Songs by Dead Girls

by Lesley Kelly

  ‘Mona.’ Paterson’s voice was low and urgent. ‘Ten o’clock.’

  She turned in that direction. A bearded man, and a younger clean-shaven guy were sitting in a dark blue Ford Fiesta, both of them engrossed in their newspapers.

  ‘Could be nothing, Guv.’

  ‘Could be, or it could definitely be something. Who reads newspapers in this day and age? Anyway, let’s not take any chances. You get hold of the prof.’

  She nodded. ‘Theresa.’

  Theresa looked momentarily annoyed that her conversation with the professor had been interrupted, then saw the look on Paterson’s face. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘I need you to do something for me. I need you to go back into Maria’s house and stay there.’

  ‘Why?’ She frowned.

  ‘Just trust me, please.’

  She stared at him, and Mona could see her thinking this request over.

  ‘We will keep the professor safe, I promise.’

  ‘You’d better.’ She patted the professor on the arm again, then crossed the road without a backward glance.

  ‘OK, Prof, time to go.’ Mona and the Guv took an arm each and started walking.

  He looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the house. ‘But my daughter . . .’ He stopped walking. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘We’re being followed, Professor. You may be in danger.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Don’t bring that to your daughter’s house.’

  This was the right tactic. The professor started to stride swiftly and purposefully along the street. The Ford Fiesta pulled out and drove slowly along behind them. It was definitely something.

  ‘Not exactly discreet, is it, Guv?’

  ‘I’d say worryingly indiscreet. It could be a diversion, you know, keep us so involved in watching them that we run straight into someone on foot. Let’s get somewhere busy. We need crowds.’

  ‘The High Street is to our left,’ said the professor. ‘I’ve just come from there.’

  ‘Let’s try here, Guv.’ A path led off from Maria’s street, seemingly housing the back doors and recycling bins of a number of local businesses. At the end of the lane, some 200 metres away, they could see shops and a smattering of people. ‘We cut up here and they can’t follow us in the car.’

  ‘Come on, Professor.’ Paterson pulled him into the lane, with Mona gently pushing his back.

  ‘I’m going as fast as I can.’ He stumbled, and Mona took a firm grip of his arm. Looking over her shoulder she could see that the Ford Fiesta had parked at the bottom of the lane, cutting off their chance of retreating back in that direction if they needed to. She was beset by a horrible suspicion that they had been deliberately herded this way.

  ‘Can we pick up the pace a little, Professor?’ asked Paterson. ‘Just in case there’s a welcoming party at the end of the lane.’

  Crowds were their best hope. They needed to be in amongst a large group of other people who could witness any attempt on the professor’s liberty. Get the professor onto the High Street, into a busy café, and they could phone Stuttle for instructions. She assumed this turn of events would take him by surprise; if he’d thought the prof was in danger of anything more than missing a Health Check, she was sure there would have been more than just the two of them dispatched to find him.

  The lane was narrowing due to the row of bins and she squeezed closer to the professor in order to fit past, wrinkling her nose at the smell of refuse. The back door of a pub swung open, and they heard a brief blast of rock music. A drunk staggered out, swaying right across their path.

  ‘All right, love.’ He bumped into her. ‘Fancy a dance, darling?’ She pushed him away, and he bounced against a bin before staggering off.

  ‘Ow,’ said the professor. ‘Something’s bitten me.’ He pulled his arm free of her grip, and started fiddling with his shirt.

  ‘Keep moving, Professor,’ said Paterson. ‘We’re nearly in a safe place.’

  Mona looked round. The drunk had vanished, a remarkable feat for a man who minutes earlier had been staggering all over the place. There was also no sign of the Ford Fiesta.

  The professor ground abruptly to a halt, causing Mona to bump into him. ‘Look.’ He held out a small metal object. ‘That man stuck this into me.’

  ‘Fantastic,’ said the Guv. ‘Someone’s poisoned him. OK, sir, let’s get you moving while you still can.’

  Mona took his arm again, and they stepped out on to the High Street, the professor wobbling as they went.

  ‘I have to say I’m feeling rather woozy.’

  ‘Just try and keep upright, sir. Let’s get him in there.’ Paterson pointed at a chain store.

  Mona pushed the glass entrance open with her back, and they hauled the professor inside. There was a lift facing them with its doors wide open.

  ‘In here?’

  ‘Why not?’

  They bundled him into it and pressed the highest number.

  ‘I’m really not . . .’ The professor slumped against the wall, and his eyes closed. The Guv put an arm round him to stop him sliding to the floor.

  ‘Jesus, Guv, have they killed him?’ She held the professor’s face with both hands, and was relieved to find he was still breathing.

  ‘Well, this is a fucking shambles and no mistake.’ Paterson stared at her. ‘What do we do now?’

  6

  ‘Sorry to drag you away from your computer.’

  ‘Oh, Bernard.’ Marcus laughed. ‘I’m delighted, I can assure you.’

  Bernard edged through the hordes of cars on Morningside High Street, keeping one eye on the traffic, and the other on his satnav.

  ‘We’re still knee deep in files requiring digitisation, and the joys of that particular job wore off some time ago, let me tell you. Bryce was most annoyed that I was skipping out without him. He was very vocal on the subject.’

  ‘Really?’ Bernard struggled to imagine Bryce being loud and outraged. ‘Anyway, you know what the deal is – I just need to ask the owner of this house a few questions, and you are here as . . .’ He wasn’t quite sure how to describe Marcus’s function.

  ‘I’ve got your back.’ Marcus grinned, seemingly clearer in the role he was providing. ‘I’ve always wanted to say that, but life hasn’t ever required it of me before. I never had friends at school who got into fights and required their coats held for them, and I can’t say that professionally it’s ever been part of the job description.’

  Bernard suffered a pang of angst. Maitland’s terminology might have been repulsive, but Marcus wasn’t ideal back-up material in anyone’s books. ‘Have you ever been in a fight yourself?’

  ‘Can’t say that I have.’ Marcus shook his head. ‘Not a fight, or an altercation, or even a minor scuffle. Unless you count all the zombies I’ve killed in the virtual world.’

  ‘OK. I shouldn’t really need back-up,’ said Bernard, mainly to reassure himself, ‘but you never really know what response you’re going to get.’

  Marcus nodded sagely. ‘Especially with the drugs war.’

  ‘Drugs war?’ He slammed on the brakes as the car in front found a parking space and stopped abruptly.

  ‘You know, as in the memo?’

  Bernard pulled out to overtake the parking car, at the same time as the satnav told him to turn left into Falcon Drive. He decided to focus on his driving, and didn’t speak again until they were sitting outside the house they were visiting with the engine turned off.

  ‘Marcus, what did you mean about a memo? I didn’t get any memo about a drugs . . .’

  ‘Oh, look.’ Marcus pointed up and out of the car. ‘Someone’s watching us.’ He waved at them.

  Bernard looked in the direction he was indicating, and saw that they were indeed being watched. A woman stood at the upper window of the house, holding back a curtain and staring at them. He decided that if they made it through the visit alive he’d have a word with Marcus about discretion, and make it clear
that pointing and waving weren’t perhaps the best way to maintain their element of surprise. ‘Well, they know we’re here so we’d better go in.’

  He strode off in what he hoped was a relaxed yet confident manner, which lasted right up until he found he was unable to open the garden gate. He slid the bolt back and forth, and tried to work out what he was doing wrong. Marcus didn’t seem bothered and kept up a monologue on the history of Morningside.

  ‘Now, Bernard, you may think that this street is named after a bird, but you would, of course, be wrong. Logical, but wrong. The falcon in question here relates to the former Falcon Hall, built in 1780, which became the residence of a string of wealthy local businessmen . . .’

  ‘Really?’ said Bernard, having worked out that there was a further bolt halfway down the gate on the inside. He leaned over and pulled.

  ‘All demolished now, of course, apart from the gateway pillars. Let’s see if you can guess where they were relocated to.’

  The bolt finally gave way, and the gate opened.

  ‘Here’s a clue.’ Marcus made a series of animal noises, accompanied by the arm actions that represented an elephant, a bird and an orangutan.

  Bernard stared at him. ‘Edinburgh Zoo?’

  Marcus looked delighted. ‘Yes!’

  As they walked up the path, Bernard reflected, firstly, that that had been a very interesting fact, and secondly, if there was a drug dealer living here, he really wouldn’t know who to punch first.

  There was an ornate wrought-iron circle on the doorframe, surrounding a white button with press written on it in little black capitals. Bernard did as instructed, and within seconds the door was opened by a woman in her twenties. She radiated personal grooming of a level that suggested that she wasn’t up at 6.30am every morning for a quick shower before running to catch the five-to-seven bus. No, this was a regime that obviously took time. Her long brown hair was absolutely, perfectly straight. She must have been wearing make-up although it didn’t look like she was, a look he had been told took much more time to perfect than banging on a bit of slap. The clothes were both expensive and immaculately laundered. Bernard, who now noticed these things, could see that she was very attractive. Maybe even as attractive as Megan.

  ‘I saw you from the window.’ Her long eyelashes flicked up and down as she looked them over.

  ‘I’m very sorry to disturb you. We’re from the Health Enforcement Team,’ he flashed his ID card, ‘and we wondered if we could have a word with Scott Kerr?’

  He waited for her to ask who the Health Enforcement Team were, but she seemed well informed. Surprisingly well informed. Had she been expecting them to visit?

  ‘But Scott hasn’t missed a Health Check.’

  ‘Yes, we are aware of that. It’s actually in connection with a tenant of his. Or at least someone we think is his tenant.’

  ‘You have a name for this person?’ The more she spoke, the more Bernard detected a hint of an accent beneath the perfect English. He couldn’t quite place it though: Eastern European? Mediterranean? French?

  ‘Alessandra Barr.’

  She shrugged in a very Gallic manner. ‘I do not know this name. You must speak to Scott directly, but he’s not here at this moment.’

  ‘Any idea when’s a good time to catch him?’ Bernard stared past her, trying to see if there were actually any other signs of life in the house. All that he managed to see was a grandfather clock ticking away at the back of the hall.

  ‘I really am not sure.’

  ‘I’ll leave you my card. If he could give us a ring once he gets in we’d be very grateful.’

  ‘I will tell him.’ She smiled, and Bernard upped his earlier estimation of her. She was surely some kind of supermodel. Or an angel of some description, fallen to earth and landed in Morningside.

  She closed the door on them, and he turned to Marcus. ‘So, there was a memo?’

  ‘Yes.’ Marcus started walking in the direction of the car. ‘All about how there is a drugs war kicking off in Edinburgh due to the death of some kingpin or other. The HET liaison officer popped in with copies for us to discuss at our next team meeting. Gave Bryce and me quite a laugh – as if the pair of us have team meetings.’ He giggled. ‘Didn’t you see it?’

  ‘It would go to Mr Paterson in the first instance for him to bring up at a team meeting, and in his absence it would be . . . Maitland.’

  Marcus laughed. ‘Ah, yes, that great processor of paperwork. Bryce is still bearing a grudge against Maitland for the time he ordered six previous address checks, and when we’d done all the work and sent it back he said they were the wrong thing, he wanted previous employment checks, and we said well why did you fill in a previous address request form . . .’

  ‘OK,’ said Bernard, interrupting what appeared to be turning into a very long anecdote. ‘I’ll have the whole memo thing out with him when I get back. Are you coming to the HET office?’

  ‘No, sadly, I’d better get back to Fettes.’ He paused with his hand on the car door. ‘That was a fine-looking woman back there.’

  ‘I did notice – she really was a very attractive lady, wasn’t she? Probably just as well Maitland wasn’t here. You know what he’s like around good-looking women.’

  ‘Quite.’ Marcus did an impersonation of a dog with its tongue hanging out. ‘Anyway, talking of fine-looking women, how’s Mona?’

  Bernard noted the exaggerated casualness to the question. ‘She’s fine. Her usual self.’

  ‘Would you happen to know if she is, ehm, seeing anyone?’

  ‘How would I know?’ He wasn’t being evasive. Bernard really had no idea if Mona had a boyfriend. Despite long, and often boring, hours of searching for Defaulters together, their conversation rarely strayed into their private lives. In all his time at the HET Mona had never volunteered any information on the subject, and, in return, had shown a very limited interest in Bernard’s current marital situation, to his enduring frustration. It would have been good to talk to someone on the subject, get a woman’s point of view.

  ‘But she’s not mentioned anyone?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I can honestly say she hasn’t. But she is, as you said, a fine-looking woman, so I would imagine that she does have someone but just doesn’t want to share that information with her colleagues.’

  ‘Oh, OK. You’re probably right.’ He smiled, slightly mournfully. ‘Just say I said hi, and I’ll catch up with her sometime.’

  The outer office was deserted when he got back. The room was unbearably stuffy; the absence of his colleagues meant that none of the windows had been opened all day. He opened one on each side of the room, and succeeded in creating a cross-draught that blew a pile of papers off Mona’s desk and onto the floor. He scooped them all back up and weighted them down with an unwashed mug.

  The door to Paterson’s office was shut. He attempted a discreet peek through the window, and saw Stuttle and Maitland deep in conversation. He felt a little bit disappointed at the absence of shouting and bawling being deployed in Maitland’s direction. At the very least he’d hoped to witness some admonitory gesticulation. The door to Paterson’s office opened, and he just had time to install himself behind his computer and look busy before Stuttle appeared with Maitland hovering at his shoulder. He was glad to see the look of anxiety on Maitland’s face.

  ‘So, hot on the trail of this Defaulter then, Bernard?’ Stuttle shot him his usual insincere smile which always made Bernard feel nervous.

  ‘Yes, kind of.’ He wasn’t sure that ‘hot on the trail’ really described their current leads. ‘Not so easy with Carole being off but . . .’

  ‘She called in,’ said Maitland, hastily. ‘She’ll be back tomorrow.’

  ‘Good woman. She’s a battler that one.’

  Bernard tried to remember if Stuttle had ever actually met Carole.

  ‘Anyway, chaps, glad things are under control here. I’ll leave you to it.’ He gave them a wave and left. Maitland pulled out a chair and cr
umpled into it.

  ‘He’s in a surprisingly good mood,’ said Bernard. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘What do you think? I crawled for all I was worth. I think he’s thought it over and decided that it’s all Carlotta Carmichael’s fault. The main thrust of the conversation was him trying to work out how Carlotta knows so much about the ins and outs of the HET. I got the third degree about whether we had a spy in our ranks.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I said I’d always thought Bernard’s loyalties were a bit questionable.’

  ‘What?’

  Maitland laughed, long and heartily. ‘Ah, the look on your face. Well, you can keep your remaining hair on. I said I couldn’t imagine any of my colleagues doing that. Said we were all loyal to the HET’s aims, saluted the flag at the start of every day, etc., etc. And he went away fairly happy with us. So, as long as you find your Defaulter without messing up, I think we’re in the clear.’

  ‘Maitland, did you receive a memo about drug dealing in Edinburgh?’

  The sound of the phone ringing came from his room.

  ‘Hold on, I’ll just get that.’

  Bernard sighed, and turned back to his computer. He was scrolling through e-mails when Maitland reappeared and threw himself into the chair he had recently vacated.

  ‘This is bad. Oh God, this is so, so bad.’

  ‘What is?’ Bernard started to panic. ‘Has our Defaulter been found dead? Are Mona and Mr Paterson in trouble?’

  ‘Worse, much worse.’ Maitland’s head was back in his hands again. ‘That was Carlotta Carmichael’s office. They said she was so concerned about the running of the North Edinburgh HET that she’s coming to visit us tomorrow.’

  ‘Can she do that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Probably – she is our ultimate boss, I suppose. I’m waiting for Stuttle to phone me back. This is a nightmare.’

  Bernard looked round the office. There were piles of files everywhere. The wind tunnel he had inadvertently created had rearranged some more of Mona’s papers on to the floor. Each and every desk held a collection of mugs with varying degrees of mould. ‘We’d better tidy up.’