A Song for the Dying

by Stuart MacBride

  She scuffed over to the laptop and hunched down in front of the screen. ‘Sabir!’ Took a sip of whisky, waving at the camera while she drank. ‘We’re having pizza. Are you having pizza? You should have pizza, I’ve not seen you forever, would you like a drink?’

  He raised a can of something caffeinated to the monitor. ‘Alice. How’s me favourite Looney Tunes character then?’

  She pouted. ‘You have to do the voice.’

  ‘Nyeaaaaaaah, what’s up, Doc?’

  Next clip. More nurses cluster around the bicycle, cheering on a short woman who’s sweated through her T-shirt. Is that Jessica McFee’s flatmate? It is. A young Bethany Gillespie. Presumably before she married Jimmy the control-freak. 12:25:03, 12:25:04, 12:25:05…

  I moved on to the next one while Alice and Sabir gossiped like a pair of auld wifies.

  Another bicycle shot. This time there was no problem recognizing the rider. Ruth Laughlin hammered away at the pedals, surrounded by Jessica’s friends and colleagues. Sweat darkened her T-shirt, bare knees pumping, face glowing and dripping with sweat. 14:12:35, 14:12:36, 14:12:37…

  Poor old Ruth. Hollowed out in a crummy flat in Cowskillin, flinching at her own shadow, terrorized by a bunch of snotty wee kids. Taking antidepressants and being spat at. Wishing the doctors had let her die.

  And all because I turned up at the train station, covered in blood, and put her on Dr Frederic Docherty’s radar.

  How did he get away? Did he hop the train, slip off at the first stop, and get a taxi back to town? Or just nip out of a side entrance to the station. Scurry away through the streets.

  Did he go back to work afterwards or take the rest of the day off?

  On screen they do a countdown. Ruth throws her hands in the air, grinning as they reach zero, the ‘TURN MILES INTO SMILES!!!’ banner fluttering behind her.

  It was the same image Ness had put up at the briefing.

  Did Docherty go to bed with a smile on his face that night? Outwitted the cops again. Made us look like morons. Scott free, with a new victim to target, just because she’d helped me.

  And now he had her again, locked away somewhere, waiting to die. Her, and Jessica, and Laura. And it all came back to that one day, in the train station, when I let the bastard get away.

  50

  Alice put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Ash, are you OK? Only you look like you’re about to strangle someone…’

  Right.

  I let go of the mouse. Flexed my hand a couple of times. Deep breath. ‘I’m fine.’

  Next clip. Four rugby types in Oldcastle University sweatshirts, wolfing their way through a pile of macaroni pies, with a big digital counter in the background. The one with the biggest forehead wins, pumping his fists above his head and lording it over the other three with a big greasy grin.

  ‘OK, I’m bailing. Got things to see, people to do.’ On the chat screen, Sabir pointed a sausage finger at the lens. ‘Alice, get your arse down to London and I’ll show you how we do murder cases in the civilized world. And Ash – lighten up, eh? Take the night off. Bleeding crusade will still be there tomorrow.’ He gave a small salute. ‘Sabir, Lord of the Tech, signing off.’ And the window went black.

  I logged off. Closed it down.

  Alice wrapped her arms around my shoulders and squeezed. Kissed the top of my head. ‘He’s right. You need to relax.’

  ‘How?’ I took my mobile out. Placed it on the table. Picked it up again. ‘I want to phone Wee Free – find out if Shifty’s OK. But if I do, it’s just going to rub it in, isn’t it? That I haven’t found his daughter yet.’

  ‘You’re doing everything you can.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘… five, four, three, two, one, zero!’ The cordon of nurses whoop and cheer, jumping up and down as Ruth throws her arms in the air. Grinning. The ‘TURN MILES INTO SMILES!!!’ flutters behind her.

  And cut.

  Downstairs, the music was getting louder.

  I hit play again.

  Leaned forward and peered at the screen, scanning the faces in the crowd behind the nurses. None of them looked familiar. Well, other than Ruth and her friends. But there was something…

  What?

  Just a woman on a static bicycle, raising money to honour her friend. Blissfully unaware that her own life’s about to be ruined.

  Footsteps thumped up the stairs, then the flat’s door clattered open and Rhona staggered to a halt, face stretched in a wide grin, breathing hard. Bottle of champagne clutched in her hand. ‘Guv? We’ve got him. We’ve got the bastard!’

  Onscreen, Ruth pedals, knees pumping, sweat colouring the fabric of her T-shirt. Faces in the background cheer, smile, chat to one another. Music from the main stage, just audible under the countdown…

  I sat up. ‘What, Docherty?’

  Rhona thumped the champagne down on the table, beside the laptop. ‘You were right, Guv!’

  ‘… four, three, two, one, zero!’ Ruth throws her hands in the air. Turning miles into smiles.

  Thank Christ. ‘They were at the caravan park?’

  A frown. ‘What? No… We ran the ANPR tapes against his number plate like you said, and guess what? One dark-blue Volvo estate registered to Dr Frederic Docherty leaving the city limits heading north out of the city at ten-o-three p.m.’

  ‘Did he—’

  ‘So I got onto Aberdeen City and Dundee, told them to dig out Friday’s tapes and ANPR them from twenty-past ten onwards.’ Rhona paced up and down the floorboards, fingers digging through her lank hair. ‘He hits Aberdeen at half ten. And guess what: I got them to send me every reported crime in the city that night. Bunch of fights, couple of break-ins, two indecent assaults, one indecent exposure, and…’ Rhona pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket and held it out. ‘Ta-da.’

  It was an incident report from half four in the morning. Someone had found a half-naked woman, dead and covered in blood, just off Midstocket Road. Only when the patrol car got there she wasn’t dead after all, just sedated. It wasn’t even her blood – it was some sort of artificial theatrical stuff. So they called an ambulance and got her wheeched off to the local A&E.

  Alice appeared at the top of the stairs, holding her whisky against her chest. ‘Ash? What’s going on?’

  Rhona licked her lips, raised her eyebrows. ‘Want to know the best bit?’ She pulled out something else – a print-out of a blurry photograph. ‘The guy who reported it took a photo on his mobile phone. Look familiar?’

  A young woman lay on her back, in a hollow. Pale skin gleamed between the strips of black underwear. Dark-red theatrical blood covered her belly – making tracks down either side of her abdomen. Both arms up above her head, one leg twisted out to the side. Exactly the same as Holly Drummond.

  I handed it to Alice. ‘He’s recreating the kills.’

  She took the photo, frowned at it. ‘Why would he—’

  ‘And the coup de grâce?’ A grin burned across Rhona’s face. ‘They did a tox screen on the victim’s blood. Special rush job, because we told them what to look for.’

  ‘Thiopental Sodium?’

  ‘Thiopental Sodium.’

  Alice passed the photo back. ‘Why would he recreate his own kills? He’s not trying to kill them, he’s—’

  ‘Isn’t it great?’ Rhona threw her arms wide. ‘We got him. And I bet she isn’t the only one either. I’ve got a call out to the rest of the country looking for any other women he’s attacked.’

  I sat back in my chair. It was as if something had been sitting on my chest for a week and now it was… ‘No.’ I folded forward, scrubbed my hands across my face. ‘Bastard!’

  ‘Guv?’

  ‘Arrgh…’

  ‘Ash, are you OK?’

  I dropped my hands. ‘He left Oldcastle just after ten. When did he get back?’

  A frown, then Rhona checked her notebook. ‘Ten to four. Guv, I don’t—’

  ‘Laura Strachan
went missing between eleven last night and three this morning. If he was up in Aberdeen drugging and stripping someone, he wasn’t down here abducting Laura Strachan and Ruth Laughlin.’ My palms clattered against the tabletop, making the laptop jitter. ‘DAMN IT!’

  Rhona’s face scrunched, fists curled. ‘He didn’t take them.’ She kicked the other chair, sending it clattering over backwards. ‘We had him!’

  There was a pause, then Alice twiddled with her hair. ‘He’s got an accomplice, that’s how he can be up molesting women in Aberdeen and abducting Ruth and Laura at the same time, someone working with him…’ Wrinkles formed in the gap between her eyebrows. ‘Someone he can control and manipulate, someone who thinks they’re connected and special and in love, when it’s really all about power… Someone local.’

  Alice slipped out of the room, then the sound of feet thumped down the stairs. She was back two minutes later with her satchel. She tipped the contents out next to the laptop, grabbed the map and unfolded it. It was the one she’d been marking up – covered in red circles, each one covering a deposition site. ‘Think of it as a Venn diagram, the circles represent fifteen minutes’ travelling time, and where the areas intersect we’ve—’

  ‘These are all wrong.’ Rhona poked a finger just below Cowskillin and traced it along the dual carriageway. ‘He dumps them all at night, or the wee small hours, when the roads are quiet. You can get right across town in five minutes at two in the morning.’

  Alice’s shoulders dipped. ‘Oh.’

  Rhona pulled a pen from an inside pocket and drew an ‘X’ over Castle Hill Infirmary. Then another one up on Blackwall Hill. ‘Private hospital. And there’s that old World War Two sanatorium here…’ An ‘X’ marked the Bellows. ‘And a Victorian loony bin on Albert Road.’ She clicked her fingers at me, showing off bitten fingernails. ‘Guv, where else? Anywhere there’s likely to be surgical facilities.’

  ‘Some of the bigger GP practices will do small procedures.’

  ‘Right.’ She made more marks.

  Probably useless, but what else did we have? That and a pair of barely audible audio files.

  The door thunked open again and Huntly paused on the threshold. Straightened his tie. Gin and tonic in one hand. The words were slightly soft at the edges, but not enough to count as slurred. ‘So this is where you’re all squirreling away, is it?’

  I played the first audio file again, volume cranked up full. There was the ringtone again: distorted, crackly, and – according to Sabir – available on millions of mobiles. It was repetitious, going up and down, but the quality was too poor to make out the actual tune.

  Huntly loomed over Rhona and Alice at the map. ‘His Royal Highness the Great Bear has sent me to fetch everyone. For lo, la pizza è arrivata.’ He looked at me. ‘Or for those of you with a less classical bent, “grub’s up”.’

  Surgical facilities and a ringtone.

  I clicked on M-Jordan.wav and set it playing again. The audio file hissed and crackled in its window, next to the video file I’d been watching. Frozen at the final frame: Ruth Laughlin, arms in the air. Turning miles into smiles.

  Why that file? Why keep going back to it? What was wrong with it?

  Huntly moved to the other side of the laptop. Made shooing gestures. ‘Well, come on then, don’t want the pizzas getting cold, do we?’

  I set the audio playing again. Hiss. Crackle. A short smear of music, so faint it was barely there.

  Huntly sniffed. Then picked up my notebook. It was open at the last page, where I’d been scribbling down points while talking to Sabir. ‘I wasn’t aware you were into campanology, Mr Henderson.’

  I snatched it back. ‘What did I say about being a dick?’

  ‘Refreshingly challenging, remember?’ He pointed at the notebook. ‘“Cambridge Quarters”.’

  ‘Don’t you have someone else you could be annoying?’

  ‘Here’s a little fact for you. Did you know that Big Ben plays a variation called “Westminster Quarters”? Four bars of four notes to denote each quarter hour. Hence the name.’

  Ruth Laughlin frozen for all time. Arms up in triumph. The timestamp for the last frame unblinking in the corner, ‘14:13:42’. A cordon of nurses cheering her on. Happy faces arrayed behind her…

  Oh. Shit.

  Huntly crossed his arms and smiled at the damp-stained ceiling. ‘I remember I once had to test two hundred mini Big Bens. An enterprising group of Manchester businessmen had mixed heroin and plaster of Paris, with a handful of coffee grounds thrown in to mask the smell.’

  Four bars of four notes.

  It wasn’t a ringtone.

  I pushed back my chair and stood. Grabbed my cane. ‘Get Jacobson, now.’

  Alice tugged at my sleeve. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I know where they are.’

  51

  Jacobson peered at the map, leaning on the bar with one hand while he traced a finger around a red-biro circle. ‘And this source of yours is sure?’

  I shook my head. ‘A hundred percent? No. But he’s come through in the past. If he says he’s seen Docherty going in and out of there, it’s got to be worth a try, isn’t it?’ My finger poked at the map, just south of Shortstaine. ‘Think about it. Secluded, easy access to the dual carriageway, all paid in cash, no ID needed.’

  Rhona’s forehead creased. ‘But, Guv, we—’

  ‘I know: you think you should tell Detective Superintendent Ness first, but it’s Jacobson’s call. He’s senior officer on the ground.’ I gave him a nod. ‘Boss?’

  He looked around the room. ‘Everyone, get the car. We’re going on a field trip.’

  Huntly groaned. ‘But it’s all just hearsay. He hasn’t got any evidence and my pizza’s getting cold and—’

  ‘Then take it with you.’ Jacobson pointed at the door. ‘If there’s any chance of rescuing Docherty’s victims, we’re doing it. Car. Now.’

  Another groan, then Huntly slipped two tins of ready-mixed gin and tonic into his pockets.

  ‘But…’ Rhona stared at me. ‘We—’

  ‘You’re right.’ I patted her on the shoulder. ‘I’ll only slow them down.’ Then waggled my cane at Jacobson. ‘You lot go ahead. Alice, Rhona, and I can get started on the debriefing strategy.’

  Jacobson beamed at me. ‘I knew you’d be a great addition to the team, Ash.’ And then they piled out through the pub doors, leaving the three of us behind.

  Pause.

  Two.

  Three.

  Rhona scrunched up her face. ‘But we checked the caravan park. Other than a couple of disused lots, they’re all accounted for. Docherty didn’t rent any of them.’

  Four.

  Five.

  Six.

  I pointed Alice towards the door. ‘Go make sure they’ve gone.’

  She was back ten seconds later. ‘Jessica, Ruth, and Laura aren’t at the caravan park, are they?’

  ‘Get the car.’

  Rhona pulled the Suzuki in to the kerb, hands skittering back and forth on the wheel, as if it was red-hot and she was scared of getting her fingers burned. ‘Err… Guv, I really think we should’ve told the boss about this…’

  Lights shone in the windows of the houses – happy families and venetian blinds all shut up for the night. Only a week after Bonfire Night and some silly sod had a Christmas tree up already.

  The shops on the other side of the road sulked beneath the streetlights: a butcher’s, a grocer’s, and a vet’s. Their boarded-up windows still plastered with posters for the ghost of circus past. Every bit as abandoned as they had been when we’d driven past on Monday.

  I undid my seatbelt. ‘I’d love to call it in, but I can’t get a mobile signal. Can you, Alice?’

  She pulled out her phone. Frowned at it. ‘I’m getting four bars, maybe your…’ And then her face opened up. ‘Ah, right. No, I’m not getting anything. Must be one of those black spots.’

  ‘Ex
actly.’ I popped the door handle. ‘Besides, if we go in mob-handed someone’s going to end up dead.’ And God knows there’d been enough of that.

  Rhona sat forward, rested her head against the steering wheel. ‘This is, way above my pay grade. What if something happens?’

  I climbed out into the rain. ‘Then you’ll be a hero, won’t you?’ Water seeped through my hair as I limped around the car and got the crowbar from the boot. Then used it as a cane to hobble across the road.

  ‘Ash, wait, wait, wait…’ Alice clambered out of the back seat and scurried up beside me, clutching my other arm, umbrella thrumming above our heads. ‘Don’t we need that little battering-ram thingie, I mean he’s not just going to leave them there with the door unlocked, is he, that would be reckless, they might get out…’ A frown. ‘Or someone might get in, which I suppose would be us, are we going in?’

  It wasn’t just the shop windows that were boarded over with chipboard, the doors were too. ‘You stay behind me, understand?’

  Rhona caught up.

  She stared up at the building, water dripping from the ends of her hair, darkening the grey of her suit. ‘Do we try to kick it in, or go round the back?’

  I hobbled onwards. ‘We go round the back.’

  An alley led down the rear of the shops, the entrance sealed off with a length of chain bolted to the wall on one side and padlocked on the other. I ducked under it, waited for Alice, then stopped.

  A small van sat behind the vet’s – dented and rusted. Reversed in so the back doors faced the building, the lettering for a carpet fitters still visible where the vinyl lettering had been peeled away. I pointed. ‘Rhona? Number plate.’

  ‘Guv.’ She pulled an Airwave handset from her jacket. ‘Sierra Oscar Four-Forty to Control, I need a vehicle check on a grey Ford Escort van…’

  I stuck out my hand. ‘Alice, got any gloves? Used all mine.’

  She passed me a pair of purple nitrile gloves and I snapped them on. Tried the van’s back doors. Locked. The rear windows were painted over from the inside.

  The back door to the vet’s was locked too.