Stuart MacBride - A Song for the Dying

‘ Has the Inside Man sent another letter? ’

‘ Let me repeat myself: we’re not speculating about who’s responsible. Next? ’

‘ Yes, but has a letter- ’

‘ Next? ’

Dr Constantine pulled out a chair and sank into it. The thick layers of her padded jacket ballooned out around her. ‘I’ve checked with Ness and Knight — we can have the deposition scene first thing tomorrow morning, and the body any time after two.’

‘ What kind of doll was it? ’

‘ We’re not releasing that information. Next? ’

Huntly took another bite. ‘When do I get at the physical evidence?’

Sheila scowled at him. ‘Not till you pay for that pizza.’

‘Oh for goodness’ sake…’

‘ Was it a Tiny Tears, or a Baby Bunty doll? ’

‘ I’ve already answered that question. Next? ’

‘ These independent experts, do they report to you, or SCD? ’

Ness looked off to the side. ‘ Detective Superintendent Jacobson? ’

‘Ah.’ Huntly plucked the remote from my fingers. ‘Here we go.’ He turned up the volume.

The briefing room smeared across the screen as the camera turned, and there was Jacobson, standing off to the side, staring out into the pub. He’d put on a brown tie, but hadn’t bothered with a suit, sticking with the tan leather jacket instead. ‘ My team are all at the very top of their field, each one hand-picked for their ability to bring decades of experience and a unique perspective to any case. ’

A moment’s silence. Then whoever asked the question in the first place tried again. ‘ Yes, but do you report to Oldcastle CID, or the Specialist Crime Division? ’

‘ An excellent question. ’

More silence.

‘ Er… Would you like to answer it? ’

‘ The Lateral Investigative and Review Unit will feed its results, through me, to whichever Major Investigation Team is best suited to act upon them. ’

Alice sooked the grease from her fingers. ‘And now everyone thinks we’re in charge.’

Sheila nodded. ‘You were right. Good suggestion.’ The camera swung back for a reaction shot from the top brass: cue coughing and spluttering.

Then Ness pulled on a hard smile. ‘ Having worked with Detective Superintendent Jacobson on several investigations, I’m pleased to welcome his LIRU team onboard. ’

The Superintendent sitting next to her stuck his chest out. It was covered in silver buttons, a row of multi-coloured ribbons above his left pocket: Golden Jubilee medal, Diamond Jubilee, and a Long Service amp; Good Conduct. All of them awarded for nothing braver than just being in the job long enough, but there he was, wearing them with pride. That would be Superintendent Knight, then. He jerked his chin up, the strip-lights flashed off his bald head. ‘ The Specialist Crime Division is also pleased to work with Detective Superintendent Jacobson’s team. ’

Ness knocked on the tabletop, taking control of the briefing again. ‘ Next question? ’

Huntly jabbed the remote at the screen and the volume ticked down until it was barely more than a mumble. ‘Excellent. That’ll put the felis catus amongst the columba palumbus . Deserves a celebratory drink, don’t you think, Sheila?’

A sigh. Then she reached into the carrier-bag and came out with a bottle of red wine and one of white. ‘That’s an extra fiver each.’

Huntly jumped up and produced a half-dozen dusty glasses from behind the bar. Huffed a breath into each, then polished them with his pink tie. Lined them up on the bar.

Sheila handed me a pizza box, the DinoPizza’s T-Rex logo speckled dark with grease. ‘Don’t worry about the money. I’ll get yours off Bear. Now, would you like a glass of wine?’

‘Can’t: pills. But thanks.’ I opened the box. Mushrooms, ham, sweetcorn, and pineapple. Still, it could have been worse.

Huntly clapped his hands. ‘That just means more for us!’

Tiny white dots curled into the pub airlock as I stepped outside and thumbed Detective Inspector Dave Morrow’s number into Alice’s mobile phone. I pressed the green button and listened to it ring, breath billowing out in a pale grey cloud where it caught the streetlight. Say what you like about prison, at least they keep the place relatively warm…

A rough voice crackled out of the earpiece. Slightly breathy and clipped. ‘ Alice, this … this really isn’t a good time. ’

‘Shifty, it’s me. You OK?’

A pause. ‘ Bloody hell, she actually did it. When did you get out? ’

‘Couple of hours ago. I’m going to need a favour.’

He sniffed. ‘ You know I’d have done Mrs Kerrigan if I could, right? ’

‘I know.’

‘ Last thing I need is Andy Inglis coming after me. Specially with the Rubber Heelers on a mission. Otherwise she’d be the filling in a shallow-grave buttie… ’

I stepped out into the evening chill, taking a few lumbering steps away from the pub door. Glanced back to make sure no one was listening. ‘Tonight: you, me, gun, her. Better get some petrol and a couple of shovels too.’

A pause. ‘ Ash, you know I’d- ’

‘You’re wimping out?’

‘ Am I buggery. You know what Andy Inglis is going to do when he finds out you’ve topped her though, don’t you? ’

‘He’s not going to find out.’

‘ Oh come on. You get out of prison and the very same night she gets shot in the face? How long’s that going to take him to work out? ’

True.

Another couple of paces, looking up at the billboard on the other side of the road with its never-to-be-built retirement home. ‘So I don’t hang around afterwards. I kill her, we burn the body, and I get out of Oldcastle. Hop a boat to Norway. You still friends with that fish guy in Fraserburgh?’

‘ Passport up to date, is it? Cos I kinda get the feeling the Border Agency will be keeping an eye out for you. ’

A clunk behind me. I turned and there was Dr Constantine, all bundled up in her padded jacket, a cigarette clamped between her jaws. She sparked it from a lighter, then waved.

I waved back. Pointed at the phone against my ear. Turned away. ‘What about Biro Billy?’

A sigh. ‘ I’ll see what I can do. ’

Detective Superintendent Jacobson shrugged his way out of his leather jacket. A thin dusting of white flakes clung to the shoulders and the top of his head, melting away in the warmth of the defunct pub. He hung the jacket on the back of a chair. ‘Well?’

Huntly swept his arms out, as if he was going to hug him. ‘You were magnificent !’

‘Don’t push it, Bernard, you’re still in my bad books after this morning.’

‘Oh…’ He dropped his arms.

‘Any pizza left?’ Jacobson crossed to the bar, opening and closing the grease-speckled boxes. ‘Crusts, crusts, crusts…’

Sheila pointed to the stack of chairs and tables in the corner. ‘I hid yours over there, so the human waste-disposal-unit couldn’t find it. It’ll be cold though.’

He pulled out the box, opened it, scooped out a slice and shoved one end in his mouth. Closed his eyes and chewed. ‘Ahh… That’s better. They never put on anything decent at press conferences any more. It’s all bottled water and horrible coffee. What’s wrong with a plate of sandwiches?’

Huntly poured red wine into a tie-polished glass. ‘Speaking of the press conference…’ He cleared his throat. ‘Was Donald there?’

Sitting back in her seat, Sheila groaned. ‘Not this again.’