‘Ow!’ Had to give it to her, she could punch with the best of them. ‘Someone stole my phone.’
‘And you look like you’ve been run over by a combine harvester!’ Pink flushed her milk-bottle cheeks. ‘Sorry. Poor choice of words. I mean …’ An embarrassed cough. ‘You know, in the circumstances.’
Nope, no idea.
‘You didn’t answer the question: where’s Shifty?’
‘What?’ Tiny creases lined up between her plucked-and-drawn-in eyebrows. ‘No, yeah, he’s up the hospital?’
‘You’re not making any sense, Rhona. And you need to stop taking sugar in your coffee, this is bogging.’
She put her butty down. ‘Ash, he’s at the hospital waiting for word on Dr McDonald.’
‘Alice? Why would he—’
‘Someone hit her with a car. She’s in intensive care.’
Jesus …
41
The double doors banged against the wall as I lurched through into the High Dependency Ward. Posters covered its institution-green walls, rows of machinery lined up on their wheelie trolleys. Outside, in the corridor, the strip lighting pinged and flickered, but in here it was turned down to a twilight glow.
A small round woman in green hospital scrubs with a black cardigan pulled on over the top emerged from the nurses’ station. Frowning as she sniffed the Albert-scented air. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Alice McDonald.’
‘And are you family?’
‘Is she OK?’ Stepping closer. Please let her be OK. Please.
‘They operated for four hours, but she’s stable now.’
‘Where …?’
‘Come on.’ The nurse turned and lumbered away down a corridor lined with shared rooms, their inhabitants barely visible in the gloom – lying still as the dead. ‘You look like you need to see a doctor, yourself.’
‘What happened?’
We turned a corner into a row of private rooms.
‘Here we go.’ She pointed.
‘Ash?’ Shifty jumped to his feet, sending the plastic chair he’d been sitting on bashing into the wall. His one remaining eye was bloodshot and watery. ‘What the hell happened? We thought you’d topped yourself! You sent all those—’
‘Who was it?’ I lumbered over to the observation window.
Alice lay pale and broken, like a dropped china doll, flat on her back with wires and tubes going in and out of her – connected to a bank of monitoring equipment and drips. Winking red and green lights in the darkness. Bandages covered half her face, the first stains of bruising leeching out from underneath.
Something tied a ragged knot in my chest.
The nurse picked a clipboard from the rack by the room’s door. ‘They managed to put her left leg back together, and she’ll probably lose some function in her right arm, but the big thing was the ruptured spleen and liver damage. We’ll have to wait till she wakes up to find out if the fractured skull has caused any … complications.’ She patted my arm. ‘Alice is getting the best possible care, I promise.’
‘Thank you.’ It came out strangled.
‘Give me a shout if you need anything, OK?’ And with that she was gone.
Shifty joined me at the window, hissing it out: ‘Where the buggering wank have you been?’
‘Who did it?’
‘We thought you were dead: they fished your car out the Cromarty Firth!’
‘Shifty, I swear to God, either you tell me who hit her, or I’ll—’
‘We don’t know, OK? An auld wifie found her lying at the side of Glensheilth Crescent in Kingsmeath and called it in.’ He rested his forehead against the glass. ‘I’ve got people going through every piece of CCTV footage in the area, but there’s no cameras where it happened.’
‘Why the hell did you let her go out there on her own?’
‘I didn’t “let her” anything! She’s on your LIRU, team; you think I’d have let this happen if I was in charge?’
No. This was Superintendent Jacobson’s fault.
Kingsmeath. She was knocked down in Kingsmeath – where she’d said the child murderer, Gòrach, came from. Where he felt comfortable. And she was off interviewing possible witnesses that Jacobson had either ignored or discounted. What if one of them was Gòrach? What if he’d run her over, because she’d got too close?
‘Ash, are you OK? Only you look—’
‘Where are her things?’
It took some doing, Shifty’s warrant card, and a couple of threats, but finally the hospital handed over the big plastic bag containing everything Alice had on her when she arrived.
The scent of sandalwood and disinfectant mingled with the flat, slightly plasticy taint of recycled hospital air.
They’d cut her clothes off, most of them stained almost black with blood. Those little red trainers of hers torn along one side. I went through her pockets, slow and careful, like I’d done with Helen. Car keys; wallet; the Danger Mouse watch I’d given her for Christmas two years ago; a crumpled bunch of receipts, the print almost impossible to read in the low light; three pounds seventy-five in change, a wodged-up paper hanky; a small packet of dog treats; lipstick, mascara, and a tube of foundation; and last, but not least – her official LIRU-issue mobile phone.
Same kind that I’d been given.
Meaning that unlocking it was as easy as holding her cold pale index finger to the sensor on the back.
It buzzed and let me in.
Alice’s app management wasn’t nearly as tidy as Helen’s – about two dozen filled the screen, almost totally obscuring the backdrop. Alice and Henry and me, at the Sands of Forvie, all three of us grinning away at the camera, as if nothing bad ever happened and no one had to die …
I swiped through to the security settings and added my right index fingerprint to the authorised list. Tapping the sensor till the light went green.
A knock at the window.
It was the nurse who’d shown me where Alice was, pointing at her watch and mouthing ‘Time!’ at me through the glass.
The phone went in my pocket. Then I leant forward, brushed a stray lock of hair from the unbandaged half of Alice’s forehead, and placed a kiss on her brow – soft and gentle, the skin so cold and clammy against my lips. The lingering taste of iodine and salt. ‘I’ll find who did this to you, I promise. I’ll find them, and I’ll make them wish they’d never slithered down their mother’s leg.’ One more kiss, and I stood. Nodded. Turned. And hobbled from the room.
The nurse closed the door, soon as I was outside. ‘We’ll be in touch if there’s any change.’
‘Thank you.’ I thrust the plastic bag into Shifty’s arms. ‘Get the car. We’ve got work to do.’
Shifty steered with his left shoulder up, head tilted to the side, pinning his mobile to his ear as he drove the pool car along Kings Drive, heading for the Calderwell Bridge. ‘Uh-huh. Soon as you can … Yup.’
Outside, the traffic puttered along, cars and buses, taxis and lorries, people staggering by in the ten o’clock haze of an evening’s alcohol. Happy and ignorant.
‘Yeah … Think so … OK, I’ll tell him … OK, thanks, bye … Bye.’ Shifty straightened his head, left hand disengaging from the gearstick and popping back in time to catch the phone before it hit his lap. Slick and practised. ‘Voodoo’s going through all the ANPR footage for Kingsmeath, including all routes in and out. Maybe we’ll get the bastard coming or going?’ He nodded to himself. ‘And I’ve stuck a lookout request on Alice’s wee jeep. Mind you, if it’s been parked in Kingsmeath since lunchtime, might’ve been nicked and broken down for parts by now. Or joyridden and torched.’ He loosened his tie another couple of inches. ‘So, are you going to tell me what happened to you, or not?’
‘Long story.’
‘And does it explain why you’re wearing that denim-jacket abomination and smell like a hippy’s squat on bong night?’
We passed a man being taken for a drag by an Alsatian nearly twice as big as he was.
O
h no …
‘Where’s Henry?’ Can’t believe I’d forgotten all about the little lad. ‘Is he OK? Who’s got him?’
‘Can we not worry about your bloody dog right now? We need—’
‘What if he got run down too? If Alice wakes up and he’s dead, it’ll break her heart.’
‘Well … maybe he’s back at the flat? Maybe she didn’t take him with her, today?’
Not likely. Worth checking, though. ‘Can you send someone round?’
Shifty’s mouth clamped shut. Hopefully to stop him saying something stupid that would get his jaw broken. Then a sigh. ‘I’ll give Rhona a call.’ Scrolling through his contacts as we wheeched through a pedestrian crossing.
Not exactly safe driving for a man with only one eye.
He did the shoulder-ear pinning thing again. ‘Rhona? It’s me … No, no change. Listen, I need a favour – you know the flat on Shand Street, Ash and Alice are staying in? … Yeah … Shut up for a minute, OK? I need you to get the keys from whoever’s got them, go round and check if Henry’s there … Yes, Henry the dog … Just do it, Rhona. Please … Thank you.’ He dropped the phone from his shoulder, caught it, and slipped it back into his jacket. ‘You happy now?’
‘Not even vaguely.’ I scrolled through the calendar on Alice’s mobile. ‘She’s got a bunch of appointments down for today. When did the call come in?’
‘Now you’re asking.’ Shifty pouted, frowning. ‘Half past one, twenty to two, maybe? Have to check my notes to be sure.’ Up ahead, the 142 to Blackwall Hill pulled out without indicating and Shifty slammed on the brakes, leaning on the horn – long and hard. ‘ARSEHOLE!’
Half one. So while I was lying at the bottom of that bloody pit, garrotted and left for dead …
The bus driver stuck his hand out the window in what started as a cheery wave, and ended with nothing but the middle finger extended.
‘Cheeky bastard.’ Shifty followed the bus through a pedestrian crossing. ‘Got a good mind to stick on the lights and music. Pull him over. See how he likes that.’
There were four appointments in Alice’s calendar before noon. Half a dozen after it.
09:00 David REes – ABM’s SocWok
30m Council offices Sadler Cres
09:30 Ann Tweedale – LTM’s SocWok
30m Council offices Sadler Cres
10:30 KAren Kennedy – OH’s Teach
30m Marshal School Burns Road
11:00 Dr Lochridge – OH’s Sch Therap
30m Marshal School Burns Road
12:00 K Dewar – TMM’s Law
30m SG&B Rainburgh Lane
13:00 Chris McHale – TM’s CAM
30m F4 16 Greenview Dr
14:00 LYdia McNaught – TM’s SocWok
30m Burgh Lib – Cafe
No point looking at anything after two o’clock.
Pretty certain that ‘TM’S SOCWOK’ stood for ‘Toby Macmillan’s Social Worker’. There wasn’t a phone number attached to the diary entry, but it’d be easy enough to find. I called the Council’s out-of-hours switchboard, pulled rank, and demanded to be put through. Two minutes of hideous hold music later, and Lydia McNaught was on the line.
‘Is this a joke? Have you any idea what time it is? It’s after ten! I’m at home! Can’t this wait till—’
‘Police. You had an appointment with Dr Alice McDonald this afternoon.’
‘Dr McDonald?’ A revolted snorting noise. ‘In that case you can sod right off, too. I wasted my whole lunch hour hanging around the library café waiting for her. You can tell that rude bitch: I don’t care how busy she is, common courtesy would’ve been a phone call to cancel and apologise! I’ve got too much on my plate as it is, without some ignorant—’
I hung up on Lydia McNaught. Prodded Shifty’s shoulder as he took us over the Calderwell Bridge, the Kings River a slab of black marble below. ‘Any idea what “C.A.M.” stands for?’
‘Do I look like a sodding …’ A frown. ‘Actually, now you mention it: Court-Appointed Mentor. They do it for toerags who won’t pay any attention to their social worker. Think of it like a big brother who gets paid to give you a hard time.’
OK, well at least that gave me somewhere to start. If Chris McHale was court appointed, his phone number would be on file. I gave Sabir a ring.
It barely rang before his voice boomed in my ear: ‘Alice? Are you OK?’
‘We don’t know yet.’
‘Bastard … Ash? That you? Where the hell you been? Bear’s at DEFCON One, what with all them creepy texts you been sending about doin’ yerself in.’
Not me: Leah MacNeil.
On the other side of the bridge, Shifty threw the car right at the roundabout. Into Kingsmeath.
‘Sabir, can you access Alice’s calendar?’
‘Two seconds.’ Some clacking. ‘In. What do you need?’
‘Can you text me phone numbers for everyone she had an appointment with today? But send them to her mobile, not mine.’
‘See if you catch the tosser what done it? Fuckin’ do him, right?’
‘Thanks, Sabir.’
That’s exactly what I was going to do.
A patch of what was probably supposed to be parkland broke up one side of Glensheilth Crescent. Clearly no one had bothered looking after it for years, leaving the place overgrown and thick with gorse, brambles, and dead nettles. The trees drooping and twisted. At one point, there would have been winding paths and play areas, now the only sign left was the line of concrete lampposts, all of them broken, leaving the place shrouded in darkness.
The seven tower blocks that wrapped around this side of the huge Blackburgh Roundabout hulked in the middle distance, welcoming as tombstones. Somehow all the lights being on made them look even less friendly, while Glensheilth Crescent itself had all the charm of a council estate that’d been designed to make sure the working classes knew their place. Boxy grey-and-brown terraces next to boxy grey-and-brown semis and a boxy grey-and-brown community centre with boarded-up windows.
A square of blue-and-white ‘POLICE’ tape sat at the edge of the ‘park’, the colour leeched from it by the guttering sodium glow of a nearby streetlight. Shifty parked next to it. ‘That’s where they found her.’
I climbed out into the wind. Turned, frowning at the curving line of neglected houses. ‘No witnesses?’
Shifty lumbered after me. ‘None that’ll talk to the police. You know what Kingsmeath is like.’
Should do: lived here long enough.
If it wasn’t for the tape cordon, that square of rough ground probably would’ve blended into the rest of the park. Yes, the overgrown grass had been flattened, but it wasn’t until I played my … Alice’s phone’s torch over it that a big patch glistened a stomach-clenching shade of burgundy.
Shifty’s hand thumped against my shoulder and squeezed. ‘I know.’
Took some doing, but I nodded. Huffed out a breath. Cleared the knotted barbed wire out of my throat. ‘You search the street for her car?’
‘No sign.’
Sod. ‘So what was she doing here, then?’
The phone ding-buzzed. A text from Sabir with names, addresses, and numbers for everyone Alice had in her calendar today.
I tried the one for Chris McHale, the Court-Appointed Mentor. Listened to it ring and ring. ‘What about the surrounding streets?’
Shifty shrugged.
‘OK, we’ll start there, then.’ Limping across the road to Glensheilth Place, a short street with only a handful of terraced houses on either side.
Then, at last, ‘If this is a marketing call, you can shove your—’
‘Mr McHale. Police.’
A groan. ‘Let me guess, Tracy Fordyce has tried burning the school down, again? That wee horror needs locking up, she’s got “future serial killer” written all over her. Tenner says—’
‘You had a meeting with Dr Alice McDonald this afternoon.’
No sign of Alice’s Suzuki Jimny on Glensheilth Pl
ace, so I kept going, round onto Forbes Drive, where the houses were slightly more upmarket, but not by much.
‘You cheapskate bastards should be paying me a lot more to mentor horrible shites like Tracy Flipping Fordyce! I tell you, it’s—’
‘Mr McHale!’ Putting some menace behind it: ‘Did you meet with Dr McDonald, or not?’
‘Weird bint: curly hair and verbal diarrhoea? Wanted to talk about Toby Macmillan? Yeah, I met her.’
I checked my watch. Quarter past ten. Forty-five minutes to guntime. ‘Can you come past the station tomorrow and give a statement about what happened to Toby?’
‘What, another one? You better be paying me for this. I’m not running a charity here, you want my time you have to pay for it.’
‘Yes, of course. We’ll sort all that out when you come in tomorrow morning.’
‘Should think so too.’ He hung up.
Prick.
Shifty was staring at me. ‘What was that all about?’
‘Chris McHale was the last person to see Alice. Ten minutes after meeting him, she’s found by the side of the road. You think that’s a coincidence?’
‘Then why did you tell him to come into the station tomorrow—’
‘Because I don’t want him spooked and buggering off before we go over there and break his legs.’ I turned and headed back towards the car. ‘You coming?’
‘Hell yeah.’
42
Ten minutes later we were parked outside 16 Greenview Drive, which didn’t have a single scrap of green in sight. It was a four-storey grey-brick tenement that stretched the length of the road, mean little windows scowling out over the rutted tarmac to an ugly boxy building that looked more like a Victorian prison than a synagogue. They’d mounted a handful of fixed security cameras high up on the walls, but that hadn’t stopped some moron spraying anti-Semitic graffiti across the front door. Because why live-and-let-live when you could make a bigoted wanker of yourself?
None of the cameras were turned in our direction. Which meant we couldn’t use them to catch Chris McHale following Alice from here to where he ran her over. But it also meant no one could prove Shifty and I had paid him an extremely painful off-the-books visit.
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