Stuart MacBride - A Dark So Deadly

‘Oh, right.’ A long puffed-out breath and a little shake. His face gleamed in the dashboard light, greasy and unwell. ‘We, my dear Callum, are going hunting for one Detective Constable John Pain-In-The-Backside Watt. Mother’s worried.’

‘You do remember I’ve been suspended?’

‘Pff...’ He waved a hand. ‘Suspended is as suspended does. Besides, we’re not undertaking an official investigation here, we’re just out looking for a colleague, so I can kick his arse halfway up his back for him.’ The sentence ended with a hacking cough that rocked McAdams back and forward in the passenger seat, leaving him panting and slumped.

‘Are you sure you’re OK to do this?’

‘He’s not answering his mobile or his landline, so we’ll try his flat first. With any luck he’s accidentally handcuffed himself to the bed in his favourite gimp suit.’

‘Only you seriously look like you should be in hospital.’

‘And if he’s not there, we widen the search. I’ve been through his spreadsheet and we’ve got all properties accounted for. The only ones not searched by other teams are the two he did on his own: the old Patterson-Smith Warehouse in Wardmill, and Thaw Cottages out by Holburn Forest. We’ll try those too.’

‘I’ve seen post mortems on healthier looking people than you.’

‘I’ve already checked with all the hospitals and both mortuaries.’

Well, no one could say Callum hadn’t tried. ‘Where’s his flat, then?’

‘Take a right at the roundabout.’

The old lady from number 5 lowered the keys into McAdams’ palm. ‘You sure I can’t make you a nice hot cup of tea, dear? Only you look like you need one. It’s no trouble.’

‘I’d love to, but we’re on duty.’ He stood on the landing and waved at her until she went back into her flat and closed the door. Then McAdams slumped. Wiped the sweat from his forehead with a trembling hand. Sighed. And passed the keys to Callum. ‘You can go first, I just need to catch my breath for a bit.’

OK.

Callum knocked on the door to number 6. Waited.

The only sound was McAdams wheezing.

So he took the spare keys and let himself into Watt’s flat. Clicked on the lights. ‘Hello? John?’

The hallway was small, but spotless: a wonky rhomboid with four doors leading off it. Kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, and living room. All neat, all clean, all tidy. Strange, would’ve put money on Watt being a Pot-Noodle bachelor, with posters of wrestlers on the walls and an impressive collection of used pizza boxes. Instead, it was like something out of a decorating magazine.

A row of sympathy cards were lined up on the mantelpiece in the living room, beneath a cheesy posed photo of Watt and a woman so pale she was almost see-through.

Callum picked up one of the cards: ‘WE WERE SO SORRY TO HEAR ABOUT MARY. OUR THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS ARE WITH YOU ALWAYS, BILL AND AGGIE.’

He put it down again. As if holding it any longer would make it grubby.

The answering machine flashed a red light in the corner. Callum pressed the button.

‘Have you had a bank loan or credit card in the last six years? Unsure if you’re due PPI compensation? Well—’

He hit delete.

Marched back out to the landing. ‘He’s not here.’

Callum’s torch beam wandered across the large breezeblock wall, catching the faded lettering: ‘PATTERSON-SMITH ~ QUALITY FURNITURE YOU CAN DEPEND ON’. And now there was nothing left but dust and the dirty gritty scent of mildew and stagnant water.

McAdams limped out of a door through to the old office, brushing cobwebs from his suit jacket. ‘There are spiders in there big as Yorkshire Terriers. I kid you not.’

‘Sod-all out here either.’ He did a slow turn on the spot. ‘Have you tried getting Voodoo to put a lookout request on Watt’s car? He jumped out of Dotty’s — no way he slogged all the way out here on foot.’

‘She’s looking.’

‘Oh. OK.’ So much for that. ‘Holburn Forest, then.’

‘Holburn Forest.’

‘Of course, what I don’t get, is why he has to be such a dick the whole time.’ McAdams held onto the grab handle above the passenger door as the Mondeo rocked and growled from pothole to pothole along the track, sending up arcs of water.

‘Hello, Pot? I have Kettle on line one for you.’

The car’s headlights caught the broom and whin crowding the road, sending jagged shadows racing ahead of them.

‘That’s different. I’m dying , I’m allowed to be a little—’

‘Dicklike?’

‘I was going to say, colourfully eccentric.’ He shifted in his seat as a grating noise sounded somewhere under the car. ‘You try being eaten alive by tumours, young Callum. See how altruistic you are then.’

‘No thanks.’

The sky was a solid blob of orangey-grey, but a thick black stripe loomed on the horizon. That would be Holburn Forest, lurking in the darkness. Still no sign of any cottages.

‘And don’t get me started on the chemotherapy...’ A thick, rattling sigh. ‘You know, I wish I hadn’t. Started on it, I mean. I could be dead by now, instead of lurching about like a broken clothes horse.’ He nodded. ‘But Beth won’t let go, so I’ve got to hold on too.’

The headlights pulled tree trunks from the gloom as they reached the forest’s edge. The track disappeared into it, but another track sat at right angles, skirting the boundary.

McAdams pointed. ‘Left here, it’s at the end of the road.’

Callum took the turning, thumping through another set of waterlogged potholes. Off in the distance, the city lights glittered through the rain. A blanket of stars, draped across the landscape. ‘Aaaargh!’ The Mondeo lurched like a rollercoaster, setting free another grinding scrape from beneath their feet. ‘Be lucky to have any bottom left on the car, after this.’

‘You want a bit of advice, Callum?’

‘Not you as well.’ Why did everyone think he needed their sodding opinion?

There — up ahead — a line of three cottages, sitting between the track and the forest. Grass shone in the rowans, one of the chimneys looked on the verge of collapse. The gardens were full of weeds.

‘Live your life like the future’s never going to happen. Because before you know it: plop . It isn’t.’ He shook his head. ‘Spent my whole life doing the right thing — being responsible, working hard — when I should’ve been out there enjoying life. Thought there would always be time for that later. Now look at me...’ McAdams sighed. ‘I’m down to my last few chapters, Callum. I don’t think I’m going to make it to the end of the book...’

Three cottages: two semidetached, one standing on its own. Callum parked outside it. Killed the engine and sat there as the hot metal pinged and ticked. The rain got louder, battering off the car roof. ‘We should probably check the graveyards.’

McAdams unclipped his seatbelt. ‘You’d think, if someone buried him, they’d invite us to the funeral so we could dance on his grave.’

‘There were sympathy cards in his flat. You ever hear him talk about someone called Mary?’

‘To be honest, I don’t know anything about his home life. He’s always too... bleccccch to spend that much time with.’

‘If she’s died recently, he could be visiting her grave. Or out getting hammered somewhere.’

A nod. ‘Definitely worth a try.’ Then McAdams levered himself out into the rain. ‘Are you coming, then?’

Callum grabbed his high-viz from the back and hauled it on. Hunched his shoulders as he followed McAdams up the path to the front door. ‘He’s definitely been here.’ Pointing at a line of trampled grass and weeds leading around the side of the building.