Stuart MacBride - A Song for the Dying

She stood, shrugged off the black suit jacket and picked up a stack of paper. The purple bags under her eyes were clearly visible through the makeup. ‘Charlie Pearce has now been missing for over twenty-four hours, statistically that means we’re probably now looking at a murder enquiry. I — do — not — want — this — getting — out. Are we clear? The family has enough to worry about. I catch anyone talking to the media and I’ll make the Spanish Inquisition look like a Chuckle Brothers tribute act. DS Massie, DCs Clark, Webster, and Tarbert — you’ll report to me for assignments after we’re finished.’

Alice slumped further down against my shoulder. ‘I think I’m dying…’

‘Don’t be such a baby.’

Sitting in the back row, Professor Huntly had his mobile phone out, poking away at the screen with his thumbs. Dr Constantine was knitting what looked like a Shetland sweater. While Jacobson scribbled notes in a black A4 pad.

‘Why did you let me drink so much?’

‘You’re a grown woman, and I’m not your mum.’

The duty sergeant pointed a remote at the ceiling projector and the screen behind him filled with a familiar face. Hooked nose, high forehead, hair swept back from his head.

Something tightened in my stomach.

‘Paul Manson: reported missing by his wife last night. Probably holed up somewhere with a mistress, but just in case — keep an eye out, OK?’ The sergeant poked the remote again and CCTV footage replaced Manson’s face.

Oh God, they had us on film abducting him…

The duty sergeant grinned. ‘I think you might enjoy this.’

But it wasn’t Larbert Avenue on the footage, it was a section of pavement and road beneath some sort of canopy. No sound, picture only — the camera high up, looking down on a bald bloke in a dressing gown smoking a cigarette and talking on his mobile phone.

A nurse walked past.

‘Wait for it…’

A black 4×4 lurched to a halt beneath the camera. The passenger door swung open and a figure was shoved out: Mrs Kerrigan. She tumbled to the ground and lay there, sprawled on her back, her right arm stretched towards the smoker.

Mr Dressing Gown dropped his cigarette and backed away.

Wee Free should’ve killed her when he had the chance.

Nurses burst into view. Bustled around. Shouted in silence. Then someone turned up with a wheelie porter’s chair and they bundled her inside.

The duty sergeant pressed another button and the screen went blank. ‘At quarter to ten last night, one Mrs Maeve Kerrigan was unceremoniously dumped outside Castle Hill Infirmary A-and-E. Some kind soul shot her in the foot, then gouged one of her eyes out.’

A ripple of laughter was punctuated with a couple of gasps and the occasional, ‘Bloody hell. Someone’s not feart.’

He held up a hand. ‘Because it’s a gunshot wound, the hospital had to inform us. We will, of course, be treating this as a serious assault and pursuing the culprits to the fullest extent of the law. I don’t want to hear any talk about giving the guy a medal or buying him drinks, OK? Bad enough as it is.’

A couple of people turned in their seats to stare at me.

Brilliant. As if things weren’t bad enough.

Why the hell did Wee Free have to shoot her in the foot? Now Andy Inglis would think I had something to do with it. Or he would as soon as the briefing was over and his pet police officers got on the phone.

Ness was on her feet again. ‘All right, that’s enough. Settle down.’

She waited till there was silence. ‘The Inside Man, slash, Unsub-Fifteen. We got a nine-nine-nine call at three seventeen this morning.’ She held out her hand and the Duty Sergeant passed her the remote.

It hurt, but I crossed my fingers as crackling hissed out of the speakers. Please let it not be Jessica McFee. Not another pre-recorded message by a victim with her stomach slit open. Don’t make it too late to save her.

Because if she was dead then so was Shifty.

A woman’s voice: ‘ Emergency Services, which service do you require? ’

The man who answered could barely catch his breath, the words broken and jagged. ‘ She’s gone! She’s missing. I … it was … and I went through … and she was gone and you’ve got to help me find her! ’

‘ Who’s missing, sir, is- ’

‘ My wife. She’s gone… Oh God, what if he’s got her? ’

‘ All right, sir, calm down, give me your address and we’ll get officers right to you. ’

‘ It’s Thirteen Camburn View Crescent, in Shortstaine. Strachan. Laura Strachan. She’s pregnant! ’

‘ I’m going to put you on hold for a second while I get a car dispatched. Stay on the line for me- ’

Ness lowered the remote. ‘Three patrol cars are going street to street in Shortstaine broadcasting Laura’s description. Scenes Examination Branch are sweeping the house. Do I really need to tell anyone how much of a cocking disaster this is?’

Alice scrubbed her face with her hands. Voice low. ‘Focus. Come on, you can do this.’

Ness pointed. ‘Dr Docherty?’

Dr Frederic Docherty stood, smoothed two hands down the front of his suit jacket. ‘Thank you, Detective Superintendent.’ He turned a smile on the crowd. ‘Clearly we have to assume that the Inside Man has begun abducting his former victims. We have three possibilities here. One: he feels his ownership of these individuals has been threatened by the actions of Unsub-Fifteen. By copying the Inside Man’s MO, Unsub-Fifteen is stealing his thunder, threatening his legacy.’

Alice shifted in her chair, face scrunched up in a frown, head tilted to one side.

‘Two: Unsub-Fifteen has decided to lay claim to that legacy, not just by adopting the Inside Man’s MO, but by taking his victims as well.’

She snorted. Gave her head a little shake.

‘Three: Unsub-Fifteen has been the Inside Man the whole time, and he’s taking the opportunity to wipe the slate clean. Dispose of the survivors and start again from scratch. This plays into his narcissistic belief in his own power and authority.’ Docherty gave the duty sergeant a cue, and the screen filled with scrawled handwriting on a yellow legal pad. ‘Given the letter published in the Castle News and Post this morning, this is the preferred scenario. You’ll notice the reference in here to a “sacrificial offering”, and-’

‘Oh for goodness’ sake…’

Up at the front, Dr Docherty scowled. ‘You have something to contribute, Doctor?’

Alice wobbled to her feet, holding onto the chair in front. ‘Why would he do that? Why would he want to dispose of Laura Strachan, she’s his only success.’

Docherty looked at the ceiling for a second, before staring back at her, one eyebrow raised. ‘Because, Doctor, she’s isn’t . Laura Strachan, Marie Jordan, and Ruth Laughlin all survived the procedure, so it’s clear his success rate is-’

‘Laura’s the only one who achieved pregnancy. Impregnating them with the dolls is all about that, about putting a baby in their tummies, Laura Strachan is-’

‘Nonsense, the Strachan pregnancy is nothing to do with the Inside Man.’ Docherty’s smile was back, his voice like someone talking to a small child. ‘It’s been eight years since he,’ Docherty made inverted quotes with his fingers, ‘“impregnated” her. Rather a long gestation period, don’t you think?’

Alice pinched the bridge of her nose. Spoke slowly and clearly. ‘Yes, for a normal rational adult, but would you call the Inside Man normal and rational? This is all about laying claim to Laura Strachan’s-’

‘Well, Doctor McDonald, you’ll excuse me if I don’t share your complacency.’ He stuck his nose in the air. ‘The Inside Man is targeting his previous victims. We need to place a guard on both Marie Jordan and Ruth Laughlin, assuming it’s not already too late.’