Then let myself out.
32
‘… really love that song. Kar Stanton and “She Can”. Think that’s got a real chance of being Christmas number one, this year …’
The A90 thrummed beneath the pool car’s tyres, oncoming headlights gleaming in the darkness.
‘We’ve got the news and weather coming up in twenty minutes, but first here’s Closed for Refurbishment and “Whatever She Wants” brackets, “She Can’t Have”!’
We’d not long passed the sign for Glendoick Garden Centre when my phone pop-dinged again.
LEAH MACNEIL:
I’m sorry I can’t leave my phone on it sets
off the car speakers & grandad would no I
had it & he will punish me
I don’t want 2 end up like David
Pop-ding.
LEAH MACNEIL:
We’ve stopped somewhere I think its the
countryside coz there’s no lights we’ve
been driving 4 ever I have to do what he
says & behave or he will punish me
Pop-ding.
LEAH MACNEIL:
Tell granny I love her & I’m sorry I wasn’t
a better granddaughter but I was selfish &
stupid & she was always there for me
when she wasn’t in prison
Pop-ding.
LEAH MACNEIL:
I don’t think grandad will ever let me go
home
One day I’ll make him angry & he will cut
me in2 tiny bits like all the others
I’m sorry 4 everything
I picked out a reply.
We’ll find you before he can hurt you,
Leah. You have to hold on and not give
up.
We WILL find you.
SEND.
And, hopefully, she’d still be in one piece when we did.
The song on the radio crash-bang-walloped to a halt, then was replaced by something equally shouty. I turned it down and called Mother.
‘Have you kicked Watt’s backside into orbit yet?’
A pause. ‘Ash, how nice to hear from you. Again.’ Didn’t sound like it.
‘How did he manage to get a trace set up on the wrong bloody mobile?’
‘Is there a point to this call? Because I’ve already had words with John and he’s getting a new warrant sorted out.’
‘I even forwarded you Leah MacNeil’s texts! How could anyone not spot they weren’t from the same phone number?’
‘This isn’t helping. Now do you have anything constructive to add to the investigation, or can I get back to slowly working on a stress-related aneurism?’
‘Has anyone looked into Gordon Smith’s sexuality?’
Franklin overtook a Luton Transit van, with ‘SAMMY’S MIDNIGHT FLIT ~ YOU’D BE NUTS TO TRUST ANYONE ELSE!!!’ and a grinning thumbs-up squirrel on the side.
Then, finally, Mother was back, voice cold and clipped. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Probably not, but our latest victim: David Quinn. He was bisexual and excited about meeting someone the night he died, which turned out to be Gordon Smith. Of course, he also wanted to study drama and filmmaking at university, so that might be how Smith manipulated him into going to the scenery warehouse. But if you’re looking for a mentor, would you really set up a meeting, at night, in a graveyard?’
‘Gordon Smith’s sexuality is immaterial. You want to know what is material? Catching him. Now how about trying to do that instead of casting aspersions on the LGBTQI community!’ Then complete silence from the phone. She’d hung up.
Lovely.
I looked across the car at Franklin, partially lit by the dashboard’s glow, and partially by the oncoming headlights. ‘Did any of what I said sound homophobic to you?’
‘Wasn’t paying attention. Now any chance we can have the radio up again? It’s been a long couple of days and I’d rather not fall asleep at the wheel on the way home.’
Franklin pulled in to the kerb on Guild Street, spitting distance from Divisional Headquarters. Cracked a yawn that showed off loads of perfect teeth with only a couple of fillings at the back. Then blinked a few times and slumped in her seat. ‘Right: what time tomorrow?’
‘Nine. Mother owes us a long lie-in after all that.’
A hollow laugh. ‘Yeah, right.’
I climbed out and collected Henry from the back seat. ‘Go home, clamber into a hot bath, and get some sleep. Get out of the bath first, though, unless you fancy drowning.’
She rolled her eyes and I thumped the car door shut. Waved as Franklin performed a three-point turn and headed off towards the town centre.
Wind chased the wee lad and me as we ducked around the corner onto Doyle Lane, borrowed wellies going week-wonk as I limped past two closed charity shops and a chipper with a bored-looking man slumped behind the counter. Then in through the hallowed portal of The Tartan Bunnet Café.
Condensation pewtered the windows, greasy with the scent of hot chip fat and generations-worth of fried bacon. The twin red lights atop Castle Hill Infirmary’s incinerator chimneys glowing like a pair of eyes through the misty glass. Small square tables draped with red-and-white checked plastic cloths; the squeezy kind of condiment containers that no one ever had in their home; and a TV on a shelf, up above the counter, the picture as indistinct as the outside world, obscured by its own patina of grease.
An old-fashioned bell tinkled, announcing our arrival to the gathered masses. Which, this evening, consisted of a fat man frowning away at the Castle News and Post’s crossword, a uniformed PC with a squint face and a side parting, and Alice.
She looked up as I closed the door behind us, a large mug cradled in her hands. Smiled a thin, sad smile. Then she caught sight of Henry and scooted out of her chair, dropping to one knee and holding her arms out towards him. ‘Oh, I’ve missed you!’
‘Thanks a bunch.’ But I let go of the wee lad’s lead anyway and he scurried across the scarred lino to her, tail whumping away so hard his back end wasn’t really under control.
Sitting in the corner, the PC raised an eyebrow and his tea in salute, the crime-scene smears of a long-dead fry-up on the empty plate in front of him. Fiddling one-handed with his phone. He’d dumped his stabproof vest on the seat next to him, like a hollow companion keeping him company while he finished his dinner and wanked about on Facebook. What was his name again: MacAskill? MacAllister? Something like that. He hadn’t been around when I’d been a DI, anyway. Or even after they demoted me. Maybe he was one of Shifty’s team?
I gave him a nod in return and settled into the seat opposite Alice as she finished giving Henry the prodigal Scottie dog’s reception. Which genuinely took about five minutes – oohing and aahing over him while I sat there ignored like a boiled jobbie.
Finally, she surfaced from beneath the table. ‘Sorry, but I really have missed him.’
Her mug was warm to the touch, and when I gave it a sniff: coffee, without even a whiff of booze. It went back on the table. ‘And sober too?’
‘I listened to what you said, and I’m giving it a go.’ That sad smile again. ‘It’s that or retire. Pack in the behavioural evidence analysis game and go be …’ Her shoulders sagged. ‘I don’t know what I could be. I’ve never done anything else.’
A woman scuffed out from the back, her face as lined and saggy as an elephant’s scrotum, thin white hairs poking out from her chin and cheeks. A headscarf with wisps of grey escaping from underneath to stick to her shiny forehead. She thumped a mug down in front of me then cleared her throat – like someone rattling a tin can half-full of gravel. Her voice wasn’t much better. ‘Decaf tea, milk, no sugar.’
‘Thanks, Effie.’
‘You wanting food? Course you are, look at you, you need feeding up. I’ll do you some chips.’ Then turned and scuffed off back the way she’d come.
The tea was hot and bland and milky. ‘So how did you get on with your child-killer?’
Alice pulled a face. ‘Profiling sober isn’t the same at all. I miss the feeling of … I don’t know, invulnerability? Omnipotence? Instead I spent half the time second-guessing everything I’d done. Urgh …’
‘Couples who kill.’
‘And Bear’s still convinced that Gòrach’s someone on the Sex Offenders’ Register, so what’s the point of me even bothering? Could’ve spent the day reading a book instead.’
‘Say you weren’t very bright, and you fell in with a dominant personality who wanted to go out murdering people. And wanted you to go with him.’
‘Doesn’t matter how many ways I twist it, I can’t get the profile to match someone who’s already offended. It doesn’t fit. This is him trying things out, he’s never done that before, I know he hasn’t.’
‘How long would it take before you started wanting to join in?’
‘A little boy’s life is at stake and they’re not listening to me, Ash. No one’s listening to me!’ Alice sagged a bit, then took a slurp of her un-Irish coffee. ‘And it’s not so much “wanting” to kill people as it is wanting to please your new partner. The subservient one in the relationship usually has very low self-esteem, which makes it much easier for the dominant one to … let’s call it shape them. After a while you might think you were really into it, but if the dominant partner goes to prison, or gets ill, or dies, the subservient one soon gives up offending. They don’t crave the kill, they crave the approval it gets them.’
Which would make sod-all difference to anyone unlucky enough to come across them in the meantime.
Alice looked at me over the rim of her mug. ‘You think Leah MacNeil helped Smith kill your young man in Stirling?’
‘Don’t know. Maybe. Difficult to tell when we can only communicate via the odd text, but she’s certainly not telling us everything. She’s hiding stuff.’
‘Wouldn’t you? Imagine being an eighteen-year-old girl and the man you’ve called “Grandad” your entire life – the man who raised you, because your mum’s dead and your real gran’s in prison – makes you watch him torture a sixteen-year-old boy to death. How much would you tell the police after that?’
‘Fair enough. But the—’
‘Here you go.’ A heaped plate of chips appeared in front of me, and when I looked up, there was Effie. ‘Did you some fish fingers as well. Eat. Eat.’
Soon as she was gone, I slipped Henry one of Captain Birds Eye’s finest breadcrumbed digits.
Over in the corner PC MacAskill / McAllister was looking over my shoulder as he dug about in his Police Scotland fleece pocket. Dumping a clattering handful of change on the chequered tablecloth. Stood. And wriggled his way into his stabproof vest. Going at a fair clip, too. As if he’d suddenly realised he was due back on patrol five minutes ago.
Then the door dinged behind me, letting in a howl of cold air.
He hurried past our table, not making eye contact – because why be normal when you could be a freak? – then clunk, the door shut again.
I nodded at Alice and squirted a dollop of mayonnaise onto the side of my plate. ‘You can help yourself to a chip, if you like.’
She didn’t move. Just sat there, staring over my shoulder, like the PC had. Eyes getting wider. Mouth trembling.
Then a high-pitched breathy voice scratched through the café’s muggy air. ‘A most generous offer, Mr Henderson, and one I shall be delighted to profit from.’
Oh. Cock.
I slid my right hand across the sticky plastic tablecloth, making for the knife and fork that had arrived with my chips.
‘Now, now, Mr Henderson. I assure you that any attempt to deploy cutlery as a weapon at this juncture would be counterproductive to the good doctor’s wellbeing. And I’m sure none of us would want that.’ He made his way around the table till he was standing behind Alice. Put his hands on her shoulders.
She flinched.
Beneath the table, Henry growled.
I stayed perfectly still. ‘Joseph. Get your hands off her. Now.’
He did, then smiled. He’d had his teeth done since we’d last met – veneers, crowns, and implants replacing the damage I’d caused. It didn’t help any, though, he was still an ugly wee bastard. Short; ears sticking out like the handles on a funeral urn; Neanderthal forehead; jutting chin; hair shorn to barely more than stubble, showing off the extensive collection of scars that crowned his misshapen head. A blue DIY tattoo of a swallow staining his wrist where it jutted out of his shirt sleeve. Black suit. Leather gloves. ‘How delightful to make your acquaintance again, Mr Henderson, though I’m despondent that it couldn’t be under more opportune circumstances.’
I risked a glance over my shoulder, and there was the other half. I nodded. ‘Francis.’
He nodded back. ‘’Spector.’ His John Lennon glasses had steamed up in the Tartan Bunnet’s chip-fat air. A big droopy Irn-Bru moustache beneath his twisted and flattened nose, the soul patch under his bottom lip already going grey. His curly red hair was streaked with it too, pulled back in a ponytail, the hairline ragged around a line of scar tissue where I’d tried to cave his skull in with an unopened tin of beans. Black leather jacket, black shirt, black jeans, heavy black boots.
I scooted my chair sideways, so I could keep an eye on him and the brains of the operation at the same time. ‘I thought you two were banished from Oldcastle on pain of dismemberment.’
‘Ah, yes, after that unfortunate misunderstanding about Mrs Kerrigan. Well, it’s to our benefit that those who once governed the more … nefarious aspects of this great city have retired to what I understand is a rather splendid private island in the Caribbean. Meaning that Francis and myself have been able to return and take up a more entrepreneurial role.’ He pulled out a small metal wallet and slid free a white rectangle. Placed it on the tabletop. ‘Our card.’
‘J&F ~ FREELANCE CONSULTANTS’ and a mobile number. No names, no address, no details.
‘What do you want, Joseph?’
‘Me?’ He sighed. ‘Alas, it is with a heavy heart that I stand before you today.’ He put his hand back on Alice’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. ‘We have—’
‘Do you remember what I said I’d do to you if you ever touched her again?’
The growling got louder, darker.
‘Now, let me think …’ A frown pulled at that scarred dome. Then the smile was back. ‘Ah yes, you said you would, and I hope I’m quoting this correctly, “break every one of my fingers then make me eat them”? A tad macabre and melodramatic, but then tempers were rather heated at the time, as I recall. Sadly, they seem destined to be that way again.’
Francis took off his steamed-up glasses and slipped them into his jacket pocket. No emotion at all in his small pink eyes. ‘Yup.’
Joseph clasped his hands together and turned to face the fat man, who seemed to have developed an all-consuming interest in his crossword. ‘Sir, I believe the most efficacious way for you to ensure your continued wellbeing is to exit with the utmost alacrity. There we go.’ Giving a muted round of applause as the man grabbed his newspaper and coat, then scrambled for the door, nearly tripping over a chair in his rush to get out of there.
The bell dinged as he disappeared into the night.
‘And Doctor McDonald, it would be best if you could control your canine companion. I would hate for something untoward to occur to it. Veterinarian treatment can prove very expensive when a pet has suffered serious injury.’
Alice snatched Henry up and clasped him against her chest as the wee lad snarled.
‘Thank you. Now, where were we?’ Joseph clapped his gloved hands together. ‘Ah yes: you see, Mr Henderson, a mutual … well I can hardly call her a “friend” in the circumstances, but I imagine “acquaintance” shall suffice, has commissioned the services of myself and my esteemed colleague to, as she put it, “beat the living shit” out of you. Apparently you threw her mobile phone off a ferry, and said certain things that caused her great consternation and personal distress.’ He took his
hand off Alice’s shoulder to hold it up, palm out. ‘Now, I can assure you that this assignment will give neither Francis nor myself anything but displeasure to perform, especially given our shared history, however a contractual obligation is a contractual obligation.’ A what-can-one-do shrug. ‘But it is within our gift to keep said beating as brief as is humanly, if not humanely, possible. So, if you would care to accompany my associate to the exterior of this fine establishment, he will perform the unpleasant task before us, while I keep the good doctor here company to ensure any thoughts of noncompliance are furthest from your mind.’
If he thought I was going to meekly stand outside and take a kicking, he was in for a nasty shock. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘Ah, Mr Henderson, ever the inquiring mind, I do so admire that about you. Let us simply say that gentlemen in our position may obtain information to our advantage from those prepared to divulge things they perhaps shouldn’t in exchange for financial gain or the diminution of certain debts.’
AKA: some bastard ratted me out.
I cricked my neck to one side, then the other. Rolled my shoulders.
I’d taken Francis before and I could do it again.
As long as I made sure he—
The world snapped back through ninety degrees as Francis’s fist slammed into my face.
33
A high-pitched whine burst across the café, accompanied by a swarm of wasps – making fierce yellow circles in the corner of my eyes. And then the pain hit. Slicing through my sinuses, digging its claws into the back of my eyes and my skull. The world stinking of hot iron and cracked pepper as my head rocked forward again and scarlet spurted down across my shirt.
‘Gnnn …’
‘Now, Francis! That was hardly sporting, was it? You didn’t even allow Mr Henderson the opportunity to stand up.’
‘Sorry.’
Hands took hold of my jacket’s lapels, hauling me out of my chair as the room waltzed one way then the other, the wasps getting louder. Scarlet droplets bursting against the linoleum at my feet.
The Coffinmaker's Garden Page 31