Callum leaned in and took a sniff, but it was just the usual ever-present stink that permeated the mortuary: bleach, bowels, and decay. Which was odd when theyd opened the car boot yesterday thered been a distinct smell of wood smoke. And a hint of it back at the tip, with Mummy Number One too. Unless this was Mummy Number One. Kind of difficult to tell them apart.
He inched closer and tried again.
The scent was still there, lying under everything else. Like the old armchair his grandad used to smoke his pipe in. Puffing away, getting the scent of sandalwood and cherry deep into the leather.
Someone cleared their throat behind him. Can I help you?
He flinched up. Smoothed down his thin plastic apron. Just... Warmth tingled in the tips of his ears, as if hed been caught snogging the remains instead of just sniffing them. Callum MacGregor, Im Senior Investigating Officer.
Oh aye? She was a large woman, compact and powerful looking. The kind of person that could pick up a fridge and beat you to death with it. Her green scrubs looked fresh out of the packet, but her arms looked fresh out of Barlinnie covered in DIY tattoos. She leaned on the chunk of machinery shed been wheeling across the mortuary floor. You sure?
Yes. Are you Ms Compton?
She flexed her muscles. Lucy.
OK, Lucy. He pointed at the body. Does this smell of wood smoke to you?
She pulled down her mask, revealing a mole at the corner of her mouth. Sniffed. Oak. And... Another sniff. Im going to go with beechwood.
What about the other one?
Lucy shifted the machinery over to the other cutting table, bent over the curled body and filled her nostrils. Definitely beechwood and oak. This ones a lot stronger.
That would be the one from the car boot. Maybe lying about in the tip for God knew how long masked Mummy Number Ones natural smell?
The APT went back to her trolley and pushed it next to the cutting table. Clunked on some sort of footbrake, then fiddled about with pins and levers until a big C-shaped arm swung out from the main unit. It had a box on either end, each about the size of small microwave.
Right. She handed him a heavy blue apron. Stick that on and well get some X-rays done.
X-rays?
She looked at him as if he was a very thick little boy. Well were not going to actually post mortem them, are we? Theyre mummies. Priceless relics of a long-dead civilisation. Cause of death isnt going to do you a hell of a lot of good, is it? Or are you planning on climbing into your DeLorean and travelling back to ancient Egypt with an arrest warrant?
Yeah, she had a point.
Now, the APT pointed at Mummy Number Two, help me get it sitting up and well see what we can see...
13
I know its not nice, but you need to eat it. Its good for you.
The spoon is cold against his cracked lips, its contents hard and gritty.
Hed raise his hands and bat the spoon away, but his arms dont work any more. They dont even float in the water, just sink into its filthy depths to lie against the steel tank. Nothing works.
Cant even hold his own head up.
So the Priest holds it up for him, a warm hand on the back of his neck.
Dont worry, Ill help.
The other hand forces his mouth open, then pours the grit inside.
It sits there, in his mouth, like tiny stones. Sticking to his tongue and cheeks. Making him gag and cough. But theres not enough breath left to shift anything.
The walls are louder now, singing at the top of their splintered lungs: Theyll worship you: youll be a god. Theyll worship you: youll be a god. Theyll worship you: youll be a god.
Their voices send a tremor rattling through him, shaking his teeth, making his ribs ache.
Shhh... A hand strokes his forehead. Shhh...
Then a kiss.
I think its time, dont you?
Oh God please let it be time to die. Time for the pain to go away. Please.
Theyll worship you, Theyll worship you...
Come on.
The water falls away and hes being carried, arms and legs swinging in the cool air, rivulets of brackish water falling to the floor. Theres almost nothing left of him now. Nothing but skin and bone.
Theyll worship you: youll be a god.
The singing walls swim and pulse around him, worshipping. And finally he makes the transition into the other room. The one where the fish hang in silent prayer.
Even the walls are quiet in here. Reverential. Waiting for the blessed relief.
Soon hell be dead and all this will be over.
Here we go. Gentle hands lay him on the stone floor.
High up above, a sliver of grey sunlight dances with dust motes. Spiralling and swirling.
Theres a pressure on his ankles, but not much more than that.
Then the squeal of wood on wood and his legs raise themselves off the ground, then his hips, his back, and finally his head leaves the earth. He sways gently, ascending to heaven with his arms dangling either side of his ears.
Swaying and rising.
Up and up into the darkness.
Up and up into deaths comforting embrace.
He opens his mouth to say thank you, but all that comes out is a cascade of little gritty pellets.
The Priest smiles up at him, a thick rope held in one hand. Youll be a god...
A god of skin and bone.
14
And one more... Lucy stepped back and the machinery buzzed again. Then clunked. OK, all done. The muscles in her arm rippled as she pushed the portable X-ray machines arm out of the way, making the tattoos dance. Now all we have to do is download the data, format it, and youll get your glimpse into the ancient past. Might take a while, though.
He puffed out his cheeks. Thanks.
A grin. Who did you piss off?
Hmm?
To get lumbered with this. No one asks for a PM on a thousand-year-old mummy unless theyre being punished for something. She flipped off the footbrake. So who did you piss off?
He puffed out his cheeks. Thanks.
A grin. Who did you piss off?
Hmm?
To get lumbered with this. No one asks for a PM on a thousand-year-old mummy unless theyre being punished for something. She flipped off the footbrake. So who did you piss off?
Callum forced a smile. Pretty much everyone.
Thought so. Lucy took hold of the handles and shoved, setting the X-ray kit rolling. You can wait here, in the smell, or you can come through to the IT lab. Itll be warmer. With seats.
Yeah.
Wise choice. Oh, and on the way? Theres a drinks machine in the APTs lounge, Ill have a hot chocolate.
Cheeky sod.
A dull buzzing thrum ran through the lab, mingling with the soft whirr of desktop computers, and the ping-click-ping-click of a small electric heater.
Callum took the last slurp from what the machine claimed was a white tea.
It had lied.
He stuck the empty plastic cup on the desk and shifted in his seat. Closed his book and put it down.
Any good?
He looked up. Hmm?
The Beginners Guide to Shoplifting. Lucy pointed. Any good?
It was OK.
I had a mate who was great at shoplifting. You name it, she could swipe it: food, booze, electric toasters. Made off with a bass guitar once.
Yeah, its more a collection of short stories than a how-to guide. He stood and stretched, little knots cracking across his spine. Pff... Sagged. Checked his watch. Which way to the toilet?
Use the disabled: down the hall, on the left. Im guessing another fifteen minutes? Servers are running like treacle today.
What happened to your mate, the shoplifter, she get caught?
Married a Glaswegian and emigrated to Newcastle.
Callum wandered over to the door. Might make some calls too.
Lucy went back to her computers. Wouldnt mind another hot chocolate if youre passing...?
See what I can do.
Sodding hand dryers never worked.
He wiped his hands on his trousers as he made his way down the corridor to the far end. A window looked out over the mortuary car park the reception area just visible in the middle distance.
Callum pulled out his Airwave and called Control. Any news on Ainsley Dugdale?
Give us a minute.
The rain hadnt let up any, it still hammered down from a slate-coloured sky trying to batter the earth flat. It sparked back from waterlogged potholes, bounced off the parked cars and...
A big man staggered out of the reception doors, both hands clutched over his face.
Was that blood?
It was.
It poured through his fingers, staining the white shirt above the disposable green apron.
Aye, Ainsley Dugdale: released on bail pending trial in six weeks time.
What? How the hell could they let him out on bail?
The big man lurched against one of the pool cars and stood there, shoulders hunched in the rain, blood turning his shirt dark pink.
How should I know? You want details? Speak to the officer in charge: DS McAdams. Anything else?
Yes. I got a PNC on one Irene Brown yesterday, I need a list of all known associates going back about... seven, eight years?
Youre kidding, right?
No.
A sigh battered out of the speaker. Then silence.
Out front, another man joined the first picking his way between the puddles with a newspaper, or maybe a file folder held over his head as a makeshift umbrella. He stopped beside Captain Bleedy and patted him on the back.
There, there, poor thing.
Ah well, wasnt Callums problem. You still there?
No, Ive jetted off to Barbados for piña coladas and a barbequed lobster.
He headed back down the corridor. Well?
Ive got eight different names on here and according to the flags theres about another three that arent on the system. One armed robber, two drug dealers, one got done for raping a nurse, one unlawful remover, one attempted murderer, and two aggravated assaulters. Well, theyve all got charges for that, but two of your womans mates didnt branch out into anything else. Or they never got caught.
Eleven violent scumbags, and Irene Brown was barely in her twenties.
Little Mike was right: this is what real life looks like from down here at the bottom.
Can you email me the details? Names, dates, convictions, everything youve got.
Urgh... Another big put-upon sigh. Fine. Anything else, Your Majesty, or can I go back to working my fingers to the bone?
Yes. Away boil your head.
No. Thank you. Callum stuck the handset back in his pocket.
Why did everyone have to be such a prima donna?
He paused at the entrance to the technicians lounge. There was no point getting another tea from the machine once poisoned, twice shy but the hot chocolate couldnt be all that bad if Lucy was having another, so