Stuart MacBride - A Dark So Deadly

He fumbled out a tenner and laid it on the bar with exaggerated care, just to prove he wasn’t drunk.

Hedgehog took it, then stared over Callum’s shoulder, smiling. ‘Oh thank the heavens for that: you came.’

‘Callum?’ Dotty wheeled herself over to his barstool and looked up at him. ‘Are you OK?’

‘You want... want a drink? I’m buying.’ He thumped his left hand down on the bar. ‘Hedgehog — pint of... pint of Old Jock for Dotty. Put it... on my tab. No, no, I insist . You want crisps? Course you want crisps. Give her some crisps.’

‘How much have you had to drink?’

‘I’m celebrating.’

‘Oh, Callum...’

He took a swig of beer. ‘No, it’s great. All of it.’ A soft warm smile spread across his face. ‘My mum didn’t... didn’t abandon me, she got murd—’ The burp tasted of whisky and prawn cocktail. ‘Sorry. She got murdered . An... an I don’t have to raise... raise someone else’s baby!’ The Grouse set fire to his chest on the way down, making it swell. ‘Cos it wasn’t mine. You see?’

Hedgehog leaned on the bar. ‘Dear, sweet, Detective Sergeant Hodgkin, I would consider it a personal favour — nay, a veritable boon — if you would escort DC MacGregor to another establishment. Perhaps somewhere he can drink copious amounts of coffee, consume some carbohydrates, and prepare for what is no doubt going to be a most terrible hangover? He can settle up and collect his bike when he’s sober.’

The song on the jukebox mourned to an end. Then started right back up again.

‘Wasn’t my baby, Dotty. It never... never was.’

‘Have you got somewhere to stay?’

He spread his arms wide, slopping beer across the bar. ‘World... world is my oyster.’

She puffed out her cheeks. Grimaced. ‘OK, OK. You can stay in the spare room, I’m sure Louise won’t mind. Probably. As long as you’re not going to be sick — she hates that. You’re not going to be sick, are you?’

He lowered his glass. ‘They kicked me out of... of my flat. My flat! I paid... paid for it an every... everything.’

‘You have to promise not to be sick everywhere.’

‘It was my flat.’

‘I’m serious about the not being sick, Callum. Don’t do that.’

‘Cross my heart.’ He blinked at her for a bit. Then held out the packet of pickled onion. ‘You want... want some crisps?’

Callum wiped his mouth, sighed. Spat out a bitter thread of bile. Rested his forehead against the cool wooden seat.

The shower’s hiss disappeared for a moment as he flushed the toilet for the fourth time.

Urgh...

Then he clambered back into the bath again, holding onto the rails built into the bathroom wall to keep him upright. Rinsed the shampoo out of his hair. Then stood there and steamed for a bit, till the water went tepid, then cold.

Finally, he clambered out and dried himself off on a dark-blue towel. Wrapped it around his middle and crept back along the hall and into Dotty’s spare room. Stood there with his back to the door, arms hanging by his sides.

Dotty and Louise had gone to town in here: pink chintz cushions; pink floral bedspread; pink floral pillows, curtains, and pelmet; dried flowers on the pine chest of drawers.

It was like standing inside Barbara Cartland.

He sank down the door, until his towelled bum came to rest on the fuchsia-coloured carpet. Cradled his swollen right hand against his chest. Every time he tried to move his fingers it was like rubbing barbed wire into the joints. That’s what he got for punching Powel in the face.

Might hurt now, but it felt great at the time. Standing over him, watching the blood seeping out through his open mouth.

Deserved all he got. And more.

How long had it been going on: Powel and Elaine? She was due in two weeks, so that meant at least nine months. Probably longer. Probably ever since they worked that murder/suicide.

All that time, screwing around behind his back...

He groaned.

Yeah, that explained why Elaine had been off sex since April — she was saving herself for sodding DCI Powel.

And what would’ve happened if Powel hadn’t found the balls to leave his wife?

No way Elaine would’ve come clean, not when she had Callum right there to pay for everything. To change dirty nappies and stay up half the night feeding Poncy Powel’s bloody baby.

To take the blame for cocking up a crime scene, so she could keep her paid maternity leave for a baby that wasn’t even his. Manipulating him with little love notes and sandwiches. How stupid could he be?

No wonder she treated him like an idiot — that’s exactly what he was. A moron. A halfwit. A mug.

Whose mother’s severed head was lying in a refrigerated drawer in the city mortuary.

Yeah... this had been a great day.

Didn’t really matter any more, did it? Who was going to hear? No one.

So Ashlee stopped screaming. Stopped rattling against her chains. Stopped fighting against the darkness.

Just slumped back and let the cold filthy water seep into her bones.

The surface rippled with every shiver that juddered through her, making her teeth clatter.

Maybe the Man with Blue Eyes would come back and let them go?

He said he’d come back...

Or maybe he’d forgotten about them?

How long had it been since he left? Hours. Hours and hours and hours. And no sign of him. Nothing but the cold and the wet and the sound of her own screams.

Mum still hadn’t moved. She was just visible in the pale-orange light that seeped through between a couple of the wooden boards. Slumped over to one side with the chain tight around her neck.

Poor cow.

All those years living with Dad, who was utterly a dick. All the shouting and the manipulation and the checking up on her and not letting her have any friends... And then one day he just walks out and never comes back, because occasionally even utter dicks can do something nice for their families.

All those horrible years with Dad, then some more horrible ones with Uncle Eddy who always wanted to tickle Ashlee and take her shopping for pretty dresses and go with her to the swimming. Breathing heavily as she stripped off in the changing rooms. Sitting in her room watching her sleep. Oh, yeah, completely not a paedo. Then Uncle Eddy finds himself another single mother with a much younger daughter and off he goes too.

Good sodding riddance.

And then , when Mum was finally getting herself back together — going out of the house instead of staying at home watching soaps and eating ice-cream and oven chips — this happened.

Ashlee closed her eyes and sobbed in the dark.

Howling it out.

Because who was going to hear her?

She was going to die here. Alone. In the dark.