A Song for the Dying

30

‘What the hell were you thinking?’ DI Smith marched up and down the office, wearing a path in the ratty carpet tiles. ‘Assaulting a victim’s father in a police station, do you have any idea what the press are going to do with that?’

The duty doctor flicked the mini torch away from my left eye, then back again. His liver-spotted hand trembled as he switched it off and placed it in his bag. ‘How’s the pain: on a scale of one to ten?’

‘Like having cramp and pins-and-needles at the same time.’

Smith did a one-eighty by the filing cabinet and headed back for another pass. ‘Soon as you’re finished, I want him processed and in a cell. Assault, destruction of property-’

‘You’ll live.’ The doc smiled, showing off tar-stained teeth. ‘Never been tasered myself. Always thought it best to avoid that kind of thing.’

‘Didn’t really have much choice.’

Smith jabbed a finger at me. ‘You’re lucky the response team saved you from a murder charge!’

All right. Enough was enough.

I levered myself off the desk. ‘Don’t see them here now, do you? Nothing to stop me ripping your head off, you chinless bag of-’

A voice cut through the room. Female. Sharp. ‘All right, Mr Henderson, that’s enough.’ Detective Superintendent Ness stood in the open doorway, arms folded.

Jacobson appeared in the corridor behind her, lips turned up in a little smile.

Ness waved a hand in the vague direction of the cells downstairs. ‘Would someone care to explain to me why I’ve got a wrecked family room, six officers and one Community Support off to A amp;E, and Jessica McFee’s father in custody?’

Smith stiffened his back, brought what little chin he had up. ‘I was just saying exactly the same thing, Super. Mr Henderson here went on a rampage, broke the conditions of his release, assaulted-’

‘I didn’t lay a finger on anyone, you prick.’ I turned to Ness. ‘Wee Free only wanted to know what was happening with his daughter. Wakes up this morning and it’s splashed over the papers, but your idiots wouldn’t speak to him. He got … agitated.’

‘Agitated?’ Ness’s right eyebrow raised an inch. ‘He went through the room like it was a wet paper bag.’

‘His daughter’s just been grabbed by a serial killer. It’s not…’ My jaw clenched. Deep breath. Closed my eyes. Hissed it out. ‘They had no business treating him like a monster. Even if he is one.’

‘Then there’s the matter of my firearms team getting an urgent call to apprehend you, in complete violation of standard operating procedure and the command structure.’

Brilliant, not ‘Friendly Fire’ after all. So much for sending someone off to the armoury. Suppose it was too much to hope that anyone at FHQ would be bright enough to take Wee Free down on their own initiative. No, the bastards in black were there for me.

Behind her, Jacobson raised a hand. ‘That was on my orders.’

I gave him a glower. Then back to Ness. ‘Let Wee Free go, drop the charges, and get him a Family Liaison officer that isn’t scared of their own shadow.’

Smith sniffed. ‘You’re in no position to decide what action we do and don’t take, Mr Henderson. You can pack your stuff up, Doctor, he’s going-’

‘Oh, give it a rest.’

‘Ash Henderson, I’m arresting you for assault on one William McFee, and-’

‘DI Smith!’ Ness closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘That’s enough. Go chase up the CCTV team. I’ll deal with Mr Henderson.’

He worked his jaw from side to side for a moment, then turned and marched out of the room, back straight and stiff. Presumably because of the stick up his arse.

She gave the Duty Doctor a nod. ‘Thank you, Dr Mullen. We’ll be fine from here.’

As soon as he’d rumbled out of the room, Ness ushered Jacobson in and closed the door.

‘I don’t appreciate people going behind my back and appropriating my officers, Mr Henderson. A firearms team is not a toy.’

‘Right, because I’m the one who called them. Said, “Come on down to the family room and shoot me in the chest with a taser. That’ll be fun.” You want to blame someone?’ I pointed at the smirking git in the leather jacket. ‘Blame him.’

Jacobson shook his head. ‘Not this time, Ash. You knew the conditions of your release — you have to stay within a hundred yards of Dr McDonald. What happened is entirely your own fault for breaking that.’

‘I wasn’t trying to run away. I was stopping Ness’s morons from getting themselves killed!’

Ness bristled. ‘My officers are not morons.’

‘Really?’ I grabbed my walking stick. ‘Well, if they’d been bright enough to treat Wee Free like a victim instead of a villain, I wouldn’t have had to break my hundred-yard tether. Cowering in the corridor like wee kids when they should’ve been talking him down!’

She rolled her shoulders. Then sighed. ‘I will admit to being somewhat disappointed by the conduct of certain officers. Perhaps, as you have a rapport with Mr McFee, you should act as Family Liaison?’

‘No chance.’

‘I see. So it’s all right to shout the odds when it’s my team, but-’

‘One: I’m not a police officer any more. Two: I’m not on the main investigation so I don’t have all the facts. Three: I’m not qualified. It’s not just making tea and handing out chocolate biscuits, it’s-’

‘I can assure you that I’m well aware of a FLO’s duties.’ She frowned at me. ‘I understand you think the Inside Man might be one of us.’

Not like Rhona to blab. ‘Do you now?’

‘That you think they’ve been tampering with evidence and screwing up the HOLMES data to protect themselves.’

The smile disappeared from Jacobson’s face, eyes narrowing as he stared at me. ‘That’s one possibility the LIRU team is investigating.’

Ness ignored him. Tilted her head to one side. ‘The way I hear it: back in the day, you were the organ grinder around here. Was one of your monkeys the Inside Man?’

‘They’re your monkeys now, remember?’ I stretched out my right leg, tested my weight on it. ‘Anything else gone missing?’

Jacobson folded his arms, leaned against the wall. ‘Well?’

She pulled out her notebook and flipped it open at the marker. ‘The lace trim from the bottom of the nightdress Laura Strachan was found in. A heart-shaped locket necklace from Holly Drummond. A sample vial containing the stitches removed from Marie Jordan in the operating theatre. The little doll key ring recovered from Natalie May’s abduction site.’ Ness put the notebook down. ‘In fact, there’s something missing from every Inside Man victim. Do you have anything to say about that?’

I looked at Jacobson, kept my mouth shut.

He bared his teeth. ‘Go ahead, Mr Henderson, we’re all on the same side.’

OK: ‘He’s got access and he’s taking trophies.’

Ness slipped the notebook into her pocket. ‘Mr McFee assaulted eight people today, six of them police officers. If they’re prepared to drop the charges, I’ll let him off with a caution. Otherwise he’s up before the Sheriff tomorrow morning.’ She turned on her heel. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a considerable amount of paperwork to sort out.’

As soon as she was gone, Jacobson moved so he was blocking the door. He picked at his nails for a second. Then, ‘Was I being obtuse, in the car when I picked you up, Ash? Was I vague, or unclear in my meaning?’

Here we go.

‘You see, I distinctly remember telling you that you reported to me. Not Oldcastle, not the Specialist Crime Division, not Santa Bloody Claus, the Easter Bunny, or the sodding Tooth Fairy!’ He thumped his hand on the desk. ‘What the hell did you-’

‘I didn’t report anything to anyone, OK? I’ve been digging through the archives. I’ve been trying to find out who was on the original HOLMES team. Someone must’ve noticed and told Ness.’

He scowled at me in silence.

‘Look, do you think I want to go back to prison? The only reason I didn’t tell you about the missing stuff is there wasn’t time. I had to rush off and rescue Ness’s morons from Wee Free McFee. Then your morons tasered me!’

Silence.

Jacobson stepped away from the door. ‘You need to stay within a hundred yards of Dr McDonald for a reason, Ash. She keeps you out of trouble. She’s your guardian angel.’ He described a lazy circle with one hand. ‘You know, it might be a good idea for you to make yourself scarce for a bit. Let things calm down here. Maybe even stop rubbing people up the wrong way?’

I scrubbed a hand across my face. Let my head fall back, till I was staring at the ceiling tiles. ‘We need to get Sabir to check who’d have access to hospital records and police evidence.’

That little smile had returned. ‘Did you enjoy being tasered, by the way?

‘Funny. I’m laughing right now, can you hear me? Bastards didn’t even issue a warning.’

‘Look on it as a learning experience, Ash: this is what happens if you stray off your leash.’

I poked my head around the door — no one there. Good. Meant I didn’t have to explain what I was up to.

The traffic office was a small room on the third floor, lined with desks and filing cabinets, ‘SPEED KILLS!’ and ‘THINK BIKE!’ posters on the walls. The ‘BOX O’ STUFF’ sat where it always had: in the corner by the large steel locker where they kept the warning triangles and spare body-bags. I rummaged through the odds and sods that cycled their way between the various traffic cars and panniers. Helped myself to a couple of stickers and pair of biker gloves. Then headed upstairs to the conference room.

The place smelled like a distillery. Alice sat at the far end of the table, folded over her Inside Man letters.

No sign of Dr Docherty.

I knocked on the table and Alice jerked up. Blinked at me.

The words came out slow and careful, as if she didn’t trust them. ‘Why did you try to run away?’ Not quite drunk, but not far off it. ‘I don’t want to be left behind…’

‘How much whisky have you had?’

‘Spilled some when the alarm went off. It was loud, wasn’t it loud? I think it was really, really loud, then there was whisky everywhere, and it wouldn’t stop, and the door battered in, and these guys were there and they had guns and they were all, “Where’s Ash Henderson?” And I didn’t know…’ She made little wet smacking noises with her mouth. Frowned. ‘Do I feel hungry, or a little bit sick?’

Had to admit, whoever was monitoring the ankle bracelets for Jacobson, they were keen. Prompt too. Which wasn’t good.

Of course, the fact that we were in a police station when it happened probably helped the response time, but still…

‘How long was it? Between the alarm going off and them turning up?’

Alice narrowed her eyes. ‘I think it’s a little bit of both.’

‘Alice: how long?’

‘Four, five minutes?’

Sodding hell, that was quick. They must’ve been already geared up, ready to head out to make someone’s day special. No wonder Ness wasn’t happy about them being diverted.

Still, as long as Alice and I stayed within a hundred yards of each other we would be fine. Unless they were recording all the GPS data — and they would be — which made abducting and murdering a mob accountant a bit more risky. But it was too late to worry about that.

‘Ash?’

I blinked. Turned. ‘Sorry, miles away.’

She pointed at her photocopies. ‘I said, these are hopeless. Did you get the originals?’

‘No. But I know who’s got the next best thing.’

A life-sized oil painting of an old man glared down from the wall of the news room, dominating the rows of cubicles and their occupants. The words ‘Castle News and Post’ were picked out in large silver and bronze letters along the opposite wall, above a row of clocks all set to different time zones.

Micky Slosser didn’t look up from his monitor, fingers barely pausing as they clicked and clattered across the keyboard. A big man with wide shoulders, thick sideburns, and frameless glasses. Dundas Grammar School tie at half-mast, the top two buttons open, exposing one end of a thick pink scar. ‘Bugger off.’

I settled on the edge of his desk. Puffed a couple of breaths. Sweat trickled down the gap between my shoulderblades. Someone was hammering rusty nails through the flesh and bone of my foot. Then hauling them out with pliers and thumping them back in again.

Well, I couldn’t let Alice drive, could I? Not until she sobered up a bit.

It took some effort, but I finally managed to fake a smile. ‘Come on, Micky, that’s no way to treat an old friend, is it?’

‘Not dignifying that with a response.’

‘Are you refusing to cooperate with a police investigation? Obstructing the hunt for a serial killer? Seriously?’

He gave the enter key an extra-hard jab. Scooted his chair back a foot. ‘After what you did?’

Ah. I ran a hand around the back of my neck, catching a pad of cold sweat. ‘Len thought you-’

‘I don’t care what Detective Bloody Superintendent Lennox Murray thought. I wasn’t the Inside Man then, and I’m not the sodding Inside Man now!’ Micky grabbed an empty mug, ringed inside with brown tidemarks, and stood. ‘Still hurts when it’s cold.’

‘He was…’ Try again. ‘Len went too far some times. But only because he was trying to save lives.’

Micky bared his teeth. ‘Oh, how noble of him.’

‘Yes, and I know he was wrong, but he’s not here, is he? They banged him up for it. And I’m asking you to help me catch a killer.’

‘Hmph…’ Then Micky limped off towards the recess at the side of the room where the fridge and hot-water urn lurked.

I lumbered after him, jaw clenching every time my right foot hit the ground, cane trembling in my hand.

Prednisolone my arse. The four I’d dry-swallowed on the way over here hadn’t even made a dent in it. ‘You made copies of the originals, didn’t you?’

Alice appeared at my shoulder, flashing her whitest of smiles. ‘Alice McDonald, it’s an honour to meet you, Mr Slosser, I have to say that I’m a big fan of your weekly column. Slosser’s Saturday Sessions is compulsory reading in my house. And your work on the Inside Man case was revelatory, wasn’t it, Ash?’

Revelatory? I stared at her.

She took a breath. ‘Anyway, if you can let us have those copies of the letters and envelopes, that’d be great. Big assistance.’ Alice held her hands out, as if she was holding an invisible beach ball. ‘Huge.’

Micky pursed his lips and leaned back against the working surface. ‘Did you know that before I printed the first letter they were calling him the Caledonian Ripper?’

Her eyes went wide. ‘Really?’ Even though it was in the sodding briefing notes she’d written.

‘Oh yes: the News of the World gave him that nickname soon as Doreen Appleton’s body turned up. Well, it was pretty obvious that the kind of guy who’d cut a woman open and stitch a plastic doll inside wasn’t going to quit at just one, was he? Man like that needs a good nickname so people will know who we’re talking about when the next one turns up.’

‘Wow.’

‘Then, one day, I get this letter from someone saying they’re the bloke who killed Doreen Appleton. Said the papers should stop lying about him being sick and evil, he was only doing what had to be done. That calling him the “Caledonian Ripper” was disrespectful and rude. And he signed himself, “The Inside Man”.’

‘Gosh.’ She stepped closer. ‘So, if it wasn’t for you, we’d never know his real name, I don’t mean the name he was born with, obviously we don’t know that, I mean the more important one — the one he picked for himself.’

Micky nodded. ‘Exactly. You want a coffee?’

I nodded. ‘Tea would be-’

‘Didn’t ask you.’ He thumped two mugs down, snatched a jar of decaf from the countertop. ‘I couldn’t run for two years, you know that, don’t you? Two sodding years.’

I rested my thumping head against the wall. ‘Tell me about it.’

He spooned out gritty coffee granules into both mugs. ‘Do you take sugar, Alice, or are you sweet enough as it is?’

She actually giggled. ‘Two, please.’

Micky lumped in a couple of heaped teaspoons. Then frowned. ‘You think it’s him again, don’t you? All that stuff at the briefings about not jumping to conclusions — you know it’s him. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here scrabbling about for copies of his old love letters…’

I went for nonchalant. ‘Just tidying up a few loose ends.’

He put the milk down. ‘What happened to the originals? You’ve got them on file, don’t you? All boxed up somewhere safe in the archives?’

I sighed. Put in a shrug as well for good measure. ‘You know what they’re like. It’s all about jurisdiction and infighting these days, one big unhappy family choking on its own bureaucracy.’ Probably.

‘So what’s in it for me?’

Alice put a hand on his arm. ‘It’s important.’

‘Hmmm…’ He filled the mugs from the urn and stirred. ‘How about we have a little reciprocity? My back’s very itchy.’

‘Well…’ She looked at me, then back at Micky. ‘How about I tell you where Claire Young’s last meal came from?’

OK, so Jacobson wouldn’t be happy about it, but screw him. Swings and roundabouts. And when it got splashed all over the Castle News and Post tomorrow morning, we could just blame PC Cooper. There is no ‘I’ in team.

Micky handed her a mug. ‘What is it, McDonalds? KFC?’

I shook my head. ‘Nope: local establishment, lots of history.’

He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a bit. Took a sip of coffee. ‘Suppose we could play up the “condemned woman’s final request” angle. “What would your last meal on earth be?” Get in a few local celebs…’ He limped off to his desk again. ‘What else?’

‘Don’t be greedy.’

‘You’re after the letters for a reason. I get first dibs on anything official that comes out of them. Twelve-hour lead.’

‘Maybe. Now let’s see the letters.’