Free Cold Granite by Stuart MacBride Page B

was a row of three bel s on either side of the doorway, the buttons clarted round the edges with more brown paint. Little labels sulked beneath them, each one giving the name of the occupant. 'Norman Chalmers' was written in blue biro on a square of bloated cardboard sel otaped over the name of the previous owner. Top floor right. Logan stepped back and looked up at the building. The lights were on.
    'OK.' He leaned forward and rang the middle buzzer, the one marked 'Anderson'. Two minutes later the door was opened by a nervous man in his mid to late twenties, big hair and heavy features, with a large bruise riding high on his cheekbone. He was stil dressed from work: a cheap grey suit, the trousers al shiny at the knee, and a rumpled yel ow shirt. In fact most of him looked rumpled. His face went pale when he saw WPC Watson's uniform.
    'Mr Anderson?' said Logan, stepping forward and sticking his foot in the door. Just in case.
    'Er...yes?' The man had a strong Edinburgh accent, the vowels going up and down in the middle. 'Is there a problem, officer?' He backed off into the airlock, his scuffed shoes clicking on the brown-and-cream tiles.
    Logan smiled reassuringly. 'Nothing for you to worry about, sir,' he said, fol owing the nervous young man into the building. 'We need to speak to one of your neighbours, but his bel doesn't seem to be working.' Which was a lie.
    A weak smile spread across Mr Anderson's face. 'Oh...OK. Yeah.'
    Logan paused. 'If you don't mind my saying so, that's a nasty bruise you've got there.'
    Anderson's hand fluttered up to the swol en, purple-and-green skin.
    'I...I walked into a door.' But he couldn't look Logan in the eye as he said it.
    They fol owed Mr Anderson up the stairs, thanking him for his help as he disappeared inside his first floor flat.
    'He was hel of a nervous,' said Watson when the door latch clicked shut, the deadbolt was driven home, and the chain rattled into position. 'Think he's up to something?'
    Logan nodded. 'Everyone's up to something,' he said. 'And did you see that bruise?
    Walked into a door, my foot. Someone's belted him one.'
    She stared at the door. 'Too scared to report it?'
    'Probably. But, it's not our problem.'
    The faded stair-carpet gave out at the middle floor; from here on up it was bare wooden boards that creaked and groaned as they climbed. There were three doors on the top landing.
    One would lead up to the communal attic, one to the other top floor flat; but the third belonged to Norman Chalmers.
    It was painted dark blue and a brass number six had been fixed just below the peephole.

    WPC Watson flattened herself against the door, keeping herself and her uniform out of the line of sight.
    Logan knocked lightly, just as a nervous downstairs neighbour might if he wanted to borrow a cupful of creme fraiche, or an avocado.
    There was a creak, the roar of a television set, and then the sound of a deadbolt being drawn back. A key being turned in the lock.
    The door was opened by a man in his early thirties with long hair, a squint nose and neatly trimmed beard. 'Hel o...' was as far as he got.
    WPC Watson lunged for him, grabbed his arm and showed him a way nature never intended it to bend.
    'What the...hey!'
    She forced him back into the flat.
    'Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! You're breaking my arm!'
    Watson pulled out a pair of handcuffs. 'Norman Chalmers?' she asked, slapping the cold metal bracelets into place.
    'I haven't done anything!'
    Logan stepped into the smal entrance hal , squeezing past WPC Watson and her wriggling captive so that he could get the door closed. The tiny triangular entrance hal offered three panel edpine doors and an open doorway leading to a gal ey kitchen looking more like a rubber dinghy than a gal ey.
    Everything was painted in eye-wateringly bright colours.
    'Now then, Mr Chalmers,' said Logan, opening a door at random and discovering a compact bathroom in luminous green. 'Why don't we go sit down and have a nice little chat?' He tried