Stuart MacBride - A Dark So Deadly

Someone on the floors below was whistling the theme tune to Britain’s Next Big Star , only flat as an ironing board.

Franklin grimaced one side of her face shut and held the Lucozade bottle against it as they started upstairs. ‘This paedophile you arrested last night. It was your Slug man, wasn’t it? Bob Shannon found out who he was.’

‘You should go back to the office and lie down. Curl up under one of the desks for a bit.’

‘And you went round and... did he admit to killing your mum and dad?’

‘Or the disabled toilets on the second floor are a great place for a kip. Well, as long as you don’t snore. You don’t snore, do you?’

‘Callum!’

‘No. He didn’t admit to killing anyone. Says he saw who did, though.’

Through the double doors and into the Major Investigation Team’s domain. A lot of the officers milling about here looked every bit as zombied as Watt and Dotty.

Brainzzz...

‘So who was it then?’

Callum headed down past the meeting rooms. ‘He won’t say.’

Blakey was in the Sergeants’ Office, scowling away at his computer, elbows on his desk, fingers in his ears.

The only other occupant was DS Praying Mantis, still sodding about with his audio file — the volume turned up far too loud:

‘I need you to calm down. Listen to me. Listen, we can’t come if you don’t tell me where you are.’

Callum grabbed one of the empty seats and wheeled it over to Blakey’s desk. Thumped down into it. ‘Have you interviewed him yet?’

‘I’m at home. I was on the phone to Ashlee and she was answering the door...’

No response, so he gave Blakey’s shoulder a poke. ‘Have — you — interviewed — Gareth Pike — yet?’

‘Oh Christ, not you again .’

‘... a child missing?’

Franklin settled on the edge of the desk, on the other side, hemming Blakey in. Looming. ‘How’s the nose, DS Blake?’

‘... said he was looking for it, but he... he...’ Sobbing belted out of the speakers.

Blakey turned, glowering out from behind his plastic nose guard. ‘WILL YOU TURN THAT BLOODY NOISE DOWN!’

DS Praying Mantis stuck out his bottom lip. ‘I’m trying to catch a killer here, is that OK with you?’

Callum poked him again. ‘Pike’s in the cells right now. He’s up before the Sheriff at eleven for having indecent images of kids. Get your finger out.’

‘Leave me alone!’

‘... mum. Two Twenty-Three Johnson Crescent, in Shortstaine. Please, he’s got a knife...’

‘Blakey, he was there when my parents were abducted. He saw who took them!’

‘... on their way. When did it—’

He dug his fingers into his ridiculous sideburns. ‘I don’t have time for this, I’ve got—’

‘I swear to God: if you screw this up, Blakey, I’m going to end you.’

‘No, listen. They’re on my mobile...’

The computer’s speakers screamed.

‘GET OFF HER! GET OFF HER! GET OFF HER!’

Blakey shoved his chair back, yanked a drawer open and grabbed a grey stapler from amongst the pencils, pens, and usual office detritus.

‘Don’t hurt my baby! I’ll do anything you—’ More screams.

He spun his chair around and hurled the stapler at DS Praying Mantis.

It clattered into the guy’s monitor, bounced and went skittering across the desk, shattering a mug of tea and sending the contents exploding across keyboard, paperwork and the Mantis’s shirt. ‘WHAT THE HELL?’ On his feet, staring down at the big beige stain.

‘... on their way. Can you tell me your name?’

Blakey’s face was the colour of an impending stroke. ‘IF YOU CAN’T HEAR, GET SOME BLOODY HEADPHONES!’

‘Have you lost your mind?’

‘ALL DAY, EVERY DAY!’ Blakey lurched to his feet, fists clenched. ‘THE SAME BLOODY AUDIO CLIP BLARING LIKE A BLOODY AIR-RAID SIREN!’ Tears sparked in his eyes.

‘Well excuse me for trying to do my job!’

‘I’ll take good care of you...’

‘HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO COPE?’ Spittle glowed in the office’s strip lights. ‘TELL ME?’ Bottom lip trembling. ‘HOW?’

‘... forever. Won’t that be nice? Forever and ever.’

Blakey’s shoulders slumped. ‘How am I supposed to cope?’

‘Oh God, she’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead.’

He bit his bottom lip, then turned and stormed out of the office, one hand rubbing at his eyes.

DS Mantis just stood there, mouth hanging open.

‘Marline, I want you to record the call for me, will your phone let you do that?’

Through the office windows, most of the MIT zombies stood or peered over their partition walls. Watching Blakey go.

‘I... Yeah, completely! I’ve got, like, this app that’ll—’

Franklin blew out a low whistle. ‘Wow.’

‘Get away from me!’

Callum sagged in his seat. So much for getting Blakey to actually do something about Gareth Pike.

‘They’ll worship you.’

Shouldn’t have pushed him so hard.

‘You’ll be a god and they’ll worship you.’

DS Mantis pulled at his shirt, flapping the soggy fabric. ‘Absolutely soaked through.’

Still...

More screaming from the speakers.

‘You know what?’ The Mantis grabbed a handful of tissues from a box of Kleenex and dabbed at himself. ‘I’m getting really tired of Blakey’s crap.’

Franklin took another swig of Lucozade. ‘So what now?’

Good question.

Shame Callum didn’t have an answer. ‘We can’t force Pike to give up the name.’

‘Well... maybe we can trick him into it?’

‘Oh, so it’s my fault Blakey’s wife is shagging around on him, is it?’ More dabbing. ‘Maybe if he wasn’t such a dick the whole time, she wouldn’t have to.’

Callum looked up. ‘Blakey’s wife’s cheating on him?’

Odds on it was DCI Poncy Powel.

‘I mean, I get it: all this macho posturing and sexist rubbish is his way of overcompensating. “Look at how manly I am; no way my wife’s having an affair!” But enough’s enough.’

Nothing but crashing and banging from the speakers. Muffled cries. A sob.

‘Marline? Can you hear me, Marline? Have you recorded the call?’

‘I pressed the button. Please, you have to help them!’

‘Well screw him, I’m making a formal complaint soon as Powel gets in.’ DS Mantis dumped his soggy tissues in the bin. ‘Bloody shirt was clean on this morning.’

‘It’s OK, Marline. We’re on our way. We’ll be there soon.’

‘You have to hurry!’

Callum stood. ‘Yeah well, I suppose we’ll just have to...’ A frown. He wandered over to the tea-stained desk. ‘Can you play that last bit again?’

‘I’ve put up with his crap for six months now and I’m not doing it any more. I’m not.’

‘The last bit of the audio file: play it again.’

Mantis grabbed another handful of tissues. ‘I should’ve marched over there and knocked his ugly block off!’

OK, fine.

Callum scooted around the desk and wiggled the mouse in its little puddle of tea till the cursor on the screen hovered over the media player. A couple of clicks and the audio jumped back in time again.

The authoritarian voice of the Control Room, slightly muffled. Like the recording of a recording: ‘Marline, I want you to record the call for me, will your phone let you do that?’

A young woman, sniffly and frightened: ‘I... Yeah, completely! I’ve got, like, this app that’ll—’