Birthdays for the Dead (11 page)

I grabbed what was left of the stairs for support. ‘What… What the fuck … are you … are you
on
?’

The big man cricked his neck from side to side, voice all bunged up and soggy. ‘You’ve been a naughty boy. Gotta take yer spankin’.’ The left arm dangled limp at his side, but the right ended in a huge fist.

He lowered his head and charged.

Chapter 13

His right shoulder caught me in the chest – his head jammed underneath my arm as we slammed backwards into the wall. The plasterboard erupted in jagged shards, dust swirling out in a cloud.

A fist hammered into my stomach.

Breath hissed out between my teeth, taking a little spray of spit with it.

Of course the bright thing to do, the
safe
thing, would be to wrap my arms around the big bastard’s neck. Ride out the blows and keep squeezing until there was no oxygen getting to his warped Neanderthal brain… Unless the spiky-pipe wasn’t the only weapon Mr Pain had brought to the party. It was a lot more difficult to ride out a knife in the guts.

Another punch, same place, twice as hard.

Go for the arm.

I grabbed his left bicep and forced the arm back and up – reached across that broad, stinking back with my other hand, caught hold of his forearm and hauled. A grating, popping noise sounded somewhere inside.

The next punch was barely a pat. Mr Pain dragged in a huge breath, but there wasn’t a scream to follow it. Instead he dropped to his knees, panting, right arm held out horizontally to his body, the fingers splayed, as if he was waving to the devil all the way down there in hell.

I kneed him in the face.

A grunt and he rocked back. I let go of the buggered arm and took a handful of hair at the back of Mr Pain’s head, then introduced the front of it to the third step from the bottom.

Thunk.

‘One’s a wish…’

I pulled him back up, and did it again, putting all my weight behind it.

Thunk.

‘Two’s a kiss…’

Blood spattered across the stairs.

‘Three’s a disappointment.’

THUNK.

He went limp.

I let go and staggered back a couple of steps, panting. ‘Should’ve done … done your homework, you thick … bastard, and brought … a few friends… I was kicking … kicking the shit out of … arseholes like you back when … back when…’

Ah fuck it. I slumped against the wall.

The hall was completely trashed, the staircase ruined, the carpet covered with bits of shattered wood and blood, the air reeking of plaster dust, copper, and rancid-oniony sweat.

His plumber’s mace glinted in the corner, by the coat rack.

I wobbled over, bent down, and grabbed it. The world waltzed when I straightened up again, something pounding inside my skull, threatening to pop my brain out through my ears.

Lean on the kitchen door for a bit. Get my breath back. Try not to throw up.

OK.

Any minute now.

Deep breaths.

Ow… Adrenalin was a great anaesthetic, but see when it started to wear off? The knuckles of my left hand pulsed and throbbed, my shoulders felt as if they’d been wrapped in hot barbed-wire, the small of my back stung, my stomach burned, and everything else
ached
.

Getting too old for this kind of thing.

Right. Time to take care of my visitor.

I turned, the length of spiky-pipe swinging loose at my side.

He was lying at the foot of the stairs, curled up in a ball, shuddering, clutching his twisted left arm, face a ruptured mess. For someone calling himself ‘Mr Pain’, he didn’t seem to enjoy it very much.

I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him through into the kitchen – leaving a slick of dark red on the dirty linoleum – then out the back door into the garden.

Dark out here. A sickly glow bounced back from the low clouds, just enough to make out vague shapes and turn everything monochrome. Steam rose from the big man’s body, breath fogging the air as I dumped him by the hole where a whirly washing drier would have stood, if some thieving Jakey bastard hadn’t nicked it.

The drizzle had started up again, soothing and cool. I turned my face to the sky and let it soak into my skin.

Got to take pleasure in the little things.

I rested the spiky end of the pipe on Mr Pain’s ankle. Tapped the spines against the joint. ‘You know how this is going to go, don’t you?’

The big man gurgled and twitched.

‘Yeah.’ I swung the mace overhead. ‘That’s about right.’

I hauled the boot open and threw the wheelie suitcase in next to Dr McDonald’s posh red luggage.

She turned and stared at me between the seats. ‘I thought you said you’d only be five minutes, it’s been quarter of an hour, what if something happened, that dog’s been sniffing around the car…’ She pulled her head back, eyebrows furrowed, top lip curling. ‘What happened to your face?’

I slammed the hatchback shut again, then turned and limped back into the house, grabbed one of the cardboard boxes from the spare room. Put it in the boot, then did the same twice more, until there wasn’t room in there for anything else. That was the only good thing about living in a shithole – it wasn’t worth unpacking after Michelle threw me out.

One last trip inside. I dragged out my phone on the way up the knackered staircase and called Parker. Seemed to take forever, but eventually he picked up, voice all muggy and slurred. ‘
Embers! How they hangin’?’

Already pissed. Or high. ‘I need you to stay away from the house for a bit.’

‘
You’re no’ shaggin’ her again tonight, are you, Embers? God, man, you’re a randy—
’

‘It’s not safe, OK? Someone wrecked the place.’ I pulled back the bedroom carpet and prised up the loose floorboard. Reached inside, pulled out Rebecca’s cigar box, cradled it against my chest.

‘
Fuck… Wasn’t Big Johnny Simpson, was it? Man, I swear I didn’t know she was his sister, she—
’

‘Find somewhere else to crash for a while: go see Mum or something.’ Through to the bathroom. The front panel came off the bath easily enough. I grabbed the collection of zip-lock bags hidden under the tub and stuffed them in my pockets. Back down the stairs.

‘
Embers, I’m sorry, OK? I didn’t mean—
’

‘I’ll call you when I get back.’ I hung up, slammed the front door behind me, and hobbled over to the Renault.

Dr McDonald peered at me from the passenger seat, eyes wide, chewing on her bottom lip.

I popped the boot, unzipped the wheelie suitcase and tucked the wooden cigar case inside. Unlocked the driver’s door, and climbed in behind the wheel. Sat there for a moment with my eyes closed, letting the seat take my weight, muscles settling into new and painful configurations.

She cleared her throat. ‘I think it might be a good idea to just drop me off somewhere, doesn’t matter where, I mean I don’t want to take you out of your way, and I can probably—’

‘Going to be tight, but we’ll make it.’ I turned the key, and the Renault spluttered into life. ‘The trick is to only brake when you see the speed cameras.’

‘You’ve got blood on your face.’

The steering wheel was set in concrete, but I dragged it all the way over, the bearings groaning as the car bumped up onto the opposite kerb, then down again onto the road, facing the right way. I snapped on the lights, cranked up the blower to clear the foggy windscreen, switched on the radio. Identikit pop music buzzed and crackled out of the speakers.

‘Constable Henderson…’ Dr McDonald turned to look out the back window. ‘Ash? What happened?’

‘An hour to Aberdeen. Hour and a half with rush hour.’ I put my foot down, weaving the car through the sodium-lit streets. ‘You got your seatbelt on?’

‘Are you sure you’re all right to drive?’

Not really.

The song faded away and what sounded like a kids’ TV presenter, or coke addict, burbled from the speakers. ‘
Yeah, wasn’t that great? Really sets you up for: midweek madness!
’ Sirens and trombones made roaring farting noises. ‘
Ha, ha. You’re listening to Crazy Colin’s
Rush-Hour Drive-Time Club
, and we’ve got the sports news coming up in a minute…
’

‘If something’s happened, perhaps it would help to talk about it? That’s what I do after all. Usually it’s not till people have been arrested, but that’s not important right now.’

Mr Pain. What kind of name was ‘Mr Pain’ for a grown man? Had to be on meth. Or crack. The big bastard had to be taking
something
to keep on coming like that.

Two missed payments and they send someone round to cripple me. How was that fair?

My head pounded, blades digging into my eye, every oncoming headlight turned into a rusty knife.

Dr McDonald grabbed the handle above the door as the Renault screeched around the roundabout and I floored it, heading north. ‘Is it… Do we really have to go this fast, I mean, what if something happens, like a tyre bursts, or we hit something, or there’s diesel on the road and—’

‘Please … shut up. For a minute. OK? Just
one
minute.’ I ground the heel of my hand into the socket of my left eye. It felt as if I’d been battered with sledgehammers. Should pull over and pop some of the Tramadol in my suitcase. Only take five minutes. And then we’d probably miss the boat.

Probably miss it anyway, thanks to Mr Pain-in-the-Arse.

There was silence from the other side of the car.

She had her arms folded, legs crossed, head turned to the window. Didn’t have to be an expert in body language to know what that meant.

Well, you know what? Sod her. See how chatty
she’d
be if some junkie bastard tried to cripple her.

The lights on the Oldcastle bypass flickered through the rain ahead.

OK, so maybe I
had
been planning on doing a runner for a couple of days, but it wasn’t as if I had any choice, was it? Police business – escort the lunatic psychologist up to Shetland, make sure she didn’t fall into the sea, or get hit by a bus, or mauled by a sheep, or whatever other disaster she had up her stripy sleeve. OK, so I missed a couple of payments; there was no need to send a coked-up nut-job after me with a plumber’s mace.

Bloody lucky for Mr Pain I’m a reasonable man.

The slip road swept down to the left, dipping below the level of the motorway, then up again, joining onto the A90 north to Aberdeen. The speedometer crept past eighty.

She was still sulking.

Just because I’d asked her nicely to shut up for a minute.

Well, maybe not asked…

OK, so I was wrong, happy now? It was all my fault. As usual.

‘I’m sorry. It’s…’ Deep breath. ‘Didn’t meant to snap.’

She shrugged one shoulder, bringing it all the way up to her ear.

Oh, for God’s sake.

‘Really: I’m sorry.’

She turned in her seat and looked me up and down, then smiled. ‘Fifteen minutes, I’m impressed, I thought you’d take at least half an hour to apologize, there might be hope for you yet, Ash. Ash … Ash … it’s a strange name, isn’t it? I mean your parents probably named you after the tree, but I bet most people think of fire and burning and running and screaming…’

Chapter 14

‘Well, how was I supposed to know they’d be digging up half the bloody road?’ The Renault juddered across the dual carriageway and into the harbour entrance. ‘Still got fifteen minutes…’

Aberdeen’s ferry terminal was a long covered walkway bolted onto the side of an ugly slab-faced building. A red-and-white barrier arm blocked the entrance to the vehicle-loading area. I buzzed the window down, letting in the screech of seagulls and the mingling odours of diesel and fish.

A wee man peered out of the security booth. Droopy face, bags under his eyes. ‘Sorry, mate. You’re too late.’

‘No!’ Dr McDonald gripped the edges of her seat. ‘Ash, I told you I’m not sleeping in the car, what if someone comes, it’s—’

‘Will you calm down?’ I flashed my warrant card through the open window. ‘Police.’

‘Nothing I can do – they’re closing the bow. Car deck’s locked down.’

‘Shite…’ I stared up at the huge blue-and-white bulk of the MV
Hrossey
. ‘Fine, we’ll leave the car here. Dr McDonald – out.’

‘Ah.’ The security guy sucked at his teeth. ‘Last boarding’s half an hour before sailing. You’re fifteen minutes late.’

‘Come on, we’re on official business, we have to—’

‘Actually…’ Dr McDonald clambered out into the drizzly night, marched around to the security booth’s window, and smiled up at him, ‘Sorry, I don’t know your name, I’m Alice.’

‘Archie.’

And then she started talking at him.

I pulled out my phone. Better give Dickie a call, let him know the trip was going to take a bit longer than anticipated. See if we could get the ferry booking shifted to tomorrow evening before we headed back to Oldcastle… Where Mrs Kerrigan would be waiting.

Might be better to find somewhere to stay up here. Which was easier said than done in Aberdeen. Might find a B&B somewhere further out—

Someone thumped on the car roof. Dr McDonald bent down and smiled in at me. Then pointed back towards the terminal building.

‘Grab the bags, and give Archie your car keys.’

Oh God that
hurt
… I lumbered up the covered walkway, following Dr McDonald and her fancy red luggage. Every step was like being pummelled with breeze blocks. And my crappy wheelie suitcase was re-enacting some sort of rodeo fantasy – bucking and twisting every time I dragged it from one section of the walkway to the next.

Dr McDonald stopped and stared back at me, shifting from foot to foot. ‘Come on, going to be late, going to be late…’ All she needed were big floppy ears and a pocket-watch.

Should have taken a Tramadol when I’d had the chance.

‘What did you say to him? Archie, the security guy?’

She marched off. ‘Top of my class, remember?’

How come her luggage behaved itself? She had twice as much as I did.

The gangway came to an abrupt end at the ferry’s hull. A pair of thick metal doors lay wide open. Inside, the ship’s reception area looked like a hotel lobby – lined in polished wood with chrome handrails, a big shiny desk, some sort of leaping salmon sculpture, and a pair of stairs leading up to the next deck.

A grey-haired woman in a black waistcoat raised a radio handset to her lips. ‘Right, that’s them onboard, close the outer doors.’

A clang and a clunk as the doors swung shut, then the deck beneath my feet started to vibrate – a deep rumbling that worked its way up through my knees until it made my lungs tremble.

The woman came forward and held out a hand for Dr McDonald. ‘Archie told me all about it. Anything we can do to help, you let me know.’ Was that a tear in her eye?

‘Thanks, I
really
appreciate it.’

Bizarre.

I limped over to the reception desk, trundling the Buckaroo suitcase behind me. ‘You’ve got a reservation for McDonald, and Henderson?’

The man poked at a keyboard. ‘Let’s see…’ He looked up and nodded, his mouth pinched together, lips slightly puckered. ‘Ah, here we go. Your cabin is down there on the left, and you’ve got a restaurant booking for half seven.’

‘Thanks.’ I took the little white tickets. Frowned. ‘What about the other cabin?’

‘Other cabin?’ He went back to the hidden keyboard. ‘Nope: just the one, and we’re fully booked. Are you two not…’ He tilted his head to one side.

‘Oh for… Perfect.’ Sod it. Too tired and sore to care. ‘Thanks.’

I slumped along the corridor to the left of the reception desk, found cabin 16A and slid the paper ticket into the hotel-style lock.

The door opened on a small beige cabin with two single beds facing each other; a walled-off section – that would be the toilet – a space for hanging coats; somewhere to make tea and coffee; and a porthole. The lights of Aberdeen harbour slid past, massive orange supply boats, mud tanks, cranes, pipes, containers.

I dumped my wheelie case in the middle of the little room and collapsed onto one of the bunks. Groaned. And then my phone rang. ‘Go away.’

It went through to voicemail.

Everything. Hurt.

I lay on my back staring up at the ceiling tiles. Get up and take a pill… Sod that, it meant moving. I pulled out the phone, ignored the ‘missed call’ icon, and picked a number from the address book instead.

It was answered on the fifth ring. ‘
DI Morrow.
’ Shifty Dave’s voice was barely audible over the sounds of a crowded pub.

‘Thought you guys had a murder enquiry to run?’

Pause. ‘
Ash…
’

‘I need a favour.’

Nothing but the burble of bandits and general pub hubbub. Then a clunk, and a sort of roaring whoosh. Drunken singing. A car horn. ‘
Look … about last night with Andrew, I—
’

‘Does Charlie know?’

‘
Of course Charlie doesn’t know! What am I supposed to tell her, “Hey, darling, how was your day? Oh, by the way, I’m a big poof now; what’s for dinner?” How’s that going to go down?
’

Like a bouncer in an alleyway. ‘So don’t tell her.’

‘
You can’t say anything, OK? If this gets out I’m—
’

‘Oh, like I give a toss. My big brother Brett’s getting married next month, to an electrical engineer called Gareth.’ I closed my eyes, ran a hand across them, trying to scrub away the headache. ‘Now shut up – I need a favour.’

‘
You’re not going to tell anyone?
’

‘I need you to go round to my place and … tidy up a little.’

A pause. On the other end of the phone someone was singing in the background, an ambulance siren getting closer. ‘
Why? What did you do?
’

‘Had an uninvited visitor.’

‘
I see.
’ A deep breath. ‘
Is he…?
’

‘No. He wasn’t looking very well when I left, but he’ll live.’ And they could probably save his leg.

A long, hissing sigh. ‘
OK, OK, I’ll see what I can do.
’

‘Thanks, Dave.’

‘
And you
promise
you won’t tell anyone?
’

‘Bye, Dave.’ I hung up. According to the phone’s screen there were another two missed calls waiting for me. Well they could go on waiting.

The cabin rocked from left to right. Must be leaving the harbour, giving up its protective arms for the North Sea’s cold embrace. Then the room started going forward and backwards as well. Pitch and yaw getting stronger the further out we got, the ship’s engines getting deeper.

Kind of comforting…

I closed my eyes. Let it wash over me. Yawned.

Could drift off for a—

Three loud knocks at the door. ‘Hello? Ash? Constable Henderson? Hello? It’s me, Alice…’ Dr McDonald. Wonderful. ‘Hello? Are you in there?’

I gritted my teeth, rolled off the bunk up to my feet, and stood there like a dose of brewer’s droop – back bent, arms dangling.

‘Hello?’ Knock, knock, knock.

I opened the door.

She was standing in the narrow corridor, both arms wrapped around herself, eyes darting from side to side. ‘They said there’s been a mistake with the cabins, the team admin officer only booked the one, and the other cabins are all full, and obviously we can’t
share
a cabin. It wouldn’t be right: we work together, and you’re a man and I’m a woman and what if something happened, it wouldn’t—’

‘Don’t flatter yourself.’ I slouched back to the rumpled bunk and collapsed face-down onto it. ‘Ow…’ It was like being battered all over again.

‘But we can’t share a cabin it’s ridiculous, I mean it’s—’

‘Trust me,’ words muffled by the pillow, ‘you’re not that irresistible.’

There was a pause, then the creak of someone sitting on the other bed. ‘Can’t you sleep somewhere else?’

‘I think I
might
be able to control my sexual ardour if… buggering hell.’ Bloody phone was ringing again. I fumbled it out, stuck it against my ear. ‘What?’

An Irish accent, female, clipped. ‘
Officer Henderson, have yez forgotten yer manners along with everythin’ else?
’

‘Mrs Kerrigan.’ As if today couldn’t have got any worse.

‘They’ve got these seats upstairs you can recline almost all the way, I’m sure they’re comfortable, you could get one of those—’

‘
I’ve got a message for yez, Officer Henderson—
’

‘Oh, I got your bloody message all right. Well, you know what: I know where
you
live too.’

‘—and you can probably hire one for a couple of pounds—’

‘
Yez’ve got a hard neck, talkin’ to me like—
’

‘You tried to have me crippled! You really think I’m going to let that
go
?’

‘—I can’t sleep in the open, surrounded by strange people, anything could happen, I mean I couldn’t sleep at all, it would be—’

‘
Where’s our money, Officer Henderson? We had a deal.
’

‘You should’ve thought of that before you sent “Mr Pain” to my house.’ My knuckles ached, the phone’s casing creaked in my fist. ‘Deal’s off. I so much as see one of your dogs near me, I’m coming after you, understand?’

There was silence on the other end of the line.

‘—and what would happen then, it would be horrible, I can’t have people watching me sleep, Richard has to go into the spare room when he stays over—’

‘
Listen up, ye little bollox, if ye
ever
eat the head off me again I’ll feckin’ come round
meself
, understand? Then we’ll see how gobby ye are. Deal’s not off till
I
say so: four grand by Thursday lunch.
’ And then she hung up.

‘—it’s not that I don’t value you as a colleague, obviously I do, but I really don’t think we should be sleeping in the same room—’

Oh fuck… I dumped the phone on the bed and folded my arms over my head. Fuck. Fuck. Shitting fuck. Why? Why couldn’t I keep my big gob shut? Threatening Andy Inglis’s right-hand woman, what a
great
idea that was. No way that was going to come back and bite me on the balls. Fuck…

‘—I mean we only met yesterday… Ash? Hello?’

I rolled over onto my side: it hurt slightly less than being hit by a car. ‘I’m going to have a shower. You can stay and watch if you like, but I wouldn’t recommend it.’

The ferry thrummed and throbbed beneath my feet, rocking and rolling as I hauled myself upstairs to the main deck level – all pale wooden floors and shiny chrome. A shop, two bars, a cinema, lifeboats… Who could ask for more? It was busy: families; groups of friends; couples; people on their own; what looked like a rugby team, wearing matching red tops, downing pints of lager and singing some sort of folk song.

‘
Roond da boat da tide-lumps makkin,

Sunlicht trowe da cloods is brakkin.
’

A wall-mounted TV played the news, but no one was watching it.

I stopped for a minute. On screen was a shot of Oldcastle Police Headquarters in all its mouldy Victorian glory. A woman with wind-blown hair and a blue umbrella stood in front of the entrance, talking at the camera. It was impossible to make out what she was saying over the singing, but the ticker along the bottom of the screen read, ‘
Serial Killer – Bodies Found – Oldcastle Police Confirm Remains Are “Birthday Boy” Victims.
’

‘
We maan geng whaar fish is takkin,

Rowin Foula doon…
’

The picture jumped to ACC Drummond at some sort of media briefing. Busy grabbing the credit before Dickie’s team of Party Crashers turned up tomorrow.

The ferry had two eating areas: a canteen at the back of the ship, and a fancy sit-down place with tablecloths and wine – closed off from the common areas with a glass wall. So the people outside could see what a good time the people inside were having.

I hauled the door open and joined the chosen few. There were only half a dozen tables, and they were all taken. Dr McDonald had the one in the far corner, sitting with her back to the wall hunched over a menu.

I wandered over and pulled out the chair opposite. ‘Our Assistant Chief Constable’s on the telly right now, marking his territory before Dickie turns up.’

She didn’t look up. Sulking.

A man appeared, carrying a tray. ‘The large Glenmorangie?’

Dr McDonald stuck up her hand. ‘Mine. And can I get a bottle of the Pinot Grigio too.’

‘Of course. Sir?’

I turned in my seat… Grimaced as burning needles jabbed up and down my back and stomach. ‘Sparkling mineral water: big bottle.’

‘Are you ready to order, or would you like a couple more minutes?’

Dr McDonald snapped her menu shut. ‘I’ll have the herring followed by the pork and black pudding.’

‘Excellent choice; sir?’