The Gathering Dark: Inspector McLean 8

by James Oswald

  ‘Give me half an hour,’ he said, then remembered the clock. Going-home time. Traffic. ‘Maybe forty-five minutes, aye?’

  ‘It’s not the most up-to-date equipment, but then neither was the truck.’

  McLean stood in one of the smaller rooms in the forensics labs, staring at an inert plastic box with a badly melted and blank screen. It had taken him only thirty-five minutes to drive across town, against all expectations. And he hadn’t even been hurrying. Instead of instantly asking for a lift home, Amanda Parsons had led him through to this lab, where Emma and DC Harrison were deep in conversation. Both of them fell suspiciously silent when he entered the room, which only made the tips of his ears burn more fiercely.

  ‘It doesn’t seem to be working,’ he said.

  ‘I can see why you’re the inspector and Janie’s just a constable.’ Emma gave him a weary smile, then plugged a lead into the back of the box. ‘The screen didn’t enjoy being bathed in that foul gloop they were transporting. What’s the technical term you used, Manda? Fucked, I think it was?’

  ‘Aye, completely fucked.’ Parsons leaned over and tapped at a nearby keyboard, lighting up the computer screen above it. ‘Protected the circuits inside, though. And this wee program of ours can access the memory. See where the truck’s been and where it was going.’

  ‘I have to assume that’s not where we thought it was going, otherwise there’d be little point of dragging me over here other than getting a lift home.’

  ‘Well, if you were heading that way.’ Parsons grinned. ‘Actually, I’m on late shift. Don’t knock off until eight. I thought this was important, though.’ She clicked again, and the screen showed a map similar to the one that appeared on the satnav in McLean’s new car. The clunky graphics looked even worse blown up to a much larger size.

  ‘This is a commercial satnav unit. You can programme routes into it, but it also tracks where you’ve been. It’s connected to the tachograph, too, so drivers can’t cheat and skip their breaks. The more modern ones link up to the internet and do all sorts of fancy stuff so you can see where your delivery is in real time, but this is a bit older. It just records everything on to its memory. Lucky, really, otherwise we’d probably not have found this out.’

  ‘Found what out?’ McLean asked.

  ‘This.’ Parsons clicked the mouse again, and the map redrew itself, showing a route picked out in deep blue, from the compound of Finlay McGregor in Broxburn all the way to the corner of the Western Approach Road and the Lothian Road. There the blue line stopped with a terrible finality.

  ‘What am I looking at?’ McLean stared at the map, unsure what the point was.

  ‘Please don’t tell me you’re colour-blind, Tony.’ Parsons did something with the mouse and the image moved away from the crash site. That was when McLean saw it, a paler line overlaid on top of the bypass, out east along the A1. He looked for it heading off to LindSea Farm Estates, but instead it turned south, heading into the Cheviot Hills.

  ‘This is the route programmed in to the machine?’

  ‘That’s the route your driver was following, aye. He only headed into town because there was a pile-up on the bypass. That’s another thing this clever wee box does. Shouldn’t have done, mind. But then he thought he was just transporting a load of manure. No harm in taking that through the city.’

  McLean stared at the map again. LindSea Farm Estates was marked, but the programmed route missed it by several miles. ‘So where the hell’s he going?’

  ‘Get on to Control will you, Constable? I want a couple of squad cars and some uniform to meet us at the junction before that turning.’

  McLean concentrated on driving, wishing for once that he was in a squad car so he could go the full blues and twos. Evening and morning were always bad times to be trying to negotiate the city bypass, but there was no other way to get from the forensics labs to the A1 and on towards East Fortune without fighting with the traffic in town.

  Beside him in the passenger seat, DC Harrison took out her Airwave and began to make the call. ‘Do we want to go in all guns blazing, sir? I mean, if it’s a proper raid, shouldn’t we scope the place first, find out what’s there and then work out what kind of force we need?’

  McLean eased the car forward another twenty feet before everything ground to a halt again. He hated to admit it, but Harrison was right. Going in unprepared was at best foolish, at worst dangerous. The chemicals in the truck had melted flesh, bone and tarmac. What else might they find, and who might be making sure it wasn’t stumbled upon? On the other hand, what if the evidence was being spirited away while they sat in the major-incident room debating the best way to proceed?

  ‘We need to go there, see it. Or at least get as close as we can without raising suspicion.’ He paused a moment while the traffic inched forward another twenty feet. ‘Can you get DCI McIntyre on that thing?’

  Harrison nodded. ‘Aye, sir. Or I’ve my mobile if you don’t want to go through the Airwave network.’

  McLean looked sideways at the detective constable, raised an eyebrow in surprise at her guile. ‘No, Airwave’s fine. I’m not trying to be a hero. Just want to get out there and see where that truck was meant to be going.’

  Harrison tapped away at the clunky handset, clicking to speakerphone once she had reached the detective chief inspector and explained where they were.

  ‘You’re sure you know what you’re doing, Tony? We could have a squad together for first light tomorrow morning. Go in a bit more heavy-handed.’

  ‘And find out we’ve just blown the department budget on raiding some old farmyard? No. It’s better if we do a bit of reconnaissance beforehand. Work out what we’re dealing with. I reckon we need to have a closer look at Extech, though. Possibly see if we can’t get a warrant to search the premises.’

  ‘You really think they’re the source? I thought they checked out. I mean, the sort of thing they do’s the exact opposite of spreading toxic waste about the place.’

  ‘Aye, exactly. What better way to hide your real game? And the amount of money that’s been sunk into that place doesn’t add up. Even if they are planning on growing tomatoes there soon.’

  ‘Tomatoes?’ Even over the airwaves, McLean could hear the disbelief in Jayne McIntyre’s voice.

  ‘Long story, but as soon as I asked DC Blane to look into the financial side of things the high heidyins started to get anxious. You know how I feel about strings being pulled like that. Especially when it’s the constables getting leaned on.’

  Silence saw them cover a few more yards, and up ahead it looked like the blockage might have begun to ease.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do, Tony. No promises, though. We need justifiable cause for a warrant, not just suspicion and the fact their boss plays golf with our boss.’

  ‘Aye, I know. It would help if I even knew who their boss was, mind. Their chief operations officer was very reticent on the matter, and the paper trail’s not exactly straightforward either. The whole thing’s got dodgy written all over it.’

  46

  The sun still hung low in the northern sky as they pulled off the A1 half an hour later and drove into the hills. Much of the journey had passed in silence, which suited McLean just fine. He never had been one for idle chit-chat except when it happened in a bar and with the lubrication of much ale. Harrison had been content to click away at her phone, texting the major-incident room and waiting impatiently for updates.

  ‘Where was that squad car meant to meet us?’ McLean asked as they approached a wide layby. Dry potholes threatened to destroy the underside of the car, their depths hidden by shadows.

  ‘Should be here, sir.’ Harrison held up her phone with its own satnav map showing the meeting point. Their final destination was only a mile up the road.

  McLean checked his watch. ‘They’re late.’

  ‘Aye, well. Always possible something else’s come up. Maybe someone’s had a crash on the A1, or there’s been a break-in. Want me to call them?’r />
  ‘No. They know where we’re going. They can catch up.’ McLean checked his mirror, indicated and pulled back on to the empty road. Trees lined either side, dark plantation conifers that marched up the hillside in uniform monotony. The entrance to their destination looked more like a forestry track than anything, and was in even worse condition than the layby. McLean drove on a hundred yards to a point where the road was straight, the verge wide enough for him to park.

  ‘You got your walking boots on?’ he asked. Harrison lifted her feet in the footwell to show off some reasonably heavy duty shoes. ‘Near enough, as long as it’s dry.’

  ‘OK, then. Let’s go have a wee nosey.’

  A quiet stillness had settled over the evening, no wind to ruffle the treetops and only the distant roar of the dual carriageway to remind them that life existed elsewhere. McLean took the lead, keeping to the edge of the track and the shadows as they followed it down a shallow, curving slope towards a clearing in the middle of the forest. The light was poorer here, but still plenty to make out old derelict buildings in the trees. The track levelled out in the middle of a collection of old stone sheds, before running off into a deep cutting in the side of the hill. He stopped, looking first at the ground and the tyre tracks, then back the way they had come.

  ‘I think this is an old railway.’ Harrison didn’t quite whisper the words, but she was very quiet. Something about the stillness of the place discouraged noise.

  ‘How do you figure that?’ McLean asked.

  ‘See how the track’s made. It goes back that way through the trees, too.’ Harrison pointed into the forest, and as McLean followed the direction of her finger, he saw what she meant. The line was almost completely overgrown, but the trees were different from the rows of identical firs that spread all around them. Shorter and scrubbier. ‘There’s the remains of a platform there. And this looks like a turning area, judging by the way the ground’s been churned up. All the traffic’s gone that way, though.’ Harrison took a couple of steps along the abandoned railway line in the direction of the cutting and the hill beyond. It curved away sharply, making it impossible to see anything more than fifty feet away.

  ‘This whole area’s criss-crossed with old railway lines.’ McLean started to walk towards the hill, slowly, as if expecting to hear a train coming, even though the iron rails had long since gone. ‘They built them for the mines originally. Then passenger railways became a thing and every big landowner wanted his own. Most of them never made any money, but it’s amazing the amount of effort, the engineering skill that went into building them.’

  ‘Aye, we did a project in school. Went out to see the viaduct at Dalkeith. Didn’t realize there was more this far out, though. The main line keeps closer to the coast, doesn’t it?’

  ‘You can thank Doctor Beeching for that, although I suspect this line closed long before he was even born.’ McLean peered ahead, the gloom descending as the cutting grew ever deeper. He was fairly sure now what lay around the bend, and a kernel of an idea as to exactly what was going on had begun to sprout in the depths of his mind.

  ‘Bloody hell. I wasn’t expecting that.’ DC Harrison stopped and stared. McLean followed her gaze to an ornate, stone-built arch that marked the entrance to a tunnel. The keystone high above them was carved with some ancient family crest, and beneath it the entrance had been blocked up. A large, modern metal roller door, big enough for a container truck, was pulled down to the ground, blocking further progress.

  ‘You see any sign of cameras?’ McLean studied the deep cutting, the stonework and the surrounding trees for any indication that they were being observed.

  ‘Can’t see anything, no.’ Harrison moved a little closer to him. McLean couldn’t blame her; the place had turned creepy all of a sudden and he couldn’t immediately say why.

  ‘Let’s just have a wee closer look then, aye? Then we can go back to the station. Find out who owns this place and get a warrant sorted to search it properly.’

  McLean approached the roller door with caution. Something in the air of the place had him on edge. It was cooler for one thing, his breath almost misting despite it being the height of summer. As he came nearer, he saw that the roller door had a smaller personnel door set into it on one side. A heavy padlock dangled from a hasp by the latch, but when he looked closer he saw that it wasn’t actually locked. Was there someone inside at the moment? Had the last person here forgotten to close everything up properly?

  He turned back to speak to Harrison, found her standing right behind him. Her face was that of a young woman both terrified and determined not to show it.

  ‘You got a phone signal?’ he asked. Harrison almost jumped at the noise, but she pulled out her phone, checked the screen.

  ‘Aye, sir. Not a good one, mind.’

  ‘Well find out where that squad car is, won’t you? I’m going to have a look inside.’

  He knew the moment he reached for the door handle that something was wrong. It wasn’t that it was cold to the touch, far colder than being in the shade should have made it. Nor was it the little jolt of static that leapt from metal to flesh as he grasped it, although that was unsettling, too. More it was a deep sensation of dread, much like he had felt just a few days ago when he had heard the blaring of horns, seen the truck jump the lights, turn oh so slowly and smash into a bus stop filled with people. He almost snatched his hand away, but the moment passed and instead he turned the handle.

  The latch clicked and the door swung open on to darkness. There was the briefest moment of nothing, and then the stench hit him. Worse than the truck crash, this was almost as if he had been doused in whatever foul chemical soup had spilled out over all those people. He staggered back, coughing. Eyes stinging from the onslaught, he barely registered the shout of alarm from DC Harrison. He felt her grab his hand and he blinked away the tears as she tried to drag him off the old railway track. It was impossible to hide, though, the sides of the cutting too steep to climb. Behind him the unbreathable stench from the tunnel, and in front a familiar-looking pickup truck, engine revving as it threatened to run them both down.

  47

  The pickup blocked off their escape completely. Steep sides of the cutting hemmed them in on either side, and behind them there was just the tunnel. McLean wasn’t prepared to bet his life that there was a way out the other end. Far more likely it had collapsed many years before.

  ‘What now?’ Harrison asked, her voice only faltering a little. From where they stood, the windscreen of the truck obscured the face of the driver. McLean had seen that truck before, though, most recently parked at the end of the drive leading to LindSea Farm Estates.

  ‘Get behind me.’ He pulled Harrison towards him, then placed himself between her and the truck.

  ‘I don’t need protecting, sir!’

  ‘Not protecting you, Constable. Shielding you. Get on that phone of yours and find out where that squad car is. We need backup now.’

  Harrison made a small sound that might have been ‘oh’, then made a good impression of a frightened young woman hiding behind her braver male champion while she tapped away at her phone. McLean put his arms out wide, like a man trying to ward off a charging bull, all the while hoping that it would distract the driver of the truck long enough for Harrison to get through.

  And then his skin tingled, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The temperature dropped, and it felt like thunder in the air even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. A strange sensation, almost vertigo, spun his head as something rushed past him, through him. He turned, expecting to see Harrison doing something foolish and heroic, but she was just standing there, eyes wide with fear, frozen to the spot.

  ‘Wha—?’ Her question was cut off by a scream. McLean whirled back around to face the pickup truck. For a moment he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. It was as if a man was standing half in the bonnet, one arm outstretched towards the windscreen. For a split second that made no sense at all, the man turned
his head, looked back.

  McLean blinked, and he was gone. The scream turned into the wail of the engine revved harder than it was ever meant to go. The back end of the pickup truck fishtailed as it sped towards them, kicking up twin plumes of dirt from the track behind it. As the steep banking shaded the windscreen from the glare of the sun, he could just about make out the face of the man driving. Gregor Wishaw had never been a killer, if his file was to be believed, but he had been no stranger to violence. Now he seemed possessed with a rage that distorted his features, eyes popping like he was on ketamine, mouth drawn into a spittle-flecked snarl.

  ‘The tunnel. Quick.’

  McLean pulled Harrison away from the steep banking and back to the open personnel door. Closer in, he began to have second thoughts about his decision as the chemical stench washed over the two of them. The pickup was closer now, still speeding up, and there was something about those mad, staring eyes that suggested having a reasoned discussion wasn’t on Wishaw’s mind.

  ‘Jesus. What’s in here?’ Harrison coughed on the choking air as she stepped into the tunnel. McLean ducked in behind her, moving as swiftly as the darkness would allow to get both of them clear of the roller door. He was vaguely aware of barrels lined up on the tunnel floor, stretching away into the black. Then the truck hit.

  The noise set his ears ringing, a screech of twisted metal and broken glass all too horribly reminiscent of the truck crash. The heavy iron roller door buckled under the impact, bending inwards and folding over. They scurried back further into the tunnel, bumping off metal barrels stacked in long lines. McLean felt dampness under his feet, the caustic material eating away at the soles of his shoes. And still the truck, wrapped in rolled door, kept on coming. If it hit these barrels, split them open …

  ‘Keep moving. Get as far back as possible.’ He coughed out the words as much as shouted, urging Harrison deeper into the tunnel. They squeezed through the narrow gaps, ten, fifteen feet in. McLean risked a glance back, convinced the whole door was going to come crashing down, bring the stone ceiling with it and bury them for ever in this acid grave.