In the Cold Dark Ground. Stuart MacBride

       12

      Rain lashed the window, rattling the glass in its peeling wooden frame. ‘Well I hope you’re happy.’

      The little room was a bit of a hole. Wedged in at the top of the stairs, the walls were close enough to reach out and touch with both hands. And yet, somehow, Steel’s minions had managed to cram a desk and two chairs in, amongst the filing cabinet, a filing cupboard, and the two lockers that usually lived there.

      On the other end of the phone, Steel’s voice was all tinny and echoey – as if she was calling from inside a porta potty. ‘Aye, I’m dancing a jig here, can you no’ hear the band?’ She blew a wet raspberry.

      Whoever had shifted the desk in had piled all the existing boxes of files into the corner, where it made a wobbly tower of grey cardboard and archived crimes.

      ‘Wifie Milne swears blind her husband’s no’ run off. He’s a model husband and father.’

      Logan sat on the edge of the desk. ‘You didn’t show her the photos then?’

      ‘No, but it’s going to come out eventually, Laz. Can’t protect her forever.’

      ‘What about holiday homes, or family and friends?’

      ‘If you were her, would you want the first time you hear about your hubby having threeways and hot man-on-man action with his business partner to be right there, in open court? When the defence try to make out he’d never kill Shepherd because he loved him? Several times a week. Oh, and here’s the photographic evidence.’

      She had a point.

      ‘We need to get posters up at all the ports and stations. Set up a Scotland-wide lookout request.’

      ‘Do we? Wow. I’d no’ have thought of that all by my little old self. Good job we’ve got a big strong man like you on the team to keep us right.’

      Logan scowled at the carpet tiles. Someone had tried to fix a couple of them with duct tape. ‘Are you finished?’