Free Close to the Bone by Stuart MacBride Page B

are they hurting? ’
    ‘ You going to be late again tonight? ’
    ‘It’s Agnes’s bloody parents causing all the trouble. Don’t like to think about their wee girl out there shagging Anthony Chung.’
    ‘ Moan, whinge, moan. Don’t forget to pick up some milk on your way home. And you’re all out of Marmite too. ’
    ‘Like they’ve not been at it for years already. You know what horny little sods teenagers are, any excuse and. . .’
    He sat up straight, setting Isobel’s china mug rattling against its saucer: the mortuary’s outer door had just slammed shut. Then came the sound of footsteps, echoing down the corridor outside.
    ‘Got to go – someone’s coming.’
    ‘ Don’t be such a wimp; you’re a DI now, take your medicine like a man. ’
    ‘ Acting DI, and no thanks.’ He hung up and jumped down from the desk. The footsteps were getting closer. As long as they kept on going, through to the cutting room, he’d be fine. Just have to sneak out once they were in there.
    Crap. . . The footsteps stopped right outside the pathologists’ office.
    Logan spun around on the spot. Had to be somewhere to hide in here. Behind the filing cabinet? Not enough space. Under one of the desks? . . . Yeah, and how would he explain that when they caught him? Looking for a contact lens?
    Might be worth a go.
    He pulled out the nearest chair—
    The door swung open and he froze, halfway into a crouch.
    ‘Guv? ’
    Logan looked up, and there was Rennie, frowning down at him.
    ‘You OK, Guv? Only you look like you’re about to curl one out on the floor there.’
    Heat bloomed in Logan’s cheeks. ‘I was just—’
    ‘Should probably pull your trousers and pants down first though,’ a grin broke across Rennie’s face, ‘going to be hell of a mess otherwise.’
    Logan stood. ‘Did you want something, Sergeant ? ’
    ‘See, if I was going to take a dump in someone’s office, I’d do it in their desk drawer. Or in the filing cabinet, under “J” for jobbie, that way it’s all organized and—’
    ‘Rennie!’
    ‘Oh, right. Yeah.’ He stood to one side and swept his arm out in a grandiose gesture, as if he was a magician introducing his glamorous assistant. ‘Got a Dr Graham here to see La Monarch De Iceberg.’
    A woman stepped past Rennie, into the room. Short, big smile, tiny diamond earrings twinkling between strands of long blonde hair. Big brown boots, blue jeans, and a pink twinset. Petite and girly. She stuck out a thin hand for Logan to shake. It was like an industrial car crusher. ‘I hear you need a forensic anthropologist? ’
    Already?
    Logan took his hand back while it still worked. ‘You’re keen: we only put the call out an hour ago.’
    She flashed him a smile that made little crow’s feet around her eyes. ‘Are you kidding? Jobs like this are hen’s teeth: had to get here before any other bugger did. Forensic anthropology’s a cut-throat business.’
    ‘Dr Graham—’
    ‘April, please.’ She shook her head. ‘I blame the telly – they show all these glamorous actors running about the place, solving murders, then everyone and their dog thinks, “Hey, why don’t I train to be one of them bone people?” Seriously, you can’t throw a brick these days without braining two dozen unemployed forensic anthropologists.’
    ‘That’s very—’
    ‘You know,’ she frowned up at him, ‘you should’ve put some ice on that, it would’ve brought the swelling down. Might be too late now, but it’s probably still worth a go. Trust me: if there’s one thing I know, it’s being punched in the face.’
    Logan’s fingers stroked the side of his swollen nose. ‘OK. . .’
    ‘Are the remains ready? ’ She got a step closer. ‘I’d really like to get cracking as soon as I can.’
    He backed away, until the desktop dug into the back of his legs. Retreat no longer an option. ‘They’re through the house. . .’
    ‘Good stuff.’ She spun around, as if she was mounted on castors.