The Blood is Still

by Douglas Skelton

  The last question was posed in a raised voice – Lola was too classy to actually shout – to Lancaster’s hunched back as he scuttled into the safety of the hostel. Then it was back to the reporter on the wall near the bridge to sum up in a sentence or two.

  So much for Lola McLeod just being lipstick on legs. First she had heard about the clothes and now she had tracked Lancaster down, which was more than Rebecca had done. She had put his face out there, again more than Rebecca had done, as they didn’t have the rights to the images she had seen. Lola was fast becoming the main competition in this story. Elspeth and Rebecca would have to work harder to keep up with her if they wanted to stay ahead of the game.

  30

  The child stares at the face paused on the TV screen. He is a stranger and yet so very familiar. He has never been part of the child’s life and yet he has been. Or someone like him.

  It’s the eyes. Something in the eyes. A look, a light, a glint. A crack in the veneer of normality that shows something else exists within. The child sees that same look in that little room, in the eyes of the man as he stands beside that little bed.

  There is regret, yes, in those eyes. There is guilt. But there is something else. As if whatever lives inside him has only been temporarily satisfied. The child knows he will return for more. He might struggle with his desires, he might occasionally overcome them, but whatever creature it is that compels him to come to that little room and that little bed always proves stronger in the end. No matter how friendly, how loving he is as they watch videos together, no matter how gentle his touch as he strokes the child’s hair, it knows that something else nestles in his body, within his soul, and merely waits to spring back to life, and that caress will be less loving, less benevolent. Not that night. Perhaps not even the next, or the one after that. But it always comes. And with it, the phantoms.

  Pain.

  Shame.

  They are with the child now as it sits directly in front of the television, up close to the screen. All the better to see those eyes. And the thing that lives within this man, using those eyes as a window. The child can see it there. The child knows it well and recognises it for what it is. And the child sits back, knowing what it must do.

  For it has its own creature to feed.

  The third phantom.

  Rage.

  31

  If the Burkes hadn’t made sure that the word was out on the street about what social services were planning that night – aided, Rebecca had little doubt, by her own online story and Lola’s TV report – then the presence of a minibus full of uniformed police officers most certainly did the trick. Of course, there was an attempt at discretion, as much as any vehicle with POLICE SCOTLAND emblazoned on the side can be. It was parked just outside the Ferry boundary, on a side street that led to a stretch of wasteland where a housing company had once planned to build up-market properties but had gone spectacularly bust before a single brick was laid. The little street came to what could be seen as a sad end, never having realised its potential. The tarmac petered out in a ragged line as nature encroached on it. There was no street lighting here – the long grass and scraggy bushes and the occasional fox had no need for illumination – so the officers thought they might rest there undetected.

  Rebecca thought they might as well have taken out an advertisement in the paper.

  She had spotted them as she drove into the Ferry, Chaz in the passenger seat. He shot a few frames through the car window as they passed but neither of them said anything about it. They may have both been incomers, but they knew the Ferry would already know about the cops lurking on the outskirts. It was that kind of area.

  The streets were busier than usual. Rebecca had been to the Ferry many times on stories, but she had never seen so many people walking on the pavements. Men, women, even children and dogs joined a breeze that lifted from the chilly waters of the Beauly Firth and drifted around the streets like it was looking for someone. It was a cold night and normally these people would have been at home, gathered in front of the telly. But not tonight. Something was happening. Some of them knew what it was, but the others merely sensed it. Tonight there was something better to watch than EastEnders.

  Rebecca sensed it too. She knew the root cause, of course, but there was something more there, something carried on the Firth’s cold breath. The atmosphere was charged with expectation, as if someone had pumped a highly volatile gas into the air, and her instincts told her that it would not take much to cause an explosion. There was going to be trouble tonight, she knew it, and there was no way she could miss it, risk assessment or no risk assessment. Chaz had also made the decision to come, confident he could sell the shots on a freelance basis.

  She drove directly to the Burkes’ home. Nolan had told her to come and she knew that it would be the centre of operations. Sure enough, there were a number of vehicles parked outside, including the black Mercedes SUV the older brother had driven the night before. Butterfly wings fluttered in her stomach, not just because of that feeling of impending violence but because she knew she would have to face him again. She was not looking forward to the awkwardness she would feel.

  As before, it was Scott who answered the door. If he was surprised to see her, he hid it well. His smile was still in place and it still creeped her out.

  ‘Smell a story, eh?’ he said, then looked past her at Chaz. The smile faltered briefly. Rebecca craned round and saw that Chaz was hanging onto the camera bag draped over his shoulder like it was the last life preserver on the Titanic. In his other hand he gripped his stick tightly, ready to wield it as a weapon. He still hadn’t grown used to places like the Ferry and tended to believe the fiction that you could be mugged within five minutes of getting out of the car. Scott’s eyes fixed on the bag and a frown began to pucker his brow. He obviously didn’t like the idea of a camera in their midst.

  ‘Can I speak to your mum?’ Rebecca asked, hoping to break the tension.

  Scott dragged his attention away from the camera bag and the smile returned. On balance, Rebecca thought the frown less threatening. ‘Did the lawyer no speak to you?’

  The mention of Simon made Rebecca wonder if he would be here. More awkwardness. ‘Yes, and I’ve agreed to keep what was said out of any story.’

  ‘Nothing was said.’ Scott’s voice was flat, but there was enough menace in the way he stared at her – that smile – to make his point.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘things were said, whether you like it or not, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to report them, no need to worry.’

  ‘I’m no worried, eh. Maybe you should be, though.’

  There was something implied there, she knew, but she wasn’t about to let some little ned threaten her.

  Don’t let them see fear, her father’s advice to new recruits, passed on to her when she was a teenager. You might be trembling in your size twelves, you might feel as if you’re about to soil yourself, but never let them know it. Once they know they have you scared, they know they have you.

  Her voice was momentarily frozen with suppressed anger. ‘Mr Burke, I’ve told you once already and I’m not going to repeat myself. Now, are you going to tell your mother I’m here or not?’

  Scott Burke looked her up and down, that same appraising look he’d given her the first time they’d met. ‘Why should I?’

  She was about to argue the point again when she heard Nolan’s voice from the hallway. ‘Let the lassie in, Scotty. Don’t be an arse.’

  Nolan stepped into view, his gaze studiously avoiding Rebecca’s. Or perhaps it was her eyes that slid away. Scott stepped aside to let her pass without a word but, as Chaz neared him, he snarled, ‘Snapper boy, you keep that camera of yours away from me, eh? You take one shot of me and you’ll wear it as a butt plug, you get me?’

  ‘Scotty, stop coming the big man,’ warned Nolan. ‘Leave the boy alone.’

  Rebecca thanked Nolan as she walked by but he didn’t acknowledge it. ‘You know the way,’ he sai
d.

  She heard voices coming from the sitting room, so she followed them, checking that Chaz was not being harassed by Scott again. But Scott was giving his brother a quizzical look.

  ‘When the fuck did you get pally with the media?’ Scott said in a not too subtle whisper, but Nolan did not respond as he followed Rebecca and Chaz into the sitting room.

  Cigarette smoke bit at Rebecca’s eyes and lungs as she entered the room, which was considerably less tidy than it had been on her previous visit. People, all locals, Rebecca assumed, stood in groups or sat in every bit of seating available, even the floor. She recognised a few of the faces from the demo outside the council office. She looked for Simon – felt relief when she didn’t see him. No Finbar Dalgliesh either, she noted, but then he wouldn’t show up here. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder at a public gathering was one thing – he could argue the issue was more important than the players – but to be in the home of alleged drug dealers was quite another. That couldn’t be spun quite as easily. Beer cans littered the coffee table, bottles of whisky too, and ashtrays were in evidence, most overflowing. Music was playing, it sounded like a ’90s vintage Now That’s What I Call Music, so Rebecca guessed it was Mo Burke’s choice. It seemed like a party, and maybe it was. There was no sign of Midge, the West Highland terrier, and his bed was missing from under the radiator beneath the window. Perhaps the little dog didn’t like large groups of people. Perhaps he just made a pest of himself. Or perhaps there were people here who were frightened of dogs. Could happen, even in the Ferry.

  Eyes and faces turned to them as they entered, the Ferry residents’ well-developed sense of stranger alert ever present. They knew she and Chaz were not locals, of course, but once again she felt she was being judged.

  ‘Maw,’ Nolan shouted from behind her, ‘the lassie from the paper is back to see you.’

  Mo Burke pushed her way through from the kitchen door, a glass of whisky in one hand, a cigarette in the other, her eyes automatically sweeping around the room as if checking no one was doing anything they shouldn’t. After all, there were strangers among them. Rebecca knew some of them were partaking of substances proscribed by law. Tobacco fumes were prevalent, but there was also the sweet aroma of wacky baccy.

  ‘Didn’t think I’d see you again, love,’ said Mo, the words reasonably pleasant but the expression saying she really didn’t want to see her again.

  ‘I heard about the council’s plans for tonight, Mrs Burke,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘Aye, saw that on the internet. And on the telly. And the council denied it, which is par for the course with they bastards. Never tell the truth when a lie will do.’ She seemed to be addressing her guests rather than Rebecca. She was looking around, waving both arms in an exaggerated fashion. Mo Burke was half-pissed and Rebecca saw her eyes were slightly glazed as they swung back towards her. ‘What puzzles me is how you heard about it.’

  Nolan had edged around them and picked up a drink he had obviously left on the mantlepiece. He seemed relaxed. He would not want his family knowing he had tipped her off, but if he feared she was going to finger him, he covered it well. She was still puzzled by that tingle in her stomach when she looked at him. Okay, Becks – what’s that all about?

  ‘You’re not the only one with contacts, Mrs Burke,’ Rebecca lied.

  Mo Burke was unimpressed. ‘Oh, aye? So you’re back here in the big bad Ferry for the story? Hoping to see some blood spilled, I’ll bet.’ Mo transferred her attention from Rebecca to Chaz. She looked him up and down like she was measuring him for a suit, her eyes taking in the camera bag. ‘You’ll no be taking any photies of my family, son.’

  ‘If they’re in the street, Mrs Burke, I can do what I want.’ Chaz’s voice was strong and clear. Rebecca knew he was nervous, but she was proud of him. Don’t show them fear.

  ‘I’ve already warned him, Maw,’ said Scott from behind them. ‘He as much as points that camera at us, he loses it. Simple as.’

  There were a few murmurs of agreement and some nodding heads. Rebecca knew she and Chaz were not welcome here. She wished Midge would escape from wherever he had been penned just so she could feel someone was glad to see them. It had been a mistake to come here, even if she had something to say to Mo Burke.

  ‘Mrs Burke, can I have a word in private?’

  ‘We’re all pals here,’ said Mo. ‘Whatever you’ve got to say to me, you can say to us all, that right?’

  More nodding, more murmurs of assent. She heard a female voice say, ‘Aye, all pals – which is more than the bloody Chronicle ever is.’

  Rebecca ignored it. She was used to the ill-feeling people often held for their local newspaper. They had probably run a story about whoever had spoken or a family member, perhaps a court story. Or had got something wrong. It happened.

  ‘Mrs Burke, we saw a vanload of police on the way into Inchferry tonight. They know what you’re planning.’

  Mo nodded. ‘We know they’re there. We’re no feared of the police, are we?’

  The response was very much in agreement with her.

  ‘Anyway,’ Mo said, ‘it’s all going to be very peaceful. We know which flat they’ve earmarked to put that bastard into and we’re going to demonstrate outside it, that’s all. No fuss. No trouble.’

  ‘And if they ignore you?’

  ‘They won’t.’

  Rebecca looked around the people in the room. These were ordinary people in the main, but there were others who were not so ordinary. She saw hard-faced men and harder-faced women. She saw tattoos. She saw scars and muscles. She saw eyes that were bright with booze or drugs. The highly charged vapours touring the streets outside were heightened here. If the spark came, the flint was being sharpened in this room, she knew it.

  ‘You need to call it off, Mrs Burke,’ said Rebecca.

  Scott laughed behind her. ‘Too bloody late for that.’

  Mo agreed with her son. ‘Scotty’s right. They started this with their plan to bring a pervert into our community. We won’t let them, right?’

  She was still playing to the audience and the roar of agreement was instant and emphatic.

  ‘Look,’ said Rebecca, giving it one last try, ‘you don’t understand. They know about your plans.’

  ‘Thanks to you.’

  Rebecca had to concede that, with a slight inclination of her head. ‘And so do the police. That being said, the chances are they won’t try to bring him in, not tonight. In fact, given the publicity your campaign has had, Mrs Burke, there’s every possibility that they won’t bring him in ever.’

  She was tempted to say that was down to the power of the media, but didn’t. She could not try to claim any credit for any perceived victory here.

  ‘Good,’ said Mo. ‘But just in case they do, we’re ready tonight. They don’t bring him here tonight, nothing will happen. They don’t bring him here ever? Then it all goes away. It all ends. Take him anywhere but here, okay? You put that on your website and your paper. Anywhere but here. What is it they say? NIMBY? Not in my back yard, that right?’

  Her friends told her she was right.

  ‘Aye, well, that’s us. Not here. Not our streets. We’re done being the dumping ground. Decent folk live here, decent folk with families. Oh, I know what you’re thinking, love, I see it in your face. Mo Burke and her boys talking about decent folk, what a laugh. But see, I don’t care what you think of us – we don’t care. Come here, Scotty.’

  Scott moved around Rebecca and Chaz to join his mother. She stretched out an arm and pulled Nolan closer. She stood with her arms round both her sons, a family unit, a picture of defiance. She wished Chaz was allowed to capture it. ‘We care about this place, these streets. We care even if the bloody council doesn’t. This is our home. The Ferry. They do us down, they call us shit, treat us like it too. But every person in this room cares because it’s their home too. You folk from the outside don’t understand this. You can never understand this. You see us?’ She pulled her sons tighter. ‘You
see them?’ She jutted her chin towards her friends. ‘This is community. This is family. And the council will learn tonight that you don’t cross family.’

  It was a fine speech and Mo delivered it well, even half canned. She really had missed her calling; she should be in politics. Rebecca could feel the animosity building with each word, so she decided it was time to leave. She didn’t know why she felt it necessary to try to prevent any trouble. She had done what she could. She jerked her head to Chaz and they moved into the hallway. As they headed for the front door, she was aware of Nolan breaking away from the family picture to follow. Laughter and a staccato rattle of applause followed them down the hallway.

  At the front door, Rebecca turned to Nolan, checked Scott hadn’t also tagged along but still hushed her tone. ‘You know there will be trouble tonight, don’t you?’

  He looked at her properly for the first time and she thought he was going to deny it, to follow the party line spouted by his mother. But all he did was nod.

  ‘You have to try to stop it,’ Rebecca said, hoping that whatever made him want to get out of this life he had been born into would come to the fore.

  ‘Can’t do that,’ he said.

  ‘Why not?

  He looked back down the hallway, where the voices had grown louder. Rebecca did the same and saw Scott was now standing in the doorway to the sitting room, watching them. Smiling.

  ‘It’s gone too far,’ said Nolan, knowing Scott could hear every word. ‘And anyway, maybe it’s what’s needed.’