Stuart MacBride - A Dark So Deadly

Pike.

A prison officer appeared behind him, closing the door and standing with her back to it, at parade rest, face blank and jaw set.

‘Hello, Mr Pike.’ Mother pointed at the chair on the other side of the table. ‘Or can I call you, Gareth?’

‘This one’s new.’ Pike slithered his way into the other seat, and sat hunched forward with his elbows on the table. Like a bear stuffed into a highchair. ‘I’m not sure I like her yet.’

‘I can quite understand that, Mr Pike. My name’s DI Malcolmson and I’m here to formally apologise on behalf of Police Scotland for Detective Constable MacGregor’s behaviour.’

What?

Pike’s eyebrow climbed an inch. ‘Are you now? Well that is interesting, isn’t it?’

‘I’ve reviewed the footage of your interview and I have to say that I’m more than a little disappointed. After all, you’re not a well man, are you, Mr Pike?’

‘No, I’m not. And please,’ he reached across the table and took Mother’s hand, ‘Call me Gareth.’

‘You’ve got type-two diabetes, angina, high blood pressure, gallstones, impotency...’
‘These are my burdens to bear.’

Mother turned in her seat and stared at Callum. ‘Officer MacGregor, is there something you’d like to say to Gareth?’

‘What? No. I’m not—’

‘Apologise, Constable.’

Was she insane? There was no way he was—

‘ Now , Constable.’

Silence.

The prison officer didn’t move.

Duncan tugged at the hem of his ugly jumper.

And Pike smiled his big slug smile.

Mother sighed. ‘Or perhaps you’d like another spell in front of Professional Standards?’

All that caring-sharing crap in the car had been just that: crap. She hated him as much as everyone else, and now she was rubbing his face in it.

That’s what he got for trusting her. That’s what he got for trusting anyone.

So what choice did he have? Apologise to this vast slimy sack of sick, or get a formal kicking by the rubber heelers for something he didn’t even do. Again .

Callum cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Pike, if I caused you any offence.’ Every word burned like battery acid on his tongue.

Pike’s smile got bigger. ‘Oh, pish and tush, what’s a little banter between friends?’ He raised his other hand. ‘You are forgiven, Constable.’

Mother nodded. ‘You’re very kind, Gareth. And to show that we in Police Scotland are big enough to admit our mistakes: I’ve had a word with the Sheriff.’ She pulled a bit of paper from her pocket and held it up. ‘Given your medical condition, he’s agreed to give you a Community Service Order instead of a custodial sentence. You’ll be able to stay in your own flat, and only have to spend a few hours a week helping out at the Kingsmeath Animal Shelter. Cleaning out the cages and things like that. Health permitting, of course.’ She tucked her paperwork away again. ‘Isn’t that nice?’

Pike’s smile slipped. Then his mouth hung open, eyes widening. ‘Oh. Well... it’s a very generous offer, but I sincerely fear that my chances of recidivism are—’

‘No, let’s not hear another word about it. It’s the least we can do.’ She prised her hand free and stood. ‘I’m sure they’ll make your stay here as pleasant as possible until the Sheriff makes it official on Monday.’

‘But, no... You can’t... I mean, I’ve forgiven Officer MacGregor. I don’t expect any special treatment.’

‘I wouldn’t hear of it.’ She turned and clicked her fingers at Callum. ‘Come on, Constable, Gareth’s had a long day, he’ll be needing his rest.’

‘But I’m a pederast! You saw the tape, it’s got kids on it and—’

‘As you say, Gareth, you’re impotent. The Sheriff feels that puts you at a much smaller risk of causing actual harm.’

The prison officer put her hand on Pike’s big round shoulder. ‘Come on, time to go back to our cell.’

‘But I’m dangerous! I...’ He stared at Callum. ‘Tell them. Tell them how dangerous I am! I tried to abduct you!’

And now it all made sense.

‘You were dangerous, but like Mother says, you need a little blue pill to get it up these days. And with your blood pressure?’ He sucked a breath in through his teeth. ‘You’re more of a risk to yourself than other people.’

Pike’s mouth flapped up and down for a bit, but nothing came out.

Mother patted him on the arm. ‘There, there. I know it’s all a bit overwhelming, but the knowledge that you’re on your way home is thanks enough.’

‘I DON’T WANT TO GO HOME!’

The prison officer tightened her grip. ‘Easy now.’

‘You don’t?’ Mother frowned.

‘I live in a shit hole: don’t send me back there!’

‘Oh dear and here’s me already made that deal with the Sheriff. If only there was something I could do...’ She tapped a finger against her forehead, frowning down at the tabletop. ‘Come on, Flora: think.’ A pained expression. ‘I’ve no idea... Callum? Can you think of anything?’

And for the first time since arriving at the prison, Callum smiled. ‘Oh, I’m sure I can come up with something . Won’t that be fun, Gareth?’

There was a pause, then Pike bared his teeth. ‘ Never .’

‘Ah well. We tried, didn’t we, DI Malcolmson?’

‘We did indeed, DC MacGregor.’

‘That’s not fair: YOU SET ME UP!’

‘Tell you what,’ Mother nodded at Rachael the prison officer, ‘this nice lady will take you back to your lovely clean comfy cell, with... what was it: three meals a day and the convivial company of like-minded fellows? And you can have a nice long think about living in that manky little flat on the thirteenth floor, surrounded by people who hate you. Who knows, maybe you’ll change your mind?’

They waved as he was pulled from the room.

‘YOU SET ME UP!’

Watt folded over his desk, curling in around the phone in his hand. ‘Yes, I know it’s seven o’clock on a Saturday evening, but as I told your colleague, this is very, very important.’

The rest of Mother’s Misfit Mob sagged in their chairs, McAdams perched on one of the spare desks, Mother leaning against the wall by the whiteboard — twiddling a marker pen.

Dotty sighed. ‘Told you I should’ve phoned. He’s useless.’

‘No, I understand that... Yes... Yes... Here’s the thing,’ Watt thumped a hand down on the desk, ‘there’s a thirteen-year-old girl who’s going to die if you don’t get us that list. How does that sound? Does that get your ecclesiastical juices flowing?’

‘See: he’s blown it.’

He stuck the phone against his chest and birled around in his seat. ‘Will you please shut your fat cakehole?’ Back to the phone. ‘Sorry, what was that?... Yes. Right. OK, soon as you can. Here’s my email address John— No, J for Jumper, O for Osprey, H for Hawk, N for November...’

Dotty dropped her voice to a barely audible growl: ‘I’ll give you a “fat cakehole”, you gingery wee twat.’

Mother chucked the pen so it bounced off Dotty’s desk partition. ‘If you kids can’t behave, there’ll be no jelly and custard.’

Callum stretched in his seat and stifled a yawn. ‘Pfff...’

‘... dot police dot UK... Uniform Kilo... Yes, UK. Soon as you can, thank you.’ Watt hung up and slumped back. ‘God save us from religious bawbags.’

‘Anytime you’re ready, John.’

He grimaced at Mother. ‘They thought it’d be OK to stop work at five, as it’s a Saturday. Apparently, in their sparkly little world, you only have to comply with a warrant if you’ve got nothing better to do. They’re going back to it now, but it’s going to take hours — nothing’s on computer, it’s all filing cabinets. Be lucky if we hear back by Monday.’