Stuart MacBride - A Dark So Deadly

Ashlee helps herself to another mouthful. ‘Yurrrrgh...’ The warm numbness is getting bigger. Stuff isn’t brilliantly revolting when you get used to it.

‘Well, Peter completely wants to go to Dougie’s party with me.’

‘Pfff...’ She closes her eyes and listens to them crackle. ‘Yeah, that’s how it starts. “Oh, go to the party with me. I love you so much.” Next thing you know he’s trying to finger you in his dad’s shed and if you say no he’ll tell everyone you’re a frigid bitch.’

‘Peter?’ Marline’s voice wobbles, that one word catching and tearing like damp toilet paper.

Ashlee puts the bottle down and wraps her arm around Marline. Gives her a hug. ‘No. I’m sure Peter’s not like that.’ Even though he probably is. They all are.

‘Oh, yes, that’s very pretty.’ Uncle Eddie folds his arms and looks her up and down. Smiles like a crocodile. ‘Very pretty indeed.’ He licks his lips. ‘Now, why don’t you try on the red one again?’

The city’s spread out before them like burning jewels in the darkness. It’s not even that cold, perched up here on the edge of the old castle wall, legs dangling over the edge. Way below, the dual carriageway is a ribbon of streetlights, taxis, and the odd bus. Wouldn’t think it was nearly Halloween.

Peter turns to her, with his wonky eye and his funny teeth. ‘Are you sure it’ll be OK?’

Ashlee swaps the half bottle of Smirnoff to her other hand, then reaches over and cups her hand around the crotch of his trousers. What’s inside is hard like a spanner. ‘You chicken?’

‘But Marline—’

‘Marline’s an utter munter.’ She parts her lips and leans in. ‘And I’m mint .’

Off in the distance, an airplane roars into the October sky.

The ground rushes up, closer and faster and she’s screaming a broken-bottle scream and—

Ashlee fights her way up through the duvet, till she’s sitting up, dripping with sweat. Shivering and shaking. Mouth hanging open so she can haul in deep juddery breaths.

Gah...

Just a nightmare. Nothing to worry... about.

There’s someone in her room!

She grabs the bedclothes and pulls them up to her chin, scrambling backwards till she thumps into the headboard.

It’s Uncle Eddie. Smiling. Her old manky teddy bear sitting in his lap. Covering things while he zips himself up. ‘Sweetheart.’ He leans forward. ‘It’s OK, you were having a bad dream. I wanted to make sure you were all right. You’re all right, right?’

Ashlee nods.

‘Good. Now, you lie down and go back to sleep and I’ll stay here to make sure no monsters get you.’

Too late.

‘’Snot... ’snot fair...’ Marline’s back heaves as she spatters out this massive flood of Bacardi, all mushed up with a shared poke of chips. ‘Hurrrrrgkkk...’

Ashlee rolls her eyes, both hands full of her best friend’s hair. Keeping it out of the way as she chucks away perfectly good rum. ‘You’re too good for him, Marly. He’s completely a wanker.’

‘How could he... could he... With her ! Hurrrrrrrgkkkk...’

Because he was a man and that’s what men did.

And he wasn’t even all that good at it.

‘I’m not eating this slop !’ Ashlee grabs the plate in front of her and flips it up and off the table, sending it spinning till it clatters against the kitchen floor and shatters into three jagged chunks, spraying disgusting spaghetti bolognese everywhere.

Like she’s going to eat that?

Spaghetti bolognese? How much fat and carbs are in that? Millions, that’s how much.

One hundred and ten percent revolting.

Mum just sits there, bottom lip trembling. Look at the lardy cow cry: big fat tears rolling down her big fat cheeks.

Ashlee stands. ‘No wonder no one loves you.’

Little waves lapped the walls of the tub, sloshing the filthy water around as Ashlee sobbed.

The man with blue eyes lied: she wasn’t going to be a god. She couldn’t be. She was a monster . And no amount of bitter water was going to change that.

Why did she have to be so horrible to Marline?

Why did she have to be so horrible to Mum?

To Peter. To everyone...

Spoiled and vile and horrible.

And now she was alone. In a rusty metal tank, in a manky smoky room, with nothing but the darkness and the cold and the itchy feeling in the pit of her stomach for company.

The seagulls and bees were gone — no more buzzing, no more flapping, leaving her innards full of rats.

Any minute they’d wake up and gnaw their way out of her, turning the dirty water a nasty shade of scarlet.

When did she eat the rats?

Why did she eat them?

Ashlee craned her neck round again.

Mum hadn’t moved: still slumped against her chains, arms hanging loose at her sides, bruises ripe and dark.

‘Mummy?’ Ashlee kept her voice down so the rats wouldn’t wake up. ‘Mummy? Don’t let them kill me...’

But Mum didn’t answer, because Mum was probably dead.

Selfish cow.

‘So?’ Watt stared at him from the passenger seat.

‘So what?’

The pool car thrummed over the cobbles, lurched across a disused set of railway lines, windscreen wipers making a squealing harmony with the screeching gulls.

‘You know very well what: what was on that flash drive?’

Callum shuddered. ‘I’d rather not think about it.’

The Logansferry docks probably didn’t feature in Oldcastle’s tourist brochures. It wasn’t quaint and old-fashioned like the Kettle Docks across the river — with its gaily coloured wee boats and fishermen’s huts — instead it was a rigid grid of huge grey slab-fronted warehouses and chandlers’ yards ringed with chain-link fences and barbed wire. Hordes of camera-toting tourists didn’t come here, even if they’d managed to get past the security gates they’d end up squashed beneath a forklift truck, articulated lorry, or shipping container.

Watt folded his arms even tighter. ‘Don’t tell me then.’

‘Imagine the most horrible porn you’ve ever heard of, double it, and add a collection of dogs and farmyard animals. Gah...’ The shudder worked its way from the back of one hand, all the way across his shoulders and down the other side. ‘I’m never singing “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” ever again.’

‘So absolutely no help on the case.’

‘Thanks for making it sound as if that’s my fault.’ Callum took the next turning, along a narrow strip of cobbles. On the left, a waist-high wall separated the road from the river, nothing on the other side of it until the grey lump of Kingsmeath reared up the hill. Ancient stone buildings lined the right-hand side of the road, squat and solid, with rust-reddened corrugated iron roofs and heavy steel doors. He pulled up outside one, two thirds of the way down. ‘This is us.’

It had the standard barn-style sliding door, painted a faded blue with ‘MEARNS FINE FISH PRODUCTS LTD’ in chipped white paint the width of the building.

Watt undid his seatbelt. ‘I’m only going to say this once: you are not going to cock this up, do you understand? I will lead the questioning, you will keep your mouth shut and don’t touch anything.’

Callum turned in his seat. ‘Tell me, Constable , exactly who the hell do you think you are, ordering me about?’

‘I’m the police officer who doesn’t take bribes to let murderers go free.’ He climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut.

Oh no you don’t.

Callum clambered out and slammed his own door. The air was heavy with the oily reek of raw diesel and rotting fish. Rain bounced off the pool car’s roof and bonnet. ‘You know what, you gingery-pube-bearded sack of wank? I’ve never taken a bribe in my life !’ He marched around the car, closing the distance. Balling his hands into fists. ‘And I am sick and tired of snide sneery comments from arseholes like you.’