22 Dead Little Bodies and Other Stories. Stuart MacBride

A shrug. ‘Anything else you need my help with? This suicide victim’s missing wife thing?’

      Logan bared his teeth. ‘Thanks, Guv, but I think you’ve helped enough.’

      ‘Ah well, if you’re sure.’ Young stood. Stretched. Slumped. ‘Suppose I’d better go clear out the garage. No rest for the saintly.’ He paused, with one hand on the door. ‘I hear you had a run in with Gordy Taylor yesterday?’

      ‘Wants to drop the charges in exchange for two litres of whisky.’

      ‘And so we support those brave souls who fight in our name …’ A sigh. ‘Right. Well, drop me a text or something.’ Another pause. ‘You’re sure there’s nothing else?’

      Logan did his best to smile. ‘Not unless you want to buy a one-bedroom flat?’

      Logan licked his top lip. Stared down at his mobile phone. Couldn’t put it off any longer. Well, he could, but it probably wasn’t a great idea. He dug his thumbs into the back panel and slid the cover off. Prised out the battery and replaced the SIM card with a cheapy pay-as-you-go from the supermarket checkout loaded up with a whole fiver’s worth of calls. Clicked everything back into place.

      ‘Guv?’

      When he looked up, Wheezy Doug was standing in the doorway, clutching a manila folder to his chest.

      ‘Is it quick?’

      A nod. Then a cough. Then a gargly clearing of the throat. ‘Got the lookout request extended across all of Police Scotland. And the Media Office want clearance on a press release and poster.’ He dug into the folder and came out with two sheets of paper. ‘You want to OK them?’

      Logan gave them a quick once-over, then handed both back. ‘If they can figure out how to spell “Saturday” properly, tell them to run it.’

      ‘Guv.’ He put the sheets away. ‘You hear they turfed Gordy Taylor out of hospital last night? Shouting and swearing and making an arse of himself.’

      What a shock. ‘Nothing broken when he got himself run over, then?’

      ‘Nah. Lurched out the door and found himself some more booze. Uniform got a dozen complaints from Harlaw Road about him staggering about, knocking over bins and doing pretty much the same thing he’d been doing up at the hospital.’ Wheezy sooked on his teeth for a bit. Then shook his head. ‘I knew his dad. Decent enough bloke. Bit racist, with a drink in him, but other than that …’

      ‘OK. Let me know if anyone spots Mrs Skinner.’

      ‘Guv.’

      Soon as Wheezy was gone, Logan grabbed his phone and headed out.

      Sunlight sparkled back from the white granity mass of Marischal College, caught the wheeling seagulls and set them glowing against the blue sky. A taxi grumbled by, followed by a fat man on a bicycle wearing nowhere near enough Lycra to keep everything under control.

      Logan nipped across the road, past the council headquarters and along Broad Street. Kept going onto the Gallowgate. Nice and casual. Up the hill, and right into the council car park in front of the squat DVLA building.

      Nice and out of the way.

      He pulled out his phone and dialled Wee Hamish’s number. Listened to it ring.

      And ring.

      And ring.

      That brittle, gravelly voice: ‘Hello?’

      ‘Hamish. It’s Logan McRae.’

       ‘Ah, Logan. Yes. Good. How are you? How’s that young lady of yours?’

      ‘Still in a coma.’ Strange how it didn’t hurt to say that any more. Perhaps four years was long enough for it to scab over? ‘What can I do for you, Hamish?’

       ‘Is she getting all the help she needs, do you think?’

      Logan wandered across the car park. ‘The doctors and nurses are very good.’

       ‘Oh I’ve got nothing but admiration for the NHS, believe me. They were very kind to my Juliette those last few months. But … Maybe a private hospital would provide a more individual service? Where there’s not so much pressure to meet performance targets.’

      A path ran along the back of the car park, bordered by a wall. Logan leaned on it, looking down the hill to the dual carriageway and the big Morrisons. ‘We got knocked back from Sunny Glen. No places.’ A small laugh clawed its way out of his throat. ‘Not that we can afford it. Anyway, it’s too far away. I couldn’t get all the way up to Banff to visit her every day. What’s the point of that?’

       ‘Hmm … I hear you’re still trying to sell the flat. Any luck?’

      ‘Hamish, you said you wanted to talk about Reuben.’

       ‘Are you in financial difficulties, Logan, because if you are I’d be more than happy to lend—’

      ‘No. I’m fine. I just … felt like selling the flat, that’s all.’

       ‘I thought you loved it there. Nice central location. And it’s very convenient for work.’

      ‘It’s got memories I don’t need.’ Down below, an ambulance skirled its way along the dual carriageway, all lights blazing. ‘Time for a change.’

      ‘I understand.’ There was a small pause, filled with a hissing noise, as if Wee Hamish was taking a hit from an aqualung. ‘Would you like me to put in a word for you? There are a couple of neurology specialists I know who could help you find a place. Somewhere Samantha can get the individual attention she deserves. Let me see what I can do.’

      Logan tightened his grip on the phone. Puffed out a breath. ‘What about you? How are you feeling?’

      ‘I’ve been thinking about us a lot recently. You, me, and Reuben. When I’m gone, he’ll come after you. You’re too big a threat for him to ignore.’

      ‘I’m not a threat! I keep telling—’

      ‘It doesn’t matter if you turn down the mantle or not, Logan. To Reuben you’ll always be a threat.’ Another hisssssssss. ‘Would you like me to kill him for you?’

      All the moisture evaporated from Logan’s mouth. ‘What?’

       ‘It would pain me, of course – he’s been my right-hand man for a long, long time – but sometimes you have to sacrifice a rook to keep the game going.’

      ‘Now, hold on—’

       ‘Oh, it won’t be until I’m gone. The least I can do is let him come to the funeral. But after that. Before he’s had time to move against you …’

      Logan turned away from the road. Squinted up at the DVLA’s windows. No one looked back at him. Thank God. ‘Hamish, I’m a police officer: I can’t be part of a plot to murder someone! Not even Reuben.’

      ‘Are you sure? He’s more dangerous than you think.’ This time, the hiss-filled pause stretched out into silence. Then: ‘Well, perhaps that would be best. After all, if you’re taking over the company, the staff will respect you more if you get rid of him yourself.’

      ‘That’s not what I meant! It—’

       ‘Don’t leave it too long, Logan. When I die, the clock starts ticking.’

      ‘You OK, Guv?’ Guthrie lowered his pale eyebrows, making little wrinkles between them.

      Logan sank into one of the CID office chairs. ‘I nearly fell off a roof yesterday, my suit smells of drunk tramp, I’m dealing with a tree festooned with dog turds, I can’t sell my flat, and I had an early-morning run-in with