The Sirens - 02

by William Meikle

  It was too late for the security guard. I'd done him wrong in my estimation. He'd been doing his job, and when the door opened, he'd come to investigate. Now he lay at my feet, eyes staring blindly at the roof, the gaping hole in his throat giving him a wide smile to add to the open-mouthed scream on his lips.

  I had to put in a long step to avoid the still-widening pool of blood. John Mason hadn't been so dainty...although I'd have to stop thinking of it as John Mason...the tracks in the blood were not even remotely human. No, take that back...the first one, nearest the body, showed a heel and five toes, but the second, from the opposite foot, showed a three-lobbed pad with talon spike marks, as did the third. Whatever effect the drug was having, it didn't seen to be slowing down the rate of change.

  The interior of the shed was only dimly lit. Apart from a neon strip over the door I'd come in, there were only half a dozen overhead night lights...just enough that the watchman would have been able to walk a route without falling into any of the engineering pits. To my left there were long stacks of industrial shelving that held all the workshop spares, but the shed was dominated by the two train carriages that were the current focus of work. All I could see of them was their long silhouettes slanting over the darker shadow of the working pits. One of them was still attached to the overhead crane that ran the length of the building. I knew there was an operator's booth up the far end, but it was too dark to make out. The only advantage I had, and it was a slim one, was that I'd been here before, and gone over every inch of the place while doing the security check.

  I ran over my memory of the layout in my head while I stood and listened. Just to my right was the small office where the guard passed the night. A soft flickering told me he'd left the television on, but there was no sound from that direction. The whole building lay almost quiet, and there was no movement. Then, far overhead, a cloud moved on, and soft moonlight threw new shadows. The wind threw a small cloud scudding across the moon, and shadows suddenly ran across the floor. A wail reverberated among the shelves, a sound of fright and confusion. One of the tall spare stocks toppled over with a crash, and a four-legged something scuttled away to the far-left corner of the building.

  This was the point in horror movies when I started shouting at the screen as the inadequately armed person decided to head off into the dark after the monster that may...or may not...be wounded.

  I wasn't that stupid. I stepped into the watchman's office, and threw all the light switches to on.

  It had an instant effect. Another of the shelving units fell over with a crash. Then it was coming for me, hand over hand along the system of chains that drove the crane, like a gibbon through the high canopy. But no gibbon was ever as large, or as angry.

  I stood my ground. It was just about the hardest thing I'd ever done, and I had to lock my knees to prevent them buckling, but I managed to get the gun up, between it and myself. I had time for just one shot, and didn't even know if I'd hit the target before its momentum brought it down on top of me and the pair of us went crashing to the floor.

  Blind panic took me. I thrashed and punched like a wild thing. Someone was screaming and it was seconds before I realized it was me...and that I was struggling with a dead weight.

  My back reminded me of its bruises as I rolled away. I found myself standing over John Mason's naked body, and I thought I'd killed him outright...the tranquilizer dart had embedded between his ribs just under his heart. But as I bent over to check, he started panting, like an exhausted dog. I checked for a pulse, and found one racing along at twice the normal rate. His eyes were rolled up in their sockets, and sweat poured from his brow. I took off my coat and rolled him up in it, then went to fetch the car. All the way over to the vehicle my back tingled, waiting for an attack, but it never came, and as I drove back to the open doorway I could see the two bodies lying just inside.

  My back complained again as I lifted John Mason in a fireman's lift and got him arranged in the back seat of the car in, what I hoped, looked like a drunk sleeping off a bender.

  I went back to the shed and switched off the lights after retrieving the gun. I was going to feel sorry later about leaving the watchman there on the floor, but for now my priority had to be John Mason. I fetched the CD player from under the seats in the empty carriage. I reloaded the gun and put it on the passenger seat, then I switched the CD player to track four, pressing play as I headed out of the depot as fast as I dared.

  * * *

  I drove, chain smoking cigarettes while I considered my next step. I hadn't really expected to get this far. As I saw it I only had two options...the cops, or Skye...and neither appealed to me. In the first, I didn't get paid, and in the second, I got dragged ever further into what was turning into even more of a nightmare than the Amulet case.

  Then there was my conscience to consider. Just as I couldn't ignore old lady Malcolm, so I couldn't forget the staring eyes of the dead watchman. Maybe he'd still be alive if I hadn't drawn the beast to this area...maybe not. But those dead eyes would continue to accuse me until I did something about it.

  The next time I saw a phone box I stopped and, keeping an eye on the car all the while, put in a 999 call. As soon as it was answered I put on my broadest wide-boy accent...modeled on the shell-suited Ned who came at me with the knife.

  "Ah've seen it...the Southside Slasher...doon at the auld Underground depot. It's away inside...and there's a mannie in there alongside it. Youse had better be quick, for I dinnae think its awfy happy."

  I hung up and moved quickly back to the car. I could just hear that the track was coming to an end, and I wasn't ready for "Ragnarok" just yet. As I got back behind the wheel, there was movement in the back seat. I gripped the gun and turned, just as John Mason groaned and sat up. I pointed the gun at his chest as he rubbed his face. The folds of the coat fell away, revealing his rib cage, and the hypodermic dart that still jutted out at a right angle to his chest.

  "Christ. What have you done to me?" he said. He touched the dart, and winced in obvious pain as a trickle of blood escaped and ran down his belly.

  "What do you remember?" I asked.

  "My father's funeral," he said, then his eyes went evasive and he couldn't look at me. "Then some bad dreams. Very bad dreams."

  His hands started to shake.

  "Cigarette?" he whispered

  I kept the gun trained on him as I lit two cigarettes and, very carefully, passed one to him.

  He sucked smoke for a while, and when he next spoke it was in a frightened croak. "I've killed people," he said. "That wee man with the camera for one."

  I nodded.

  "And the big cop...him as well?"

  "Oh no. He's alive. Just not very happy."

  "So what now?" he asked. He had fresh tears in his eyes.

  "I don't know," I said honestly. "I haven't made my mind up."

  Just then the track finished, and I started it up again. It was getting on my nerves...but I had a feeling that the drug wasn't the only thing keeping John Mason docile.

  "Tell me about the music," I said.

  He seemed to notice it for the first time.

  "It's the tune I heard...the first time...back on the beach," he said. "And I've heard it since, in the night, in the Auld Kelpie."

  I nodded.

  "And you'll be hearing a lot more of it," I said. "It's important to keeping you stable...that's all I know about it...but that's enough."

  We smoked in silence for a while.

  "Again. What now?" he said. "We can't sit here like this forever."

  I realized something. He was John Mason again...not 'the beast' I had to capture. My mind was made up. I was going to take him back to Skye and find out what had happened to him, and whether anything could be done for him.

  "Let's get you some clothes," I said. "My street cred will really be shot if anybody sees me with a naked man in the back of a hire car."

  9

  I managed to get parked just in front of the office, and I made
him go first up the stairs. I followed behind, the still-playing CD player in my left hand, the gun in my right.

  "Through there," I said, motioning towards the bedroom, "you'll find the wardrobe. You're welcome to anything that's not a suit."

  He closed the door behind him, and I managed to relax slightly for the first time since he woke up.

  I used the time wisely.

  I wasn't quite as computer illiterate as I let Doug believe, and in a couple of minutes I'd burned a new CD with fourteen copies of track four of "The Sons of Loki". I'd just started playing it again in the CD player when two things happened at once...the phone rang, and Betty Mulholland walked into the office. I just had time to cover the gun with my jacket before motioning her to my clients' chair.

  I answered the phone, and old lady Malcolm was on the end.

  "The old glass-eyed janitor here at the hospital said you have a message for me."

  Betty Mulholland was already looking impatient, and I had to be careful.

  "I've got your package," I said. "Where do you want it delivered?"

  "You've got the boy?" she said. "Is he all right?"

  "Yes and yes," I replied. "I can deliver it tomorrow, just tell me where."

  "You mean Maryhill Police station or Skye, don't you?" she said. "I've told you already. The only folk that know what to do with him are on Skye. Just get him there, and you'll get paid."

  "Okay," I said, trying to keep it light. "Tomorrow it is. I'll be in touch." And that's when Jessie Malcolm's voice changed. It was the old janitor who next spoke.

  "I'll be seeing you," he said, and once more I heard the tap-tap, the sound of a finger against a glass eye. He chuckled, and had hung up before I had a chance to reply, which was just as well, as Betty was already looking at me strangely.

  "It's a bit late to be doing business, isn't it?" she said.

  I looked at my watch. It was just before 3.00 a.m.

  "The early bird catches the worm," I said, and smiled, testing the water.

  She wasn't biting.

  "That hire car outside," she said. "Is it yours?"

  I thought about lying, but it would have been a feeble attempt. The car company had my credit card details on file.

  I nodded.

  "You got trouble coming," she said. "You were caught on CCTV leaving the depot. And you've only got yourself to blame...you told them they needed to install the cameras."

  "The watchman?" I said.

  "Dead," she replied. "And we both know what did it."

  I nodded. I lit two cigarettes and passed one to her.

  "Am I under arrest?"

  "Not from me," she said. "I'm off duty."

  "Thanks."

  And John Mason chose that moment to remove the hypodermic dart from his chest. A short squeal of pain came from my bedroom.

  "It's Doug," I said, lowering my voice. "He got lucky."

  Her left eyebrow raised.

  "Must have been his dress sense," she said.

  We blew smoke at each other for a while, but there was no further noise from my room.

  "Seriously, Derek," she said, "They'll be round to see you first thing in the morning."

  "I'd better not be here, then," I replied. "I need that favor, Betty. I need you to make this go away."

  "Too much to ask. This is a murder enquiry."

  "Give me two days," I said. "If there's another murder, you can throw the book at me. And if not...you can find a real junkie to blame. Our problem will be over."

  She stood and came over to stand above me.

  "You're not shitting me, are you?" she said. "I could lose my job."

  "Big Jock will back you up," I said. "And as I said, I only need two days."

  "Promise?" she said.

  She leant over me. We were almost nose to nose, then she came closer and planted a soft kiss on my lips. Her tongue flicked out and licked mine, then was gone just as quickly as she pulled away.

  "Sealed with a kiss," she said with a smile. "I'll see what I can do... but now you owe me more than breakfast...a lot more."

  Just as she was about to leave the music came to the end of the track again...and started over.

  She raised an eyebrow again.

  "Your favorite song?"

  "No. Doug's," I said. "It helps his rhythm."

  I got a small wave as she left, and I found myself wishing she'd come back. Life had suddenly gotten more interesting.

  John Mason came out of the bedroom a minute later. He was wearing a pair of denims that had given up fitting me a year or so ago, and a woolen jumper I'd got as a present and had never worn. He dropped the hypo on the table in front of me.

  "I can't believe you stuck me with that thing," he said.

  "You deserved it," I replied.

  "So what's the plan?" he asked again. And this time I had an answer.

  "We get you back to Skye. Irene promised they knew what to do. Do you trust her?"

  He nodded without even thinking about it.

  "But not the brothers," he said.

  I agreed with him on that one.

  "I don't pretend to understand any of this," I said. "But I know you were calm until you left the island. And we've got to get you out of Glasgow, anyway. Are you up to it?"

  He nodded, but in truth, he looked as ill as Doug had on that hospital bed. His face was ashen, his eyes red-rimmed, as if he'd been crying continuously. He finally looked all of his years, and more.

  "When do we go?" he asked.

  "Coffee first, and a smoke, then we'll be off. We can be in the Auld Kelpie in time for breakfast."

  "I'll get the coffee," he said.

  I watched him as he filled the kettle and did all the little domestic things people do while making coffee. This was the beast that had mauled Doug, had almost killed Jock McCall, and had murdered Wee Jim Morton. And here he was, making me a cup of coffee. And the problem was, although I hadn't moved more than a yard from the gun, I was already relaxing in his presence. And I had no idea how much influence the sedative was having, and how much was the music. As if he'd read my mind, he asked: "Do we have to have that music on?"

  "Oh yes," I said. "And we'll have it on all the way on the road, so you'd better get used to it."

  I gave him a cigarette to go with his coffee.

  "Have you ever met an old janitor with a glass eye?" I asked. "Or a slightly younger version, either a fisherman, or dressed like an aging biker?"

  He looked at me blankly.

  "Never mind," I said. "I thought he had something to do with the case, that's all. Drink up. It's time we were going."

  I took the CD out of the player and watched him very closely as we headed for the car. I had the gun pointed at his back all the way.

  I put him in the passenger seat, and laid the gun across my lap. Before we set off I put the CD in the car player and once more the song filled the car. I knew I was going to be heartily sick of it by the time we got to Skye. But it would be worth it to keep me alive.

  I had enough petrol for the whole journey, and enough cigarettes, and I doubted I would be stopping along the way. My back muscles were already complaining, but that couldn't be helped. At least the Ford was easier to drive than the Land Rover beast, and at this time in the morning, we'd make good time.

  Mason was quiet as we made our way out of the West End, and apart from asking for a cigarette, he didn't speak until the city was behind us. I turned the CD volume down...but not as far as I couldn't hear it.

  "You know," he started. "I didn't quite tell the truth. Back on the boat trip out of Portree."

  "I wondered when you'd notice," I said. I dropped my speed by ten miles an hour...there was a story coming...one I would be best to pay attention to.

  He started straight ahead as he spoke.

  "It was no accident that I was on Skye," he said. "I had an email from Irene. She was tracking down her husband's family tree. And she found me. We sent emails back and forward for months, until it felt like
we knew each other. Then, last year, she invited me for a visit."

  "Did your mother not try to stop you?"

  "I didn't tell her. Years before she'd spun me a tale about how it would be dangerous for me on Skye, but she wouldn't tell me why...maybe if she had, things would've been different.

  "When I got to the island Irene couldn't have made me more welcome, and at first, the three brothers were friendly enough, but there was always a sense that they had something else on their minds.

  "Matters came to a head one night when we'd all been drinking heavily. The brothers started in on me...or rather, on my father. The kindest thing that they said about him was that he was a traitorous bastard, and they accused him of causing the death of their own father. And that's when I heard the story of what my mother and father had done on Skye. They..."

  "If it involves your mother, a travelling band of hippies, and a moonlight flit, you can save some time. I've heard it," I said. "Your mammy isn't so reticent these days."

  "She told you?" he said, incredulous. "And she wouldn't tell me, in all these years?"

  "Seeing you maul my partner loosened her tongue a bit," I said, and I didn't manage to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

  That quieted him for a while, and we smoked in silence while the darkness slid by outside. The CD came to the end of its first run through, and this time I found the continuous play button and started it off again.

  "It was that bloody tune that started it," he said softly. "One minute I was in the middle of an argument with the brothers, the next I'm out on the seashore, with no memory of how I got there. You know what happened next...the bit about the seal was the truth. As was my nighttime rampage over the moor. What I haven't told you is that the brothers let me go. All that clock and dagger stuff was just a trick to get you to take me."

  "Why would they let you go?" Aren't you 'The Chosen'...the one who'll restore the family destiny that your father almost broke?"

  "That's what they told me," he said. "But there's one thing I overheard that worries me. 'Let him go', they told Irene. 'She'll be frantic, and our job will be easier'."