‘Story, Detective Sergeant Massie? I have no idea what you mean.’
‘Right then. As long as you both stick to it, you’ll be fine.’ She stood. ‘You did a good thing tonight, Ash. Dewar would’ve kept on killing kids if you hadn’t stopped him.’ Rhona placed a hand on my shoulder, on the way past. ‘However you did it.’ Then walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.
I let out a long dry breath.
Got away with it.
I pulled out Alice’s phone and opened the tracking app. The ‘word’ ‘FONEZFINDR!’ flashed up on the screen — so I’d been right about the awful spelling — with a couple of setting options and three numbers listed under the heading ‘PHONES YOU ARE TRACKING’. No idea who the other two were, but my mobile was top of the list.
When I selected it, a stopwatch appeared, the hands turning in one direction while a progress bar rotated around it going the other way.
Please don’t be switched off.
Please don’t be dumped in a bin or some sucker’s pocket.
Please be—
WE’VE FOUND YOUR PHONE!
Click on the link below to view on a map!
Here we go.
It brought up a map of Scotland, then zoomed in on a red arrow pointing at the east coast, Oldcastle getting bigger on the left of the screen, then disappearing as Clachmara filled its centre. The map wasn’t quite up-to-date — it still included the houses that’d fallen into the sea because of Storm Trevor — but if the arrow wasn’t pointing directly at Helen MacNeil’s house, I’d buy a hat and eat it.
Maybe this was Gordon Smith sending a message? Dumping my phone back where it all began. Showing off for the dress circle.
Or maybe he really was arrogant enough to think he could go back there and we wouldn’t notice?
Suppose I’d find out soon enough.
But, in the meantime, probably best to throw some blood in the water, see if I could distract the sharks. A quick text should do it.
And soon as it was sent, I gathered up my stuff and left.
Shifty was waiting for me when I stepped out of the interview room, leaning back against the wall and playing something on his phone. He barely looked up. ‘Give your statement?’
I hauled on my new jacket. ‘Where’s the rucksack?’
‘In my locker.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’
‘Because I know where Leah MacNeil is. Or, at least, I know where she might be.’ I held up my unruined hand. ‘And before you say anything: yes, I know, I should tell Mother so she can get the heavy mob sent in. But we spent all that money on a gun...’
Shifty nodded. ‘Shame to let it go to waste. We’ll need a vehicle too. Something we can burn afterwards.’
‘Helen MacNeil’s Renault’s still parked up the Hospital. No one’ll miss it.’
‘Works for me.’ He pushed off the wall. ‘You want—’
A voice boomed down the corridor. ‘Gentlemen!’ And there was Chief Superintendent McEwan, marching towards us with his sidekick, Samson, scurrying along behind him. They were both in civvies — jeans and a sweatshirt for Samson, tan chinos and blue polo shirt for McEwan. As if he’d only ever seen people wearing casual clothes in eighties catalogues.
McEwan stopped right in front of us and patted Shifty on the shoulder. ‘DI Morrow! David. Excellent work, really excellent.’ I got a pat too. ‘And you, of course, Ash. Well done. This is magnificent news: the Oldcastle Child-Strangler in custody!’ A frown clouded his features. ‘Of course, it’s a shame you couldn’t save Toby Macmillan, but the important thing is our man’s off the streets. Isn’t that right, Alan?’
Samson nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘We’re arranging a press conference for first thing tomorrow — want to stay ahead of the news cycle, don’t we? Yes. It’s going to be good to stand up there and rub all their noses in it. O Division’s full of useless tossers, is it? Ha! And there’ll be a commendation going into your file, DI Morrow, don’t you worry about that.’ Another pat on the shoulder. ‘So, I want you in here, booted and suited, and ready for the cameras by half seven.’ Then McEwan’s eyes drifted back to me. Taking it all in: the black eyes, the bruised throat, the bandaged hand... He bit his top lip and furrowed his brow. ‘Actually, Ash, maybe you should sit this one out and get some rest. Might not be the best optics, you sitting there looking as if you’ve gone the wrong way through a threshing machine. Got Police Scotland’s reputation to think about, after all.’
Like I gave a toss about its reputation or his press conference.
‘Anyway, I want to congratulate you both again for the sterling work you’ve done!’ Then he turned on his heel and marched off.
Samson hesitated a moment, his granite slab of a face working its way into a smile. ‘That was some serious coppering you two did tonight. The boss is right, you—’
McEwan’s voice boomed down the corridor again. ‘Oh, do keep up, Alan. And make sure my dress uniform is cleaned and pressed for tomorrow’s briefing!’
‘Wonderful.’ Samson sagged, stared at the ceiling, took a deep breath, then turned and hurried after the Chief Super. ‘Yes, sir.’
Poor sod.
Soon as they were gone, Shifty cricked his head from side to side. ‘Where we off to? And can we please get something to eat on the way? I’m not—’ His phone rang, getting louder and louder in the corridor. ‘Sorry.’ He pulled it out and answered. ‘DI Morrow.’ Scrunched his forehead up and closed his eyes, listening. Then, ‘No, Russell, I don’t... Are you deaf as well as Hobbit sized? I’m not commenting on an ongoing—... I don’t care what the rumour mill says, “no comment”... OK, I’m hanging up now.’ He did, then hissed out a breath. ‘Bloody journalists. Someone’s leaked we caught the Oldcastle Child-Strangler.’
I checked my watch. ‘Didn’t take them long.’
‘Bet it’s that moron Blakey. Wouldn’t trust him to—’ Shifty’s phone went again and he peered at the screen with his one good eye. ‘Jennifer Prentice? Don’t think so. Decline.’ Poking the button. ‘They’re going to be at this all night, aren’t they?’
‘Probably.’ The frenzy would be gathering outside Kenneth Dewar’s house, cameras focused on his front door, working out how much moral outrage they could whip up. Or doorstepping Dewar’s victims’ parents, milking their grief for a ninety-second slot on the morning news.
On the plus side, it meant that they’d abandon Clachmara for a while. Leaving it all nice and quiet for Shifty and me to rock up and make sure Gordon Smith and Leah MacNeil got exactly what was coming to them.
Strange what one little text can do.
Shifty switched his phone off and put it away. ‘OK. Food first, then murder. Can’t be killing people on an empty stomach.’
The scent of onions, garlic, and slow-cooked lamb mince filled Helen’s manky Renault as Shifty finished his extra-large doner with yoghurt and chilli sauce. Parked here, at the brow of the wee hill, headlights off, engine running, looking down over what was left of Clachmara as Storm Victoria hammered into it. Rain clattering against the car’s roof.
Helen’s street shivered in the darkness, bushes whipping back and forth, lampposts swaying. And not a single press vehicle to be seen.
Even the Mobile Incident Unit had been pulled back, away from the advancing cliff edge. The safety barrier had retreated with it. Now the sections of temporary fencing didn’t cut through the garden between Helen’s house and the one next door — both had been placed on the sacrificial altar of coastal erosion. An offering to the howling gods of wind and rain.