Close to the Bone by Stuart MacBride Read Free Book Online Page B

slipped the printouts back into the file. ‘Our victim had form for stealing cars and breaking into places to rob them. Sound familiar? ’
    ‘The jewellery job.’
    ‘Car was stolen a couple of streets away from here, used in a robbery, then dumped and burned just past Thainstone Mart. Next to Guy Ferguson’s body.’
    Chalmers left another layer of palm sweat on the steering wheel. ‘They do the job, then his mates turn on him after they’ve divvied up the loot. Maybe he was holding out on them? ’
    ‘Could be.’ Logan climbed out into the warm afternoon. ‘What about the registered keeper? ’
    ‘Straight up, far as I can tell: no record in the PNC. Pretty hacked off to lose the car too, was a present from his dad.’ She straightened her wrinkly suit, then marched up to the front door and rang the bell.
    A minute later, it was opened by a wee girl in a bright yellow dress with bears on it, head a mess of black curls. She looked up at DS Chalmers with big blue eyes, then stuck her thumb in her mouth.
    A voice came from somewhere inside: a man. ‘Who is it, Bella? ’
    The thumb came out with a soft pop. ‘My name’s Bella and I’m five and I’m getting a pony for my birthday.’
    Chalmers hunkered down until she was roughly at eye-level. ‘Hello, Bella, my name’s Lorna. Can you tell your mummy and daddy the police are here and they need to speak to them? ’
    A nod sent her curls bobbing, then she turned and shouted back into the house. ‘It’s the pigs!’ Before squealing her way down the corridor, arms waving above her head. ‘You’ll never take me alive, Copper!’
    Chalmers cleared her throat. ‘Well that was . . . nice.’
    A man poked his head out into the corridor. Pulled a face. Then sauntered towards them: jeans, flannel shirt, the top of his head poking through a crown of greying frizz. He wiped his hands on a tea towel. ‘Sorry about that – someone let her watch Life on Mars the other day and she’s been impossible ever since.’ He gave them a smile. ‘How can I help? ’
    Logan stepped forward. ‘Mr Ferguson? ’
    The smile slipped a little. ‘Yes? ’
    ‘Can we come in please, Mr Ferguson? We need to talk.’
    The living room was bright and airy, the sounds of music and laughter coming through from the dining-kitchen. Mr Ferguson sat on the edge of the couch, his wife perched beside him. She fidgeted with the hem of her orange cardigan, working it back and forth between her fingers, pulling little tufts of fluff from the wool.
    She looked over her shoulder at the open door. Slipped a fleck of orange fuzz into her mouth and chewed on it.
    The wee girl who’d swore they’d never take her alive was sitting at the table, shovelling peas into her mouth while an older man cut something up on her plate.
    Mrs Ferguson pulled another tuft of orange fluff. She stared off over Logan’s shoulder, not making eye contact. ‘What’s he done now? ’
    Her husband sighed. ‘Why do you always have to do that? ’
    ‘I’m not doing anything, I’m being realistic. Of course Guy’s done something, why else are they here? ’ She pointed at Logan and Chalmers.
    ‘Sheila, he’s—’
    ‘That boy could cause a fight in a cemetery.’
    Mr Ferguson laid a hand on her knee. Smiled at Logan again. ‘Guy’s a good kid, he just . . . he’s easily led.’
    Logan licked his lips. Cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid we have some bad news. . .’
    Mrs Ferguson’s mouth fell open, eyes wide. Then she stood, walked over to the door and closed it, shutting out the sounds of laughter. ‘I see.’
    ‘Oh God. . .’ Her husband rocked back and forward in his seat. ‘Oh God, no. . .’
    She blinked, wiped the heel of her hand across her eye, then brought her chin up. ‘We only saw him this morning. He was supposed to be getting out on Wednesday.’
    ‘Oh God, Guy. . .’ Mr Ferguson dropped his chin onto his chest and sobbed, fingers digging into the soft cushions of the couch. ‘Oh God. .