Stuart MacBride - A Dark So Deadly

‘He’s also an egotistical narcissistic drug-taking misogynist dick who can’t decide if he’ll help me catch one of the guys who killed our parents. Needs to consult with his lawyer first.’ A sigh tore its way free. ‘I don’t know, Dotty, I genuinely don’t. All these years...’

Dotty gave his leg a wee squeeze. ‘Give it time.’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘So: are we any closer to catching Imhotep? Well, I suppose it’s more like Imhotep Part Two, “ Son of Imhotep!”, isn’t it?’

‘No.’

Dotty pulled a face. ‘Didn’t think so.’

One of the paramedics hopped down from the ambulance and closed the doors. ‘Ashlee’s very weak, and I’d be shocked if her internal organs haven’t started shutting down, but we’ve managed to get a little fluid into her. Maybe...?’

Callum handed him a Police Scotland business card. ‘If anything happens.’

‘We’ll do our best.’ Then he climbed into the driver’s seat, set the lights going and the siren wailing. Pulled away from the house. Getting faster towards the end of the street. Flooring it on the way out.

Rain pattered on the leaves above them. Gurgled in the guttering.

Dotty stared off into the distance.

Franklin fidgeted.

Callum cleared his throat. ‘OK, the question we should be asking is: why didn’t Paul Jeffries sell this house to Northeast Ecclesiastical Trust Holdings? He turned the rest of them over, presumably for a tidy chunk of cash, why not this one?’

‘Maybe he didn’t need the money?’ Dotty shrugged. ‘Or maybe he was planning on living here?’

‘He’s got that place out in the middle of nowhere, no neighbours to see what he’s up to. Why move into town and risk getting caught?’

Franklin pulled out her phone and poked at the screen. ‘According to the Land Registry, Mrs Georgina Mason left the property to him thirty-five years ago. Maybe that’s when he was killed? He couldn’t sell it, because he was propping up a shallow grave. And eight years later, the trust finally notice he’s not cashing the cheques any more, and another seven to have him declared dead.’

Dotty smiled. ‘Ahoy, hoy — the Smurfs are here.’

A battered Transit van grumbled its way down the road, three faces peering out through the smeared windscreen. They parked in the spot vacated by the ambulance and Cecelia wound down the driver’s window. ‘This the right address?’

Callum hooked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Top to bottom, we need to know who else has been in there.’

She climbed out into the rain. ‘We’ll do what we can, but the labs...?’ Her two colleagues went round the back and unlocked the rear doors. ‘I swear on Jools Holland’s grave, I have never had this many lab-result cock-ups in my life. We’ve got to send about half of them back for retesting.’

One of her minions reappeared, already kitted out in his blue oversuit, and handed another one to Cecelia. ‘You want us to start with the basement and work our way up?’

‘Sounds like a plan to me.’ She pulled the fresh suit out of its plastic wrapper and grabbed Callum to help her stay upright as she wriggled into the thing. ‘You think them mixing up the internal and external samples from your mother’s head was bad? That isn’t even the foothills of Cock-Up Mountain.’

Callum stayed where he was until she’d got herself sorted. ‘Well don’t let them cock this one up. Whoever Monaghan was working with, they’re going to abduct someone else. Soon. We need an ID.’

The minion reappeared. Handed her a facemask and some safety goggles. ‘Hi ho?’

‘Hi ho.’

He turned and marched off, picking up his mate along the way, the pair of them whistling the tune from Snow White as they disappeared with their kit into the house.

Cecelia gave Callum a pained smile. ‘We’ll do everything we can.’

Why did everyone keep saying that?

‘Here.’ Callum put the mug of tea down in front of McAdams, then settled into the seat beside Franklin.

Condensation ran down the inside of the Tartan Bunnet’s window, mirroring the rain outside, the steamy air redolent with the round brown scent of frying bacon as the owner worked her sinister magic on a half pack of smoked streaky. All the other tables lay empty, their tops wiped to a sticky gloss, waiting for the next unwary diner to wander in. Like red-and-white checked carnivorous plants.

Dotty hunched forward in her wheelchair, working her way through a huge pile of chips with grim determination and lots of tomato sauce.

A grunt, then McAdams wiped himself a drippy porthole in the steamed-up window and peered out at the street. ‘She doesn’t look happy.’

From here, Mother was just a dark blob with an orangey bit on the top. Pale arms jabbing and poking as she spoke on the phone.

Franklin added two sugars to her coffee. ‘What about going back to the psychiatric ward and forcing them to give us Brett Millar?’

Dotty sighed. ‘Here we go.’

‘He’s the only eyewitness we’ve got and we’re not allowed to interview him?’ She waved her spoon at them. ‘Who does this Professor Bartlett think he is? We’re trying to catch a serial killer and he’s playing doctors and nurses! It’s—’

‘Impossible.’ McAdams turned away from the window. ‘We need a court order to get Millar’s treatment suspended, and no sheriff worth his silly white wig will give us one. And believe me, we’ve tried.’

‘They’re keeping him doped up so he won’t attack the staff or patients, right? Well, we lock him in a cell and he can shout and scream all he wants. Eventually the drugs will wear off and he’ll tell us who Monaghan was working with. We need to—’

‘Detective Constable Franklin,’ McAdams reached across the table and took one of her hands, ‘with the deepest and most sincere respect, in the words of Mother’s dear old nan: hud yer wheesht. It’s not happening. What we need is another plan.’

Dotty pushed her plate across the table. ‘Have a chip, Rosalind. It helps with the feelings of frustration, helplessness, and existential doom.’

There was a pause, then Franklin helped herself to two.

‘And Callum, sulking. Tell us pray, what news from court? Your brother, sent down?’

‘Yeah, they say, “Bite me, Sergeant McAdams.”’ Callum took a sip of his own tea, hot and sweet. ‘Pleaded guilty. They released him on bail, pending sentencing.’

‘He’ll be on the first private jet to the Bahamas, if he’s got any sense. You’ll not see him again.’

Franklin scowled around another stolen chip. ‘Don’t, OK?’

McAdams fluttered his eyelashes. ‘ Moi? ’

‘Yes, you. Try a bit of compassion for once in your life. Can you even imagine how difficult this must be to deal with?’

Dear Lord, was Franklin actually sticking up for him?

‘Ah, my dear Rosalind, you’re probably right. It’s force of habit. Winding up DC MacGregor is one of the few pleasures I have left, in these my twilight chapters.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Callum. To lose a brother to prison, having only just found him, must be—’

The café’s front door banged open and Mother stomped in, shoulders down, fists clenched, cheeks and nose red, eyes narrowed, hair smeared flat by the rain. ‘Useless, half-arsed, idiotic, pain-in-the-backside, moronic, turdwardens !’ She threw herself into the last remaining seat at the table, setting the rubber feet squeaking. Sat there and glowered at her latte.

McAdams grinned. ‘Good news?’

‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-RRRRRGH!’ The scream echoed back from the walls, setting the cutlery ringing, then faded away into nothing.