He just stared at her too.
‘That’s right.’ As if he’d agreed with her. She turned her squint smile on Roberta. ‘Don’t worry, he’s in safe hands now.’
‘Aye, well I was just leaving anyway.’ Roberta ruffled his hair. ‘You behave yourself.’ And off into the night.
Roberta rang the doorbell to her own house. Stood there with one hand behind her back. Waited for a count of ten, then rang the bell again.
Susan’s voice muffled out from somewhere down the hall. ‘All right, all right, keep your testicles on... I’m coming.’ Her shadow got bigger and bigger in the stained-glass panels flanking the door. Then the light in the peephole went out. ‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’
A clunk and rattle as she undid the deadbolt and took off the chain.
Roberta stuck out her bottom lip and pulled on the puppy-dog eyes. ‘Before you say anything...’ She whipped out the bouquet of roses and chrysanthemums. ‘Ta-da!’
‘Stop by the petrol station on the way home, did we?’
‘Tesco’s, thank you very much.’
‘What happened to my lovely night out at a posh French restaurant?’
‘Operational difficulties.’ She leaned in and gave Susan a kiss on the cheek. ‘Now get your sexy bits upstairs and we’ll see how I can make it up to you.’
Susan rolled her eyes. Sighed. Smiled. ‘Roberta Elizabeth Steeclass="underline" you’re a terrible trial to your poor wife, you know that don’t you?’
She buried her face in Susan’s neck and made buzzing noises till Susan shrieked and giggled.
The downstairs was in darkness, but a light shone in the bedroom. One of those four poster beds. A bunch of mirrors and paintings on the walls. And those mirrors made it easy to see all around the room. At least they did from the other side of the street with a pair of binoculars.
What was taking them so long?
Ah, there they were. The wrinkly old lesbian bitch and her frumpy dyke wife.
Snogging away, in full view, like teenagers. No shame at all.
Disgusting really.
The frumpy one danced over to the window and pulled the curtains shut, but not before the Steel bitch snuck up behind her and grabbed two handfuls of boob.
And that was it. Curtains shut. Nothing more to see.
A cat wandered past: big, fat and furry. Other than that, the street was dead.
Jack Wallace lowered his binoculars and stepped from the shadows. Took out the little metal tobacco tin with his dad’s name scratched into the paint, and ground the stub of his cigarette to a grey powdery death. Adding it to the collection.
See, some people would be pissed off right now — standing there for two hours casing the joint, nothing to do but smoke cigarettes and not attract anyone’s attention — but not him. The bit before. The calm bit. The quiet bit. The bit when they were so near every single tendon and sinew thrummed with it. That was the best.
You could shove your coke, heroin, and crystal meth: they had nothing on it.
Jack Wallace smiled up at the Steel bitch’s house. ‘Oh yeah, we’re going to have so much fun.’
He turned and sauntered off, hands in his pockets, whistling a happy tune.
So much fun.
Chapter Seven
in which we meet a Bad Man
and Roberta does a Very Naughty Thing
I
The muster room was packed — nightshift and dayshift all crammed in together, uniform and plainclothes, all grumbling and moaning.
Standing in front of the door, Chief Superintendent Tony Campbell held up his arms and the angry muttering gave way to resentful silence. ‘Look, I know it’s not ideal, but we have reason to believe both camps have been infiltrated by violent elements.’
The grumbling started again.
Slumped against the lockers, Steel leaned over and hissed in Tufty’s ear. ‘You still look like a beetroot, by the way.’
Tufty gave her his best evil eye, but she just grinned back at him.
The Chief Superintendent let the complaining go for a couple of beats then stomped it into submission again. ‘I will not have people coming into my city and treating it as a battlefield!’ He gave them all a good hard stare. ‘Attendance at tomorrow’s farmers’ protest is mandatory. All leave is cancelled. And everyone will be in uniform. That includes you, CID! There will be a kit inspection at oh nine hundred hours.’
Steel covered her face with her hands. ‘Noooooooo...’
‘We will be a united front. We will control the situation. And we will arrest the living bejesus out of anyone who crosses the line!’ He held out a hand and his deputy passed him a peaked cap. ‘We have a duty to protect Aberdeen and its citizens. We’re not going to let them down.’ He stuck his hat on. Straightened it. ‘Nightshift: go home and rest, you’ve got a green shift to work tomorrow. Everyone else: get out there and make a difference.’
He turned and marched from the room, back straight as an ironing board.
As soon as he was gone, the complaining started again. One by one the nightshift officers drifted away, moaning about having to work a double shift tomorrow. Then the dayshift slouched out, off to patrol the streets and all that kinda jazz.
Steel crumpled her face and stared at the ceiling tiles. ‘Uniform! I haven’t had to wear a sodding uniform since we buried DI Ding-Dong Bell.’
Oh boo-hoo.
The crowd of dayshift uniform parted slightly and there she was: PC Mackintosh, standing over by the vending machine, jabbing away at the buttons and hitting the thing with the side of her hand.
‘Look at me!’ Steel held her arms out. ‘I’m no’ built to wear a uniform like the rest of the plebs, I’m built for Armani, Gucci, Dolce and Gabbana...’
‘Says the woman in the Primark suit.’ Tufty pushed off the lockers and did his best impersonation of a swagger all the way across the muster room’s scuffed floor to the vending machines.
PC Mackintosh thumped the machine again, voice a low bitter mumble: ‘Give me my goddamned Lion Bar, you thieving hunk of metallic...’ She froze. ‘There’s someone right behind me, isn’t there?’
‘Constable Mackintosh. No, I don’t mean Constable Mackintosh is behind you — that would be silly — you’re Constable Mackintosh.’ Yeah, this wasn’t going all that well.
She turned and stared at him over the top of her glasses.
He tried for a smile. ‘But you probably know that.’ Tufty’s mouth soldiered on, even though his brain was sounding the retreat. ‘I mean, it’s your name and everything.’ Shut up. ‘Well, not “Constable”, who calls their child “Constable”, and how weird would it be if they joined the police?’ SHUT UP! ‘I’m sure you’ve got a perfectly lovely first name. Nice. I meant nice first name. I wasn’t trying to sexually harass you in the workplace or anything...’ And finally, at long last, his mouth finally clicked shut. Leaving nothing behind but a high-pitched, ‘Eek...’
Slick.
She pulled her chin in. ‘What happened to your face?’
He licked his lips.
‘Only it’s a weird red colour and you’ve got a massive black eye.’
DO SOMETHING!
‘Sometimes it helps if you give the machine a bit of thump-and-shoogle.’ He bumped it with his hip and then his shoulder, rocking it on its feet.