A Song for the Dying

by Stuart MacBride

Ness stepped back into the room and slipped her mobile into her pocket. ‘That was Manchester. The lipstick, earrings, and underwear in Docherty’s suitcase are from a series of rape-murders they’ve had on their books for six years.’ She perched on the edge of the meeting table, next to the triangular conference-call unit, and looked me up and down. ‘Seems you and Dr McDonald were right about him.’

  ‘Has he said where Jessica McFee is?’

  ‘Docherty’s still in with his solicitor, being schooled in the art of “no comment”.’

  I printed the details from Noel’s text in clear biro letters on one of the conference pads. Tore the sheet off and handed it to her. ‘Angus Boyle, AKA: Boxer, works as a nurse up at CHI. We think he’s the one who sold Docherty the drugs.’

  Ness took a deep breath, head on one side as she read the address and phone number. ‘Will he say that in court?’

  ‘Might if you cut him a deal.’

  She narrowed her eyes and squinted at me for a couple of beats. ‘Thank you, Mr Henderson. Looks like the stories about you might actually have been true.’

  Alice stood up straight. ‘I’d like to advise on the interview.’

  That got her a thin smile. ‘Ah, yes…’ Ness glanced at Jacobson. ‘It’s not that we don’t think you’d do a terrific job, but you’re too close. And his defence will use the fact you kicked him in the balls to question your judgement and our impartiality.’

  ‘But he’s manipulative, he knows what you’re going to ask him, he can make it sound like—’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor, but we have to be beyond reproach on this. I’m not letting some slimy weasel lawyer get him off on a technicality.’

  ‘Oh…’ Her shoulders drooped.

  I limped over to the window. The blockade of lenses and microphones was growing thicker. ‘OLDCASTLE DIVISION CATCH THE INSIDE MAN’ would be all over the news tonight, and in every paper tomorrow.

  Assuming Docherty was capable of doing the decent thing and putting his hand up to it.

  I turned my back on the press. ‘What about DNA?’

  Knight grimaced. ‘He’s had access to every crime scene since the third victim, and every bit of evidence we’ve ever gathered. He’s even attended the post mortems. Finding his DNA’s not worth the spit it’s in.’

  ‘Then you stick him in a room with nice thick soundproof walls, and you give me twenty minutes with an extension lead.’

  Ness pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Mr Henderson, which part of “by the book” are you having trouble with?’

  ‘The part that ends up with Jessica McFee dead.’

  And with her, Shifty.

  A knock at the door, then Rhona stuck her head into the room and waved at Ness. ‘Boss? Docherty’s solicitor says he’s ready to make a statement. You want me to put it on the thing?’ She pointed at the flatscreen TV mounted on the side wall.

  ‘I want to hear this in person. Superintendent Knight?’

  Knight rolled his shoulders. ‘I don’t trust myself to be in the same room with the little bastard right now.’

  ‘Bear?’

  Jacobson grinned. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

  ‘Then Superintendent Knight can keep Mr Henderson and Dr McDonald company. Rhona – as soon as you’ve got the link set up, get back to the team. He’s got Jessica McFee hidden away somewhere: I want her found.’

  Ness marched out, back straight, chin up. Jacobson sauntered along behind her, hands in his pockets, whistling.

  Rhona picked a remote control from the cabinet in the corner and fiddled with it until the big screen filled with a view of Interview Room Two. She placed the remote on the table. Grinned. ‘Great job, Guv. Knew you’d do it.’

  I looked up at the empty room that filled the screen. ‘We’ve not burst him yet.’

  ‘Yeah, but we will.’ She backed towards the exit. Held up both thumbs. ‘Anyway, got to go chase up those—’

  ‘Rhona? Do me a favour – get onto the secure psychiatric ward at CHI and see if they’ve got any record of Docherty visiting either Ruth Laughlin or Marie Jordan, OK?’

  ‘Err… Yeah, sure, no problem.’ She slipped out and closed the door behind her.

  Knight pulled out a chair, almost settled into it, then stood again. Cleared his throat. ‘Would anyone like a tea, or a coffee?’

  Talk about overcompensating.

  Alice wrapped an arm around herself, the other hand working its way through the curls of her hair. ‘If he’s giving a statement it’s so he can mitigate our finding the trophies. He’s not going to admit to abducting Jessica, Laura, and Ruth, killing Claire or any of the others. This will all be a big misunderstanding and he’s desperately sorry about that, but he’s not the man we’re looking for, that man is still out there and that’s why he’s doing the decent thing and coming forward at this time.’

  I sank into one of the conference chairs. ‘Where does he take them?’

  ‘If it’s a house, it’s a place he’s known for years, it takes a lot of effort to set up an operating room, time and money, and you’ve got to know your investment’s secure, I mean what if someone breaks in? They’ll see everything, and it’s not as if he’s in Oldcastle all the time, he’s off around the country, helping the police with their enquiries, so what makes this place safer than anywhere else…?’

  A PC appeared on the big flat screen, followed by Dr Frederic Docherty – hands cuffed in front of him. A thin woman in a dark suit followed them in: short grey hair, pinched face, nails pointed and scarlet. Docherty waited for her to sit, then squeezed himself into the chair next to her. Bit awkward, what with it being bolted to the floor, but he managed.

  Bruises spread across the skin beneath his eyes. A plaster sat across the bridge of his nose. Another bruise at the corner of his mouth.

  Poor baby.

  The PC took up position behind Docherty and stood there, picking his nails, killing time. Probably done this hundreds of times before. Knew the routine off by heart. Lead the suspect in, sit him down, and let him sweat for a bit.

  One minute.

  Two.

  Five.

  Fifteen.

  And all the time Docherty just sat there, still and calm, a little smile pulling one side of his face out of line. Of course, he knew the routine too…

  Finally, Ness walked in, put her phone in her pocket, and took the seat closest to the door, with her back to the camera. Jacobson took the last slot, rubbed his hands together, then went through the usual date, time, and caution bits.

  I turned the volume up.

  Docherty’s lawyer pulled out a sheet of paper and pursed her lips at it. ‘My client has authorized me to read the following statement. He’s aware that there will be certain factions within the investigation who will put a very negative interpretation on the alleged discoveries this afternoon, but—’

  ‘Negative interpretation?’ Ness leaned forward, head tilted to one side. ‘He was found with a collection of trophies from the—’

  ‘Please, Detective Superintendent, we’ll get through this much quicker if you can contain your outbursts until I’ve finished.’ She flicked the paper out. ‘My client deeply regrets any confusion he has inadvertently caused by removing the items from evidence. These were used to facilitate his understanding of the unknown suspect you are pursuing. He felt that keeping these so called “trophies” close by would help him get into the mindset of your killer. The photographs and evidence of masturbation were part of that attempt, and something he found deeply distasteful, but felt necessary. Far from being censured, Dr Docherty deserves your praise for going above and beyond the call of duty to rescue Jessica McFee and bring Claire Young’s killer to justice.’

  Sitting next to her, Docherty nodded, then spread his hands wide. ‘Detective Superintendent, I understand that my actions might look suspect to those unfamiliar with my methodology.’ He gave a little shrug, combined with a little smile. ‘It was my r
esponsibility to make sure that you and the other senior officers were aware of my processes, and it was an error of judgement on my part to have kept that from you. I apologize for that. Unreservedly.’ He clasped his cuffed hands together. ‘But I’m sure you can see now that this is all just a misunderstanding. A case of someone trying a bit too hard to get the right result.’ His eyebrows pinched above that self-deprecating smile. ‘For the victims.’

  Staring up at the TV screen, Knight wriggled in his seat. ‘Dr McDonald, is that … standard practice for forensic psychologists?’

  ‘Well, everyone works in their own way, but certainly I’ve never heard of anyone doing it, then again why would I, I mean it’s not like they’re going to say, “Hey, you’ll never guess what I was up to last night with a box of tissues and some photos of dead women…”’ Pink rushed up her cheeks. ‘I mean, no, it’s not normal. Is it getting warm in here?’

  On screen, Ness drummed her fingers on the table. Thumping out a little tattoo while Dr Docherty sat in perfect stillness opposite. ‘And you really expect us to believe that, do you?’

  He leaned in, cranked the sincerity up a notch. ‘I’m coming forward at this time to prevent the investigation from stalling. To stop you from diverting your attention from the real issue. The Inside Man is still out there. We need to re-examine the evidence and move on.’

  Jacobson shook his head. ‘There is no “we” any more, Dr Docherty.’ He produced a small evidence bag and placed it on the table, a sliver of orange just visible through the clear plastic. That would be the syringe cap. ‘Care to explain why you purchased Thiopental Sodium from a Mr Angus Boyle, also known as “Boxer”, a nurse at Castle Hill Infirmary? It’s a surgical anaesthetic.’ Jacobson leaned forwards in his seat. ‘Have you been performing surgery?’

  Docherty wrinkled his nose and dipped his head. Silly me, how could I forget to mention that?

  He gave Ness a smile. ‘That’s part of the process I should have told you about. At low doses it can act as a mild consciousness suppressant. Dr Henry Forrester would suppress his with whisky before beginning a profile. Dr McDonald does the same. After much experimentation, I’ve found Thiopental Sodium works best for me.’ Another shrug, hands spread palm-upward. ‘But I can understand why you’d be confused about that.’

  Alice wandered over to the screen, staring up at the interview. ‘Can we talk to her?’

  I pulled the conference phone over. ‘What’s Ness’s mobile number?’

  Knight reached into his pocket and came out with a BlackBerry. ‘She did say Dr McDonald wasn’t to consult.’

  More hair twiddling. ‘But she’s not asking the right questions.’

  He fidgeted with the phone. ‘We have to maintain evidential integrity.’

  I leaned in close. ‘Docherty’s going to keep his mouth shut, and Jessica McFee, Ruth Laughlin, and Laura Strachan are going to die. They’re going to starve and dehydrate till their organs pack in. And you’re just going to sit here and let it happen?’

  Not to mention what Wee Free was going to do to Shifty.

  ‘It’s not that simple, it—’

  ‘You called Docherty in on the investigation. He’s here because of you.’

  Knight chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. ‘Fine.’ He reached across and punched a number into the conference phone. Sat back.

  The speaker burred, then what sounded like a hard-rock version of ‘Scotland the Brave’ came from the TV. Ness sagged a little, swore, then pulled out her phone. ‘I’m busy.’

  Tough. I tapped the microphone. ‘You’re asking the wrong questions.’

  On screen, her back stiffened, she turned her back on the table, voice dropping to a whisper. ‘Do you have any idea how unprofessional you’re—’

  ‘Hey, I’m not the one who left my phone on during a major interview, OK?’ I pointed. ‘Go on then.’

  Alice leaned over the table, her voice raised. ‘I know you said you didn’t want my help, but whoever’s advising you isn’t doing it right. He’s rehearsed for all this, every bit of evidence you bring up, he’s going to have an explanation for.’

  ‘And you think you can change that, do you?’

  ‘He’s laid down a challenge for you – if he’s been doing all this to get into the Inside Man’s head, what insights has he got?’

  ‘I really don’t—’

  ‘Docherty’s egotistical and narcissistic in public, shy and uncertain in private. The persona you’re dealing with right now wants to show off. Let him. If we can get him caught up in the fantasy that this is all just an innocent misunderstanding he can talk about what he’s done as if it’s someone else and we can use that to find his victims.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She held the phone against her chest. ‘So, Dr Docherty, if you did all this to understand the Inside Man better, what did you come up with?’

  He turned and smiled up at the camera. ‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t Dr McDonald. What an excellent question.’

  ‘All that “distasteful” masturbating over photos of murdered women, what did it get you?’

  He kept his gaze where it was. ‘I want you to know that I won’t be pressing charges for assault, Doctor. I know it was just a misunderstanding. Heat of the moment. Anyone without all the facts would have done the same.’

  Jacobson knocked on the table top. ‘Come on then, Dr Docherty: what did you learn?’

  He pulled his gaze away from the camera. ‘The Inside Man is a very complicated animal. His hatred of women stems from his abusive relationship with his mother…’

  The CID room was packed – everyone on the phone to some agency or other, chasing things down. A blown-up photo of Dr Docherty sat in the middle of the whiteboard, surrounded by boxes and lines and question marks.

  I perched on the edge of Rhona’s desk. ‘Anything?’

  She pulled the biro from her mouth. ‘He’s got a handful of elderly relatives with property in Castleview, Blackwall Hill, Dundee, and Stonehaven. The Mire and Tayside are running theirs down. Waste of time – no way he’s butchering them in Dundee then wheeching them up the A90 to dump them here – but you know what it’s like. We’ve got cars out to the others.’ Rhona swivelled her chair left and right, arms hanging limp at her side. She nodded at Docherty’s photograph. ‘Always knew he was a slimy tosser… The Super still not burst him yet?’

  ‘Says he was only taking trophies from evidence so he could think like the Inside Man.’

  ‘You should have a crack at him, Guv.’

  ‘It’s not a movie. They don’t let civilians interview serial killers in real life.’

  ‘Hmmm…’ A nod. Then she pulled out her notebook and flipped it open at the marker. ‘I spoke to the guy in charge of the psychiatric wards at Castle Hill Infirmary, a Professor Bartlett. Seems Dr Frederic Docherty was a regular visitor when Ruth Laughlin and Marie Jordan were admitted. Spent about six months doing follow-up therapy, pro bono.’

  Poor sods. What the hell did he say to them? Sitting there, once a week, all alone in a room with the women he’d violated. Did he mock them? Relive the fantasy, playing with himself while they sat there, doped up to the eyeballs?

  I thunked my cane off the floor a couple of times. Stared out of the window at the carrion-crow clouds draping their dark wings over the city.

  Where the hell did he take them…

  ‘Get onto the CCTV monkeys – I want them going through all the ANPR tapes for the last four days looking for Docherty’s Volvo. If we’re lucky, we might get a clue what part of town to look at.’

  ‘Might take a couple of days to run everything through the Automatic Number Plate Recognition System – you know what they’re like.’

  ‘So threaten them.’

  ‘Sold.’ Rhona grinned. ‘Tell you something: there’s definitely going to be a party tonight.’ The smile slipped. ‘You’re still coming, right?’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the… Sodding hell.
’ I dug out my unofficial phone. ‘Henderson.’

  Wee Free McFee: ‘Where’s my bloody daughter?’

  I put a hand over the mouthpiece and stood. ‘Sorry, got to take this.’ Then limped out of CID and down the corridor. ‘We’re running down every address he’s had access to in the city. We’ll find her.’

  ‘“After the number of the days in which ye searched the land, even forty days, each day for a year, shall ye bear your iniquities. Even forty years, and ye shall know my breach of promise.”’

  ‘God’s sake – we’re doing it, OK? Now sod off and let me do my job!’

  Silence.

  ‘You still there?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Hello?’

  Pfff…

  I settled back against the wall, took the weight off my right foot. Let the hot glass settle between the bones. ‘I know how it feels. When Rebecca went missing, we thought she’d run away. Thought we’d done something wrong. Been bad parents.’ I closed my eyes, allowed the darkness in. ‘Then twelve months later, I got the homemade birthday card with a photo of her tied to a chair on it. And soon as I opened it, I knew. I knew it was him, and she wasn’t missing – she was dead.’ The floor was hard against my right foot, setting the glass moving again, driving the shards through the skin. I leaned in to set it burning. Got the fire good and stoked. ‘And I knew that it wasn’t quick. That every year, from then on, I’d get another card showing how he tortured her.’

  Wee Free’s voice was a cold hard rasp. ‘And what would you have done if you knew they had him in a cell, all safe and cosy? Three square meals a day and a nice cup of tea.’

  I’d have torn the bastard’s throat out, and done the same to anyone who’d got in my way.

  48

  Docherty’s lawyer sighed on the TV screen. ‘We’re not really going over this again, are we? My client has made his statement and offered his insight, that’s as far as we’re prepared to be drawn on the matter. My client needs a break.’

  Ness didn’t move. ‘He’s just had a break.’

  Jacobson pulled a sheet of paper from a folder. ‘Well, why don’t we have a bash at something else, then. Dr Frederic Docherty: where were you between the hours of ten last night and three this morning?’