Broken Skin

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 porn 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 porn.’

‘Do we-’

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ DC Rennie, looking flustered 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. ‘Fuck.’

‘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 bloody time. Take this,’ pointing at Jackie, ‘and have a word with it. Tell it that it’s this bloody close to getting suspended and if it doesn’t pull its bloody socks up I WILL KICK ITS ARSE FROM HERE TO BALMORAL!’ Flashes of spittle arced through the stuffy office. He turned a baleful eye on Jackie. ‘Get out of my bloody 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 hell 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 fucking 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 bastard beats and cuts her so badly she’s lost the sight in one eye. Her face looks like fucking strips of liver! Three hundred stitches! Threehundred! The people she worked with in A amp;E couldn’t even recognize her, and he gets a seven-figure book deal!’

‘Where? Where did it happen?’

‘Dun-fucking-dee. Same as usual. The little shite-’

‘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 East Enders was a parable for Othello.

‘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 bloody 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. ‘Shite.’ 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. ‘Bloody hell, 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’ button; now he had to call her back. ‘Fuck, fuck … fuck.’

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 bastard.

He knew which one his money was on.