Stuart MacBride - A Song for the Dying

Anywhere that wasn’t pain and suffering and my bloody fault.

A harsh buzz trembled in my pocket, followed a moment later by a high-pitched ringing. I snatched out the phone that came in my investigation pack. Pressed the green button. Swallowed. ‘Henderson.’

Shifty’s voice rattled out of the earpiece. ‘ Ash? You need to get your arse- ’

‘Hold on.’ I put my hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Sorry, I have to take this.’ Yes, it was cowardly, but at least I wouldn’t be just standing there, wallowing in Ruth Laughlin’s pain…

Yeah, because it was her fault I’d let the Inside Man get away. Her fault that he’d gone after her. Way to be a prick, Ash. Great work.

I slipped out into the hall.

Must’ve been one o’clock, because the church bells chimed out their warm-up peal, followed by a single massive note. Dark and hollow.

‘ Ash? You there? ’

‘Have you got that address for Laura Strachan yet?’

‘ Doesn’t matter where you are, or what you’re doing — you want to get over to… Hold on… ’ His voice became muffled. ‘ Where are we? ’ Then back to full strength again. ‘ Wishart Avenue. It’s behind the- ’

‘I know where it is. Why?’

‘ The Inside Man strikes again. ’

Wishart Avenue made a redbrick arc between the condemned bingo hall on Mark Lane and the vacant business centre on Downes Street. It’d been residential once. Then shops. And now it was a gallery for badly spelled graffiti tags.

Most of the terrace was boarded up, thick sheets of plywood bloated with rainwater and swelling beneath the spraypaint. The handful of houses that were still occupied had steel front doors and bars on the windows. Puddles dotted the potholed tarmac.

Alice stayed close, her little collapsible brolly held over us both. ‘Did you know Ruth was raped, I didn’t know she was raped, why wasn’t there anything in the file about him raping his victims?’

‘We didn’t know.’ I sidestepped a pool of greasy water, the surface rippled by rain and rainbowed with diesel. ‘Ruth didn’t say anything about it when we questioned her eight years ago. Nor did Laura, or Marie… Though to be fair, we didn’t really get much out of Marie full stop. Not with the brain damage.’ I gave Alice a nudge with my shoulder. ‘You’re the only one who’s managed to get the truth out of Ruth.’

That got me a smile and a blush.

A white Scenes Examination Branch marquee sat two-thirds of the way down the road, in front of an alley through to Henson Row. A double layer of blue-and-white ‘POLICE’ tape cut the street in half, a white Transit van and two patrol cars blocking either end.

Two figures stood in front of the tape barrier: Shifty in his cheap black suit — scowling beneath a red-and-green golf umbrella — and a short man in a waxed jacket and trainers. Baseball cap on his head, hands deep in his pockets. Shoulders up against the rain.

He squinted at us as Shifty pulled the tape up so Alice and I could duck under.

‘Ash Henderson ? Dear Lord, when’d they let you out?’ The wee man grinned, stuck out his hand… Then used it to give his baseball cap a tweak when I didn’t shake it. ‘Good to see you. Sorry to hear about your daughter.’ He pointed at Alice. ‘Who’s this lovely creature?’ He gave her a little bow. ‘Russell Kirkpatrick, Castle News and Post , old friend of Ash’s. So you’re here about the murder?’

Alice opened her mouth, but I got in first. ‘Don’t say anything: he’s fishing. No comment, Russell.’

His face drooped. ‘Come on, Ash, be fair. No one else’s got wind of this yet — bottle of Glenfiddich if you help me out?’

‘It’s a blackout, Russell. No one’s talking.’

‘It’s not Charlie Pearce’s body, is it? Off the record?’

‘Bye, Russell.’

Shifty lowered the cordon and hurried after us. ‘So, you guys are up for a curry tonight? I’ll pick up a takeaway if you get the beers in.’

Russell’s voice echoed out behind us. ‘Bottle of whisky and a ticket to the Aberdeen-Dundee match. Corporate box!’

No chance.

As soon as we were out of earshot, Shifty made a big show of patting down his pockets. ‘Damn. Alice, any chance I can grab Ash for a minute?’

A small crease appeared between her eyebrows, then she nodded.

He gave Alice the umbrella. ‘Just be a minute.’

We stood there, in the rain while she walked off towards the SEB tent.

Shifty gave it a couple of beats then leaned in, his voice low and garlicky. ‘I’ve been onto my mate with the boat — you might need to hole-up in Fraserburgh for a couple of days, but you’ll be in Norway by the weekend. And Biro Billy says he can have the passport ready tomorrow, but he needs a headshot. Mobile phone won’t do: needs to be one of those approved photo-booth jobs.’

‘What was all that business with the pockets?’

Shifty shrugged. ‘Thought it’d be more convincing if it looked like I’d lost something.’ He nodded towards Alice as she reached the SEB marquee. ‘You taking her with you?’

I stood there, in the rain, mouth open for a bit. Hadn’t thought about that. If I sodded off to Norway on my own, Mrs Kerrigan’s goons would go after Alice sooner or later. And they wouldn’t care if she had nothing to do with the death or not, someone would have to pay.

Shifty could take care of himself, but Alice?

No way I was letting that happen.

I cleared my throat. ‘She’ll be safer with me.’

His face scrunched up on one side, the eyes narrowed. ‘Might be difficult. You know: abandoning her career and all that.’

Sodding hell. ‘It’d only be a couple of years.’

She’d understand, wouldn’t she?

One of Superintendent Knight’s team poked his head out of the SEB tent. Looked around until he was staring straight at Alice. Frowned. He stepped out into the road. Middling height with a slight paunch bulging the checked shirt out over his suit trousers. He bared his top teeth. Ran a hand along his monk’s tonsure. ‘DI Morrow, what’s this civilian doing here?’

I marched over. ‘What do you think, you baldy wee-’

‘Actually,’ Alice pulled out her widest smile, ‘we’re all on the same team really, aren’t we, I mean it’s not about jurisdiction or brownie points, is it, it’s about catching this guy before he has a chance to hurt anyone else, and my name’s Dr McDonald, but you can call me Alice if you like, what’s your name?’

He backed up a couple of steps, until he was right against the SEB tent. ‘Err… Nigel… No, erm … Detective Constable Terry.’

‘Nigel Terry, wow, that’s super, was it strange growing up with two first names, or did you not let that bother you, I know it can really undermine a person’s confidence if people keep getting their name wrong, I mean everyone probably gets confused and ends up calling you Terry, don’t they, and that’s got to feel really rude, so who’s running the scene?’

‘It… We… Em… I am?’

‘That’s just great, so if you’d like to sign us in we’ll take a look and then we can all get together and talk it through, is that OK, Nigel?’

‘But… Yes?’

‘Super.’

We scribbled our names into the log and stepped into the tent. Inside, the air was muggy and a good ten degrees warmer than outside, thick with the familiar smell of SEB marquee. A mix of Pot Noodle, coffee, and last night in the pub — sweated out into a white Tyvek suit and left to percolate for a couple of hours as they worked the scene in their own private saunas.

A couple of the SEB techs stood by a folding table, oversuits peeled off to the waist, chugging bottles of water. Steam rose from their shoulders in oily ribbons.