Stuart MacBride - Dying Light

‘So you’re pretty much on your own then.’

‘Me and sodding Margaret, and she’s useless at the best of times.’ A loud sniff, followed by fumbling about in a desk drawer for a man-sized paper tissue, and then a lot of wet snorking noises. ‘What you want to know?’

‘It looks like Jamie’s taken an overdose: think he might have done it on purpose?’

Her whole face clouded over. ‘He was on suicide watch! OK? We’re short staffed. There’s only so much—’

‘I’m not looking to assign blame: I just want to know if you think it was an accident, or suicide.’

She sighed, sounding tired and depressed. ‘He’s been having a rough time. Beaten up a lot — don’t know why, but a lot of the guys had it in for him. Then there’s being accused of murdering his lover, on top of having to deal with her death. And last time we spoke he’d just found out she was pregnant with his kid. He wouldn’t stop crying...’ Shrug. ‘So yeah, I think it’s likely. What’s he got to lose? The love of his life’s dead, so’s his unborn child, and all he’s got to look forward to is getting beaten up in prison every day for the next thirteen to twenty years.’

Logan nodded gloomily. ‘What about witnesses? I mean, it’s the middle of the day and he’s out there in the exercise yard, surely someone must have seen him do it?’

That produced a short, derisory laugh. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me! Witnesses? In this place? You’ll be lucky.’

‘Well, what about the security cameras then? They—’

‘Buggered. Someone was supposed to come fix them last Thursday, but so far: nothing. Only ones working are inside the building, and half of them are screwed.’ She shrugged. ‘You know what it’s like.’

‘Starting to.’ This was a dead end. Jamie had scored some dope and put himself out of his misery. ‘How did he get the drugs?’

‘You’d be surprised what you can buy inside. We do everything we can to keep it out, but they’re always finding new ways. It’s like a pharmacists’ cash and carry round here some days.’

Logan sat back in his seat and stared at the ceiling, trying to think of anything else he should be asking. ‘Did he have any visitors since he got back from hospital?’ Like two large gentlemen from Edinburgh, for example. She didn’t know, but she could find out. One quick phone call later and the answer was yes — yesterday evening: Jamie’s girlfriend. That made no sense and Logan said so. ‘Girlfriend? How can he have a girlfriend? The love of his life’s just been beaten to death.’

Luckily the visiting room was one of the few places in the prison where the CCTV cameras still worked. Logan and Rennie sat in the security office, staring at a flickering monitor, looking back in time to yesterday evening. The screen showed an empty room, tables arranged in straight lines, plastic chairs on either side. Logan prodded the fast-forward button, horizontal lines shuddering across the image as the tape whirred on. A prison officer appeared in the corner, as if by magic, and then the first inmate whooshed into view, followed by two more, each choosing a table as far away from the others as possible. The whirring stopped and the picture settled down into normal time. Jamie McKinnon was sitting at the back left, under the poster telling visitors what they weren’t allowed to pass across to the prisoners. And then the girlfriend arrived, limping into shot with her back to the camera. But Logan didn’t need to see her face to know who it was: black leather jacket, torn jeans, pink spiky hair. Logan stabbed the screen with his finger. ‘Suzie McKinnon, Jamie’s sister. How come they thought she was his girlfr—’ Suzie leaned across the table and slipped a big French kiss into her brother’s open mouth. ‘Oh. I see.’

‘So,’ said Rennie, watching as the pair parted, both wiping their mouths on the backs of their sleeves. ‘She was slipping him more than just tongue.’ A small parcel of drugs, passed from mouth to mouth under the guise of a long, passionate kiss.

Logan nodded. ‘Looks like it. Come on, we have to pay her a visit anyway; she’s next of kin.’

Suzie McKinnon wasn’t in her usual drinking spot with the rest of King Edward’s advisors — the rain keeping even the most stalwart monarchist alcoholics indoors — so they tried the address in Ferryhill they’d followed her to last time. The lights were on in the basement flat, shining out into the gloomy afternoon. Suzie was home.

‘Right,’ said Logan, unfastening his seatbelt. ‘Here’s the plan: I go inside and knock. Rennie: you wait out front like last time, I don’t want her hopping out through the front window and buggering off into the monsoon.’ He turned to the family liaison officer they’d picked up during a quick detour back to headquarters, the same nervous young man assigned to Grandma Kennedy. ‘You take the garden out back.’ The communal door still wasn’t locked so Logan let himself in, picking his way down the dark stairs to the basement flat, the glass from a shattered light bulb scrunching underfoot. The McKinnons’ front door had taken a beating since he was here last — a large boot print next to the lock, the wood around it buckled and cracked. Logan knocked and it swung open beneath his hand, only stopping when the door chain reached full stretch, the wooden surround was splintered where the lock and deadbolt had been ripped free. A nervous face appeared at the opening, took one look at Logan, then ran for it. Suzie McKinnon. The lounge door slammed: she was going out the front window. He found her outside, struggling with DC Rennie, her pink hair plastered to her head, white makeup starting to run in the heavy rain, as if her face was melting. She sank her teeth into Rennie’s arm and he let out an ‘Ayabastard!’ losing his grip for a moment: just long enough for Suzie to wriggle free and slam a knee into his groin. Rennie went white, but didn’t let go, hissing curses between clenched teeth as she writhed and swore.

Logan grabbed her arm before she could inflict any more damage and said, ‘Jamie’s dead, Suzie.’ She froze, staring at him in disbelief while the rain fell all around them. Up close he could see that her make-up had been hiding more than just spots. As it dissolved in the rain, bruises and scrapes were coming to the surface.

Her mouth worked up and down, until the word ‘How?’ finally made it out.

‘Looks like an overdose. But we won’t know for sure until...’ He stopped, not wanting to go into detail about what Isobel would do to Jamie’s body. ‘Until later. We won’t know until later. Come on, let’s go inside.’

The chain was still on the door, so they had to clamber in through the lounge window, treading wet footprints into the tatty settee on their way to the carpet. They stood there in silence for a moment, Suzie chewing on her black-painted fingernails while Rennie limped off to the kitchen under orders to make tea, grumbling non-stop about being kneed in the balls.

‘What happened to the front door?’

She frowned, as if his words were coming from a long way off. ‘Door? Oh, it...’ she shrugged, wincing at the motion. ‘Ah forgot ma key.’ She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

‘I expect you fell down the stairs too. What with it being dark out there and all.’

Suzie closed her eyes and nodded, tears sparkling over her lashes and falling onto her bruised cheeks. Logan sighed. ‘You and I both know that’s bullshit. Someone kicked the door in, then did the same to you. And I’ll bet you all the tatties in Scotland I know who did it.’

‘Did... Did he really overdose?’

‘Far as we can tell. We’re not sure if he did it on purpose or not.’

‘Oh God.’ She buried her head in her hands, rocking back and forth with silent sobs. ‘I killed him!’