Free Blind Eye by Stuart MacBride

halfway across the ward, 'Madame, your carriage awaits.'
She scowled up at him. 'You're late.'
'You're not even packed yet.'
'Can't find my bloody wedding ring.' Then she started stripping the bed. 'Got to be here somewhere...'
She was still at it five minutes later, when a young woman appeared with a trolley laden with tea and coffee. The lady in the corner got fussed over for a bit, but Steel was totally ignored, the trolley making a pointed detour around where the inspector scrabbled on the floor beneath the bed.
Logan pulled on his best smile and asked if there was any chance of a cuppa.
The trolley's guardian looked him up and down, then asked if he was taking that - she pointed at DI Steel's waggling bum - home?
'Problem?'
'She's been a nightmare: they had to check her every two hours last night, because of the concussion, and everyone got their arse pinched or their breasts groped. And the language !'
'Ah...' He watched the inspector as she started to take the little bedside cabinet apart. 'If it's any consolation, I get that every day. Well, except for the groping.'
That got him a look of sympathy, a cup of milky tea, and a digestive biscuit.
By quarter past ten, DI Steel was rummaging through the bins.
Logan left her to it, and went for a wander through the hospital, treading the familiar corridors, looking at the familiar paintings, feeling the familiar depression. Drifting towards the small ward where Simon McLeod was being kept under observation.
The big man was slumped back against a mountain of scratchy hospital pillows. White bandages kept a pair of thick gauze pads in place over his eyes... Well, where his eyes used to be.
A woman sat in the chair beside the bed, holding Simon's hand and sniffling into a handkerchief. Early thirties, blonde, smudged makeup, with bright-red nail varnish and lots of gold jewellery, Hilary Brander - Simon's bidie-in - was basically a younger version of his mum. Which raised some disturbing questions about their sex life. But would explain why Hilary and Simon's two kids turned out the way they had.
She wasn't the only visitor: Simon's brother was there too, pacing back and forth, mouth working soundlessly. As if he was chewing on something bitter.
Colin McLeod had all of his father's rough looks, but none of the charm. Five foot four of aggressive muscle, hair cut short to disguise the fact he was going bald. Tattoos twisted up and down his furry arms: skulls, daggers, thistles, 'M OTHER ', 'F REEDOM ', and 'K YLIE '.
Logan stopped at the bottom of the bed. 'How is he?'
Colin McLeod glowered at him. 'Fuck is it to you?'
'Hey, I was just--'
'Someone cut his eyes out, how the fuck you think he is?'
Hilary looked up from her bedside vigil, her Essex accent wobbling. 'Why can't you leave us alone?'
Logan held up his hands. 'I didn't mean to intrude: just wanted to make sure he was OK. We're going to do everything we can to catch the men who did this.'
Colin McLeod stormed across the room, only just stopping at the last moment, inches from Logan; teeth gritted, neck muscles standing out like guy-ropes, a thick vein throbbing on his forehead. 'You fucking leave this to me, understand?' He poked Logan in the chest with a finger, the word 'HATE' tattooed across the knuckles. 'This is none of your fucking business.'
'You know we can't do that, Colin.'
The finger made another poke. 'Get in my way and you'll be fucking sorry. Understand? He's my brother.'
Logan took a step back. 'Don't do anything daft, OK?'
Simon groaned, shifting painfully in his hospital bed. Hilary squeezed his hand, a fat tear rolling down her cheek, taking the last sliver of mascara with it. She wiped it away. 'Please, just leave us alone.'
Outside in the corridor, Logan bumped into the nurse from yesterday. She had heavy black bags under her eyes, and a bedpan in her hands. 'Watch out!' she said, trying not to spill the contents. 'Charging about like an... Oh, it's you.' She straightened the cover on whatever was