Yup.
Plink. The ball rolled under the desk and bounced off the skirting board.
Oh, good shot. Can we take the bollocking as read, then? I really can t be arsed, and you re not going to give a toss anyway.
Yup. I lined up the next shot. Any progress on the door-to-doors?
But come on, Ash: the Assistant Chief Constable? Could you not have picked a bigger toss-pot to accuse of being the Birthday Boy?
Plink The ball clanged into the wastepaper basket.
And telling our beloved MSP to bugger off? Really?
Lucky I didn t knee the greasy little bastard in the balls. So: door-to-doors?
They not talking to you, eh? Join the club no one tells us poor sods in Professional Standards anything. I have to guess what the soup is most days.
No one likes a clype.
Charlie checked his comb-over again. Ash, I m really sorry about Katie.
I need to be in on the investigation.
It s such a horrible thing Sigh.
I need to know what s happening.
This isn t the movies, Ash: you can t get twenty-four hours to crack the case not with the media camped out on our doorstep. You should be at home with Michelle Everyone s doing their best.
Plink. Bloody ball went wide, ended up in the gap between the filing cabinets and the visitor s chair.
I tightened my grip on the club, knuckles going white. So I m out. Not exactly a surprise, but still
He s got my daughter.
I know, Ash, I know. Charlie pulled a sheet of paper from his pending-tray and held it out. I m sorry. The ACC wants you taken off active duty for the duration of the investigation, and the Chief Constable agrees.
Suspended.
With pay.
As if that bloody mattered.
He looked down at the makeshift office golf course, the piles of paperwork on his desk, the remains of his bacon buttie everywhere but at me. I m truly sorry, Ash. But we don t have any choice.
The CID office printer groaned and creaked in the corner churning out reams of reports. The only other noise was the clink and thump of me hurling the contents of my desk drawers into a cardboard box.
Are you OK? Dr McDonald sidled in from the corridor outside. Her hair was different: flatter, and darker too. The usually stripy grey top had been replaced with a black long-sleeved one with a red and black striped T-shirt over the top. A cross hung around her neck on what looked like a string of rosary beads. Black jeans. But the shoes were still bright-red Converse Hi-tops, the toecaps unnaturally white. What, did she put on a new pair every morning?
I dumped a stapler and a two-hole punch in with the assorted crap.
Everyone fucked off soon as I produced the cardboard box.
More honour among thieves than police officers?
Suspended till the investigation s over. Eight years and they ve got nowhere. Eight years I jammed the desk tidy in on top of all the half-used pads of Post-it notes. Her birthday s tomorrow.
Maybe we don t need a warrant to question Steven Wallace, maybe we could
I told you last night: it s not Steven Wallace. A knot of black cables, attached to a variety of plugs, lurked at the back of the bottom drawer rechargers for phones I hadn t had for years. I packed them anyway. He s got an alibi.
She perched herself on the edge of a desk, little red shoes dangling two feet above the carpet tiles. We need to work out why he s targeted Katie, I mean perhaps Henry was wrong and the Birthday Boy didn t take someone else before Megan Taylor, perhaps Katie s number thirteen Unless he really did take a year off, which would make her number twelve A crease formed between her eyebrows. She stared at her hands, clasped in her lap. I m sorry, I m trying to help, but I know I can be a bit
It s not your fault.
I didn t mean to talk about her like she was just another victim, she s your daughter and
Doesn t matter. I rammed a handful of old notebooks in on top of the cables. Anything that helps get her back.
OK. A nod. Henry s ferry got in half an hour ago he wants to meet us at the burial at Cameron Park.
I stared into the box. All that time, and what did I have to show for it? No house, a shitty little Renault, and a cardboard box full of crap. I m not on the case any more.
Are you going to let that stop you?
Was I hell.
A queasy groan came from the door. Never, ever again Rhona pale as a mealie pudding, with the skin texture to match. She leaned against the door frame. I m dying
Then go home and lie down. I dumped the last of my stuff in the box.
No chance. Katie s birthday s tomorrow
I m not going anywhere till we find her. Rhona slumped into the nearest chair, covered her face with her hands.
Oh God
Anyway, Dr McDonald swung her little red feet, we should probably get going, Henry won t be
Hold on a minute, Princess. Rhona surfaced from behind her fingers. What s with the new look?
Do you like it, I had a bit of an accident in the shower this morning: grabbed Aunty Jan s hair-product stuff and it went all straight, but I think it
Yeah, and the clothes they an accident too? You really think you can replace Katie by dying your hair and nicking her clothes? Rhona curled her top lip. You re fucking sick.
I blinked. Frowned. Stared at Dr McDonald. The hair, the clothes, she did look
I m not replacing her: I m trying to get into her head, I mean when I saw what had happened to my hair, I thought, OK, let s go for it, sometimes it helps me piece together connections and points of contact, and don t you think we should be doing everything we can to
God, enough! Rhona buried her head in her hands again. Do you never stop talking?
I picked up my box and headed for the door.
Dr McDonald hopped down from the desk and pattered out ahead of me. I think your friend might be a little hungover.
No wonder she came top of her class.
I slammed the CID office door behind me.
I parked the Renault on McDermid Avenue opposite the alleyway I d used last night to get into Cameron Park clambered out into the gloomy twilight and marched over. Ducked under the police tape. You found my DNA, Officer? Well, of course I was there: five to eight on Sunday morning, with Dr Alice McDonald. Saturday night? No, you must be thinking of someone else
Dr McDonald padded along beside me. Brrr, it s cold, isn t it cold, I m cold.
Cameron Park was a monochrome blur, disappearing into the mist. The SOC tent from last night shone like a lighthouse in the gloom. Dew dripped from jagged trees and drooping bushes. We followed the path, then cut across to the entrance.
Henry s ancient Volvo estate was parked on the grass outside Sheba had curled up in the back next to a suitcase and a couple of file boxes, twitching, her grey muzzle resting on her paws.
A voice behind me: She s not well
I turned and there was Henry.
He nodded at the steaming mug in his hand. Before you ask, it s just coffee.
Dr McDonald stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the stubbled cheek. Thanks for coming, I
We need to talk about the order of victims.
She stepped back. Nodded. Then wrapped an arm around herself.
Well, it really depends on whether or not the Birthday Boy took a year off, and
