Стюарт Макбрайд - The Coffinmaker’s Garden

‘Ash? It’s Rosalind. I’m downstairs. Are we going to morning prayers or not?’

Oh, for God’s sake...

‘Thought we agreed on a lie-in?’

‘Are you OK? You sound all bunged up.’

Suppose there was no point fighting it.

‘Give me ten minutes.’

‘Rough night?’ The smile was loud and clear in her voice.

‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’

By the time I’d made it into some clothes, an old pair of trainers, and through to the living room, Alice was sitting on the couch, knees up to her chest, staring at the TV, thick black bags under her eyes.

‘... continues for missing five-year-old, Toby Macmillan. DI David Morrow says it’s too early to give up hope yet.’ And the screen cut to Shifty, in his best suit, standing in front of DHQ, caught in the flickering light of what had to be at least two dozen camera flashguns. Eyepatch giving him a slightly rakish air.

Putting on his serious voice: ‘We know Toby Macmillan is out there, and we will find him.’

Sooner or later.

And we knew from the first three victims what ‘later’ would look like.

I kissed Alice on top of the head, which was a stupid idea, because bending forward made my brain inflate like a balloon — slamming against the inside of my skull. ‘Ow...’

She looked up at me, grimaced. ‘You look terrible !’

Staying perfectly still till the room stopped lurching. ‘I have to go, Franklin’s outside.’

‘... vitally important anyone with information that might lead to us finding Toby Macmillan comes forward as soon as possible...’

‘You should be in bed.’ Rising up from the couch. ‘Don’t go. Call in sick. You are sick!’ Pointing at our reflections in the windows. ‘Look at yourself.’

‘No.’ Didn’t need to — I’d seen it in the bathroom mirror: the lines of sticking plaster across my nose, the cotton wadding jammed up both nostrils to keep it from setting even squinter than it already was. The map of blues, greens, and purples that covered my face from eyebrows to cheeks like a mask. Never mind that my ribs were one big bruise, all down the right-hand side. I winced my way into my jacket. ‘What are you up to today?’

‘Ash, please .’

‘Look, I’m going to morning prayers, and I’m going to try catching Gordon Smith before he kills Leah MacNeil. Poor cow’s convinced she’s already dead. How do I turn my back on that?’

Alice sagged. ‘Fine. I’m... I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go talk to some of the people Bear thinks aren’t worth interviewing. Maybe I’ll...’ A thin trembling groan wobbled its way out between her lips, then she curled forward, cradling her forehead. ‘Ash, I can’t stop thinking of what they did to Shifty. Every time I close my eyes, I see it...’

The man himself disappeared from the screen, replaced by the newsreader again.

‘Sport now, and the Scottish Premier League doping scandal has claimed another three clubs—’

I killed the TV. ‘Look, I’m sorry about last night. You shouldn’t have had to... I’m going to take care of it. I promise.’ Gave her a hug. ‘Still thinking about retiring?’

‘Actually,’ she let her head fall onto my shoulder, ‘I’ve been thinking about Gordon Smith.’

‘Because maybe going off and doing something else wouldn’t be a bad idea?’

‘The boy he killed in Stirling. I think he left the body in that warehouse because he didn’t have access to his usual disposal methods. Couldn’t bury him somewhere private. Somewhere... intimate. Couldn’t start a new collection.’

‘We could get ourselves a wee hotel on the west coast, with a cosy bar and a view of the sea.’ Or we could if I took Helen MacNeil’s two million.

‘What worries me is that he couldn’t wait. If he’d waited till he was somewhere he could safely kill and dispose of the body, we’d never have found out, would we? Everyone would’ve thought David Quinn had disappeared.’

‘Would you like that? Just you, me, and Henry? No more murderers and thugs and dead bodies.’

Alice gave my ribs a squeeze, sending icy knives slicing through the muscles. But the tramadol blunted their blades a bit. ‘I’d like that very, very, very much indeed.’ She huffed out a breath, then rested her head against my shoulder. ‘Gordon Smith’s been murdering people without a single slip-up for fifty-six years — we only discovered what he’s been up to because his garden fell into the sea. He knows he doesn’t have to hide it any more. Time’s running out, we’ll catch him eventually, so why not go out with a bang?’

God, that was comforting. ‘Maybe you’re the one who should stay home? Get some proper sleep instead of passing out after too much booze?’

‘He’s escalating.’

‘I know.’ I kissed her on the head again. And this time my brain didn’t quite feel as if it was about to burst out through my shattered skull. ‘Stay here. Keep Henry company.’

‘You’ve got Leah MacNeil to save, I’ve got Toby Macmillan.’ Another deep breath. ‘Anyway: better get going, that pretty DS will be waiting for you.’

‘Ten minutes, my arse. I’ve been waiting here for...’ Franklin stared, mouth hanging open, as I grimaced my way into the passenger seat. ‘What the hell happened to you?’

The streetlight’s jaundiced glow probably wasn’t helping any. ‘Henry’s spending the day with Alice.’

‘No, seriously, you look like someone threw you off the top of a tower block!’

Felt like it too.

‘Are we going or not?’

She shook her head. ‘What kind of person beats up an old man with a walking stick?’

An old man? I slumped back in my seat. Oh, today had got off to a flying start. ‘Just... drive.’

Mother stared at me in much the same way Franklin had. ‘No.’

‘What do you mean—’

‘I mean no! “N”, “O”, spells “no”.’ She pulled her chin up and in, eyebrows raised. ‘Bad enough you look more like a violent criminal than a police officer at the best of times, but now? There’s not a chance in hell I’m letting you loose on the public like that.’

The front room she’d commandeered to run the investigation had earned itself five or six more desks since Sunday morning, complete with cheap office chairs. The mildewed wallpaper almost completely hidden behind a plethora of printouts, maps, and actions. Including a brand-new section devoted to what was left of David Quinn. It was a safe bet that the team had grown too, but right now, it was only the three of us in here: Mother, Franklin, and me. So at least someone was out there getting on with catching Gordon Smith.

‘We’re supposed to be—’

‘How many different ways do I have to say this? No. Nein . Not in this life or the next.’ She folded her arms beneath her bosom and hiked it up about six inches. ‘And Rosalind, what were you thinking ? You were meant to be in charge!’

Franklin shrugged. ‘Not my fault. He was like that when I picked him up this morning.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake. This is—’

‘Well you should’ve thought of that before you did whatever it was you did to end up looking like Mr Blobby’s punchbag. And you’re hereby banned from taking a public-facing role till you stop looking like it. End — of — argument.’ She pointed at a subset of actions, pinned up on their own as if they’d got something infectious. ‘You can pick a task off the background-work list, and like it.’

Bloody hell.

‘Sorry.’ Franklin shrugged. ‘I’d fight your corner, but you don’t have Henry with you, so...’ And with that she swept out of the room.