Close to the Bone

18

‘She broke in through there.’ Insch pointed at a window about six foot off the ground. A set of black bars were bolted over the opening, a ‘WET PAINT!!!’ sign hanging beneath them.

Steel puckered her lips, looking up at the bars. ‘Nothing like bolting the stable door, eh? ’

Insch turned his back on her and marched off down the corridor, soured mouth working on another carrot stick. Strange seeing him walk like that, all rangy and long-limbed, instead of the lumbering mass he used to be.

Logan followed him. ‘So how long have you been with Crocodildo Productions? ’

‘I’m not: doesn’t exist any more. The props department is just down here.’

Steel scuttled up beside them. ‘What? No. Come on, that’s no’ funny!’

‘As Zander says: no one appreciates the art any more. What’s the point going to all that effort to create something beautifully written and acted and shot, when all anyone ever does is fast-forward to the sex? ’

‘But that’s the good bit!’

‘The final straw came when someone sent him a link to an illegal porn download site. They’d made a compilation of all the. . finale shots from every one of his movies. All his effort and creativity reduced to that. No wonder he gave it up.’ Insch stopped in front of a door marked ‘DEPARTMENT OF VARIOUS THINGS’ and swiped his ID card through the reader fixed on the wall beside it. The little red light went green. He nodded towards a security camera mounted in the corner, with a clear field of view down the corridor. ‘We had all this fitted after the break-in. Insurance company insisted.’

Steel scratched at her right boob. ‘But he can’t give up, he was. . It’s not right.’

Insch hauled open the door. ‘Of course, I’d always wanted to work in film, so when I bumped into Zander at the Rotary Club we got talking. He invited me onboard for Crocodildo’s last cinerotography project: The Girl with the Dildo Tattoo. We won twelve Woodies for that.’

Steel curled her top lip and backed off a couple of paces. ‘Eew. .’

He scowled at her. Then dipped into his bag and produced another carrot stick. ‘I wasn’t in it, I was second unit director.’

‘Oh, thank God for that. The thought of you, in the nip, humping away at some poor woman. Flaps of skin flippity-flopping all over the shop. .’ Shudder.

She had a point.

‘Have you finished? ’

A shrug. ‘Tell you, if I could bleach away the mental image, I would.’

Logan stepped through into the Department of Various Things, leaving them nipping at each other in the corridor. The props department was about the size of a school assembly room, laid out with racks and racks of costumes in neatly ordered rows on one side, and modular shelving units on the other, laden with various bits and pieces. Everything from standard lamps to swords, bibles to handguns, all marked with little cardboard tags.

He picked a Glock 9mm from the collection. Hauled back the slide, then clacked it back into place.

A voice at his shoulder: ‘Good, aren’t they? ’

Logan turned. ‘You just leave these lying around? ’

A little woman with big glasses smiled back at him, small fleshy lumps speckling her dimpled cheeks. She was wearing a T-shirt with ‘BECAUSE PROP MISTRESS SAYS SO, THAT’S WHY!’ on it. ‘They’re using them this afternoon for three-seventy-one, if they get that far. Need a good clean first, checked for blockages — I’m not having a Brandon Lee on my watch, thank you very much. Otherwise they’re kept in the safe, with the ammunition and the firing pins.’

She dug into a shoulder bag and produced an iPad in an identical red leather cover to Excitable Jack, the film’s go-to guy. ‘The tags are all barcoded, they’re scanned when the guns are signed out and when they’re signed back in again.’ She held the pad up and pressed something. A click, then a bleep. She turned the screen to face Logan. It was a spreadsheet with names, dates, times, and scene numbers. ‘We’re very, very strict about it.’

‘So you’ve got a list of everything that’s gone missing? ’

That produced a small grimace. ‘Don’t get me started. I know this place looks like a junkshop, but every single thing in here has been handpicked for a set or a scene. And anything we couldn’t buy we’ve made, so replacing this stuff isn’t just a case of nipping down to Asda with a shopping list. When we started out we were way too trusting: cloaks, hats, props, daggers, medals. . You name it, someone would nick it.’

She wandered over to another set of shelves, this one full of red leather notebooks. The bottom three shelves looked brand new, but the ones on the fourth were in varying stages of wear and tear. ‘These are always the favourites. You wouldn’t believe how many Dittay books we’ve had to make.’ She picked one up and handed it to him. ‘Started off tooling the designs on the leather by hand, but so many went missing we had to get a die made. Everyone wants a souvenir.’

Logan ran a finger over the intricate pattern of curlicues and swirls set into the cover. It was identical to the one he’d found in Agnes Garfield’s bedroom under the stairs. ‘Dittay books? ’

Insch’s deep, dark voice rumbled through the room. ‘Sixteenth century. They called the list of charges brought against people accused of witchcraft “dittays”. That’s what got you tried and burned at the stake.’

The prop mistress took the book from Logan’s hand and put it back on the rack. ‘All the Fingermen have to have at least one. They’re quite important to the plot.’

‘How many did Agnes Garfield get away with? ’

Another grimace. ‘Bad enough she took a couple of blanks, but she nabbed the main Rowan one too. Do you have any idea how much effort goes into making them look real and used? How many hours I spent, hunched over that bloody book, writing in all the dittays and sigils and notes. .’

Insch folded his arms across his chest. Not as impressive a sight as it used to be, especially with the dangly bingo wings poking out from the sleeves of his polo shirt. ‘She’s lucky we didn’t press charges.’

DCI Steel slouched into the prop room, hands in her pockets, shoulders slumped. She pursed her lips, looked around. Sniffed. ‘Right: this is boring the arse off me. If no one’s shagging, we’re going.’

She swung around and stomped off, back down the corridor.

Insch stared after her. ‘You know, you could probably arrange some kind of accident. I’d give you an alibi: you were with me the whole time.’

‘Don’t tempt me.’

They followed her out of the prop room, Insch’s hand dipping into the bag of carrots every three or four steps, conveying another bright-orange stick into his mouth. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. ‘Is Rennie still. .? ’

‘A pain in the backside? Yeah. He’s on a major whinge at the moment, because Steel keeps-’

A woman’s voice echoed down the corridor behind them. ‘David? ’

Insch froze. Then pulled on a smile. And turned. ‘Nichole! I’ve been reviewing yesterday’s rushes — the bath scene was terrific, you were great: such emotional intensity.’

Nichole Fyfe had taken off the leather frock coat, dark patches beneath her arms staining the red silk shirt. A ring of what looked like napkins poked out of her collar, presumably to keep her makeup off the fabric. Unlike Zander’s and Insch’s ID pass, hers hung around her neck on a bright orange lanyard with ‘ACTOR ~ ACTOR ~ ACTOR. .’ picked out in black all along it.

She held up a copy of the script. Post-it notes stuck out of the edges like brightly coloured spines, the visible text covered in scrawled annotations and yellow highlighter pen. ‘I wanted to talk to you about three-eighty-two. Don’t you think Rowan should be more concerned about the inquisition team? Would she really go into the tower block without taking backup with her? I can’t emotionally connect with her decision-making here.’

There was a small pause, then Insch blinked. ‘I see where you’re coming from. . But if she takes backup then we don’t get that sense of deep primordial threat when she finds Issobell Barroun’s body.’

‘But-’

‘And she doesn’t want Mrs Shepherd finding out, does she? If one of the team’s compromised, then everything becomes a lot more dangerous.’

A little frown pulled at the fake scar on her face. ‘So what you’re saying is: at this point, Rowan’s the only person Rowan can trust? She’s isolating herself and that emphasizes her core vulnerability. . It’s a metaphor for her need to be loved. Yes, I can work with that. .’ Then Nichole looked over and gifted Logan with a smile. ‘Sorry, I’m such a drama queen when it comes to getting the scene right.’ She hauled off a black leather glove and stuck out her hand. A network of shiny scar tissue traced its way across the skin of her wrist. ‘Nichole Fyfe.’

Logan took her hand — slightly damp — and shook it. ‘DI McRae. I used to work with. . David.’ Still felt strange using his first name.

‘Right — Logan McRae. I’m sure David’s mentioned you.’ The smile got brighter for a second, then she picked at the fabric of her shirt, pulling it away from her armpits. ‘Sorry, been under the studio lights all day, I’m a mess. Anyway, it’s been great. I’m sure I’ll see you later.’ And she was gone, scribbling something down in the margins of her script.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Insch sagged, massaging his forehead with the fingers of one hand. ‘It’ll be worth it, it’ll be worth it. .’ Deep breath. ‘Whatever happened to just turning up on time and knowing your lines? Now everyone’s a method-acting nutjob pain in the arse: “What’s my motivation, would my character really think that in this situation, what’s the emotional heart of the scene. .?” Every bloody day.’

Another carrot stick disappeared. Then he turned and stalked back down the corridor.

Logan followed him. ‘Seems nice enough to me.’

‘You know we send her a car every morning? With a driver, a punnet of raspberries, and three bottles of Perrier. Has to be Perrier, any other brand and she flies off in a strop. It’s fizzy bloody water, not insulin. If she deigns to turn up at all. Four hours we were waiting for her this morning. Four hours.’

‘So fire her.’

Insch stopped and stared at him. ‘Don’t be stupid. She’s the best thing that ever happened to this film.’ He pulled out a carrot stick and pointed it at Logan like a magic wand. ‘She was still filming In Death We Trust when we cast her as Rowan. And soon as they stopped shooting, she dragged Morgan off to stay with a coven in the Midwest US so they could learn about witchcraft. She even learned to smoke a pipe for the role. We told her she didn’t have to — we’d fix it in post-production — but she did it anyway. That’s how dedicated she is.’ The wand disappeared between his teeth. ‘Just because Nichole’s a nightmare to deal with, it doesn’t mean she’s not a great actress. Not just good: great.’

The fire door clunked shut behind them. Insch squinted in the sunshine as they stepped out onto sticky black tarmac. ‘So I finally managed to persuade Zander it was still possible to make an artistic statement, but he’d have to get away from cinerotography to do it. Let’s face it: the people watching porn are, by definition, a bunch of wankers. We needed a genre that would appreciate the work we put in.’

The car park was bathed in a golden glow, sparking on chrome bumpers and gleaming paintwork. Logan settled back against a BMW. ‘When I searched Agnes’s house I found your missing Dittay book: the one with all the squiggles and sigils in it. And a script.’

‘So we pooled our resources, remortgaged our houses, optioned the rights to Witchfire, and got a stack of investors involved. Meant we could afford proper big-name actors, set designers, cinematographers, costumes. . We’ve got the budget to do something really special here.’

‘Why didn’t you press charges? ’

Off in the middle distance, Steel was grumbling into her mobile, kicking a stone about like a sulky teenager.

Insch ran a hand along the wattle of skin under his chin. ‘She never changes, does she? ’

‘There must have been a reason.’

‘Go back in time five years and you’d have been mad to put money on her running CID. Me: yes. Her: no chance. You’d have more luck betting she’d be out on her backside for gross misconduct. Or banged up somewhere.’ A sigh. ‘Now look at us.’

‘She’s not running CID. . Well, she is, but only till Finnie gets back from Malaga: serial rape, case review.’

‘Not that I’m complaining, mind: I love making movies. And Witchfire’s only the beginning, we’re already looking about for the next project.’ A smile stretched his cadaverous features. ‘This is the start of something big, Logan. Aberdeen’s going to be the film capital of Scotland. Goodbye Hollywood, hello Stoneywood.’

‘So why didn’t you press charges? ’

Insch settled onto the bonnet next to him, the bag of carrot sticks plonked down between them. ‘Because Zander is ruled more by this. .’ He poked himself in the chest. ‘Than this. .’ The finger doinked off the side of his forehead a couple of times. ‘We called the police, went round, demanded our property back, and her father gave us this big sob story about how she’d tried to kill herself and she’s a good kid really and we can’t blame her for being mentally ill.’

‘And Zander. .? ’

‘Hook, line, and stinker. Didn’t want to be responsible for her taking another overdose.’

‘Yeah, well, I suppose you can’t blame him for. .’ Logan dragged out his notebook. ‘Hold on, her dad told us she’d slit her wrists.’

‘That was at Christmas. She took an overdose in February: Valentine’s Day.’ A nod. ‘Nothing like it for bringing out the suicidal romantics.’

‘The bastards lied to us, again.’

Insch cleared his throat, looked down at his huge shoes. ‘I heard about Samantha, and the fire. I’m sorry.’

Everyone was always sorry.

Logan cricked his neck from side to side. ‘What about you? How’s Miriam and the kids getting on? ’

‘Apparently Canada’s lovely this time of year. Anna’s got a boyfriend. Can you believe that? Only eleven and she’s got a boyfriend. Haven’t seen her or Brigit for two years. .’ Insch chewed on the inside of his sunken cheek for a bit. ‘Miriam’s getting married in September. He’s called Jeff, owns a restaurant in Vancouver.’ The word ‘Jeff’ was pronounced as if it tasted bad.

‘Sorry.’

‘It is what it is.’ Insch crunched his way through another carrot. Then stared off into the middle distance. ‘Speaking of arsehole boyfriends: I need you to do me a favour.’

Wonderful. ‘Oh aye? ’

‘Nichole Fyfe. Her ex has been causing trouble: turning up at her hotel, declaring undying love, having a go at the security team, threatening her driver, throwing his weight around. Won’t take “You were dumped four years ago” as an answer.’

‘So she wants to make a formal complaint? ’

‘This is the movies, Logan. The leading lady doesn’t make complaints about her ex-boyfriend stalking her, she gets someone else to do it for her. And I don’t want the papers getting hold of it.’

Logan couldn’t keep the laugh in. ‘Your film’s all over the gossip mags, and the radio, and the TV, and-’

‘That’s not the point. Nichole doesn’t want to look like a big-headed diva who’s too good for Aberdeen. And I don’t want her distracted and not focusing on her job.’ He shoogled the bag, then held it out. ‘Want one? ’

‘So, what: you want me to go lean on him? Read him the riot act? Get him to fall down the stairs a couple of times? ’

‘You’d rather wait till he hurts someone? ’ Insch helped himself to some carrots.

Logan closed his eyes for a moment. All these years and Insch was still manipulating him. ‘I’m not promising anything, OK? ’

‘His name’s Robbie Whyte, twenty-five, lives in Inverurie with his mum.’ Insch hauled himself off the car and checked his watch. ‘Time’s up. I’ve got a meeting with Trading Standards in five minutes — haven’t even finished principal photography and some scumbag’s already flogging counterfeit Witchfire merchandise — then it’s the council historian we use as a witchcraft consultant. Then some arsehole journalist, then a competition winner. . And at some point, I’ve got a film to make. Make sure you hand your passes back in at the gate when you leave.’

‘Right.’

Insch stalked off a couple of steps, then stopped, with his back still turned. ‘If. . there’s anything you need, give me a call and I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Lying bastards swore to me there was nothing else we needed to know about Agnes.’ Logan put his foot down as soon as the car’s bonnet was level with the forty-miles-per-hour sign, overtaking the bus in the inside lane. ‘How are we supposed to-’

‘Blah, blah, blah, life’s tough, people lie.’ Steel cracked open the passenger window, letting in the dual-carriageway roar of Auchmill Road. ‘Get over it.’ She pulled out a packet of cigar-ettes and jiggled one out. ‘Weird seeing Insch again, isn’t it? All thin and bony and floppy like that. .’

‘We’re taking a detour. Agnes Garfield’s mum and dad have got some explaining to do.’

‘Bet if you stuck one of them garage air pumps up his bum you could inflate him like a beach ball.’ She sparked the cigarette with a Zippo, then clunked one foot up on the dashboard and had a scratch. ‘You know, it’s just like old times: you, me, Inschy McFattypants. . Except now we’d have to call him McSkinnypants.’ A grin. ‘I know: McFloppypants, he’ll like that.’

Five minutes later they were in deepest darkest Northfield. Logan hauled on the handbrake. The sound of shrieking children came from the other side of the high school wall, interspersed with shouted commands and laughter.

Steel sooked on the last nub of her cigarette, slouched so far down her seat she was nearly in the footwell. ‘You sure about this? ’

‘They lied.’

‘Aye, I know that. But what does spanking them for it get you? ’

‘What else are they lying about? ’ He climbed out into the warm afternoon and called Chalmers: ‘I need you to run me a quick PNC on Agnes Garfield’s parents.’

It sounded as if she was in the middle of eating something. ‘Give me just a second. .’ A slurp. Then the clacking of fingers on keyboard. ‘Did you see the results from the lab? ’

‘Can we just focus on-’

‘The cannabis was about twenty-one percent THC, which is phenomenally high. And the blister pack of pills we found was Risperidone. It’s an atypical antipsychotic — might be to counteract the weed? ’

No wonder all of Agnes’s friends thought she was a basket case.

Chalmers made a little humming noise. Then: ‘Here we go. . The computer says Agnes’s dad, Mark Garfield, has been done for speeding, Council Tax evasion, and once for assault.’

‘So he’s violent.’

‘Got into a fight in a pub. I can try digging out the details if you want? ’

‘What about the mother? ’

‘Doreen Garfield: five warnings for threatening behaviour. Once told Agnes’s maths teacher she’d rip his balls off and make him eat them.’

‘OK, that’s-’

‘Apparently he said Agnes was thick. Another thing: I got a surname and an address for our mysterious Stacey. Her flatmate says she’s not been home since Friday night, didn’t turn up for work this morning either. Apparently it’s not unusual. She’s going to give me a call soon as Stacey shows.’

There was that efficiency again. ‘Good. Keep on it.’

‘And I’ve been looking through that red leather notebook we found in Agnes’s cupboard under the stairs, it’s exactly the same as the one the character-’

‘Rowan from Witchfire.’

‘Oh. .’ Silence. ‘I haven’t read the book for years, but I picked up a copy at lunchtime and guess what: the Fingermen burn witches by-’

‘Necklacing. I know.’

This time the silence stretched on and on and on.

‘Chalmers? ’

‘Sorry, Guv. I’ll. .’ She cleared her throat. ‘Anything else I can do? ’ Sounding a little desperate.

Steel tapped him on the shoulder. ‘See if I’m no’ back in the office by five, you’re getting my boot for a butt plug. ’

‘Find out where they are with the remains from this morning. Then take a look at Rennie’s racial hate crimes — see if you can come up with anything.’

‘You can count on me!’ And she was gone.

Steel blew a wet raspberry, the spray of spittle glowing in the sunshine. ‘Have you still no’ solved that one yet? ’

He walked up the path and rang the doorbell. ‘Investigations are still ongoing.’

‘And my arse is peanut butter. I’m no’ having racist scumbags running round crippling people, Laz.’

‘Well, tell you what, I’ll wave my magic wand and. .’ The door opened.

Agnes’s dad blinked out at them, a tin of Export in one hand, a remote control in the other. ‘Mmm? ’ The smell of beer came off him in thick waves. Not bad going for half four on a Monday afternoon.

‘Mr Garfield.’ Logan folded his arms. ‘Something else you failed to mention: she took an overdose in February.’

Garfield shaded his eyes with the hand holding the remote. As if he was trying to change the channel on Logan. Fat chance. ‘I. . didn’t think it was-’

‘No, you didn’t think, did you? She was taking anti-psychotics; how much cannabis did-’

‘She didn’t. .’ A sigh. Then he turned around and walked back into the house. ‘You’d better come in.’

Logan followed him into the lounge. The TV was paused: some sort of generic cop drama where everyone looked like models and no one ever broke wind, scratched their backside, or swore. An open pizza box filled the coffee table, a couple of slices lurking on the cardboard surrounded by discarded crusts. Empty beer cans were lined up like soldiers on the grease-flecked lid.

Garfield collapsed into a stripy armchair. ‘Doreen’s round her mother’s.’

Outside the living-room window, Steel leaned back against the car, pointing at her watch, then her boot.

Logan turned his back on her. ‘What part of, “Is there anything else you haven’t told us?” did you not understand? ’

A swig of beer. ‘Agnes slit her wrists because her mother decided she wasn’t allowed to see Anthony Chung any more. Doctor said she was lucky she didn’t wind up with permanent nerve damage.’ Garfield waggled the can from side to side, making the contents slosh and fizz. ‘She tried to hang herself when she was twelve. So we sent her to a shrink, and that was it: medication.’ He reached for one of the last slices, pepperoni acne glistening on greasy cheese. ‘Twelve and she’s on antipsychotics. What kind of life is that? ’

Silence.

‘Why the hell didn’t you tell us? I asked you if there was anything else, and you looked me in the eye and lied! Did you really think it didn’t matter? ’

A shrug. ‘She was doing better. The overdose was. . I don’t know. She was upset because Anthony wasn’t enthusiastic enough about her tattoo. They’re like that, always. .’ He curled one hand into a claw, the whole arm trembling. ‘You know? But she loves him.’

‘Did Agnes take her medication with her when she left? What if she has another episode? ’

Garfield’s mouth turned down at the edges. Then he took a bite, chewing as if it was bitter cardboard. ‘She couldn’t take it with her. We don’t. . Doreen doesn’t want. . After the overdose we don’t let Agnes manage her condition on her own. Doreen doles out the pills every day and watches to make sure she takes them.’

‘Then how come she had a pack of Risperidone in her stash? ’

‘Risperidone. .? ’ He shook his head. Washed the pizza down with the last of his beer. ‘No, she can’t have that: it’s only for when the episodes are really bad. It’s too strong for regular use. We manage her condition with Aripiprazole.’ The empty tin went to stand guard with its comrades.

‘Well, she got hold of some, didn’t she.’ God’s sake. Logan marched off a couple of steps, then back again. ‘Does she get violent when she’s not taking her medication? ’

Garfield stared down at the half-eaten slice in his hand. ‘We didn’t tell you, because we didn’t want it splashed all over the papers. Bad enough she has to live with her problems, without every bugger looking at her like she’s got two heads. None of their business.’

‘Is she violent? Yes or no.’

‘Agnes is a sweet little girl. She’s more likely to hurt herself than anyone else.’ He closed his eyes. ‘That’s why you have to find her. .’