Where is she?
I don t
I went for the side of his knee this time and he yelled, then doubled over clutching at the joint. So I cracked the lying fuck on the back of the head too. Blood and hair stuck to the handle.
Drummond screamed and curled into a ball, arms wrapped around his head. I don t know, I don t know!
Alice shoogled the office chair closer to the desk. It s my professional opinion that Officer Henderson is suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder as a result of what s happened, he s not responsible for his actions, it d certainly count as temporary insanity if he beats you to death.
I don t know where your daughter is!
I held the gun in front of his face, hauled the slide back and racked a round into the chamber. Then stuck the gun against his forehead. Give me one reason, you sick little shite.
You re crazy, you ve lost your bloody mind!
Alice nodded. That s what I ve been trying to tell you. I think it was all your child pornography that finally pushed him over the edge.
It It s evidence in a case, I was only holding it until
The gun made a dull thunk when I slammed it into his head.
Aaaagh Blood seeped out of the gash in his scalp.
You made everyone at the station do PNC searches.
It s not my fault! He covered his head with his arms again, scarlet soaking into the sleeves of his white shirt. He found out about everything What was I supposed to do, let him tell the world? It d ruin my family my wife, my children, my friends
Who found out? I forced Drummond s head back. Jammed the gun barrel into his cheek. WHO FOUND OUT? WHO DID YOU TELL?
It wasn t
I LL BLOW YOUR HEAD OFF, YOU PIECE OF SHITE!
The words came out high-pitched and fast: A journalist, I give them to a journalist! Every year, three weeks before each girl s birthday, I have to give him the family s address.
A journalist
I let go and limped away. Stared out of the study window at the shining street. The clouds ate the sun, and everything went grey and gloomy again. All this, just so some tabloid scumbag could get at the story. So they could doorstep Lauren Burges s mother and ask her what it felt like to know her only child s bones had been dug up in a dilapidated park. Maybe stick a
camera in her face: GRIEVING MOTHER CRIES FOR POOR LAUREN EXCLUSIVE!
I leaned on the windowsill. Who was it?
I didn t have any choice, he was investigating the death of a colleague in Inverness. The ACC coughed. He found out about our little group.
Drummond, I swear to God I will put a bullet in you.
Alice nodded. Temporary insanity.
He s Deep breath. He s called Frank McKenzie; he s a freelance journalist.
No he isn t, he s a fucking photographer on the Castle News and Post I frowned down at the front garden.
Outside Megan Taylor s house when Jennifer and her cameraman were waiting to ambush me Shifty Dave taking the piss: 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?
Got kicked off a London-based paper. London: the only place other than Oldcastle where the Birthday Boy had taken more than one victim. Frank McKenzie: always there whenever we turned around. Every time there was a press conference, or an appeal from the parents, there he was with his camera, recording it all. Preserving it. Soaking up the grief.
I thrust the gun into Alice s hands and lurched for the door. If the bastard moves, shoot him.
Down the stairs my right heel thunking into every step then out the front door, hirpling along, the cane thumping against the wet tarmac.
Shadows lengthened across the street, everything painted copper and gold. I unlocked the Renault and hauled the driver s door open. It was in here somewhere Not in the door-pocket. I knelt on the damp pavement and peered under the seat.
There it was lying next to two empty water bottles, some scrunched-up receipts, an empty crisp packet, and the discarded syringe.
I reached in and plucked the SD card from the debris, blew the dust off it, and hobbled back to the house.
Alice slipped the SD card into the slot on Drummond s laptop. What are we looking for?
You re the psychologist, figure it out.
She fiddled with the mouse for a bit, and a window appeared, full of thumbnail images. Alice scrolled through them: half a dozen pics of a grinning ginger kid holding an oversized cardboard cheque; another half-dozen of a car on Dundas Road with the front end caved in and a smear of what might have been blood on the dashboard; a series of random faces grinning at the camera; thirty or forty shots of the press conference in Dundee DCS Dickie sitting up on the platform with Helen McMillan s mum; a few arty shots of the Oldcastle skyline; and that was it.
I breathed out. Nothing there.
Alice opened up a web browser and started clicking away at things.
What are Drummond cleared his throat.
I have money.
I turned on him. You want to buy your way out of it? Flash a few grand and we ll forget all about your collection of kiddy porn? Seriously?
I can You want to be a DI again? I can make that happen. DCI even.
Ash?
I m going to throw your arse to the wolves, Drummond.
Come on, be reasonable.
Ash!
I grabbed the gun and ground it into his forehead. You want reasonable?
Alice tugged at my sleeve. Ash, you need to look at this.
She pointed at the laptop screen. A girl I didn t recognize was tied to a chair in a filthy basement room, her bare skin covered in bruises, head shaved, three gouges across her chest leaking scarlet onto her pale skin. The next image was the same again, only worse. In the one after that, her throat hung open and dark.
Alice double-clicked on the first image, filling the screen with it. I downloaded a program to find deleted files on the card
Little bastard. Little fucking bastard. I turned, stared down at Drummond, snivelling away on the study floor. You piece of shite.
I I didn t
Ash, I know her: she s one of the missing girls the Party Crashers are looking for.
You gave him their addresses!
It McKenzie was Blackmail. I didn t have any choice! I didn t know!
YOU HELPED THE FUCKING BIRTHDAY BOY! I grabbed Drummond by the hair again, banged his head against the desk. Open your mouth. He stared up at me, eyes wide and full of tears. OPEN YOUR MOUTH!
He did. I jammed the gun barrel inside.
Gllllk Hands up, palms facing out, whole body trembling.
We could ve caught him. We could ve caught the bastard years ago! HE S GOT MY DAUGHTER!
Chapter 47
