And we ll let people know about the candlelit vigil tomorrow.
DCS Dickie sucked on his cigarette, cheeks hollow, the tip glowing hot orange in the dark garden. You re sure?
Dr McDonald shook her head. We can t be, I mean we don t know enough about him to be one hundred percent, but I m pretty certain he ll want to turn up and join in all the mourning.
And that helps us catch him how?
I cupped my aching hands around the warm mug, steam curling up into my face. We film everyone who turns up. We show the footage to the victims parents and if they recognize someone we get a warrant and drag them in for questioning.
Hmmph. Dickie tapped his cigarette, sending a nub of grey flakes spiralling away into the darkness. Someone like Steven Wallace?
Ah I took a sip of tea. Sabir s got a big mouth.
Didn t think you were that kind of man, Ash. Running around behind my back: thought you were better than that.
Dr McDonald licked her lips. Actually, it was my idea
I wanted him to keep it low-key, I mean we don t want to spook Wallace if he s a potential suspect
As if I needed protecting from the big scary Detective Chief Superintendent. I put on my best and-what-the- fuck-are-you-going-to-do-about-it voice: It wasn t her, it was me.
The cigarette hissed as Dickie dragged in another lungful of smoke, staring straight ahead. What s this, I m Spartacus! time? I don t give a monkey s arsehole who did it, you run this stuff by me first. Both of you.
Sabir say if he found anything when he ratted me out?
My team s going through Megan s friends. Sabir s doing the CCTV walk-through at the shopping centre. Ask him yourself.
The cameras started flashing as soon as I stepped out of the Taylors front door. Since we d gone inside, someone had thrown up a cordon of police tape, keeping the press and gawkers on the pavement and out of the front garden and driveway.
The uniformed constable guarding the front door flared his nostrils. Bastards got here ten minutes ago, Guv. Swear they must be bloody psychic.
One outside broadcast van, nearly a dozen photographers, a handful of print journalists Shite: Jennifer was standing in the middle of the pack, bundled up in her camel-hair coat, auburn curls hidden under a fur hat, speaking into a Dictaphone. Her ratty little photographer shuffled about beside her. He saw me staring at him and lowered his camera. Looked away. Not wanting another smack.
A patrol car pulled up half on the pavement, blocking the Taylors driveway.
The door opened and Shifty Dave climbed out, camera flashes glinting off his bald head. Looked me up and down. What you doing here? Thought your shift finished ages ago.
I nodded towards Dr McDonald. Responsible adult. She ducked behind me, peering around my shoulder at Shifty Dave and his cheap suit.
He sniffed. Dickie still here?
Flash. Flash. Flash.
Inside
Jennifer squeezed her way through the collected bastards of the press, making for the edge of the driveway. Bet she thought she could buttonhole me, force the issue, wind me up and get me to say something stupid she could smear across the News and Post tomorrow. And she was probably right.
Dave, do me a favour?
He pulled his neck in, making extra chins. Still not got the smell out my car boot from last time.
Jennifer and her monkey, I don t want to speak to them.
Aye, life s tough.
I might let something slip. Like, ooh, say: personal details about some of my esteemed colleagues love lives?
His eyes narrowed. You bloody promised me!
Then don t be a dick.
You re the dick He chewed on something for a moment, then sighed. OK. But it s your own stupid fault for screwing her in the first place. Shifty Dave turned, marched back down the drive and stopped right in front of Jennifer. He was easily big enough to block her view.
I grabbed Dr McDonald s hand and dragged her to the side of the lock-block, helped her clamber over the knee-high box hedge and into the next-door neighbour s garden while Shifty did his thing.
His voice boomed out into the cold night. Well, well, well, if it s no Jennifer Prentice, how they dangling?
I want to speak to DC Henderson.
Do you, now? Bit late to fuck up his marriage: that boat s already sunk. Mind you, if you fancy giving mine a wee wrecking, I wouldn t say no. Your place or mine?
I snuck across the neighbour s lawn, then down to the kerb, Dr McDonald sticking close behind me.
Shifty Dave s voice took on a sing-song quality. And aye, aye: who s this? If it s no Wee Hairy Frank McKenzie. Two counts drink driving, and six months for phone hacking. Surprised any paper ll touch you since you got kicked off the News of the World. Relegated to camera boy now, are we?
I m just doing my job
Two more steps and we were on the road, through the parked cars, and into the rusty Renault. She started first time. Looked as if my luck was finally on the up for a change.
Chapter 32
Shoppers are advised that the centre will be closing in ten minutes. Please complete your purchases, have a great evening, and come back soon.
A little old lady bustled past, dragging a tartan shopping trolley behind her a wee white terrier peering out of the zip at the top rubber-tipped walking stick thunk, thunk, thunking on the polished marble floor.
Dr McDonald stood in the middle of Templers Vale Shopping Centre, staring up at the huge glass wall that dominated the atrium. Outside, the lights sparkled on Calderwell Bridge, Blackwall Hill rising up behind it. Kingsmeath reduced to a network of glowing points like early Christmas decorations.
Even Kingsmeath didn t look too bad in the dark.
Friday night and Templers Vale was virtually empty. A handful of late-night shoppers drifted between the same stores that always filled places like this Next, Dorothy Perkins, Primark, Burger King, Apple, Vodaphone, Monsoon Three floors of high-street chains and fast-food franchises.
I pointed up to the next level. There he is.
Sabir was wandering along by the glass railing, holding something out in front of him as if he was sleepwalking.
We took the escalator, gliding up to the sound of piped muzak. Sabir stopped outside a generic teenagers clothes shop the kind with silver mannequins in the window wearing ripped jeans, hoodie tops, and retro T-shirts. He stared up at a little white blob fixed to the wall above the shop s entrance.
I tapped him on the shoulder. Hoy, Judas.
He jumped. Jesus You tryin to do us in?
You ratted me out to Dickie.
Ah, now, not really The thing Sabir had been holding out was a white iPad with a red cover. He clutched it against his belly. You didn t exactly swear us to secrecy, did youse? Dickie asked us what I was doin and I told him. A grin spread his large grey face even wider. Hey, Doc, lookin better than you did this mornin.
She gave him a little wave.
Shoppers are advised that the centre will be closing in five minutes. Please complete your purchases, and make your way to the exits. See you again soon.
Dr McDonald peered in through the shop window. A thin bloke in skin-tight black denim and cockatiel hair
