Dark Blood. Stuart MacBride

no piles of half-read tabloids, no Turner-Prize-winning installations of discarded polystyrene cups. Just laptops, graphics tablets, printers, and something classical playing from a portable stereo. All overlaid with the dirty stench of wet dog.

      A kettle sat on a wee table opposite the door, curling steam into the tidy room. Someone was making tea – blue jumper on over a shirt and tie, carefully arranged comb-over, ridiculous little beard, as if he’d drawn around his chin with a magic marker.

      He looked up as Logan thumped the door closed behind them.

      ‘Are you here about the drainage?’

      Steel sniffed. ‘I look like a fucking plumber?’

      Frown. ‘There’s no need to—’

      ‘Steve Polmont.’

      Big-and-Bald stood up from behind one of the partitions, a hands-free headset stuffed in his ear. ‘There a problem here?’ Up close he reeked of aftershave, a cloying musky smell with chemical overtones.

      Steel perched on the edge of a desk. ‘Polmont had an arrangement with our employer. But he’s no’ been keeping his end up. Know what I mean?’

      Jumper-and-Tie went back to making the tea. ‘Well, I don’t see how that concerns us, Miss…?’

      ‘We’re talking three big ones here.’

      ‘Ah…’ He stuck a teaspoon in and swirled the bags around for a bit. ‘You should really be taking this up with Mr … Polmont, was it?’

      ‘Where is he?’

      Milk. Sugar. ‘Andy, do we have a Mr Polmont working for us?’

      The big man shook his head. ‘He was that sticky-fingered sparky, did a runner.’

      ‘Ah, yes…’ Jumper-and-Tie handed a mug to his colleague. ‘There was a problem with missing electrical equipment. Wire, cabling, junction boxes, that kind of thing. Mr Polmont made himself scarce before we could contact the police. Sorry we can’t be of further help.’

      The inspector nodded. ‘He got any wages outstanding? Something he could be putting against his debt?’

      ‘I really think anything outstanding should go to pay for the equipment he stole, don’t you?’

      ‘Nah, that’s no’ going to—’

      ‘Think it’s time for you to leave, yeah?’ Big-and-Bald, AKA: Andy, came round the corner, towering over Steel, that huge scary dog trotting behind him, claws making skittering noises on the linoleum floor. ‘Got a buildin’ site to run here.’

      She looked up at Andy. Then round at Logan. Raised an eyebrow.

       I’m the boss, you’re the hired muscle…

      Logan stared at the huge slab of a man. Screw that.

      He stuck out his hand for Andy to shake. ‘No hard feelings.’

      The big man paused for a second, then took it, his thick fingers dwarfing Logan’s, squeezing, a vice made of flesh and bone. Logan grabbed the hand with his left, digging his nails in. ‘Woa, easy, Tiger!’

      Andy grinned. ‘You have a nice day now, Officer.’

      ‘You’re a big, sodding, wet, Jessie bastard, you know that, don’t you?’ Steel stomped to a halt at the Fiat’s rusty passenger door. ‘Couldn’t throw your weight around for two bloody minutes!’

      ‘Did you see the size of him?’ Logan stopped behind her, both hands held up like a surgeon, waiting for a nurse to glove him up. ‘He’d’ve torn my head off and crapped down the stump. Anyway, he knew we were police.’

      ‘You’re such a girl.’ She nodded her head at the car. ‘Well? Unlock the sodding thing; bloody freezing.’

      Logan stuck one hip out. ‘Keys are in my front trouser pocket.’

      She glanced down. ‘So?’

      ‘You’re going to have to drive.’

      Her top lip curled. ‘Aye, that’ll be shining. Detective Inspector, mind? You drive, I … passenge.’

      ‘Can’t. Did the hostage trick when I shook with Baldy Andy. You need to bag my hands till we get back to the station.’

      Steel took another look at his trousers. ‘I’m no’ going digging about in your breeks, what if you get a stiffy?’

      ‘Just … don’t flatter yourself, OK?’

       11

      ‘Bloody hell.’ Logan had one last bash at getting a cigarette out of the packet, then gave up. ‘Can you…?’

      Steel shifted down and the Fiat whined around the outside of a massive tractor hauling a trailer full of cattle down the dual carriageway. ‘You’re like a wee kid.’ She took the pack from his slippery plastic-bagged hands, tapped one out against the steering wheel, stuck it between her teeth, and lit it with the car’s cigarette lighter. The edges of her scarlet lips cracked out like spider veins as she sooked. Then she held it out – a bright-red print on the filter – so Logan could sit forwards and pluck it from between her fingers with his mouth.

      It tasted of burning perfume and Vaseline.

      ‘Thanks.’

      Steel went back to squinting into the rain, windscreen wipers squealing and groaning across the pockmarked glass. ‘Either Polmont’s buggered off, or he’s dead.’

      ‘And if he was stealing electrical supplies from Malk the Knife, doesn’t matter where he runs to. Sooner or later…’

      ‘Silly bugger.’

      ‘You know,’ Logan tried to take the cigarette out of his mouth to tap the ash off, but couldn’t work the clear plastic bags into a position that wouldn’t burn a hole in them, ‘if you were going to kill someone for nicking your electrical wiring, there’s plenty of places to bury the body on a building site: mechanical diggers, concrete…’

      ‘Aye.’ Steel reached over and took the fag from Logan’s mouth, flicked the ash out of the open window, took a sneaky puff, then stuck it back between his lips. ‘Get onto Strathclyde when we get back, tell them I want a cadaver dog up here first thing tomorrow morning. And don’t take any crap. Rotten Weegie bastards never want to travel north of Perth. Better get the Time Team organized too: ground-penetrating radar, trowels, beards and silly hats. You know the drill.’

      ‘Warrants? Budget?’

      Steel pulled her mouth into a thin line. ‘You do your bit, I’ll sweet talk Finnie. Worst comes to worst I’ll go rummaging through his trouser pockets.’

      ‘Yeah,’ Logan nodded. ‘That’s the kind of threat that’ll make him cooperate.’

      ‘Still say this is a bad idea…’

      ‘Just shut up and keep an eye out.’ DI Steel squatted in front of the dark-blue door and peered in through the letterbox. It was a nondescript tenement building in Northfield, three stories of damp grey granite with six flats arranged either side of a central stairwell.

      Logan leant on the balustrade, the plastic bags on his hands crinkling as he peered down from the top floor. ‘We need to get back to the station before the samples deteriorate. And you know what else we need?’

      Steel stuck her hand through the letterbox, then her wrist, then as much of her arm as she could, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth. ‘You to shut up?’

      ‘A warrant. We need a warrant.’

      They’d got the address on the way back into town, Steel telling Control to do a reverse