Mo Hayder: Pig Island

'Blood?' I blinked at him. I wasn't getting it, just wasn't getting it at all. 'No. Not blood.'

'Nothing happened that could have left traces of your blood, hair and skin? A fight, maybe? Because the DNA on that thirty-first victim? Remember him — in the chapel? It turns out to be yours, Joe.'

'What?'

'Your DNA. You're our thirty-first victim. And remember that crack in the cupboard at the rape suite?'

I shook my head, holding up my hands and appealing to Danso: 'Hang on, hang on. Where's this going?'

'Sorry. I don't think you heard me — let's try again. That crack in the cupboard at the rape suite? Do you remember when it got there?'

'I said, where's this going?'

'You told my boss here you cracked the cupboard when you were having a fight with your wife. When was that fight?'

'That's it,' I said, pointing a finger at Struthers, fixing him in the eye. 'I said, where the fuck is this going? My DNA's in the chapel, so fucking what? I got a twatting off Dove and they took me somewhere. I was half-conscious so it could have been the chapel, for all I fucking know, but what has it got to do with a fucking cupboard?'

'Don't point at me. Put your hand down.'

'I said, what has that got to do with a fucking cupboard?'

'That's enough.' Danso cleared his throat and looked up at me with watery eyes. 'I didn't want to do it like this, but please,' he pointed at my finger, 'please drop your hand.'

'What's going on?'

'Your hand, please, Joe.'

I lowered it slowly, narrowing my eyes at him. 'Come on, old man. What's happening here?'

'I'm sorry.' He shuffled inside his jacket and pulled out his warrant card, putting it on the table in front of me. He couldn't meet my eyes. 'You know who I am anyway — but let's make it official. That's me, DCI Danso, and I am cautioning you, Joe Oakes, under section fourteen of the Criminal Procedure of Scotland Act, 1995.'

'Cautioning me?'

'You're going to be questioned about a series of murders in Argyllshire at the end of August and in the first week of September 2005, which we believe you may have been involved in.' He put the card back into his pocket and said, 'You're not bound to answer, but if you do your answers will be noted and may be used in evidence.'

I stared at him, thinking, This is a joke. This is someone's idea of fun… What, Danso old boy, are you wearing suspenders under that suit? Is that the gag? I sat back in the chair, swallowing hard, shaking my head very slowly. 'No,' I muttered, looking from one to the other and back again. 'No. This is a joke.'

'We're doing this under Scottish law, Joe, under our cross-border powers, and that means we're detaining you. If I'm going to be strict about it I'd say I don't even need to give you a solicitor, but I wouldn't do that to you.'

'We could just question you for four hours. Imagine that — you and me on our own for four hours.' Struthers raised his eyebrows. 'I don't know about you but I could look forward to that.'

I gave a weak laugh. 'No fucking way. Stop it now.' I looked from one to the other, still hoping to see the crack of a smile, the wink: Aah — had you going! 'Stop, because you're talking bollocks. It started off funny but now it's just arse. Let's end it here.'

But Danso was watching me seriously, a film clouding his eyes. Struthers was smirking, his arms folded across his chest like he was concealing a weapon. I thought of the blue police lights flashing silently on and off in the street outside, and something dull clenched under my ribs. They'd been here all day. It wasn't to protect us. It was to stop me leaving the house. Angeline lifted my arm and pulled it round her shoulders, burying her face in my chest. I put my hand on her head and pressed it into me, not taking my eyes off Struthers. I hated him at that moment more than I've ever hated anyone. 'Well?' I hissed. 'You'd better start giving me some answers.'

His eyes were cold. 'The only time I've ever seen DNA receptors like you left in the chapel is after a fight.' He took a notebook from his coat pocket and opened it, uncapping a pen. 'You didn't like the PHM much, did you? We spoke to your publishers this morning. They were saying how you-'

'J wasn't even on the fucking island when he killed those people.'

'Aye. That's the problem. Malachi didn't kill "those people".'

'Oh, please, what toss is this now? Of course he did:

Struthers and Danso looked at each other. Danso rearranged his coat, pulling the two sides neatly together and smoothing it down. 'Joe,' he said quietly, 'he couldn't have.'

'Couldn't have?'

'No. He was already dead.'

I stared at him. I knew the blood had left my face.

'That's right. He'd already been dead more than a week.'

'What?' In my arms Angeline raised her head, wiping her eyes. 'What did you say?'

'He was dead when it happened,' said Struthers. 'You'll hear all the science bit in court — got some bearded creep from Edinburgh University lives and breathes insects. Turns out that early winter we got in Argyll was a jackpot for a forensic entomologist.'

'OK,' Danso said warningly. 'Let's not hand him our case on a plate.'

But Struthers was sitting forward, smiling at me like a pitbull on a leash, his eyes watering. 'Aye, turns out there are things that insects just can't do to a body when it gets that cold. See, me, I never knew that. Never knew it, but sounds like some insects just won't lay eggs if the temperature's wrong. See, if he'd gone in the ground after the killings in the chapel he wouldn't have had-'

'OK,' Danso said. 'Let's stop this now.'

'Where was he?' Angeline sat up and stared at Struthers, pushing her hair from her eyes.

'On Cuagach, hen. Near your home. Contractors found him. Cleaning up the chemicals. This time we know it was him. The DNA works. Aye,' he muttered, staring red-faced at me. 'Shoved head first in a mine shaft — and your boyfriend's stamp all over the place. He took photos of the pig too. Something else his publishers told us. Bit of a souvenir collector when it comes to photos.'

'Look,' I said reasonably, 'this doesn't work — he was seen after the massacre. Loch Avich for a start.'

He shook his head. 'The DNA from the bothy didn't match.'

'Didn't match?'

'No. It was just some dosser. Dove was already dead. And now it's all unravelling. What's funny is that all the time we were trailing him round Argyllshire there's nothing to place him on Argyll the whole of September.'

I stared at him. 'Nothing to place him there?'

'It's true.' He shrugged. 'Strange but true. We caught up with the wee sods who had the Vauxhall from Crinian Hotel car park. Glasgow neds, like I always said.'

Angeline made a small sound and tried to stand, pulling herself up slowly and shakily. Her face was drawn and smeared, her head a little wobbly. She put out a hand to steady herself, like she felt faint, and instantly Struthers was on his feet, supporting her under the elbows, lowering her back to the sofa. 'There you go, hen. There ye go.'

She sat for a moment, breathing in and out, her hands pressed to her temples, staring at me like everything was falling into place. 'You didn't like him,' she muttered. 'You never liked him. You didn't like them either. The Garricks — you said you didn't trust them.'

'When did I say that?'

She didn't answer. She turned to Danso pleadingly, tears in her eyes. 'Can I go, please? I can't stay here in this — in this — place with — with him.' She made a low, furious sound in her throat, and raised her foot to kick me viciously in the calf with the tip of her stiletto. 'Why did you do it?'

'Fuck off,' I said, holding my hand out to stop her doing it again. 'Fuck off.'