Blind Eye (64 page)

'Good, good.' Wee Hamish held out a brand-new claw hammer. 'Well, there's no rush, so take your time. You want me and Reuben to wait outside?' He pointed at the fat man, who waved back, his face a deformed mass of scar tissue and patchy beard.

'No, no, you're OK.' She accepted the hammer and Wee Hamish nodded.

'Right, well, he's all ready for you.'

They'd laid out a couple of wooden pallets on a bed of straw in the middle of the concrete walkway. There was a man tied to the wood, spread-eagled. One side of his head was swollen and torn, covered in a red-brown mask of dried blood. He was big. Going bald at the front, the long hair at the back matted and glistening.

He mumbled something behind the gag, glaring at them with one eye as Hilary led Simon across the concrete floor, the scars where his eyes used to be hidden behind a pair of wraparound sunglasses.

Wee Hamish coughed. 'I'm sorry we couldn't get the other one. I'm afraid the police officer involved was... Well, never mind. I'm sure we can take care of that later.'

Hilary pressed the hammer into Simon's hand. 'He's all yours.'

Simon bared his teeth, feeling his way along the battered man's leg until he came to the knee.

The victim thrashed, jerking back and forth, but the ropes were nice and tight. He wasn't going anywhere.

Simon's first three goes with the hammer missed, thunking into the wooden pallets. The fourth clipped the edge of the man's leg, and the fifth crunched down on the back of his own hand. 'FUCK! FUCKING, FUCKING FUCK!' He hurled the hammer away and sat back on his haunches, sucking his knuckles.

'Are you OK, honey?'

'No I'm not O-fucking-K! I'm blind! I can't even
cripple
someone!'

Hilary stood, walked over to the hammer and picked it up. There were bits of straw stuck between the forks of the claw. She picked them free and let them fall to the floor. 'I'll do it.'

Wee Hamish laid a hand on her shoulder. 'It's all right, Hilary love, Reuben will take care of everything. Won't you Reuben?'

'Be my pleasure, Miss Brander.'

'You go inside and tell Mrs Williamson I said to give you a nice cup of tea.'

Hilary hefted the hammer in her hand. 'Thanks, but it should be one of the family. And Colin can't do it - not with the police watching him all the time. I owe it to Simon...'

The first blow was tentative. The second harder. The third strong enough to make the cartilage snap and the big man scream behind the gag. On and on, pounding away at the knee joint, spatters of blood flying as the noise got wetter and wetter. Hammering right down into the bone. Then it was time for knee number two.

She looked up. Wiped a hand across her face, trying to get rid of the little red drops on her cheeks and forehead, but probably just making a smeary mess.

Simon was smiling his bedroom smile, listening as the crunching started up again. She could see the bulge in his trousers. First time in years...

Tonight was going to be very special.

She grinned, then went to work on the big Pole's elbows.

Detective Sergeant Pirie screwed his eyes shut and tried to pretend he was somewhere else.
Anywhere
else. Anywhere other than lying on his side in an empty pig pen, drenched in his own blood. Handcuffed and gagged. Cold and shivering. Lapsing in and out of consciousness. Crying, and praying.

Then the sound of hammering stopped, and the big Polish guy was dragged away.

The barn door grated open.

Pirie could hear the pigs squealing as they fought over something. And then Reuben was back, his big scarred face twisted into a smile.

'Your turn.'

II

G
RAMPIAN
P
OLICE
F
ORCE
H
EADQUARTERS
- M
ONDAY

DI Steel was waiting for him outside DCI Finnie's office, lounging back against the wall, hands jammed deep into her armpits. She raised an eyebrow as Logan closed the door. 'Well, they going to throw the book at you?'

'Depends if the
Buckie Ballad
turns up where it's supposed to.' He grimaced and started down the corridor. 'There's still no sign of Kravchenko's thug, Grigor: ferries, bus stations, airports, nothing. Right now Finnie and Bain are in there fighting about who gets blamed for DS Pirie being bent. I've got a two o'clock with Professional Standards, so it'll probably end up being
my
fault.'

'Oh, come on, don't be such a grumpy monkey.' She slapped him on the back, then linked her arm in his. 'If you're nice to Aunty Roberta, she'll put in a good word for you.'

'Yeah, because that worked
so
well when they were looking for a new DI.'

'Don't start with that again.' She pushed open the door and they were in the stairwell. 'Anyway, you owe me for upsetting Susan with that paedophile thing. She's still sulking.'

Steel stopped him on the stairs, dug about in her pocket and came out with a little plastic specimen jar.

Logan groaned. 'Like things aren't bad enough?'

'Oh come on, it's the least you can do! Get your tattooed gothfriend to--'

'Inspector?' DI Beattie was coming up from the third floor, a cup of tea in one hand and a chocolate digestive in the other.

Steel didn't even turn around. 'What?'

'I think I've found out who stole the money from your swear tin!'

'Come on then, which thieving git's backside do I have to jam my foot up?'

Beattie cast a sneaky look left, then right. 'It was Detective Sergeant Pirie.'

Steel stood there, mouth hanging open. Then she slapped her cheeks, leaving her hands there for dramatic effect. 'Oh, my God, why didn't
I
think of that?'

'Well, don't be too hard on yourself, Inspector, it did take me--'

'You bloody idiot.' She shoved past Beattie and stomped down the stairs. 'Since it got out Pirie was taking backhanders, he's been blamed for everything. My money's gone missing? Blame Pirie. The milk's gone off? Blame Pirie. They promoted a bearded-sodding-halfwit to Detective Inspector? Blame Pirie.'

'But I--'

'You were a lousy DS and you're an even worse DI!'

She disappeared around the next flight of stairs, her voice echoing up from below. 'Lazarus, we're no' getting any younger here. Move your backside!'

He hurried after her, shrugging at a spluttering DI Beattie on the way past.

Logan caught up with the inspector in the corridor outside her office. She stopped with one hand on her door handle, and grinned. 'Think that's going to be my new hobby - winding Beattie up till he cries.'

She turned the handle and the door swung open behind her, which was why she couldn't see a startled-looking DC Rennie jumping up from behind her desk. He scrambled over to the window, pretending to be watching something outside as Steel turned round and sauntered into the room.

'What you doing here?'

Rennie went into a pantomime, 'Oh I didn't see you there ...' act. 'I was ... erm ... looking for DS McRae. You know how they let Ricky Gilchrist out on psychiatric licence, coz he was only pretending to be Oedipus?'

'And?'

'Attacked a Polish barman last night, right in the middle of the pub. Managed to gouge one of the poor sod's eyes out with his thumb before the doormen dragged him off.'

'Wonderful - that's all I need.'

'Apparently, he was screaming about how the Polish were all rabid dogs, and how the police should never've let him go.'

'Aye,' said Steel, 'that's right, rub it in. Do you no' think Laz has got enough to worry about: half-dead Polish bint, a missing DS, escaped Polish henchman, and a blind paedophile who's suing our arses off.'

Logan collapsed into one of the visitor's chairs. 'I still don't know how Kravchenko found out we had Rory Simpson at your place. Wiktorja sure as hell didn't tell him.'

'Ah...' Rennie went brick red. 'Actually...' He coughed. 'That might've been my fault.'

'
What
?'

'Well ... Pirie asked me what I was doing Thursday and I kind of ... you know.'

'You told him.' Logan slumped even further down his chair, hands over his face. 'Oh for God's sake.'

'Sorry?'

Steel's voice was worryingly calm and level. 'Laz, do you have ten quid I can borrow?'

Logan peered out through his fingers. 'You told Pirie?'

'It wasn't my fault!'

'Someone lend me a tenner!'

Rennie dug a ten pound note from his pocket and handed it over. 'I really didn't mean to--'

Steel poked him in the chest. 'People nearly died! Rory Simpson got his eyes gouged out! You stupid, idiotic, halfwit, son-of-a-bitching, useless, bloody
tosser
!' That was just the warm up - once she got into her stride Rennie was subjected to a tidal wave of abuse. And then the rant came to a sudden and unexpected halt.

'Ten quid.' She turned her back on the constable and thrust the money she'd borrowed into Logan's hand. 'Stick that in the swear tin. And while you're at it...' She chucked the plastic specimen tub at him as well.

'But--'

'No buts.' DI Steel threw a finger in Rennie's direction. 'And
you ...
you just think yourself lucky I'm skint!' She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

'Bloody hell...' The constable slouched back against the desk. 'Is it just me, or is she getting worse?'

Logan didn't answer that, just sat there, turning the little tub over and over in his hands.

'Look, I'm really sorry about telling Pirie, OK?'

'What were you doing behind her desk?'

Rennie blushed. 'Ah, right ... I sort of
borrowed
some money from the swear tin a couple of weeks ago. It was just a loan, I swear. I put it all back - you can count it if you like?'

'Beattie says Pirie stole it.'

'Oh...' Rennie chewed the inside of his cheek. 'Does that mean I can keep the cash? You know, if everyone thinks it was Pirie's fault?'

Logan just scowled at him.

'Right. No. Suppose not.'

More silence.

Rennie peered at the little plastic tub in Logan's hands. 'What's that?'

'She wants me to get Susan pregnant.'

'Really? Wow, hot lesbian gangbang for you then!'

'Just don't, OK? I'm not in the mood.'

'Don't see what all the fuss is about; just a wee bit of sperm.'

'It's ... complicated.'

'Don't want to be a daddy, eh?'

Logan stuck the tub on the desk. 'Not particularly, no.'

Rennie pursed his lips for a minute. Then picked the container up. 'I'll do it.'

'What? No, she--'

'Oh, come on! Nearly got you killed: least I can do is wank in a cup.' He headed for the door, a spring in his step and a hand in his trousers. 'I'll show her who's a useless tosser.'

By the time Steel got back from wherever it was, Rennie had come and gone, leaving a slimy reminder in the bottom of the plastic tub. Not wanting to touch the thing, Logan had told him to put it on the windowsill in the sunshine to keep it warm.

Steel cracked the window open and stood there, staring at the little tub. 'Is this what I think it is?' She picked up the tub and squinted at the contents. 'Could you no' have managed a little more?'

'Look, forget about it. Chuck it in the bin, it's not--'

'No!' She clutched it too her chest. 'No, I'm no' being ungrateful, this is great. It's fine, honestly.' The inspector grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair. 'If anyone needs me, tell them to sod off, OK? I've got a baby to make.'

She hurried out. Then bustled back in again, planted a big smoky kiss on Logan's cheek, and said, 'Thank you.'

Logan watched her go, all happy with her counterfeit sperm. He tried to warn her, no one could say he didn't try...

He slumped back to the empty CID office. Screw Professional Standards, they could haul him over the coals tomorrow.

Someone had stuck a Post-it note on his computer screen. Yet another message from Dr Goulding about how he could help with some fictitious case.

Wee Hamish's bottle of thirty-year-old Knockdhu was exactly where Logan had left it, along with the glass he'd used to take Krystka Gorzalkowska's fingerprints when she was in hospital.