I nod again, feeling like my guts have been ripped out. So I've denounced them and there wasn't even any point to it.
"I thought of Andy," I tell the floor, looking down there, avoiding McDunn's eyes. "Andy Gould," I say, because — apart from everything else — Andy stayed with me during the summer, round about the time the card with my writing on it went missing. "I thought it might be him, but he's dead."
"Funeral's tomorrow," McDunn says, flicking ash and then inspecting the glowing end of his cigarette. He scrapes it round the edge of the light metal ashtray until the tip of the fag is a perfect cone, then smokes it carefully. My ash falls on the floor. I sweep it to nothing with my foot, guiltily.
God, I could use some dope; I need to mellow out, I need to calm down. I'm almost looking forward to prison; plenty of dope in there, if I'm allowed to mix with other inmates. Christ, it's going to happen. I'm accepting it, I'm coming to terms with it. Christ.
"Tomorrow?" I say, swallowing. I'm trying not to cry and I'm trying not to cough, either, because that might make me cry. "Yes," McDunn says, tapping ash carefully off his cigarette again. "Burying him tomorrow, at the family estate. What's it called again?"
"Strathspeld," I tell him. I look at him but can't tell if he really forgot the name or not.
"Strathspeld." He nods.,'Strathspeld." He rolls the word around his mouth, as if savouring a good malt. "Strathspeld on the Carse of Speld." He sucks air through his teeth again. I wish he'd get his teeth seen to; do they have special police dentists or do they have to go to the ones everybody else goes to and hope the dentist doesn't have some… have some grudge… some grudge against…?
Wait a minute.
Wait a fucking minute here…
And I know.
It's like a speck of dust drifts down and goes into my eye and I look up to see where it came from and I'm hit by this tonne of bricks; it hits me that hard. I sit there for a second thinking, No, it can't be… But it is; it won't go away, and I do know, and I know that I know.
I know and I feel sick but it's something just to feel this certain about anything again. I can't prove anything and I still don't understand it all, but I know, and I know that I have to be there, have to get to Strathspeld. I could just tell them to get there, be there, keep watch there, because he's bound to be there, has to be there, there of all places. But I can't let it happen like that, and whether they get him or not — and I doubt they will — I have to be there.
So I clear my throat and look McDunn in the eyes and say, "All right. Two more names." Pause. Swallow, something sticking in my throat. Jesus, am I really going to say this? Yes, yes I am: "And I've got something else for you."
McDunn tips his head to one side. His brows say, "Oh yes?"
I take a deep breath. "I want something from you, though."
McDunn frowns. "What would that be, Cameron?"
"I want to be there tomorrow, at the funeral."
McDunn frowns more deeply. He looks down at the fag packet and taps it round another couple of revolutions on the table. He shakes his head. "I don't think I can do that, Cameron."
"Yes, you can," I tell him. "You can because of what I've got for you." I pause, take another breath, the air catching in my throat. "It's there, too."
McDunn looks puzzled. "And what would that be, Cameron?"
My heart is hammering, my hands are balled into fists. I swallow, throat dry, tears finally coming into my eyes and eventually I squeeze the words out:
"A body."
CHAPTER 10 — CARSE OF SPELD
I run down the hill, into the sunlit glen and then up the far side, with Andy crashing through the bushes, heather and ferns behind me. I shake my hand free of most of his semen and deliberately let my hand brush across the leaves and blades as I dash past, wiping the rest off. I'm laughing. Andy's laughing too, but shouting threats and insults as well.
I run up the hill, seeing movement ahead and assuming it's a bird or a rabbit or something, and almost run straight into a man.
I stop. I can still hear Andy pumping up the hill behind me, tearing through the bushes and yelling curses.
The man is dressed in walking boots, brown cords and a shirt and green hiking jacket. He wears a brown rucksack on his back. He has red hair and he looks furious.
"What do you boys think you were doing?"
"What? Eh? Ah…?" I say, looking back to see Andy coming up the hill behind me, suddenly slowing and looking wary as he sees the man.
"You!" the man shouts at Andy. His voice makes me jump. I hide my sticky hand behind me, as if it's brightly stained. "What were you doing there with this boy, eh? What were you doing?" he shouts, looking around. He puts his thumbs between the shoulder straps of his rucksack and his jacket and sticks his chest and chin out. "Come on! What d'you think you were doing, eh? Answer me, boy!"
"None of your business," Andy says, but his voice is shaky. I can smell something funny. I worry that it's coming from my sticky hand and I'm frightened that the man will smell it.
"Don't you talk to me like that, boy!" the man yells, glancing round again. He spits as he shouts.
"You've got no right being here," Andy says, sounding frightened. "This is private property."
"Oh, is it?" the man says. "Private property, is it? And that gives you the right to do dirty, perverted things, does it?"
"We-"
"Shut it, laddie." The man takes a step forward, looking over my head at Andy. The man's so close I could touch him. I get that smell even stronger. Oh God, he's bound to smell it now. I feel myself trying to shrink, cowering. The man thumps himself in the chest with one finger. "Well, let me tell you something, sonny," he tells Andy. "I'm a policeman." He nods, drawing back and upright again. "Aye," he says, eyes narrowing. "You may well look frightened, boy, because you're in deep bloody trouble."
He looks down at me. "Right; this way, come on!"
He takes a step away. I'm trembling, rooted to the spot. I glance back to see Andy looking uncertain. The man grabs my arm and pulls me. "I said come on, boy!"
He drags me after him through the woods. I start crying and try to break away, struggling weakly.
"Please, mister, we weren't doing anything!" I wail. "We weren't doing anything! Honest! We weren't doing anything, honest we weren't! Please! Please let us go, please; please let us go, we won't do it again, honest; please, please, please…"
I look back through my tears at Andy, who's following, looking desperate and uncertain, biting on one knuckle as he follows us through the bushes.
We're near the summit of the hill, deep in the bushes under the thin cover of trees; the smell is very strong and my knees feel like the bones are gone. If I wasn't being held up by the man's gripping hand hauling me through the ferns I feel like I'd fall down.
"Leave him!" Andy shouts, and I think he's going to burst into tears like me. He seemed so old a few minutes ago and now he's like a little kid again.
The man stops, whirls me round and holds me against his chest. He feels very warm behind me and the smell is even stronger.
Andy comes to within a couple of yards.
"Come here!" the man shouts. I can see spittle arc out from above me as he shouts. Andy looks from him down to me; I can see his jaw trembling.
"Come here!" the man screeches. Andy comes forward a couple of feet. "Take off those trousers!" he hisses at Andy. "Go on; I saw you! I saw what you were doing! Take off those trousers!"