Blind Eye by Stuart MacBride Page A

at each other, then sloped off somewhere safer.
He was up in CID, working his way through a pile of incident reports, when Steel finally put in an appearance. She didn't say anything, just marched straight over to the swear box and stuck a pile of cash in it.
Everyone in the room looked up to watch her feed in the coins.
Clatter, clang, clink, clink, clatter, clink - sounded like about a fiver's worth.
And then she turned on her heel and marched back out again, pausing only to tell Logan to get his backside in gear, they were going out.
'You want to talk about it?' Logan inched the pool car forward. Mounthooly roundabout looked more like a huge bronze-age burial mound than a roundabout, and it was just starting to get busy as people sneaked out for an early lunch.
'What the hell do you think?' Steel folded her arms, and sat there like a wrinkled gargoyle, while Logan waited for a break in the traffic.
The inspector shoogled in her seat. 'I hate these new pool cars. What the hell was wrong with the old ones?'
'Falling to bits, remember?'
'Well ... the new ones don't smell right.'
'That's because they've not been used as rubbish tips for years. Anyway, it's nice not having to worry about rats hiding under the seats for a change...'
Steel scowled at him. 'Are you planning on sitting here all day, or should I just get out and bloody walk?'
He put his foot down and they joined the rush, all the way round to the other side. 'There's no point taking it out on me, OK?'
'You know what that sanctimonious, cock-faced, fuck-weasel said to me - and if you tell me that's another quid I owe the swear box I'm going to batter you one - he said it was my fault Rory Simpson walked. Like I had any sodding choice in the matter?' She put on her best DCI Finnie impersonation. '"He was a key witness in the Oedipus case, Inspector ." "Why did you let him go, Inspector ?" "Why can't you do anything right, Inspector ?"'
Logan kept his mouth shut. No point throwing petrol on a burning building.
'And Oedipus is his bloody case!' she said. 'If anyone should've been keeping an eye on Rory Simpson, it was him.' She slammed her hand down on the dashboard. 'Pull over at that wee shop. Sod the "new me" I want a packet of fags.'
Logan didn't stop, just kept on going.
'Hoy!'
'You'll thank me later.'
'I'll bloody murder you now!' She watched the little shop slide past, then thumped back in her seat as they drove deep into darkest Froghall.
Two minutes later, Logan pointed through the windshield. 'That's it up there, second from the end.'
The street was all council owned, a pair of matching terraces running down both sides. They were broken up into blocks of six flats, three on each floor, arranged around a communal door and stairway. White harling walls shone in the noonday sun, but there were no mad dogs or Englishmen about, just a couple of evil-looking children jumping up and down on an old brown sofa someone had hauled to the kerb.
Steel stared at the scenery. 'No' exactly Butlins, is it?'
Logan climbed out into the sunshine, leant on the roof of the car, and watched the bouncing children watching him. Then one - a snottery-faced girl of six or seven - stuck her middle finger up at him and shouted, 'Fuck you lookin' at, pervert?'
The inspector slammed her door, and yelled back, 'Bugger off you ugly wee shite, or I'll come over there and ram my boot so far up your arse the Tooth Fairy will be picking up your molars for weeks!'
The little girl froze for a moment. Then ran off crying.
And Steel thought she wasn't good with children...
The shared hallway didn't stink of old urine and disinfectant, which made a nice change. Logan stepped up to the steel-vault-style front door of Flat C and knocked. The sound echoed down the stairwell. Second floor: must have been a sod for Harry Jordan to get up here with two smashed kneecaps.
Steel was still grumbling away, 'Bloody Finnie; not his sodding messenger boy; I'll give him "no' competent"; frog-faced, arsehole-licking