Stuart MacBride - Birthdays for the dead

No chance. Katie s birthday s tomorrow

I m not going anywhere till we find her. Rhona slumped into the nearest chair, covered her face with her hands.

Oh God

Anyway, Dr McDonald swung her little red feet, we should probably get going, Henry won t be

Hold on a minute, Princess. Rhona surfaced from behind her fingers. What s with the new look?

Do you like it, I had a bit of an accident in the shower this morning: grabbed Aunty Jan s hair-product stuff and it went all straight, but I think it

Yeah, and the clothes they an accident too? You really think you can replace Katie by dying your hair and nicking her clothes? Rhona curled her top lip. You re fucking sick.

I blinked. Frowned. Stared at Dr McDonald. The hair, the clothes, she did look

I m not replacing her: I m trying to get into her head, I mean when I saw what had happened to my hair, I thought, OK, let s go for it, sometimes it helps me piece together connections and points of contact, and don t you think we should be doing everything we can to

God, enough! Rhona buried her head in her hands again. Do you never stop talking?

I picked up my box and headed for the door.

Dr McDonald hopped down from the desk and pattered out ahead of me. I think your friend might be a little hungover.

No wonder she came top of her class.

I slammed the CID office door behind me.

I parked the Renault on McDermid Avenue opposite the alleyway I d used last night to get into Cameron Park clambered out into the gloomy twilight and marched over. Ducked under the police tape. You found my DNA, Officer? Well, of course I was there: five to eight on Sunday morning, with Dr Alice McDonald. Saturday night? No, you must be thinking of someone else

Dr McDonald padded along beside me. Brrr, it s cold, isn t it cold, I m cold.

Cameron Park was a monochrome blur, disappearing into the mist. The SOC tent from last night shone like a lighthouse in the gloom. Dew dripped from jagged trees and drooping bushes. We followed the path, then cut across to the entrance.

Henry s ancient Volvo estate was parked on the grass outside Sheba had curled up in the back next to a suitcase and a couple of file boxes, twitching, her grey muzzle resting on her paws.

A voice behind me: She s not well

I turned and there was Henry.

He nodded at the steaming mug in his hand. Before you ask, it s just coffee.

Dr McDonald stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the stubbled cheek. Thanks for coming, I

We need to talk about the order of victims.

She stepped back. Nodded. Then wrapped an arm around herself.

Well, it really depends on whether or not the Birthday Boy took a year off, and

He didn t. Henry took a sip of coffee. The mug trembled in his hand. I know for certain there was a victim five years ago, but the parents didn t come forward.

She stared at him, head on one side. How do you know they

The father told me. He gazed off into the mist.

They don t want to be involved.

That makes Katie number thirteen, she s the one he s been building up to.

Fuck I sat on the bonnet of Henry s car. Cold leached through my trousers.

He smiled at Dr McDonald. You look frozen, Alice. Why don t you nip in and get yourself a mug of tea? Maybe see if they ve got a detailed map of the area while you re there?

She backed up a step. Looked from Henry, to me, and back again. Then nodded. OK. Her red Hi-tops squeaked through the damp grass as she disappeared into the SOC tent.

The only sound was the diesel generators powering the spotlights inside.

Thanks for coming, Henry.

You have to tell her.

I don t want

Ash, she needs to know. She s not playing with a full deck and you won t let her see all the cards.

No.

He put a hand on my shoulder. I spoke to Dickie they put you on compassionate leave. It doesn t matter any more.

It matters to me!

Why? For God s sake, Ash, you re

Because it s mine. OK? That s why. I pushed away from the car, hands curled into aching fists. It s been mine for four years. Rebecca s not public property, she s my daughter. I m not having bastards picking her life apart and telling me she s dead

Henry s voice was barely audible. I m sorry, Ash, but Rebecca

She s not dead. Not until I get that card

A glow spread through the mist, peach and gold and blood red. The sun must have made it up over the hills.

I stared down at my fists. And yes: I know what that sounds like. I ve never Deep breath. It s mine.

Dr McDonald emerged from the SOC tent, something tucked under her arm and a steaming mug in both hands. Ash, did you want coffee, because I ve got you a coffee and there s doughnuts but they look a bit stale so I didn t bother, unless you want me to go back? She handed me a mug. Got the map too.

Henry spread it out on the Volvo s bonnet. It was fairly high detail, big enough to take in the park and the surrounding streets. Someone had marked the burial sites a red X for each girl recovered. Right: if he cared about the bodies he d keep them close.

Off in the distance, the sound of a car engine and crunching gravel came through the mist. Getting louder.

She leaned on the bonnet. But he doesn t. Given the deposition sites, it looks as if he s simply throwing them away.

Exactly. So he s not going to want to carry them too far Henry produced a pencil. Have you done any geographical profiling? These days it s all computers and statistical analysis, but we used to do it with brainpower.

A battered Astra pulled up on the other side of the SEB Transit. Dickie clambered out of the driver s seat, a smile putting extra wrinkles in his cheeks. Henry! Henry Forrester, you old sod, they said you were here, but I didn t He stared at me. Ash.

I stared back. Dickie.

Dr McDonald smiled. Isn t it great: Henry s agreed to assist the investigation.

Dickie didn t even look at her. Yeah, that s great. Ash, you can t be here.

She s my daughter.

I know she s Look, you re on compassionate leave: I promise we ll keep you up to date, but you can t be here.

I took a step towards him. Her birthday s tomorrow, do you really think I m

Don t make me get someone to escort you home, Ash. He closed his eyes, rubbed at his forehead. Please.

Sun sliced through the clouds, sparkling back from the wet streets as I creaked the Renault onto Rowan Drive. Weber must ve pulled a few strings, because there was a police cordon cutting off the road a good hundred feet from the house, keeping the journalist scumbags at a reasonable distance. Giving Michelle some privacy.

I pulled into the kerb, behind a BBC outside broadcast van.

Should really drive down there and see how she s coping. Give her some support. Lie to her and pretend this isn t what happened to Rebecca

Maybe Henry was right: maybe it didn t matter any more. They d booted me off the investigation anyway, who cared if everyone found out?

The steering wheel was cold in my hands, the plastic coating creaking as I squeezed.

I cared.

Blink.

Why couldn t it have been Steven Wallace?

Blink.

I screwed my eyes closed and squeezed the steering wheel till my arms trembled.

My phone rang, the noise too loud in the quiet car. I pulled it out NUMBER WITHHELD.

Who is this?

Ash, you old bastardo Andy Inglis, Mrs Kerrigan s boss. He cleared his throat, then dropped his voice to something less cheery. I heard about your daughter, I m really sorry.

The driver s window was cool against my forehead. So am I.

Look, I was gonnae give you a call, give you the usual

If there s anything I can do, bollocks, then I thought: why not lend a hand instead? Put out some feelers for you. I could almost hear him grinning. So I did. And guess what: man I know says another girl went missing a couple of months ago: got a card and everything. Her parents said fuck all about it, cos her boyfriend s connected, you know?