Shatter the Bones

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‘Three minutes.’

‘Fuck.’ DS Logan McRae leant on the horn, its harsh breeeeeeep barely audible over the wailing siren and the burbling radio. ‘Get out of the bloody way!’

‘…to show we’re all thinking about them. So, this is Alison and Jenny McGregor with Wind Beneath My Wings…’ There was a swell of violins, and then the singing started: ‘Did-’

‘Christ, not again.’ DC Rennie switched the car radio off and ran a hand through his spiky-gelled mop of blond hair. Checked his watch again. ‘We’re not going to make it, are we?’

Another blast on the horn.

‘Finally!’ The moron in the Toyota Prius edged closer to the kerb and Logan floored the accelerator, sending the CID pool car roaring around the outside, hands wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel his left palm ached. ‘Time?’

‘Two minutes forty.’ Rennie grabbed the handle above the passenger door as Logan threw the manky Vauxhall around the Hazlehead roundabout. A screech of tyres, the pinging clunk of a plastic hub-cap parting company with one of the wheels. ‘Aaagh…’

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