Stuart MacBride - A Dark So Deadly

‘... Oldcastle’s premier pizza parlour just got even better!’

‘Isn’t it yours?’

‘I have clip-ons. Police officers don’t wear real ties unless they want throttled by lunatic members of the public.’

‘... three toppings and get another two absolutely free! That’s right: free!’

‘Hmm...’ She took it from him, turning it over in her hands. ‘I found it in the living room, beside the couch. Thought it was yours.’

Oh great. It really was a snake. ‘It’s Poncy Powel’s, isn’t it? He waltzes in here like he owns the place, takes his tie off and leaves it. What a dick .’

Elaine gave his arm a little punch. ‘You should be nicer about Reece. He was only trying to help.’

‘Bet he doesn’t have to go to work with a tuna-casserole buttie.’

She rolled the tie into a neat little sausage and slipped it into Callum’s jacket pocket. ‘You can give it to him when you get there. And say thank you properly for coming round to warn us.’

‘Gah...’

‘And you mock the tuna-casserole buttie, but trust me: Heston Blumenthal wishes he thought of it first.’

Yeah, right.

Franklin beamed, showing off those perfect teeth of hers. ‘You look like crap, by the way.’

‘Thanks.’ Callum settled into his seat and covered a yawn.

‘ And you missed a great night. We got everyone up for “We Are the Champions”.’

He wrapped himself around his coffee. ‘Thought you hated karaoke.’

‘That was before I tried it.’ She turned as Dotty wheeled herself into the room. ‘Dot!’

‘Am I late? Have we started yet?’

He checked his watch. ‘Still got five minutes.’

‘Oh, Callum, you missed such a—’

‘“We Are the Champions”. Franklin told me all about it.’

Dotty wheeled Keith across to the tea- and coffee-making facilities, pausing to share a fist bump with Franklin on the way. ‘Rosalind, my man.’

‘We have got to do that again.’

More grinning.

‘Where’s Whiney Watt the Wanky Waster?’

‘Not in yet.’

‘Good.’ Dotty spooned coffee granules into a mug. ‘I’m off to interview Brett Millar this morning. Assuming he’s not still doped off his monkey. Anyone want to come? Rosalind?’

‘Sounds good.’

Callum groaned. ‘Noooo. Don’t leave me with...’

The office door opened and in stormed everyone’s favourite sour-faced git. Watt glowered out from beneath his greasy floppy fringe. ‘What?’

‘Speak of the devil.’

‘Oh go bugger yourselves.’ He hung his coat on the rack by the filing cabinets, straightened his nasty brown tie, then thumped himself down in his seat. Powered up his computer. Had a wee seethe on his own.

Ah, the joys of a happy team.

He was still sulking when Mother sailed in, towing McAdams in her wake. ‘Gather round, my lovely ones. Time for assembly.’ She perched on the edge of Dotty’s desk. ‘Andy, would you like to lead morning prayers?’

McAdams pulled some sheets of paper from a folder. ‘Listen up, both young and old, / For a tale of woe you must behold, / Attention pay, so you may see, / The path of others’ misery.’ No applause. ‘To wit, other stuff on the O Division books we don’t actually care about, but have to pay lip-service to. One: they’ve still not got an ID for any of DCI Powel’s severed feet. Two: someone set fire to an abandoned house, about halfway between Castleview and Auchterowan. Third house in a week, so there’s an arsonist on the loose who isn’t scared of a bit of graft. Three: someone ram-raided the Poundland in Logansferry, again . Guess some people just want to reach for the stars. Four: aggravated assault outside the Paris Casino on Holland Street. A group of young “ladies”,’ he made the quote marks with his fingers, ‘attacked a taxi driver and left him with serious internal injuries, a fractured skull, and no sight in his left eye.’

‘Ooh.’ Dotty bared her gritted teeth. ‘Not good.’

‘Also not good is number five: mother and teenaged daughter abducted from their home in Shortstaine. Best friend was on the phone at the time and recorded the whole thing. And last, but not least, they got a DNA match from one of the bodies found at the tip on Monday: turns out Karen Turner didn’t run off to Portugal with another man, like her husband claimed. She was too busy being battered to death with a golf club and stuffed into bin-bags.’ McAdams put his papers down. ‘Now, would anyone like to contribute anything to these ongoing cases? No? Didn’t think so. Moving on.’ He pointed. ‘Detective Constable Watt.’

Watt’s eyes narrowed, little gingery beard bristling. ‘What?’

‘When I say you’re supposed to sign out at the end of a shift, what I mean is: you — have — to sign off — at the end — of a shift. Not: “Do whatever the monkey-spanking hell you like.” Am I getting through to you? Knock once for yes, twice for no.’

‘It wasn’t—’

‘Don’t even bother — I checked. And I don’t care how you did things in G Division, in O Division you clock off!’ He pointed. ‘Don’t think I won’t pull down your pants and spank you in front of the rest of the class.’

Watt’s face went redder than his beard.

‘Exactly.’ McAdams rubbed his hands together. ‘Now, children mine, police divine, / Tell me, what do you propose, / Our mystery to diagnose? DS Hodgkin?’

Dotty nodded. ‘Rosalind and I are heading up the infirmary to see if we can get any sense out of Brett Millar.’

‘Good: feel free to lean on the medical staff. I want a statement off Millar, A.S.A.F.P. Emphasis on the F. And that leaves naughty DCs Watt and MacGregor to canvas every smokehouse in the district. And not just phone calls: I want boots on the ground and signed statements.’

Callum sagged in his seat.

Why did God hate him? Wasn’t sacrificing a quarter of his ear enough?

‘After that, you can start on Dr McDonald’s list: pubs and nightclubs where Ben Harrington, Glen Carmichael, and Brett Millar might have met Imhotep. Start from whatever’s nearest the flat they were renovating and work your way out. Probably the Dockmaster’s Yard? Let’s see if we can’t progress the plot a bit today.’

Watt folded his arms. ‘I work better on my own . Why don’t I take the smokehouses and leave the pubs to MacGregor?’

McAdams smiled and fluttered his eyelashes. ‘Because I don’t want you to be lonely, Detective Constable, that’s why. Now off you trot like a good little boy and let’s not have any nonsense about you two not playing nice. OK?’ A nod. ‘OK.’

Mother clapped her hands. ‘And that’s your lot. Keep me and Andy updated as you go. Class dismissed.’

As everyone else filed out Watt folded forward, elbows on his knees, head held in his hands.

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

‘If it’s any consolation, Watt, I’m not too thrilled being lumbered with you either.’

He stayed where he was.

Fine.

Callum reached into his jacket pocket and produced the lemon yellow tie, all soft and slippery. ‘Right, I’ve got to go see DCI Powel. In the meantime, do you want to get a list of smokehouses together? Or are you just going to sit there wallowing in your sulk?’

Nothing.

Oh today was going to be lovely.

He wandered out into the corridor. Down the end to the stairs. Clumped his way up to the fourth floor.

The Major Investigation Team had the whole level to themselves, complete with multiple meeting rooms, a series of open-plan offices with swish computers and new furniture, their own mini canteen... All right for some.