Flesh and Blood (DS Vicky Dodds Scottish Crime Thrillers Book 2)

by Ed James

  Made her smile to think that Alan had thought it was named after the French philosopher rather than a raiding Viking warlord from a thousand years ago.

  Her gamble paid off — the Subaru was still there, stuck between two parking bays. It cut in front of a bus and tore off up West Path.

  And Vicky lucked out again. The bus screeched to a halt, but the oncoming traffic didn’t immediately shift to fill the gap, so she ploughed over the high street and followed the Subaru up West Path.

  As she drove, she put her phone to her ear. ‘Karen, still there?’

  ‘Yeah. Apparently MacDonald signed it out this morning, but Considine has had it all afternoon.’

  ‘Typical. Call him.’ Vicky ploughed on up the hill, Borrie’s Brae or whatever it was called, but the Subaru took the sharp left along Braefoot.

  What the hell?

  Vicky followed the car round onto Wallace Street, all streets Vicky had walked as a school kid, when these quiet back streets swarmed with children for ten minutes every night, just like the golf crowd over the other side of the train line.

  And she now had no idea where Alan was going.

  Oh, wait a sec.

  Christ, he was heading for her mum and dad’s.

  Why? Had he been speaking to her old man?

  Dad had turned up pissed the other night at her house, around the same time Alan had made his move.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Bingo. The Subaru pulled up at the end, indicating right. Post-war council houses on both sides, pockmarked with recent developments in all the gaps that they used to play in as kids way back when.

  Vicky slowed and waited for a car to navigate the curve, then turned into Bruce Drive. She stopped at the end and watched it take the left.

  Definitely heading for her parents’ house.

  Obviously to speak to her dad. But why?

  Vicky set off, following the exact path and, sure enough, they were parked outside. Alan and Considine.

  What the hell were they up to?

  Vicky pulled up two houses away, where the circuit completed, just in case they made a run for it. She put her phone to her ear. ‘Karen, have you got hold of Considine?’

  ‘Nope. Phone’s off.’

  ‘Interesting. Stay there.’ Vicky killed the call and got out onto the pavement. She snapped out her baton and walked over to the Subaru.

  The engine was still running, coughing out sickly fumes. Vicky sneaked up the driver side, every step made her think it was going to jerk away from her and escape. She opened the door and snapped a handcuff on the hairy wrist. ‘Stephen, you’ve really done it now.’

  But it wasn’t Considine.

  35

  MacDonald just sat there, shaking his head at her, full of disappointment. ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’

  Vicky got in the back, in the middle, leaving the door open, just in case. She didn’t say anything, just let this play out.

  ‘What have you got on me?’ MacDonald looked round at Alan in the passenger seat. ‘Sitting in a car with a journalist? It’s not a crime.’

  ‘You were just going to chat to my old man about the golf, were you?’

  Alan sat back, arms folded, and laughed. His limp fringe was hanging free, down to his jawline.

  But she couldn’t look at him. Not yet, anyway. ‘Euan, you’ve been leaking to him about an active murder investigation. Two pairs of bodies. Four deaths, all in. And your actions are in danger of fucking that up royally.’

  ‘You’ve got the wrong end of the stick here.’

  ‘But I am holding one end of the stick in question and I’m going to smack it across your face. Several times.’

  MacDonald just sat there, scowling at Vicky, drumming his fingers off the wheel.

  ‘Euan, what has he been giving you?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘So what have you been giving him?’

  ‘Come on, Vicky. After I helped you connect the dots with that victim and her poor, poor mother, this is the thanks I get?’

  She turned her attention to Alan. ‘What have you got on him?’

  He paused. ‘Nothing.’

  Meaning there was something.

  ‘So what was going on back there at the Slab? Dogging?’

  MacDonald just sat there, his lips twitching. He was looking right at Vicky, eyes narrowed to little black coals burning away. ‘Hardly.’

  But Vicky had a good idea what Alan might have on him. ‘Come on, Euan. There had to be something. Money, drugs, jelly babies. What was it?’

  ‘I’m not talking.’ And he was shaking his head.

  ‘You’ve got more money than a DS should have. Flash car, nice flat.’

  His eye was twitching. ‘It’s not money.’

  ‘So what is it?’

  He just sighed.

  ‘You need to talk to me here, Euan. I can be on your side.’

  ‘Yeah and you can throw me to the wolves.’

  She wasn’t ready to strike yet. ‘You told him about Bella, didn’t you?’

  ‘That wasn’t your secret to hide from him.’ MacDonald shook his head. ‘How can you keep the fact that you had his kid from him?’

  Christ. Alan wasn’t even looking at her, but he was getting at her. Using MacDonald to attack her.

  ‘You want to tell him, Alan?’

  He still didn’t look her way.

  Vicky leaned forward on the seat. ‘He knew I was pregnant and he left me. So you shouldn’t feel any sympathy for him.’

  MacDonald looked over at Alan, but it didn’t look like he was going to lash out. So he was definitely being blackmailed here.

  ‘So what does he have on you?’

  ‘You could’ve got a transfer and be working in the Edinburgh MIT by now. Your old mate Scott would put in a good word.’

  Vicky felt a shiver, saw the goosebumps spreading up her bare arms. ‘Hardly. Scott was a DC.’

  ‘Not any more.’

  She sighed. ‘The truth is, Alan, I just couldn’t be arsed with you anymore. You left me here in Tayside and it’s fine. I’m fine. Bella’s fine. It’s not been a picnic, but I can’t imagine how bad it would’ve been with you in the picture. No father is better than an absent one.’

  He stared into space.

  ‘How did you identify Marianne?’

  ‘You really want to know?’ Alan leaned back, grinning so wide that Vicky wanted to smash his teeth in or pull them out with pliers. ‘Someone at the paper was doing an investigation into this escort agency. Chance thing, but Marianne Gall was covered in a story about them. One of her “clients”—’ He even did the rabbit ears. ‘—got caught in a sting and spoke on the record, and gave us some photos of her. Never used in a story, but when I got hold of the photo of your victim, I ran it through our facial recognition tech, which is badass.’

  ‘Euan gave you that photo?’

  Alan craned his neck to look at her. ‘I’m not answering that.’

  ‘Okay, so you were merely blackmailing a police officer, then?’

  He turned round, shaking his head. ‘That’s bollocks, and you know it.’

  ‘Really? Because I know you’ve got something on him.’

  And MacDonald’s neck was burning red, just a few shades shy of Forrester’s sunburn the previous day.

  Vicky left a long pause.

  Alan wrapped his long fringe behind his ear, but he crumpled first. ‘Well he shouldn’t be such a dirty bastard, should he?’

  ‘Seriously, shut up.’

  Alan smirked. ‘What, you don’t want me to tell her what you’ve been up to?’

  MacDonald looked like he was going to smack him one, but looked over at Vicky with his wrists raised. ‘You mind taking these off?’

  ‘I do mind, but seeing as it’s you.’ Vicky reached over and undid them.

  ‘Thanks.’ MacDonald got out of the car and slammed the door behind him.

  Vicky kept an eye on him. Last thing she wanted was for him to do a
runner. Maybe letting him go was a bad move.

  Alan looked round at Vicky. ‘I heard about this website where married men can date on the sly. Hooks in to Schoolbook so there’s a trust thing too. Sign NDAs with the girls, so they think they can get away with it. But my source told me it had a few politicians on there. So I went on and started catfishing.’

  ‘Catfishing?’

  ‘I pretended to be a woman looking for men.’

  Normally Vicky would make a joke about it, but speaking to Amy earlier… Well. ‘I imagine that was easy for you given how good a liar you are.’

  ‘Anyone could’ve done it, Vicks. It was like shooting fish in a barrel with a rocket launcher. Their guard was as far down as their trousers. I was running a sting, tracking about fifteen MPs and MSPs, and boy did I luck out.’ Alan waved at Euan outside. ‘Turns out it wasn’t Ewan MacDonald, the MSP for Galloway and West Dumfries, but one DS Euan MacDonald.’ He sat back and beamed wide. ‘Stupid prick here just turned up in a hotel room, expecting to shag this young model.’

  ‘Was the model there?’

  ‘Well, obviously. It was all above board. Had to actually hire her. Five lassies, all in, used their photos to snare these stupid twats. She was in the hotel room, pretending to be who I was pretending to be on that website. What was her name again? Crystal. Crystal McKay. And it was actually her birth name. And it sure didn’t take Mac here long to get her into bed. Glass of champers and bingo.’

  ‘What, you burst in with a photographer?’

  ‘Give me a little bit more credit, Vicks. No, the whole thing was recorded.’

  ‘That’s blackmail.’

  ‘Vicks, Vicks, Vicks, you know me better than that. We met up and I gave him a chance to put his story across, and boy did he start singing. Offered me anything in exchange for keeping his identity secret.’

  Vicky gripped the seat back like it was the only thing that would stop her from leathering Alan. ‘That’s still technically blackmail.’

  ‘No. See, I’ve got copy filed with my editor, ready to go at the push of a button. “Dundee Cop In Online Vice Sting”. And I know the law. He’s a source now.’

  ‘A source of what?’

  Alan just shrugged.

  Vicky wanted to throttle the smug bastard. ‘What did he give you?’

  ‘More what he didn’t.’ Alan shifted his chair round to look at her. ‘I just sat back and listened while he sang his heart out.’ He gave that look, the one that told her he was on to her. ‘He told me all about your team. Forrester. Considine, Woods, Buchan, Summers. All of them. What really happened to this lad Ennis who was here before him. And he was talking about someone called Vicky or Victoria that he worked with, and who he was in love with.’

  Vicky felt like spiders were crawling all over her skin. ‘He’s not in love with me.’

  ‘Try telling him that.’ Alan raised an eyebrow. ‘Doesn’t seem like your type, though.’

  ‘Yeah, I go for creepy weirdos.’

  ‘Funny. No, I mean I’ve seen his wife.’ Alan whistled, leering like a sex case. ‘And he’s got a kid on the way? Shagging around like that? It’s fascinating, though. What makes a guy like that do it? Naughty, naughty, very naughty. Didn’t stop you snogging him.’

  Vicky’s glare shut him up.

  ‘And I asked him about you, but I eventually found out you had a daughter. Vicky Dodds. Victoria. My Vicks.’ A snarl cut across his lips. ‘The woman who cut me out of my daughter’s life for literally no reason.’

  So Alan had MacDonald by the short and curlies. He’d blabbed, put Bella at risk.

  ‘Wait here.’ Vicky reached for the key then stepped out into the heat.

  MacDonald was standing there, head bowed. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You stupid, stupid bastard. You’ve got a gorgeous young wife who’s having your kid and you’re—?’

  ‘This isn’t the right time for us to have it.’

  ‘It?’

  ‘Them. Him, her. I’m not up on personal pronouns like you are.’

  ‘You’re a fucking idiot.’

  MacDonald looked at her and moisture filled his eyes. ‘I can’t do this. I’m not ready.’

  ‘So you’ve been meeting desperate women online? You make me sick.’

  ‘Vicky, I’m just…’

  ‘Divorce her. Be a single guy and pay her to raise your kid. Be yourself. Don’t make her suffer. Don’t make your child suffer.’

  ‘I can’t do that either.’

  ‘You’re just going to live a lie?’

  He wiped at his eyes. ‘It seems better than any alternative.’

  ‘How’s that going to impact your kid? At least give Zoey the choice here.’

  ‘I… Maybe you’re right.’

  Vicky pointed at Dad’s house. ‘Why are you here?’

  MacDonald just shook his head.

  Vicky stared at him. How could he let them down so badly? ‘Stay out here. Call Forrester and tell him to come.’ She got back in the car and sat behind the wheel. ‘What do you want from my dad?’

  In the passenger seat, Alan was smoothing his hair over and over. Vicky wanted to cut it all off.

  ‘You were just going to doorstop him?’

  ‘That was the plan, aye.’

  ‘Alan, I know you. Better than you think. You’ve got something. Spill. Now.’

  ‘Only if I can speak to your dad.’

  It didn’t feel like she had a choice, but Vicky wanted to run a hundred miles away. But she needed to know what they had. ‘You’re not getting anywhere near him without spilling the beans to me first.’

  ‘Fine.’ Alan folded his arms. ‘Trouble is, you’ve got two pairs of victims killed by a serial killer who died years ago. Real big mystery, huh? You hear they’re shutting my old paper?’

  ‘The North East News?’

  ‘Right. “All the best coverage of Tayside, Angus, The Mearns and Grampian.” Hardly the Press & Journal, not even the Courier, but it sold well. Until it didn’t, so they’re shutting the offices. This lad I know from way back when, he’s in charge of closing the Dundee and Aberdeen offices, centralising all the print and editorial operations in Edinburgh along with the Argus and the Strathclyde Star. Lucky they’re not merging it with the London Post, but hey ho.’

  ‘This got a point?’

  ‘Anyway, the Dundee office has a treasure trove in their vault. Shug knew I was working this case so he dug out what we had on Atreus from back in the day. We have evidence that Jim Sanderson wasn’t Atreus.’

  Vicky couldn’t speak. ‘Shut up. We’ve got his DNA. It was him.’

  ‘Aye?’

  And the doubts nibbled at her. ‘What do you have?’

  ‘Your boss prosecuted the right man, but for the wrong crime. Sanderson raped them, sure, but he wasn’t the killer.’

  ‘So who was?’

  Alan wagged a finger in front of her. ‘You want what I’ve got? I get my interview with your old man. No questions.’

  36

  Vicky knocked on the door and stepped back.

  MacDonald was sitting in the Subaru like a good boy, without the key. No sign of Forrester’s car on the street behind them, but then no messages from him warning her not to go through with it.

  Alan was nosying through the front window. ‘Remember when you brought me here to meet your parents?’

  ‘Quit it.’ Vicky’s mouth was dry now. Her voice sounded like somebody else’s.

  ‘Well, I thought this place was a crap heap, but I can see why you still live here. It’s a nice town. Quiet, safe. Well, safe enough. I can see how you’ve turned out like you have. I can see why you didn’t come through to Edinburgh with me. And I can see it’s been good for Bella.’

  He was getting to her, and she couldn’t help but feel that thickness in her throat.

  ‘She’s a good kid. Think she could be a footballer.’

  ‘Let’s just see what she wants to be.’ She glanced at Alan and it felt nothing like that t
ime when she’d brought him down from Dundee to meet them. Then she told herself she was in love with him, but now…

  Now she saw right through his bullshit.

  What the hell did she ever see in him?

  But that was the wrong way round, wasn’t it? When they first met in that pub in Aberdeen, he was all over her. Charming her, getting inside her head, making her depend on him emotionally. Three years together, then breaking up and her becoming a cop back in Tayside. And he became a reporter in Dundee and he opened the door again, deepening the hold he had on her. Another three years, then just like that he was off.

  But she was on to him now. Stronger and wiser. And, given his blood flowed through her veins, Vicky was astonished that Bella was turning out so well.

  The door opened and Vicky’s dad stood there, glasses dangling from the chain round his neck. ‘Vicky? Your mother’s not here.’

  ‘Through in Glasgow, right?’

  ‘Stuck in traffic. Told her to avoid the Erskine Bridge, but would she listen?’

  ‘Typical, eh?’ Vicky gave him a grin and a few seconds. ‘Dad, I—’

  Alan stepped forward. ‘Hi, George. It’s been a while.’

  Dad jolted backwards. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘Long story, George.’ Alan grinned at him. ‘Just the small matter of having evidence that Sanderson wasn’t the killer.’

  ‘We know that, son. He’s dead. Vicky’s hunting a copycat.’

  ‘No, I mean back in the day. It wasn’t Sander—’

  ‘What?’ Dad stepped out and looked like he was going to crack him one. ‘Vicky, what’s he talking about?’

  ‘Dad.’ Vicky grabbed his arm. ‘He’s got proof.’

  ‘Have you seen it?’

  ‘That’s the thing. He wants to speak to you first.’

  ‘Cheeky little shite. Well, I’m not speaking to him.’

  Alan smiled wide. He knew he was getting at them. ‘George, if he can prove Sanderson wasn’t Atreus, then you were right.’

  ‘And how’s that any use to me now?’

  ‘It’s not. But there’s someone copying him now. Four victims down and…’

  Dad stared at him, but his anger had fizzled out. ‘Through here.’ He led them inside and opened the study door.