Stuart MacBride - A Dark So Deadly

‘His own wife . I was at their silver wedding anniversary.’ Mother let her head fall back, then winced and straightened up again. ‘Ow!’

‘Look on the bright side: it could’ve been a lot worse. Remember what he did to John?’

‘Urgh...’ She wiped a hand across her face. ‘Andy was my friend, Callum. I’ve known him for years. I don’t even know who he is, now.’

‘We’re all still alive. He can’t hurt anyone else. We’ve escaped our chains.’

She looked at him, then smiled. ‘No more sodding haikus.’

‘Deal.’ He put a hand on her shoulder and she took it. Gave it a squeeze. Nodded.

‘You did good, Callum. You did really, really good.’

‘Thanks, Boss.’

‘I think, in the circumstances, you can call me “Mother”.’

The scent of deep-fried sausages filled the Downstream Monitoring Suite, underpinned by the sharp-sweet tang of cheap tomato sauce. Dr McDonald ripped another bite from her buttie and leaned closer to the screen, chewing as she stared.

Mother folded her arms and slumped back in her seat.

Callum licked tomato sauce and melted butter off the back of his hand. ‘Sure you don’t want one?’

‘Surprisingly enough, I’m not hungry.’

On the screen, Interview Two was full — McAdams and his solicitor on one side of the table, facing the camera; Detective Superintendent Ness and a short fat DS on the other.

‘No comment.’

Ness sighed. ‘Andrew, you know how this works. You’ve been here often enough.’

‘No comment.’

McAdams’ solicitor looked as if she was auditioning for a Tim Burton movie. She tucked a strand of jet-black hair behind her ear. ‘I believe my client has made himself very clear on this point, Detective Superintendent. He’s quite happy to answer any questions, but only to DI Malcolmson.’

McAdams stared directly into the camera. Smiled. ‘And Callum, of course. Only fair to include him. He deserves that much.’

Dr McDonald took another bite. ‘He doesn’t even look bothered, does he? It’s like he’s there to pick up a Chinese takeaway.’

‘You know we can’t do that, Andrew. You assaulted them both. It’s a conflict of interest.’

‘It’s a shame he’s dying of cancer, isn’t it?’ Dr McDonald got even closer, till her nose was only inches from the screen. ‘I mean it’d take years to unravel what’s going on inside his head, and that would be very interesting wouldn’t it and I’d love to have a go, but I don’t think they’d let me, do you think they’d let me, or does that sound a bit creepy because of the serial killing and dying thing?’

Mother stared at her. ‘Yes.’

‘My client is prepared to make a full confession, but only to DI Malcolmson.’

‘And have the whole thing ruled inadmissible in court? We’ll pass, thanks.’

McAdams stuck a hand against his chest, as if he was about to pledge allegiance ‘Then, “no comment” is the only thing, / That I will mumble, say, or sing, / “No comment” now, “no comment” then, / “No comment” time and time again.’ Then the smile slipped, as a coughing fit sent him rocking back and forward in his seat, bent over, head nearly touching the tabletop. Leaving him panting and wheezing.

The solicitor patted him on the back. ‘I insist you get my client medical attention, right now!’

Mother groaned. ‘I know this is going to sound harsh, but I don’t think I like him very much any more.’

‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ Callum shook McAdams’ wife’s hand.

Beth had put on a little weight in the last week and a bit, but it’d probably be a long time until she lost that chained-up-in-the-basement hollow-eyed look. She stared back at him. ‘He was a bastard, and I’m glad he’s dead.’

‘Yeah.’ Callum nodded. ‘Me too.’ Then moved on to join what was left of the Misfit Mob. Everyone dressed in various shades of black.

Dotty looked up at the bright blue sky. ‘Well, at least he got a nice day for it.’

Franklin shuddered. ‘I hate crematoriums. Always give me the creeps.’

‘Mother? You OK?’

‘Hmmm?’ She turned, blinking. ‘Sorry, miles away. It was a lovely service wasn’t it?’

‘I thought your eulogy was very good.’

She patted Callum on the arm. ‘I know it sounds odd, but I miss him.’

‘He tried to kill me. He very nearly killed Watt. He murdered at least six people. And he was going to keep you chained up in his dungeon with his drugged wife. Probably thought he could take turns.’

‘When you put it like that...’ Mother puffed out her cheeks. Clapped her hands together. ‘Right, we’d better get back to work, I suppose.’

Rain drummed against the office window, a counterpoint to the buzzing rattle coming from the radiator.

Callum sat back in his seat, both feet propped up on his desk. Finished the page he was reading and moved on to the next one.

McAdams’ book was... different. Not bad, exactly, but a bit long-winded and self-indulgent. Not to mention self-important.

Franklin backed into the room, laden down with box files. ‘Working hard are we?’

‘Yes.’ He nodded towards the pile of paper, sitting on its opened-out brown paper wrapping. ‘McAdams believed in the old adage: “write what you know”. It’s all about Imhotep’s quest to save the world, told from the perspective of a little boy called “Justin”. Abduction, physical abuse, trauma, desperate need for affection he tries to fulfil with the women his “Father” keeps chained up in the basement.’

She dumped the files on her desk. ‘You coming tonight?’

‘We don’t need to worry about catching Paul Jeffries’ killer — it was McAdams. Stabbed him for killing the last in a long line of New Mummies. Then Justin goes into care. More trauma and abuse. But he finally gets himself a nice foster family, changes his name, and everything starts to go right for him. Good exam results. University. Career in the police force. Sense of belonging and self-worth.’

‘I mean, it was weird enough going to his funeral, but a wake too?’

‘Then he’s diagnosed with cancer and it all comes flooding back. That’s when the killing starts.’ A smile. ‘And he would have hated that much summary narrative.’

‘I’ve never been to a celebration wake before. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for celebrating someone’s life when they’ve died, but actually celebrating the fact they’ve died?’