‘They didn’t call the police.’ Her voice was as dead as her face. ‘They sat in their flats and they listened to that poor wee boy crying his arse off and didn’t do a thing about it.’
‘Yeah, but—’
‘And then, when Sally started to smell, they still didn’t call us. They got out the air freshener and tried to hide the stench.’ Steel’s head dipped. ‘You know what, Tufty? I sodding hate human beings.’
The window at the end of the corridor was half boarded-up, the remaining half a mess of cracked grey glass. Graffiti crawled down the walls. Not the fancy arty type either — the type that was all swearing and crudely scrawled genitals. Bin-bags stacked in stinky heaps along the skirting boards.
The guy who’d opened the ground-floor flat’s door squinted one eye shut, the other had a pupil black as treacle and big as a bowling ball. He scratched his crotch, ruffling his dirty Y-fronts and stained T-shirt. One grey-brown sock with a toe poking out. Dirt and bruises mingling on the pale hairy skin of his arms and legs.
Tufty held up the photo. ‘Try again.’
Steel nudged a bin-bag with her boot. ‘Come on, Shuggie, it’s no’ hard: where’s Daphne McClellan? Two of you are shacked up, aren’t you?’
He wobbled a bit, staring at the picture, holding onto the doorframe. Then a slow smile dawned across his filthy face. ‘Nah, you mean Natasha, right? Natasha Sparkles.’ Jazz hands. ‘Not in, is she. Out. Out. Out.’
‘Of course she is.’ Steel gave him a glower. ‘Where?’
Music oozed through the Regents Arms: Kylie encouraging everyone to do the Locomotion. Which was never going to happen here. Most of the gloomy bar’s denizens looked like they’d struggle to walk in a straight line, never mind pretend to be choo-choo trains.
Ten to four on a Wednesday and the regulars were well into their fourth or fifth pint — the empties littering their tables. Some hadn’t even bothered changing out of their overalls before coming in to quench the demon thirst.
The wall behind the bar was covered in apostrophes, all of which looked like they’d been stolen from other signs. At least three of them had definitely spent time attached to the front of a McDonald’s. The guy in charge of the collection took one look at the photo in Tufty’s hand and sighed. Then pointed at a table over by the cigarette machine.
Steel hunched her shoulders and marched over.
Tufty gave the barman an apologetic smile. ‘She’s having a bad day.’
‘Hmmph.’ He went back to stacking alcopops in the fridge.
Fair enough.
Tufty hurried over to catch up with Steel as she came to a halt in front of the table.
Daphne McClellan was there, sitting with an older man — grey hair, grey jumper on over a white shirt and grey tie. He had his eyes closed, both hands on the tabletop. Daphne was all done up in knee-high PVC boots, a short skirt and lacy top that showed off a skeletal figure so lacquered with fake tan she could’ve been one of those mummies they fished out of peat bogs.
She had one hand inside the flies of her friend’s trousers. Working. A bored expression on her face as her arm jiggled up and down.
Steel gave the table leg a kick, setting the glasses on top clinking. ‘Hope you’re wearing gloves, Daphne. Practising safe sex and all that.’
She snatched her hand back. ‘Urgh, not this again.’ Daphne rolled her eyes, then sagged. ‘I’m not doing nothing!’
Her friend scrabbled at his flies and jumped to his feet. ‘I wasn’t... This isn’t... We—’
‘You: Old Aged Pervert.’ Steel hooked a thumb over her shoulder. ‘Go spend your pension somewhere else.’
He legged it, straight out of the pub.
Steel hauled out a chair and sat in it. Staring across the table at Daphne McClellan. ‘How many kids have you got, Daphs?’
A shrug rearranged the bones beneath that leathery skin. ‘What’s it to you?’
‘You’ve got three.’ She leaned in, growling it out. ‘And you’re supposed to be their sodding mother! Where are they?’
‘At... At my mum’s. The court gave her custody. I see them when I can, but it’s—’
‘THEN WHY DID WE FIND YOUR WEE BOY COWERING IN A CUPBOARD AT KENNY MILNE’S HOUSE?’ Steel’s voice echoed around the bar. Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at her.
Then Daphne lowered her eyes, those formerly busy hands of hers picking at the tabletop. ‘No comment.’
Steel barged through the station’s back doors, slamming them against the walls with an echoing BOOOM...
Yeah. Her mood definitely hadn’t got any better.
Tufty marched Daphne into the custody suite, struggling to catch up. Getting there just as Steel banged her hand down on the desk.
‘Shop!’
Big Gary put down his colouring book. Sighed. ‘And what can we do for you today, Your Royal Rumpled Majesty?’
The words came out like she was chewing on sick: ‘Child endangerment. Neglect. Soliciting. Sex in a public place. And anything else you can think of.’ She turned to go.
Big Gary reached for her. ‘Wait, aren’t you going to—’
‘No. I’m done. No more.’
Tufty stared after her as she stomped out through the double doors back into the sunshine again. Then the doors swung shut, and they were alone at last.
‘Hmph.’ Big Gary shuffled his paperwork. ‘What the hell’s got into her?’
‘Yeah... sorry about that.’ Tufty wheeled out the same apologetic smile he’d been peddling since the shift started. ‘She’s having a really bad day.’
Roberta wound the passenger window down another inch, letting the cloud of cherry-flavoured steam escape out into the sunny afternoon.
Sunlight sliced across one half of the Rear Podium car park, leaving the row of patrol cars bathed in the shadow of Division Headquarters — it’s bulk towering seven storeys above her. Someone lumbered up the stairs from the mortuary, still wearing their green scrubs and white wellington boots. Escaping the stink of death to enjoy some fresh air and a fag.
Roberta poked away at the screen of her mobile phone:
Sod the diet. Let’s get a great big Chinese
for tea and watch Groundhog Day!
Send.
Her phone did its ding-ding incoming message noise.
We’re supposed to be going to that play,
remember?
She thumbed out a reply:
AAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!! Sod... Sorry.
HORRIBLE day.
Send.
The driver’s door opened and Tufty sank into the seat with a sigh. ‘Lund and Barrett say they’ll interview her soon as she’s seen a duty solicitor.’
Roberta shook her head. ‘I swear to God, Tufty, if I have to deal with one more scumbag today...’
Ding-ding:
OK, forget the play. We’ll break open a bottle
of wine when you get home. Put the kids
to bed. Then get all naked and naughty!
She smiled. Ah, Susan, you saucy, lovely, cuddly minx.
You had me at naked.
Send.
Ding-ding:
You did remember my trophy, didn’t you?
Sod. No.
Tufty pulled on his seatbelt. ‘So where are we off to?’
‘Mrs Galloway’s. And don’t forget to stop off for milk, tea and biscuits. We can pop in by that trophy shop on the way.’
Tufty shifted the carrier bag from one hand to the other, going for the punchline as the lift juddered to a halt. ‘So the other nun says, “If that’s the case, why’s he been shagging a penguin all night?”’ He grinned at her.