having taken place, no bruising or cuts and scratches. It looked like a clean scene, a suicide.
McGuire appeared behind him, his footfalls ending some metres from the bed, and the blood. ‘I called it in, sir.’
Brennan didn’t acknowledge him. He held his thoughts for a moment then looked about the room. Everything was as he remembered it yesterday. Nothing seemed to have changed, or been moved. The only difference was the dead body of a serial sex offender lying in Carly’s bed. Brennan stared on, tried to make sense of it all. Why? They hadn’t pressed him; they’d given him no real indication he was a suspect. It didn’t make sense. But then, nothing that went on in a pervert’s mind made sense to Brennan.
‘What do you think?’ he said.
McGuire answered quickly, ‘I think the bastard took the easy way out.’
‘Why?’ He turned, put eyes on the DC.
‘He knew we were on to him.’
Brennan snapped, ‘No he didn’t.’
‘Come on, he would have guessed for sure, sir. He’s not exactly new to dealing with police — he knew we’d go away, check him out and haul him in.’
Brennan looked at the corpse, felt nothing, said, ‘So he was in and out of prison for years, he knew what to expect — does that explain it?’
McGuire didn’t flinch. He knew Brennan was working through possibilities; maybe testing him too. ‘Maybe his last stint put the shits up him; didn’t want to repeat it.’
Brennan walked round to the other side of the bed, crouched down. He looked at the floorboards, ran a finger along the ground and inspected the tip. There was nothing there but dust. ‘Maybe he heard about the News ’s report.’
‘You wouldn’t get that rag up here.’
Brennan looked up. ‘Never heard of the internet?’
‘Right enough… But why’s that going to make a difference? He’ll have seen the previous stories before now, surely.’
Brennan stood up, put his hands in his pockets and looked left to right along the line of the corpse. ‘None of them mentioned the fact that Carly’s child was missing.’
Sharp radial lines creased the corners of McGuire’s face. ‘You think he knew something about the kid going missing?’
Brennan shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘He was a paedophile.’
‘That’s true.’
McGuire’s mobile phone started to ring. He answered: ‘Yes.’
Brennan watched the DC talking into the handset.
‘All right, Brian. Yes, he’s here.’
Brennan shook his head.
‘Er, he’s just left the room right now, you can tell me. What you got for us?’ McGuire smiled into the phone. ‘Very nice indeed… Right, thanks for letting us know, he’ll be made up.’ He hung up. ‘That was Brian.’
Brennan spoke: ‘What’s he got?’
‘Good news, sir. They’ve unearthed some CCTV footage from the bus station and Carly’s in it.’
‘Brilliant!’ Brennan made for the door; he wanted to put distance between himself and Peter Sproul. ‘Tell me more.’
‘She’s been positively ID’d and she’s talking to a man, some random punter in the station… And get this: she leaves with him.’
‘Did she have the baby?’
McGuire grabbed his earlobe. ‘Ah, I, er, didn’t ask.’
‘Fucking hell. Get on the phone to Brian again and get the details.’ Brennan’s voice was forceful. ‘I want the media kept in the loop and I want you to tell them we need this footage aired on all the news channels tonight.’
McGuire leaned back, scratched his jawline. ‘Big ask, sir.’
‘I’m all about the big fucking ask, lad. Do it.’
‘Yes, sir.’ McGuire spun, halted as Brennan began to speak again.
‘Might just piss off those wankers at the paper — put them off our mole.’
McGuire looked ahead, spoke: ‘Sir, you never told me what your theory was.’
Brennan stared at him, full on. ‘Who said I had one?’
‘But you think Sproul might have known about the baby?’
‘I’d say he knew very well about the baby. If he was the father I’d say Donald would feel compelled to let him know… Be the Christian thing to do, wouldn’t you say?’
McGuire followed his boss as he took long strides towards the stairs. ‘This is wrecking my head, sir.’
Brennan stalled halfway down the first step, turned. ‘Expect it to get a lot worse when we get back to Edinburgh. I can’t see Galloway being overly pleased that we let a possible suspect slip through our fingers, even with the footage card to play.’
McGuire bit his lip. ‘But he killed himself, sir.’
The DC was running ahead of the facts; Brennan reined him in. ‘Did you see a note, Stevie?’
‘Well, it looks that way…’
‘It does indeed, Stevie, but let’s not jump to conclusions.’
Chapter 34
Devlin McArdle glanced at the clock. It was approaching six. He’d spent the day waiting for a call from his German contact, but it never came. He knew these people were secretive, had to be because the filth were all over their activities, but he didn’t like waiting for the rest of his money, or the child to be collected.
Melanie walked through from the kitchen. She was carrying a baby’s bottle, smiling as she said, ‘Why the long face?’
McArdle pressed his back hard to the sofa. He had his leg over the arm of the chair and he lowered it when his wife spoke. ‘What you on about?’
Melanie tipped her head, jauntily. ‘You look like you’ve lost a pound and found a penny.’
It was a stupid phrase, the kind of thing Melanie always came out with when she wasn’t drinking. When she was drinking it was bearable — she was bitter and ranting. He knew where he was with her; she could be manipulated, controlled. This new state of mind unsettled him. ‘Away and see to that kid,’ said McArdle. ‘I want to watch the news.’
As Melanie sauntered off McArdle picked up the television remote control and directed it at the screen. Anne Robinson was hectoring the contestants on The Weakest Link. Just the sight of her was enough to make McArdle curse. He flicked the television to off.
In the silence of the room he felt grateful the baby he’d taken from Tierney and Vee wasn’t making its usual racket, but he was far from happy. McArdle wasn’t going to be settled until the Germans took the child and did whatever it was they wanted to do. McArdle knew what they were, what they were capable of. He wasn’t a fool. He’d met their type in prison; the others called them beasts. No one on the inside would dare to associate with a beast — they were beneath contempt, not real people. There was a hardcore of cons who made it their business to wipe out beasts. Shanks, sharpened spoons, anything that could be used as a weapon was useful currency among those who wanted to wound, or worse. McArdle had read stories in the papers about the beasts; he knew how they operated and what they were after. Snatching children off the street and subjecting them to all kinds of torment and indignity before suffocating them, if they were lucky, beating them to death if they weren’t.
He started to fidget on the sofa as he thought of the things he had heard and read about beasts. They were called beasts because they were just that — animals. Fucking beasts. McArdle pressed his lip against his bottom teeth and paced the living room. When he reached the far wall he let out a blow with his fist. The action set a
