Read Online Cold Granite by Stuart MacBride - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stuart MacBride
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Crime, Mystery Fiction, Police, Hard-Boiled, Police Procedural, Children, Children - Crimes against, Aberdeen (Scotland), Police - Scotland - Aberdeen, Serial murders - New York (State) - New York - Fiction
Ads: Link
at him, a scalpel in one hand an evidence bag in the other. '"He's" not anything,' she said, straightening up. 'This is a girl. Three to four years old.'
Logan looked down at the bundled-up body. 'You sure?'
Isobel slipped her scalpel back into its case, straightened up slowly and looked at him as if he was an idiot. 'Medical degrees from Edinburgh University might not be al they're cracked up to be, but one of the few things they did teach us was the difference between little boys and little girls. The whole absence-of-a-penis thing is kind of a giveaway.'
Logan went to ask the obvious question, but Isobel cut him off.
'And no, I don't mean it's been removed like the Reid boy: it was never there in the first place.' She picked her medical case up off the bin-bag floor. 'If you want a time of death, or anything else, you'l have to wait until I've done the post mortem.' She waved a hand at the IB
officer who'd rol ed out the plastic carpet for her. 'You: get al this crated up and back to the morgue. I'l continue there.'
There was a quiet 'Yes, ma'am' and she was gone, taking her bag with her. But leaving a chil behind.
The IB officer waited until she was wel out of earshot before muttering, 'Frigid bitch.'
Logan hurried out after her, catching up as she clumped back to her car. 'Isobel? Isobel, wait.'
She pointed her keyring at the car: the indicators flashed and the boot popped open. 'I can't tel you anything more til I get the body back to the morgue.' Hopping on one foot, she pul ed off a Wel ington and dropped it into a plastic-lined box, replacing it with a suede boot.
'What was that all about?'
'Al what about?' She went to work on the other Wel ington, trying not to get too much garbage on her nice new shoes.
'Look we're going to have to work together, OK?'
'I am wel aware of that,' she said, tearing off the boiler suit, flinging it in with the wel ies, and slamming the boot shut. 'I'm not the one with the problem!'
'Isobel--'
Her voice dropped twenty degrees. 'Were you purposely trying to humiliate me back there? How dare you question my professionalism!' She wrenched open the car door and climbed in, slamming it in his face.
'Isobel--'
The window slid down and she looked up at him, standing in the pouring rain. 'What?'
But Logan couldn't think of anything to say.
She glowered at him and started the car, doing a three-point turn on the slippery road, before roaring off into the darkness.
Logan watched the car's tail-lights disappear, cursed under his breath, and trudged back into the tent.
The little girl was lying where Isobel had left her, the IB team too busy bitching about the pathologist's departure to carry out her orders. Logan sighed and hunched down in front of the pathetic, taped-up bundle.
The child's face was almost completely hidden: the packing tape wrapped tightly around her head. The hands were taped together against her chest, and so were the knees. But it looked as if her kil er had run out of tape before they could get the legs secured. That was why the left one had been poking out of the bag for a lucky seagul to nibble on.
He pulled out his phone and cal ed in, asking if they'd had any reports of a missing girl, about three or four years old. They hadn't.
Swearing softly, he punched DI Insch's number in to give him the bad news. 'Hel o, sir?
Yeah, it's DS McRae...No, sir.' He took a deep breath. 'It's not Richard Erskine.'
There was a stunned silence at the other end of the line, and then, 'You sure?'
Logan nodded, even though Insch couldn't see him. 'Definitely. Victim's a little girl, three, maybe four, years old, but she's not been reported missing.'
Foul language erupted from the earpiece.
'That's what I said, sir.'
The Identification Bureau team mimed picking up the body and buggering off to the morgue with it. Logan nodded. The one who'd cal ed Isobel a frigid bitch took out a mobile and cal ed for the duty undertakers. It wouldn't do to cart a dead child about
Logan looked down at the bundled-up body. 'You sure?'
Isobel slipped her scalpel back into its case, straightened up slowly and looked at him as if he was an idiot. 'Medical degrees from Edinburgh University might not be al they're cracked up to be, but one of the few things they did teach us was the difference between little boys and little girls. The whole absence-of-a-penis thing is kind of a giveaway.'
Logan went to ask the obvious question, but Isobel cut him off.
'And no, I don't mean it's been removed like the Reid boy: it was never there in the first place.' She picked her medical case up off the bin-bag floor. 'If you want a time of death, or anything else, you'l have to wait until I've done the post mortem.' She waved a hand at the IB
officer who'd rol ed out the plastic carpet for her. 'You: get al this crated up and back to the morgue. I'l continue there.'
There was a quiet 'Yes, ma'am' and she was gone, taking her bag with her. But leaving a chil behind.
The IB officer waited until she was wel out of earshot before muttering, 'Frigid bitch.'
Logan hurried out after her, catching up as she clumped back to her car. 'Isobel? Isobel, wait.'
She pointed her keyring at the car: the indicators flashed and the boot popped open. 'I can't tel you anything more til I get the body back to the morgue.' Hopping on one foot, she pul ed off a Wel ington and dropped it into a plastic-lined box, replacing it with a suede boot.
'What was that all about?'
'Al what about?' She went to work on the other Wel ington, trying not to get too much garbage on her nice new shoes.
'Look we're going to have to work together, OK?'
'I am wel aware of that,' she said, tearing off the boiler suit, flinging it in with the wel ies, and slamming the boot shut. 'I'm not the one with the problem!'
'Isobel--'
Her voice dropped twenty degrees. 'Were you purposely trying to humiliate me back there? How dare you question my professionalism!' She wrenched open the car door and climbed in, slamming it in his face.
'Isobel--'
The window slid down and she looked up at him, standing in the pouring rain. 'What?'
But Logan couldn't think of anything to say.
She glowered at him and started the car, doing a three-point turn on the slippery road, before roaring off into the darkness.
Logan watched the car's tail-lights disappear, cursed under his breath, and trudged back into the tent.
The little girl was lying where Isobel had left her, the IB team too busy bitching about the pathologist's departure to carry out her orders. Logan sighed and hunched down in front of the pathetic, taped-up bundle.
The child's face was almost completely hidden: the packing tape wrapped tightly around her head. The hands were taped together against her chest, and so were the knees. But it looked as if her kil er had run out of tape before they could get the legs secured. That was why the left one had been poking out of the bag for a lucky seagul to nibble on.
He pulled out his phone and cal ed in, asking if they'd had any reports of a missing girl, about three or four years old. They hadn't.
Swearing softly, he punched DI Insch's number in to give him the bad news. 'Hel o, sir?
Yeah, it's DS McRae...No, sir.' He took a deep breath. 'It's not Richard Erskine.'
There was a stunned silence at the other end of the line, and then, 'You sure?'
Logan nodded, even though Insch couldn't see him. 'Definitely. Victim's a little girl, three, maybe four, years old, but she's not been reported missing.'
Foul language erupted from the earpiece.
'That's what I said, sir.'
The Identification Bureau team mimed picking up the body and buggering off to the morgue with it. Logan nodded. The one who'd cal ed Isobel a frigid bitch took out a mobile and cal ed for the duty undertakers. It wouldn't do to cart a dead child about
Similar Books
