Stuart MacBride: Ash Henderson 2-book Crime Thriller Collection. Stuart MacBride
torturing them ’cos it’s the only way he can get off, so he’s probably impotent. The photos help him relive the experience when he’s masturbating. Probably got a big house in the country somewhere, so no one can hear them screaming. How am I doing, Doc?’
A plastic creak came from the back seat. ‘Can we slow down, please?’
‘Bet he’s a single white male, twenty-four … twenty-five, menial job, but his parents were loaded: that’s how he can afford his place in the country.’
‘Hmm …’ I clicked on the first message – Shifty Dave Morrow:
Holy FUCK! You owe me big time!
The next was from Michelle:
WTF were you thinking?
Wre suppsed 2 b past all this!!!
What the hell was that supposed to mean? The third one was from her as well, sent at eleven fifty-five:
Yr suppsed 2 b a grown up!
Fkn act like 1
U cant just have kt stay ovr & not tell me!
Shit. I jabbed the call button. ‘Pull over.’
‘We’re only going to be another five—’
‘Stop the fucking car!’
‘Answer the bloody—’
‘Ash?’ Michelle’s voice boomed in my ear. ‘What the hell are you playing at? We had a deal!’
I took another couple of steps away from the patrol car. PC Clark had parked on a crescent of tarmac by the side of the road, at the top of a steep hill overlooking Scalloway. The little town curled at the join between two fingers of land reaching out for the Atlantic Ocean – street and harbour lights glittering back from the dawn-blued water.
‘I have no idea what you’re on about, OK? Can we discuss it like adults for a—’
‘Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m the one being unreasonable! We had a deal, Ash Henderson!’
‘What am I supposed to have—’
‘I’m her mother, for Christ’s sake! Why can’t you ever think about anyone but yourself? At least you could’ve called me and let me know everything was OK!’
‘It—’
‘Do you have any idea how worried I was?’
The morning was getting lighter, gold rippling across the water. ‘I don’t understand what you’re—’
‘You can’t have Katie stay the night without telling me! I was worried sick!’
Stay the night?
‘It … I don’t—’
‘You’re impossible.’ Michelle hung up.
Stay the night? How the hell could she stay the night, I wasn’t even there!
Katie’s number was on speed-dial. It rang, and rang, and—
‘Daddy, I was just thinking about you!’
‘Your mother’s been on the phone.’ Dealing with kids is exactly the same as dealing with criminals: never let on how much you do or don’t know.
A pause. ‘Has she? Is she OK, I was—’
‘Why does your mother think you stayed at my house last night?’
‘Does she? Wow, how weird is that?’ Another pause, as if Katie was giving it some serious thought. Then she was back, every sentence sounding as if it was a question. ‘Oh, you know what happened: she must’ve misheard me? I told her I was staying with my friend Ashley and her dad? And Mum must’ve thought I meant—’
‘You do know I’m a police officer, right, Katie? It’s my job to spot when someone’s lying their arse off.’
‘Ah …’ Deep breath. ‘I really was round Ashley’s house, but Mum hates Ashley’s parents ’cos they’re Tories, and sometimes they let us stay up late watching horror films and drinking Red Bull and you know what Mum’s like about Tories and horror films. Ashley’s mum and dad were in the house the whole time, so we were always safe and looked after and it was only a little teensy-weensy white lie … I didn’t want Mum getting all upset.’
‘I don’t—’
‘You can ask Ashley’s dad if you like? He’s really nice, not as cool as you, but he’s OK, and he’ll tell you we did our homework first and everything! Hold on, he’s right here …’
Some rustling, then a smoker’s voice: Oldcastle accent, trying hard to sound posh. What Michelle would call a typical Tennent’s Lager Tory. ‘Hello?’
‘You Ashley’s father?’
‘Is something wrong?’
‘I’m Katie Henderson’s dad.’
‘Ah, right, lovely kid. Good as gold last night: pizza and a Freddy Krueger marathon. Sweet.’
‘Just wanted to check she’d behaved herself. Can you put her back on?’
‘Here we go …’
‘See, Daddy? You won’t tell Mum, will you? She’ll freak, you know what she’s like.’
So the choice was: land Katie in it, or say nothing and pretend I’m a complete tosser who couldn’t be arsed telling her mother she wasn’t going to be home last night.
Well, it wasn’t as if Michelle could actually hate me any more than she already did.
‘OK, but only on the condition that you’re nicer to your mum. I know she can be a bit …’ There was no way to end that sentence well. ‘Be good, all right? For me?’
‘I promise.’ The little girl voice again. ‘Daddy, can we go pony trekking for my birthday?’
Pony trekking? How the hell was I supposed to organize that?
‘We’ll see.’
‘Oops: got to go, Daddy, Ashley’s dad’s giving us a lift to school. Love you!’
‘Be nice to your mother.’
I jammed the phone in my pocket and turned back to the tiny patrol car. Dr McDonald was peering out over the top of her big red suitcase. Her glasses were on squint, it made her head look lopsided.
Why did every woman in my life have to be a card-carrying nutcase?
I got back in the car.
We stopped at the Scalloway Hotel to drop off our suitcases and check in, then it was a five-minute drive through the dark streets to a house on the outskirts of town, overlooking the bay. The garden was a mix of overgrown bushes and stunted trees, their bare branches clawing at each other, fighting for space. Moss had colonized the pantile roof, lichen speckled the walls, and both front windows were jagged holes fringed with broken glass.
PC Clark hauled on the handbrake. ‘Not again …’
I climbed out into the cold morning.
A sign was bolted to the garden wall: ‘Freiberg Towers’. I pushed through into the garden and marched up the path as Royce called it in.
‘Sarge? Lima One Six: we’re out at the Forrester place … Yeah, looks like Burges has been at it again.’
The doorbell sounded a dismal two-tone chime from somewhere deep inside. I cupped my