Stuart MacBride - A Song for the Dying

‘I see.’ Docherty’s smile chilled a good five degrees. ‘So in your opinion my profile is wrong?’

Alice tilted her head to one side, mirroring his. ‘I didn’t say it was wrong, I just don’t think it’s entirely right.’

On the other side of Alice, Dr Constantine’s voice was barely audible. ‘Fight, fight, fight, fight…’

Docherty’s jaw worked from side to side, chewing on something bitter.

‘No offence.’ Alice pressed a hand against her chest. ‘Like I said, big fan. Huge. ’

Ness stood. ‘Perhaps it would be more productive if Dr Docherty and…’ she checked her notes, ‘Dr McDonald could take this discussion offline and report back to their team leaders with the outcome. In the meantime: I find myself having to remind you all that there is a strict media blackout in force. The Powers That Be are not happy someone broke the moratorium and told the press about Claire Young. I don’t care who you are, or who you report to, the only information that gets out of this investigation is in the official press briefings. Are we all clear on that?’

Some shuffling from the crowd.

Superintendent Knight stood, wearing his dress uniform at half seven in the morning, as if that was going to impress anyone. ‘On that note, one of my team from the Specialist Crime Division, DI Foot, will be inviting certain of you to assist him in uncovering who was responsible for feeding details to the Daily Record yesterday. I expect honesty and integrity. And if I don’t get it there — will — be — trouble.’

Ness nodded. ‘Right, that’s it, people. Individual team meetings commence in five. Grab a cigarette or a cup of coffee if you can. It’s going to be a long day.’

‘… looking good, my man.’ DS Brigstock patted me on the back, grinning with his mouth open, cheeks and forehead stippled with impact-crater acne scars. ‘Don’t he look good, Rhona?’

Rhona smiled at me, exposing a mouth full of thick grey teeth. ‘Great to have you back, Guv.’

Half of Ness’s Major Investigation Team had stayed behind, while their SCD rivals bustled out to cram in a quick cigarette or get something from the vending machines.

Jacobson’s team had drifted apart: PC Cooper off running an errand; Dr Constantine on the phone in the corner; while Huntly was having what looked like a very intense conversation with a tall thin man in a grey suit — one of Superintendent Knight’s SCD lot. The discussion all big arm gestures and hissing whispers.

Rhona stuck her hands in her pockets, hunched her shoulders. ‘Listen, Guv, I was thinking of throwing a wee party, you know to celebrate? And-’

‘I’m not sure if we’ll have time, will we, Ash?’ Alice stepped in close, slipped her arm through mine, and smiled at Rhona. ‘I’m really glad I was able to arrange his release, I mean you wouldn’t believe the hoops I had to jump through at the prison, but there was no way I was going to let him rot away in that place.’ The smile got sharper. ‘That would’ve been horrible, wouldn’t it?’

Rhona squared her shoulders. ‘We did our best.’

‘Yes, I know. Still, never mind, he’s out now.’

Not this again …

‘I didn’t see you visiting him every week.’

Alice raised her eyebrows. ‘Didn’t you? Well, they don’t give members of the public access to the official-’

A jagged Aberdonian accent cut across the room. ‘DS Massie, Brigstock: you heard the Super. Team meeting starts at eight, s harp .’ It didn’t look as if Smith’s people skills had improved any in the last two years. He made a big show of pulling back the sleeve of his grey Markie’s suit and checking his watch. Wrinkles stood out in thick stripes across his forehead. Big nose twitching. Close-cropped hair. A chin so small it was barely there.

Brigstock’s face curdled for a second, then his voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Why did they have to make the sheep-shagging bastard a DI?’ Then louder: ‘Yes, Guv.’

‘ Now , Sergeants.’

Rhona didn’t move. Just stood there staring at Alice. ‘Yes, Guv.’ Then she turned her back. ‘Come on, Brigstock. And the rest of you — backsides in gear. You heard DI Smith!’ She shepherded the rest of the team towards the front of the room, where Ness was fiddling with her remote again.

Smith stared at us, then marched over, back straight, shoulders back. ‘Do I need to remind you, Mr Henderson, that you’re no longer a serving police officer? You have no powers in Oldcastle, or anywhere else. And if I hear you’re throwing your weight around, I’ll come down on you like a ton of broken glass. Are we clear?’

I took a step closer, shutting down the gap till we were almost touching. ‘You think you’re a big man because they made you a DI, don’t you? Think that makes you invulnerable. Well, that massive nose of yours will break just as easily as a detective sergeant’s.’

He took a step back. ‘Threatening a police officer is a criminal offence and-’

‘DI Smith?’ Ness’s voice came from the front. ‘We’re ready to start.’ She pressed a button and the screen behind her filled with a map of Oldcastle, a red circle marking a patch of ground behind Blackwall Hill. She nodded at Jacobson. ‘Simon, your team’s welcome to join us if you like?’

‘I appreciate the offer, Elizabeth, but there’s a couple of things that need our urgent attention.’ He flicked his arm out and peered at his watch. ‘And if we don’t get a shift on, we’re going to be late.’

‘Can’t feel my toes…’ Dr Constantine stomped her feet. She had her scarf wrapped around her neck and mouth, woolly hat pulled down over her ears, Parka coat zipped up to her chin.

Jacobson leaned against the waist-high wall, hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket, breath streaming out in a line of fog. ‘It’s good for you. Builds character.’

Kings Park stretched away on both sides of us, the grass crisp with frost. Blue shadows reached down from the granite wedge of Castle Hill, the ruined battlements jagged against the pale sky. A blade of sunlight pierced the gloom — serrated around the edges where trees gouged it — making the Kings River sparkle.

The smell of onions frying in grease oozed through the cold air, thick and sweet and dark, spreading out from the burger van at the edge of the car park. PC Cooper had almost made it to the front of the queue.

Huntly stood with his back to the rest of us, staring out across the river, arms folded, camelhair coat wrapped around him, polished brogues sticking out at ten-to-two. Sulking.

Jacobson turned to Alice. ‘Well? What do you make of our Dr Docherty?’

‘He’s a lot shorter than he is on TV.’ She wrapped one padded arm around her padded waist, the other hand fiddling with her hair where it poked out from the hood of her Arctic jacket. ‘On the basis of what we know so far, it’s reasonable to be cautious and say this might not be the Inside Man. The papers are full of Laura Strachan’s impending “Miracle Birth” — maybe someone saw that and it sparked a fire inside them, I mean if you’re sitting at home full of rage and impotence and looking for some way to vent everything on a world that hates you, and then you see all this stuff about the Inside Man and maybe you think: that’s what I’ll do, I’ll be just like him only better, and it’ll make the angry things in my head leave me alone for a while…’

She turned, eyes narrowed, mouth pinched. ‘But it’s not going to work because this isn’t my fantasy, this is someone else’s, but until I try I don’t know what I really want, and maybe there’s something about it that makes me feel powerful and in control and aroused for the first time in years and I take that one thing and I relive it over and over in my mind till it’s polished sharp, and I go out and I do it again, only properly this time.’ She let go of her hair, looked up at me. ‘I mean, if it was me, that’s what I’d do.’