Broken Skin Part 26

'You know how long you can get for pirating movies? Kill someone you'd be out sooner. The Federation for Copyright Protection are like the Gestapo, only without the winning sense of humour.'

'I didn't pirate anything. I'm providing a service to the community-'

'Have you checked the computers?'

Rickards nodded. 'Nothing,'

'What about the bas.e.m.e.nt?'

'Isn't one: I checked. But we...' Rickards trailed off, following the invisible line between Logan's pointing finger and one of the desks: a scuffed Formica-and-chipboard job, the sort of thing you could pick up cheap from B&Q or Argos. It sat on a big red, brown and pink rug with elephants round the edge. The constable stared at it for a minute, then admitted he didn't have a clue what Logan was on about.

'Desk's been moved. Look at the rug: you see the dark red bit with the dimples round it? That's where it normally sits. And the wall behind it: you can't see half the calendar it's hidden behind the edge of the desk.'

'Ah,' said Ma, 'we had a book on feng shui and they said-'

Rickards grabbed a policewoman and got her to help shift the desk off to one side.

'-bad luck to move it! It destroys the energy flow of the whole room! It-'

The edge of the rug was rolled back, exposing the dark border between trapdoor and floorboard. 'Of course,' said Logan, as an embarra.s.sed Rickards apologized, 'it probably helps that I've raided this place before.'

The bas.e.m.e.nt didn't quite stretch the length of Ma's office. It was a claustrophobic s.p.a.ce in white-painted concrete blocks, one end stacked floor to ceiling with cardboard boxes cigarettes, whisky, wine, and for some unfathomable reason, nappies. The other side had been given over to a mini pirating empire four PCs and a stack of DVD burners. It wasn't even automatic: someone would have to manually change the disks. A small colour laser printer sat in the corner, a stack of labels sitting next to it, and a couple of boxes of blank DVDs.

'I'm really just storing these things for someone else,' said Ma with her best harmless-little-old-lady smile. 'Now, would anyone like a nice cup of tea? We've got Eccles cakes.'

Logan arrested her.

40.

'You know,' said Rickards when Ma had been processed and stuck in a cell, 'I thought she'd be more ... upset.'

Logan snorted. 'She's used to it. We've been doing her for peddling p.o.r.n for years. We arrest her, she won't tell us who her suppliers are because, "naebody likes a clype", goes up before the Sheriff and does her, "I'm just a confused old woman" routine, he takes pity on her, she gets a small fine, some community service which she actually enjoys and about a year later we'll catch her doing the same thing, and it all goes round again.' He shook his head. 'The circle of p.o.r.n.'

'Do we-'

'Sorry to interrupt,' DC Rennie, looking fl.u.s.tered and out of breath, 'but DI Insch wants to see you in his office.'

'Can it wait?'

Rennie shifted uncomfortably. 'Well, you see ... there's been another rape...'

Logan closed his eyes. 'f.u.c.k.'

'That's not the worst part.'

By the time Logan pushed through into the inspector's office most of the shouting seemed to be over, but the air still crackled with pent-up fury. Insch's face was a furious shade of purple, glowering at Jackie as she stood with her hands behind her back in front of his desk, flexing her fingers. The room's other occupant was a uniformed PC, slumped in one of the visitor chairs, holding a big wodge of toilet paper to his nose and making groaning noises.

'I was just-' was as far as Jackie got, before Insch held up a fat finger.

'Not another word!' There was some mumbling from Mr Blood and Toilet Paper, but Insch wasn't in the mood. 'That goes for you too!' Silence.

Logan's heart sank. It didn't take a genius to work out what had happened. 'You wanted to see me, sir?'

'About b.l.o.o.d.y time. Take this,' pointing at Jackie, 'and have a word with it. Tell it that it's this b.l.o.o.d.y close to getting suspended and if it doesn't pull its b.l.o.o.d.y socks up I WILL KICK ITS a.r.s.e FROM HERE TO BALMORAL!' Flashes of spittle arced through the stuffy office. He turned a baleful eye on Jackie. 'Get out of my b.l.o.o.d.y sight!'

She stood there, staring furiously at the carpet for a moment, then turned on her heel and pushed past Logan and out into the hall. Logan froze, looking from the inspector's thunderous expression to PC Nosebleed, thought better of asking, and hurried out after Jackie, closing the door behind him as another tirade of abuse began.

She was almost at the stairs by the time he caught up with her. 'You want to fill me in?'

'What the h.e.l.l is wrong with everyone?'

'What happened?'

'I don't want to talk about it.' Then she started marching off again. 'A woman's been raped and he's making jokes!'

'So you clobbered him? Jackie, if he makes a complaint you're going to get carpeted.'

'One f.u.c.king night we're not watching Macintyre...'

Logan grabbed her. 'Where, what happened?'

She yanked her arm free of his grip. 'Wendy Smith. Student nurse. She was eighteen. Finished her shift and Macintyre jumped her. Only this time the b.a.s.t.a.r.d beats and cuts her so badly she's lost the sight in one eye. Her face looks like f.u.c.king strips of liver! Three hundred st.i.tches! Three hundred! The people she worked with in A&E couldn't even recognize her, and he gets a seven-figure book deal!'

'Where? Where did it happen?'

'Dun-f.u.c.king-dee. Same as usual. The little s.h.i.te-'

'Then it's not him.'

'Of course it's him!'

'IT CAN'T BE HIM!' Losing it. Clenching his teeth to try and calm down. 'We were there last time remember? All night! He was at home when the last girl was raped: it's on the video!'

'It was him.' She turned and made for the stairs.

'How? How can it be him?'

'It's him!'

This was pointless like arguing with his mother she was never going to admit she was wrong. Logan let her go.

There was no way he was going straight home not if she was in that kind of mood so when the shift was over Logan asked if anyone wanted to go to the pub. No takers, not even Rennie.

'Rehearsals. Come along, it'll be fun. John's coming, aren't you?'

Rickards nodded happily. 'I'm prompting.'

'Oh, well... Don't worry about it. I'll go see a film or something.'

'No, come!' Rennie made various theatrical gestures. 'And then we can go get that curry we were talking about lads' night out!'

Logan shrugged: why not?

They marched up Union Street, with Rennie babbling on about how some plot in EastEnders was a parable for Oth.e.l.lo.

'So,' said Rickards when Rennie managed to shut up for thirty seconds, 'you got cornered by Tina last night.'

'Tina?' It took Logan a moment to figure out who he meant Mrs Bottoms Wield The Power. 'Yeah ... she's a little ... intense.'

'Yup, that's our Tina. They're not all that bad you know. She's just a bit evangelical about the whole thing. Husband left her for a dental hygienist and she's been on this self-empowerment trip ever since. Last year we got dragged along to see her in some b.l.o.o.d.y awful pantomime.'

'Yeah, she said.' They stopped at the lights on Union Terrace and watched the traffic grumble past. The day's warmth was long gone and a cold wind whistled up Bridge Street, sending an old newspaper flapping drunkenly into the air like a dying seagull.

'Be surprised how many people do both, you know: the scene and performing. Always thought about giving it a try myself. That's how come I'm prompting. Next year-'

'Hang on a second...' Logan's phone was ringing. According to the caller ID it was R TULLOCH DPF. He stood, staring at the illuminated display as it rang, debating whether to take the call or pretend to be busy. Not really wanting to do either.

Rennie: 'You going to answer that then?'

He'd speak to her. It wasn't fair not to. He ... the ringing stopped it'd gone through to voicemail.

Now he'd have to ring her back. 's.h.i.te.' He dialled in and checked his messages. There was some hissing and clicking, then one from his mother he'd been avoiding for nearly a week he skipped it; one from DI Steel about some stolen office equipment; and last but not least: 'Hi, Logan? It's me ... er... Rachael. Look, I had a good time the other night and I wanted to know if...' the volume dropped, as if she was muttering to herself. 'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, this was easier when I thought about it in the car... Look: dinner, tomorrow night. I'm making something scary out of an old Delia Smith book. Make it half-six, and you can keep me going with wine while I cook.' A pause, then she remembered to leave him the address and hung up.

Logan's thumb hovered over the 'delete' b.u.t.ton; now he had to call her back. 'f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k ... f.u.c.k.'

Rennie smiled at him. 'Good news?'

'Shut up.' Logan stuck the phone back in his pocket, message intact, and trudged away to Insch's rehearsal. Maybe a bit of very amateur dramatics would make returning Rachael's call a bit easier. Or maybe he was just being a spineless b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

He knew which one his money was on.

41.

... and his eyes flickered open in the darkness, the dream coming to a sudden halt. Logan screwed up his face and peered out blearily from beneath the duvet according to the clock radio it was nineteen minutes past four. No wonder it was cold: the heating had been off since half eleven.

He stuck a hand out, feeling along the mattress for Jackie, finding nothing but a deep-frozen expanse of bed. Still not home yet. No change there then, she was never... A noise from the hall probably the same one that had woken him someone fiddling with the flat's front door. Cursing quietly, he shivered out of bed, grabbed his trousers off the chair in the corner and pulled them on, followed by what felt like a sweatshirt, and padded barefoot out into the hall just in time to see the door swing open and a familiar figure bundle in from the stairwell. Jackie, wearing her cat burglar outfit.

She clunked the door closed behind her, trembling as she peeled off her coat and gloves and headed for the kitchen.

'Jackie?'

She froze for a moment, not looking round, then carried on, stripping in front of the washing machine, throwing everything in hat, scarf, jacket, gloves, shirt, trainers, trousers, underwear then added a couple of detergent pouches and switched the thing on. The hiss of rushing water sounded in the kitchen. Arms wrapped round her pale, shivering body, she marched through to the bathroom without a word. Her knuckles were swollen and red.

'Jackie? What's going on?'

Click: the shower power cord was pulled, then another click and the blow heater filled the bathroom with a deep whubwhubwhoooo and the faint smell of burning dust. The light came on, and Jackie's pale skin fluoresced white as she clambered into the bath, goosepimples disappearing behind the blue plastic shower curtain. Wafts of steam billowed out into the cold room.

Logan closed the door. 'Jackie, what the h.e.l.l happened? What's going on?'

'Nothing.' Her was voice m.u.f.fled by the water, curtain and noisy heater, but he could still hear the tremor in it. 'Nothing's happened. If anyone asks, I was here all night.'

Oh f.u.c.k...' Jackie?'

'All night, OK? We spent the night here. You and me.'

'Jackie what happened?'

'Nothing happened. I was here all night: remember?'

'Jackie?'

No answer. He hung around but she wouldn't say anything else. As far as PC Jackie Watson was concerned, the matter was closed.

DARKNESS.

42.

Logan was up and out as soon as the alarm went off. They'd spent the night back to back, Jackie smelling of the large whisky she'd poured herself after her shower, Logan staring at the alarm clock's glowing numerals. Waiting for the night to be over.

He was half an hour early for the start of his shift, sat in the CID office with a big waxed-paper cup of fancy coffee from the canteen and two b.u.t.tered rowies, hoping the caffeine would kick in soon and make the world a better place. Knowing it was too much to hope for.