Stuart MacBride - Birthdays for the dead

I ground the heel of my hand into my eyes. Then where is she?

Excellent work, Ash, excellent. DCI Weber rubbed his hands together. Then frowned. Well, perhaps not the dead body they ll make us have an enquiry about that but everything else He clapped a hand down on my shoulder. Are you all right? You look a bit peaky.

The mortuary doors banged open and Alf backed into the room, ponytail swinging from side to side as he pulled a hospital gurney after him. Lisa McKenzie lay on the shiny metal surface, glassy eyes staring blindly. He wheeled her over to one of the cutting tables.

You know, that has to be the shortest trip to the mortuary in existence.

Weber checked his watch. Right press conference in half an hour, and as ACC Drummond is playing hard to get, I m up with DCS Dickie and the Chief Constable. He wants you there to take the credit.

I gritted my teeth, leaned on my walking stick and limped out the door. Fuck him.

Weber hurried after me. Look, about Frank McKenzie s ear

He fell down the stairs.

Right, stairs, yes. Only he claims you threatened him with a gun, then shot him.

He s a psycho, ask Dr McDonald.

The corridor was cordoned off with POLICE tape a group of SOC-suited figures clustered on the other side, in the gloom, waiting for the OK to get started.

Weber stopped at the mortuary door. So I should tell the SEB they won t find any gunshot residue on him or the walls or a bullet or anything?

Tell them what you like.

Alice was waiting for me at the main doors. She stared at the toes of her little red shoes. Did they say anything about

They ll have an enquiry, but you re in the clear you hadn t hit her with that pipe I d be dead by now. Probably give you a medal or something.

She smiled, then hooked an arm through mine, doing a little hop-jump to get in step as I hobbled out into the drizzly evening.

Do you want me to pinch a wheelchair, I mean you re all sweaty and it s a big walk back to the car?

Taxi. I pointed at the rank on the other side of the entrance.

This is good news, you know that they didn t take Katie. The obsession with killing the victims on their thirteenth birthday thing is specific to their psychosexual behaviour, whoever took Katie doesn t have that, the fact that they aped the Birthday Boy s modus operandi suggests they re more interested in you than her.

I limped across to the rank. So it s my fault.

We need to work through everyone who s got reason to hate you, does anyone have reason to She coughed.

Yes, well, let s make a list.

I don t need a list. I know who it is.

Drummond s BMW purred into the Westing s car park. Monday wasn t a race night, but the whole place was lit up. Alice parked by the entrance. Hauled on the handbrake. Right.

You re you re staying here. Bloody seatbelt wouldn t unfasten, the plastic was all slippery under my fingers. Sweat trickled down my back. My right foot burned.

Ash, look at yourself, you can barely move.

I blinked at her. I m fine

No, no you re not. She bit her bottom lip, then reached into her leather satchel and pulled out Eugene s pencil case. Still got one wrapper left.

Silence.

I reached for the junkie starter kit, it shook so much the zip wouldn t work. I can t.

Alice nodded. Took the case back, opened it up, and laid the contents out across the dashboard. Then unfolded the instructions.

OK Deep breath. If ten-year-old Neds can work it out, so can I.

Warmth oozed through me, squeezing the pain away until there was nothing left but a vague tingle. I breathed out. Then in. Someone was singing deep inside my head.

Ash? A gentle slap on my cheek. Ash, I ve only given you a third, OK? That should be enough for an analgesic Ash?

I scrubbed a hand across my numb face. Rubbed some life back into my brain. Right. The walking stick was rough beneath my fingers, the surface all scratched and dented from battering the pictures off ACC Drummond s walls. If I m not back in

No chance. She clambered out into the rain, looked back at me. Do you really think I ve done all this just to sit out here in the car like a good little girl? I want to be there when you get Katie back.

Fair enough.

It wasn t bucketing down, but it was steady enough: droplets bouncing off the neon sign like tiny fireworks. I went around to the boot and slammed my palm on the lid. Still there, Drummond?

Some scuffing noises.

Must ve hurt when Alice took all those speed bumps at full tilt. Good.

I limped for the entrance tunnel, Alice walking slowly beside me.

Should we not have handed Drummond over to Detective Chief Inspector Weber?

No.

Arabella was still in her little cage, still reading about vampires perving on teenage girls. She didn t look up.

We re closed.

I slipped a twenty through the little slot at the bottom.

Still closed.

Another twenty.

She reached over and pressed the button.

The walking stick s thunk, thunk, thunk echoed down the tunnel. There was light at the end of it coming from the massive spots mounted on the stadium roof, making the racetrack glow. I kept going.

Andy Inglis s Range Rover sat in the middle of the grass, the sides smeared with mud. He stood beside it, dressed up like a country squire in tweeds and a flat cap, an elderly black Labrador at his feet. Two men trotted a pair of muscular greyhounds up and down in front of the car.

Put the bitch up first Mr Inglis turned, saw me, and threw his arms out. Beaming. Ash, you old bastardo! I hear you caught the Birthday Boy: that deserves a drink. Got a couple bottles of Veuve Clicquot in the office, eh?

Where s Mrs Kerrigan?

She sort you out with the key for your new flat yet?

One of the guys walked over to the starting gates, the greyhound loping along beside him.

Inglis pointed. See that? That s a twenty-second dog or I m a scabby arse. She ll

For God s sake, Andy: is Mrs Kerrigan here or not?

He threw back his head and roared out a laugh. Caramba, you re obsessed, aren t you. Fine: she s in the office. Tell her to crack open the bubbly.

I limped up the stairs, ignoring my phone ringing in my pocket.

Alice looked back at the racing track. Ash, we do have a plan, don t we, I mean a better plan than we had at ACC Drummond s house, we re not going to march in and

Same plan. I pulled out the gun, checked the magazine. More than enough bullets to kneecap the bitch.

My phone went silent, then blared out its old-fashioned ring again.

There s three people down there who ve seen us go up to the office, if you shoot her someone s going to notice and

She s got Katie.

Whoever was trying to call hung up. Then Alice s phone started ringing instead. She pulled it out. Dr McDonald? No Is it? Yes, we did, he was a photographer with the local paper She put a hand over the mouthpiece.

It s Sabir.

The Westing s main office had a panoramic window overlooking the track. The lights were on And there was Mrs Kerrigan, standing in the middle of the room with her back to the door, a phone clamped to her ear.

I hobbled up the last flight of stairs, shirt sticking to my back.

Alice slowed, hanging back. Did he? All thirteen of them? That s great No: a confession s perfect Uh-huh

The office door swung open on creaky hinges.

Mrs Kerrigan didn t turn around. She leaned over a desk and shuffled through some sheets of paper. Yez ve got to be kiddin. I m lookin at the figures now, and there s no way Naw, this whole thing s a ball of shite.

Two hobbling steps and I was right behind her.

No: you listen to me, you little bollox, if I don t see three grand by Friday, your

I cracked the gun off the back of her skull. She dropped the phone and grabbed the desk, knees buckling. So I hit her again.