Stuart MacBride: Ash Henderson 2-book Crime Thriller Collection. Stuart MacBride

       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.