I put the plate down, picked up my jacket and dug the big paper bag out of the pocket. Placed it on the coffee table in front of Dr McDonald.
She shovelled in another load of rice. More prawn crackers?
Open it.
A shrug. She peered inside, then pulled out the fluffy puffin.
Is this?
For you.
A grin split her face. Really? He s lovely! She gave the thing a squeeze. I ll call him Wilberforce, does he look like a Wilberforce to you, I think he looks like a Wilberforce. Thank you. She tucked the puffin into the gap between her crossed legs, smiling down at his orange and black beak. Would you like some rice, Wilberforce?
OK, so it was meant to be Katie s present, but after today she didn t bloody deserve it. And it was nice to see Dr McDonald so happy, pretending to feed Wilberforce special fried rice, like she was six.
I took another mouthful of chilli beef. Didn t taste too bad after all. So: Steven Wallace?
What was Katie like as a child?
Katie? Happy, cute, bright Every night we d sit in her room with the lights turned down, reading the Brothers Grimm. She hated the Disney versions, said they took out all the good bits. Other kids were drawing stick-figures in nursery, she was drawing severed heads. The smile was back. Used to call her Daddy s Little Monster. Couldn t have been more different from her sister if she d tried.
She really is sorry about today. It s been difficult for her since Rebecca ran away.
We went to the beach once. Michelle was beautiful, and we sat in the dunes and ate sausage rolls and egg sandwiches. Rebecca had her head in a book, and Katie had this black skull-and-crossbones kite and an eyepatch. And she spent the whole time running up and down the beach, making pirate noises. Avast me hearties!
Shiver me timbers! Giggling.
Katie thinks it s her fault Rebecca left they had a fight the night Rebecca ran away. And if Rebecca hadn t run away, you and Michelle wouldn t have got divorced, so that s Katie s fault too. Dr McDonald s hand was warm on my knee. She didn t mean to let you down.
It wasn t her fault. It wasn t anyone s fault. I stared at the little curls of meat on my plate. Sometimes shite things just happen.
And there s loads of mineral water in the fridge.
Rhona s flat was immaculate, everything hoovered and dusted and tidied, like something out of a magazine. She opened the door to the spare room. A pile of my clothes lay neatly folded on the double bed. Didn t have time to get an alarm clock, but I can easily give you a shout when breakfast s on the go.
I picked up a shirt from the pile. Perfectly smooth. You did my ironing?
Sorry I couldn t get the rest done. I ll stick another load on tomorrow. She cleared her throat.
You want a cup of tea or something?
So Shifty says, You can get a cream for that. Rhona threw her head back and laughed a throaty gargling noise that went in jagged heaves. Showing off her pearly beiges. Cream for that Priceless.
The living room was every bit as tidy as the rest of the house. A pristine oatmeal carpet, a white leather couch with one matching armchair, two Ikea bookcases and a boxy coffee table.
I put my mug back on the tray. Covered my mouth for a yawn.
Sorry: been a long week.
A little frown pinched the skin between her eyebrows. Oh, before I forget Rhona picked herself up off the couch and left the room. She came back a minute later and dumped a cardboard shoebox on the coffee table. The thing was full of police-issue notebooks, all lined up in neat rows.
Rhona pulled one out and flipped it open. I had a trawl through my notes. You wanted to know about me doing PNC checks on Birthday Boy families?
You really didn t have
Here we go: Ran full PNC on Arnold and Danielle Burges first of October. That was two years ago. ACC Drummond asked me to do it: same for Sophie Elphinstone s parents and Amber O Neil s. Lazy bugger never does his own computer searches. Kevin s always moaning about having to pick up his dry-cleaning and stuff. Like we re his personal bloody slaves or something.
He s a bit of a tosser, even for Sodding hell. My phone was blaring its old-fashioned ring. The screen said Dr McFruitLoop.
I pressed the button. Is Wilberforce not behaving himself?
Her voice was a high-pitched whisper. Someone s trying to get in the house! Ash, I m scared! What if they get in?
Shite. I ll be right over. I stood, grabbed my jacket. Put my hand over the mouthpiece and nodded at Rhona. Call the station: tell them we ve got an attempted break-in at Eighteen Fletcher Road, right now. Householder is in residence.
Her mouth fell open, then she shut it. Nodded. Right, Guv. She grabbed the house phone and dialled. Aye, Marge, who ve you got near Fletcher Road? Get a patrol car up there pronto
Dr McDonald, I need you to stay calm. I barged out of the flat, taking the steps two at a time down to the building s entrance hall.
What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?
I banged out into the cold night. Is there anywhere in the house with a door you can lock?
Aunty Jan s study?
Go. Lock the door. Stick a chair or something under the handle so it can t open. I jumped into the Renault, cranked the engine over, and floored it.
Chapter 33
PC Sheila Caldwell rolled the dusting brush back and forward over the back door, the bristles barely touching the gouged wood, leaving a layer of powdery white. She was getting it all over her black fleece too and the matching fluorescent-yellow POLICE waistcoat, and black bobble hat. She turned and peered at me through a haze of dust. Not looking good, Guv
The security light clicked off again. I waved my arm across the sensor s path. Crack we were bathed in a searing white glow. Shame it wasn t as warm as it was bright. Bloody freezing out here.
The wood around the lock was gouged and scratched, the damaged wood clean and raw against the blue paint.
I looked up at the house. Light glowed from a window up near the top of the building, a face peering out through the glass.
Rhona shuffled through the bushes, one hand deep in her pocket, the other clutching a huge torch, breath trailing out behind her like a steam train. Long gone. Think they came in over the back wall. Ground s frozen solid: no footprints, but there s some broken branches and stuff. She sniffed, wiped her hand across her top lip. Your psychologist come out yet?
Nope.
Rhona puffed out her cheeks, then slid the torch beam up the wall until it spotlit the study window Dr McDonald ducked away from the glass. Her highness is a bit nervous isn t she?
Be fair: someone did try to jimmy the back door open with a screwdriver.
And the first thing she does is call her knight in shining armour. Not nine-nine-nine or anything sensible like that. Another sniff. I d have gone out and kicked his arse for him.
Sheila straightened up, then slipped the cover back over her brush. Sorry, Guv. There s nothing here. Little sod must ve worn gloves. She popped the brush into the SOC kit box. Probably just a junkie a pro would ve brought a crowbar or a claw-hammer. Screwdriver s great for chibbing your scumbag mates, but not so good for getting through a Yale lock.
Rhona squinted at the powder-covered door. You made a right dog s breakfast of that.
Bite me. Every SEB bugger s off digging up skeletons. Sheila wiped a hand across her face, making a clean
