Stuart MacBride - A Song for the Dying

‘Fine.’ I stepped back and stood up straight. ‘I’ll get it from the hospital. You can go rot in prison for the rest of your life.’

A hard-edged female voice hacked its way out of the phone. ‘ Nenova. ’

‘I’ve got one of your clients here with a camcorder full of homemade kiddie porn.’

A small pause, then a groan. ‘ Who is it this time? ’

Cunningham glowered up at me. ‘What’s it worth?’

‘Doesn’t bother me if you don’t want to do yourself any favours.’

‘ Favours? Hello? ’

‘Not you: Virginia Cunningham.’

‘ God’s sake, we only visited her three days ago! ’

‘Then you know the way here: get your arse in a car.’

A scrunching noise, and the voice was muffled just enough to take some of the harshness off. ‘ Billy? We’re going out.… No, sodding Virginia Cunningham… ’

The star of the show held my gaze for a couple of breaths. Then looked away. Jabbed her spoon in the yoghurt. ‘My midwife’s Jessica someone. McNab, or McDougal? Something like that. Kind of mousey, but she’s got these lovely eyes…’ A smile. ‘I knew a wee boy with eyes like that, once. Just the brightest blue.’

Mousey with blue eyes. ‘Not McNab: McFee. Jessica McFee?’

A shrug. Then the smile got sharper. ‘Just remember: it’s all your fault.’

Not this time.

I stood back, holding the door open. ‘Took your time.’

The detective constable standing on the step stuffed her warrant card back into the vast handbag slung over her shoulder. DC Nenova barely came up to my shoulder, the frown on her face making crow’s feet around her eyes. Jeans, denim jacket, and some sort of monochrome animal-print T-shirt. Curly brown hair, not quite shoulder-length. Her voice was even sharper in real life. ‘If we’re more than ten minutes late, you get to keep your sex offender for free.’ She looked back over her shoulder. ‘Billy, arse in gear, eh?’

She stepped inside, out of the rain. Lowered her voice. ‘Just between the two of us, this porn Virginia’s made…?’

‘Little blond boy, about four or five years old.’

‘Oh God.’ Something painful crossed her face. ‘She didn’t … you know?’

‘Thought you were supposed to be monitoring her.’

‘We are. We were.’ A shrug. ‘Oh, don’t look at me like that: you know what it’s like. We’ve got more sex offenders per capita than anywhere else in the country. Can’t watch them all twenty-four hours a day. Haven’t got the resources or the budget. We do what we can.’

A small thin bloke hurried up the path behind her. Stopped just outside. ‘Shift over, Julia, it’s sodding bucketing down out here.’

Nenova did and he squeezed into the hallway. Stuck his hand out. ‘Billy McKevitt, OMU. Thanks for calling us, Mr…?’

Julia thumped him. ‘It’s Ash Henderson. Remember? Used to be a DI till they busted him to DC over that Chakrabarti stuff? His wee girl got grabbed by that…’ She stopped. Licked her lips. ‘Ah. Sorry. What I mean is: he’s one of us.’

‘Ah, OK.’ McKevitt nodded. ‘So, what we got?’

I handed Nenova the camcorder and she turned it over in her hands. Flipped open the screen. Then went hunting for the ‘ON’ button. ‘You haven’t touched the tape or anything, have you? Should be plastered with her fingerprints…’ The frown was back. ‘Did she say where she met him? The kid? Only- Ah, there it is.’ The screen flickered into life, speakers muffled by the palm of her hand. Grunting. Groaning. A high-pitched sobbing.

All the life sagged out of Nenova’s face. Her lips pinched together. Shoulders dipped. ‘Son of a bitch.’

She handed the camera to McKevitt. ‘What?’ His face did the same thing. Then he poked at the screen, sending it flickering into reverse again. Stood there in silence for nearly a minute. ‘We’ve got at least three kids on here.’ He slammed the door shut. What little glass was left in the thing tumbled to the floor. ‘Aaaaargh! Two years monitoring her, right down the bloody drain!’

Nenova clutched her handbag to her side. ‘Where is she?’

‘Kitchen.’

‘OK.’ The chin came up, the shoulders back as Nenova marched down the hall. ‘Virginia Cunningham, what the sodding hell do you think you’re playing at?’

I followed her into the kitchen, McKevitt right behind me.

Cunningham was still at the breakfast bar, the counter littered with discarded chocolate wrappers and crumpled yoghurt pots. A half-bottle of Gordon’s well on its way to empty. She took another swig. ‘I want my lawyer.’ Her finger pointed at me, then Alice, and finally Babs. ‘These bastards impersonated police officers and forced their way into my house. Assaulted me, conducted an illegal search, and detained me against my will.’

Nenova raised an eyebrow at me.

‘That’s not how I remember it. When we arrived Ms Cunningham seemed distressed. Worried for her safety, we secured entry, fetched her in from the rain, and encouraged her into dry clothes. We discovered the camcorder playing in the lounge displaying images of child pornography. At that point I placed her under citizen’s arrest and contacted you.’

Cunningham’s mouth hung open. ‘You’re not actually going to believe that shite, are you? He told me he was a policeman. Had ID and everything!’

‘Ms Cunningham’s mistaken. Perhaps she heard me refer to my associate as “Officer Crawford”,’ I nodded at Babs, ‘and assumed I meant police officer?’

Babs grinned. ‘Prison officer, actually. Must’ve been mistaken identity.’

‘They’re lying!’

Nenova placed the camcorder on the work surface, the screen flipped out and playing.

‘ Come on, darling, do it for Mummy… ’

Cunningham looked away.

‘Thought so.’ She closed the screen and switched the thing off. ‘Virginia Cunningham, I’m arresting you for the possession of indecent images of children…’

I made a porthole in the fogged-up Suzuki window. ‘Yeah, they’re just taking her away now.’

McKevitt marched out of Cunningham’s house, turned off the lights, locked the front door, then hunched his shoulders and ran for the unmarked Vauxhall parked outside. Soon as he was in the back with Cunningham, Nenova climbed out of the car and into the downpour. Walked across the road to where we were parked. Knocked on the window.

I wound it down. Held my phone against my chest, so the mouthpiece was covered. ‘Something wrong?’

She leaned one arm on the roof and poked her head into the car. ‘That was all bollocks, wasn’t it? You impersonated a police officer, forced entry, and conducted a search without a warrant.’

‘Us?’ I hauled on my best innocent face. ‘No, it all happened exactly as I said, didn’t it, Babs? Alice?’

Alice looked up from another one of the Inside Man letters, a yellow highlighter sticking out the corner of her mouth like a neon cigar. ‘Oh yes, definitely, I mean why would we lie about something like that?’

Babs grinned. ‘Word perfect.’

‘You see, Detective Constable? We’re all on the same side here.’

Nenova sniffed. Looked back at the Vauxhall. ‘Just make sure you stick to the story, OK? And stop telling people you’re a police officer. That shite’s illegal.’

Rain drummed on the car roof, almost loud enough to drown out the blowers going full pelt.

‘Right.’ She straightened up. Stuck a hand through the open window for shaking. ‘Thanks. At least now we can make sure she gets banged up where she belongs.’ Then Nenova turned on her heel and stomped back to her own car.

The Vauxhall’s headlights snapped on as it pulled away from the kerb — Cunningham glaring at us from the back seat. I returned to the phone. ‘You hear that?’