‘if you liked that, you’ll love these’ videos appeared, along with an option to play the thing again.

‘Lights.’ DCI Finnie pointed the remote at the projector mounted on the roof of the briefing room, freezing the picture as the man in the SOC suit pressed the knife against Jenny’s throat.

Someone flipped the switch and a cold fluorescent glow filled the room. The audience shifted in their seats. It was a much more select group than earlier, just the top brass and senior CID officers.

Finnie placed the remote down on the lectern next to him. ‘At least we now have a timeframe: midnight.’

Chief Constable Anderson swore, light glinting off the polished silver buttons on his dress uniform and the top of his shiny head. ‘What’s the pot standing at?’

‘Er…’ Acting DI Mark McDonald fidgeted his way through a small stack of paper. ‘It’s about—’

‘Six point three million.’ Superintendent Green lounged in his chair, staring up at the screen. ‘Conservative estimates put the total at about seven million by midnight.’

‘Dear lord.’ The Chief Constable shook his head. ‘Any idea how they’re planning on getting their hands on the money?’

‘It has to be electronic transfer.’ Green tapped his pen against the palm of his hand. ‘They can’t ask for it in cash – we can’t get that much together by midnight; then they’d have to launder it. Not to mention the risk involved with picking it up.’

‘I see. And what about this Frank Baker?’

DI Steel narrowed her eyes at Green for a moment. ‘We’ve got sightings from Nairn to Portsmouth and back again. His face is in every regional newspaper in the UK, and most of the nationals as well; posters up at every ferry terminal, bus station, and airport.’

Green nodded. ‘I knew he was involved from the moment I spoke to him.’

‘Oh aye? And did you no’ think it’d be a good idea to let
us
know so we could keep an eye on him
before
you scared him off?’

‘I can’t be expected to do your job for you, Inspector.’ Then followed five minutes of arguing, moaning, and trying to pass the buck.

Logan stared at the screen. The Knife Man had a stick-on conference-style name badge just like the two in the abduction video. It was difficult to make out, but it sort of looked like ‘Sylv—’ something. Sylvia? Sylvester?

Logan tried them both out on his notepad. Sylvia, David, and Tom. Sylvester, Tom, and David.

Didn’t really make any difference – they were fake names. No one went to all the trouble of producing forensically-neutral crime scenes and notes, then stuck a big sticky label on their chest with their real name scrawled across it.

No, this was
Reservoir Dogs
territory.

The badges were so they could tell who they were talking to, when they were all done up in their SOC suits and masks. All humanity obscured.

Sylvia, Tom, and David.

Sylvester, Tom, and David—

Someone elbowed him in the ribs.

Logan looked up from his notepad. The whole room was staring at him.

Finnie pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. ‘I
know
you’re new to this, Detective
Inspector
McRae, but
generally
we like to pay attention in case strategy meetings.’

Logan could feel the heat prickling at the back of his neck. ‘Yes, sir.’ He glanced down at the notepad in front of him. He’d been doodling – a Dalek, complete with sink-plunger arm, and beady eye.

Not Sylvester, Tom, and David. Put them in the right order— ‘For goodness sake, DI McRae, are you
listening
to a word I’m—’

‘
Doctor Who
.’ Logan stood. ‘Tom Baker, Sylvester McCoy, David Tennant all actors who’ve played the Doctor. It’s their naming system.’

That got him a sea of blank looks.

Superintendent Green raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes well, that’s
fascinating
. But it still doesn’t help us determine—’

‘Hold on a second…’ Logan flipped back through his notebook.

Green snorted. ‘Sergeant, I mean
Inspector
McRae, a little career advice: if you can’t focus for two minutes, how—’