I opened my mouth, then shut it again. Get too obsessed with Steve Wallace and the real Birthday Boy might get away. And look what happened to Philip Skinner. Yeah, maybe you re right.
I headed back through Blackwall Hill, across the Calderwell Bridge, and took a right into Castle Hill. Still nothing from the passenger seat.
Going to tell me what you and Katie talked about?
Dr McDonald shrugged. Need time to process it.
God, that was positively monosyllabic for her.
Mr Billy Wood Flat 4, 25 McDermid Avenue
And you re sure you didn t see anyone or anything suspicious yesterday?
Mr Wood scratched at his beard. Dandruff drifted down onto his baggy Dundas University sweatshirt. Nah, was doon at ma sister s till midnight. Look, have youse got a card in case anythin else happens? Them wee shites from over the road keep settin fire to ma wheelie-bin.
Mr Christopher Kennedy Ground Floor Right, 32 Jordan Place
Can I see the photo again? Mr Kennedy took off his little round glasses, polished them on his shirt then popped them back on again. Peered at the photo of Hannah Kelly. Aye, I recognize her. She s that girl who turned up dead: it was in all the papers. He passed the picture back to me. Hold on, I ve got a copy of the Post kicking around in the living room you can keep it if you like?
Mrs Kaitlin Fleming 49 Hill Terrace
Oh, no we ve lived here for donkeys: long before they threw up those bloody flats. It s a disgrace, isn t it? I mean, why the council doesn t evict the lot of them is beyond me.
Just I held the list up again. Just take another look and tell me if you saw anything unusual on any of these dates
How many more? I leaned back against a tree, looking up through its bare branches at the dirty-orange sky.
Dr McDonald checked her list. Nineteen. Breath hanging around her head in a cloud of pale mist, glowing in the streetlight. She tucked her hands into her armpits and stomped her feet.
This was your idea, remember?
My phone rang: RHONA. I jabbed the button.
Sorry, Guv, been interviewing sex offenders all day. Got a missed call from you on my mobile what s up?
Don t worry about it. Wanted you to run a PNC check on Steven Wallace, but someone s doing it.
Oh. OK. A pause. Isn t Steven Wallace that wanker on the radio? Saw him on the telly being interviewed by STV kidding on he s some sort of Birthday Boy expert.
I stared up at the branches again. Frowned. PNC checks
Guv?
You did three PNC checks on Birthday Boy victims families.
I did?
According to the computer.
Oh Some rustling. Any idea when?
Sabir s spreadsheet was sitting on Dr McDonald s laptop somewhere, but could I remember the details? Do me a favour: tell Weber I won t be in tomorrow morning, we re still following up on those door-to-doors.
Got some sausages and bacon and black pudding in for breakfast. Anything else you fancy?
No, I m
There was someone watching us a hairy man in a dark anorak, pointy nose, digital camera hanging around his neck, standing next to a people-carrier parked on the other side of the street. Little bastard wouldn t take a telling.
I stepped into the road, and he flinched. Backed up a step. Then dug a set of keys out of his pocket, fumbling with the driver s door lock.
Guv? Everything OK?
I hung up, stuck the phone back in my pocket, balled my fists.
Right, you little shite.
He squealed, wrenched the door open, threw himself inside, jammed the key in the ignition.
Too slow.
Should have locked the door first.
I dragged him out onto the road.
He tried to scramble away, shoes scuffing against the tarmac, going nowhere. Please! It wasn t me: I m just doing my job!
I grabbed his camera and pulled. The strap tightened around his neck.
What did I tell you about taking photos of me?
I didn t! I didn t! Ulk Hands flapping for the camera. I can show you! Please Let go Please
I let go, and the thing thumped into his chest. A couple of deep breaths, then he turned the camera over and pressed some buttons until the display screen on the back lit up with a shot of Steven Wallace s grinning face. The next one was the same, and the next, and the one after that. Then there were pictures of a TV crew interviewing local residents, then a bunch of head-and-shoulder photos of what looked like local residents. The standard pish the Castle News and Post liked to print alongside idiotic quotes, like:
Oh, I ve lived here a hundred and twelve years and nothing like this has ever happened before! Agnes Dalrymple (82)
Not a single picture of me, or Dr McDonald.
He switched the thing off and the screen went black. Then looked up at me, on his arse in the middle of the road. See?
I stuck out a hand and helped him up. You OK?
It s not me you ve got to worry about, it s Jennifer. She s on a bloody mission. He wiped the seat of his trousers. Sorry about your house, by the way.
She been digging into that too?
Off the record? She s digging into everything: you and Len Murray, you and Andy Inglis, you and some pole-dancer
Mrs Elizabeth Dubrowski Flat 2, 48 Hill Terrace
