A Song for the Dying

17

Wishart Avenue made a redbrick arc between the condemned bingo hall on Mark Lane and the vacant business centre on Downes Street. It’d been residential once. Then shops. And now it was a gallery for badly spelled graffiti tags.

Most of the terrace was boarded up, thick sheets of plywood bloated with rainwater and swelling beneath the spraypaint. The handful of houses that were still occupied had steel front doors and bars on the windows. Puddles dotted the potholed tarmac.

Alice stayed close, her little collapsible brolly held over us both. ‘Did you know Ruth was raped, I didn’t know she was raped, why wasn’t there anything in the file about him raping his victims?’

‘We didn’t know.’ I sidestepped a pool of greasy water, the surface rippled by rain and rainbowed with diesel. ‘Ruth didn’t say anything about it when we questioned her eight years ago. Nor did Laura, or Marie… Though to be fair, we didn’t really get much out of Marie full stop. Not with the brain damage.’ I gave Alice a nudge with my shoulder. ‘You’re the only one who’s managed to get the truth out of Ruth.’

That got me a smile and a blush.

A white Scenes Examination Branch marquee sat two-thirds of the way down the road, in front of an alley through to Henson Row. A double layer of blue-and-white ‘POLICE’ tape cut the street in half, a white Transit van and two patrol cars blocking either end.

Two figures stood in front of the tape barrier: Shifty in his cheap black suit — scowling beneath a red-and-green golf umbrella — and a short man in a waxed jacket and trainers. Baseball cap on his head, hands deep in his pockets. Shoulders up against the rain.

He squinted at us as Shifty pulled the tape up so Alice and I could duck under.

‘Ash Henderson? Dear Lord, when’d they let you out?’ The wee man grinned, stuck out his hand… Then used it to give his baseball cap a tweak when I didn’t shake it. ‘Good to see you. Sorry to hear about your daughter.’ He pointed at Alice. ‘Who’s this lovely creature?’ He gave her a little bow. ‘Russell Kirkpatrick, Castle News and Post, old friend of Ash’s. So you’re here about the murder?’

Alice opened her mouth, but I got in first. ‘Don’t say anything: he’s fishing. No comment, Russell.’

His face drooped. ‘Come on, Ash, be fair. No one else’s got wind of this yet — bottle of Glenfiddich if you help me out?’

‘It’s a blackout, Russell. No one’s talking.’

‘It’s not Charlie Pearce’s body, is it? Off the record?’

‘Bye, Russell.’

Shifty lowered the cordon and hurried after us. ‘So, you guys are up for a curry tonight? I’ll pick up a takeaway if you get the beers in.’

Russell’s voice echoed out behind us. ‘Bottle of whisky and a ticket to the Aberdeen-Dundee match. Corporate box!’

No chance.

As soon as we were out of earshot, Shifty made a big show of patting down his pockets. ‘Damn. Alice, any chance I can grab Ash for a minute?’

A small crease appeared between her eyebrows, then she nodded.

He gave Alice the umbrella. ‘Just be a minute.’

We stood there, in the rain while she walked off towards the SEB tent.

Shifty gave it a couple of beats then leaned in, his voice low and garlicky. ‘I’ve been onto my mate with the boat — you might need to hole-up in Fraserburgh for a couple of days, but you’ll be in Norway by the weekend. And Biro Billy says he can have the passport ready tomorrow, but he needs a headshot. Mobile phone won’t do: needs to be one of those approved photo-booth jobs.’

‘What was all that business with the pockets?’

Shifty shrugged. ‘Thought it’d be more convincing if it looked like I’d lost something.’ He nodded towards Alice as she reached the SEB marquee. ‘You taking her with you?’

I stood there, in the rain, mouth open for a bit. Hadn’t thought about that. If I sodded off to Norway on my own, Mrs Kerrigan’s goons would go after Alice sooner or later. And they wouldn’t care if she had nothing to do with the death or not, someone would have to pay.

Shifty could take care of himself, but Alice?

No way I was letting that happen.

I cleared my throat. ‘She’ll be safer with me.’

His face scrunched up on one side, the eyes narrowed. ‘Might be difficult. You know: abandoning her career and all that.’

Sodding hell. ‘It’d only be a couple of years.’

She’d understand, wouldn’t she?

One of Superintendent Knight’s team poked his head out of the SEB tent. Looked around until he was staring straight at Alice. Frowned. He stepped out into the road. Middling height with a slight paunch bulging the checked shirt out over his suit trousers. He bared his top teeth. Ran a hand along his monk’s tonsure. ‘DI Morrow, what’s this civilian doing here?’

I marched over. ‘What do you think, you baldy wee-’

‘Actually,’ Alice pulled out her widest smile, ‘we’re all on the same team really, aren’t we, I mean it’s not about jurisdiction or brownie points, is it, it’s about catching this guy before he has a chance to hurt anyone else, and my name’s Dr McDonald, but you can call me Alice if you like, what’s your name?’

He backed up a couple of steps, until he was right against the SEB tent. ‘Err… Nigel… No, erm … Detective Constable Terry.’

‘Nigel Terry, wow, that’s super, was it strange growing up with two first names, or did you not let that bother you, I know it can really undermine a person’s confidence if people keep getting their name wrong, I mean everyone probably gets confused and ends up calling you Terry, don’t they, and that’s got to feel really rude, so who’s running the scene?’

‘It… We… Em… I am?’

‘That’s just great, so if you’d like to sign us in we’ll take a look and then we can all get together and talk it through, is that OK, Nigel?’

‘But… Yes?’

‘Super.’

We scribbled our names into the log and stepped into the tent. Inside, the air was muggy and a good ten degrees warmer than outside, thick with the familiar smell of SEB marquee. A mix of Pot Noodle, coffee, and last night in the pub — sweated out into a white Tyvek suit and left to percolate for a couple of hours as they worked the scene in their own private saunas.

A couple of the SEB techs stood by a folding table, oversuits peeled off to the waist, chugging bottles of water. Steam rose from their shoulders in oily ribbons.

One turned and puffed out her cheeks at me. ‘Hope you’re not expecting anything exciting.’ She pointed towards a flap at the back of the tent. ‘We’ve got one alley and one handbag. It’s not exactly Gone with the Wind.’

‘Is that all?’ Alice stood on her tiptoes and peered at the flap. ‘Why isn’t there a body, I thought there’d be a body, if there’s no body then how do they know it’s the Inside Man?’

The tech raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

I grabbed a couple of bagged Tyvek suits and handed one to Alice. Tore my own from its forensic sheath. ‘He leaves a calling card. First couple of times we missed it, but it’s always there.’

‘A calling card? Why wasn’t it-’

‘Suit up. You’ll see.’ I struggled my shoes through the suit’s legs, leaning on Shifty for balance. ‘You’ve done a sweep for DNA?’

The tech nodded. ‘Well, stickytaped the bit around the bag and the baby.’

I got my arms in and shrugged the oversuit over my shoulders. Zipped it up. ‘Any semen?’

A snort. ‘You’re kidding, right? Wishart Avenue is a Mecca for young lovers. Long as you’ve got the cash, or a wrapper of brown.’

I pulled up my hood. Grabbed an oversized evidence bag. ‘Just go back and look, OK?’ The cane went into the evidence bag, held on with a couple of elastic bands. One more to fix a blue plastic bootie over the rubber tip. Bit makeshift, but it’d work.

Alice hopped on one leg, the other tangled in her suit. ‘We just found out that he raped Ruth Laughlin before he abducted her, so he probably did it to the other victims too.’

‘He did?’ The tech’s face soured. ‘Great. Thanks for that.’ She turned and hauled back the tent flap. ‘HOY, RONNIE: DO A SWEEP FOR PUBES AND SPUNK! OUR BOY’S A FIDDLER.’

Alice hauled on the suit and did up the zip. ‘He’s unlikely to wear a condom, given the fact it’s all about putting a baby in the victims’ tummies, and why isn’t the calling card in the case files, how am I supposed to produce coherent behavioural evidence analysis if I don’t have all the facts, it’s-’

‘It’s not in the file because of Sarah Creegan. Now, get your gloves and booties on and let’s go take a look.’

She did, then followed me out through the flap at the back of the tent, leaving Shifty behind. Two suited SEB techs knelt on the alley floor, one dabbing away with a cotton bud, the other pressing a wide strip of clear stickytape against the ground.

A third figure stood in the background, leaning back against the brick wall, arms folded.

Alice did a quick three-sixty. ‘He forced her in here, I mean it’s not on the way to or from anywhere is it, and it’s not like a young nurse is going to nip into a filthy alleyway for a pee, and who’s Sarah Creegan?’

‘Once upon a time, there was a little boy called Bob Richards, he was a very naughty little boy and his mummy and daddy didn’t like him very much. So they beat him with a thick leather belt; broke his fingers and ribs; put their cigarettes out on his naked back; and once, for fun, they poured boiling water over his genitals. Sarah Creegan was little Bob’s social worker.’

‘So she reported the parents?’

‘Nope. She put him out of his misery with a pillow over the face. Then she got his mummy and daddy drunk and gave them both an overdose of heroin. She cut it with slug pellets and caustic soda, just to be sure.’

The tech with the stickytape transferred the strip he’d been pressing against the ground onto an acetate sheet. Labelled it. Then got out more tape.

‘When the second set of shitty parents turned up with a dead kid and veins full of poisoned drugs, we knew we had a problem. The third time it happened we noticed the calling card. Sarah Creegan was leaving tiny teddy bears at the scene — really small, maybe an inch-and-a-bit tall with a safety-pin on the back. Didn’t spot it at first, because Cancer Research were handing them out if you put a quid in the tin for childhood leukaemia.’

A yellow marker with ‘A’ printed on it sat next to the alley wall. Another marked ‘8’ was on the other side. I walked over. ‘So it went in the report: “charity teddy bear left at the scene by killer”. And the next morning it was all over the papers. After that, every crime scene in the city was festooned with the bloody things.’

Marker ‘8’ lay beside a pile of scrunched-up newsprint. I squatted down and looked back at the stickytape tech. ‘You bag and tag it yet?’

An anonymous face looked back at me: bottom half hidden by the mask, top half by the safety goggles. ‘The boss wanted to see it in situ. All photographed though.’

‘Good.’ I raised one corner of the pile. And there it was: one plastic key ring. A little pink baby, the chain coming out of the top of its head with a single Yale key attached to the ring at the end. ‘That’s how we know the Inside Man abducted someone.’

I straightened up as Alice peered at it.

‘The big question is: how did we find it in the first place?’ The bootie on the end of my cane scuffed against the ground as I hobbled over to the figure leaning against the wall. ‘Well?’

Detective Superintendent Ness’s voice came out through the facemask. ‘We got an anonymous call on Crimestoppers.’ She pointed at marker ‘A’. ‘Working girl found the handbag lying here after servicing one of her clients. Says she thought a purse-snatcher probably dumped it, but maybe there was still something worth having inside. Got to the ID and freaked.’

Ness held up an evidence pouch. It contained a Castle Hill Infirmary identification badge — still attached to its green lanyard: ‘MATERNITY HOSPITAL ~ MIDWIFERY SERVICES’. The photo showed a woman in her mid-to-late twenties, wearing cherry-red lipstick but no other makeup. Her mousey-blonde hair was pulled back in what was probably a loose ponytail. Striking blue-grey eyes and neat eyebrows.

It was the name that brought me up short. I blinked at it. ‘Jessica McFee? Not the Jessica McFee? The bastard grabbed Wee Free McFee’s daughter?’

‘That’s why our anonymous working girl called it in. Didn’t want Wee Free to find out she’d come across the bag and done nothing.’

Wee Free McFee’s daughter. For Christ’s sake…

As if things weren’t bad enough already.

‘Bet he loved that. His little girl, grabbed off the street, raped, slit open…’ I stopped. ‘What?’

‘He doesn’t know. Not yet.’

Alice stood, brushed imaginary dirt off the knees of her SOC suit. ‘Who’s Wee Free McFee?’

‘Good luck with that. He’s going to go absolutely mental.’

Ness cleared her throat. ‘Funny you should mention that. When I tried to get a Family Liaison Officer to go break the news, they all came down with dysentery. Everyone from CID disappeared, and uniform have called in their Federation rep.’

‘Yeah, well, they’re not daft.’

‘Normally I’d make the lazy bastards go — send a firearms team in to break the news, if he’s really as bad as they say — but the Powers That Be want this handled sensitively. Which is why I got DI Morrow to call you.’

I backed up a pace, tightened my grip on the cane’s handle. ‘Oh no you don’t.’

‘Apparently you have some sort of relationship with the man.’

‘No chance — I’m not even a police officer any more, I don’t have to-’

‘I’ve spoken with Bear and he feels it would be appropriate for you to assist us in contacting the bereaved family and questioning them about Jessica’s last known movements.’

‘Well, Detective Superintendent Jacobson can pucker up and-’

‘And he says to tell you that you can either get over there and break the news, or I can get someone to give you a lift right back to prison.’ She shrugged, making her SOC suit rustle. ‘Up to you.’

Alice tugged at my sleeve. ‘Why’s everyone afraid of this Wee Free McFee?’

Shifty backed up, keeping pace. ‘Look, it’s not my fault, OK? She made me-’

‘You are not in my bloody good books.’

‘Aw, come on, Ash, it-’

‘Wee Free McFee. Yeah, thanks a lot, Dave. You set me up!’ I stopped, dragged out my official mobile and called Jacobson.

‘What?’

‘Did you lend me out to Ness?’

‘Ah…’ A small pause. ‘I was led to understand you’ve got a relationship-’

‘I arrested him a couple of times, we weren’t moving in together!’

‘All you have to do is go round, tell him his daughter’s been abducted, and get him to answer a few questions. How hard could it be?’

‘How hard?’ I lowered the phone, limped off a few steps, then back again. ‘He’s a psychopath. I’ll need some muscle.’

‘Ash, Ash, Ash…’ A sigh. ‘That’s your job. Your prison record is one long list of fights and broken bodies. Why do you think I sprung you?’

‘Oh, that’s great. Well done. The guy with arthritis and a walking stick is the team muscle. What stellar planning.’

‘I’m sure it won’t be as bad as all that, you just-’

‘And there’s no way in hell I’m taking Alice in there. No muscle, no visit.’

A long rattling sigh. ‘Fine, you can have some muscle. Constable Cooper will be with you in-’

‘The boy couldn’t beat up a damp nappy.’

‘Well who do you want then? And it better not be one of your Oldcastle cronies.’

I told him.