‘Of course, Lion Bars don’t actually contain any real lion. And as chocolate’s poisonous to all cats including lions — well, the caffeine and theobromine in chocolate to be pedantic about it — they can’t really endorse it in good conscience, can they? The bar is a lie.’
‘Oh yeah? Well Skittles say, “Taste the rainbow”. Rainbows are an optical illusion caused by sunlight reflecting and refracting through water particles suspended in the atmosphere, relative to the observer, and have no intrinsic flavour. The Skittles are a lie.’
Ooh... Had to admit that was more than a little bit sexy.
Tufty turned to face her. ‘Where do you stand on the topic of loop quantum gravity, because—’
She grabbed him by the tie. It came off in her hand — clip-on — so she grabbed him by the lapel instead and pulled him into a kiss. Her lips tasted of chocolate and coffee and strawberries. Warm and soft and tingly. No tongues.
There was a thump and squeal right behind them, then, ‘I hope you two are no’ Frenching it up — this is a crematorium, no’ a knocking shop!’
Aaargh!
They both flinched back.
PC Mackenzie dropped Pudding’s urn, scrambling to snatch it up again before it hit the carpet.
Tufty lunged at the same time and their heads thunked together as the urn bounced off the floor.
Sitting behind them, Steel went, ‘Nyuck, nyuck, nyuck.’
‘Ow!’ Mackenzie rubbed at her forehead.
He scooped up the urn. ‘It’s OK. Not even scratched.’ And the plaque had stayed on too. He handed it back to her. Then turned.
Steel was beaming at him, still wearing her dungarees and floral-print chiffon top. Hair all anyhow. She winked. ‘Ah: young love.’
He lowered his voice to a hiss. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Half two, you said. I’m here to pay my respect to poor little Pudding. No’ like you, you randy sod.’
‘I am not randy, I’m—’
‘Excuse me?’ A man’s voice. They turned and there was a tall thin type in a dog collar and dark suit. Milk-bottle-bottom glasses and a wispy combover. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but before we begin, does anyone want to say a few words about the deceased?’
‘About time!’ Barrett grabbed his coat and clapped his hands. ‘Come on, everyone: up, up. The buffet starts in fifteen minutes.’
Harmsworth levered himself out of his chair and stood there in his cargo shorts and Batman T-shirt. It really didn’t go with his heavy police boots. ‘Oh it’s all right for you two to go off gallivanting, isn’t it? Never mind about us, stuck here doing paperwork and interviewing your prisoners.’
Steel had a wee scratch at an itchy armpit. ‘Prisoner singular, Owen. Singular. He cop to it?’
Lund pulled on her jacket. ‘Mr De Selincourt has decided that assisting us with our enquiries is the cool and groovy thing to do. Especially if we’ll cut him a deal for ratting out some of his rivals.’
‘I’m down with that.’
Tufty lowered Pudding’s urn onto his desk. Still warm. That was the thing about wee dogs — they didn’t take long to reduce to ash. Poor Pudding. He patted the lid. ‘You stay here where it’s nice and safe. We’ll take you up to see your mummy tomorrow, when you’ve cooled down.’
And maybe, if the DI Steel Horror Express could be persuaded to stay back at the station, PC Mackintosh might go with him? If he asked nicely. You know, for moral support. They could even talk physics on the way there. Like they had at the crematorium, when her warm soft lips tasted of—
Lund thumped him. ‘What are you grinning about?’
‘Nothing.’
Barrett clapped his hands again. ‘Come on everyone, hop to it! No lollygagging.’ He hustled them out of the office then locked the door and pocketed the key. ‘Now, how are we getting there, foot or taxi?’
‘Taxi?’ Harmsworth pointed at the corner of the corridor. ‘It’s a ten-minute walk that way. It’s further than that to the nearest taxi rank.’
‘All right, all right,’ he held his clipboard up above his head, ‘and we’re walking.’ Leading the way down the corridor and into the stairwell. Lund skipping along behind him, Harmsworth shuffling along beside her as the theme tune to Cagney & Lacey blared from Steel’s pocket.
She stopped and dug out her phone, falling behind as she answered it.
Lund grinned at them. ‘Just so you know: I’m going to get comprehensively blootered, pick up some stud, and ride him home like a rusty stallion.’
Barrett put a hand to his chest. ‘Oh, my ears and whiskers!’
Yeah, it was definitely going to be one of those nights.
Tufty turned back to Steel.
She was standing on the landing, one foot on the top step, phone clamped to her ear. A scowl on her face. ‘What?’ Her whole body tightened. She bared her teeth. ‘No, you listen to me: I will skin you and wear you as a sodding posing pouch!... Yeah? Well we’ll see about that!’ She hung up and rammed the phone back in her pocket. Turned and marched upstairs instead of down.
OK, that didn’t look good.
He hurried after her, catching up as she reached the next landing. ‘You not coming to the pub? Only I can’t help noticing you’re going the wrong way.’
She didn’t even look at him. ‘Got to see a man about a raping piece of crap.’
Oh, not again.
She thumped through the doors and into the corridor. Marching past the little offices and meeting rooms. Right up to DI Vine’s door.
The sound of laughter came from the other side.
Tufty wheeched around in front of her. ‘Maybe this isn’t the best of ideas? You’re angry, you’ve been showered in pig poo, we’ve been to a funeral! Maybe you—’
‘I don’t need you holding my hand, Constable.’
‘Hey, I got showered twice for you, remember?’
‘Idiot.’ She shoved him aside and hammered on Vine’s door. Wrenched the handle and stormed in without waiting.
Vine was behind his desk and so were his sidekicks the Retro-Eighties-Ugly-Pugglers-Do-Miami-Vice Boys. The two of them leaning over his shoulder and laughing.
The uglier one pointed at Vine’s computer screen. ‘Play it again, play it again.’
‘Ah, DS Steel,’ Vine looked up and smiled at her, ‘love the dungarees.’ He nodded at whatever it was they’d been watching. ‘You’ll appreciate this — there’s a lovely shot of you getting splattered.’ He clicked his mouse and swivelled his monitor half-around.
A YouTube video filled the screen, the BBC News logo on a red band along the bottom with the title ‘FARMERS’ PROTEST IN ABERDEEN’. A baldy fat bloke in a wrinkly suit banging on behind a podium. ‘Scottish farmers have every right to be angry. It’s vitally important that we sort this out, but we have to be realistic!’
She jabbed a finger at Vine. ‘What’s happening with Karen Marsh?’
‘We care passionately about your future, because we care passionately about... AAAAAAGH! JESUS CHRIST!’ The brown tide spattered its way across him.
Steel slammed her hand down on the desk. ‘Karen Marsh, John!’
The smile died on his face. ‘Ah... Not good. They’re still trying to save what’s left of her face. He...’ Vine cleared his throat.
The screen shook, and there was the journalist again hunched over, screeching into her microphone. ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!’ A harsh bleeping noise smothered whatever she said next, then another one, ‘[BLEEP]-ing, [BLEEP]-sucking, [PROLONGED BLEEPING] AAAAAAAAARGH!!!’