The PCSO stepped back out into the corridor and clunked the cell shut. Printed, RESISTING ARREST, ASSAULT, ARMED ROBBERY, on the custody board, each word smaller than the last as she ran out of space, finishing with a scrawled & CONSPIRACY 2 PTCOJ.
AND YE SHALL BE SORE AFRAID IN THE TIME OF DARKNESS! FOR LO, IT IS THE WORD OF THE LORD THAT COMES FOR THEE!
Oh shut up, you fruitcake. The PCSO stuck her marker-pen back in her top pocket and looked Callum up and down. Something we can do for you, Constable?
YEA, FOR HE IS THE DARKNESS AND HE IS THE LIGHT!
Can you give me a shout when his solicitor gets here?
AND ALL SHALL KNOW HIS WRATH! THESE ARE THE END OF DAYS, AND
She clicked down the viewing hatch on M3. Tutted. Then, Come on, Phil, I thought we had an agreement.
A muffled, Sorry. came from the other side of the door.
Should think so too, disturbing all our other guests. Poor Kens trying to sleep. She clicked the hatch up again. Turned to Callum. They picked him up on Chamber Street, The End Is Nigh placard in one hand, his original sin in the other.
Lovely. So, Dugdales solicitor...?
She shook her head. Now Kenneth, on the other hand, tried to smash his mothers head in with a china dog from the mantelpiece. Spaniel, I think it was. She wouldnt let him go to the pictures. Hes forty-six.
Yeah, but Dugdale...? Eyebrows: up, winning smile: on.
I cant. A sigh. Oh, dont look at me like that, its orders. DC MacGregor is not to be given access to custodies or their representatives without a superior officer being present.
You are kidding me!
All contact is to be managed through DS McAdams or DI Malcolmson.
I cant talk to anyone without McAdams or Mother holding my hand?
Nothing to do with me, its... She turned away. If you were them, would you want to risk it?
5
Yes, I understand that, but Im asking anyway: do you now, or have you at any time, had a human mummy in your museum?
The smell of chicken curry Pot Noodle coiled its way across the office, warring against a taint of cheesy feet and yesterdays garlic.
From up here, on the third floor of Division Headquarters, the view should have been a lot better than it was: the back of a billboard streaked with pigeon droppings. Rusting supports featured a dozen small grey feathered bodies, strutting about and adding to the stains.
A mummy? What, like an Egyptian one? The young man on the other end of the phone sounded about as bright as a broken lightbulb. Nah. No. Dont think so. Think, think, think. Maybe?
Callum turned his back on the window, one hand massaging his temples, the other gripping the phone tight enough to make the plastic creak. Fighting hard to keep his voice reasonable and level. Can you check for me? Its important.
The room was divided up into six bits, each one sectioned off with a chest-high cubicle wall their grubby blue fabric stained with dribbled coffee and peppered with memos from the senior brass and cartoons cut from the Castle News and Post. Six cubicles for six desks, two of which were laden with dusty cardboard boxes and teetering piles of manila folders.
Almost every horizontal surface was covered in a thin grey fuzz of dust.
The top of Dots head was just visible above the edge of her cubicle, pale-brown hair swept up in a weird semi-beehive do. Schlurping noises marked the death of yet another freeze-dried soy and noodle product.
A tiny kitchen area sat in the corner behind her, complete with kettle, microwave, and a half-sized fridge that gurgled and buzzed. Throw in a sagging assortment of ceiling tiles, scuffed magnolia walls littered with scribbled-on whiteboards, the kind of carpet that looked as if itd been fished out of a skip, and you had the perfect place to dump police officers while they waited for their careers to die.
Or were too stubborn to realise that their careers already had.
Pffff... Suppose. Ill see what I can do. Hang on, gotta put you on hold. Click, and an elevator muzak version of American Idiot dribbled out of the earpiece.
Callum printed the word dick in little biro letters next to the museums name. It joined a long, long list.
Dot wheeled her chair back till she could peer around her cubicle. Callum, you on the phone? Her scarlet lipstick was smudged and a shiny dot of gravy glittered on one rounded cheek. For some reason shed decided it was a good idea to dress up in what looked like a black chefs jacket, only with shiny silver buttons and silvery edging.
He held up the receiver. On hold.
Dont fancy making a chocolate run, do you? Only the machine on the fifth floors got Curly Wurlies.
Cant: Im on hold. He waggled the phone again to emphasise the point.
Id go myself, but Im avoiding Detective Superintendent Ness. She found out I scratched her new Nissan Micra with Keith. Please?
His shoulder slumped. Dot
Pretty please? Got the doctor at three, need to keep my morale up.
A voice growled out from the opposite corner: For Christs sake! Watt stood, glowering over his cubicle wall at them. Hed swept his dark floppy hair back from his high forehead, securing it there with enough product to stick a hippo to the wall. Sunken eyes. Squint teeth. A sad excuse for a beard that looked as if hed made it himself out of ginger pubic hair. Will the two of you shut up? Some of us are trying to work.
Dot narrowed her eyes at him. Oh, Im sorry Detective Constable Watt, are we disturbing your sulk?
He stuck out his chin and its wispy covering. I am not sulking, Sergeant. Im preparing for a deposition, OK? Now will the pair of you shut up and let me get on with it?
All I wanted was a Curly Wurly.
Fine! Fine. You know what? Here... He dug into his pocket and hurled a fiver in Callums direction. It fluttered and tumbled in mid-air, falling to the manky carpet six feet short. Go. Get her some sodding chocolate. Just do it quietly.
Callum held up the phone again. Is this thing invisible? Im on hold!
Aye, hello? The Scottish idiot on the other end cut American Idiot dead. Hello?... You still there?
Finally. Hello. Yes.
Right, Ive had a word with Davey: he cant remember a mummy, but hes only been here a year longer than me. Marges been here for donkeys, but shes on holiday till the twelfth. Gone to Norwich for a BDSM festival. You want me to give her your contact details so she can drop you an email when she gets back?
Callum folded forward until his forehead rested against his keyboard. Dont swear. Dont swear. That would be great. Thanks.
Yeah, OK. And the line went dead.
He hung up.
Dots chair squeaked across the room. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Until it was right next to him. When he looked up, she smiled. So... chocolate? She fiddled with the wheelchairs push rims, twisting the whole thing left and right. All coy and fluttering eyelashes. The left leg of her jeans was stitched closed and trimmed off, just below where her knee should have been.
Suppose a little help getting some chocolate wasnt too much to ask for.
He closed his eyes for a moment. Then nodded. Yeah. Could do with a break anyway. He pushed back from his desk. Curly Wurly, coming right up.
She nodded at the list sitting next to his phone. No luck?
You got any idea how many museums there are in Scotland? He stood, bent over and scooped Watts hurled fiver from the floor. Then theres all the universities and private schools with natural history stuff in display cases. Never mind private collections.
You want a hand?
He blinked. Turned back to her.
At least one person on the team didnt treat him like something theyd stepped in. Thanks, Dot.
Dont get all emotional about it. Im only helping so youll be my chocolate monkey. She wiggled her fingers above her head, cackling it out: Fly free, my pretty!
Over in the corner, Watt gave a frustrated wee scream.
Callum slumped his way up the stairs. Two years since they stopped doing proper meals in the canteen. Two years and the stairwell still smelled of boiled cabbage.
His phone went off as he reached the fourth-floor landing. Sodding hell.
He dragged it out. What?
There was a pause. Then a high-pitched mans voice squeaked in his ear. Mr MacGregor? Im calling from the Royal Caledonian Building Societys Fraud Prevention Department. I need to ask you a few security questions. OK?
He dragged it out. What?
There was a pause. Then a high-pitched mans voice squeaked in his ear. Mr MacGregor? Im calling from the Royal Caledonian Building Societys Fraud Prevention Department. I need to ask you a few security questions. OK?
Callum glowered at the wall. No, its not OK.
Im sorry, have I called at a bad time?
Someones just nicked my wallet, and Ive got no idea who you are. Im not giving you my security details. You want to help? You prove who you are by answering my security questions.
I... I dont think were allowed to do that.
Tough. Whats the third, fifth, and first letters of my mothers maiden name?
Errr... Look: why dont you call us, then? That way youll know its not a scam. Youll find the number on the back of your cards.
On the back of my stolen cards? The cards I dont have?
Ah... Right. What sounded like an argument echoed up from the floors below, followed by a door clunking shut. Well, maybe you could pop into a branch and they can help you? Was that a note of hope and desperation there at the end? Please go away and become someone elses problem.
Yeah. Why not. He hung up and clunked his head against the wall. Breathed in the cabbagey smell. Then opened his eyes and swore. No wallet meant no cards. And the little sods had wheeched off with his last fifteen quid, leaving him with... He rummaged in his pocket and came out with two pounds fifty-six in change, a button, and a Mint Imperial that had gone all hairy with pocket fluff. So Elaine could have a jar of Polish pickles or a jar of Nutella, but not both. And forget the onion rolls.
Because it wasnt as if he could steal the change from Watts fiver.
Could he?
He puffed out a breath. Of course he sodding couldnt.
Callum lumbered up the stairs to the fifth floor. Pushed open the door. And froze.
DCI Powel was standing right in front of him, mug in one hand, manila folder tucked under his arm, phone in his other hand. A big man with ears to match, silver-grey hair swept forward from his temples to cover the bald bits. Smart suit with matching tie. He narrowed his eyes. Hang on a minute, Margaret, theres someone I need to talk to. He lowered the phone.