Henry drank, rolling the whisky around his mouth. Arnold Burges is entitled to feel bitter. I screwed up the profile, if I d been a better psychologist his daughter would still be alive. He stared at his gnarled hands, the skin peppered with liver spots. And Rebecca would be too.
Maybe he was right.
There was a little patio in the top corner of the garden: a suntrap with a wooden table and some folding chairs, looking out over the harbour, the mountains, the boats, and the sea. Good view. Certainly a hell of a lot better than the one from my kitchen window.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the messages, deleting all the ones where Michelle ranted and raved about what a thoughtless prick I was. OK, so she could be a pain in the arse, but that didn t mean it was OK for Katie to lie to her. Even if Michelle was being unreasonable.
Mind you, Ashley s dad did sound like a bit of a tosser
A grunt from the bottom of the garden. It was Henry, labouring his way up the weed-strewn path to the patio, puffing and panting all the way. Sheba wobbled along behind him, tongue lolling out.
Henry collapsed into one of the folding chairs. She s stopped throwing up.
You OK?
He shrugged, then clunked the bottle of whisky down on the table, followed by a single tumbler. When did you stop drinking?
Pills. Unlike you I actually read the instructions.
She s curled up on the kitchen worktop, snoring like a drain and making the most appalling smells.
That s what you get for leading her astray.
True. He poured himself a stiff measure. The Isle of Jura was about halfway done already, and it was barely noon.
Just because I don t want you interfering with Arnold Burges, doesn t mean I m not happy to see you. And I m sorry I didn t call. The funeral was on Monday and I
It s OK. It doesn t matter.
He wrapped his hands around the tumbler. You got another card.
Number five.
A nod. Ash, if you tell Dickie, or Weber, or McDonald, they can
Shouldn t even have told you.
He fiddled with the glass, not looking at me. No, probably not.
Because if I hadn t, Philip Skinner might still be alive. And Detective Superintendent Len Murray wouldn t be serving eighteen years in Glenochil Prison.
Do you know what Dickie and his Party Crashers have achieved in the four years since you quit? Sod all. If we hadn t found Helen Kelly s remains they d still be poking about in Dundee, waiting for the next girl to go missing. They re treading water, Henry, and he s still out there.
Henry took a sip, pursed his lips. The stubble on his chin glowed in the sunlight. I ll help Dr McDonald with her behavioural evidence analysis, try and stop her from making the same mistakes I did, but there s one condition: it s all off the record. Unofficial. You keep me out of the investigation.
Deal.
Sheba gave up halfway up the path and groaned down onto her side in the middle of a sunny patch.
And I m not coming back to Oldcastle with you. If I help, it s got to be from here.
Oh Well, maybe we can
My phone buzzed on the tabletop, skittering as the ringing got louder. DC Massie s name flashed on the screen. I picked it up and jabbed the button. Rhona.
A pause. Then, Oh thank God, you re OK You are OK, aren t you? I ve been trying to get hold of you for hours.
Of course, I m OK. Why wouldn t I be? Pause. Look, Rhona, is this important, only I m in the middle of something.
Silence.
Rhona?
I I wanted to check you were OK. No one knew where you were, and your house was trashed, and the Fire Brigade said it was
Fire brigade? I nearly dropped the phone. What the hell were the Fire Brigade Bloody Shifty Dave: I asked him to tidy up, not burn the place down!
Henry sat forward in his seat. Everything all right?
I was worried when you didn t call me back, so I went by your house this morning and there was a fire engine sitting outside, and council vans, and the bastards wouldn t let me in, but there was water everywhere and the whole place was trashed. I mean completely fucked. And no one knew where you were
What the hell did you do to my fucking house?
A large woman with a pushchair full of screaming toddler gave me the evil eye, then hurried past. Well, screw her. How would she like it if someone set fire to her bloody house?
Main Street was relatively busy for a small town on the east coast of Shetland. Parked cars lined one side of the road outside the Scalloway Meat Company shop, its frontage plastered with signs about
Fancy Goods, Toys, and Souvenirs. The flat-fronted houses opposite were painted in various pastel shades. All very quaint.
Shifty Dave Morrow grumbled on the other end of the phone.
You re bloody welcome. You any idea what kind of mess that big bastard made in my car?
Dave, I swear to God
I didn t do anything to it, OK? The place was like that when I got there. And you could ve bloody warned me! Water pishing down the stairs, the walls, all the furniture wrecked, ceiling caving in How was I supposed to tidy that up? What am I, Kim and fucking Aggie?
Water?
