A Dark So Deadly

by Stuart MacBride

  ‘Can’t feel my tongue …’

  ‘Anyway, just wanted to say sorry. I know it’s not our cock-up, but still. Give me a call when you get this, OK? Bye.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’ McAdams stood, wobbling like one of those inflatable men they stuck outside car dealerships.

  ‘Oh, and speaking of Callum, if you see him, tell him the Dundee lot have done a preliminary sweep through the contents of Travis’s freezers. They can’t be a hundred percent, but they say it looks like it’s all adults. No children’s remains, if that helps? OK, that’s definitely it this time. Bye.’

  Bleeeeeeeeep.

  Callum reached for his mug, but the thing wasn’t where it was meant to be and his fingertips caught the handle, tipping it over. Pale brown and beige spread out across the tabletop. ‘Sorry …’

  ‘It’s all right. It’s only tea.’ McAdams patted him on the shoulder. ‘Well, not only tea, but mostly.’ He wobbled over to the worktop and came back with a dishtowel. Laid it out on the beige puddle. The fabric darkened. ‘You should’ve had the Sancerre instead.’

  ‘Mmmph?’

  ‘I only wanted to make a difference. Not a huge one, just a little one. Before I die.’ McAdams mopped up the spilled tea. ‘It would’ve worked too, but you …’ A sigh. ‘Well, I suppose you were only doing your job.’

  ‘Nnnnmph.’ The walls lurched in, then out again. Boom. Boom. In time with his pulse. Like waves. In. And out. In. And out.

  ‘But couldn’t you have left me with one?’

  In. And out.

  ‘Just one god for me. To fix all this? To make the world whole again?’

  Callum grabbed hold of the tabletop. Dug his fingers into the slippery surface as the grain, buried deep in the wood, twisted and flowed.

  ‘One by one I had to give them up. I didn’t want to, but what choice did I have?’ His hand was hot on the back of Callum’s neck. ‘I thought I’d have enough time with Ashlee, she was coming along so well. She’d purified. Made amends. She was ready to transcend.’

  The tea. There was something in the tea.

  ‘But now she’s gone, back to the venal flesh and dust and darkness. You want to hear a secret? I think surrendering her was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done.’ A tiny laugh. ‘Such a terrible waste. Don’t get me wrong: in a weird way, I’m glad she’s still alive, but I would have made her immortal.’

  Callum scraped his chair back. ‘Nnngh …’

  ‘I know, I know. Come on.’ He hooked his hands under Callum’s armpits and pulled him to his feet. ‘It’s all right. In the end I couldn’t help Ashlee, but I can still help you, if you like?’

  ‘Nnnn.’

  ‘Shhh … Here we go. It’s going to be fine. Watch your feet on the steps, it’s a long way down to the basement.’

  77

  ‘There we are, that’s better, isn’t it?’

  The basement floor was warm and soft, like R.M. Travis’s garage. Dusty soft warm concrete. The brick walls pulsed – in and out, in and out. Shifting in time with every single one of Callum’s breaths. ‘Gnnnmmph …’

  ‘Shh … It’s OK. You’re going to be fine. Trust me. It’s all going to be fine.’

  Callum’s arms were lead, dull and heavy, his fingers like wet balloons.

  ‘You just sit up here. That’s right.’

  McAdams hauled him into a sitting position.

  ‘Here we go.’

  The chain was cool against Callum’s neck. The padlock’s click reverberated through his skull. Click. Click. Click. Click.

  ‘All safe and secure.’

  ‘Nnngh …’

  A sigh. ‘I feel bad about Finn, but look at it from my perspective: if I hadn’t killed him and written that suicide note, we’d still be looking for Imhotep, wouldn’t we? This way it’s all finished nice and neat. We’ve come to the end of the book.’ His hand was warm and dry, stroking Callum’s cheek. ‘You made an excellent antagonist and I mean that. Sincerely. And now you’re going to be a god. They’ll worship you and you’ll be a god. How’s that for an epilogue?’

  In and out. In and out.

  He gave Callum a sad little smile. ‘It’s all been a bit of a disaster, hasn’t it? I didn’t mean for the first body to end up in the tip, but Beth came home early and the body was ruined and I panicked, and, and, and …’ He rolled his eyes and pulled a face. ‘I know, I know: exposition. Anyway, you wouldn’t believe how much finessing it took to make sure we got the investigation when they found it. Couldn’t have anyone else sniffing around my gods, could I? Of course not.’ He leaned forward and kissed Callum on the forehead. ‘Don’t worry, though: no one will ever find you. You won’t end up in Professor Twining’s mortuary, like some sort of natural history exhibit. You’re going to be a god. You’re going to be immortal.’

  ‘Gnnnnnnnnnnngh …’

  ‘I’m going to get you some more tea. You wait here and—’ He froze. Staring up at the ceiling as the doorbell gave out two death-knell rings. ‘Tsk. Some people just have no sense of timing, do they? Never mind, they’ll go away and we can—’

  The bell tolled again.

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake. Sorry about this. I’ll be right back.’ A smile. ‘Promise.’

  Callum closed his eyes and the walls stopped moving. The sound of McAdams’ feet scuffed away then thumped up the stairs. Then the basement door clunked shut. Then silence.

  ‘Urghnngh …’

  Die.

  Going to.

  Going to die.

  They’ll worship you, you’ll be a god.

  Muffled voices came from up above. McAdams and someone else. Someone familiar.

  Mother.

  ‘Mmmmnnnfffrrr …!’ He took a deep breath, but all that would come out was the same mushy grumble.

  The tea. Should never have drunk the tea.

  It took a lot, but he hauled his lead arm up and worked wet balloon fingers between his lips. Past his graveyard teeth. Across his slimy tongue. And into his throat. They felt big as—

  ‘Hurrrrkkk …’ Pale beige liquid splashed down his wrist, hot and sticky.

  Barely a mouthful.

  Again.

  He dug his fingers in deeper.

  ‘Hurrrrrrrrkkk …’ This time his whole stomach heaved, curling his shoulders, hunching his back as tea and kippers splashed out onto the basement floor. ‘Hurrrrkkk …’ Chewed ribbony chunks of Pot Noodle. ‘Hurrrrrrrrrrkkk …’ More. Every heave like a kick in the stomach, leaving him hanging on the end of his chain. Spitting bile onto the concrete.

  Callum slumped back against the wall.

  Blinking.

  The bricks started to pulse again.

  In and out. In and out.

  Mushrooms. It had to be mushrooms. And probably something else as well. Something to make him drowsy. Something to make him weak.

  Probably still got enough of the crap in his system to keep a whole squat full of druggies tripping for a week. But at least he’d got rid of the rest.

  His whole mouth tasted like an old wheelie bin smelled, though.

  He spat again.

  Ground his eyes closed.

  Pulled his head forwards, then smacked it back into the wall.

  A dull ringing flooded through his skull.

  Again.

  Harder this time.

  The gauze padding softened the blow a bit.

  Again.

  Fire ripped across his scalp, followed by a thousand razorblades. Slicing through the stitches back there. Wrenching his eyes open.

  Oh, dear Jesus, that hurt.

  But it worked.

  He shook his aching head and the walls stayed where they were.

  Coughed.

  Spat out another string of bitter yellow bile.

  Basement. He was in the basement.

  The concrete floor rippled beneath him. Hissing.

  McAdams had made a wall out of dusty ca
rdboard boxes, blocking this part off from the rest of the room, creating an alcove no more than twelve foot by eight. Three sets of chains were fixed to the brickwork, all of them shiny and new. One for Callum, one dangling above a bare mattress on the floor, and one going around the neck of the woman slumped opposite.

  Brown hair with grey at the roots. Naked, except for a grey cardigan that was threadbare at the elbows and cuffs. Knees covered with scratches and bruises.

  She didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just slumped there.

  Callum cleared his throat. Fumbled his slippery sick-covered fingers to the chain around his neck. Then worked his way back along its length to where it fastened to a ring, bolted to the wall. Gave it a pull.

  Nope.

  Key.

  Get the key.

  And how the hell was he meant to do that, chained to the basement wall?

  Upstairs, the muffled voices went quiet, as if someone had turned off the radio. Then a solid thump rattled the floor above.

  Oh God.

  He wiped his fingers on his once-clean, once-dry, shirt.

  There was a creak, followed by the sound of something being dragged down the stairs. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

  McAdams appeared around the boxes, shuffling backwards, bent double, pulling Mother by the armpits. She was limp, on her back, one shoe dangling off as he hauled her over to the mattress.

  He struggled her into place, then sat back on his heels, wiping his forehead. ‘I’m sorry, Mother, but you couldn’t have picked a worse time.’

  The chain clattered and rattled as he wrapped it around her neck, fastening it with another heavy padlock and slipping the keys into his pocket.

  ‘But it’s OK. It’ll all be OK. You’ll see.’ He leaned forwards and kissed her on the forehead. ‘It’ll be better than OK.’

  Callum slumped against the wall. Groaned.

  McAdams turned. ‘I know this isn’t what we planned, Callum, but we’ll make it work. And now we’ve got a New Mummy to look after us and love us and keep us safe. Isn’t that great?’ He nodded. ‘But, you need more tea, don’t you? Right.’

  Another groan.

  Wrinkles deepened between his eyebrows. ‘Have you been sick?’

  Callum’s head lolled to the right, making the walls pulsate again.

  ‘Oh dear. Never mind. It’s OK. It’s not your fault.’ McAdams stood and walked over. Hunkered down right beside him. Took out a handkerchief and wiped Callum’s mouth. ‘It can be a bit harsh at first, but the tea’s good for you. It purifies your body and your mind. It’ll make you ready for divinity.’ He brushed the damp hair from Callum’s forehead. ‘They’ll worship you, you’ll be a god. You’ll be a— Gllllk!’

  Callum’s good hand slammed into McAdams’ crotch. Took a firm grip and squeezed, twisting the contents of McAdams’ pants like he was opening a jar of pickled onions.

  There was a wet, strangled, scream, then McAdams collapsed to the floor and coiled into a little trembling ball, sobbing while Callum squeezed and twisted.

  The words were lumpen and saggy, but Callum forced them out anyway. ‘Say hello to … The Claw!’

  78

  Mother was breathing, but there was already a lump growing on the back of her head.

  Callum unlocked the padlock from the chain around her neck. ‘Boss? Can you hear me?’

  He gave her a small slap on the cheek, but it didn’t help.

  She was still breathing though, that was the important thing.

  The lady in the grey cardigan flinched when Callum touched her. So definitely still alive.

  ‘It’s all right, I’m a police officer. See?’ He pulled out his warrant card. ‘Can you tell me your name?’

  Her eyes were wide as a rabbit’s, waiting for the oncoming car.

  ‘Hello?’

  Nope.

  Callum unlocked her too, but she scuttered away, squeezing herself into the corner of the room, arms wrapped around her knees. Staring out at him from beneath her greying fringe, with those glittering rabbit eyes. Probably off her face on McAdams’ magic mushroom tea.

  And that just left the man himself. Still curled up on the basement floor, wrapped around his tortured groin.

  Good.

  Callum hauled both of McAdams’ wrists behind his back and slapped on the cuffs. ‘Andrew McAdams, I’m detaining you under Section Fourteen of the—’

  ‘Don’t you want to be a god?’ Face flushed and shiny. Tears and snot shining on his cheeks. ‘Why? What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘You’re going to prison, Andy. It’s over.’

  He stared. ‘It’s not too late, I can fix this. I’ll get you some more tea. You can be a god, Callum. You can watch over us all. You can fix everything that’s wrong!’

  ‘You’re a psycho nutbag, and you’re going to spend every last miserable day you’ve got left being someone’s bitch in a six-by-six cell.’

  And at that, McAdams threw his head back and laughed. Not a fake laugh either, a full-on belly laugh. ‘I’m dying of cancer, you idiot. I’ve got weeks to live. You think they’ll lock me up? I won’t even stand trial and you know it.’

  ‘I’m detaining you under Section Fourteen of the Criminal Justice, Scotland, Act—’

  ‘You still don’t get it, do you? All you’ve done is stopped me saving everybody’s lives. We could have fixed everything. And you ruined it!’

  ‘—because I believe you to have committed an offence punishable by imprisonment—’

  ‘But you know what? It doesn’t matter if I die, now. No one ever remembers the cops or the victims, they only remember the serial killer. I get to live forever.’

  Callum licked his lips. ‘You get to die in prison.’

  ‘They’ll write books about me – Sunday Times bestsellers. They’ll make films about me. Maybe even a TV series. They’ll talk about me in hushed whispers when they tuck their children into bed.’ A grin. ‘Andrew McAdams. Imhotep. Immortal.’

  The walls throbbed in time with Callum’s heartbeat.

  Kill him.

  It was the only way.

  Arrest him and he’d barely see the inside of a courtroom.

  Kill him.

  Make it look like suicide – just like McAdams had done with Finn Noble – so everyone would think he just couldn’t cope with the cancer. Then get rid of anything incriminating in the house, so no one would ever find out that he murdered all those people. Don’t let him take anything from this.

  Don’t let him win.

  McAdams grinned up at him, eyes like polished buttons. ‘They’ll worship me, I’ll be a god!’

  ‘No.’ Callum tightened his good hand into a fist. ‘No, you won’t.’

  79

  ‘Ow! Get off me.’ Mother slapped the paramedic’s hands away. Tried to stand. Got pushed back onto the wheelie-stretcher thing that took up nearly one whole side of the ambulance.

  ‘You’ve got concussion. Do you want to die? Doesn’t bother me: I get paid either way.’ The paramedic held out the disinfectant and the wad of gauze again. ‘Now, are you going to sit still, or not?’

  The ambulance’s blue-and-whites spun in the downpour. Throw in the three patrol cars, all with their lights going, and the crime scene was transformed into a very damp, very miserable disco.

  Callum climbed up into the back, joining them. ‘That’s Cecelia and her Smurfs of Doom just arrived.’

  Mother nodded. ‘Tell them I want— Ow!’

  ‘Well sit still, then. And you’re going to need stitches.’

  ‘I don’t need stitches.’

  ‘God’s sake.’ The paramedic handed his gauze and disinfectant to Callum. ‘Try to talk some sense into her.’ Then he hopped down from the back and walked off under the eaves of the house. Took out a packet of cigarettes and lit up.

  Callum peered at the back of Mother’s head. ‘Yeah … you’re going to need stitches.’

  ‘I can’t be
lieve Andy hit me. He hit me!’ She looked away. ‘How’s Beth?’

  ‘They’ve taken her straight to A-and-E. No idea how long he’s had her chained up in the basement, but she’s gone full-blown psychotic episode.’

  ‘His own wife. I was at their silver wedding anniversary.’ Mother let her head fall back, then winced and straightened up again. ‘Ow!’

  ‘Look on the bright side: it could’ve been a lot worse. Remember what he did to John?’

  ‘Urgh …’ She wiped a hand across her face. ‘Andy was my friend, Callum. I’ve known him for years. I don’t even know who he is, now.’

  ‘We’re all still alive. He can’t hurt anyone else. We’ve escaped our chains.’

  She looked at him, then smiled. ‘No more sodding haikus.’

  ‘Deal.’ He put a hand on her shoulder and she took it. Gave it a squeeze. Nodded.

  ‘You did good, Callum. You did really, really good.’

  ‘Thanks, Boss.’

  ‘I think, in the circumstances, you can call me “Mother”.’

  The scent of deep-fried sausages filled the Downstream Monitoring Suite, underpinned by the sharp-sweet tang of cheap tomato sauce. Dr McDonald ripped another bite from her buttie and leaned closer to the screen, chewing as she stared.

  Mother folded her arms and slumped back in her seat.

  Callum licked tomato sauce and melted butter off the back of his hand. ‘Sure you don’t want one?’

  ‘Surprisingly enough, I’m not hungry.’

  On the screen, Interview Two was full – McAdams and his solicitor on one side of the table, facing the camera; Detective Superintendent Ness and a short fat DS on the other.

  ‘No comment.’

  Ness sighed. ‘Andrew, you know how this works. You’ve been here often enough.’

  ‘No comment.’

  McAdams’ solicitor looked as if she was auditioning for a Tim Burton movie. She tucked a strand of jet-black hair behind her ear. ‘I believe my client has made himself very clear on this point, Detective Superintendent. He’s quite happy to answer any questions, but only to DI Malcolmson.’

  McAdams stared directly into the camera. Smiled. ‘And Callum, of course. Only fair to include him. He deserves that much.’

  Dr McDonald took another bite. ‘He doesn’t even look bothered, does he? It’s like he’s there to pick up a Chinese takeaway.’