Read Online In the Cold Dark Ground by Stuart MacBride - Free Book Online

… Understood?’ The hand tightened. ‘I don’t … want these hacks … keeping a sack … of gristle and mush … breathing for … the hell of it.’ A smile twitched at the edge of his lips. ‘Promise me.’
    Logan stared at the liver-spotted claw covering his own hand, then up at Wee Hamish. The hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. Why not? It wasn’t as if he’d never had to make
that
decision before. ‘Promise.’ Twice in one day.
    Urquhart came back to the bed, carrying a tray with three crystal tumblers, a bottle of whisky, and three glasses of water. He lowered it onto the foot of the bed, then backed away out of sight.
    Wee Hamish trembled a finger at the tray. ‘Do the … honours, … would you?’
    The foil cap was still on, so Logan slit it open with a fingernail. The cork squeaked out of the neck, then came away with a pop.
    Logan poured a finger of mahogany-coloured whisky into each tumbler. A rich leather-and-wood scent coiled up from the crystal as he placed one into Wee Hamish’s hand.
    It wobbled, grasped in knotted fingers as it was raised in toast. ‘Here’s … tae us.’
    ‘Fa’s like us?’
    Reuben picked his glass from the tray, intoning the final words like a death sentence. ‘Gey few, and they’re a’ deid.’
    They drank.
    One line of whisky dribbled down the side of Wee Hamish’s chin. He didn’t wipe it away. Picked up the oxygen mask instead and dragged in a dozen rattling breaths.
    Reuben just stood there. Looming.
    Over in the corner, someone cleared their throat.
    The machines bleeped.
    Finally, Wee Hamish surfaced. ‘Tired…’
    A man appeared at his shoulder, glasses flaring in the room’s only light. He’d rolled his sleeves up to the elbow and tucked his tie into his shirt, between the buttons. He fiddled with one of the machines, then licked his lips. Stared off into the gloom, not making eye contact with Reuben. Probably thinking about that threatened jigsaw. ‘I’m sorry, but Mr Mowat really needs to
rest
.’
    Reuben grunted, then jerked his chin up, setting the folds of flesh wobbling.
    Wee Hamish reached beneath the sheets and produced an envelope. Held it out to Logan. It fluttered like a wounded bird. ‘Take the … bottle … with you. … Drink it … for me.’
    Logan swallowed, then reached out and took the envelope. Slipped it into his jacket pocket. Stood. Patted Wee Hamish on the arm. ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘Goodbye … Logan.’
    Stars glared down from the cold dark sky. Aberdeen’s streetlight glow hid them from view on one side, but on the other they stretched across the baleful darkness like angry gods.
    The house lights reflected back from Urquhart’s shiny black Audi.
    Reuben closed the front door and stepped down onto the gravel driveway beside Logan. ‘He’s dying.’
    Really? What gave it away? The machines? The smell? The terrified doctor?
    Logan nodded. Kept his mouth shut.
    ‘Soon as he does, that’s it. I’m the man, you got me? I say jump, you don’t ask “why”, you ask “how high”.’
    ‘It’s a different world, Reuben. I’ve not been CID for years.’ He shifted Wee Hamish’s bottle from one hand to the other. ‘I’m a uniform sergeant way up on the coast.’
    ‘Don’t care if you’re a pantomime dame in Pitlochry, you’ll do what you’re told.’
    Logan did his best not to sigh, he really did. ‘It doesn’t have to be like this.’
    ‘Oh aye, it does. Cause I
say
it does.’ The big man stepped in close. ‘Your protection dies with Mr Mowat. You either get with the team, or you and me are going to have
words
.’
    The whisky bottle was cold and solid in Logan’s hand. It’d make a pretty decent weapon.
    Reuben grinned, then dropped his voice to a growling whisper. ‘Well, I’ll have the words, you’ll be too busy screaming.’
    Could batter Reuben’s brains in right here and now. Probably. As long as he got the first blow in. And kept on going till the huge sod stopped breathing.
    Logan stared back at