Stuart MacBride - Birthdays for the dead

We rode down to the ground floor, Sabir pressing pause again so that we arrived at the bottom as Megan leapt off the escalator. New camera angle: she was running for the exit, ponytail trailing behind her like a banner. Jinked around another of the centre s big rectangular planters. Then bang she collided with an old man, sending his shopping flying. What looked like a bottle of wine exploded in black-and-white.

Fuck you too.

She pirouetted, then out through the front doors, face stretched wide in an animal grin.

Fuck the lot of you!

A hunched old man with a mop and bucket stopped to stare at Dr McDonald as she spun around on the spot giving the shopping centre both middle fingers.

I m gonna be somebody!

More crispy seaweed? I held the plastic container out and Dr McDonald scooped a mound of crunchy green slivers onto her plate.

The house on Fletcher Road was huge inside the dining room big enough to seat a football team, so we camped out in the lounge, spreading a Chinese carry-out from the Blue Wok on Keep Street across a large wooden coffee table. A real fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the ceiling.

Dr McDonald was on the floor, sitting cross-legged, shovelling in special fried rice with chopsticks. Talking with her mouth full.

You sure you don t want to come down here, it s much more authentic?

At my age? I d never get up again. The chilli beef wasn t bad: crispy and spicy.

Dr McDonald stared into her rice for a moment. It s not your fault. OK

What isn t?

I mean, she s really lucky to have you as a dad. Still not looking up.

I put my fork down. Dr Mc

My father left when I was fourteen months old. Deep breath. I would have killed to have a dad like you.

I couldn t help smiling. Thought I was a man of violence?

My mum had a load of boyfriends after he left, I don t remember most of them, but the last couple were horrible. One broke her arm and her nose. The next one put her in hospital for a fortnight. Dr McDonald picked up her Irn-Bru and ran her fingers around the blue-and-orange tin. It wasn t the same after that She needed someone to protect her and my father wasn t there. Didn t care. Dark brown curls covered her eyes.

Yeah, well my dad was a prick. I jabbed a sliver of deep-fried beef. Swore I wasn t going to be like that. I d be a good dad to Katie and Rebecca Yeah, and that worked out so well, didn t it?

The beef didn t taste quite so nice any more.

I put the plate down, picked up my jacket and dug the big paper bag out of the pocket. Placed it on the coffee table in front of Dr McDonald.

She shovelled in another load of rice. More prawn crackers?

Open it.

A shrug. She peered inside, then pulled out the fluffy puffin.

Is this?

For you.

A grin split her face. Really? He s lovely! She gave the thing a squeeze. I ll call him Wilberforce, does he look like a Wilberforce to you, I think he looks like a Wilberforce. Thank you. She tucked the puffin into the gap between her crossed legs, smiling down at his orange and black beak. Would you like some rice, Wilberforce?

OK, so it was meant to be Katie s present, but after today she didn t bloody deserve it. And it was nice to see Dr McDonald so happy, pretending to feed Wilberforce special fried rice, like she was six.

I took another mouthful of chilli beef. Didn t taste too bad after all. So: Steven Wallace?

What was Katie like as a child?

Katie? Happy, cute, bright Every night we d sit in her room with the lights turned down, reading the Brothers Grimm. She hated the Disney versions, said they took out all the good bits. Other kids were drawing stick-figures in nursery, she was drawing severed heads. The smile was back. Used to call her Daddy s Little Monster. Couldn t have been more different from her sister if she d tried.

She really is sorry about today. It s been difficult for her since Rebecca ran away.

We went to the beach once. Michelle was beautiful, and we sat in the dunes and ate sausage rolls and egg sandwiches. Rebecca had her head in a book, and Katie had this black skull-and-crossbones kite and an eyepatch. And she spent the whole time running up and down the beach, making pirate noises. Avast me hearties!

Shiver me timbers! Giggling.

Katie thinks it s her fault Rebecca left they had a fight the night Rebecca ran away. And if Rebecca hadn t run away, you and Michelle wouldn t have got divorced, so that s Katie s fault too. Dr McDonald s hand was warm on my knee. She didn t mean to let you down.

It wasn t her fault. It wasn t anyone s fault. I stared at the little curls of meat on my plate. Sometimes shite things just happen.

And there s loads of mineral water in the fridge.

Rhona s flat was immaculate, everything hoovered and dusted and tidied, like something out of a magazine. She opened the door to the spare room. A pile of my clothes lay neatly folded on the double bed. Didn t have time to get an alarm clock, but I can easily give you a shout when breakfast s on the go.

I picked up a shirt from the pile. Perfectly smooth. You did my ironing?

Sorry I couldn t get the rest done. I ll stick another load on tomorrow. She cleared her throat.

You want a cup of tea or something?

So Shifty says, You can get a cream for that. Rhona threw her head back and laughed a throaty gargling noise that went in jagged heaves. Showing off her pearly beiges. Cream for that Priceless.

The living room was every bit as tidy as the rest of the house. A pristine oatmeal carpet, a white leather couch with one matching armchair, two Ikea bookcases and a boxy coffee table.

I put my mug back on the tray. Covered my mouth for a yawn.

Sorry: been a long week.

A little frown pinched the skin between her eyebrows. Oh, before I forget Rhona picked herself up off the couch and left the room. She came back a minute later and dumped a cardboard shoebox on the coffee table. The thing was full of police-issue notebooks, all lined up in neat rows.

Rhona pulled one out and flipped it open. I had a trawl through my notes. You wanted to know about me doing PNC checks on Birthday Boy families?

You really didn t have

Here we go: Ran full PNC on Arnold and Danielle Burges first of October. That was two years ago. ACC Drummond asked me to do it: same for Sophie Elphinstone s parents and Amber O Neil s. Lazy bugger never does his own computer searches. Kevin s always moaning about having to pick up his dry-cleaning and stuff. Like we re his personal bloody slaves or something.

He s a bit of a tosser, even for Sodding hell. My phone was blaring its old-fashioned ring. The screen said Dr McFruitLoop.

I pressed the button. Is Wilberforce not behaving himself?

Her voice was a high-pitched whisper. Someone s trying to get in the house! Ash, I m scared! What if they get in?

Shite. I ll be right over. I stood, grabbed my jacket. Put my hand over the mouthpiece and nodded at Rhona. Call the station: tell them we ve got an attempted break-in at Eighteen Fletcher Road, right now. Householder is in residence.

Her mouth fell open, then she shut it. Nodded. Right, Guv. She grabbed the house phone and dialled. Aye, Marge, who ve you got near Fletcher Road? Get a patrol car up there pronto

Dr McDonald, I need you to stay calm. I barged out of the flat, taking the steps two at a time down to the building s entrance hall.

What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?

I banged out into the cold night. Is there anywhere in the house with a door you can lock?

Aunty Jan s study?

Go. Lock the door. Stick a chair or something under the handle so it can t open. I jumped into the Renault, cranked the engine over, and floored it.

PC Sheila Caldwell rolled the dusting brush back and forward over the back door, the bristles barely touching the gouged wood, leaving a layer of powdery white. She was getting it all over her black fleece too and the matching fluorescent-yellow POLICE waistcoat, and black bobble hat. She turned and peered at me through a haze of dust. Not looking good, Guv