Birthdays for the Dead (37 page)

Pink oozed out, staining the water.

She looked up at me. ‘My sewing’s not very good, but I’ve got disinfectant…?’

‘Clean it up and bandage it. It’ll be fine.’ I tried for a smile while I bled into her bathtub. ‘You’re doing good. You’ll make a great mother.’

Gangrene wasn’t fatal any more, right?

Rain drifted down, shimmering in the streetlights. Dawson shuffled from foot to foot. ‘I’m sorry, I really am. You came here because of us, and I’m sorry we can’t help save your daughter.’ He dug into his pocket, and produced a clear plastic bag with a dozen little round pills in the bottom. ‘Amphetamines: they’ll help keep you awake. And I’ve put a full tank of petrol in the car.’

I took the pills, slipped them into my jacket. ‘You can’t keep skimming product from your mum, someone’s going to notice.’

His chin came up. ‘A man’s got to provide for his family.’

‘Parents fuck you up.’ I climbed in behind the Renault’s wheel. ‘You’re a good kid, Dawson: don’t turn out like your mum.’

He grinned at me. ‘Don’t worry – I look shit in tights.’

Headlights streaked past on the other side of the motorway, leaving glowing trails behind them that crackled and pulsed in time with my throbbing foot. Wasn’t easy working the accelerator and brake with my left, but it was do-able. Just.

Bloody heroin was wearing off. My jackhammer heart wouldn’t slow down, no matter how much I ground my teeth. Bloody amphetamines. And the high blood pressure wasn’t exactly helping the hole in my foot either. But at least I was still going…

The windscreen wipers groaned and squealed back and forth in the drizzle, sounding like angry crows waiting to tear out my eyes.

Have to stop soon and get petrol. Take some of the Naproxen, Diclofenac, and Tramadol I’d rescued from the house. Keep the pain down far enough to drive.

According to the dashboard clock it was a little after half ten. An hour and a half till midnight. Seventeen hours from then till five o’clock Monday evening. One and a half plus seventeen was… I ground the heel of my hand into my eye. Why did the headlights have to be so sodding bright? Eighteen and a half.

Eighteen and a half hours until the Birthday Boy started cutting chunks off my little girl.

I shifted my left foot slightly, keeping the Renault at a steady seventy up the M6. Flashing my warrant card might have worked on the way down, but that was before I had pupils like huge black buttons and a bullet hole in my foot.

Preston went by on the left-hand side, nothing more than lights in the darkness and a name on a sign that glistened with rain.

Eighteen and a half hours.

My phone blared in my pocket. I dug it out: ‘
Henry
’. I pressed the button.

‘
Is … isn’t working any more…
’ The words were all slurred, running into one another.

‘You found Rebecca.’

‘
I’ve been … I’ve been trying to think… But it’s so … difficult… I’m so sorry, Ash, so … so sorry.
’ Unbelievable: I’d seen him down a whole bottle of Bells in one sitting and
still
look completely sober. ‘
I want to … want to save her, but it… I can’t get… I don’t know what he wants…
’

‘Henry, how much have you had to drink?’

‘
I can’t do it any … any more. I’m… Should have stayed in Shetland. Ash, why … why did you make me come?
’ A little sob. ‘
She’s dead… It isn’t… I can’t.
’

‘Fuck’s sake, Henry…’ I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. ‘You’re not the only one having a shite day, OK? Grow up.’

Something roared past me in the outside lane, making the crappy little Renault lurch.

‘
I should … should’ve caught him …
years
ago. Is all my fault. Is … no.
’ Slurping, gulping, then a hissing breath. ‘
I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry, Ash, I’m sorry. Is all my fault…
’

‘Put the bloody bottle down, you useless drunken old bastard: I need your help! Katie’s still out there. There’s still time. We have to
find
him.’

‘
Stupid, uselesssssss ol man… Should’ve … should’ve died years ago.
’

‘Henry!’

‘
Everyone I know … everyone’s dead.
’

A clunk, and then muffled crying.

Thanks, Henry. Thanks a fucking heap.

Monday 21st November

Chapter 45

Cold…

I coughed, shivered. Opened my eyes. It was still dark. ‘Urgh…’ Everything ached from the base of my skull all the way down to the tips of my toes. I was in the passenger seat – reclined back as far as it would go – my coat draped across me as a makeshift blanket, breath hanging in front of me like fog in the gloom.

The Renault’s windows were all steamed up.

I scrubbed a hand across the chilled glass, making it cry condensation tears.

Outside, the sky was blue-black; no sign of any stars. The massive bulk of an artic lorry sat in the space next to mine, facing the boarded-up services. A sign hung on the temporary security fence: ‘C
LOSED
F
OR
R
EFURBISHMENT
, B
UT
D
ON
’
T
W
ORRY
, W
E
’
LL
B
E
B
ACK
S
OON
!!!’

Moving sent burning needles tearing up my right leg. I gritted my teeth. Tried to ride it out. But it wasn’t working.

Ah,
Jesus
…

Then someone started pounding a hammer into my foot: thump, thump, thump, in time with the blood in my ears.

Tramadol and Diclofenac: I popped three of each out of their blister packs and dry-swallowed them.

Come on, come on, work.
Work
.

The breath hissed out of my mouth, taking a shower of spittle with it.

Fuck…

I slammed a punch into my leg.

‘WORK!’

Banged my head back against the seat.

Not going away…

God.

Hauled in another breath.

The pills weren’t working…

I fumbled Eugene’s junky starter kit out of my coat pocket and unzipped the shiny plastic with trembling fingers. It looked like an exchange pack – the kind that chemists gave away free, trying to keep intravenous drug users from infecting themselves or anyone else. The only bits that looked as if they hadn’t come from Boots were the three tinfoil wrappers, the cheap plastic lighter, and the instruction sheet. A step-by-step how-to guide to forever fucking your life up.

I followed it to the letter.

Only a half-dose this time. That’d be safe, wouldn’t it? Enough to take the pain away and not leave me a dribbling wreck.

Nothing. Nothing… And there it was – the same rushing warmth from last night, forcing down the stabbing, throbbing ache. I sagged back into the seat as if my joints were made of jelly. Brain all muggy. The sound of distant church bells. Melting…

Maybe Dawson’s mum was telling the truth? Maybe there wasn’t rat poison and caustic soda scouring its way through my veins, killing me from the inside out. Just the heroin.

Get up you lazy bastard. The Birthday Boy’s got Katie.

I blinked at my watch, squinting to get it into focus. Nearly half-six in the morning.

Get up…

I knocked back a couple of Dawson’s little white pills, then lay back and waited for them to work their magic. Heroin and amphetamines for breakfast. Most important meal of the day.

There was a slightly gamey smell in the car, as if something in the fridge was on the turn. Not rancid, but heading that—

Oh God… My stomach rolled and boiled. Lurched.

I scrambled out into the morning, fell on my knees, and heaved.

A swirl of sour steam wafted up from the puddle of vomit. I spat, wiped the string of spittle from my chin with my sleeve.

Foot felt a lot better now. No more throbbing.

I limped across the car park, past the dark and silent lorries, to the garage at the end. Its forecourt and pumps were all lit up like Las Vegas. Even had a wee shop attached where you could pay for your petrol.

I wobbled in, bought six bottles of water, a couple of Ginsters pasties, and a packet of extra-strong mints. The guy behind the counter looked at me as if I was about to bite him.

I paid in cash. Turned. And stopped. Frowned. There were dark-red streaks on the grey terrazzo floor, as if someone had dragged a chunk of fresh roadkill across it. Didn’t notice them on the way in. Too focused on getting something to drink.

Cheeky bastard: staring at me like I was some sort of freak, when
he
was the one with the filthy bloody floor.

More streaks on the faded tarmac outside.

Place was a pigsty.

I limped back towards the car.

The water was ice cold; I gulped down a whole bottle, scrunched up the plastic and dumped it in a forecourt bin. Then tore open the ham-and-cheese pastry. Wasn’t really hungry, but heroin and amphetamines probably weren’t a great idea on an empty stomach. I drained the second bottle and started in on the cheese-and-onion slice, getting flakes of pale gold all down the front of my shirt.

I brushed them away. Frowned again. My shirt was all stained with something reddish-brown. That wasn’t right… Oh, sodding hell: Big Ed’s fist in my face. My tongue found the gap at the side where those two loose teeth used to be, jagged stumps sticking out of the gum.

You’d think it would hurt more.

‘Ash?’

Must be the drugs.

‘Oh, Ash, what
happened
to you?’

Raising my head was like dragging an anchor through mud. Getting her in focus was even harder. ‘Dr McDonald?’

It was: it was her. She was standing beside the Renault, wearing a big thick parka jacket, both arms wrapped around herself. No glasses, but lots of black eye makeup, lipstick so dark it was almost black, straight black hair, just like Katie… She looked beautiful.

She rushed over and threw her arms around me, buried her head against my chest.

I dropped my shopping and hugged her back.

My little girl.

‘Ash? Ash, there’s another sign for the hospital…’ The morning was dark as a funeral. A heavy lid of grey hung over the three lanes of motorway, tiny flakes of delicate white sacrificing themselves against the Renault’s windscreen, holding on for a moment before they melted, or the wiper scraped their corpses to one side.

‘Ash?’

I blinked, squinted. All the motorway signs were perched on top of concrete lintels spanning the road, glowing orange lettering telling Dr McDonald to ‘BE A COURTEOUS DRIVER’, ‘USE YOUR MIRRORS’, and ‘SPEED KILLS’.

Especially when you mixed it with heroin.

‘Ash, I said there’s another—’

‘No hospitals.’

She bit her bottom lip, that little crease denting her forehead between her eyebrows. ‘You need to see a doctor, they—’

‘It’s a gunshot wound, they have to report it by law. Soon as they do, that’s it: the police turn up, I can’t leave, and Katie’s dead.’ I rested my head against the cool window. ‘Anyway,
you’re
a doctor.’

‘No I’m
not
. I mean I am a doctor, but not that kind of doctor, I don’t know anything about bullet holes, I’ve only ever seen them on dead bodies…’ She reached across and put a hand on my leg. ‘Please don’t—’

‘Oldcastle. We have to go to Oldcastle.’ I took another swig of water.

‘Thirsty…’ I rubbed a hand across my gritty eyes. Squinted out at the snow. It was heavier now, still not enough to lie on the ink-black road, but working on it. The traffic crawled in front of us, corralled into one lane by a regiment of orange cones, yellow lights flashing.

‘You’re awake.’ Dr McDonald reached behind her seat and came out with a bottle of mineral water. ‘How are you feeling?’

I screwed the top off and drank. Downed half the bottle and surfaced again with a gasp. ‘Where are we?’

‘Coming up to Stirling. Traffic’s horrible.’

‘Stirling…’ A smile pulled at my face. ‘Rebecca loved the Wallace Monument. Every time we went south we had to climb the bloody thing… All the way up to the top so she could see everything.’

‘Ash, I’m worried about—’

‘Katie hated it.’ I drained the rest of the bottle. Frowned. ‘How did you find me? I turned round and there you were…’

‘You need someone to look at your foot.’

‘In the car park, at the services, there you were…’

‘We had fish and chips in the car on Saturday night: you let me borrow your phone because I told you my battery was dead… I knew something was going to happen, I was worried about you and everything was going wrong, so I downloaded an app onto your phone that would track where you were.’ She hunched her shoulders, getting closer to the steering wheel. ‘Don’t be angry with me.’

‘Dr McDonald—’

‘
Alice
. Why can’t you call me Alice?
Please
.’

I nodded. Alice. Not Dr McDonald. ‘Alice: thank you for coming to get me. Thank you for not making me go to hospital. And thank you for helping me find Katie.’

She turned and beamed at me. ‘We’ll find her, won’t we?’

Ten o’clock. We had seven hours.

‘Have to stop…’ Something was eating my foot, chewing through the flesh and sinews and bone with sharp metallic teeth. ‘Stop…’

Alice looked across the car at me. ‘You should sleep.’

‘Can’t…’ The River Tay was a flat grey smear on the far side of the dual carriageway, a long line of skeletal trees standing guard in front of it. Waiting to drag us down into the frozen earth. ‘Hurts. Need my medication.’

‘You shouldn’t…’ She flexed her fingers around the steering wheel. ‘Ash, it’s poison.’

‘It works. I tried Diclofenac and Tramadol: barely made a dent in it. We have to stop…’

Alice licked her lips. ‘Can you hold out till Dundee?’

Burning petrol surged up my leg, blue-tinged fire that crackled and fizzed, eating away the muscles and charring the bone beneath.

‘Ash?’

I screwed my eyes tight shut. Gritted my teeth. Nodded. ‘Dundee.’

‘Need to stop for petrol soon anyway.’

Warmth spread out from the middle of my chest, forcing the shredding blades down into my leg, then my shin, then my foot… then gone. The car’s headrest was like a warm lap beneath my head.

A cool hand on my brow, stroked the pain away.

‘You’re burning up.’

‘Mmmm…’ I let go of the syringe – the other half of this morning’s wrapper – let it fall to the grimy carpet.

‘Do you want a sandwich, or I bought some crisps?’

‘M’not hungry.’

‘Ash, you have to eat something, and you have to drink lots of fluids, and you can’t keep doing this, we have to go to hospital.’

‘Need Henry…’

She bit her bottom lip. Sat back in her seat. Looked down at her lap. ‘He’s not answering his phone.’

The engine purred into life, and we were moving again, falling through the snow, fat white flakes like starbursts in the cold morning light.

There was an egg sandwich in my lap. I stared at it, but it didn’t do anything. ‘Rebecca liked egg sandwiches. She had this … this imaginary friend when she was wee, she said he was a cereal killer. Every time we found all the Sugar Puffs gone, it would be Naughty Nigel’s fault. Wasn’t so keen on Bran Flakes though.’ I rested my cheek against the passenger window, cool and smooth. ‘It’s been… such a long time.’

‘I’m sorry she ran away.’

‘She didn’t run away. He took her.’

The Kingsway was busy, cars and buses carving their way across Dundee’s back, avoiding its vital organs. Off to the right, the retail park where the Party Crashers had camped out on the fifth floor of a chain hotel drifted by at fifty miles an hour. Only a week ago, but it might as well have been months.

I cradled the egg sandwich against my chest like a baby. ‘We didn’t know what happened to her… Michelle still doesn’t. One day Rebecca was there, and we were planning this big party, and the next she was gone. No note, no word. I got the first card on Rebecca’s fourteenth birthday. Happy birthday! The number one scratched into the top corner, so I’d know there’d be more to come.’

The heroin tingled in my fingers and toes, as if they were going to break free and fly away. ‘I keep them all in this cigar box Rebecca gave me for Christmas when she was six. Don’t know where she found it, but she painted it and covered it in sequins and glitter… And that’s where I hide them.’

‘But why didn’t you—’

‘They would’ve taken me off the case. I’d have to sit on my arse and watch them screw it all up. Never told anyone, not even Michelle. At least this way she gets to hope.’

‘Ash, she needs to know or she can’t move on, she—’

‘Sometimes it’s better not to know.’ A shrug. ‘Doesn’t matter anyway: they found Rebecca yesterday, remember? The extra body in the park, with all the others. My little girl in a hole in the ground, her bones stained the colour of old blood.’

‘Oh, Ash.’ Alice squeezed my arm. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Me too.’ I turned back to the window. Stared out at the snow. ‘He won’t use Cameron Park any more, not now we’ve crawled all over it… We’ll never find Katie’s body.’

Everything was getting heavier, gravity hauling my body down into the seat. Pulling my eyelids shut. So difficult to move.

‘Ash?’

Should’ve taken another one of Dawson’s stolen amphetamines.

‘Leave me alone…’ Cold wrapped its arms around me and heaved. Dragged me out into the snow. I looked up into a grey sky turned almost white. Soft icy kisses on my cheeks.

A face peered down at me. A woman’s voice. ‘
I don’t like this. Alice: he needs to go to the hospital.
’

‘
Please, Aunty Jan, we have to.
’ Alice stroked my forehead. ‘
He needs me.
’

‘
I must be mad…
’ A big, heavy sigh. ‘
All right, all right: grab his feet. But if he dies, you’re the one explaining it to the police, understand?
’

‘
Thanks, Aunty Jan.
’

I blinked up at a white ceiling; kitchen cabinets lurked around the edges; the sound of a kettle boiling. I was … inside… How did I get inside? Got to get up and find Katie.