Stuart MacBride - Dark Blood

‘Well, it’s not like we have to keep it low-key, is it? He knows we’re watching him. We don’t need to do the whole line-of-sight-target-handover routine.’

Danby closed his eyes and massaged his big, pink forehead. ‘When’s he going out?’

PC Frostbite checked his watch. ‘About half an hour? Want a biscuit while you wait?’

Fucking Aberdeen. Not even snowing properly yet, and it’s already colder than a witch’s titties. Tony shifts in his seat, wriggles even deeper into his jacket and wishes he’d brought some decent gloves with him. Not just the latex ones that don’t leave any fingerprints. ‘Think I saw a polar bear over there, hiding behind a wheelie bin.’

Julie just smiles at him. She’s got Frank Sinatra on the Range Rover’s stereo. Old-fashioned shite warbled by some Mafia stooge. Whatever happened to proper music, eh? Bit of Coldplay, or Travis, or James Blunt: something with a decent tune.

But it keeps her happy, so they put up with it.

Neil turns round in the driver’s seat. ‘Yeah, but look on the bright side.’ He points through the windscreen at where Danby and some local plod from CID are clambering out of a maroon piece-of-shit Transit van. ‘Now we know where the surveillance is on Knox’s place. One council van and two cameras covering the front. Long as we go in round the back, no bugger’ll see a thing.’

Tony has to admit that he has a point.

Danby hobbles across the road and through the gate to a shagged-out two-storey with rain-streaked walls and a garden Tarzan would have felt at home in. Yeah, if he’d had a fucking parka on. Wear a loincloth in that and it wouldn’t just be the brass monkeys missing something, know what I mean?

‘So,’ Tony rubs his hands together, ‘we going in tonight?’

Julie shakes her head, boop-de-booping along with that Sinatra crap.

Neil groans. ‘Tell me we don’t have to spend another night in this freezing shithole?’

‘Sorry, Darling.’ Julie stops singing, but she’s still keeping time with a finger on the dashboard. ‘The boss says we wait till Monday. He’s got to get everything in place for when we show up with Danby. Don’t want it turning into another Birmingham, do we, Babe?’

Tony shivers, and for once it’s got nothing to do with the crappy weather. ‘Fuck that.’

‘Exactly.’ She smiles. ‘Now why don’t we go drop off our little present, then we’ll see if we can’t find a Starbucks, OK?’

Neil puts the big Range Rover into gear, and pulls away from the kerb.

Sitting in the back, Tony watches Knox’s house disappear into the sleet. Two more days and they’ll be back in Newcastle, and DSI Danby will wish he was never bloody born.

The lounge was actually warm for a change. All that praying Knox had done was finally paying off: God had brought the three-bar electric fire back from the dead.

Unfortunately it just made the stink of mildew even stronger.

Knox had the armchair by the fire, clutching his plastic bag to his chest — fiddling with one of the handles, making irritating scratchy crinkly noises.

Danby took up most of the couch, Mandy from Sacro had the other armchair, and Logan stood back against the wall, watching them all. No one said a word.

The sound of flushing came from upstairs and a minute later, Mandy’s partner, Harry, appeared in the doorway, looking a lot paler and a bit thinner than he had yesterday. ‘Sorry about that.’ He hauled at his trousers. ‘We all set to go?’

Knox turned and stared at him for a moment. ‘I’m gonna go in the car with Graeme and his new mate.’

Harry looked at Mandy. ‘Is that…?’

‘Well…’ Mandy stood. ‘I mean, if it’s OK with Sergeant McRae?’

‘Erm, yeah. Why not. We’re going that way anyway.’

Danby didn’t say a word.

Logan hurried out into the sleet, opened the rear passenger door and snibbed on the child lock, before ushering Knox into the car. Then scurried round and climbed in the other side. Danby got behind the wheel.

Logan leant forward. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to drive, sir? I mean, I know the town, and the force insurance policy doesn’t-’

‘I’m perfectly capable of driving a car, Sergeant. And I do know how to work a sat-nav.’

Knox turned and smiled at Logan as Danby took them to the end of the road and out into the sparse Sunday morning traffic. ‘Graeme doesn’t want to sit next to us. Barely said a word on the plane on the way up, like.’ Knox reached across and tapped Danby on the shoulder. ‘That not right, Graeme?’

The superintendent ignored him.

Knox shrugged. ‘Don’t know what you’ve got to sulk about, I’m the one spent seven years in prison with a bunch of perverts — don’t see us complaining.’

Still nothing.

Knox hugged his carrier bag. ‘See, I don’t bear a grudge, cos I know it’s what I needed to make us a better person. Learned a lot in prison, like. About the nature of man; good and evil; the haves and have nots. That kind of stuff.’ He rested his forehead against the window. ‘Shared a cell for while with this bloke…let’s call him “Charley”. Charley turned his back on God when he was eight years old. Used to be a choir boy, know what I mean? Priest got a bit carried away with the whole sacrament thing — “eat this for it is my flesh”. Only he was talking about his knob.’

Danby threw the car round the corner onto Rosehill Drive. The sky was almost black, hurling sleet down on the grey city. Traffic on the other side of the street sent up little geysers of spray as they jolted from one pothole to the next.

‘Charley was doing a sixteen stretch. He liked to break into people’s houses at night and tie them up. Beat the shit out of the wife, then make her watch while he forced the husband to suck his dick. “Do it, or I’ll fuckin’ slit the bitch’s throat…” Thought it was only fair, like.’

Logan glanced back over his shoulder. The ancient council van was three cars back, struggling to keep up with Danby’s driving.

Beside him, the weaselly little man gave the carrier bag a squeeze. ‘Said it didn’t always go according to plan, though. One time the bloke won’t go down on him; man’s on his knees, hands tied behind his back, but he won’t do it. And Charley’s screaming at him, and the wife’s crying, and he cuts her. Not much, just enough to show the husband he’s not screwing around, like. And the bloke opens his mouth, and Charley sticks his cock in, and the guy tries to bite it off.’

Knox rocked back and forth in his seat, shaking with laughter. ‘He’s going at it like a bloody mad terrier, shaking his head, sinking his teeth right in…Brilliant. Charley got his cock out and showed us — like a half chewed sausage it was. Had to have about twenty stitches. Ah…’ He wiped a hand under his pointy noise. ‘So funny.’

Logan looked at him. ‘What happened to the husband and wife?’

Knox sniffed. ‘Killed them, didn’t he? Whole family — think he said they had a couple kids too. Course, Charley’s running round with blood pouring out his bitten cock, getting his DNA everywhere, like. Had to burn the house down in the end. Got away with it too.’

Silence.

‘All because that priest made him turn his back on God. Fascinating bloke, like, you wouldn’t believe how much Charley knew about picking locks, bypassing alarm systems, getting rid of evidence…’ Knox gave Logan a wink. ‘Course, might’ve made the whole thing up, you know? For all I know he got too frisky with someone’s Jack Russell and didn’t want anyone to think he was a pervert.’

Danby snapped on the radio, then poked at the buttons until something orchestral thumped out of the speakers. North Anderson Drive was usually quiet at this time on a Sunday morning, but one lane had been blocked off to allow orange traffic cones to breed. There was no sign of anyone actually working, but it was enough to force the traffic to crawl all the way from Middlefield Road to the Haudagain roundabout. The other side of the Don was barely visible through the sleet; the whole scene rendered in shades of grey, punctuated by angry red taillights.