The Fiat’s starter motor made whining, gurning noises.
‘God, you’re hopeful, aren’t you?’ Russell blew into his hands. ‘Come on, give it up. Ambulance needs—’
The engine spluttered, then gave a painful growl.
‘Bloody hell.’ The firearms officer stepped back, and threw his arms in the air, spotlit by the Fiat’s one remaining headlight. ‘IT’S ALIVE! ALIVE!’
Logan stared at him. ‘You’re a dick, you know that, Russell, don’t you?’
34
Logan pushed through the flat’s front door, into the scent of garlic, herbs and cheese. He banged the snow off his feet, took off his shoes, and padded through into the lounge. His head was pounding – they’d had to tie the resurrected Fiat’s bonnet down with hairy string and nearly a whole roll of silver duct tape, driving it back to town in the rattling growl of a broken exhaust. ‘God what a day…’
Samantha looked up from the couch, then away again. She was wearing her pink fluffy robe again, red-and-black stripy socks sticking out of the end. Her nose was deep pink, eyes too. ‘What happened to you?’
‘Raid out by Balmedie – someone got shot.’
‘I waited for you.’
‘Did you?’ He peeled off his jacket. ‘Were we going…’ He stopped.
Samantha sniffed. ‘I can’t do this any more.’
Pause. ‘Do what?’
‘This.’ She waved a hand, staring at the blank TV screen. ‘Playing the tart. Being the good little woman. Never rocking the boat.’
‘Playing the—’
‘Do you have any idea how difficult this is? Watching you destroy yourself. Trying not to say anything. Living with your constant—’
‘Where the hell’s this coming from?’ Logan dumped his jacket on the back of the couch.
‘When was the last time you came home and said something positive? About anything?’
‘Someone rammed my car with a Transit van! What am I supposed to say, “everything’s fucking peachy”?’
She wiped her sleeve across her face. ‘I can’t…’ Stood. Turned to march out of the room.
Logan grabbed her. ‘What happened?’
She wouldn’t look at him. ‘I can’t be your security blanket any more. It’s too much.’
‘I don’t
‘Just stop it.’ Samantha placed two hands on his chest and shoved him away. She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
‘Oh for fuck’s…Samantha!’ Logan followed her through to the bedroom. She was stuffing clothes in a holdall.
‘Can we at least talk about it?’
‘What’s to talk about?’ She rammed a pair of black leather pants in the bag, voice clipped and angry. ‘You’re going to be a
‘What do I need…? I don’t love Steel, or Susan. OK? I love you. I don’t want—’
‘Then why is it always me? Why do
‘I do! I’m just…Bloody hell.’ The phone was ringing, a handset warbling away on top of the bedside cabinet. ‘I’m trying to—’
She pushed past, back out into the hall.
‘Samantha, it’s not…’ Through into the lounge again. ‘Will you stand still for two minutes?’
She grabbed a handful of CDs from the pile by the TV. ‘When you figure out what you want you can call me.’
‘I want
The ringing stopped and the answering machine picked up: Logan telling whoever it was to leave a message.
DI Steel’s voice growled out of the speakers.
‘I’m sorry, OK? I’m just…everything’s screwed up and I don’t…’
He reached for her. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’
Samantha wiped her eyes again. ‘You’re supposed to
‘I didn’t. I’m sorry.’ This time, when he held her, she didn’t push him away. ‘Stay, OK?’
Samantha sighed. Looked away. ‘Go on then. Answer it.’
‘Screw her, it’s—’
‘You know what the old bag’s like – she’ll just keep ringing and ringing till you do.’
Logan snatched the phone out of its cradle. ‘Are there no other bloody police officers in Aberdeen you can annoy?’
There was something strangely comforting about watching a house burning in the middle of a snowstorm. Choking black smoke curled up to meet the low clouds: the sharp smell of bubbling plastics, the soft edge of charring wood. Up close, the snow had melted away, beaten back by the blistering heat, but that didn’t stop more from whipping down from the February night sky.
Logan sidled up next to DI Steel. Her face was all pink and shiny and she’d put on a thick, padded parka, the front unzipped and pulled wide while she sipped at a polystyrene cup of something brown. ‘Hope you brought some marshmallows.’
‘Fire Chief says it’d be out already if it wasn’t for the wind. At least they’ve managed to stop it spreading.’
A pair of huge white fire engines blocked the street, their flickering lights sparkling through the snow, thick jets of water raining down on the burning building.
‘Got any fags? I’m gasping.’
