Stuart MacBride - A Song for the Dying

I patted him on the shoulder. ‘He was an arsehole. And you were too good for him.’

‘You’re a lying bastard.’ A little smile curled the corner of Shifty’s mouth. ‘But I’ll take it.’

‘How about this — soon as we’ve dealt with Mrs K, we’ll pay him a visit with a baseball bat.’

The smile became a grin. ‘Deal.’

I swapped the containers in the microwave for the rice. Stopped with a finger on the controls. ‘One more thing: we’ll need a sedative. Something to keep Alice … comfortable in the car while we’re at-’

‘Nah, no way. You’re not taking her with you. Me, I don’t mind helping you kill the old bag, but Alice? No. You can’t.’

I reached down and pulled up my left trouser leg. Flashed the grey plastic ankle tag. ‘Don’t have any choice. If the two of us are more than a hundred yards apart, this’ll bring the full force of the law down on me like a ton of incompetent lard. She’s coming.’

Shifty started the microwave going again. ‘It’s not right. Alice-’

‘Will be fine . It’ll be clockwork: we drive over there… What?’

Shifty’s grimace turned into a blush. ‘Bit of a wrinkle: we need another car.’

‘What happened to the Mondeo? I thought you-’

‘I parked it round the corner, yesterday.’

Oh that was just brilliant. ‘You left it in Kingsmeath?’

‘Well, how was I supposed to know?’

‘It’s Kingsmeath!’

He picked at the label on his beer bottle. Stared at the floor. ‘Yeah.’

Deep breaths. OK… Not the end of the world. ‘We steal another car. Go over there, disable the alarm, in, stun the dogs, grab the murdering cow, out, woods, shallow grave, burn the car, home.

‘But what if-’

‘Nothing’s going wrong. Trust me.’

Tuesday

‘ … that great? And they’ll be live at the King James Theatre in December. You’ve got Castle FM on the dial, I’m Jane Forbes, and you’re fabulous . Sensational Steve’s coming up at seven, but first here’s Lucy’s Drowning with their new single, “Lazarus Morning”. ’

I blinked at the ceiling, heart beating like a brick in a washing machine. Where the hell…

Right. The flat in Kingsmeath. Not prison.

Got to stop doing that.

Closed my eyes. Let my head fall back against the pillow. Hauled in a deep trembling breath.

A guitar jangled from the clock-radio, upbeat and jarring. Then a man’s voice: ‘ It’s Monday morning, eight a.m., and my head’s on fire again, for you. For you. ’

Today was the day. Finally. After all this time.

‘ Another night of cheating death, living with your final breath, for me. You see? ’

Bob the Builder grinned at me from the bottom of the bed.

‘ And all the people on this bus, don’t know about the end of us… ’

Mrs Kerrigan’s last day on earth.

‘ Can’t see the way I’m torn inside, my hollow heart is all untied… ’

The clattering in my chest settled down to a dull ache. It was one thing to fantasize about killing someone, another to plan and prepare for it, but to do it?

‘ Like Lazarus crying, his soul to the stars… ’

To actually stick the barrel of a gun against the back of their head and pull the trigger?

Couldn’t help but smile.

‘ Filled up with strangers from desolate bars. ’

Of course Mrs Kerrigan deserved something a lot slower and more intimate. Something with knives and pliers and drills… But would that bring Parker back? Course it wouldn’t.

‘ Lazarus morning, all wrapped in decay… ’

Come on, Ash. Up.

‘ I will rise from this darkness, but just not today… ’

I stayed put, warm beneath the duvet.

The gun cold in my hand, the barrel blazing as the bullet seared into her forehead, the boom mingling with the wet explosion as the back of her head splattered its contents out across the floor.

Take her kneecaps first.

Listen to her begging for mercy.

Like she deserved any…

The song played out. Was replaced by another one. Then one more after that.

At least we didn’t have to go to morning prayers today. For the first time in two years I could stay in bed as long as I liked.

‘ … new single from Closed for Refurbishment. What do you think? It’s growing on me. Anyway, it’s coming up for half past, and that means it’s Donald with news, travel, and weather. Donald? ’

I sat up, swung my legs out of bed.

‘ Thanks, Jane. Oldcastle Police have appealed for volunteers to help search for missing five-year-old Charlie Pearce. The schoolboy went missing on Sunday night, and officials are becoming increasingly concerned for his safety… ’

My foot crackled and burned as I rolled it one way, then back again. Back and forth until it didn’t hurt quite as much. Shame the same wasn’t true about my ribs. The skin was purple, blue, and black — stretched all the way down my right-hand side, from armpit to knee. More on my shoulder and arm. As if I’d been battered with a two-by-four.

‘ … car park at Moncuir Wood from eight this morning. In other news, a source close to Operation Tigerbalm, investigating the death of Claire Young, has revealed that the Inside Man has abducted another victim. Jessica McFee, a midwife at Castle Hill Infirmary, was snatched on her way to work yesterday… ’

‘Good work, guys.’ Oldcastle CID didn’t so much leak information as haemorrhage the bloody stuff.

‘ … declined to be interviewed, but Police Scotland issued the following statement… ’

Blah, blah, blah.

It took a bit of effort, but I managed to lever myself upright, hissing and groaning all the way. Breakfast first, then a quick shower, then off to the Postman’s Head to let Jacobson know about Claire Young’s last meal. Maybe go interview Jessica McFee’s colleagues after that — ask if anyone had seen anything suspicious, anyone hanging about.

Keep myself busy until it was time to bid Mrs Kerrigan a hollowpoint farewell. Right between the eyes.

I struggled my way into a fresh set of clothes, unlocked the bedroom door, and limped out into the corridor.

Yesterday there had been singing and showering, today there was silence.

In the lounge, Shifty was hunched over, sitting on the edge of the inflatable mattress, his weight buckling it out shape. He had the duvet wrapped around his middle, fat fingers fumbling with the skin on his flushed cheeks, bags under his eyes.

He grunted something, then scrubbed his face with his hands.

‘What, no cheery chappy coffee-making today?’

‘Urnnng…’

The kitchen was awash with takeaway refuse, empty bottles and little scrunched-up tins of tonic. I stuck the kettle on and dragged out some mugs. ‘How does three in the morning sound?’

‘Urnnnng…’

‘Can’t decide if I want to take my time, or make it last.’ Stuck my head back into the lounge. ‘You ever tortured someone?’

He hadn’t moved. ‘Why did you let me drink all that gin?’

‘Probably quite messy, but I’ve got that tarpaulin.’ A frown. ‘Mind you, you’d have to be pretty sick, wouldn’t you? It’s different if you need to get information out of someone, but doing it for the sake of it…’ Perhaps a couple of bullets in the head would be the safest thing after all. No need to drop to her level. Just as long as she ended up dead.

But still…

Shifty’s mouth split open in a yawn, then he shuddered. Sagged even more than his mattress. ‘You wimping out on me?’

‘Am I hell.’

Back to the kitchen.