Стюарт Макбрайд - The Coffinmaker’s Garden

Her mouth opened wide, the bottom lip curled in over her teeth as dark pink flushed her cheeks, eyes screwed tightly shut. The silent scream made her knees bend and her hands curl into claws. Then a painful breath howled into her lungs and roared out in a jagged wail.

So I opened my arms, wrapped Aileen in a hug and held her as she sobbed.

Because Helen MacNeil was right: I knew how it felt.

I closed the taxi door and Aileen blinked up at me from the back seat, face all puffy and streaked with mascara. Then turned to face front as the old Ford puttered away down the narrow lane, took a right at the junction, and disappeared.

Jesus.

I sagged back against the empty shop doorway, pulled out my phone, and called Franklin.

‘For God’s sake, what now ? I’m going as fast as I can, but there’s three tonnes of—’

‘Our girl’s Linda McCaskill: sixteen, went missing twelfth of June, 1985.’

Silence from the other end.

Then, ‘How did you—’

‘Old-fashioned legwork. See if there’s a misper report.’

More silence.

‘McCaskill, McCaskill, McCaskill... Here we go. Linda McCaskill.’ Some rustling, then a groan. ‘If it isn’t her, it looks a hell of a lot like her. But without a body?’

‘Yup.’ I checked my watch. ‘Five past eight. We got time to finish up and make the last ferry at nine?’

‘You are kidding, aren’t you? Have you forgotten how much paperwork it takes to turn a missing person into a murder victim? Be lucky if I’m out of here before midnight!’

True.

‘Then wrap it up; you can finish in the morning.’

‘But—’

‘We’ll have to spend the night in Rothesay anyway, so there’s no point busting your hump. Might as well grab dinner.’

But you know whose hump was worth busting?

Sabir’s.

Soon as I’d hung up, I gave the useless wee sod a call.

The sound of explosions and machineguns rattled in the background. ‘This better be important, like, I’m savin’ the werld from Nazi zombies, here.’

‘Where are my IDs?’

‘Hello, Sabir. How are you, Sabir. You’re my favourite, you are, Sabir.’

‘Oh, sorry, let me try that again. Hello, Sabir, where — are — my — sodding — IDs — you — lazy — tosser?’

‘A guy could go off you.’ The sounds of war came to an abrupt halt. ‘I’ve got web crawlers going through every Friends Reunited and LinkedIn profile on the net. Every missing persons’ database too, including a few I’m not meant to have access to an’ all. Cough, cough, GCHQ, cough, cough.’ A slurping noise. ‘See, your trouble is you know bugger all about information technology. You watch one episode of Dr Who and think you’re an expert, but I can’t search for stuff that’s never seen a computer in its puff!’

‘I thought you were meant to be—’

‘You wanna better result? Try looking for people who didn’t fall off the globe thirty years ago, you utter divvy! I’m doing me best here.’

Yeah...

‘Fair enough.’ I limped across the road again to the Black Bull’s back door. ‘Do me a favour, though?’

‘What, another one?’

‘DS Watt’s got a warrant for locating Leah MacNeil’s mobile phone. He’s an idiot.’

‘And you think calling us a “lazy tosser” is going to make me want to help youse?’

I leaned my walking stick against the pub wall, closed my eyes, pinched the bridge of my nose with my free hand, and did my best not to swear. ‘I’m sorry, Sabir. You’re a tech guru, and DS Watt’s an idiot, and I want to find Leah MacNeil before Gordon Smith tortures her to death.’

‘Bleedin’ heck: you and the melodrama.’ A wet raspberry noise. ‘Hold on.’ The phone scrunched and squealed for a minute. Then Sabir was back. ‘Right, let’s see what’s on the system...’ Keys rattled. ‘OK... Jesus, your lad Watt’s spellin’s appalling .’ More keys. ‘He’s got it set up all wrong too. Give us a minute...’

I ducked back into the warmth, retrieved Henry and the printout, gave the lacquer-haired harridan a big smile, then headed outside again. ‘Any idea where she is?’

‘Can you shut yer gob for two minutes and let us werk?’

Fair enough.

We limped out of the lane and into the square, wind shoving against my spine, drizzle stabbing the nape of my neck. Past a tiny, closed, windowless newsagent’s with a big advert for Tunnock’s on one side of the door and a sandwich board screwed to the wall on the other: ‘HAS OLDCASTLE CHILD-STRANGLER STRUCK AGAIN?’

Knowing our luck? Definitely.

Across the square and down a cobbled road lined with wee shops, two banks, a huge Ladbrokes, cafés, and chemists. The only thing open was a small pub, the sound of a singalong in full-throated roar as we went by, bringing with it the funky scent of spilled beer and crowded bodies.

And nothing from Sabir’s end yet, but the clatter of oversized fingers on a noisy keyboard.

We’d made it as far as the Co-op on Bridge Street, cutting across the car park to the relative safety of the overhang above the main doors, before he was back.

‘You still there?’

‘Where else am I going to be?’

Henry got tied up outside, and I hobbled in, grabbing a basket on the way past.

‘One, you’re entirely correct: DC Watt is an idiot, and I am a tech guru. Two: I’ve fixed it so it werks now — muppet didn’t understand a mobile’s IMEI number and its phone number aren’t interchangeable. Three: I’ve been through the data they’ve got.’

‘And?’ Limping along the aisles to the one with face creams, shampoos, medicines, and various toiletries.

‘Got her phone being handed off between cell towers heading north up the M9 between Linlithgow and Junction Nine. Then it goes dark about three and a half miles south of Stirling. Either she’s switched it off, or it’s outta battery, like.’

Two cheap toothbrushes went in the basket along with a couple of bottom-of-the-range toothpastes. ‘Address?’

‘It’s the Stirling Services: they’ve gorra food court, tourist info centre, petrol station, and a Travelodge. So unless your Leah’s stopped for a touch of the early-evening budget-hotel delight, followed by a romantic Berger King, I don’t think so.’

‘Sod it.’ Down the aisles again, looking for the pet food.

‘Till she terns it on again, the system can’t find her. You want us to set up an alert, if she does? Straight to yer phone, like.’

‘Thanks, Sabir.’

‘Now, if ye’ll excuse us, I’ve got a werld to save.’ And he was gone.

Franklin wriggled out of her soaking jacket and collapsed into the chair opposite mine, mouth pulled into a grimace. ‘Bloody hell...’ Plucked a napkin from the table and scrubbed the water from her face. ‘Absolutely starving .’

‘Hold on a minute...’ I finished adding Leah’s mobile to my contacts, picking a different text-alert sound and ringtone so it’d be obvious when she tried to get in touch. Then pushed the bottle I’d ordered across the table to Franklin, flecks of condensation beading on the glass. ‘Got you a Cobra.’

The Chinese restaurant was tucked down a side street, within view of the putting course and seafront beyond. Warm in here, even as rain drummed against the steamed-up window, the air rich with five spice and sesame oil.

Franklin leaned over to one side and peered under the table. ‘Where’s Henry?’