Стюарт Макбрайд - The Coffinmaker’s Garden

‘Say you weren’t very bright, and you fell in with a dominant personality who wanted to go out murdering people. And wanted you to go with him.’

‘Doesn’t matter how many ways I twist it, I can’t get the profile to match someone who’s already offended. It doesn’t fit. This is him trying things out, he’s never done that before, I know he hasn’t.’

‘How long would it take before you started wanting to join in?’

‘A little boy’s life is at stake and they’re not listening to me, Ash. No one’s listening to me!’ Alice sagged a bit, then took a slurp of her un-Irish coffee. ‘And it’s not so much “wanting” to kill people as it is wanting to please your new partner. The subservient one in the relationship usually has very low self-esteem, which makes it much easier for the dominant one to... let’s call it shape them. After a while you might think you were really into it, but if the dominant partner goes to prison, or gets ill, or dies, the subservient one soon gives up offending. They don’t crave the kill, they crave the approval it gets them.’

Which would make sod-all difference to anyone unlucky enough to come across them in the meantime.

Alice looked at me over the rim of her mug. ‘You think Leah MacNeil helped Smith kill your young man in Stirling?’

‘Don’t know. Maybe. Difficult to tell when we can only communicate via the odd text, but she’s certainly not telling us everything. She’s hiding stuff.’

‘Wouldn’t you? Imagine being an eighteen-year-old girl and the man you’ve called “Grandad” your entire life — the man who raised you, because your mum’s dead and your real gran’s in prison — makes you watch him torture a sixteen-year-old boy to death. How much would you tell the police after that?’

‘Fair enough. But the—’

‘Here you go.’ A heaped plate of chips appeared in front of me, and when I looked up, there was Effie. ‘Did you some fish fingers as well. Eat. Eat.’

Soon as she was gone, I slipped Henry one of Captain Birds Eye’s finest breadcrumbed digits.

Over in the corner PC MacAskill / McAllister was looking over my shoulder as he dug about in his Police Scotland fleece pocket. Dumping a clattering handful of change on the chequered tablecloth. Stood. And wriggled his way into his stabproof vest. Going at a fair clip, too. As if he’d suddenly realised he was due back on patrol five minutes ago.

Then the door dinged behind me, letting in a howl of cold air.

He hurried past our table, not making eye contact — because why be normal when you could be a freak? — then clunk , the door shut again.

I nodded at Alice and squirted a dollop of mayonnaise onto the side of my plate. ‘You can help yourself to a chip, if you like.’

She didn’t move. Just sat there, staring over my shoulder, like the PC had. Eyes getting wider. Mouth trembling.

Then a high-pitched breathy voice scratched through the café’s muggy air. ‘A most generous offer, Mr Henderson, and one I shall be delighted to profit from.’

Oh. Cock.

I slid my right hand across the sticky plastic tablecloth, making for the knife and fork that had arrived with my chips.

‘Now, now, Mr Henderson. I assure you that any attempt to deploy cutlery as a weapon at this juncture would be counterproductive to the good doctor’s wellbeing. And I’m sure none of us would want that.’ He made his way around the table till he was standing behind Alice. Put his hands on her shoulders.

She flinched.

Beneath the table, Henry growled.

I stayed perfectly still. ‘Joseph. Get your hands off her. Now .’

He did, then smiled. He’d had his teeth done since we’d last met — veneers, crowns, and implants replacing the damage I’d caused. It didn’t help any, though, he was still an ugly wee bastard. Short; ears sticking out like the handles on a funeral urn; Neanderthal forehead; jutting chin; hair shorn to barely more than stubble, showing off the extensive collection of scars that crowned his misshapen head. A blue DIY tattoo of a swallow staining his wrist where it jutted out of his shirt sleeve. Black suit. Leather gloves. ‘How delightful to make your acquaintance again, Mr Henderson, though I’m despondent that it couldn’t be under more opportune circumstances.’

I risked a glance over my shoulder, and there was the other half. I nodded. ‘Francis.’

He nodded back. ‘’Spector.’ His John Lennon glasses had steamed up in the Tartan Bunnet’s chip-fat air. A big droopy Irn-Bru moustache beneath his twisted and flattened nose, the soul patch under his bottom lip already going grey. His curly red hair was streaked with it too, pulled back in a ponytail, the hairline ragged around a line of scar tissue where I’d tried to cave his skull in with an unopened tin of beans. Black leather jacket, black shirt, black jeans, heavy black boots.

I scooted my chair sideways, so I could keep an eye on him and the brains of the operation at the same time. ‘I thought you two were banished from Oldcastle on pain of dismemberment.’

‘Ah, yes, after that unfortunate misunderstanding about Mrs Kerrigan. Well, it’s to our benefit that those who once governed the more... nefarious aspects of this great city have retired to what I understand is a rather splendid private island in the Caribbean. Meaning that Francis and myself have been able to return and take up a more entrepreneurial role.’ He pulled out a small metal wallet and slid free a white rectangle. Placed it on the tabletop. ‘Our card.’

‘J&F ~ FREELANCE CONSULTANTS’ and a mobile number. No names, no address, no details.

‘What do you want, Joseph?’

‘Me?’ He sighed. ‘Alas, it is with a heavy heart that I stand before you today.’ He put his hand back on Alice’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. ‘We have—’

‘Do you remember what I said I’d do to you if you ever touched her again?’

The growling got louder, darker.

‘Now, let me think...’ A frown pulled at that scarred dome. Then the smile was back. ‘Ah yes, you said you would, and I hope I’m quoting this correctly, “break every one of my fingers then make me eat them”? A tad macabre and melodramatic, but then tempers were rather heated at the time, as I recall. Sadly, they seem destined to be that way again.’

Francis took off his steamed-up glasses and slipped them into his jacket pocket. No emotion at all in his small pink eyes. ‘Yup.’

Joseph clasped his hands together and turned to face the fat man, who seemed to have developed an all-consuming interest in his crossword. ‘Sir, I believe the most efficacious way for you to ensure your continued wellbeing is to exit with the utmost alacrity. There we go.’ Giving a muted round of applause as the man grabbed his newspaper and coat, then scrambled for the door, nearly tripping over a chair in his rush to get out of there.

The bell dinged as he disappeared into the night.

‘And Doctor McDonald, it would be best if you could control your canine companion. I would hate for something untoward to occur to it. Veterinarian treatment can prove very expensive when a pet has suffered serious injury.’

Alice snatched Henry up and clasped him against her chest as the wee lad snarled.

‘Thank you. Now, where were we?’ Joseph clapped his gloved hands together. ‘Ah yes: you see, Mr Henderson, a mutual... well I can hardly call her a “friend” in the circumstances, but I imagine “acquaintance” shall suffice, has commissioned the services of myself and my esteemed colleague to, as she put it, “beat the living shit” out of you. Apparently you threw her mobile phone off a ferry, and said certain things that caused her great consternation and personal distress.’ He took his hand off Alice’s shoulder to hold it up, palm out. ‘Now, I can assure you that this assignment will give neither Francis nor myself anything but displeasure to perform, especially given our shared history, however a contractual obligation is a contractual obligation.’ A what-can-one-do shrug. ‘But it is within our gift to keep said beating as brief as is humanly, if not humanely, possible. So, if you would care to accompany my associate to the exterior of this fine establishment, he will perform the unpleasant task before us, while I keep the good doctor here company to ensure any thoughts of noncompliance are furthest from your mind.’