Robert Parker - Snow Storm

“Something was annoying me about our friend Mr Petrovsky,” the good doctor began. “I had some time on my hands. Believe it or not it has actually been a comparatively quiet week given the time of year, so I took some time to mull it over and dig a little deeper.” He uncovered the head which looked to be considerably more shrivelled than previously and gently moved it round to face Burke. “Note the slight abrasions to the nose and forehead. I had discounted them at first if I’m totally honest, thought perhaps they’d happened when the witness dropped him and he hit the pavement.”

“OK,” Burke replied. I’d probably have thought the same.

“You see these marks here?” Brown continued as Burke nodded at the spots on Vlad’s head which had been shaved, revealing more abrasions. “These are actually where he hit the ground. You see? Less like the grazes on the nose and forehead.”

Burke nodded again, wondering where this was going.

“I had my suspicions so I took swabs from the grazes along with samples of the nasal mucus.”

“And?”

“Brick dust.”

“Brick dust? So what, he got his face scraped on a brick wall?”

“He did that. And looking closer at his scalp,” Brown motioned to an area of what was left of Vlad’s hair which lay askew compared with the rest of the direction of growth. “You see how this area is disturbed slightly?”

“Think yours might be like that too after a night like he had.”

“True, what there is of it, but the point is that he’s missing a few hairs in this area.”

“I see, so you think someone held his hair by this point?”

“Now we’re getting there. And what else can we deduce from this information?”

“He was offed by a left hooker,” Burke answered, partly telling himself this. “They had him face first against a brick wall so he got scratched and inhaled some dust. They had to hold the head with the right hand and hack with the left, assuming it was the same person, which I’d say it probably was.”

“Well I don’t think I’d hold his head while you hacked away at it with a machete,” Brown agreed. “Much as I trust your steady hand,” he added pointing at Burkes shaking paw. “Smoke less Jim, exercise more.”

“I’ll try,” Burke agreed, neither meaning it nor taking it too seriously. “Are you able to find out what kind of brick dust it is? Where it comes from possibly?”

“Of course,” Brown replied matter-of-factly, as though the question was scarcely worth the effort of answering. “It’ll take some time though, a couple of days at a civilised time of year, so hopefully we’ll hear before Christmas.”

Burke scoffed a tired laugh. “Anything else?” he asked.

“Regarding the headless henchman, no, but as for this fellow.” He pulled back the second cover revealing the body of the garrotting victim. “We’re still checking for dental records, nothing so far. He has several fillings, all done the expensive way with the white stuff.”

“Everyone’s paranoid about mercury these days. Even yardies eh?”

“Indeed they are, although when it comes to symptoms like memory loss you’d think they should be more worried about twenty first century living and its inherent lack of focus.”

Andy checked the time on his wrist. 21:07. They’d been here for the guts of four hours now and they weren’t too sure what was going on with their targets. They’d relented to Davie’s constant whining about wanting some scran and after winding him up for an hour -they had time to kill- they’d allowed him to go to Wigtown to replenish supplies at the Co-op. He’d turned up over an hour later with a couple of big bags of Doritos and a selection of pre-packaged sandwiches he said he’d finished up getting from the Shell garage in Newton. He’d needed to have a cheeseburger fresh from the microwave he said. He was a lot like a pregnant woman really, constant cravings, an excess of hormones and a not insubstantial belly. Rumour had it he had been tested for hermaphroditism on account of the size of his man boobs. Andy knew it was a rumour as he’d been in the pub when Colin started it.

Davie seemed a little more contented having scoffed the cheeseburger, or the two cheeseburgers it had turned out to be, so much so that after downing a litre of Powerade, seemingly oblivious of the fact it was supposed to be a sports drink, he fell asleep. Colin ensured this didn’t become too deep a slumber by throwing clods of frozen earth at his beloved car. The big man responded by bombarding the airwaves with expletive ridden transmissions questioning his brother’s parentage.

They couldn’t stay still for long. Despite their being well wrapped up the cold was bitter, made all the worse by the damp in the air. It was oppressive and all encompassing. This strip of land had once been waterlogged. It doubtless soon would be again and the mists clung to it at the best of times. They moved back and forth between the car and the airstrip. Emboldened by the peace so far, they walked at full height, hardly bothering to keep quiet.

Davie’s music got louder and he decided to demonstrate the perfect handbrake turn to Colin, regardless of the fact there was a layer of frost on the ground. He flicked on the not strictly road legal blue neon strip lights under the car, lighting up the tarmac underneath with an eerie glow. After some showboating and a few serious claims regarding Colin’s assertion that his younger brother’s ego was writing cheques his Peugeot couldn’t cash, Davie was primed for action.

He began at one end of the track running along the side of the airstrip, revving the engine and preparing with a few minor wheel-spins. When he was ready, the music was turned up decisively and Kanye West blasted from the back of the car, competing for attention with the drilled exhaust pipe. He finally let the clutch out for the last time, and starting with a triumphant wheel-spin that must have extended several metres and taken several thousand miles off his tyres, he made his approach.

From Andy’s vantage point, out on the far side of the airfield, he watched as the light show took shape. The blue lights under the car and the matching bulbs he’d seen fit to install in the headlamps lit up the woods to the other side. As the car tore along the side of the fence the light spread out across the strip, distorting, flickering and moving as Davie crossed each fence post, making the whole thing look as though it was happening on black and white cine-film, even if it was anything but silent.

He came to the end of his run up, swerved to the right ready for the handbrake and understeered, continuing in a straight line on the ice as the front wheels failed to respond to their orders. Without warning they bit properly and the car lurched forcefully in the desired direction but he’d overdone it. Andy’s heart jumped into his mouth and all he could do was stare. The car spun once, throwing light around the whole area, and then again and again. Each time it looked as though it should surely slow as the foreshortening took effect but each time it continued headed towards an inevitable sickening crunch. It never happened. The car finally came to a halt as all three breathed a sigh of intense relief.

The words “Am OK,” broadcast over the CB band confirmed all was well. He didn’t seem to have any witticisms for once.

Andy shook his head and wandered off down the strip towards the entrance to the complex, feeling a surge in confidence brought about by the idiot’s lucky escape and resolving to bite the bullet.

He moved slowly but purposefully, leaving the Chuckle Brothers to dissect the events of the past few seconds and pushing himself to get to the entrance before common sense kicked in and he thought better of it. He made it to the south side of the strip, passing the old wind sock which hung limply, bogged down by the weight of ice crystals and began to hear an engine. He marched faster now, all thoughts of common sense banished from his mind, all thoughts of anything other than getting a sneak peek at what was inside and where they were going.