Dead Girl Walking

by Christopher Brookmyre

  Upon a signal from Detective Superintendent McLeod, armed police erupted from below decks at both ends of the boat, pointing their Heckler & Koch fully automatics at the three astonished figures on the other vessel.

  Commands were barked out, loud and frantic.

  ‘Get down. Get down on the ground. Faces to the deck, faces to the deck.’

  Parlabane heard the clang of boots on metal as they rushed across the gangplank. He looked through a porthole and saw one of the officers standing with his weapon pointed at Bodo as he lay flat-out on the deck. Another cop had a boot on his neck as he restrained him, grinding his face roughly against the polished wood.

  Could have been a lot worse for the bastard. The armed cops had had a bead on him through the portholes the whole time. If Bodo had actually pointed the gun, rather than merely brandishing it, they’d have taken no chances. His brains would be lobster food by now.

  Such had been their assurances anyway. Last night Heike had understandably been all for letting the cops swoop in as soon as Bodo gave them the rendezvous coordinates, but McLeod warned her that they didn’t have anything concrete on him at this stage. If a police launch intercepted him, he and his men could make up any story about why they were there, after quietly dropping any weapons they were carrying into the sea.

  McLeod explained in depth about the evidence they required, and went to great lengths in describing how the police marksmen would act instantly if they believed there was danger to those on board the Hecate. She added that she would entirely understand if Heike didn’t want to put herself at any risk, or found it too difficult to consider confronting Bodo again.

  Having heard all of this, Heike was thoroughly emboldened, and according to Mairi looking a lot more like her old self.

  ‘You had me at “that prick might get away with it”,’ she told McLeod.

  They climbed back up on deck as two police launches buzzed into the bay, ready to pick up their wretched cargo. The prisoners were on their knees, hands cuffed behind their backs. Gove-Troll and Spike looked shell-shocked. This was supposed to be an easy gig, but after years of growing used to getting away with it, the crash had come out of nowhere.

  Their boss, by contrast, looked satisfyingly furious: his face ruddy and his eyes boiling.

  Heike made her way to the gunwales of the Hecate, as close to the gangplank as the cops would allow her. She stared across at him, a quiet satisfaction on her face.

  Home from War

  The sun was starting to break through as Flora guided her boat smoothly back to Islay. Heike sat on a bench on the foredeck, looking towards the horizon, saying nothing.

  Detective Superintendent McLeod had opted to come back with them, deputising her assistant, DI Thompson, to accompany the prisoners on one of the police launches. She took the opportunity to remain above decks on the return journey, having been confined below on the way out.

  She stayed on her own much of the time, fielding lots of messages. She had a standard-issue combined radio and mobile, but with no network coverage out here it was all old-school comms protocol. It was also largely incoming info: Parlabane heard lots of ‘received’ and ‘acknowledged’ and ‘understood’; very little else.

  She did wander over to speak to him at one point, though.

  ‘I want to say thanks,’ she told him. ‘You did well back there. Got Herr Hoefner to say what we needed him to.’

  ‘Eliciting just the right quote is a trick of the trade.’

  ‘I gather you know more tricks than most in your trade. Jenny Dalziel has been filling me in on your rather chequered history.’

  ‘And I thought she was a friend.’

  ‘Relax. It wasn’t all bad. For one thing, you appear to have provoked the displeasure of our esteemed colleagues in the Met, so props for that. It surprises me, though.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, you’re not black. What’s the problem: did you forget to bribe them like all the other journalists?’

  ‘Miaow,’ he replied. ‘Actually, I’m not being persecuted. I really did do what they think I did, and it’s not really me they’re after.’

  ‘So why not do a deal, cooperate?’

  He thought about it, measuring what he could tell her.

  ‘Two reasons, I suppose. One is that I’m protecting a source, and that’s sacrosanct.’

  ‘What’s the other?’

  ‘It’s just so much fun not to give them what they want.’

  Mairi and Monica were waiting on the jetty as the Hecate rounded the headland and Flora slowed the engine. There had been a cop with them the whole time, keeping them up to date, so Parlabane guessed they weren’t standing out there like fishermen’s wives after a storm, waiting for the sight of their loved ones’ boats to confirm they were still alive.

  Parlabane and Heike threw out the lines as Flora expertly manoeuvred her vessel into parallel with the pier, old tyres flanking the wooden beams as buffers. DI Geddes, the cop who had stayed with them, tied the rope to a cleat at the stern end, Monica jumping to it at the bow with surprising speed.

  Shetland girl, Parlabane remembered.

  Heike didn’t wait for the gangway. She hopped down almost directly into Monica’s arms. He didn’t stare, wanting to afford them their privacy, but they didn’t seem very concerned about who may or may not be watching. They both had their eyes closed, tears on their cheeks. It was all pouring out now. They knew the danger was past and they could start looking forward again.

  Mairi looked relieved to see him, but there were no tears or hugs. She was keeping her distance, and not because of who might be watching. There was something self-conscious about how she stood her ground, as though conspicuously aware of the contrast between them and the other reunited couple on the jetty.

  Whatever had been sparking between them was over. Perhaps it had derived from the other tensions they’d been feeling, meaning now that the fear was gone, so was the thing they were confusing it for. Or maybe he had simply succeeded in blowing her off. He didn’t know. He just knew that she wasn’t looking at him the way she had done in Berlin.

  He knew it was better this way. It just didn’t feel better.

  ‘You okay?’ she asked him as they all began wandering back up the path towards Flora’s house. Heike and Monica walked in front, Flora and the two cops at the rear.

  ‘Well, I didn’t get shot. That’s always a plus.’

  ‘You don’t sound exalted,’ Mairi observed, picking up on the ambivalence in his tone.

  ‘No, I’m happy it’s worked out for everybody. But I just realised this means I’m out of work.’

  Heike’s ears pricked up.

  ‘Hardly,’ she said acidly, turning around. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a drippingly juicy story to flog all over the media. Give them an excuse to run those fucking pictures of us again.’

  Jeez, she was just hoaching with gratitude, wasn’t she?

  He maintained a sincere expression but he was smiling inside. He’d have cut her some slack anyway, given all she’d been through, but Mairi had already warned him that Heike seldom went out of her way to ingratiate herself with people, especially journalists. He couldn’t help but admire her for it.

  ‘Actually, I’ve got nothing,’ he told her. ‘Biggest story of the year: rock stars, sex trafficking, drugs, murder, blackmail, and I won’t be telling anybody a bloody thing.’

  ‘Jack signed an NDA when I hired him,’ Mairi explained. ‘This story will not be reported.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’ll all come out when it goes to court,’ Heike reasoned.

  ‘No, it won’t,’ McLeod weighed in. ‘Assuming you seek an injunction, your identity will most likely be subject to reporting restrictions. In cases involving blackmail the judge will usually grant an anonymity order. You and Monica are both victims here, so it would defeat the ends of justice if your details were dragged through the court and the media.’

  ‘Like I said,’ Parlabane told her, ‘I’ve
got nothing.’

  Heike looked relieved, then, for a moment, as close to sheepish as she probably ever got.

  ‘One day,’ she said, ‘when it comes time to do the official book on Savage Earth Heart … you’ll definitely be on the shortlist.’

  Parlabane smiled at that.

  ‘Of how many?’

  ‘Five or six. Definitely not more than ten.’

  He really did like her style.

  McLeod’s mobile-cum-radio buzzed to hail her as they approached the back door of Flora’s house. She stepped to one side and held it to her ear: more ‘received,’ ‘acknowledged’, a ‘good work’ and a ‘keep me informed’.

  ‘That was DI Thompson,’ she reported. ‘Just to let you all know: the suspects were transferred into separate police cars at Kennacraig and are currently en route to Glasgow for processing.’

  ‘Good,’ said Heike. ‘So does that mean you’re all clear to go after the sleekit bastard who put them up to this?’

  It was the last piece of the puzzle. The previous night, once Parlabane had outlined the nature of the con, it hadn’t taken long for Heike to deduce that the whole thing must have been predicated upon personal knowledge that Bodo and his cohorts could not have garnered for themselves. Nor could it have been cooked up at short notice: this had been long in the planning and painstaking in its execution.

  There were only a handful of people who even knew that the photograph of Heike’s mother existed, and they had been shown it in the strictest confidence. This entire charade had been built on details that were nowhere near the public domain, such as the real meaning behind her tattoo.

  Calling it a betrayal of trust didn’t come anywhere close to describing what had happened here. This was something far more bitter, vengeful and cold, and Heike could only think of one bastard who fitted the description.

  Last night Heike had been about ready to put out a contract on the guy, never mind have him lifted by the polis, but McLeod told her the cops would have to hang fire. They couldn’t make a move until Bodo and his men were in custody, for fear that any pre-emptive action might cause word to filter back up the chain.

  ‘You can’t afford to scare off the big game by shooting at a snake,’ was how McLeod explained it, and Heike had accepted this.

  The big game had been bagged now, however. Snake season was officially open.

  ‘I already made the call from the Hecate on our way back from the bust,’ McLeod informed her. ‘Alistair Maxwell was apprehended at his home in Glasgow ten minutes ago.’

  The Guilty Ones

  We got out of taxis at roughly the same time in front of Govan police station, the first time we’d seen each other since getting back from Islay a couple of days ago. Neither of us said much. There were a lot of charged and confusing emotions going on after all that had happened, and now that we’d both had some time and space I really didn’t know where we stood.

  Heike was looking surprisingly prim and sober in her appearance, like it was a dress rehearsal for the court appearances that would come later. That’s not to say she didn’t totally sell it; you wouldn’t think a grey wool top and a waterfall cardy was a look that could drip style and attitude until you’d seen Heike rocking it.

  She seemed restless and anxious as we waited in the reception area. I was nervous too, and not only on her behalf. I found McLeod quite scary. She wasn’t brusque or unpleasant, but nor was she going to be mistaken for anybody’s favourite auntie.

  We were escorted up to McLeod’s office by the male cop who’d been with her on Islay, DI Thompson. He was good-looking in a boyish and easy-going way, not striking me as somebody who took himself at all seriously. I could see myself going for him under other circumstances, but that aspect of my life was too much of a mess right then to think about complicating it.

  Once McLeod started talking I felt much more at ease than I had thought I would, and I could tell Heike was less on edge too. I had been expecting McLeod to be all business and very direct, like she had been a few days ago, but she was calm and compassionate. I noticed a photograph of two young boys on her desk, and guessed she must be their mother. She understood fear and vulnerability, but it wasn’t just about what she already understood: it was what she was wanting to understand.

  She talked to Heike for a long time about what it had done to her to have believed she had killed somebody.

  ‘I knew I didn’t have a choice,’ Heike told her. ‘And I knew what he’d just done. But that didn’t make it any better. I barely slept in days, and when I did I kept having dreams about it. Even in daytime I kept imagining there was blood on my hands. I felt like Lady Macbeth.’

  ‘You need to forgive yourself,’ McLeod told her. ‘Not merely tell yourself it doesn’t matter because it was all fake: you need to forgive yourself for what you believed you’d done. There have been times in all our lives when we wish we could turn back the clock and find that something awful was no longer true. You’ve been given that chance, but it doesn’t work unless you can wipe away what it did to you.’

  It sounded so much more convincing coming from her than if I or anyone else had said it. She had gravitas or authority or something. It didn’t just come across as well-intentioned advice: it was like she’d lived it.

  So we were both in a much more relaxed and thoughtful frame of mind by the time she started filling us in on the investigation. I guessed this was intentional, as nothing she told us was easy to hear.

  ‘Our colleagues in Germany have been moving on this with great speed and … well, I’d love to avoid using the word “efficiency”, but it is what it is. They believe they’ve identified the suspect photographed by Jack Parlabane in Alexanderplatz. Can you confirm that this is the man you saw in Madrid and later believed you had shot in Berlin?’

  McLeod spun her laptop around to face us. She must have seen it in our expressions, though she still needed us to say it. There was no question but that we were looking at the coked-up psycho we’d seen stab Hannah in that basement.

  ‘I can reassure you that not only is he not dead, he’s not a cop either. His name is Gerd Augenthaler. He’s officially a Bad Candy employee and unofficially one of Bodo’s gangmasters, managing groups of girls on tour at expos and conventions. He was last known to be in Cologne, where he is now believed to be lying low since word got back that his boss’s trip to Scotland was a bit of a disappointment.’

  McLeod turned the laptop again and worked the keyboard.

  ‘If you don’t mind, Heike, I’d like you to look at some more pictures they’ve sent us and tell me if you see the man who accompanied Bodo Hoefner to Islay.’

  McLeod went through several mugshots, getting no response until the fourth one, at which point Heike said: ‘That’s him. The oily prick.’

  ‘Jackpot,’ McLeod confirmed. ‘The other shots were control pictures, so the Germans will be pleased you picked him out so unequivocally. This man actually is a cop. He isn’t from the unit he claimed, but he is a serving officer in Berlin. They have long believed that the reason they’ve struggled with monitoring Bodo’s activities is because he had a man on the inside, feeding back information. They just didn’t know who or from where.’

  ‘Well, they do now,’ Heike said, bitterness mixing with some satisfaction.

  ‘The UK Border Agency can confirm that he entered and left Glasgow on the appropriate dates, plus Caledonian MacBrayne are supplying CCTV footage that should, we hope, put him on the ferry to Islay, but the German police may require you to give evidence in Berlin.’

  ‘If it’s to bring down this sex-trafficking operation, they can name the day and I’m there. I don’t care where I have to fly from.’

  McLeod shifted a little in her chair and cleared her throat. It wasn’t like some obvious calling-to-order moment, the conductor rapping his baton on the stand, but it definitely sounded like an overture to something.

  ‘At the German end it’s looking like a very complex case, but the web is starting to un
ravel. With a sudden collapse at the top of the management structure the police in Berlin are getting the sense that some of the girls may be feeling emboldened to give evidence. One in particular has already come forward.’

  ‘If it’s that bitch Kabka, you can’t trust her,’ said Heike. ‘She’ll lie to save her own skin. She was in on the con. She brought the gun along and all but put it in my hands.’

  ‘Heike’s right,’ I added. ‘She’s a liar, and a convincing one too. Back in Rostock she was the one who spun Heike the whole story. I guess they played it that way because it’s harder to press someone for details when it’s second hand.’

  ‘It isn’t Kabka,’ McLeod told us. ‘She’s in the wind, and she’s left fewer traces than your man Gerd. From what we’ve learned about her, that’s not surprising. She’s a survivor. She wasn’t lying about most of her own story. She was a prostitute, but what she neglected to tell you was that she has moved up to management, shall we say. She’s manipulative and resourceful, but to be honest I’m finding it difficult to judge her too harshly, given what she’s been through.’

  Heike gave a small nod, her rage partly derailed by this thought. I didn’t have a lot of charitable feelings in my heart for Kabka either, but I felt the gas get turned down a notch on my anger too.

  ‘The girl who’s been speaking to the police is called Lenka. She was close to Hannah, or Anezka as she knew her. They were both Slovakian, and they shared digs. Anezka had confided in Lenka about what she was involved with. She had been offered a deal for the return of her passport and the cancelling of her debt if she carried off this deception. However, according to Lenka, she became very conflicted.’

  McLeod gave Heike a sympathetic look, but somehow I could tell not all of it was for her.

  ‘She had to listen to all of your music and learn everything she could about you, and according to Lenka she became genuinely fixated.’

  ‘A method performance,’ Heike suggested, her voice sad and quiet.

  ‘To say the least. Anezka began to feel that there truly was a connection between you as a result of the time you’d spent together, so she felt awful about what she was involved in. Then, perhaps unsurprisingly, once the charade was over Bodo reneged on his end of the deal. According to Lenka, he genuinely did mean to make more money from Anezka by trading off her resemblance to you. Bodo confiscated her phone, in case she tried to double cross him by calling you to prove she was alive. That was when she decided to run away and find you. Ironically, she thought you could save her for real. If she tracked you down and told you the truth, blowing the lid off the scam, you would help her escape her life in Berlin.’