Dying Light. Stuart MacBride
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convince him not to suspend, demote or dismiss you.’ It sounded bloody unlikely, but Logan knew better than to say anything. ‘However,’ Napier picked some imaginary fluff from the sleeve of his immaculate uniform, ‘the Chief Constable feels that you have had too much freedom of late, and perhaps require more “immediate supervision”.’ Insch bristled at that, his eyes like angry black coals in his large pink face. Napier ignored him. ‘As such you will be assigned to DI Steel’s team. She has a much less demanding caseload than Inspector Insch and will have more time to devote to your “professional development”.’
Logan tried not to wince. A transfer to the Screw-Up Squad, that was all he needed. Napier smiled at him coldly. ‘I hope you will look upon this as an opportunity to redeem yourself, Sergeant.’ Logan mumbled something about giving it his best shot and Napier oozed out of the room, reeking with triumph.
Insch dug a fat finger into the packet of Allsorts and stuffed a black-and-white cube into his mouth, chewing as he put on a reasonable impersonation of Napier’s nasal tones: ‘“I have been able to convince him not to suspend, demote or dismiss you” my arse.’ The cube was followed by a coconut wheel. ‘Wee bugger will have been in there with the knife. The CC doesn’t want to fire you ’cos you’re a bona fide police hero. Says so in the papers, so it must be true. And anyway, Napier can do sod all till they’ve finished the internal investigation. If he thought there was any chance of doing you for culpable negligence or gross misconduct you would’ve been suspended already. You’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.’
‘But DI Steel?’
Insch shrugged philosophically and munched on a pink aniseed disk. ‘Aye, there is that. So you’re on the Screw-Up Squad: so what? Get your finger out, don’t do anything stupid and you’ll be OK.’ He paused and thought about it. ‘Long as PC Maitland doesn’t die, that is.’
DI Insch ran a tight ship. A stickler for punctuality, preparation and professionalism, his briefings were clear and concise. DI Steel’s, on the other hand, seemed to be pretty much a shambles. There was no clear agenda and everyone talked at once, while Steel sat by an open window puffing away on an endless chain of cigarettes, scratching her armpit. She wasn’t much over forty, but looked a damn sight older. Wrinkles ran rampant over her pointy face, her neck hanging from her sharp chin like a wet sock. Something terrible had happened to her hair, but everyone was too afraid to mention it.
Her team was relatively small – no more than half a dozen CID and a couple of uniforms – so they didn’t sit in ordered rows like DI Insch insisted on, just clustered around a handful of chipped tables. They weren’t even talking about work; half the room was on ‘did you see EastEnders last night?’ and the other half on what a bloody shambles the last Aberdeen–St Mirren football match was. Logan sat on his own in silence, staring out the window at a crystal-blue sky, wondering where it had all gone wrong.
The door to the briefing room opened and someone in a brand-new suit backed in, carrying a tray of coffee and chocolate biscuits. It went onto the middle table, starting a feeding frenzy, and as the figure straightened up Logan finally recognized him. PC Simon Rennie, now a detective constable. He spotted Logan, smiled, grabbed two coffees and a handful of chocolate biscuits before joining Logan at the window. Grinning as he handed over one of the chipped mugs. He looked awfully pleased with himself.
DI Steel took a sip of coffee, shuddered and lit up another cigarette. ‘Right,’ she said, her head wreathed in smoke, ‘now that DC Rennie has delivered the creosote, we can get started.’ Conversation drifted to a halt. ‘As you boys and girls can see, we have a couple of new recruits.’ She pointed at Logan and DC Rennie, then made them stand so a half-hearted round of applause could be wrung from the rest of her team. ‘These two have been selected from the hundreds of keen applicants, desperate to join our ranks.’ That got a small scattering of laughter. ‘Before we go any further I’d like to give our newest members the standard intro speech.’
That got a groan.
‘You are all here for one reason and one reason only,’ she said, scratching. ‘Like me, you are a fuck-up, and no one else will have you.’
DC Rennie looked affronted: this wasn’t what he’d been told! He’d only been a DC for three days, how could he have screwed up?
Steel listened to him with sympathy, before apologizing. ‘Sorry, Constable: my mistake. Everyone else is here because they’ve fucked up; you’re here because everyone expects you to fuck up.’ More laughter. The inspector let it die down before carrying on. ‘But just because those bastards think we’re worthless, doesn’t mean we have to prove them right! We will do a damn good job: we will catch crooks and we will get the bastards convicted. Understood?’ She glared around the room. ‘We are not at home to Mr Fuck-Up.’ There was a pause. ‘Come on, say it with me: “We are not at home to Mr Fuck-Up”.’ The response was lacklustre. ‘Come on. Once more with feeling: “We are not at home to Mr Fuck-Up!”’ This time everyone joined in.
Logan snuck a look at the other people in the tiny, untidy room. Who were they kidding? Not only were they at home to Mr Fuck-Up, they’d made up the spare bed and told him to stay for as long as he liked. But DI Steel’s speech seemed to have a galvanizing effect on her team. Backs straight and heads held high, they all went through their current assignments and any progress they’d made. Which generally wasn’t much. Up at the hospital, an unknown man was showing his willy to anyone daft enough to look; there was a spree of shoplifting going on at the local Ann Summers – naughty lingerie and ‘adult’ toys; someone was sneaking in and helping themselves to the till at a number of fast-food joints; and two men had beaten the crap out of a bouncer outside Amadeus, the big nightclub down at the beach. When the updates were finished DI Steel told everyone to bugger off outside and play in the sunshine, but she asked Logan to stay behind. ‘Mr Police Hero,’ she said when they were alone. ‘Never thought you’d end up in here. Not like the rest of us no-hopers.’
‘PC Maitland,’ Logan told her. ‘The straw that broke the camel’s back.’ Other than WPC Jackie Watson, his luck had been nonexistent since Christmas. Since then everything that could go wrong, had.
Steel nodded. Her luck hadn’t been much better. She leant forward and whispered conspiratorially into his ear, engulfing his head in a cloud of second-hand cigarette smoke. ‘If anyone can work their way out of this crummy team back to the real world, it’s you. You’re a damn fine officer.’ She stepped back and smiled at him, the wrinkles bunching around her eyes. ‘Mind you, I say that to all the new recruits. But in your case I mean it.’
Somehow that didn’t make him feel any better.
Half an hour later Logan and DI Steel were sat in the back of a newish Vauxhall with DC Rennie driving and a family liaison officer in the passenger seat. Somehow Steel had managed to convince the Chief Constable to give her the Rosie Williams case – probably only because DI Insch was up to his ears and no one else was free, but Logan wasn’t about to say so. According to Steel this was her chance to shine again. She and Logan were going to solve the case and get the hell out of the Screw-Up Squad. Let someone else look after the no-hopers for a change.
Rennie slid the car around the bloated bulk of Mount Hooly roundabout, making for Powis. No one said much. Logan was brooding about being transferred to the Screw-Up Squad, Rennie was sulking because the inspector had said he was expected to fuck up, and DI Steel was expending all her effort on not smoking. The family liaison officer had tried to strike up conversation a couple of times, but eventually gave up and descended into a foul mood of her own. Which was a shame, because it was a lovely day outside. Not a cloud in the sky, the granite buildings sparkling in the sunshine, happy smiley people wandering about hand in hand. Enjoying the weather while it lasted. It would be freezing cold and bucketing with rain soon enough.
Rennie swung the car around onto Bedford Road and then left again into Powis. Past a small set of shops: wire mesh over the windows, graffiti over the walls, leading to a long, sweeping, circular road lined with three-storey tenement blocks. They found Rosie’s address in a row of boarded-up properties with a yellow Aberdeen City Council van parked outside, the sound of power tools echoing out of the open stairwell next door. Rennie parked out