Free The Missing and the Dead by Stuart MacBride Page A

with its engine running.
    Probably expected him to abandon his post and rush over to see what they wanted.
    Well, tough.
    Inspector Fettes popped his hat on his head. ‘Suppose I’d better go make myself useful.’ He headed over to the Vauxhall. Leaned on the roof and spoke to someone through the open window. Pointed at Logan. Then stood back up and marched off down the road towards Tarlair Outdoor Swimming Pool.
    Nicholson reappeared, hauling on a big fluorescent jacket with reflective strips. Nodded at the idling Vauxhall. ‘Something happen?’
    Logan faced front again. ‘Doubt it.’
    She checked her watch. ‘Soon be time for tenses. Nice cuppa and a chocolate éclair.’
    ‘No tenses for us tonight.’
    ‘Oh …’ Her face drooped. ‘Elevenses?’
    ‘We should be so lucky.’
    The Vauxhall’s passenger door opened and a dishevelled head poked out. Hair like an angry weasel had rampaged through a haystack. The creases deepened around her mouth. Voice like sandpaper on a rusty pipe. ‘Laz! Stop dicking about.’
    Nicholson raised an eyebrow. ‘Laz?’
    ‘Don’t ask.’
    Detective Chief Inspector Steel clambered out of the car. Slightly hunched in her wrinkled grey trouser suit. Black overcoat. Blue silk shirt. She waved at him. ‘Get your arse over here.’
    Pause.
    ‘Sarge?’
    Sigh. ‘OK. You stay here. No one—’
    ‘Yeah, “None shall pass”, I get it.’
    He turned and walked over to the Vauxhall.
    ‘About sodding time.’ Steel hooked a thumb over her shoulder. ‘Come on, you and me’s going for a walk.’

8
     
    They stopped at the top of the hill, overlooking the bay and the abandoned outdoor swimming pool. Steel waded into the knee-deep grass, then settled onto the park bench someone had erected years ago to make a viewing point. Back when councils still had money for things like that. She produced an electronic cigarette and took a deep puff, setting the tip glowing blue. Trickled out a stream of vapour from her nose. ‘Well this is a bloody mess.’
    Logan sat next to her, engulfed in the throat-catching smell of perfume and mints. He pointed down to the pools, where a phalanx of bodies in white SOC suits picked their way around the far side. Two marquees sat beside the old building, both glowing with their internal lights. Three patrol cars. Two police vans. A big Range Rover. And a scruffy Transit van. ‘Any idea who she is yet?’
    Steel jammed the e-cigarette into the corner of her mouth and took an envelope out of her pocket. ‘Came today. Haven’t dared look yet. Susan’s terrified.’
    ‘Going from the look of her, she can’t have been dead long. Maybe a day? Possibly two? We’re lucky the seagulls didn’t find her first.’
    ‘Right.’ Steel ran a finger along the envelope’s seal, ripping it open. Then ferreted out the sheet inside. Stuck the whole lot on her lap. ‘I can’t look.’
    ‘Put on your glasses then.’
    She stared at him. ‘I don’t
need
glasses. It’s important, OK?’ She poked the sheet of paper. ‘This is a big deal.’
    ‘And a dead wee girl isn’t?’
    Another long drag on the fake cigarette. ‘Got a point.’
    ‘Look …’ He cleared his throat. Took off his peaked cap and held it in his lap. ‘I know it means a lot to Susan. But maybe she needs to …’
    Steel just stared, mouth hanging open.
    ‘What?’
    ‘What the hell did you do to your
head
?’ She reached out and scrubbed her hand across the back of it. ‘It’s like a velour egg.’
    ‘Get off.’ He scooted away to the edge of the bench.
    ‘Who cut your hair? You tell me and we’ll go round right now and beat the crap out of them. You look like an angry scrotum!’
    ‘
I
cut it.’ He slapped her hand away as she went in for seconds. ‘Got a set of clippers off the internet.’
    ‘One born every minute.’ She took another puff on her e-cigarette. Glanced down at the paperwork in her lap. ‘Pathologist’s examining the wee girl now. Quick once-over then off to