Dying light

Re

'Then why take it out into the middle of the bloody woods and hide it under a fallen tree? Why bury it under leaves and stuff?'

A thoughtful pause and then: 'Maybe to make it easy to find, but look like it's hard to find, so you'd find it but think it wasn't meant to be found, even though you only really found it because someone wanted it to be found?'

Logan looked at him. 'Did that make sense when it was inside your head? 'Cos it lost something in translation.'

Doc Fraser was already there, his medical bag sitting next to him on a roll of plastic sheeting while he leant against a tree and read the paper, waiting for the IB to finish taking samples, photographs, video, dusting for prints… He looked up from the P amp;J's farming section and smiled. 'What-ho chaps,' he said in a mock English accent, 'smashing evening for a spot of the old dismembered-corpse routine, don't ya think?'

Logan pointed at the milling throng of IB technicians. 'Any sign of the PF yet?' Doc Fraser shook his head: no one here but us chickens – not even DI Steel, who by rights should

I

have got there before Re

'Call of nature,' she said. 'Don't ask.' The inspector took a quick stroll round the fallen tree, following the IB's little raised path. 'So,' she said to Doc Fraser when she'd made a complete circuit, 'you going to hang about here all day reading the paper, or you pla

The suitcase's lock came off in one piece and was dropped carefully into an evidence bag by a nervous-looking IB techie.

'You know,' said Steel as Doc Fraser gripped the top of the case, 'we're all going to look like a right bunch of idiots if this is a Cocker Spaniel.'

Fraser opened the case.

The smell wasn't a patch on the dismembered Labrador, but it was still strong enough to make them all gag. There, lying in a pool of putrid liquid, was a large, grey-white chunk of meat. Definitely not a Cocker Spaniel. It had the word Ailsa tattooed on its chest.

Re

The Procurator Fiscal had been ecstatic – a search and arrest warrant was being rushed through. Her office promised it would be faxed to the Westhill police station by the time the inspector's team got there. Alpha Two Nine was following on behind, having difficulty keeping up with Re

The PF's office was as good as its word and twelve minutes later Re

'Right,' said Steel, holding a hand out to Re

The constable handed over the wad of faxed documents, all duly signed and counter-signed. 'Let's do it.'

Re

Steel shoved Re

'You can't do that!'

'Really?' Steel dragged the warrant out of her pocket and pressed it against the glass. 'Clair Pirie: I have a warrant here to search these premises. You can either… Damn!' The large silhouette had disappeared from the glass. Steel grabbed her radio. 'Heads up, people – she's doing a ru

DC Re

The Identification Bureau van arrived at twenty past nine, having just finished up in Garlogie Woods. Gavin Cruickshank's torso was now on its way back to the morgue. They started in the bathroom: bathtubs being a popular location for the hacking up of dead bodies. People were always so keen to not make a mess. Steel left Mrs Pirie in the tender care of DC Re

The bathroom was a mess: a pile of dirty towels lying in the corner; dusty plastic tampon wrappers lying on the floor by the toilet; slivers of old soap decaying in a little dish attached to the shower. Mildew spread grey tendrils across the corner above the medicine cabinet and limescale turned the off-pink tiles a dirty grey. Very homely. 'Manky cow…'

Dirty Moustache was kneeling by the side of the bath, working a cotton swab about in the plughole. It came out darted in pubic hair.

It didn't look as if the bathtub had been used to hack up a body, but when they tested it for blood the thing lit up like a Christmas tree. Little crusts of congealed haemoglobin in the waste pipe, overflow, under the bath's handles, behind the scratched chrome taps.

DI Steel let out a delighted whoop and charged down the stairs to the lounge, where the Pirie woman was fidgeting on a floral-print couch. 'Guess what?' Steel said, leaning over a cluttered coffee table to grin in Clair Pirie's face. 'You're fuckedV DI Steel was determined to interview Clair Pirie on her own.

Logan may have identified the body and given them a suspect, but she still wasn't speaking to him. So he had to stay behind with Re

The search team was already going through the attic, so rather than sit about twiddling their thumbs, Logan and Re