Stuart MacBride - A Dark So Deadly

‘Yes, Sarge.’

‘Dorothy’s been worried sick about you.’

‘Has she, Sarge?’

‘Of course not.’ Another huge sigh. ‘John, do you actually want to be a police officer? I mean honestly, genuinely want to do the job? Cos, believe me, you get one lousy brief stint on this earth and if you’re not totally committed to being a cop then you need to find something else. Something you’re passionate about. Something you care enough about to do well . Understand?’

It’s like someone’s tied a great big heavy weight around his bowels, dragging him down on the inside. John nods. Can barely squeeze the words out: ‘Sorry, Sarge.’

‘So: do you want to be a cop?’

‘Ever since I was a little boy.’

A tut and a groan. Then a long slow exhale. ‘OK. I’m not going to tell Mother about this. Or anyone else. But you have to promise me you’ll try harder.’

‘Yes, Sarge.’

‘We’ll divvy up the most likely addresses and get them out to the other teams. Maybe we can find Ashlee before she... Well, we can only do our best.’ He spreads his printout on the wobbly kitchen table. ‘Which ones are most statistically significant?’

John points them out, ranking them in order — most to least — and McAdams nods, marking them up.

‘Good. If anyone asks, you called me and told me these were our best chance. Everything else never happened.’ He pulls his phone out and turns for the door. Then stops. ‘Have you finished in here?’

‘Only just started.’

‘OK. Well give it a proper search before you leave. She’s got to be out there somewhere.’

‘Yes, Sarge.’

The smile looks pained, but at least it’s there. ‘Watt, you’re a bright kid. You were honest enough to turn your old team in for being corrupt — that takes guts. You’ve got the makings of a good copper in you. Don’t let the petty stuff get in the way.’

‘Yes, Sarge.’

‘Good boy.’ McAdams sticks his hands in his pockets. ‘And please, in the name of all that’s holy, sign out at the end of your shift .’ Then he limps away down the corridor and out the front door, disappearing into the rain.

John sinks back against the work surface and groans.

It’s like every report card he’s ever had: Must try harder .

Outside, the dark rumbling roar of a four-by-four sounds, then fades away.

Come on: search next door. Then the detached cottage on the end. Then the bothy and barn. Then onto the next address on the list.

After all, he can always claim credit for putting the list together in the first place.

That’s got to be worth something. Right?

And with any luck, even if he isn’t the one who actually finds her, someone will get to Ashlee Gossard before it’s too late.

‘Hold on a minute...’ Callum nipped down the corridor and into the stairwell. The flats weren’t bad, a clean six-storey block in a development of three. Landscaped gardens and a row of private garages. There was even a sculpture out front, though God knew what it was meant to be a sculpture of. Looked like a jellyfish having sex with an Oxo Cube. ‘Hello?’

McAdams sounded even more tired than usual, the noise of an engine droning away in the background. ‘Where are you?’

‘Thompson Court. It’s all flats, so no chance anyone’s smoking bodies in—’

‘That’s great. Listen, I’ve had a call from Watt. He’s refined the spreadsheet and come up with eight high-probability targets for us to hit.’

Yeah, right. ‘And he’s just done this now, has he?’

Franklin appeared from the door of number 5, turned and said something to the householder.

‘Don’t be so cynical. The important thing is we’ve got a real chance of saving Ashlee Gossard.’

‘Oh, no: I get it. He fiddled the list, didn’t he? Kept all the likely properties to himself.’

Silence from the other end.

The flat door clunked shut and Franklin headed down the corridor towards him.

‘I’m right, aren’t I?’

‘It’s not as if you’ve never done anything wrong, is it, Constable?’

Franklin stopped in front of him, both eyebrows up.

Callum pointed at the phone. ‘It’s McAdams. I’ll be down in a sec.’ Then soon as she was out of sight he turned his back on the stairs. ‘How many times? I — never — took — a — bribe! Is that clear enough for you?’

A sigh. ‘I know.’

‘Do I have to tattoo it in six-inch letters on my forehead for you to... Wait, what?’

‘Cecelia told me weeks ago. Your girlfriend messed up the crime scene, and you took the blame so she’d still get maternity pay.’

‘You knew ?’

‘Can we get back to the topic at hand? I’m on my way to a disused warehouse in Cowskillin now, I need every team en route to the other seven properties A.S.A.B.F.P. Emphasis on the B.F.’

‘Then why the hell have you been treating me like something you trod in?’

‘Because I like screwing with you, Constable MacGregor. You’re the gift that never quits.’

Down below, the flat’s communal front door clunked shut and Franklin appeared through the window, hurrying along the path towards their cholera-coloured Mondeo.

‘You’re an arsehole, you know that, don’t you?’

‘I’m a dying man, Callum, I take my fun where I can find it. Now you and Rosalind get your pert little backsides over to number six Creel Lane. It’s Kettle Docks, so you can’t be more than two minutes away. And try to keep the sexual tension to a bare minimum for the next few pages, it distracts the readers.’

‘Thanks a lot .’ Callum thumped down the stairs, scowling out the stairwell window at the rain hammering down on the drab grey houses. ‘Did you not maybe just think that things were hard enough with everyone else treating me like crap? Didn’t need you piling in.’

‘If it makes you feel any better: I’m sorry.’ This time the sigh was long and rattling. ‘I shall add that to my pile of regrets.’

He pushed the door open and stood beneath the portico, just out of the rain’s reach. Grudging every word: ‘Are you OK?’

‘There’s so many things I’ll never get to do, Callum. I’ll never sing in a rock band. I’ll never climb Mount Kilimanjaro. I’ll never win the Booker Prize. Hell, I’ll probably never even be published in my own lifetime...’

Franklin was staring out of the driver’s window at him, pointing at her watch.

‘I spent so much time in the procurement of material things, that I forgot to live. Grab every opportunity you get, Callum. You put them off, thinking they’ll always come round again, but they don’t. One brief spin and we’re gone.’

Now that was cheery.

‘Is this us bonding now?’

‘Maybe.’ A small laugh. ‘Yes, well, now that we’re besties, you can tell me what the hell I’m going to do with Watt. He means well. Sometimes. When he’s not being a gargantuan bell-end.’

‘You give him a good bollocking?’

‘Thought he was going to cry at one point: “I’m not surprised, just disappointed.”’

‘Got to love the classics.’

Franklin leaned on the horn and a loud Breeeeeeeeeeep blared out through the rain.

‘Do me a favour: keep an eye on him, Callum. He’s his own worst enemy, but it’s not for want of trying. There’s a good cop in there somewhere. Help him dig it out.’

Callum licked his lips. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

‘Anyway, I’ve got the other teams to phone. You and Rosalind hightail it over to Creel Lane. Do me and Mother proud.’ And he was gone.