22 Dead Little Bodies and Other Stories. Stuart MacBride

let go. Backed up a pace, hands up as it clattered on the paving slabs. Cleared his throat. ‘OK, OK, there’s no need for that. This is all a big misunder— ulk!’

      Wheezy grabbed him by the camouflage and spun him into the closed front door. Shoved his head against the UPVC. Stuffed the canister of CS gas back where it came from as he whipped out the cuffs. Snapped them on Robson’s wrists. Dragged him away down the path.

      ‘Get off me!’ Robson shook his head left and right, like a dog with a rat. ‘It’s her you should be arresting, not me. Look what she did to my car!’

      Logan pulled a blue nitrile glove from his pocket and snapped it on. Bent and picked up the fallen knife. Carried it out to the kerb.

      ‘Look at my car …’

      Justin Robson’s white BMW wasn’t so white any more. What looked like gloss paint Jackson Pollocked across the roof, windscreen, and bonnet in bright splatters of pink and yellow and blue, running in rainbow tears down the wings. The words ‘Drug Dealer!!!’ were scratched into the bodywork, over and over again, gouged deep enough to crease the raw metal underneath.

      ‘Look at it …’

      The sound of someone sooking on a tube appeared at Logan’s shoulder, followed by a puff of vapour. Steel did a slow circuit of the vandalized BMW. ‘No’ the colour I would’ve chosen, but it makes a statement.’

      Logan took the knife around to the pool car’s boot, unzipped the holdall in there and pulled out a knife tube. He slipped the cleaver inside the clear plastic tube and sealed it. Marched back to where Wheezy held the sagging man. ‘Right, Justin Robson, I’m arresting you for breach of the peace, possession of a deadly weapon, attempted breaking and entering, attempted—’

      ‘We get it.’ Steel worked her e-cigarette from one side of her mouth to the other. Nodded at Robson. ‘You: Bagpuss. Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee here tell me you’re on a feud with her next door.’

      ‘She’s insane.’

      ‘Don’t care.’ A yellowed finger pointed in Logan’s direction. ‘Tweedle Dee – get this wifie …?’

      He stared back at her. ‘Marion Black.’

      ‘Don’t care. You get Wifie Black out here and we’ll see if Saint Roberta of Steel can’t pour some baby oil on these troubled waters. Amen, and all that.’

      He didn’t even try to suppress the groan. ‘Seriously?’

      ‘Finger out, Laz, got bigger fish to fry than this pair of idiots.’ She checked her watch. ‘Got to be on telly in an hour. Chop, chop.’

      Fine. Wasn’t as if they didn’t have to take Mrs Black’s statement anyway.

      He turned and marched back up the path. Gave the front door the policeman’s knock – three, loud and hard. ‘Mrs Black?’