Songs by Dead Girls

by Lesley Kelly

  ‘I’m leaving, and that’s all there is to it.’

  Bernard stepped in front of the door. ‘Why?’

  Annemarie stood up and, wheezing as she went, came to stand in front of him. ‘Two reasons, son. Number one, I’m worried that my dog is starving to death while I’m in here. And, number two, if I don’t get a fag soon, I’m going to kill someone.’

  ‘A cigarette?’ said Bernard, with all the disgust of Lady Bracknell discussing accessories. ‘In your condition? Are you trying to kill yourself?’

  ‘Well, son, call me one of life’s risk-takers. So, here is the way it is.’ She held on to the bed, while she struggled to get her breath. ‘If you want to keep talking to me, you can give me a lift home, and you can stop on the way so that I can buy some fags.’

  ‘Buying you cigarettes in your current condition would be tantamount to committing culpable homicide!’

  ‘No fags, no chat.’

  Bernard knew when he was beaten. ‘This goes against every principle in my body.’

  ‘Stick your head out, son, and see if the coast’s clear.’

  ‘Menthol? You really are trying to kill me, son. I asked for Benson and Hedges.’

  Bernard ignored her complaint, and tried very hard not to complain in return when she immediately lit up. He failed. ‘We’ll be at your street in literally two minutes. Could you not have waited?’

  She blew smoke in his direction. ‘Apparently not. Anyhow, time to grab a parking space if you see one.’

  He did as he was told. ‘Which of these flats is yours?’

  ‘The ground floor one on the corner.’

  Bernard scanned up and down the street. ‘OK, we better be a bit careful here. We don’t know if anyone will be vigilantly awaiting your return.’

  ‘“Vigilantly awaiting my return.” I love the way you talk, it’s like you’re a walking poem. You should be on at the Festival, you and Pam Ayres. But relax, son. Kerr and his pals have made their point to me; they’re not going to be here. Now, let’s get in and check on Sheba.’

  Annemarie took his arm as they crossed this road. Her gait was slow, and she stopped for a fit of coughing halfway across, bringing traffic to a stop in both directions. Bernard was vaguely aware of some angry hand signals from the motorists.

  ‘Nicotine patches are really very good these days.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  The intercom was broken, so Bernard pushed open the stair door and ushered Annemarie inside. She grabbed his arm. ‘The door to my flat is open.’

  ‘What do we do?’

  ‘It’s probably just my brother.’

  ‘I thought you lived on your own? You were worried about your dog?’

  ‘I am worried. Alec has a habit of going off on benders so I can’t rely on him to feed Sheba. He’s maybe just left the door open.’

  ‘Do you want me to go in first and check it’s OK?’ said Bernard, a tad reluctantly.

  ‘Obviously, son, I’m a lady in need of your protection.’ She started to laugh at what appeared to have been a joke, then the giggles turned into a fit of coughing. Despite this, she pushed past him into the flat. There was an immediate cacophony of barking. He followed her in and found her kneeling with her arms round a large Doberman. ‘Thank God she’s all right. I thought the bastards might have killed her to stop her barking.’

  ‘Have they been here?’

  ‘They will have been, to look for Alessandra. Come into the living room.’

  ‘I hope your brother’s OK.’

  ‘Aye, well.’ Her tone suggested that she was a lot less concerned about his well-being than she had been about Sheba’s. ‘Take a seat.’

  The room stank of stale smoke and essence of dog. He gingerly picked a pile of Daily Records off an armchair and sat down.

  Annemarie caught his expression. ‘Try living with an alcoholic, son. It kills your motivation for housework.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  She curled up on the sofa, the dog lying happily across her lap. ‘Right, son, you’ve done your bit. Now say your piece and get out.’

  ‘OK. My team can’t stop looking for Alessandra, unless we are authorised to do so by someone extremely senior. We never actually close a file; it will remain open until she has a Health Check, or until we have evidence that she has died. We’ll de-prioritise it after a while, but I can’t guarantee that my team, or someone else, won’t start looking for her again.’

  ‘I think your team is a big waste of taxpayers’ money, if you don’t mind me saying so, son.’

  ‘I don’t. I don’t agree with you, but you are entitled to your opinion. Anyway, Kerr wants Alessandra off his patch. Now at the HET, we have procedures for dealing with people who are, for example, experiencing domestic violence . . .’

  ‘That’ll not be enough to stop Kerr looking for her. Alessandra’s a tough cookie; she’s had run-ins with Kerr before when she’s tried to stand up for herself. As long as she’s in some programme with you guys there’s a danger that she’ll shout her mouth off about her experiences.’

  Bernard nodded. ‘That’s what we thought. But what if we can arrange for her to die?’

  ‘You can fake her death?’

  ‘We thought perhaps a suicide, somewhere well out of Edinburgh. We’ll have all the official paperwork, and I’ll keep Kerr updated as our “investigation” unfolds.’

  ‘And your bosses are going to OK this, are they?’ She looked sceptical.

  ‘My colleague is speaking to our superior right now. We can help you get Alessandra to a place of safety, but obviously we will need you to take us to her.’

  Annemarie thought this over, momentarily stopping petting Sheba, who gave a soft growl of annoyance. ‘And why should I trust you?’

  ‘Carrie McDonald, 14d St Matthew Court, Edinburgh.’

  ‘And who’s that, son?’

  ‘That’s the name and address of my wife. We’re separated, but she remains the person that I love most in the whole world. She’s the person I would least like to have a visit from Scott Kerr. And now you know where she lives.’

  They stared at each other. ‘I need to talk to Alessandra.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll be outside in my car. With all the windows wound down.’

  11

  ‘Does he have anyone in with him?’

  Stuttle’s PA leapt to her feet to try to get to the door before Mona. She failed. ‘No he hasn’t but . . .’

  ‘Good,’ said Mona, throwing open the door.

  Stuttle jumped at the noise, then gave a further guilty start as he realised who it was.

  ‘She doesn’t have an appointment, Mr Stuttle.’

  ‘It’s OK, really.’ He flashed his assistant a reassuring smile. ‘Just close the door on the way out.’

  The PA left, with a final curious glance at Mona.

  ‘So, you’re back then, safe and sound?’

  ‘No thanks to you, sir. You nearly got us killed.’

  ‘Come now, Mona, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Anyway, police officers expect a bit of rough and tumble.’

  ‘Rough and tumble? You nearly got me shot!’

  He conceded the point with a small nod.

  ‘And, sir, it seems to have slipped your mind that I’m not a serving police officer. I work for the HET, not the Armed Response Team. You sent us off to London without any warning of the dangers we were likely to encounter, or any way to defend ourselves.’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid our intelligence did rather let us down on this one.’

  ‘Damn right it did! And even if it was all in a day’s work for me, you and your intelligence nearly got Scotland’s leading Virus academic killed. Have you told the First Minister that?’

  ‘Now, Mona . . .’

  ‘Or the Chair of the Parliamentary Virus Committee?’

  Stuttle sat back in his chair and sighed. ‘Ian warned me that you were being less than co-operative. Sit down, Mona.’

  ‘I’d rather stand.’

 
; ‘I was under the impression that you wanted an in-depth discussion about recent events. You might want to take the weight off your feet while we talk.’

  She considered this proposition, and sat.

  ‘As you have already discussed with Ian and Bob, I was rather hoping for some discretion about all this. And now that you appear to be done shouting at your superior officer, can I ask what you want from me? Can I expect you back here tomorrow with a union rep or would a heartfelt apology from me be enough?’ He folded his hands behind his head. ‘Or are you looking for a big fat pay rise and a promoted post back at CID?’

  ‘Neither of those things is of interest to me,’ she lied. ‘What I’m looking for is for you to listen to the dangers that you put HET staff in, day in, day out.’

  ‘HET staff are well aware that it is their own responsibility not to put themselves in positions where they may be at risk. Staff are trained on all this at their induction; we supply them with appropriate equipment . . .’

  ‘There is a limit, sir, to how much we can protect ourselves and still get the job done. We go knocking on the doors of some very unsavoury people.’

  As quickly as she could, she ran through the events of the past two days, with a particular emphasis on where the HET’s systems had failed to work. Stuttle listened impassively until she sat back in her chair.

  ‘This Carole woman – is she likely to sue?’

  ‘I think she’s more worried about her son at the moment. Six weeks’ paid leave might help to head any legal action off.’

  ‘Consider that done. And the two assault charges can be made to disappear, without any HET staff having to get involved. But I’m not stepping into the middle of a drugs war. I think we just have to accept that the prostitute is collateral damage.’

  ‘I’m not so sure, sir.’

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘The HET has a process for supporting Defaulters whose identity might be compromised by attending a Health Check. It usually gets used for victims of domestic violence, or people in witness protection. We want Alessandra flagged on our system as Not to Be Pursued. And in return for that one small favour, I’ll keep my mouth well and truly shut.’

  ‘That’s doable, but it’s not going to get Kerr off her back.’

  ‘Leave that to us, sir.’

  ‘Why? What are you . . . On second thoughts the less I know the better. Here.’ He opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a wad of notes. ‘Get her on a train. I don’t care where she goes, just make sure it’s out of Scotland.’

  ‘And out of your jurisdiction, sir?’

  ‘Yes, out of my jurisdiction.’ He sighed. ‘I know you think that I’m some kind of monster, Mona, but the reality is we are dealing with an unprecedented situation. This Virus thing was supposed to be over months ago, and with every day that passes there’s some new threat to public health or public safety. We’re basically making things up as we go. If the HET is going to cry over every sad case it comes across we’re not going to be able to fulfil our primary purpose, which is protecting the well-being of the citizens of Scotland. Sometimes you have to see the big picture. Anyway, get out of here, and remember, if this all goes tits up, you are on your own.’

  ‘Thanks for the support.’

  He smiled. ‘Despite your bleeding heart tendencies, Mona, you’ve a good grasp of how things work. Ever thought that your skills are wasted at the HET?’

  ‘Every moment of every day, sir.’ She stood up, but didn’t leave. ‘He knew my name, sir, the man that shot at me. I know Ian and Bob didn’t believe me, or chose not to. But I distinctly heard him address me as Ms Whyte.’

  His face registered neither surprise nor concern. ‘You are in no personal danger, Mona. I’m sure of that.’

  ‘Did your intelligence tell you that, sir?’ She shoved the bundle of notes into her inside pocket. ‘I’ll close the door behind me.’

  12

  ‘Did you have to bring Sheba?’ Between the cigarettes and the dog Bernard was worried his car was beginning to smell like Annemarie’s flat.

  ‘I’m not leaving her. She was traumatised. I’m sure that Kerr and his pals gave her a booting when they were at my flat.’ She flicked a thumb in the direction of the backseat. ‘And did you have to bring Speccy back there? He’s not stopped for breath since we got in.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Marcus. ‘Just excited to be “in the field” again.’

  Without looking round, Bernard could sense Mona rolling her eyes.

  ‘Actually, Annemarie, we’re very grateful to Marcus for helping us out with the paperwork. Why don’t you talk us through what you’ve done?’

  ‘Delighted to, Bernard. Now what I’ve done here is tried to create a workable timeline of Alessandra’s sad demise. Firstly, I have a fake e-mail to Bernard from one of the Aberdeen HETs, saying that someone meeting Alessandra’s description had been traced to a hostel in the town, but the staff were worried about her as she’d left quite abruptly. Then, dated a week later, we have a formal letter from one of the Highland HETs saying that Alessandra had been found dead on a remote hillside, with a death certificate appended backing up their theory of suicide. The letter helpfully notes that there has been a ban on any press coverage of the death until they’ve traced her relatives. And on both sets of correspondence I’ve given a number for you to ring if you want more information which will ring through to me. I will, of course, back up my own story if anyone purporting to be Bernard calls me.’

  He passed a folder over to Annemarie. The paperwork was laid out each in its own plastic sheath. She leafed through them. ‘This is dead clever. I take it back, Speccy. You rabbit on as much as you like.’

  ‘Now all Bernard has to do is stick these through Kerr’s door at the appropriate time.’ Mona started to cough. ‘Do you have to smoke in here, Annemarie?’

  ‘Sorry, doll, but I’m trying to use up these menthol ones that Bernard bought me.’

  ‘Bernard bought you cigarettes?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’ He swerved off the main road and into a car park, rather more swiftly than was strictly necessary. ‘And here we are, Newcastle railway station.’

  Mona sighed, happily. ‘It gives me immense pleasure to think that Stuttle gave us the money to get her off his turf, when she was already in England.’

  ‘Aye, well that money’s not going to be wasted,’ said Annemarie. ‘She’s not far enough away from Scotland to be safe yet.’

  ‘I only hope they let the hound on the train,’ said Bernard.

  ‘I’ll have her on the leash. She’s good protection for the pair of us.’ As if to prove the point, Sheba started barking at a dog on the other side of the road. Annemarie reined her in. ‘Woah, girl. But if they say no, son, she’ll have to go back to Edinburgh with you.’

  ‘Great.’ His upholstery was never going to recover. ‘Marcus, can you stay with the car?’

  He gave them a cheery thumbs-up from the backseat.

  ‘We’re never going to get him back to the office now,’ said Mona.

  ‘Nope, not now he’s had a taste for “field work”.’

  ‘Right, you pair, time to go.’ Annemarie set off into the station.

  ‘It feels kind of weird to finally be meeting Alessandra,’ said Mona.

  ‘I know!’ The days that he had spent looking for Alessandra had given him plenty of time to wonder what she was like. He didn’t usually have the luxury of this imagination time. Most of the Defaulters they chased lived small triangular lives. Home–dealer–job centre. Pub–bookies–park bench. They were not generally difficult to track down, and in most cases bore a strong resemblance to other Defaulters they had found. In some cases they were actually Defaulters they had already found, going through the system for a second or third time.

  But Alessandra was much more complex. They didn’t even know what she looked like; he assumed she would now look nothing like the picture in her file. What was her real name? Where was she from: Georgia? Ukraine
? Turkmenistan? Were there parents waiting for her back home? Siblings? A husband and children? And when she finally opened her mouth, what would she sound like?

  ‘It’s like I know everything and nothing about her both at the same time.’

  ‘In here,’ said Annemarie, and went into the café on the forecourt. She waved to a middle-aged woman sat at a corner table. In hairstyle, size and general attitude she bore a remarkable resemblance to Annemarie. As they approached, the young woman she was with looked up at them. Alessandra. Bernard couldn’t help but stare at her. She looked horribly young. The word ‘prostitute’ had conjured up for him an older woman, world-weary, the troubled blonde from Alessandra’s Green Card photo. But the girl with the very short brown hair and big dark eyes sitting before him barely looked twenty.

  ‘Hiya, Annemarie. We’ve got a problem.’ The accent was pure Geordie. ‘This one’s saying she doesn’t want to go.’

  ‘Doesn’t want to go? Ali, doll, what’s all this about?’ Annemarie bent down and gave her a hug. Alessandra held her close and started to cry.

  ‘I go and it very bad for my family back home.’

  ‘I don’t think Scottie Kerr will go looking for your family all the way over there. He’s got enough on his plate with the Glaswegians without him setting out for your bit of the world. Anyway, that wee runt couldn’t find his arse with both hands, never mind find your home on a map.’

  Alessandra shook her head. ‘Is not him. Is more peoples.’

  The other woman helped out. ‘She’s worried about the people her parents paid to get her a “nanny’s” job over here. They sold her on to Scott Kerr once she got here but her parents still owe on the debt.’

  ‘I think I must go back.’

  ‘Doll, you go back to Edinburgh and you’re going to end up dead. Bernard, son, you talk to her.’

  With a slightly worried look at Mona, Bernard sat down at the table. ‘Hello, Alessandra. I’m Bernard, and I have this for you.’ He placed the Green Card on the table. ‘We’ve arranged for somewhere for you to stay in London. A lovely man called Elijah and his friends will look after you.’