Read Online Shatter the Bones by Stuart MacBride - Free Book Online
Authors: Stuart MacBride
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but—’
‘Half one. On the dot.’
‘Had to sort out a PM for Jenny McGregor’s toe, and—’
‘Don’t make me drag you out of there, ’cause I will.’
‘Doc Fraser says she’s dead.’
Silence. ‘Shit… I’m sorry.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ Logan glanced up at the poster on the wall: ‘H AVE Y OU A NY I NFORMATION ?’ The photo was a smiling mother and daughter, standing on Aberdeen beach, caught in a shaft of golden light, the cold grey swell of the North Sea foam-flecked and angry behind them. Now it was only a matter of time before the bodies turned up.
‘Anyway, yes: half one. I’ll be there, OK?’
‘Good. Love you.’ And the line went dead.
He checked his watch – just gone eleven – then his email. Memo; directive; memo; Sheriff Court times for everyone arrested last night at Shuggie Webster’s house; general update on the hunt for Jenny and Alison McGregor’s kidnappers; details of the emergency media briefing at half three; an invitation to PC Henderson’s leaving bash—
A knock on the door.
Logan looked up from his screen to see Acting DI Mark MacDonald, clutching a little parcel – about the size of a hardback book.
Logan nodded. ‘ Guv .’
MacDonald cleared his throat. ‘Look, it’s been a bastard of a week…’ He clunked the door shut behind him and settled on the edge of his old desk, one finger tracing a figure-of-eight on the laminate wood surface. He held out the parcel. ‘Peace offering?’
Logan unwrapped the brown paper. There was a brass plaque inside, mounted on a dark wooden plinth: ‘T HE W EE H OOSE ’. A couple of screws and rawlplugs were Sellotaped to the back.
‘I thought it could, you know: go on the wall outside.’
‘Thanks.’
MacDonald nodded. Then sagged. ‘Fuck me, being a DI is a pain in the arse. You don’t want to swap do you?’
‘Do I hell.’
‘When it was Doreen’s turn, what did she get? Two attempted murders and a run of unlawful removals. Three sodding months, Bill got nothing but break-ins. Me? I get the fucking McGregors .’ He tugged at the edges of his goatee beard. ‘It’s not bloody fair.’
Logan powered his computer down again. ‘Never is.’
‘Sure you don’t want to take your turn early?’
‘Sorry, Mark – got a briefing to go to.’
‘Three month job-share trial period my arse.’ He picked the plaque up from Logan’s desk. Held it against his chest. ‘You remember how Insch used to take his pulse the whole time? Stick two fingers to his throat whenever he was going purple? I don’t need to do that. I can hear the bloody thing pounding in my ears.’
‘All right, that’s enough .’ Finnie stood at the front of the room with his hands up, until silence settled across the crowd again. Everyone involved in the investigation was jammed into FHQ’s major incident room, the biggest in the building: CID, uniform, and support staff perched on chairs and desks, staring. The top brass sat at the front with Finnie, looking as if they were on their way to a funeral – Chief Superintendent Baldy Bain, the Assistant Chief Constable, the Deputy Chief Constable, and God himself – Chief Constable Anderson – all done up in full dress regalia, their silver buttons polished to a mirror shine.
One of the admin officers stuck up her hand.
Finnie stared at her for a moment. ‘Yes?’
‘Are you sure she’s dead?’
The head of CID pursed his lips. ‘No, I just made that bit up , because I thought it would be a fun excuse to get everyone together so we could plait each other’s hair! Anyone have any other stupid questions?’
The admin officer went pink and lowered her hand. Finnie scowled around the room. ‘We are now investigating the abduction and murder of a six-year-old girl, and the abduction of her mother. Media briefing’s at half three; Chief Superintendent Bain will be making the announcement about Jenny’s death. I’m sure the media will do its usual sterling job of appealing for calm
‘Half one. On the dot.’
‘Had to sort out a PM for Jenny McGregor’s toe, and—’
‘Don’t make me drag you out of there, ’cause I will.’
‘Doc Fraser says she’s dead.’
Silence. ‘Shit… I’m sorry.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ Logan glanced up at the poster on the wall: ‘H AVE Y OU A NY I NFORMATION ?’ The photo was a smiling mother and daughter, standing on Aberdeen beach, caught in a shaft of golden light, the cold grey swell of the North Sea foam-flecked and angry behind them. Now it was only a matter of time before the bodies turned up.
‘Anyway, yes: half one. I’ll be there, OK?’
‘Good. Love you.’ And the line went dead.
He checked his watch – just gone eleven – then his email. Memo; directive; memo; Sheriff Court times for everyone arrested last night at Shuggie Webster’s house; general update on the hunt for Jenny and Alison McGregor’s kidnappers; details of the emergency media briefing at half three; an invitation to PC Henderson’s leaving bash—
A knock on the door.
Logan looked up from his screen to see Acting DI Mark MacDonald, clutching a little parcel – about the size of a hardback book.
Logan nodded. ‘ Guv .’
MacDonald cleared his throat. ‘Look, it’s been a bastard of a week…’ He clunked the door shut behind him and settled on the edge of his old desk, one finger tracing a figure-of-eight on the laminate wood surface. He held out the parcel. ‘Peace offering?’
Logan unwrapped the brown paper. There was a brass plaque inside, mounted on a dark wooden plinth: ‘T HE W EE H OOSE ’. A couple of screws and rawlplugs were Sellotaped to the back.
‘I thought it could, you know: go on the wall outside.’
‘Thanks.’
MacDonald nodded. Then sagged. ‘Fuck me, being a DI is a pain in the arse. You don’t want to swap do you?’
‘Do I hell.’
‘When it was Doreen’s turn, what did she get? Two attempted murders and a run of unlawful removals. Three sodding months, Bill got nothing but break-ins. Me? I get the fucking McGregors .’ He tugged at the edges of his goatee beard. ‘It’s not bloody fair.’
Logan powered his computer down again. ‘Never is.’
‘Sure you don’t want to take your turn early?’
‘Sorry, Mark – got a briefing to go to.’
‘Three month job-share trial period my arse.’ He picked the plaque up from Logan’s desk. Held it against his chest. ‘You remember how Insch used to take his pulse the whole time? Stick two fingers to his throat whenever he was going purple? I don’t need to do that. I can hear the bloody thing pounding in my ears.’
‘All right, that’s enough .’ Finnie stood at the front of the room with his hands up, until silence settled across the crowd again. Everyone involved in the investigation was jammed into FHQ’s major incident room, the biggest in the building: CID, uniform, and support staff perched on chairs and desks, staring. The top brass sat at the front with Finnie, looking as if they were on their way to a funeral – Chief Superintendent Baldy Bain, the Assistant Chief Constable, the Deputy Chief Constable, and God himself – Chief Constable Anderson – all done up in full dress regalia, their silver buttons polished to a mirror shine.
One of the admin officers stuck up her hand.
Finnie stared at her for a moment. ‘Yes?’
‘Are you sure she’s dead?’
The head of CID pursed his lips. ‘No, I just made that bit up , because I thought it would be a fun excuse to get everyone together so we could plait each other’s hair! Anyone have any other stupid questions?’
The admin officer went pink and lowered her hand. Finnie scowled around the room. ‘We are now investigating the abduction and murder of a six-year-old girl, and the abduction of her mother. Media briefing’s at half three; Chief Superintendent Bain will be making the announcement about Jenny’s death. I’m sure the media will do its usual sterling job of appealing for calm
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