Truth Lies Bleeding by Tony Black

nothing like his. ‘Really?’
    He heard movement. She sipped, then, ‘Well, there was the call to attend Her Majesty . . . the Queen Bitch.’
    She was referring to Aileen Galloway. Brennan needed to know what had been said. Life around the office was already difficult enough – getting the inside track when it was available was a necessary advantage. ‘I’ll try to get round—’
    A tut. ‘On your way home .’ She let the sarcasm settle into her last word; her voice seemed to tremble.
    Brennan knew it was pointless to take her on when she was like this. A row had been brewing for weeks, since he had failed to leave his wife and daughter on her first request some months ago. Subsequent requests had always resulted in bitter acrimony. Lorraine was prepared to sacrifice her career for him, to leave her job right away and avoid the ethical dilemma, not to mention the boys from Complaints. ‘How much have you had to drink?’ As soon as he’d asked the question he knew it was a mistake; he was getting tired, careless.
    ‘It’s not so much the quantity that’s the trouble, Rob, it’s the drinking on your own that’s the real danger.’
    She always made her points in roundabout ways. She was a classic smart-arse, thought Brennan. She had been hard to work out at first, and that was interesting. And she was an unquestionably attractive woman – the mixture of mystique and beauty had been a lure worth testing at first, but Brennan now had his doubts. He knew many married men who had – what was the euphemism? – strayed; on the force it was almost an epidemic. But there was a difference between what Wullie used to call ‘being busy’ with someone, and making emotional attachments. That was an altogether different form of betrayal – that was adultery to Brennan. The other stuff, the physical side, that felt more like something you could easily detach yourself from. You could almost pretend it was nothing, beyond your control. He knew it wasn’t, he knew he’d made a conscious decision to pursue Lorraine, even though she was the force psychiatrist. He knew the consequences, but he never thought he would have to face them. People got together at the station all the time, it was just the way it was. Officially it was frowned upon but blind eyes were turned. You couldn’t expect people not to form attachments in such circumstances. Bonds form in the face of tragedy, isn’t that what they said during the war when people were getting it together in underground stations?
    ‘I’ll be there, as soon as I can. That’s all I can say.’
    ‘When?’
    ‘I can’t say when, you know that.’
    ‘Why? Why can’t you?’
    ‘Because I don’t fucking work for Standard Life.’ At once he knew this was a low blow. Lorraine’s ex had worked in insurance, some hotshot who had left her to set up home with an actuary in Basingstoke.
    She hung up.
    Brennan looked at the phone. The call had been timed at one minute thirty seconds: the rows were getting briefer, if not fewer. He sighed loudly, placing the phone in the inside pocket of his jacket. He lifted the jacket off the back of the chair by the little loop on the neckline and slotted in his arms. He scooped up the files on his desk and held them under his elbow as he headed for the office door, turning out the light in the small glassed-off room. He was just exiting when one of the team approached.
    ‘Sir, one of the street sweepers . . .’ He was breathless.
    ‘Yes, what?’
    ‘We have a possible murder weapon . . . A saw – we have a saw. The lab boys have it.’
    This was something. Things were suddenly moving in the right direction. ‘Where was it picked up?’
    ‘Muirhouse, sir.’
    ‘Christ Almighty . . . everything’s been thrown to the winds. We got the arms in the same manner too.’
    The young officer looked perplexed. Brennan patted him on the shoulder. ‘It’s half-arsed . . . It’s either a half-arsed attempt at concealment by a