A Plague Of Crows

'What'd he say?' he asks without moving his eyes.

'Somewhere between five and twenty minutes.'

'He said that?'

I smile. God knows what my face looks like. Smiling. Not in the mood, not in the right place mentally to be smiling at anyone.

'That's what it boiled down to.'

'Well, at least we can presume the poor bastards are dead.'

'You're assuming this was recorded this morning?'

He shrugs.

'God knows. We might as well. Whoever these three are, chances are they've not been reported missing yet. This must be recent. Let's not get carried away with the weather similarity, but it was a reasonably bright day yesterday, today it's been pishing down everywhere.'

'Fair enough.'

'Right, need you to get an enhancement of the footage. That is one clear-as-fuck, stone-cold beaut of a shot of the terror on that woman's face. Let's see if there's any reflection in her eye.'

'If there is, that would be a mistake,' I say.

'And he doesn't make mistakes. Check it anyway.'

Off back out the door, away to speak to a woman I know.

18

Ninety minutes later we're sitting in Taylor's car, heading up the M80 on our way to the murder site. A polis in Perth thought he recognised the hills and went for a look. Found the bodies where the killer had left them, still surrounded by birds. Birds which seemed reluctant to leave despite the presence of the police. In the end, apparently, they killed a couple of them. Better not let that get out to the press. Bird-Killing Cops Disrespect Crime Scene or some shit like that.

We're listening to Bob, thank God, although Taylor stuck on Saved, which he knows I don't like. Petty. Very petty.

The boys from Edinburgh have already headed on out to take charge. We oughtn't to be going at all, but Connor called Taylor in and told him to get his arse out there. He's expecting us to blag our way onto the crime scene. Hopefully it'll be the locals who are in charge of securing the perimeter and they won't know to tell us to bugger off. Next time it happens, if there is a next time, the guys from Edinburgh will be ready for us. They'll know that we're still working the case.

What we're doing now is starting a turf war over investigation rights, but we're not thinking about that at the moment. Just doing what we're told.

The one positive, and it's a pretty small positive but we're grasping, is that the area was one that we'd marked off as a potential spot when we saw the Whittaker woman in Aberfoyle. We'd been thinking along the right lines, just without the resources to do anything about it.

If we'd told the Edinburgh boys what we were thinking, would they have done anything? Would they have said good idea chaps, let's crack on? Probably not. Or maybe they've been thinking the same thing.

Taylor's not talking. Thinking the case through, likely wondering the same thing I am. Will he have left no trace and be gone on his way? Will it be three months before he strikes again? Longer, shorter, exactly to the day?

Phone goes, take the call. Sophie in the tech room.

'Yep?'

'Sergeant,' she says, 'we got a good look at your guy from the video. He was wearing a mask.'

That makes sense. Even though he was obviously confident his victims were not going to survive, he doesn't take chances.

'What kind?' I ask. Pointless question, but I feel like I need to say something to justify a conversation that has already pretty much given up all that it will.

'Well… a crow. It looks like the head of a crow… I'll send the images over.'

I stare straight ahead, don't immediately say anything.

'Can you see his eyes?' I eventually think to ask.

'No.'

'He knew we'd check…'

'Fuck, yeah. And given the precision of the scalping that everyone's talking about, it's hard to imagine he wore the mask while he was cutting. He hardly needed to care that his victims would see what he looked like. So, he just put the mask on for filming. He knew we'd see. That's why he waves.'

'What?'

'Oh yes. And you know he's not waving at that terrified woman. He's waving at you.'

'Us.'

'If that's how you want to see it, Sergeant.'

There's a short silence which Sophie in the tech room breaks by hanging up.

She watches movies. People don't say goodbye when they end phone calls in movies, they just hang up. That's because at some stage the writer will have been told to cut the script down, so he'll have scrapped pointless shit like people being pleasant to each other. Now it's seeped insidiously into society.

'Mask?' says Taylor.

'A crow's head.'

'Oh for crying out loud… What was the other thing?'

'He waves when he's filming her eyes 'cause he knows we're going to check that shit.'

'Jesus. He's taking the piss?'

'I think we knew that already.'

The conversation is over, and we're coming towards the end of the motorway, still twenty minutes or so to go and Bob is well into In The Garden.

*

The place is crawling with our lot, sealed off from the public at a good distance. Fortunately, as we'd been hoping, it's the local plods who are guarding the site and keeping the ghouls at bay. Bit of an out of the way place, as it was always likely to be, but there are still plenty of people who have driven out here to try to take a look. Really. What the actual fuck are these people thinking?

On the other hand, maybe we should sell them tickets, make a bit of money, put it back into the Force. No doubt some liberal somewhere would object to selling tickets to see murder victims.

Not just liberals, you reckon?

We walk through the woods like we're meant to be there, badges at the ready. We've had to flash them four times so far. Closer to the scene there are no uniforms. A few plain clothes detectives, a host of the white jump suits. Already we can see the bodies, still cemented in place, still strapped in. Taylor saw the same last time, but obviously they were gone by the time I got there.

Grotesque murder. Does that bring it all back, all that crap from the past that I don't want to think about? You'd think, but it doesn't. Not at all. I'm ready for it. Prepped. With the exception of all that shit with the Keller case last year, it's not like we're used to a massive pile of brutalised dead — although it's getting bigger pretty quickly — but I'm ready for it when I see anything nasty in the course of my duties. It's the moments like this morning, when it creeps up out of the blue, grabs me by the testicles when I'm not expecting it, that's when it really hurts. That's when I go hurtling back and I can't stop it.

Taylor nods at a couple of feds as we enter the small clearing. There's not a lot of noise, other than that of some low conversation and the occasional footstep taken through fallen leaves.

It's a similar forest to the one I was in this morning. At least it makes it feel like we're on the right track. Maybe next time, with a little more chance to prepare, we'll be ready for him.