Question was, what was I going to do about it?
How about arranging a small accident for Jennifer Prentice? The kind that ended up with her missing a limb or two... Or was that OTT? Didn’t feel like it, going by the rusty sawblades hacking their way through my head and ribs, right now. Something had to happen, though: she wasn’t getting away with it.
And she wasn’t the only one.
No prizes for guessing how Joseph and Francis had found me — that would be PC MacAskill / McAllister. Sitting there fiddling with his phone. Texting them to say I was in the Tartan Bunnet Café. ‘COME GET HIM! LOL! XXX!’ And probably some sort of thumbs-up emoji. Hanging about in the café, till they turned up to take over.
And if he was taking money from ‘J&F ~ FREELANCE CONSULTANTS’ chances were he was doing favours for other scumbags too. Have to add him to the list.
My phone was where I’d left it: plugged into the wall, recharging. When I picked the thing up, the screen came to life, displaying the icon that meant a text message had come in while I’d been asleep / unconscious.
More than one message, as it turned out.
LEAH MACNEIL:
When I was little I wanted 2 B a princess
then I grew up & then I wanted 2 B a vet
and work with all the lovely animals but
I’m 2 stupid 2 get in2 university
LEAH MACNEIL:
It doesn’t matter now because I’ll be dead
& no one will ever find me & that’s
probably OK because I don’t deserve 2 live
no more because of David
LEAH MACNEIL:
I keep thinking about how I could have
saved him how I maybe could have
stopped grandad before he did what he did
but I didn’t & I no its 2 late 2 change it
LEAH MACNEIL:
I hope you told my gran that I love her
and I’m sorry
It’s so cold and dark here
I think I will be dead soon
Thank you 4 trying
Goodbye
The texts had been sent over the space of fifteen minutes, at around three o’clock this morning. Should’ve been plenty of time for RoboSabir to track down where Leah’s texts were coming from. So why wasn’t there a single message from the damn thing giving me coordinates?
Well, don’t see why I should be the only one awake and worrying about it.
I called Sabir.
He answered on the second ring. ‘Not youse again! I’m werking on it, OK? Jesus. Hold on.’ Then the clickity rattle of a keyboard getting punished. ‘There.’
My phone ding-buzzed in my hand. An email, from Sabir, with three names and locations in it:
• TROY CULLEN [MALAGA]
• CHRISTOPHER MULVANEY [NEWCASTLE]
• KERRY DRYBURGH [FOCHABERS]
‘What the hell is this?’
‘What do you think it is? It’s three of yer unknown victims, all right? Thank you, Sabir, well done you true and trusty IT demigod. Have you got any idea how much digging I had to do to get them for ye?’
‘OK, OK. Thank you, Sabir. Now, can you please tell me why your stupid half-arsed phone trace thing doesn’t work any more? Leah MacNeil sent me a bunch of texts at three this morning and I’ve had no notifications about her location at all!’
‘Oh, for the love of Anfield... Hold on.’ More keyboard noises. ‘According to this, her phone’s sitting in your bloody Divisional Headquarters.’
Her phone was what?
I scrunched my eyes shut, making the stabbing pain behind them even worse. ‘That’s her old phone. It’s supposed to be tracing her new one!’
‘Well, how am I meant to know that? You buncha knobs never tell us anything, I’m not Fox Mulder here, Ash, you do have to actually tell us stuff!’
The window boinged as I thumped my forehead off it. ‘DC Watt got a new warrant.’
‘Good for DC Watt. But I’m still not feckin’ psychic.’
‘All right, all right, sorry. I’ll text you the number.’
‘Jesus, it’s like amateur hour at the clown college.’
‘Thanks, Sabir, I really...’ Silence from the other end: he’d hung up. ‘Appreciate it.’
At least the tramadol had started to kick in, that nice warm feeling dampening down the burning ache. Enough to try going back to bed, anyway.
The phone’s anonymous ringtone dragged me from one of those bad dreams that wasn’t so much scary as crushingly depressing. Any last wisps of it were battered into oblivion as the thumping headache started up again.
I fumbled my phone from the bedside table. Lay back with the other hand cupped over my throbbing eyes. ‘What?’
‘Ash? It’s Rosalind. I’m downstairs. Are we going to morning prayers or not?’
Oh, for God’s sake...
‘Thought we agreed on a lie-in?’
‘Are you OK? You sound all bunged up.’
Suppose there was no point fighting it.
‘Give me ten minutes.’
‘Rough night?’ The smile was loud and clear in her voice.
‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’
By the time I’d made it into some clothes, an old pair of trainers, and through to the living room, Alice was sitting on the couch, knees up to her chest, staring at the TV, thick black bags under her eyes.
‘... continues for missing five-year-old, Toby Macmillan. DI David Morrow says it’s too early to give up hope yet.’ And the screen cut to Shifty, in his best suit, standing in front of DHQ, caught in the flickering light of what had to be at least two dozen camera flashguns. Eyepatch giving him a slightly rakish air.
Putting on his serious voice: ‘We know Toby Macmillan is out there, and we will find him.’
Sooner or later.
And we knew from the first three victims what ‘later’ would look like.
I kissed Alice on top of the head, which was a stupid idea, because bending forward made my brain inflate like a balloon — slamming against the inside of my skull. ‘Ow...’
She looked up at me, grimaced. ‘You look terrible!’
Staying perfectly still till the room stopped lurching. ‘I have to go, Franklin’s outside.’
‘... vitally important anyone with information that might lead to us finding Toby Macmillan comes forward as soon as possible...’
‘You should be in bed.’ Rising up from the couch. ‘Don’t go. Call in sick. You are sick!’ Pointing at our reflections in the windows. ‘Look at yourself.’
‘No.’ Didn’t need to — I’d seen it in the bathroom mirror: the lines of sticking plaster across my nose, the cotton wadding jammed up both nostrils to keep it from setting even squinter than it already was. The map of blues, greens, and purples that covered my face from eyebrows to cheeks like a mask. Never mind that my ribs were one big bruise, all down the right-hand side. I winced my way into my jacket. ‘What are you up to today?’
‘Ash, please.’
‘Look, I’m going to morning prayers, and I’m going to try catching Gordon Smith before he kills Leah MacNeil. Poor cow’s convinced she’s already dead. How do I turn my back on that?’
Alice sagged. ‘Fine. I’m... I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go talk to some of the people Bear thinks aren’t worth interviewing. Maybe I’ll...’ A thin trembling groan wobbled its way out between her lips, then she curled forward, cradling her forehead. ‘Ash, I can’t stop thinking of what they did to Shifty. Every time I close my eyes, I see it...’