by DS Butler
Shoving Tyler’s warning to the back of his mind, Mackinnon nodded and stood up.
On the way downstairs, Collins turned to Mackinnon and said, “Ivy Baxter’s been giving them hell downstairs. Still, maybe she’ll be nice to you. You did save Robbie.”
“I doubt it,” Mackinnon said.
Ivy and Robbie Baxter had been housed in the family room, especially suited for kids. The room was decorated in primary colours. Three plump, modern, blue sofas were arranged in a U-shape. Bright yellow bean bags were scattered around the room. There were piles of stuffed animals and a box of other toys in the corner, although at fourteen, Robbie Baxter was a little old for that kind of thing.
The room was designed to reassure children and make them feel comfortable and secure.
Mackinnon and Collins entered the room and heard the tail end of Ivy and Robbie’s conversation.
“At least let me have a fag,” Robbie Baxter whined.
“No you bloody can’t have a fag,” Ivy Baxter said as Mackinnon shut the door.
Ivy Baxter scooted forward on the sofa and smoothed back her hair. She sat with her hands clasping a tatty, designer knock-off handbag. It was printed with a generic pattern that seemed to be everywhere these days.
She wore a velour tracksuit, but it looked a couple of sizes too small. Ivy Baxter was extremely slim, which made Mackinnon think the tracksuit was designed for children. The legs of the tracksuit were too short and showed off her white socks and dark blue ballet pumps.
Robbie Baxter wore a grey hoody, dark blue jeans and a huge scowl on his face. He slumped back onto the sofa and clutched a blue cushion to his stomach.
DC Collins spoke first. “You remember DS Mackinnon. He’s the one who saved your life, Robbie.”
Robbie rolled his eyes and pulled up the hood on his sweatshirt as if he could shut them both out.
“If you lot had done your job properly, his life would never have been at risk in the first place,” Ivy Baxter snapped, giving Collins and Mackinnon a sharp look.
Collins blinked, but Mackinnon wasn’t surprised by the reaction.
Mackinnon sat down on the blue sofa opposite Robbie and Ivy and said, “As we’re finished with the pleasantries, we’d like to see your mobile phone please, Robbie.”
Robbie Baxter sat up straight. “What? Why?”
Robbie looked at them, his eyes wide with innocence. Mackinnon thought he must have practiced long and hard to perfect that look. But Mackinnon wasn’t falling for it.
Ivy Baxter, on the other hand, had long since given up any pretence of innocence.
“What do you want his phone for? Don’t give it to him, Robbie. They’re probably trying to fit you up with some piddling little crime. You’d think they’d have better things to do with a killer on the loose.”
Mackinnon wasn’t sure what counted as a ‘piddling little crime,’ in Ivy Baxter’s book. He was afraid to ask.
“We believe the phone is stolen property, Mrs. Baxter,” Collins said. “We also –”
Collins was interrupted by Ivy Baxter’s bellow of rage as she flung herself across at Robbie, whacking him around the ear. “You little –”
Mackinnon winced.
“Mrs. Baxter, please, I’m not finished,” Collins said. “We believe Robbie took the phone from the newsagent’s.”
Ivy Baxter shot a furious look at Robbie before Collins continued, “We believe the phone has tracking software installed and –”
“I never stole nothing,” Robbie said. “I paid him for it. I gave that Syed bloke fifty quid. You can’t prove I stole it.”
“Hand it over, Robbie,” Mackinnon said. “It’s how the killer has been tracking you. Is it really worth risking your life for a mobile?”
Ivy Baxter looked pale. She put a hand to her mouth. Mackinnon thought she might be sick, and for a moment, he felt sorry for her.
Mackinnon held out his hand for the phone.
Robbie hesitated for just a moment, and then shoved his hand into his pocket. “I needed it for homework, Mum,” he said. “I need to get on the Internet for school. Research and stuff.”
Ivy Baxter said nothing. She just stared at the floor.
Reluctantly, Robbie pulled out the small, black phone and placed it in Mackinnon’s outstretched hand. It was sleek and thin, at least half the weight of Mackinnon’s phone. It made Collins’ old Nokia look like something from the dark ages.
Before anyone could say anything else there was a knock and DI Tyler poked his head around the door. “Can I have a word, gentlemen?”
Mackinnon and Collins joined Tyler outside. Mackinnon handed the phone to Collins, who waggled it under Tyler’s nose. “Soon we’ll have the whole set,” Collins said.
“Well done,” Tyler said to Collins, then turned to Mackinnon. “I’ve spoken to Brookbank.”
Mackinnon nodded. That was it then. He was going on gardening leave.
“Brookbank’s perfectly happy if you’d come back to work, but solely on the condition that you’re office based only, all right?”
Mackinnon was surprised Brookbank hadn’t taken the opportunity to get rid of him for a few weeks. “Why does it have to be office based?”
“According to Brookbank, it’s all a matter of distance. He doesn’t like officers getting personally involved with the cases they work, and since you had an up close and personal encounter with our masked friend, he thinks you’ll be better off in the office.”
Everything about the job seemed to revolve around paperwork these days. It was Mackinnon’s least favourite part of the job, but it was better than staying at Derek’s and watching Molly snooze all day.
Collins left to take the phone to the evidence room, and Mackinnon headed back up to the incident room, which would be his home for the next few days. He supposed he was lucky that Brookbank was quite happy to keep the discipline in-house, which meant there would be no black mark on his record.
Mackinnon had gone against procedure, and the procedures were in place for a reason. He didn’t expect to be lauded for his actions. But at the same time … Robbie Baxter might be just like his brothers, he might be an ungrateful little tyke with no respect for the law, but he was still a kid. A fourteen-year-old kid. Maybe Mackinnon should’ve followed procedure. Maybe he could have ended up doing more damage than good, but he went with his instinct, and he couldn’t beat himself up over that.
59
KATHY WALKER WANDERED AROUND the salon, trying to find things to keep her busy.
She’d already dusted all the hairdressing stations, cleaned the mirrors and swept the floor, even though it didn’t need it. She hadn’t had any customers since she’d swept it this morning.
She wandered over to the wide windows that looked out onto the street. She had no bookings for this afternoon, but she hoped for a little passing trade. It wasn’t looking likely.
Storm clouds were gathering overhead, and there was a smell of ozone that threatened rain. No one would be in a hurry to get their hair done if it rained.
She should probably just close up, but she couldn’t risk it, not if she might get just one client out of it.
It was going to be tough meeting the rent this month. The landlord had put the rent up again this year. She’d only managed to make ends meet so far because Stuart helped her out now and again. But she had to face the truth. This business wasn’t making money any more. She’d be better off closing up and going to work for someone else.
As the first drops of rain started to dribble down the windowpanes, Kathy sat down at one of the hairdressing stations, staring at herself in the mirror.
Where had the time gone?
Just eight years ago, she’d been excited to be opening her new salon. A salon of her very own. Now she didn’t recognise the woman in the mirror. They couldn’t be her crow’s feet, her puffy eyes. Even her hair was looking a bit tired and frizzy. What kind of a hairdresser was she if she couldn’t make her own hair look nice? It wasn’t exactly a good
advertisement for her styling skills.
The trouble was, she just didn’t seem to care anymore. Years ago, she would have sat down with a pen and pad and drawn out a plan of action, maybe blown up a few fliers, run some promotions, but she just couldn’t be bothered. She felt like she was treading water, hanging around the same place day in and day out while other people went on with their lives. She’d seen her friends get married, have children and move away.
At least she had Stuart. They may not have been related by blood, but Kathy had always been close to Stuart.
The bell jingled as someone opened the door to the salon.
Kathy spun around on the chair, hoping to see a customer. But it was only Mitch Horrocks.
Of all the people she didn’t want to see…
Still, she tried to be pleasant, if only for Stuart’s sake.
“Hello, Mitch. I don’t suppose you’ve come in for a short back and sides.”
Mitch grunted and crossed his arms over his protruding stomach. “I need a favour,” he said. “I need to pop out and I wondered …” He paused to look around the empty salon. “Seeing as you don’t have any appointments, I wondered if you could keep an eye on my mother for a bit.”
She didn’t like him. There was something about him that put her on edge, and an afternoon with his mother was the last thing she needed.
“Well, of course I’d love to help out,” she said slowly, not wanting to appear rude, but desperately trying to think of a good excuse. “I was taking advantage of the quiet time between customers to give the salon a clean.”
Her business might be in trouble, but she didn’t have to admit that to Mitch Horrocks.
“Really? It looked like you were just having a bit of a sit down to me.”
Kathy flushed. The bloody cheek.
“I’d just cleaned the mirror. I was checking for smudges.” Not that it is any of your business, she thought.
“Look, don’t bother if it’s too much trouble,” Mitch said and half turned as if to leave.
Christ, he really was an unlikeable sod. What the hell did Stuart see in him?
“All right,” Kathy said. “I suppose I can spare a few minutes. How long will you be?”
“Half an hour, maximum. I’ve just got to pick up a few bits from the cash-and-carry. I’ve run out of stock and I need bacon before my evening rush. I could have sworn I picked up twenty packets last week, but they’ve disappeared. It’s always quiet at this time, so I’ll close the cafe. But I don’t want to leave Mum on her own.”
He paused and his dark, bushy eyebrows met in the middle as he frowned. “I’m a bit worried about her. After all that stuff at the newsagent’s, she’s a little on edge.”
Now Kathy felt bad. It was enough to put anyone on edge, even more so if you were old and frail and stuck inside all day. Mrs. Horrocks used a wheelchair and couldn’t get around on her own. She must feel particularly vulnerable.
Kathy went behind the counter and picked up her coat. “All right. I’ll come.”
60
AS SOON AS KATHY followed Mitch outside, the rain started to fall heavily. What had started as a light summer shower, was rapidly descending into a storm. A rumble of thunder made Kathy shiver. She locked the salon door and jogged a few steps to catch up with Mitch.
Mitch trudged beside her in silence. She wrinkled her nose when she caught sight of the sweat patch on his back. The underneath of his arms were stained yellow. Kathy kept a good distance between them as they walked the short distance to Mitch’s cafe.
Mitch opened the cafe door and let Kathy enter first. “Mum’s upstairs,” he said. “She’s expecting you.”
He flicked the white and red sign on the door over to ‘closed,’ and then scrawled on a scrap of paper in large block-capital letters, ‘BACK IN FIFTEEN MINUTES.’
He rummaged around in a drawer under the till, grabbed some blue-tac and stuck it on the back of the piece of paper. He looked up as if surprised to see Kathy still standing there.
He nodded in the direction of the internal door to the flat. “You know the way, Kathy.”
And with that he was gone.
Kathy made her way over the scratched linoleum. The air was heavy with the smell of old fried food. She hesitated by the door, feeling almost nervous. It was silly really. She needed to get over her aversion to the Horrocks family, especially if Stuart started to see more of Mitch … If, God forbid, it became serious…
The stairs creaked beneath her feet as she climbed up to the living quarters.
She’d only gotten halfway up the stairs, when a shrill voice questioned, “Who’s there?”
“It’s only Kathy, Mrs. Horrocks. I’ve just come to keep you company for a bit while Mitch pops to the shops. He’s run out of bacon.”
She reached the top of the landing and heard Mrs. Horrocks say, “Stupid boy. He’s always running out of something.”
Kathy pushed open the door to the sitting room and took a deep breath. It was like stepping back in time. Delicate lace doilies sat on spindly tables. There were hand-sewn arm covers on the sofa and armchairs. She could hear the brass clock over the fireplace ticking loudly.
A large mahogany cabinet sat against the wall to Kathy’s left. It displayed intricately patterned crockery. Everything was polished to a high shine. Kathy wondered absently who kept the flat so spick-and-span. She supposed it must be Mitch, seeing as Mrs. Horrocks was confined to a wheelchair.
“Don’t stand there dillydallying in the shadows. Come forward, girl, so I can see you.”
Kathy resisted the urge to roll her eyes and stepped into the sitting room.
Mrs. Horrocks sat in a wheelchair by the window. She had a tartan blanket tucked over her knees. The lacy collar of her blouse came halfway up her neck and she wore a thick cardigan. Her pale grey hair was scraped back into a bun.
“So he thinks I can’t be trusted on my own, does he? He sends you around to look after me?” Mrs. Horrocks gave a little shake of her head as if the very idea was ridiculous.
Kathy was beginning to feel awkward standing up. She didn’t like feeling like a little child being told off. “May I sit down?”
“I suppose if you’re planning on staying, you may as well.”
Kathy sank down into the armchair on the other side of the room. It was the seat furthest from Mrs. Horrocks.
The light coming in from the window highlighted all the wrinkles on Mrs. Horrocks’ face. Her crinkled skin didn’t make her look like a sweet old lady. It made her look like a wicked old witch.
Mrs. Horrocks smelled of TCP. Kathy had never liked that smell, not since their mother had used it neat on her cuts and grazes when she was a little girl.
“Mitch asked me to come and say hello,” Kathy said. “He thought you might enjoy the company.”
Mrs. Horrocks raised an eyebrow, which hitched up the wrinkles on her forehead. “He thought I’d enjoy your company?”
Kathy felt heat warm her cheeks. Why did they both have to be so nasty? She had never seen anyone coming to visit Mrs. Horrocks. She’d be surprised if the woman ever had a friend in her life.
Kathy took a deep breath, then said, “Why don’t I make us both a nice cup of tea?”
“Oh, that’s why you’ve come over. You’ve run out of teabags, have you?”
Kathy bit her tongue. “No,” she said. “I have plenty of teabags, thank you. I just thought you might like a cup of tea.”
Truthfully, Kathy just wanted an excuse to spend time away from Mrs. Horrocks. She planned to drag out the tea-making as long as possible.
“Okay. I’ll have mine with just a dash of milk and no sugar.”
“Right,” Kathy said and stood up just as a muffled thud seemed to come from the hallway.
Mrs. Horrocks heard it, too. She cocked her head to one side. “What was that? Is Mitchell back already?”
Surely it was too soon to be Mitch; he’d been gone less than five minutes. Maybe he’d forgotten something.
> “I’ll go and see,” Kathy said and headed out of the sitting room.
“Leave the door open, girl,” Mrs. Horrocks ordered.
Girl? Christ, it had been a few years since anyone called Kathy a girl.
Kathy made her way downstairs, pausing on the last step and listening, but she couldn’t hear anything. She checked the cafe, but all the tables were empty and the ‘closed’ sign still hung on the door.
The buildings along here were more than a hundred years old, and the cafe was in the middle of a terraced row, maybe the noise had come from next door? Kathy shrugged and headed back upstairs to make the tea.
61
THE MASKED MAN HUMMED as he lined up three red, plastic buckets.
He filled the buckets to the halfway mark with the first tub of chemicals. He smiled as he worked.
His next victim would make a change from the rioters, but was no less deserving.
Punishment wasn’t only for the young. He’d never understood the mentality of those who believed people should be excused of crimes due to old age.
Nazis who had evaded capture for decades might look weak and frail in the photos printed by the newspapers, but did they not deserve to be punished for their crimes? Did their victims not deserve justice because the elderly Nazi had lost his teeth, his hair and gained a few wrinkles? Underneath that exterior, wasn’t he still evil?
Age didn’t come into it. Old or young, they were still guilty.
Some of the things kids got away with these days were sickening, too. They needed to be taught right from wrong when they were very young.
Children could be evil. He had first-hand experience of that.
He remembered one particular occasion …
He’d stood in the playground and felt the cold wind snap at his exposed ankles. His trousers flapped against his shins.
His lower lip wobbled.
He’d forgotten how much this hurt.
It wasn’t the first time Junior had been bullied, but in many ways, this was worse, much worse.
