He stared at the table for a while, mouth pinched, a deep crease between his eyebrows. Couple of nut-jobs: Ahmed Moghadam, Danny Crawford, some woman who thought Jesus lived in her basement He tapped his finger on the tabletop: tap-tap-tap, tap, tap, tap, tap-tap-tap. Some nights I can still hear him screaming.
Get out the way! I jammed the mobile between my ear and shoulder and leaned on the horn again, but the prick in the Subaru refused to budge from the outside lane. Come on, Henry, ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE!
Finally the prick drifted into the other lane, and I could put my foot down again. Kidding on I didn t see him give me the finger in my rear-view mirror.
Voicemail. Henry, where the fuck are you? Call me back.
I tried Rhona.
Fields ribbed with poly tunnels whipped by on either side. A green sign: A90, Dundee 9, Forfar 23, Oldcastle 34, Aberdeen 75.
Guv? Jesus, I heard about Katie, are you OK?
Finally someone answers the bloody phone!
The speedometer needle edged up to eighty-five.
I didn t
I need you to run some PNC checks for me, but you can t tell anyone, OK? I pulled out my notebook, pinned it against the steering wheel, and flipped through the pages. Then read her the list of names Len gave me. Made her repeat them back. I mean it you tell no one about this. Not Weber, not Dickie, not even Shifty Dave.
Nothing.
Rhona?
Why didn t you call me first? You said no one was answering their phone, why didn t you call me? I would ve helped. I always help. I ironed your shirts!
As if I didn t have enough to worry about Rhona, the Birthday Boy s going to kill my little girl on Monday, OK? I ve got other things on my mind.
The needle hit ninety and my foot was flat to the floor that was it, the Renault didn t have any more. I tossed the notebook onto the passenger seat. Roared past an eighteen-wheeler with
SCOTIABRAND TASTY CHICKENS LTD. THEY RE FAN-CHICKEN-TASTIC! on the side.
On the other end of the phone, Rhona cleared her throat. Sorry. I didn t mean
It s OK. I m Deep breath.
I appreciate your help. It s not a great day.
PC Julie Wilson spun around on one of the swivel chairs, pointing at the ceiling tiles, long blonde hair trailing out behind her.
Twoooo ni-ill, twoooo ni-ill She stopped. Closed her mouth. Shifted on her seat. Sorry, Guv.
The CID office was half empty. A little radio sat on the table by the kettle, crackling out the Warriors Aberdeen match.
And it s Morrison to Chepski, Chepski to Woods The roar of the crowd chanting, You re going home in a tasty casserole
Julie jumped to her feet, straightened her black T-shirt. We re all really sorry about Katie I didn t meant to Will someone switch off that fucking radio?
One of the other PCs flicked the switch.
Silence.
She stared at her feet. Sorry, Guv.
I marched through to Weber s office.
He was sitting behind his desk, face all pinched and lined. No prizes for guessing why ACC Drummond sat stiff-backed in one of the visitors chairs, DS Smith-the-Prick in the other. They both turned to stare at me.
Weber took off his glasses and polished them on a hanky. How s Michelle holding up?
I I hadn t even bothered to ask, just ran off to see Len. Have you hauled Steven Wallace in yet?
We were talking about the candlelit vigil. Obviously we ll add Katie to the
Have you hauled him in, or haven t you?
The Assistant Chief Constable brushed fluff from his trouser leg.
I was saddened to hear about your daughter, Constable Henderson. But I m a little concerned about what happened with this He raised an eyebrow at Smith.
Noah McCarthy, sir.
Thank you, Sergeant. He s made a complaint. Claims you assaulted him and tried to throw him off a fourteenth-floor balcony?
Fuck him. I stared at Weber. Steven Wallace.
Weber sighed. I ve got every patrol car we have scouring the streets for Katie, and everyone on day shift s
Why the hell haven t you hauled him in?
ACC Drummond stiffened even further. Because, Constable, we don t haul people in without a warrant, and we can t get a warrant without probable cause.
Dr McDonald says he fits the profile!
Dr McDonald is barely out of nappies, Constable. Drummond stood. The Procurator Fiscal needs slightly more than your little doctor s word before we start waterboarding members of the public. He picked up his peaked cap and tucked it under his arm. Now, if you ll excuse me, I have to brief the Chief Constable. DS Smith will be taking your statement about this morning s unfortunate events. I expect you to give him your utmost cooperation.
The ACC paused on his way out the door to pat me on the shoulder.
We ll do everything we can to get your daughter back. And then he was gone.
Lucky I didn t break every finger on his bloody hand.
Smith levered himself out of his chair. Smiled. Why don t we go somewhere a bit more comfortable?
Interview room three smelled of feet and cabbage.
