Стюарт Макбрайд - The Coffinmaker’s Garden

Well, Mother didn’t need the whole truth, did she? Just the bits that wouldn’t get me arrested.

‘Gordon Smith attacked me at the farm, after I called you.’ Unzipping my new leather jacket to show off the bloodstained shirt, and neck covered in bruises. Then pulling my bandaged hand from my pocket. ‘He set fire to the place. I barely got out alive. Smith must’ve taken my phone and my pool car.’

She pulled her chin in, doubling, then tripling it. ‘But how did you get back to Oldcastle?’

Good question.

Come on then, answer it.

‘I’m... not entirely sure, I’ve been kind of disorientated. Probably in shock from being strangled and all the blood loss.’ Holding up my bandages again. ‘He cut my finger off.’

That should hold her.

And not a single mention of Helen or Leah MacNeil.

Mother’s face softened and she gave me another hug — not so rib-crushing this time. ‘Go home. You look exhausted. It’s—’

‘Sir? Ma’am?’ One of the PCs came huffing up the pavement at a run, face red above her fluorescent-yellow padded jacket, one hand holding the bowler hat on her head. Stopping in front of us with her back to the wind. ‘I’ve found Dewar’s car!’ Pointing over her shoulder. ‘Bonnet’s all dented and there’s what looks like blood in the wheel arch. Silly bugger didn’t even put it through the carwash, ma’am.’

‘Good work.’ Mother patted her on the shoulder. ‘Now off you go and call for a full SOC team, I want this place—’

Jacobson cleared his throat. ‘As senior officer, and someone who’s actually on the Gòrach investigation, perhaps you’d let me be in charge of my own crime scene? After all, DI Malcolmson, I believe you’ve still got a killer of your own to catch?’

Pink flushed Mother’s cheeks. ‘Only trying to help.’ She stuck her nose in the air. ‘And as Ash is seconded to my team, I’m sending him home.’ She made shooing gestures at me. ‘Go on, off you go.’

‘While Mr Henderson is indeed seconded to your team, he remains an active member of mine . And as he’s now caught the man who abducted and killed four children, I’m going to need him to give a statement before he goes anywhere.’

How lovely, two bosses fighting over me. Be still, my girlish heart.

Didn’t matter anyway, whatever happened here, I wasn’t done for the night. Not by a long way.

Sitting on the other side of the interview table, Rhona opened her mouth wide in a jaw-cracking yawn that was disturbingly infectious. Hers finished with a small burp and a shudder. Then she turned her notebook around and pushed it across the table towards me. ‘Sign and date it at the bottom there.’

Soon as I’d done that, she clicked off the recording equipment.

They’d done up Interview Room Three at some point, replaced the sagging stained ceiling tiles with fresh white ones; swapped the tatty blue carpet tiles for hardwearing grey; given it a fresh lick of magnolia and a new Formica table — still bolted to the floor; but they hadn’t managed to shift the lingering scent of sweaty feet and boiled cabbage.

She took her notebook back, pursed her pale lips at it for a moment, then flipped it shut and slipped it into her pocket. ‘And that’s everything that happened, is it?’

‘Scout’s honour.’

Well, I might have left a couple of bits out. Like torturing Chris McHale. And trying to drown Kenneth Dewar as he lay there bleeding to death. And buying a black-market handgun with the intention of blowing lots and lots of holes in the aforementioned Kenneth Dewar’s face, Your Honour. But other than that, my statement was more-or-less the truth.

Oh, and I might have left out the fact that I had an app on Alice’s phone that could locate Leah MacNeil and Gordon Smith, but that was understandable, wasn’t it? What with being in shock because of all the strangling and blood loss I’d suffered.

Amazing I’d managed to make a statement at all...

Rhona stared at me in silence. Letting it stretch long beyond the point where it became uncomfortable.

She was getting better at this interviewing game, but I’d taught her all the tricks she was currently using, so it was easy enough to sit here looking open and innocent.

At last, she nodded. ‘I take it you and Shifty worked this story out between you?’

‘ Story , Detective Sergeant Massie? I have no idea what you mean.’

‘Right then. As long as you both stick to it, you’ll be fine.’ She stood. ‘You did a good thing tonight, Ash. Dewar would’ve kept on killing kids if you hadn’t stopped him.’ Rhona placed a hand on my shoulder, on the way past. ‘However you did it.’ Then walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.

I let out a long dry breath.

Got away with it.

I pulled out Alice’s phone and opened the tracking app. The ‘word’ ‘FONEZFINDR!’ flashed up on the screen — so I’d been right about the awful spelling — with a couple of setting options and three numbers listed under the heading ‘PHONES YOU ARE TRACKING’. No idea who the other two were, but my mobile was top of the list.

When I selected it, a stopwatch appeared, the hands turning in one direction while a progress bar rotated around it going the other way.

Please don’t be switched off.

Please don’t be dumped in a bin or some sucker’s pocket.

Please be—

WE’VE FOUND YOUR PHONE!

Click on the link below to view on a map!

Here we go.

It brought up a map of Scotland, then zoomed in on a red arrow pointing at the east coast, Oldcastle getting bigger on the left of the screen, then disappearing as Clachmara filled its centre. The map wasn’t quite up-to-date — it still included the houses that’d fallen into the sea because of Storm Trevor — but if the arrow wasn’t pointing directly at Helen MacNeil’s house, I’d buy a hat and eat it.

Maybe this was Gordon Smith sending a message? Dumping my phone back where it all began. Showing off for the dress circle.

Or maybe he really was arrogant enough to think he could go back there and we wouldn’t notice?

Suppose I’d find out soon enough.

But, in the meantime, probably best to throw some blood in the water, see if I could distract the sharks. A quick text should do it.

And soon as it was sent, I gathered up my stuff and left.

Shifty was waiting for me when I stepped out of the interview room, leaning back against the wall and playing something on his phone. He barely looked up. ‘Give your statement?’

I hauled on my new jacket. ‘Where’s the rucksack?’

‘In my locker.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’

‘Because I know where Leah MacNeil is. Or, at least, I know where she might be.’ I held up my unruined hand. ‘And before you say anything: yes, I know, I should tell Mother so she can get the heavy mob sent in. But we spent all that money on a gun...’

Shifty nodded. ‘Shame to let it go to waste. We’ll need a vehicle too. Something we can burn afterwards.’

‘Helen MacNeil’s Renault’s still parked up the Hospital. No one’ll miss it.’

‘Works for me.’ He pushed off the wall. ‘You want—’

A voice boomed down the corridor. ‘Gentlemen!’ And there was Chief Superintendent McEwan, marching towards us with his sidekick, Samson, scurrying along behind him. They were both in civvies — jeans and a sweatshirt for Samson, tan chinos and blue polo shirt for McEwan. As if he’d only ever seen people wearing casual clothes in eighties catalogues.

McEwan stopped right in front of us and patted Shifty on the shoulder. ‘DI Morrow! David. Excellent work, really excellent .’ I got a pat too. ‘And you, of course, Ash. Well done. This is magnificent news: the Oldcastle Child-Strangler in custody!’ A frown clouded his features. ‘Of course, it’s a shame you couldn’t save Toby Macmillan, but the important thing is our man’s off the streets. Isn’t that right, Alan?’