“What’s up with your face?” said DS Muir when Craig stormed into CID and threw himself into his chair.
“Mind your own business.”
“Charming,” said Muir, returning to his paperwork, leaving Craig to glare at his desk and the work piled up on it that he no longer had any enthusiasm for.
“Ah, there you are Sarge,” said a young detective constable. “I’ve got that report back on the seeds.”
Craig sat bolt upright in his seat. “Seeds? Why are you talking about seeds? Are you taking the piss?”
The detective stared at him as though he was mad. “It’s to do with the Thompson murder. There were some weird seeds stuck to the blanket the body was wrapped in. You asked me to get them analysed.”
“Oh yeah, sorry,” he said, snatching the report out of his hands. “Alright, you can bugger off now.”
The DC looked at Muir, who grinned and shrugged. The detective shook his head before leaving.
Craig stared at the report but struggled to take a word of it in, feeling like he’d been hit by something very big and heavy. But he had to remain focused. A fifteen year old boy had been murdered and dumped by the side of a road and he had to find out why and by who. With a huge effort of will he managed to put aside all thoughts of Freya and weans and read the report. As soon as he’d finished he knew exactly who’d done it. In fact it astounded him that it had been so easy so he read it again and cross-checked the information just to make sure. Everything fit so he could arrest a murdering scumbag.
CHAPTER 4
Craig returned home in a much more upbeat mood with a bunch of red roses for Freya. When he’d arrested the boy’s own uncle for the murder the man had resisted and the surge of adrenaline and testosterone Craig experienced in the ensuing struggle had done him the power of good. Craig had recalled all the unusual plants the uncle had been growing in his greenhouse, as well as the packets of seeds. The man had broken down and confessed during the interview that he’d strangled the boy when he’d refused his sexual advances. Craig had personally charged him and marched him into a cell. He’d cleared up a high profile case and, after informing the victim’s family and seeing both the relief that their son’s murderer had been caught and the horror that the dad’s own brother was responsible, he’d realised his own problems weren’t that heavy. At least he had hope, unlike that poor family. Their boy was never coming home.
As he ascended the stairs to his flat screeching and yelling floated down to him from above.
“Oh shit, not again,” he said, taking the rest of the stairs two at a time. He burst through the front door to find Freya furiously arguing with a tall redhead.
“Mandy, get out right now,” bellowed Craig. His mad ex hadn’t stopped stalking him since they’d broken up before The Elemental incident. Ever since he’d married Freya she’d only upped her campaign and he was reaching the end of his tether.
“Craig,” beamed Mandy. “At last. You won’t believe the horrible things this woman has said to me.”
“That woman is my wife,” said Craig, wrapping an arm around Freya’s shoulders and pulling her to him. She might have her anger issues under control but that wouldn’t stop her from clumping Mandy. It wouldn’t be the first time Mandy had pulled a stunt like this and got a black eye for her trouble.
“She snuck in when I went to get changed,” seethed Freya. “She’s so stupid she doesn’t know what an interdict is.”
“Don’t call me stupid you little tart, shacked up with my man,” retorted Mandy.
“He’s not your man, he’s my husband,” said Freya, tearing herself out of Craig’s grasp and advancing on her.
“Freya, calm down,” said Craig, pulling her back. “Mandy, we’ve given you plenty of chances but enough is enough. You’re under arrest.”
“That’s right baby, snap the handcuffs on me. You always did like playing that game,” she said, attempting to take him in her arms.
Freya pushed her away, furious. “Back off you ginger bitch.”
“My hair is not ginger, it’s red,” she screamed.
“It’s ginger,” yelled back Freya.
“Calm down the pair of you,” said Craig, having to raise his voice to be heard. “I’m not taking you in Mandy, I’ll get uniform to do it,” he said, stabbing at the buttons on his mobile phone.
Mandy sighed and sank into an armchair. “Must we always go through this boring charade? When will you admit it’s me you really want?”
“I don’t want you Mandy. When will you get it?” he snapped. “Yeah, it’s DS Donaldson. I need a car at my flat now to arrest Mandy Allan. She’s broken the terms of the interdict. Thanks.”
He hung up and shoved the phone back into his pocket. “They’re on their way.”
Mandy scooped up the roses he’d dropped. “For me? How sweet.”
Craig snatched them off her. “They’re for Freya,” he said, handing them to his wife.
“Thank you,” she smiled, accepting them. Mandy’s lips curled into a snarl when they kissed.
“I thought we could have a cosy night in,” he said. “Looks like that’s been ruined.”
Freya tilted her head determinedly. “No it hasn’t. That will be gone soon,” she replied, jerking a thumb at Mandy. “Then we’ll have the rest of the night.”
He smiled into her deep green eyes and pecked her on the lips, Mandy temporarily forgotten.
“What do you see in her?” said Mandy’s scornful voice. “I mean, look at those black clothes, they’re simply awful and all those tattoos are so cheap. And don’t get me started on that make-up.”
“Freya is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She puts you in the shade,” retorted Craig.
Mandy’s eyes flashed. “She’s not a model.”
“I tried but I got turned down because my brain doesn’t rattle around in my head when I walk,” said Freya.
“Bitch,” screeched Mandy, flying to her feet. When Freya rushed to meet her Craig put himself between the two women. “Enough. Mandy, sit back down. Freya, stand over there.”
Both women retreated to opposing corners of the room to glare at each other like boxers taking a break in a match.
“We’re pressing charges this time Mandy. You will go to prison,” Craig told her.
“You’ve tried that before but my lawyer just keeps getting me off,” she smirked.
“This is one step too far. You broke the interdict, you’re going to prison, simple as.”
“We’ll see,” she replied with an infuriating smile.
“You try this again and I’ll fucking kill you,” said Freya.
“Did you hear that Craig? She threatened me.”
“I didn’t hear anything. You know Mandy, you’re just as bad as those vicious bastards I nick for attacking their wives and girlfriends. You aren’t doing this because you love me, it’s about you wanting control. You’re an abuser.”
“I am not.”
“Yes you are. It’s only the fact that I’m physically stronger than you that stops you beating me up because I’m sure you would if you could. But you wouldn’t stand a chance.” He loomed over her. “You ever upset Freya again and I won’t call a police car to take you away. I’ll just throw you out the fucking window.”
Mandy knew it was no idle threat but it didn’t deter her in the least, so confident was she that she could win him back. “Maybe I’ll throw her out the window instead,” she replied, pointing at Freya.
“I’d like to see you try,” said Freya.
“Go on Mandy, threaten her once more and see what happens,” said Craig, close to exploding with anger.
“Craig,” said Freya, warning in her voice.
He turned to see two uniformed officers entering the flat.
“We had a call about an intruder,” said one of the constables.
“Yeah, take her away,” sighed Craig. “Not her, she’s my wife. I mean this mad cow,” he thundered when they approached Freya brandishing handcuffs.<
br />
The constable appeared puzzled, looking from Freya dressed entirely in black with her black nails and lipstick, studded bracelets on her wrists then to Mandy, immaculate and beautiful. “Okay, if you’re sure.”
“Course I’m fucking sure. Get her out of my sight. Now. Hand her over to DS Muir, he knows all about it.”
Both constables were reluctant to manhandle Mandy. “If you wouldn’t mind coming with us Miss?”
Mandy gave them a sweet smile and a flash of thigh as she got to her feet. “Okay boys, I’ll come quietly.”
Craig rolled his eyes when they both appeared to be dazzled by her.
“Oy, put the cuffs on,” Craig ordered.
“That won’t be necessary,” purred Mandy.
“Yes it is. Cuff her, hands behind her back.”
The officer restraining Mandy gave her an apologetic look and she rewarded him with a flirtatious smile.
“This way please Miss,” he said, indicating the door with a sweep of the hand.
“Tell Muir I’m pressing charges,” Craig called after them.
Mandy blew him a kiss over her shoulder before allowing herself to be led out, Freya gratefully closing the door behind them.
“Thank God for that,” she said when they’d gone. “I’m completely sick of the cow.”
“She’ll go to prison this time, I’ll make sure of it.”
“Maybe we should move?”
“We tried that before and she found us again. Prison’s the only answer.”
“Or a good kicking.”
“Let’s forget about her, she’s gone now.”
“She’ll be back at some point. It’s inevitable.”
“The courts will deal with her. I nicked a murderer today.”
“The boy in the woods?”
“Aye. It was his uncle.”
“Bloody hell, that’s horrible.”
“It was a double devastation for the family but at least they can get some closure now.” He took her hands in his own. “It made me realise our problems aren’t that big. We’ll get through this. Together.”
“I’m glad you see it that way. Well, I think that deserves a special treat. You can get the massage oil while I set the bath running,” she said, taking his hand and leading him in the direction of the bathroom.
“What a woman,” he smiled, allowing himself to be led. It suddenly struck him that he might lose her because of this. What if she decided she needed a man who was fertile?
“Right, start stripping off you,” she said with a mischievous grin.
His arm went around her waist and pulled her against him. “I love you Freya, I really do.”
“I love you too.” Her own smile fell. “Why so serious?”
He forced the carefree grin back on his face. “I’m not. I just like saying it.”
“And I never tire of hearing it,” she replied before kissing him, closing the bathroom door behind them.
“Where’s Sally Sinclair?” growled Docherty for the seventh time that evening. His search was proving to be more difficult than he’d anticipated. She wasn’t to be found in Glasgow Green, her old stomping ground. The girls touting their wares were newer, younger models to replace the old used up ones.
“I’ve already told you I don’t know any Sally,” said one feisty blond who couldn’t have been more than sixteen and thought she was as hard as nails. “Why don’t you fuck off? I’m trying to work here.”
Anger shot through him. Where did this silly little bitch get off talking to him like that? “What did you say? Have you any idea who you’re fucking with?”
She took a step back, wobbling on her gaudy pink stilettos. “I don’t know any Sally. Please go away,” she said more respectfully, scared by his wild eyes, the cut on his forehead and the way her inner shit detector was screaming at her to get away.
“Jen, you alright?” called a voice hoarse with cigarette smoke.
Docherty turned to see a tall leggy brunette in a very short skirt and revealing top, make-up pasted on thick to hide the wrinkles. Docherty knew her sort; streetwise, probably pretty smart and could hold her own in a punch-up. No doubt she’d worked the streets for years and, although she resented the younger and more attractive girls stealing the punters, her strong mothering instinct wanted to protect them from trouble.
“I’m looking for Sally Sinclair,” Docherty told her. “She used to work these streets.”
“Sal hasn’t been around here for a while. She pissed off Imogen,” she replied, nodding at a beefy middle aged blonde standing across the street. “If she shows her face around here again she’ll get a kicking.”
“Do you know where she went?”
“Try Broomielaw. I heard she went there. Now you’ve got what you came for so just go.”
“Who says I’ve got everything I came for?” he replied, eyeing up the young girl lasciviously.
The older woman pulled Jen behind her. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Jog on. Now.”
Although she was older than his usual targets Docherty would have liked to beat the shit out of her just to teach her a lesson, but why draw unnecessary attention to himself? Neither did he know if they had a pimp lurking nearby, watching. They weren’t worth the hassle.
“You’re lucky I’m in a hurry,” he glowered before stalking past them, well aware they were watching him go and he lapped it up.
“Thanks Pattie,” said Jen.
“You’re welcome hen. That was one nasty arsehole.” Pattie felt sorry for Sally and hoped the man never caught up with her.
“Are you going to warn Sally?”
“Am I buggery. I’m not getting involved. If Imogen finds out she’ll cause a real rammy.”
Jen watched the man in the baseball cap vanish into the night, her heart thudding and hands shaking, wondering if it was time to go home. She’d run away seven months ago and, although she hated her stepmum, she missed her dad and little brothers. Her grand dreams of meeting a millionaire who would fall in love with her and fund her glamorous lifestyle seemed so stupid now. She hated this shitty life more than her dad’s trophy wife. She had enough money for the train ticket back to Kilmarnock, she’d catch the first train out of here in the morning. If she stayed here she’d only end up sharing the same horrible fate as Sally.
When Pattie returned to her usual spot Jen snuck off back to her manky bedsit to pack. She was going home. The thought of her little brothers’ faces when she walked through the door made her smile.
Sally sat huddled in a doorway, invisible to the world, forever ostracised from it, watching the passers-by. She’d been like them once; busy, purposeful. Then the heroin had taken hold and now that was all she knew, living for her next fix.
She pulled her knees into her chest in an effort to stop shaking. It was a warm summer night so it wasn’t the cold making her tremble but the drug calling to her again. Glancing into her polystyrene cup she saw there was a few quid but not enough to get her fix. Time to resort to drastic measures. In the small part of her that could still feel she experienced revulsion at what she must do to raise the cash but it was a necessary evil.
Sally managed to haul herself to her feet and trudged down the road to her usual corner, pocketing her meagre takings and dropping the empty cup on the ground. Soon she’d have her fix then she could block it all out. She couldn’t wait.
Docherty watched the pathetic figure wind its way down the road but he felt no pity, only the violent rage that had seen him through the hell of prison. That skank was one of the reasons why he’d been put in there and she would pay for it.
He pulled up the collar of the stolen shirt, the baseball cap doing a lot to shadow his face. Not that it really mattered, it was dark now and the police still weren’t looking for him. They thought he was in hospital with a piece of tenderised meat for a face.
He watched from a distance as Sally took her place on the corner. It gave him a perverse pleasure to see her brought so low, it reassured him that her life h
ad been as shite as his but he couldn’t leave it too long, he had to get to her before a genuine punter did. He needn’t have worried. The cars that did slow were more interested in the prettier women in their short skirts and high heels. No one looked twice at the bedraggled mess in the filthy jeans and puffer jacket. Only the munter hunters would go for her.
Docherty kept his head down as he walked, excitement bubbling up inside him the closer he got. She had no idea what was about to hit her. He just hoped she was compus mentis enough to enjoy the full experience.
“How much?” he said, keeping his face tilted to the ground.
She regarded him with dazed eyes. “Fiver for a hand job, tenner for a blowjob, twenty for a fuck,” she replied in a dull flat voice. She had to keep her prices low to compete with the more desirable girls.
The thought of her touching him in any intimate way revolted Docherty and he’d spent five years surrounded by men. She’d been pretty once, it was why he’d targeted her, but the drugs had ravaged her body, leaving her a skeletal wreck. To his disgust she was missing some of her teeth.
“I’ll have twenty quid’s worth,” he said, knowing she’d take him well away from prying eyes for a full-on fuck.
She just nodded and headed into the grimy alleyway leading off the main road, leaving behind the lights and noise. The alley stunk of a rancid mix of dog shit and piss, he hadn’t smelt anything like it before, not even in prison, and his stomach turned over.
At the bottom of the alley she stopped and began to unzip her jeans.
“Don’t do that,” he said.
She shrugged and dropped to her knees instead.
The Drowning Tide (Blair Dubh Trilogy #2) Page 3
