Stuart MacBride - A Song for the Dying

‘THAT WAS BRAND NEW!’

Rhona held her hands out. ‘All right, let’s all calm down.’ She looked from the crowbar, to the scrape along the car, to the snowfall of broken glass, then up to me. Bared a line of thick teeth. ‘Guv?’

‘It was like this when we got here, wasn’t it, Alice?’

‘Like…?’ The veins in Docherty’s neck looked as if they were about to pop. ‘I WANT HIM ARRESTED, RIGHT NOW!’

‘Yeah.’ I reached in and grabbed a handful of the photographs. ‘Then we can all go down to the station and chat about why you’ve got a collection of murdered women to masturbate over.’

‘I have no idea what you’re-’

‘These.’ The photos thumped against his chest and fluttered down around his feet. ‘Care to explain?’

He didn’t even flinch. ‘I’m a forensic psychologist. Those are research .’

‘And the carrier-bag full of wankerchiefs — that research too?’

‘What I do in the privacy of my own vehicle is of no business of yours.’ The nose went up. ‘Frankly, Dr McDonald, I expected slightly better of you. Though I’m not sure why, given what you let happen at Victoria Cunningham’s house.’

Alice nodded, then put a hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry about your parents. It can’t have been easy growing up in that kind of environment.’

His mouth tightened. Then he brushed past me and slammed the Volvo’s back door shut. Leaned against it. Folded his arms. ‘I’m going to make damn sure neither of you are allowed to consult on any investigation ever again. You,’ his finger jabbed at me, ‘are going back to the dank cell you came from.’ Round to Alice. ‘And you have no business calling yourself a psychologist. You should be ashamed of yourself.’

‘Nothing you ever did was good enough for them, was it? You tried and you tried, but they just kept on hitting you. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘WHO HAVE YOU BEEN TALKING TO?’ Spittle arced from his lips. He reached out, as if he was going to grab her. Then stopped. Curled his hand in to a fist and settled back against the car door. Sniffed. ‘Detective Sergeant Massie, I want to press charges against both of these individuals for breaking into my car and vandalizing it. If you’re not prepared to arrest them, I’ll be making a formal complaint about your conduct as well.’

Something wasn’t right.

Why the car’s back door? The front door was lying wide open, photographs of dead women all over the seat, but he hadn’t slammed that one shut and stood in front of it. What was in the back? What had I missed?

Rhona grimaced for a beat. ‘Let’s just take some deep breaths and-’

‘I should’ve known it! This is why you insisted on coming with me, isn’t it? Your deeply unprofessional behaviour is clearly motivated by some twisted sense of loyalty. Well, I will not put up with it!’

Glass crunched under my feet as I went back to the Volvo.

‘I want him arrested now , DS Massie.’

Rhona pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘I know you do, Doctor, but I’m sure if we all calm down we can sort this out.’

But there was nothing in the back. I’d been through it twice already.

Why would he guard it if there was nothing there?

Alice tilted her head to one side. ‘Is that why you set fire to the old house? Taking your frustration out on a world that never cared about you? I mean, it must have been wonderful to feel in control like that. To have power over something for a change, after all those years of being powerless.’

Had to be something incriminating…

Docherty brushed his hands down the front of his overcoat. ‘Spare me your attempts at analysis, Dr McDonald. It’s not amateur hour.’ He pulled out his phone. ‘Well, Detective Sergeant, if you won’t do your job, you leave me no choice.’

‘Oh shut up.’ I pushed him out of the way and wrenched the door open.

‘Get away from my car!’

He clutched at my jacket. I put my hand in the middle of his chest and shoved. Hard. He landed on his backside by the rear wheels, spluttering. ‘He assaulted me! You saw that!’

What had I missed?

Under the seats. In the seat pockets. In the door pockets. Under the mats…

Where the hell was it?

He’s sitting in the back seat, with his collection of dead women spread out on the seat next to him, carrier-bag of tissues at his feet.

Had to be the centre arm rest.

Docherty scrabbled to his feet again.

I pulled it down. Just a couple of cup holders. Sodding hell.

Hands grabbed my back.

I threw an elbow. The impact jarred. Someone grunted.

It had to be here…

Hold on: the recess the armrest fitted into had a fabric backing. It looked cheap. Rough around the edges. As if it hadn’t come with the original car.

A little loop of black poked out from the top left corner.

‘GET OUT OF MY CAR! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!’

I took hold of it and pulled.

The sound of Velcro tearing filled the back seat as the lining came away, revealing a leather folio about the size of an A4 envelope. Tan leather, tied with scarlet ribbon.

Bingo.

‘I DEMAND YOU GET OUT OF MY CAR!’

I stood. ‘Rhona: get a pair of gloves on and come open this.’

Blood oozed from the corner of Docherty’s mouth. He grabbed me again, shoving me back against the bodywork. ‘YOU PLANTED THAT, IT’S NOT MINE!’

‘Get off me, you moron.’

He swung a fist at my head.

Might as well have stuck his knuckles in the post, they would’ve got here quicker. A quick bob right and they went singing past my left ear. I grabbed the arm and twisted. Then slammed my elbow into his face again.

He went skittering back and landed sprawled on the concrete, scarlet bubbles popping from his nostrils. Lay there, moaning.

‘Any time today would be good, Rhona.’

She squeezed past me, snapping on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. Pulled the folio from its hiding place and laid it on the seat.

Docherty’s arms and legs flailed as he struggled over onto his side.

Behind me, Rhona whistled. ‘Guv? You really need to see this.’

Docherty made it to his knees. Stopped there, one hand leaning on a support pillar.

I took a step towards him. ‘Come at me again and I’m going to break your arm. Clear? You stay where you are.’

Alice shuffled over, peering past Rhona into the Volvo.

And then she was off, making for Docherty. Three paces away she sped up and slammed a little red shoe right between his legs.

He folded over, both hands clutching his groin, a silent scream pulling his bloody mouth wide. Backside in the air, knees clamped firmly together.

‘Guv?’

I turned.

Rhona pointed at the folio.

A scalpel sat on top of a stack of yellow paper, along with a baby-doll key ring, a little plastic container with what looked like dead spiders in it, a heart-shaped locket, an engagement ring… Everything missing from the archives was here.

No wonder Alice had kicked him in the balls.

She turned her back on him and launched herself at me. Wrapped her arms around my chest and hugged, her face buried in my shoulder. ‘We got him!’

Rain hammered the driveway that led into the hotel car park. It made little rivers between the thick dark rhododendrons, hissed against their leaves. The concrete entrance smelled of mould and dank earth. I leaned against it and listened to the phone ring.

The pool car Dr Docherty had arrived in purred past — Rhona in the driving seat, wearing a grin full of thick grey teeth. The psychologist sat in the back with his hands cuffed. Blood caked the lower half of his face, spreading out from his battered nose. He glowered out at me. Turning so he could glare through the back window as well.