Stuart MacBride - A Dark So Deadly

‘Ooh... Now that’s interesting, I mean he’s all softly-softly with the young men he attacks, but the women are there to be subdued quickly and violently. Maybe they don’t deserve subtlety? Maybe women need to be put down hard and fast? What do we know about Monaghan’s childhood?’

‘Nothing that isn’t in the file.’

‘I think it’s a safe bet he had a very difficult relationship with his parents. Probably an abusive father and a submissive mother. She’s beneath contempt. She never loved him properly. Father had the right idea — women are dirty, subhuman things that have to be trained like dogs. Chained up and beaten...’

Silence.

Franklin checked her watch.

‘Alice?’

‘Sorry, thinking. Monaghan knew we were looking for him, it was in all the papers. He’s feeling threatened and embattled and he needs more gods to protect him. He’s running out of time, so he has to cut corners. You say the daughter’s anorexic? Well, why starve a young man when you can just abduct a young woman who’s done all the hard work for you?’

Callum grinned at Franklin. ‘That’s what I said.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘That means the mother is surplus to requirements and if there’s blood everywhere, it’s probably hers. It’ll still take a few days to purify the daughter to make sure she’s worthy of godhood, but I’d be shocked if the mother isn’t already dead.’

Sodding hell.

Callum stood. ‘So there’s still a chance we can save Ashlee?’

‘Not much of one, but yes.’

‘Thanks.’ He hung up and turned to Franklin. ‘Any ideas?’

‘Monaghan had to transport them out of here somehow: car, or a van.’ She hauled out her phone. ‘The initial investigation must’ve done door-to-doors.’ Her thumb poked at the screen for a moment, then she held it to her ear and wandered out onto the landing. ‘Yes. DC Franklin, I need to speak to DS McCready...’

Two could play at that game.

Callum put a call in to the CCTV team. Listened to it ring. Crossed to the window and pulled back the curtains.

The other side of the street still glowed like a packet of fluorescent Fruit Pastilles. This part of Johnson Crescent formed the bottom curve of a big U-shape, so anyone on the left or the right would have a clear view of anything suspicious. Assuming they didn’t come down with the traditional Oldcastle amnesia and—

‘Greetings!’ A woman’s voice, crackling with faux-American cheesy cheer. ‘You’ve reached the magnificent Closed-Circuit Television Department, where dreams really do come true. How may I direct your call?’

‘Voodoo? It’s Callum.’

The accent disappeared. ‘My God, there’s a blast from the past! You’ve not been on the scrounge for a favour since last Wednesday. I was beginning to worry.’

‘I’m looking for a car, or a van, involved in the abduction of a mother and daughter.’

‘What, straight into it? No foreplay?’

‘Your husband says I’m not allowed to get you all fired up and horny. Aggravates his lumbago. The vehicle would have been in the area this Wednesday evening, between seven and nine p.m.: Johnson Crescent. I need to know where they came from and where they went afterwards.’

‘Got makes and models?’

‘Depends if you believe the door-to-doors or not. Probably best to do it blind so we don’t miss anything.’

‘Hmmph, you’re not asking much, are you? Let’s see what we can see...’ The sound of fingers dancing across a keyboard. ‘There’s no CCTV cameras on that street. Nearest I’ve got is Johnson Park, at the wee shopping centre.’ More clicking. ‘We’re having a birthday party for Ian next week: sixtieth. You should come. Bring the lovely Elaine, we’ve not seen her for ages.’

‘Yeah... Not so lovely. We’ve split up.’

‘Callum MacGregor! You do not get a young lady pregnant and then—’

‘I didn’t. It wasn’t mine.’

Clickity, clickity, clickity.

‘Oh, Callum, I’m so sorry. I’ve got ANPR cameras on Camburn Roundabout, one at the traffic lights just before you hit the woods, and another outside ASDA on the Brechin road.’

‘It’s probably a van, but any car big enough to hide two bodies in the boot is worth a punt.’

‘Are you sure the baby isn’t yours?’

‘She’s been shagging DCI Reece Sodding Powel for about a year. Probably longer.’

‘Then you should definitely come to the party. My daughter’s just dumped her idiot husband and she could do with a shoulder to cry on.’ Clickity click, click, click. ‘This is probably going to take a while. I’ll have to get back to you.’

‘Thanks, Voodoo.’

‘And I mean it about the party, Callum, you and Becky would be perfect together. She’s smart; she’s pretty; she’s always got her head in a book; and she never, ever—’

‘Bye, Voodoo.’ He hung up. Stood there, staring out at the brightly coloured houses.

Maybe Oldcastle’s answer to Yente was right?

Maybe her daughter was perfect?

And maybe he deserved to be happy for a sodding change?

It wasn’t as if Elaine gave a—

‘You OK?’

He turned, and there was Franklin, frowning at him. ‘Hmmm?’

‘Looked like you were miles away.’

‘Any luck?’

‘Couple of residents mentioned a small grey van parked up the road. One old lady saw a big blue Transit, but nobody else did. And there were three sightings of a big Red Land Rover driving erratically around the time of the nine-nine-nine call. McCready’s got two DCs trying to chase them down.’

At least it was a start.

Callum went back to his phone and called Mother.

Franklin made a big show of looking at her watch. Again. ‘We’re going to be late.’

‘No we’re not.’

To be fair, the traffic was terrible. Whichever moron on the city council thought it was a good idea to dig up the main road through town on the same weekend as that stupid music festival in Montgomery Park needed a stiff kick in the backside. And then a punch in the balls.

The dual carriageway was down to one lane in each direction, crawling with eighteen wheelers; coaches; buses; cars; all blending in an exhaust-fume symphony of grey that stretched from the Camburn Roundabout as far as the eye could see. Didn’t help that the rain was on again.

The line of cars ahead of them snaked through the slalom of orange traffic cones, crawling across the central reservation and onto the opposite lane. Then stopped.

Callum cleared his throat. ‘OK: how do we trick Gareth Pike into giving up the name?’

‘Lie to him.’

‘I mean, it’s not like I can threaten to put him in jail with a bunch of sex offenders, is it? That’s his idea of a social club.’

‘You could offer him something, then take it away? Pretend you’ve found another source and they’ve already given you the name, so the best Pike can do is corroborate it if he wants any concessions at all?’

‘Might work...’

‘He has to want something, everyone does. So what does Pike want?’

‘South-facing cell with a nice view. Seriously: like he’s reserving a room at the Ritz.’

‘Good luck with that.’ Franklin pulled a face. ‘We’re definitely going to be late.’

‘Look, there’s nothing we can do about the traffic, OK? Put the radio on or something.’

Franklin crossed her arms. ‘Put on the blues-and-twos more like.’

He tried not to sigh, but it didn’t work. ‘We’ve been over this: you hit the nine-nine-nine button and the GPS starts recording, and the dashboard camera starts recording, and...’ He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.