a half. And your aunt s got the dogs, right?
Who needs Dobermann pinschers when you ve got a Staffordshire bull terrier and a wheezy Jack Russell. She hugged the bottle tighter. I ll be fine
Chapter 39
The priest s voice crackled out of speakers bolted to the granite walls: Let us pray. He held up his hands and the people around me bowed their heads.
St Jasper s was packed, the pews overflowing, people standing in the aisles and at the back, desperate to be part of the public grieving. The church ceiling curved high overhead, grey and ribbed, like being inside a fossilized whale. Spotlights made the stained glass glow in grimy shades of red, blue, and yellow. A miserable bloody place full of fucking ghouls.
Dear Lord, hear our prayer for Megan Taylor and Katie Henderson
Michelle reached over and squeezed my hand, chin on her chest, eyes screwed tight shut as if God wouldn t let us have our daughter back if He caught her peeking.
I stared straight ahead.
Dickie s mob had done a decent job of hiding the security cameras in amongst the twiddly carvings; by the time the prayer shambled to a halt with a communal Amen I d only managed to spot eight of them. If the bastard was here, they d have him on film.
The priest fiddled with the white-and-gold scarf draped around his neck, amplified voice all boom and echoes. Now we re going to hear from some of Megan s friends. Brianna Fowler has bravely volunteered to go first. Brianna?
Sitting on the other side of me, Dr McDonald tugged my sleeve as the chunky girl from the CCTV footage clambered up to the microphone.
Are you OK?
We should be out there looking for her, not in here pissing about wasting time.
Up on the stage, Brianna cleared her throat and got a whistle of feedback from the speakers. Megan was Megan is my best friend
Dr McDonald glanced back over her shoulder. Sabir s already running footage through his software: we re not wasting time, we re springing a trap. A small frown. Then she fidgeted in her seat. Are you sure you don t want to say anything?
I clenched my jaw. Trust me, none of these bastards wants to hear what I ve got to say.
The crowd milled out through the huge wooden church doors. Up by the lectern, Dickie shook Bruce Taylor s hand, said something to Megan s mother, then stalked over to where Michelle was sitting.
She hadn t moved since the last hymn, just sat there, sobbing quietly.
Dickie stopped, clasped his hands in front of his groin, as if he was taking part in a penalty shoot out. Mrs Henderson, I want you to know that my team is doing everything it can to
I poked him in the chest. Is Steven Wallace here?
Dickie blinked. Looked up at me. Sorry?
I said, is he here?
A sigh. We re monitoring everyone.
Dr McDonald tugged at my sleeve. Maybe we should get Michelle out of here, go home, and get a nice cup of tea or something?
Dickie: is the bastard here, or isn t he?
The chief superintendent ran a hand across his eyes. Megan s parents invited him. Apparently she loved the radio show, never missed it.
I stared back towards the entrance. I ll see you outside.
The marble floor clacked beneath my feet.
Halfway down the aisle, a baldy wee man in a corduroy jacket stood and stuck his hand out. Mr It s-Not- Acceptable from Katie s school. Constable Henderson, on behalf of everyone at Johnston Academy I want to extend our sincere
I kept on walking.
Outside, the rain had turned to drizzle, flaring in the television camera lights: tossers doing pieces to camera, fake sincerity oozing from every word. Sensational Steve Wallace was talking into a Channel 4 microphone, eyebrows pinched, nodding as whoever it was asked him a question. Oh yes, there s no doubt in my mind, we can get the girls back if we all pull together as a community and dig deep.
A nod from the woman holding the microphone. That s great, we ll probably put it out on the next bulletin. Have you signed the release forms?
Steven Wallace looked up from the paperwork, saw me, and waved. Then marched over, still wearing his graveside face. Constable Henderson, you can t believe how sorry I was to hear about Katie. How s your wife holding up? It must be a terrible shock.
I stared at him. Didn t shake the proffered hand.
Yes, right. He shifted from foot to foot.
Anyway, look, I thought seeing as how Megan was such a big fan of the show well, you know I also do the Sunday Morning Lie-In Lovefest how about I dedicate tomorrow s show to her and Katie? I could play their favourite music, maybe get some of their friends to phone in He licked his lips.
Maybe you and your wife would like to come along, around ten-ish? Say a few words to the people, make an appeal to anyone who might have seen something?
He ll stand in the middle and feed off the grief, knowing it was all him, he did it, he has the power of life and death
Hit him. Grab the bastard by the throat and tear out his lying tongue, right here on the church steps. Paint the fucking world with his blood.
Ash? Dr McDonald. Ash, what s happening?
I blinked. Yes, that would be good. We ve got to get the message out. Let the Birthday Boy know that we re coming for him.
Steven Wallace clapped his hands. Right, it s settled. Do you know how to get to the station, or shall I get a car to pick you up?
I smiled at him. Oh, don t worry: I ll find you.
Dr McDonald stood next to me as Steven Wallace hurried off through the drizzle to a waiting taxi. Ash?
The taxi s lights flared in the darkness as it performed an illegal U-turn and headed off down Jessop Street.
It s not him. Steve Wallace isn t the Birthday Boy.
We need to
He didn t push himself into the middle of things, he was invited. He was at that charity cancer thing when Megan Taylor was abducted. It s not him.
Dr McDonald shifted her red Hi-tops on the wet granite steps.
Are you sure?
We need to look for someone else. Brought my chin up. Katie s still out there. Laying it on thick.
Dr McDonald looked up at me, little wrinkles at the sides of her eyes, lips pursed. Then she nodded. I understand.
No she didn t. Because if she did, she would have stopped me.
Forty minutes later I pulled up outside Rhona s place parking down the road a bit, rather than in the designated spaces behind the building. I grabbed the purple carrier-bags from the back of the car leaving the ones from B amp;Q behind and headed on up.
She answered the door wearing jeans and an Oldcastle United sweatshirt, her hair lank and wet.
I passed over the clinking bags. You re not still supporting those losers, are you?
Yeah, yeah. She hefted the booze. Grinned with her big beige teeth. Steak OK for tea? I got some chunky
