22 Dead Little Bodies and Other Stories. Stuart MacBride

glug back the last of someone else’s drink. Everyone knows that.’ She unzipped her SOC suit. ‘Idiot.’ Then snapped off her gloves. ‘Got sweat trickling right down the crack of my—’

      ‘What about the kids?’ Logan nodded towards the picture in Rennie’s hand. Those two chocolatey faces. ‘Mrs Skinner takes them to their school clubs, Saturday morning, drives over here to see her lover. Her husband follows her and kills the pair of them, then drives back into town and jumps off the casino roof. Where are the kids?’

      Steel closed her eyes. ‘Crap.’ She massaged her forehead for a moment. Then straightened up. ‘Right, finding the kids is now everyone’s number one priority. I want lookout requests, I want posters, I want media appeals …’ She frowned. ‘What?’

      Logan popped his half-eaten sandwich back in the packet. ‘Already done it. Media office are holding off till you’ve delivered the death message, but other than that they’re ready to go.’

      ‘Oh.’ A sniff. ‘In that case: Laz, you get started on the paperwork, and I’ll—’

      ‘Oh no you don’t.’ Logan held up a hand. ‘You took the case over, remember? Turned up here all lights blazing and said it was too complicated for us thickies in CID – this was a job for the Major Investigation Team. Remember that?’

      She shuffled her feet. Looked off into the distance. ‘Yeah, well, I may have been a bit overenthusiastic with—’

      ‘Do your own sodding paperwork.’

      ‘You’re no’ still sulking, are you?’ Steel leaned against Logan’s office doorway, arms folded, a ‘World’s Greatest Lesbian’ mug dangling from the fingers of one hand.

      He turned back to the duty roster, typing in the team’s work plan for the next shift. ‘Away and boil your head.’

      ‘You’re going to have to learn to share, Laz.’

      ‘Share?’ He thumped away at the keyboard, making it suffer. ‘You turn up, you tell us we’re crap, then you take the case away – even though we’ve already solved it – and grab all the sodding credit.’

      A sniff. ‘Yeah, but I had to do all the paperwork.’

      He stared at her. ‘Did you really? Or did you get Rennie to do it?’

      A little blush coloured her cheeks. ‘I supervised.’

      Back to the roster. ‘Feel free to sod off any time you like.’

      She did. But she was back three minutes later with a steaming mug in each hand, a packet of biscuits tucked under her arm, and a Jaffa Cake poking out of her mouth. ‘Mmmnnphh, gnnnph, mmmmnph?’

      One of the mugs got placed on the desk in front of him. Then the biscuits.

      He scowled at them. ‘What’s this?’

      ‘Peace offering.’ She sank into one of the visitors’ chairs. ‘Between friends.’

      ‘What are you after?’

      ‘Me? Nothing.’ A shrug and a smile. ‘Can’t two old friends share a cuppa and a digestive biscuit or two?’

      He picked up the mug and sniffed. It smelled like tea, but it looked like coffee. ‘What happened to the Jaffa Cakes?’

      ‘Yeah, they’re all gone.’ She plonked her feet up on his desk. ‘So, double murder solved in an hour and a half. Not bad going.’

      ‘Are you seriously sitting there gloating about solving a case that I solved for you?’

      ‘Moan, bitch, whinge.’ She crunched a bite out of her digestive, getting crumbs all down the front of her shirt. ‘You’re such a princess.’

      ‘I am not a sodding princess.’

      ‘Whatever you say, Your Majesty.’ More crumbs. Steel stared out of the window, then her shoulders dropped a little. ‘Still no sign of the kids.’

      ‘Early days yet.’

      ‘Got a press conference at half six, going out live on the news. No’ exactly looking forward to that. Come Monday morning, going to be like a siege out there.’ She took a slurp of tea. Finished her biscuit. Offered him the packet. ‘So … You busy Tuesday night?’

      ‘Here we go.’

      ‘Only it’s Susan and me’s anniversary, and if you’re no’ too busy sitting at home like a sad sack, you could look after Jasmine for the night. Be nice for you to spend a bit more time with your daughter.’

      Logan saved the file, then closed down the computer. ‘How come you only think I need to spend more time with Jasmine when you need a free babysitter?’

      ‘Think of it – I’m going to wheech Susan off to a swanky hotel, get room service to deliver champagne and strawberries, put a bit of porn on the telly, then shag her brains out.’ Steel flicked biscuit crumbs out of her own cleavage. ‘Very romantic.’

      ‘I’m busy Tuesday.’

      ‘No you’re no’.’

      ‘Yes I am.’

      ‘Doing what?’

      ‘I’ve got … a viewing. Someone’s coming round to look at the flat.’

      ‘No they’re no’. You’re going to be sitting at home, watching The Little Mermaid, in your pants, with your cat. Nipping off for a touch of onanism when singing along to “Part of Your World” gets you a bit horny.’

      A knock on the door and Wheezy Doug stuck his head in.

      Oh thank God.

      ‘Guv? It’s Mrs Black – just called nine-nine-nine.’

      Maybe not. Logan folded forwards until his forehead rested on the keyboard. ‘It’s home time.’

      ‘Yeah, but she says her neighbour’s trying to kill her with a cleaver.’

      The siren shredded the early evening air as their pool car slewed around onto Pitmedden Court.

      Steel latched onto the grab handle above the passenger door as the front wheels hit a speed bump, wheeching them into the air like something off the Streets of San Francisco. ‘Yeeeeeeee-ha!’

      The car slammed down onto the tarmac again, with a grinding groan.

      Sitting in the back, Logan reached out and slapped Wheezy Doug over the back of the head. ‘What did I tell you?’

      ‘Sorry, Guv, urgent threat to life and that.’ He kept his foot down.

      Mrs Black’s thick leylandii hedge appeared in the middle distance, rushing up to meet them as Wheezy screeched the car to a halt, nose in to the kerb. He grabbed a high-viz waistcoat and jumped out, struggling into the thing as he ran across the pavement.

      Logan scrambled after him, charging up the path to Mrs Black’s house as Wheezy slid the front down on his body-worn video, setting it recording.

      BANG – Justin Robson battered his bare foot into his neighbour’s front door. ‘YOU BITCH! YOU BLOODY VINDICTIVE BLOODY BITCH!’ His Bagpuss sweat pants billowed as he drew back for another kick, camouflage T-shirt stained beneath the armpits. The same dirty big kitchen knife as last time, clutched in one hand. ‘COME OUT HERE!’

      Logan stopped, a good six foot shy of the huge blade. ‘Mr Robson? I need you to calm down for me.’

      BANG. Another kick. ‘I’LL BLOODY KILL YOU!’

      Wheezy dragged out a canister of CS gas. Held the other hand out in front of him, palm out. ‘Mr Robson, it’s the police. Drop the knife. Now.’

      Robson turned. Chest heaving. Mouth a wet wobbly line. Glasses steamed up. ‘Did you see what