Stuart MacBride - Dying Light

Smithfield Drive was on the other side of North Anderson Drive, overlooking the dual carriageway where it dipped down the final hill and died at the Haudagain Roundabout. The buildings were standard Aberdeen City Council fare, no different to the other schemes of rectangular granite slabs all over the city. Skanky Agnes’s building was a two-storey block of four flats, hiding behind a front garden that groaned under the weight of gnomes, wishing wells and ornamental trellis smothered in vivid-yellow climbing roses. Not exactly what Logan had been expecting. Agnes’s flat was top right, behind a pristine red front door with the name ‘SAUNDERS’ on it. He stifled a yawn and got Rennie to lean on the doorbell. It took two more goes before the red door opened and a creased face blinked out at them. Early thirties; bleached-blonde curly hair, flat on one side and sticking up on the other; black-and-gold kimono clutched half-heartedly closed at the waist, exposing an expanse of cleavage at the top end, and a pair of sturdy legs at the other. Mascara smudged around both eyes on a hardened, but still attractive, professional face. Definitely not Skanky Agnes. ‘What fuckin’ time you call this?’ Rennie told her it was twenty to two. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake...’ A yawn, big enough to take a full-grown cat. ‘What is it with you police bastards? Can you no’ let a body sleep?’

Rennie bristled, obviously a little flustered at being ID’d as a copper so easily. ‘What makes you think I’m not a Jehovah’s Witness?’

She sighed, looked him up and down once more, then pulled the kimono a little tighter, hiding the cleavage, but exposing a dangerous amount of upper thigh. ‘Christ, you’re not, are you?’

‘No, but I could have been.’

The woman laughed and released her grip on the kimono, causing it to fall back into exactly the same position it had occupied in the first place, only more open. ‘Aye. That’ll be shinin’. You got copper written all over you. What you want?’

‘Ms?’

‘Saunders.’

‘Right, Ms Saunders, we’re looking for Agnes Walker. We understand she lives here?’

The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’

‘We... er... that is...’ Rennie passed a panicked look back at Logan, who hadn’t actually told the constable what they were doing here.

‘We want to speak to her about an assault that happened two weeks ago.’

Ms Saunders shifted her attention from Rennie to Logan as he told her that Agnes wasn’t in any trouble, they wanted to find out who beat her up, so they could stop him from doing it again.

The woman folded her arms, making the hem of her kimono rise a good four inches. ‘And how come you’re suddenly so bloody interested in Agnes’s welfare? Eh? Where the hell were you when he was beatin’ the shite out of her?’ She squared her shoulders. ‘Come to think of it, how come it’s taken you this long to take a bloody interest?’

Logan had to admit she had a point. ‘She told me it was an accident.’

‘An accident?’ She snorted. ‘Are you kiddin’ me? You see the state of her? That was no accident, some bastard tried to strangle the poor cow! Four days she was laid up in her bed, pissing blood half the time. Sheets were in a hell of a mess.’

‘Did she tell you who did it?’

‘She didn’t know. She did, I’d’ve been round there in a shot with a pair of rusty shears, cut the bastard’s prick right off!’

Logan peered over her shoulder into the darkened flat. ‘Look, can we talk about this inside—’

‘No you fuckin’ don’t: I don’t do freebies. And definitely no threesomes!’

‘I’m not looking for a “freebie”, OK? And neither is he,’ Logan jerked a thumb in Rennie’s direction. It was difficult not to notice that the constable was spending an inordinate amount of time staring at the flesh appearing beneath the woman’s slipping kimono. ‘Give us a description — did Agnes tell you what her attacker looked like?’

She shrugged. ‘Medium height, brownish hair, ordinary looking.’ When Logan didn’t say anything, just stood there silently, she sighed again. ‘Look, I don’t know, OK? Said he had a flashy motor, one of them big BMWs. That’s all I can remember. You want any more, you’ll have to ask her yourself.’

‘I will. Where is she?’

‘No idea.’

A man’s voice echoed out from inside the flat — hoarse, deep and sounding of Fraserburgh: ‘Whit is it?’ She turned and shouted back, ‘It’s nothin’. Start on yer own, I’ll be in in a minute,’ before turning back to Logan. ‘She didn’t come back this morning.’

The man’s voice again, ‘Are you fuckin’ comin’ or what?’ and Ms Saunders sighed. ‘In a fuckin’ minute!’ She stuck out her hand to Logan. ‘Give us your card. She’ll call you when she gets back, and if she doesn’t, I will. Wee shite did that to her deserves all he gets.’ And as soon as Logan handed over his Grampian Police business card the door was slammed in their faces.

‘So,’ said Rennie on the way back to the car. ‘You want to tell me what that was all about?’

‘Agnes Walker had the crap beaten out of her about twelve days ago. Four days later, give or take, Rosie Williams is beaten to death. Four days after that it’s Michelle Wood’s turn.’

‘So?’ Rennie flipped the locks and clambered in behind the wheel.

‘What if Rosie Williams wasn’t the guy’s first?’ said Logan, getting into the passenger seat. ‘Suppose he’s been out there hunting before, only victim number one puts up a fight and he can’t finish the job. He learns from his mistakes and out he goes again. He tries Rosie, and she’s not as strong as the first one, or maybe he’s just better prepared this time: he kicks and punches her till she’s dead. Four days later he’s back again. He did Rosie right there in the street; anyone could come along — too risky. This time he snatches his victim. Instead of killing her at the scene, he takes her away somewhere quiet and secluded where he can enjoy himself a bit more. Less chance of discovery.’ Rennie did a three-point turn and headed back towards Anderson Drive as Logan fought with the seatbelt. ‘The more he does it, the better he gets. So far, Skanky Agnes is the only one who’s seen him and lived. Soon as we’re back at FHQ get a lookout request out for her. We need to know what he looks like.’

Rennie whistled, waiting for his turn at the roundabout onto the dual carriageway. ‘So that definitely puts the kybosh on Jamie McKinnon killing Rosie...’

‘If it’s the same man.’

The car lurched onto the roundabout as Rennie floored it, nipping out before an articulated lorry could flatten them. He drove straight across the Drive, heading back into town. ‘You think it’s the same man, don’t you?’

Logan shrugged. ‘Either that or it’s a huge bloody coincidence...’ He watched the houses on Rosehill Drive go by for a moment, before coming to a conclusion. ‘Change of plan: drop me off at the Journals. I’ve got to see a man about some drugs.’

As Rennie pulled away from the P&J’s concrete bunker, Logan called Colin Miller on his mobile. ‘Colin, it’s me.’ Silence from the other end of the phone. ‘Look, Colin, I know Steel can be an arse at times, but...’ He couldn’t actually think of an excuse for the inspector’s behaviour, so he settled for, ‘But I could really do with your help.’

‘I’m busy.’

‘Five minutes. I’m outside. Come on, we can go for a walk in the sunshine...’

A deep sigh. ‘OK, OK — if I do, will you promise tae leave me alone?’

‘Scout’s honour.’ Ten minutes later Miller appeared, dressed in his shirtsleeves, jacket slung casually over one shoulder. They walked up the Lang Stracht, sun on their faces, bus fumes in their lungs. ‘So, you want to tell me about your friends from down south?’