Dying Light. Stuart MacBride
Читать онлайн книгу.
into the gap. She swore as the wood mashed into her foot and Jamie McKinnon bolted back into the flat.
‘Ayabastard!’ Hopping in the corridor, Steel clutched her injured foot while Logan charged past, through into a grotty hallway. A door at one end of the hall led to the lounge – Suzie was standing in the middle of the room, a fresh tin of Red Stripe in her hand and a shocked expression on her face. No sign of Jamie. Logan spun around to see the door to a filthy little bathroom lying open, and at the far end the door to the kitchen bouncing off the wall and swinging itself shut again.
Cursing, he sprinted for the kitchen. Why couldn’t Jamie have made a break for the front, where DC Rennie could have clobbered him one? He burst through the door just in time to see Jamie’s backside disappearing through the open kitchen window. The back door was blocked by an ancient washing machine, so Logan had no choice but to clamber through the window after him, and up a small set of steps into the back garden. Jamie was hoofing it hell for leather across the yellowing grass, towards the six-foot-high back wall, where the buildings backed onto the next row of tenements. Gritting his teeth, Logan chased after him.
For once luck was on Logan’s side; as Jamie got within lunging distance of the wall his feet tangled in the trailing end of a clothesline. He went down hard, banging his face on a huge, abandoned red plastic fire engine. Swearing, he clasped a hand over his nose – blood welling up between his fingers – and struggled to his feet. Just in time for Logan to tackle him and send them both sprawling to the scabby-yellow grass again.
The impact was enough to set the scar tissue screaming across Logan’s stomach, leaving him hissing in pain while Jamie scrambled to his feet and jumped for the back wall. He had one leg over the top when Logan grabbed the other one and yanked him back into the garden. Jamie’s chin caught the top of the wall, snapping his head back as he clattered straight down into the rosebush growing at the bottom, breaking the fall with his face, sending pink petals flying.
Breathing hard, Logan jumped on him, twisted Jamie’s arm up behind his back and snapped on the handcuffs. As the swearing started, Logan slumped against the wall and tried to convince himself that his stomach didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as it really did. When the pain finally settled down, he hauled Jamie to his feet.
Burger King weren’t going to be too happy about the state of their uniform. Blood ran freely from Jamie’s squashed nose and torn lip, his face a network of thin scratches that oozed red. He looked as if he’d done ten rounds with Mike Tyson’s cat. Swearing, he spat a mouthful of blood out into the rosebush. ‘You made me bite my fuckin’ tongue!’
‘Jesus, Logan,’ said Steel when he finally dragged Jamie back into the basement flat. ‘I told you to arrest him, not beat the crap out of him.’
Something sly weaselled its way onto Jamie’s face. ‘Aye, he beat me up! Police brutality! I want my lawyer! I’m gonnae sue you bastards for all you’re worth!’
Steel told him to shut his mouth. Suzie was sat on the edge of a tatty settee, worrying at an ever-expanding hole in the cushion with her finger, exposing the plaque-yellow foam rubber. She wouldn’t look at anyone.
‘You silly bitch.’ Jamie spat out another mouthful of blood onto the carpet. ‘You led them straight here!’
Suzie just kept on digging.
‘Right then, Sunshine.’ Steel pulled out a crumpled packet of cigarettes and lit one up, dribbling the smoke contentedly down her nose. ‘You don’t mind if we take a little peek round your place do you?’
‘Yes I fuckin’ well do mind!’
Steel’s smile got bigger. ‘Well tough shite, ’cos I’ve got a warrant.’ She flicked a little nub of grey ash from the end of her fag onto the coffee table. ‘Anything you want to tell us before we go a-wandering?’ Silence. ‘No?’ More silence. ‘You sure?’ Outside a truck rumbled past. ‘OK, you’re the boss.’
Of course Steel didn’t do any of the actual searching herself. Not when she had a detective sergeant and a detective constable to do it for her. They found two small wrappers of heroin, a half-empty box of disposable needles and a lump of cannabis resin the size of a Mars Bar. It was Logan who found the box full of uniforms in the bedroom cupboard.
Back in the lounge he asked Jamie how his career in the fast-food industry was going. Jamie scowled back at him. The nosebleed was drying up, leaving a crust of reddish-brown across the lower half of his face, making his little goatee as spiky as his bleached hair. ‘I’m going straight, OK?’ he said. ‘Keepin’ out of trouble.’
‘At Burger King?’
‘Yes at fuckin’ Burger King.’
‘Well then,’ said Logan, pulling the cardboard box out from behind his back. ‘You must be a hardworking little bunny! Flipping all those burgers at Burger King.’ He pulled out another uniform. ‘McDonald’s,’ another uniform, ‘the Tasty Tattie,’ another uniform… There were work clothes from half a dozen fast-food places in Aberdeen, each one of them complete with ‘HI MY NAME IS’ badges, none of which read ‘JAMES MCKINNON’.
DI Steel looked confused, so Logan spelt it out for her: ‘Jamie’s the one been helping himself to tills all over town. Turns up in uniform, no one pays any attention to the new boy. After all: who puts on one of these things for fun? He cleans out the till after the lunchtime rush, and gets changed to do the next place.’
DI Steel dropped her cigarette to the floor, grinding it out against the carpet. ‘Aye, very good, Sherlock,’ she said, sounding completely unimpressed. ‘But we’ve got bigger fish to fry. James Robert McKinnon, I’m detaining you on suspicion of the murder of Rosie Williams.’
Jamie started shouting that he hadn’t killed anyone, but Steel wasn’t listening. She just finished reciting his rights then told Rennie to frogmarch the suspect to the car. And all the time, Jamie’s sister stared at the carpet, picking at the hole in the settee.
‘And, Suzie, thanks for your help,’ said Steel with a wink. ‘Couldn’t have done it without you.’
6
Jamie was booked in at FHQ, given a once-over by the duty doctor and stuck in interview room number three. Where he announced, ‘Jesus, it’s like a fuckin’ oven in here!’ He wasn’t kidding. Even with the sun cracking the cobbles outside, the radiator was belching out heat. But all the other interview rooms were taken, so they were stuck with it.
Grumbling and sweating, Logan set up the interview tapes: audio and video, then did the introductions: date, time and attendees, and settled back to let DI Steel conduct the interview.
Silence.
Logan cast a glance in Steel’s direction. She was looking at him with a puzzled expression. ‘Well,’ she told him at last, ‘get on with it. It’s too hot for buggering about.’ Bloody typical. Once again he was going to have to do all the work.
With a sigh, Logan pulled out a handful of Rosie’s post mortem photographs. ‘Tell us about Rosie Williams.’
Jamie scowled at them. ‘I’m no’ sayin’ anything till I’ve seen a lawyer.’
Steel groaned. ‘No’ again! How many times do I have to say this? Under Scottish law you have no right to legal counsel until we’ve finished with you. No lawyers. Interview first, lawyer later. Comprende?’
The scowl on Jamie’s face didn’t shift. ‘You’re lyin’, I’ve seen the telly. I get a lawyer.’
‘No you don’t.’ Steel peeled off her charcoal-grey jacket, exposing large patches of sweat beneath the arms of her red blouse. ‘The telly lies to you. It shows you the English legal system. Not the same. Up here we do not fuck about waiting for some slimy bastard to help you with your lies. Now get your finger out and tell us why you killed Rosie Williams, so we can all get out of this bastard hothouse.’
‘I didn’t kill no one!’
‘Stop fucking about, Jamie – I’m not in the mood.’
He