Logan McRae Crime Series Books 4-6: Flesh House, Blind Eye, Dark Blood. Stuart MacBride

‘No, Storybook Glen. Of course he means the abattoir!’ She turned and marched from the room, pausing only to grab Logan by the sleeve. ‘About time too.’

      Five minutes later they were all in the main incident room, clustered round a scabby old television someone had wheeled in on a trolley. DCS Bain told Rennie to hit pause then tapped the screen: it was night, and a man in a thick padded jacket and dark woollen hat was caught halfway between the protein processing area and the shed where they kept the salted hides. He had a heavy-looking holdall slung over his shoulder.

      DI Steel peered at the timestamp flickering away in the corner. ‘When was this?’

      Rennie checked something on a clipboard. ‘Friday night. Twenty-eight minutes past eleven: when the security guards usually have their fly cup – official tea break’s not till midnight, but they slip one in when no one’s looking. It’s about thirty-six hours after the pathologist reckons Tom Stephen was killed.’ He pressed play again, and the figure hurried past the skin sheds; one frame every two seconds, like cheap Canadian animation, then disappeared through the fence and into the leylandii hedge.

      ‘Bloody hell …’ Steel slapped Rennie on the shoulder. ‘How come no one noticed this sooner?’

      ‘Ow!’

      Bain told him to stop whining and get onto Photographic: ‘I want that man’s face blown up and enhanced. Tell them nothing else takes precedence, understand?’

      The constable snapped off a salute and stabbed the video’s eject button.

      ‘Next, I want everyone to go back through the list of abattoir workers: find me a face that fits.’ He smiled. ‘We’ve finally got him.’

      Logan stood outside on the rear podium, trying to get through to Chief Constable Faulds on his mobile. It rang through to an anonymous electronic answering service. He declined to leave a message and tried the number Faulds had given him for Lloyd House – Birmingham’s version of Force Headquarters instead.

      ‘West Midlands Police, how can I help you?’

      He asked to be put through, ending up in Hold Music Hell with a panpipe rendition of ‘In the Air Tonight’, before finally getting through to a human being who told him Faulds was taking a couple of personal days, but he’d be back on Wednesday. Would Logan like to leave a message?

      ‘Yeah, tell him we’ve got a suspect: Marek Kowalczyk, works at the abattoir where we found the body parts.’

      Alec appeared through the back door, grinning from ear to ear, a bulky stab-proof vest on under his parka. ‘This’ll make a kick-ass finale to the programme!’

      Logan thanked the sergeant on the other end of the phone and hung up. ‘You do know this is probably going to be hours of sitting in a car waiting for nothing to happen, don’t you?’

      ‘Ah, where’s your sense of adventure? This is going to be great!’

      Which just went to show how much he knew.

       39

       Garioch View Guesthouse, Turriff – Sunday 19:54

      The bed and breakfast was a crumbling building not too far from the centre of Turriff. God knew why they’d called it ‘Garioch View’, the only thing visible from the pokey rooms was a bus stop on other side of the road and a swathe of grimy red sandstone houses. According to the landlady, Marek Kowalczyk was out, but he’d be back later – probably half-cut – so they parked the CID pool car two doors away under a streetlight, where they’d have a good view of the entrance. Logan wound the car window down, letting in the cool night air.

      DI Steel shivered in the passenger seat. ‘You trying to give us all hypothermia? Shut the bloody window.’

      ‘Put your shoes back on then.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Smells like mouldy Gorgonzola in here.’

      ‘Cheeky bastard. Anyway, Alec’s no’ complaining, are you Alec?’

      The cameraman leant over from the back seat. ‘No, but that sod Paul gave me his cold, didn’t he?’ Blowing his nose for dramatic effect.

      ‘See: Alec’s got pneumonia and you won’t shut the window. You trying to kill him?’

      ‘Fine. OK. Whatever.’ Logan wound the window back up. ‘Jesus …’

       Garioch View Guesthouse, Turriff – Sunday 20:13

      Still no sign of Kowalczyk. DI Steel yawned, stretched, then said, ‘What’s green and smells of pork?’

      Logan didn’t look up from the copy of yesterday’s Evening Express he’d found on the back seat. ‘No idea.’

      She grinned at him. ‘Kermit’s willy!’ Pause for laughter. Nothing. ‘Miserable sods.’ She rubbed at the small of her back. ‘Why can’t we go wait for him in the B&B?’

      ‘Because the DCS and Rennie are in there. You really want to spend the whole evening listening to Rennie banging on about how much he loves his girlfriend?’

      ‘Good point.’

       Garioch View Guesthouse, Turriff – Sunday 20:31

      ‘No, but don’t you think it’s a bit weird?’ said Alec, offering round a packet of Lockets, ‘I mean Kermit’s a frog right? He doesn’t have a penis, so how’s he supposed to get it on with Miss Piggy? What’s he going to do: wait for her to lay her eggs, then squirt his sperm all over them? Not exactly a fulfilling sex life, is it?’

      Steel turned to look at him. ‘Pigs don’t lay eggs. Chickens do.’

      Logan pointed off down the street at someone stomping their way home in the dark. ‘There! Is that him?’

      The inspector dragged her binoculars out of the glove compartment …‘No.’

      ‘Damn.’ Logan went back to his crossword.

       Garioch View Guesthouse, Turriff – Sunday 21:04

      ‘So how come,’ said Logan keeping one eye on the deserted street, ‘in The Muppet Christmas Carol, Kermit and Miss Piggy—’

      Steel: ‘You mean Mrs The Frog, they were married in that one.’

      ‘How come they had two piglet daughters and one little frog boy?’

      Alec: ‘Maybe they adopted.’

      Steel: ‘She was screwing around behind Kermit’s back. Can’t say I blame her: he’s no’ got a penis, remember?’

      Alec: ‘Artificial insemination. My cousin Peter and his wife had that.’

      ‘Ah,’ Logan boinked a finger off the steering wheel, ‘then why didn’t they have some sort of freakish half-pig-half-frog hybrid child?’

      There was a thoughtful pause. ‘Maybe that’s why Tiny Tim was dying: he wasn’t genetically viable.’

       Garioch View Guesthouse, Turriff – Sunday 21:17

      ‘Christ I’m bored!’ Steel slumped back in her seat and put her hands over her face, muffling a scream. ‘Aaaaaaaaaaargh!’

      Logan checked the dashboard clock: they’d been here nearly three hours. ‘He’s got to come home some time – all his stuff’s still in his room.’

      ‘Aye, well I’ve had enough. I’m no’ spending all night with you and Captain Sniffles here, talking about the reproductive habits of fucking Muppets!’

      Alec stuck his head between the two front seats. ‘But this is going to be the final showdown!