Douglas Lindsay - The unburied dead

Walk into the room, start poking around his things. Clothes everywhere, blankets tossed off the side of the bed. Sheets and pillows stained. Wonder if he's changed them since the whores were here along with all the guys from the station. By the looks of things, not.

Think I feel it first, rather than hear it. A noise; a whisper of sound. Niggling. Feel it in the shiver down my back. Drop the jacket, the pockets of which I've been looking through. Stand still. Silent. Taylor maybe.

It comes again. A murmur of noise. The next bedroom. A strange sound. Not like a man or woman's voice, but still human. A whimper.

Wish I had a gun again. Ought to start carrying these things around, but still the noise is not threatening. Out into the hall, and now I can hear it more clearly. Feel the pain of it. Hairs rise on the back of my neck.

A noise from downstairs. Taylor stumbling into something, a low curse; calls out for Bloonsbury again.

Stand outside the other bedroom. A second's hesitation. Wonder. Push the door open, no idea what I'm going to find. Half expecting to see a dog whimpering in the corner.

Light on.

Jesus Christ. The smell hits me as much as the sight of what is in front of me; get that instant shock like needles of water under a freezing shower.

Ian Healy, manacled to the wall. Unshaven, cheeks drawn, barely recognisable from the man I spoke to a week ago. He is naked, his arms attached to the wall above him, and from these he hangs limply. His feet can touch the floor, but they offer no support. And around his feet are several days worth of his own faeces and urine and vomit.

Take a step back, try to ignore the smell. He squints from the light, and then looks at me. Acknowledgement flickers across his face, a word tumbles silently from his lips.

'Boss!' I shout, 'think you'd better get up here.'

Can hear Taylor labouring up the stairs. I'm about to plough my way through the human detritus on the floor to let Healy down, when I decide to wait for the boss. He might look like a pathetic shambles of a human being, but he's still a killer. Ann Keller at least, although the truth of the second and third murders is beginning to kick in. Taylor arrives, stands at my shoulder.

'Fuck,' he says to my back.

Finally, after a week and a half of speculation and haphazard supposition, we have something concrete. A piece of living evidence up on the wall which is all the proof we need of Jonah Bloonsbury's involvement in the murders of three other officers. Fuck just about hits the nail on the head.

Taylor comes into the room, walks up to Healy. The smell hits him.

'Jesus,' he says. 'This is medieval for God's sake. You got your keys?'

'Remember what this guy did to Ann Keller.'

'We don't know he did anything to anyone,' he says.

'Come on. Maybe the rest was a set up, but how did Bloonsbury get on to him in the first place? This guy killed Ann Keller. Think about what he did to her before you go letting him down.'

He looks at Healy who stares blankly back. At a guess I'd say he has no idea what we've just been talking about. Dead eyes, mouth attempting to smile.

'How long have you been here?' says Taylor.

Nothing.

'Healy, how long?'

A whispered word passes his lips, drops out into the room, unintelligible.

'What was that?' says Taylor. Voice still harsh. No time for naked psychopaths on walls.

Healy's lips move again, and this time we can hear it. The chill, croaking voice.

'Jo,' he says. 'Tell Jo.'

*

The threads of a story come from time to time together and make a picture in the web.

Another one of Charlotte's favourites. Very appropriate.

Half an hour later and we're back on the road. Called Ramsey and told him to get a few of the lads round. Impressed the delicacy of it all upon him. No one's going to like the truth of this. Got him to start the search for Bloonsbury and to have the guy brought in. Who knows what gutter he'll be lying in at the moment? Also told him that we'd take care of telling Miller, which is where we're heading right now. Down to Helensburgh, back the way we just came. Stopped for petrol and provisions in case we get stuck in the snow, and on our way.

Eileen Harrison showed up at Bloonsbury's place before we left, still looking a bit dazed. Not sure that her expression changed that much on seeing Healy, but she was looking so completely out of it that her expression didn't really have anywhere else to go. There were three of those Neanderthal constables with her to take care of Healy, just in case the guy decided to get funny.

Brief discussion in the car before Taylor shut up to concentrate on driving through the blizzard. We'd asked a few questions of Healy but he was in no fit state to answer anything.

The pieces fall together, scraps of rubbish into a bin. Maybe it all starts when Crow tries to bribe Bloonsbury. That's a guess, but we know they had dealings in the last month, and it's a reasonable stab at it. Bloonsbury begins to panic about the truth of the Addison case getting out. Great career finally flushed down the toilet, starts to wonder what to do about it.

Meanwhile, Healy murders Ann Keller. The same night, Bathurst finds out the truth of the Addison case. Maybe Bloonsbury gets wind of that, maybe not. Maybe he knows she goes to see Miller. Anyway, I put him on to Healy, he talks to the guy, realises he's our killer. Hatches his plan. Decides he'll get rid of all his co-conspirators. Who knows how quickly he worked it all out? So he gets hold of Healy some time after he'd tried it on with that stupid tart in Rutherglen.

Early hours of Saturday morning he goes down to Arrochar, takes care of Crow. Bundles him into the back of the car, drives it to Dunoon. Gets back to Arrochar and his own car somehow. Stole another motor perhaps. Having dealt with Crow he then comes up to Glasgow and kills Evelyn Bathurst. Not sure how he knows where to find her, but then she was between her home and the station; not that much of a stretch. Does to her what Healy did to Ann Keller, planting evidence to incriminate Healy.

Next up, he knows somehow that Herrod has been put onto Healy by Josephine Johnson. He waits for him, stabs him through the chest. Then the following day he does for Edwards in a drive-by murder.

The story so far. Don't have too much proof of it all, but it falls into place. Feels right, and there have been plenty of times when Bloonsbury's not been around the station.

So, Jonah Bloonsbury, come to this; and the confirmation of that hanging on the wall in his spare bedroom. The guy had been there a few days, Jonah's been at his house in that time. No set up, no bullshit, Bloonsbury's our man.

Feel empty. Hollow. Don't want to be in the police tonight. Don't want to be here. If your life's going to be this shit, you might as well be living in one of those shit countries that don't even function, where despair is all-consuming, where despair isn't just defined by being unable to afford to renew your Sky subscription. Every one of us is going to look bloody awful when this gets out, and there'll be no one on the force thanking Taylor and me for having discovered it.

Which brings us to the last big question. The involvement of Charlotte Miller. Which side of the tracks are we going to find her on? We could have phoned her, but this is the sort of thing you have to say to someone's face. Gauge the reaction.

Don't really start talking about it until we're over the Erskine bridge, the snow has cleared and we're both chewing on nasty ham and cheese sandwiches we picked up at the petrol station. Nearly two o'clock.

'How we going to play this?' I say eventually.

He waves the sandwich at me.

'What the fuck you buy these for, Sergeant? They're minging.'