Blind Eye. Stuart MacBride

be my masterpiece. The whole set’s digital; I’ve got a stack of blade servers, a brand-new rendering farm, and half a dozen top geeks. 3D modelling, animation, the whole thing. You should see some of the results we’re getting. Spectacular.’ He took another slurp of soup. ‘I’m going to do for Aberdeen what Peter Jackson did for New Zealand.’

      And then it was time for the money shot. A look of utter horror spread across Krystka Gorzałkowska’s face, just moments after the other stuff.

      ‘Cut!’ Zander appeared on the screen, marching into shot. ‘Krystka, darling, you know I love you, but you can’t keep doing this. It’s only sperm, it’s perfectly natural and it’s not going to hurt you. Kurt’s medicals are all up to date. Aren’t they Kurt?’

      Kurt grimaced. ‘Please tell me we don’t have to go again!’

      Krystka burst into tears and Zander wrapped her up in a big hug, careful not to get any perfectly natural sperm on his jumper. ‘Come on, sweetheart. Napij się herbaty. Would you like that? Nice cup of tea?’ Then he led her out of shot.

      Three beeps and the screen went blank.

      ‘See?’ The director leaned back in his chair. ‘Does that look like I’m forcing anyone to do anything they don’t want to?’ Another slurp. ‘We tried putting a happy face on her with the computers, but to be honest it’s going to be cheaper just reshooting her scenes with someone else.’

      ‘Well…’ Logan put the photo back in his pocket. ‘Maybe she was working for another outfit? Who else makes porn films up here?’

      ‘We’re the only professional studio in the North East, so it’s probably just some gonzo operation. Amateurs. I can ask around if you like?’

      Steel coughed. ‘Can you put the first lot of humping back on again?’

      The director shrugged, hit some buttons, and the screens filled up with pink. ‘I…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I was so sorry to hear about Inspector Insch. It was a terrible shame.’

      And one Logan really didn’t want to talk about. ‘Yes, well…’

      ‘Is he doing OK? My dear old dad had a heart attack and it knocked the stuffing right out of him. Pretty much gave up after that.’

      ‘We need to—’

      ‘Only, I was thinking: if Insch wanted something to keep him busy, I could always use him here?’

      DI Steel shuddered. ‘No’ in a porn film! Jesus, who’d want to see all that blubber humping about?’

      ‘I meant as a production assistant.’ Zander stuck the topmost of his chins in the air, the others stretching out behind it. ‘And some people like larger men, thank you very much!’

      ‘I was only—’

      ‘Actually,’ said Logan, ‘if we could get back to Krystka Gorzałkowska? How did you get hold of her?’

      ‘Kostchey International Holdings Limited, it’s an agency: they specialize in Polish actresses for adult films. Absolute Godsend. Their girls look fabulous, most of them can sing, they remember their lines, and they can act too. I can’t get local girls who look anywhere near as good – all the attractive ones want to be on crap like Big Brother or the X-Factor.’ Sigh. ‘No one wants to be a porn star anymore.’

      DI Steel was disturbingly happy on the drive back to her house, staring at the pair of brand-new DVDs the director had given her as a parting gift: Harriet Potter and the Gobbler of Firemen and Indiana Jane and the Temple of Dildos. The covers were surprisingly classy. ‘Bet these are packed with girl-on-girl actiony goodness.’

      ‘I want to check with the agency, see if they hired Krystka out to another outfit.’

      ‘Supposed to be having the weekend off, remember? Phone the station, tell them to get some idiot to do it. If Rennie’s back, he’ll do.’

      She turned in her seat, staring out at the sunshine as they slogged their way towards the Bridge of Don. ‘Susan couldn’t pick me up today because she’s…’ Steel fidgeted with the DVDs some more. ‘She had an interview with the adoption and fostering people.’

      ‘Thought she liked being an accountant?’

      ‘Not a job interview, you moron. For a kid.’ She cracked her window open and lit a cigarette, blowing a mouthful of smoke at a passing cyclist. ‘Susan wants a kid. She’s always wanted a kid.’

      ‘Ah.’

      ‘It really matters to her and I’m… Well, I’m no’ exactly Mother of the Year material, am I? Got to go see some social working cock-weasel on Tuesday, convince them I’m the sort of person you’d want to give a wee baby to.’

      Logan followed the queue of traffic across the bridge, listening to the plaintive wail of seagulls in the background. ‘You’re a shoo-in. They’ll love you.’

      ‘I’m no’ good with children! I’m a forty-three-year-old lesbian chain-smoker who swears like a fucking sailor and boozes it up every night.’

      Logan couldn’t believe that. ‘Forty-three?’

      ‘Oh, shut up.’ She spent a couple of minutes smoking and scowling. ‘Any fuckwit under the sun can get his girlfriend knocked up and bang: he’s a dad. Doesn’t matter if he’s a junkie, a wino, or a pervert, as long as he’s got a working dick he gets to make babies. No one from the Social interviews him, do they? How fair is that?’ She smacked her hand on the dashboard, sending an avalanche of ash all over the black plastic. ‘Aw shite…’ She swept the worst of it up and turfed it out of the window, leaving a grey smear behind. ‘No fags, no drink, and no swearing. That sound like me to you?’

      ‘Maybe it won’t be as bad as—’

      ‘You know what? Sod it. If I’ve got to be someone else for the rest of my life, I’m bloody well giving the old me a good send off.’ Steel flicked the last of her cigarette out into the beautiful afternoon, where it ricocheted off the side of an electrician’s van. ‘Call the gang, Laz: seven o’clock tonight we’re getting blootered and hitting a titty bar.’

      Classy.

      But never let it be said that Logan wasn’t a team player.

       11

      The Monday morning briefing had a carnival atmosphere to it, everyone lounging in their chairs, talking about where they were going on holiday. DC Rennie – tanned and smug – handed out a mound of bacon butties, the tinfoil packages releasing their savoury-scented steam into the crowded room. Logan’s stomach growled, then lurched as Rennie stuck one under his nose, saying, ‘Don’t say I’m never good to you.’

      ‘Urgh … get that bloody thing away from me!’

      The constable sank into the next seat. ‘God, you’re not still on that vegetarian nonsense are you? Been seven months: get over it.’

      ‘You know what you can do with your bacon buttie? You can shove it right up your—’

      The door opened and everyone sat up, shut up, and prepared to pay attention. Only it wasn’t DCI Finnie standing in the doorway – hauling his bra up with one hand, and carrying a plastic bag from Tesco in the other – it was DI Steel. She paused and stared at them all. ‘Don’t tell me he’s still no’ here!’

      She finished rearranging herself, then took the seat on the other side of Rennie. The constable smiled and offered her Logan’s rejected buttie. ‘Got an extra one for you.’

      She took it without a word, ripped a huge bite out of it, then sat chewing in scowly silence.

      Rennie