A Dark So Deadly
Page 65
Dugdale bared his teeth. ‘The whole bloody lot of you are going to pay for this. Understand?’ He buried another boot into Callum’s stomach. ‘You’re all going to …’ His eyes bulged and he looked over his shoulder.
Irene Brown stood right behind him, hunched forwards. She staggered back a couple of steps and raised her hands to cover her mouth. As if trying to hide the horrified expression on her face.
And Dugdale turned to face her. Unsteady on his legs. Shaking.
The handle of the kitchen knife stuck out of his back, just above his belt. Blood darkened his trousers. ‘No …’
Callum blinked.
The world pulsed in and out. Warm and inviting as a length of basement chain.
Difficult to keep his eyes open.
When did his eyelids get so heavy?
Dugdale collapsed to his knees, both hands fluttering at the small of his back, fingertips brushing the knife’s handle. ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God …’
Then the living room door burst open and Franklin charged in, flicking her extendable baton out with a hard sharp clack. ‘NOBODY MOVE!’
Better late than never.
Callum let the warmth and darkness fold over him like a duvet.
81
‘You ready?’
‘Yeah.’ Callum winced and levered himself out of the big blue hospital armchair. The little private room was far too sodding hot, even with the window cracked as far open as it would go. A handful of get-well-soon cards were pinned up on the corkboard above the telly, the remains of a clichéd bag of grapes going raisiny on the bedside table.
He stood there for a moment. Straightened up. Wobbled.
Mother raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure? Because I can call a doctor.’
‘Four days stuck in here with daytime TV and lukewarm Lucozade is quite enough, thank you.’
‘Callum—’
‘I’m fine. What’s a few cracked ribs, fractured cheekbone, and bruised spleen between friends?’ He struggled his way into his jacket. ‘And there wasn’t any blood in my pee this morning. How cool is that?’
McAdams’ book was back in its brown paper wrapper. Callum slipped it into his backpack and fastened the catches.
‘Did you finish Andy’s book?’
‘Yup. Want to know what happens in the end?’
She shook her head. ‘Certainly not, we don’t approve of spoilers.’
‘OK. Well, in that case—’
A knock at the door and Franklin stuck her head in. ‘Is he still malingering?’
‘I am not malingering.’
Mother crossed to the bed and picked up his backpack. Paused to peer out of the window. ‘Have you seen the crowd down there? That’s an awful lot of people for a Wednesday afternoon.’
Callum grinned. ‘Maybe they’re here to celebrate me getting out of hospital?’
‘Dream on.’ Franklin pointed at the door. ‘Can we go now? Some of us have work to get back to.’
He limped out into the corridor, following her and Mother out of the ward and along to the lifts. Wheezing like a leaky balloon.
Mother pressed the button and the doors slid open. ‘Dotty sends her love, by the way. She’d be here, but they’re testing her for her disabled parking badge. You’d think missing half a leg would make her a shoo in, but who are we to question Oldcastle City Council’s mysterious ways?’
They shuffled inside.
The doors clunked shut.
Down they went.
Franklin stared up at the numbers. ‘Dugdale’s regained consciousness, by the way. They’ve had to remove a big chunk of his bowel, liver, upper and lower intestines, but other than that he’s dandy. He’ll poop in a bag for the rest of his life, but swings and roundabouts.’
‘They pressing charges?’
‘What, against Irene Brown? No. She was saving the life of her children and a police officer. They’ve nominated her for a Queen’s Commendation for Bravery. Dugdale, on the other hand, is facing two charges of aggravated assault, two of assaulting children, and the PF’s doing him for the attempted murder of DCI Powel too. Turned out Dugdale was shooting his mouth off all over Oldcastle about it.’
Mother sighed. ‘Poor wee soul never was the shiniest spoon in the drawer.’
‘Hmph.’ At least that meant Callum was off the hook. ‘Do me a favour: when he attacked me, Dugdale was going on about how he’d been paid to do a job and I wasn’t going to get away. Get someone to find out what the hell he was talking about.’
‘I can try. But don’t get your hopes up. He’s not a shiny spoon, but he’s sharp.’
The lift gave a shudder, a grinding noise, a ping. Then the door slid open on the hospital’s reception area.
Franklin pointed. ‘We’re parked over in the red zone. Want me to drop you at Dotty’s?’
‘Any chance we can go via the library?’
‘And how long’s that going to take?’
‘Fifteen minutes. Twenty tops.’ Callum limped through the reception area towards the long line of glass doors, when someone stepped in from the overcast afternoon. Alastair.
The murmurs of that huge crowd outside buzzed through the open door, then clunked silent as it closed again.
Alastair / Donny / Donald / $ick Dawg swaggering over with a dirty big grin on his face and a hand out for shaking. ‘Bruv!’ He’d ditched the shaved-chest-and-leather-jacket look for a simple white shirt and blue jeans. A pair of expensive-looking sunglasses perched on the top of his head. Facial hair neatly trimmed.
‘Erm …’
Alastair grabbed his hand. Shook it. Stepped back. Beamed. Then wrapped Callum up into a hug. Lifting him off the ground. Making broken nails burst across his ribs. ‘Ha-ha!’
‘Arrrgh!’
‘Oh, right, yeah. Sorry, Bruv.’ A squeeze on the shoulder instead. ‘Callum, this is Courtney. Courtney, this is my bruv.’
A woman in a sharp suit appeared – thin, long hair swept back, young and perky looking as she looked Callum up and down, talking in a low Estuary accent. ‘I don’t like the bruises, makes him look like a boxer or something, but I suppose I can work with it.’
‘Courtney’s my publicist.’
‘Right …’
‘OK.’ She clapped her hands. ‘When we go out there, Sick Dawg’s going to make a statement to the media. Then I need you to talk for no more than two minutes: we want to get this on the evening news, so keep it snappy but accessible. How great it is to finally meet your brother, how you’re looking forward to getting to know each other again, you’ve always been a fan of his music, etcetera.’
‘But—’
‘Great. Don’t forget: no more than two minutes. I’ll give you a copy of the itinerary once we’ve done the broadsheet interviews.’
‘Itinerary?’
‘The One Show, Breakfast News, Lorraine. I’m waiting for a call back from The Graham Norton Show, but fingers crossed.’
Callum stared at her. Then at Alastair. Then at Mother. ‘But—’
‘Excellent.’ Courtney checked her watch. ‘I’ve got a table booked at La Poule Française for eight tonight. We can go over any questions you’ve got then.’
‘But—’
‘I know, right?’ Alastair wrapped an arm around his shoulder. ‘Bit of a shock, innit, first time in the bubble? But trust me, Bruv, you is gonna be a natural, right?’ He turned a smile on Franklin and Mother. ‘Can you give me and my bruv a couple of minutes, yeah? You know, to talk, like?’
Franklin bristled, but Mother put a hand on her arm. Nodded. ‘Of course. We’ll be over there, raiding the chocolate machine.’
‘Cool.’ Alastair snapped his fingers then pointed at it. ‘Courtney, treat these fine ladies to whatever they like.’
Last of the big spenders.
And as soon as they were gone, Alastair thumped down into one of the waiting room seats, legs splayed out as if they were barely connected, and gri
nned at Callum. ‘Man, we is gonna be on the front pages tomorrow. Can’t buy this kinda publicity.’
Callum half sat, half collapsed into the seat opposite. Licked his lips. ‘Umm …’
‘You always this quiet, Bruv?’
‘Breakfast News?’
‘Yeah, better get used to it. My agent called: we got a bidding war going on for our autobiography, like big time. And don’t worry: they gonna get some ghost writer guy to do the words for us, we just gotta cash the royalty cheques and sign some books. Already got offers coming in for the film rights.’
‘How’s that going to work if you’re in prison?’
‘Nah, Bruv. Got sentenced to two weeks at a five-star rehab retreat. Perks of being a celebrity with a very expensive lawyer.’
Typical.
Callum cleared his throat. ‘I want to go after Leo McVey. For what he did to Mum and Dad. For what he did to you.’
Silence.
A nurse squeaked by with a clipboard and a frown.
Someone in the distance coughed.
The machine whirred and clunked as Mother, Franklin, and Courtney threw caution to the wind.
Alastair frowned. ‘I remember.’ The patois had disappeared, leaving the hard Kingsmeath burr behind. ‘Not everything. But some bits. I remember the cage Travis kept me in. I remember the dinner parties, where he’d wheel me out.’
‘Dinner parties?’
‘Man, you think he kept all those bits of people in the freezer because he was lonely? You’ve read his books.’
And that’s something else he’s obsessed with: witches eating children. Goblins eating rabbits. Monsters eating children. People eating rabbits that are actually children. It’s a smorgasbord of transspecies consumption, posing as anthropomorphic cannibalism, but it’s really about venal desire. Consume the flesh, violate the body, and absorb it into your own.
‘Oh Jesus …’
‘In the end, it was Uncle Leo got me out of there. Yeah, there was stuff went on before that, but he’s the one changed my name. Got me into a care home. Hid me away so Travis couldn’t find me.’
‘He abducted you in the first place! He helped Travis kill Mum and Dad.’
Alastair picked at the stitching on his jeans. ‘Yeah.’
‘If we’re doing an autobiography, it’ll all come out anyway.’
‘Yeah.’ A small smile. ‘Not easy being a superstar. Wearing all these masks, so nobody sees the real you.’
Callum sat forward in his seat. ‘Are you going to help me?’
Silence.
Alastair cleared his throat. Kept digging at the stitching. ‘I need to tell you something. Ainsley Dugdale: I paid him.’
‘You paid him?’
A shrug. ‘Yeah, but it was just meant to be a thing, you know? I tell Dugdale to hang around Irene’s gaff, I phone in an anonymous tip so you know where he is, then when you turn up and he batters you, I wade in and save the day. Willow and Benny see me, and they’re all like, “Whoa, our dad’s a hero!” You’re like, “My bruv saved my life!”’
Callum stared at him. ‘The big black Mercedes.’
‘Only I got too stoned and then you got crushed in the balls and I was going to jump in, I really was, but you pepper sprayed him and he fell over and Willow kicked the crap out of him and I was laughing so hard I nearly peed myself.’
Lovely.
At least it explained the whole weird coincidence thing.
‘And then, when I heard about that Powel guy, I thought, “No way this scumbag’s getting away with shagging my brother’s woman. No way.” So I got Dugdale to pay him a visit too.’
Callum folded forward and covered his face with his hands. ‘Do you have any idea how much trouble that caused me?’
‘Yeah, sorry, Bruv. It’s the thought that counts, though. Right?’
No, it wasn’t.
The silence stretched.
Alastair sniffed. ‘You need to know: if you go sniffing around Leo McVey with your warrant card and your police mates, he’s going to lawyer up like that.’ Alastair snapped his fingers. ‘Might have to do it … a bit dirty, yeah? You ready for that?’
‘You’re not talking about fitting him up, are you?’
‘No, I’m talking about justice for all them people they killed. I’m talking about revenge for Mum and Dad. I’m talking about pliers and a blowtorch in an abandoned building. I’m talking a shallow grave out in Moncuir Wood where no one’s ever going to find him.’
‘You want to …’ Callum snuck a quick glance around: the nearest person was the receptionist, on her phone. Lowered his voice to a hard whisper: ‘You want to murder Leo McVey? No. Not happening. No chance.’
‘Hmmm.’ A nod. ‘OK, so we can’t kill him. Courtney said you probably wouldn’t go for that.’
‘You discussed murdering Leo McVey with your publicist? Are you insane?’
‘Cos she came up with a better idea: Plan B. We get ourselves a film crew and we go after Leo McVey and that scumbag R.M. Travis on our very own reality TV show. Investigate the background, dig up other victims, all that stuff you cops do, yeah? Play our cards right, we get two seasons out of it.’
‘You are insane.’
‘Yeah, like a fox.’ Alastair stood. ‘Right, we got us a press conference to rock. You ready?’ He held out his hand.
Callum swallowed. Levered himself out of his seat.
Followed his brother out into an overcast afternoon and a barrage of flash photography.
Oh God …
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About the Author
Stuart MacBride is the Sunday Times No.1 bestselling author of the Logan McRae and Ash Henderson novels. His work has won several prizes and in 2015 he was awarded an honorary doctorate by Dundee University.
Stuart lives in the north-east of Scotland with his wife Fiona, cats Grendel, Onion and Beetroot, and other assorted animals.
For more information visit StuartMacBride.com
Facebook.com/stuartmacbridebooks
@stuartmacbride
By Stuart MacBride
The Logan McRae Novels
Cold Granite
Dying Light
Broken Skin
Flesh House
Blind Eye
Dark Blood
Shatter the Bones
Close to the Bone
22 Dead Little Bodies
The Missing and the Dead
In the Cold Dark Ground
The Ash Henderson Novels
Birthdays for the Dead
A Song for the Dying
A Dark so Deadly
Other Works
Sawbones (a novella)
12 Days of Winter (short stories)
Partners in Crime (Two Logan and Steel short stories)
The 45% Hangover (a Logan and Steel novella)
The Completely Wholesome Adventures of Skeleton Bob (a picture book)
Writing as Stuart B. MacBride
Halfhead
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