Read Online Dying Light by Stuart MacBride - Free Book Online Page B

the waters before diving in. So the PF had authorized a full post mortem; Isobel was going to love that, hack up a dirty, rotting Labrador in her nice clean morgue? She’d throw a fit. And then she’d blame him. Grumbling, Logan climbed into the shower, trying to wash off the stench of decaying dog, and half an hour later he was sitting in the lounge, tin of beer in one hand, cheese toastie in the other, watching daytime television, trying to bore himself to sleep.
    Jackie had made a big difference to Logan’s flat when she moved in – it wasn’t half as tidy as it used to be. The woman was chaos with boobs. Nothing in the kitchen made sense any more. Whenever she used anything, it went back in a completely different place to where she’d found it: it had taken him ten minutes just to find thetoastie machine. Magazines spilled over the side of the coffee table, newspapers were heaped on the floor, unopened letters mixed with takeaway menus and assorted scraps of paper. Her collection of pigs had also taken up residence: porcelain pigs, pottery pigs, little pink cuddly pigs. They festooned the lounge, gathering dust. But Logan wouldn’t have changed it for the world.
    Soon he was well into his second tin of beer, the sunlight spilling in through the lounge window, making the room soft and warm. He was actually starting to drift off: sleep washing in and out, like the approaching tide, bringing dismembered corpses with it…
    Logan sat bolt upright on the couch, eyes bleary and wide, heart hammering in his ears, trying to figure out where he was. The phone went again and he swung round, cursing, grabbing the handset as the dream rotted away. ‘Hello?’
    A Glaswegian voice boomed happily into Logan’s ear. ‘Laz, my man. How you doin’?’ Colin Miller, golden-boy reporter on the Press and Journal , Aberdeen’s main daily newspaper.
    ‘Sleeping. What do you want?’
    ‘ Sleepin’? At this time of the day. Been up to a bit of the old afternoon delight with the lovely WPC Watson, eh? ’ Logan didn’t dignify that with an answer. ‘ Anyway, listen, I got a call from some woman says she found a body in the woods today .’ Christ, thought Logan, that Mrs Hendry didn’t waste any time,did she? ‘ Come on, man, spill the beans! Who is it? ’
    Logan frowned. ‘You’ve not spoken to Isobel yet, have you?’
    An embarrassed pause and then, ‘ Aye, well, she’s no’ answerin’ her mobile, and her office phone’s on voicemail only .’ In addition to being a golden-boy reporter, Miller was also Isobel’s bit of rough, the one who’d taken her fancy when she was finished with Logan. It should have been more than enough reason for him to dislike the pushy wee shite, but for some bizarre reason it wasn’t. ‘ Come on, Laz, spill the beans! Bloody media office ’s givin’ the usual “no comment” bollocks. You was there wasn’t you? ’
    Sighing, Logan slumped back to his chair. ‘All I can say is that we found some remains in Garlogie Woods today. You want more details, you’re going to have to go through the media office. Or wait for Isobel to get home.’
    ‘ Shite… C’mon , Laz, give me somethin’ to work with here! I’ve been a good boy, no’ printed a thing she’s told me without goin’ through you first – give us a break, eh? ’
    Logan couldn’t help smiling, it was nice to have the upper hand for a change. If Miller printed a word of what his pathologist girlfriend told him between the sheets without getting the OK from Logan, she was finished. Logan would go straight to Professional Standards and tell them all about Isobel’s former “indiscretions” with the media. Her career would be over.
    ‘ Tell you what, I’ll bring round somethin’ tasty for tea and you and me can have a chat. Maybe I’ve got something you need to know. We could do a swap, like .’
    ‘What, like last time? No bloody thanks.’
    ‘ Look, I’m sorry about that, OK? He told me the place was full of