Stuart MacBride - The Missing and the Dead

‘It’s OK. We knew it was going to happen sooner or later. But I kind of hoped we’d have a bit longer before it did.’

‘And it’s not as if you’ve got room to spare any more, right? Now you’ve got guests, you don’t need me cluttering up the place.’

‘Cluttering? You didn’t …’ Frown. ‘Sorry? I’ve got guests ?’

‘Of course you do.’

‘It’s not Steel, is it? Because if it is, she can kiss my-’

‘No: Samantha’s cousins. They came round yesterday when I was waiting for you.’ Helen made a hissing sound, as if she was sucking air in through her teeth. ‘It was kind of awkward, really. They’re asking questions about how she’s getting on and if the care home’s any good, and all I can think of is “I slept with her boyfriend.”’

Cousins?

‘Samantha doesn’t have any cousins. Her mum was an only child, her dad too. Are you sure they said-’

‘Of course I am. Boy and a girl. He’s, what, sixteen-ish? She’s about fourteen? Both of them really needed feeding up, so I made fish fingers, beans, and chips. I would’ve washed up, but I didn’t have time, and-’

‘Helen, this is important. What did they look like?’

‘Well, they were thin. Dark hair — they both had the same haircut, shoulder-length and straight — both really soft-spoken. Aberdeen accents?’

No. No. No. No.

The young woman, standing in Helen’s spot by the sea wall earlier. Thin. Shoulder-length black hair. Samantha didn’t have cousins.

He looked up and the girl was still there, leaning back against the concrete. A denim jacket, black jeans, big white trainers. Face dead and motionless.

Catherine Bisset. Stephen Bisset’s daughter. The young woman who’d helped kill her own father. Who’d probably cheered her brother on while he battered Graham Stirling to death. Or did she join in?

Logan’s throat tightened.

She’d been in his house, asking questions about Samantha.

He stepped out into the road.

Sunlight caught the houses on the other side of the bay, making them shine against the hill. Then the clouds closed up, and they sank into darkness again.

Logan stepped into the spotlight surrounding Catherine.

‘That’s far enough.’ She held up a mobile phone. ‘David’s on the other end.’ Pink speckled her cheekbones and nose. She was thinner than she’d been the last time, back when the trial had collapsed. Two dead bodies ago.

He reached for the handcuffs on his equipment belt. ‘What did you do?’

‘How does it work? You’ve got a girlfriend in a coma, and another one living with you. Have you never even heard of loyalty?’

‘Catherine, what — did — you — do?’

‘We had a long talk with Helen yesterday. Found out all sorts of interesting things.’

‘Catherine Bisset, I’m detaining you under Section Fourteen of the Criminal Procedure — Scotland-’

‘No you’re not.’ She gave the phone a wiggle. ‘David, remember? Don’t you want to know where he is?’

Sand filled Logan’s mouth. ‘Where is he?’

‘You lied about our father, didn’t you? You lied about dad, and you did it in court .’

‘I tried to save him. He-’

‘YOU TOLD EVERYONE HE WAS A PERVERT!’ Spit flew from her narrow lips. Then a couple of deep breaths pulled her back. ‘David’s right: you lied .’

Herring gulls wheeled overhead, screaming in the last slice of sunshine as it was swallowed by clouds.

Down on the sands of the bay, the couple with the excitable dog turned back and headed for home.

‘He’s at the care home, isn’t he?’ Logan pulled out his phone and flicked through the contacts. Tapped the one marked ‘SUNNY GLEN’ then listened to it ring. ‘This isn’t TV, you can’t-’

‘Sunny Glen Care Home, how can I help you?’

Catherine pinched her eyebrows together, poked out her bottom lip as if she was about to cry.

‘Louise, it’s Logan McRae. Has Samantha had any visitors today?’

That bottom lip trembled. Good.

‘She has indeed. Her cousin David came up from Edinburgh. Managed to get some time off from his uni course.’

‘Is he still there?’

Catherine’s hand came up to cover her mouth.

‘Think so. You want to speak to him?’

‘Please. And Louise? Make sure you’ve got someone from security with you.’

‘Erm … OK …’ Clunks and thumps came from her end — doors and footsteps. ‘I’ve got some good news, by the way: there’s been a drop-out at Aberdeen Royal Infirmary. Samantha can get a place on the surgical rota in three weeks, if you don’t mind it being a training opportunity with students watching? It’s all done by camera though, they don’t even get in the room.’

A sniff. Catherine’s eyes glistened. Shoulders trembling.

Yeah, go ahead and cry, see what good it does you.

Three knocks. ‘Samantha? It’s Louise.’ The sound of a door opening.

‘Is he there?’

‘Oh … No. Hold on.’ A clunk. Then the beep-boop sound of a touchtone-phone dialling in the background. Louise’s voice grew an echo from the care home’s tannoy system. ‘Good morning, everyone, can Samantha Mackie’s cousin David please pick up the nearest courtesy phone? Thank you.’ Then a muffled, ‘Hugh, go check the terrace. See if Miss Mackie’s out there.’

‘Louise?’

‘They’ve probably gone for a cup of coffee.’

And Catherine Bisset couldn’t hold it in any more. She spluttered out a laugh. ‘We’re not stupid .’

‘Louise, where the hell is Samantha?’

‘There’s no reason to worry, I’m sure everything’s all right.’

The laughter faded and Catherine’s face died again. ‘I liked Helen. She told us all about her daughter, and how you thought she was the dead girl in the swimming pool.’

He took a step closer. ‘What do you want?’

‘Little limp body, floating face down in seawater, head all bashed in like that. Must’ve been horrible.’ She frowned up at him. ‘But it’s more horrible for Samantha, isn’t it? David and me know what it’s like to have someone you love stuck in a hospital bed. Unable to move, or talk, or do anything. Needing someone to feed them and wipe their backside. Not really alive, are they?’

He lowered his voice. ‘Catherine, I swear to God …’

‘Logan? I’m sorry, there seems to be some sort of mix-up. We’re having a bit of difficulty locating Samantha right now, but she’s probably in one of the TV rooms. I’ll give you a call back, OK? It-’

He hung up. Put his phone away. Unclipped his CS gas. ‘What have you done to Samantha?’

‘ You did that to my father. You. You could’ve found him in time, but you didn’t.’

‘Where — is — she?’

‘You let someone cut him and beat him and take him away from us. Nothing left but skin and bone and blood and shame .’

He flicked the safety off the canister.

‘No. Because if you do …’ She held out the phone. ‘What do you think happens to her?’

The gulls screeched.

A patter of rain darkened the concrete wall.

Catherine shook her head. ‘Really, really think about it.’

He slid the CS gas back in its clip. ‘What do you want?’

‘I want my father back.’

‘Then you shouldn’t have killed him.’

She pulled one shoulder up. ‘He was dead long before that. We saved him. We had to, because you didn’t.’ Catherine pointed at a little Nissan Micra, the green paint scraped through to the metal down the passenger side. ‘Do you want to come see Samantha? I’ll give you a lift.’