Читать книгу Flesh House - Stuart MacBride - Страница 23

DI Steel waited till they’d got all the way down the stairs before hooting with laughter. ‘Did you see the look on his face? Thought he was going to have an aneurysm.’

‘But …’ Logan looked back over his shoulder. ‘What did you have to go winding him up for? He’s bad enough as it is.’

‘Ah, relax.’ She hauled one of the double doors open and made for reception. ‘I like to see how fast I can get him to change colour. He’s like a really angry chameleon. Besides …’ the inspector paused at the end of the corridor, peering through the glass at a crowd of people in the front lobby, all looking very, very upset. ‘Second thoughts …’ She turned round and headed back towards the stairs. ‘You got any money on the sweepie?’

‘Tenner on him punching someone Saturday.’

She nodded. ‘I’ve got Monday. It’s no’ easy keeping him at just the right level of pissed-off-ishness. Too much and he snaps early – no dosh for Auntie Roberta. Too little and the bugger won’t lamp anyone.’

‘What if you’re the one he thumps?’

Steel grinned. ‘I’ll fucking kill him.’ She marched out onto the rear podium car park, sparking up a cigarette and blowing out a cloud of smoke that glowed in the security spotlights. ‘Oh, Christ, I needed that.’ She shuddered happily and puffed her way over to an unmarked pool car. ‘Right, we’re off up the hospital.’

‘You said we were going to the pub!’

‘Oh come on, no’ like you’ve got anything better to do is it? Go home and mope in an empty flat? Wah, wah, wah, my girlfriend’s in Glasgow playing cops and robbers and I’m not getting any. Wah, wah, wah …’

Silence.

She tapped ash from the end of her fag, little flecks of orange sparkling amongst the grey. ‘It’ll be good for you, get you out a bit, stop you developing wanker’s elbow.’ Still nothing. ‘OK, OK. Insch’ll no’ admit it, but he’s up to his ears in shite and sinking fast. He needs a hand. The ACC wants us to go up to A&E and interview that bloke whose wife disappeared yesterday. Take a bit of the pressure off.’

Logan kept his mouth shut.

‘Buy you a pint after?’

As the inspector said, what else was he going to do?

They’d put Mr Leith in a semi-private room, between a man with lymphoma and a boy with two broken legs. According to the ward sister Leith was doing better than expected – given the shock and his injuries. They’d probably be letting him out in a couple of days. Steel gave the PC stationed outside the door permission to sod off to the canteen for a cuppa, then got Logan to pull the curtains round Leith’s bed.

The man’s head was nearly invisible beneath a thick layer of white bandages, a faint yellow stain leaking through where Wiseman had tried to open his skull with a cleaver.

Steel settled herself down on the visitor’s chair, and asked Leith if he was awake. The man groaned, opened a pink eye and blinked. A morphine drip snaked into the back of one hand. A tremble, then he was still again.

‘We need to ask you some questions about what happened yesterday, Mr Leith.’

‘I … I told the other one. You know …’ he frowned, trying to remember, ‘Big. Bald. Fat …’ The words slurred and misshapen by drugs.

‘I know, but you need to tell me as well.’

‘Out shopping … Sainsbury’s, something for tea … came home … he was waiting for us …’ It took a while, but eventually they got the whole story. How Valerie had unpacked the shopping from the car while he checked the answering machine. And then she was screaming and he ran into the kitchen and there was Wiseman, killing her …

Leith stopped, hand fumbling for the button that would pump another dose of morphine into his veins as he told them how he’d tried to stop Wiseman, but the man was too strong. The flash of a meat cleaver, blinding light, darkness … When he came round he was alone in the house, and the kitchen was covered in blood.

Steel checked with Logan, making sure he was getting all of this down. ‘And did you hear him say anything?’

‘He said … he said we were smoak with blood … we’d be sacrificed on the altar …’ Leith’s thumb hammered the button again, but it didn’t seem to do any good. ‘Oh God, Val … I should … I should have fought harder! I never should have let him take her …’

‘Christ, that was depressing.’ Steel took a deep swig at her white wine, sat back and watched Logan work his way through a bag of Scampi Flavour Fries. Half past eight and the pub was starting to liven up, the murmur of conversation rising as more people drifted in out of the rain. ‘What do you think Wiseman does with the bones?’

Logan shrugged. ‘Buries them somewhere?’

‘I tell you Susan wants to get married?’

‘Congratulations.’ Logan raised his glass. ‘About time she made an honest woman of you.’

Steel squirmed in her seat. ‘I’m in my sexual prime here, and Susan wants to tie me down.’ She gazed morosely into her half-empty glass. ‘And no’ in the good way, either.’

‘Yeah, well …’ That was an image Logan really didn’t want. ‘You want another one?’

By the time Logan got back from the bar, Detective Constable Rennie had turned up. He was sitting at the table, interrogating a pint of lager and a packet of Cheese and Onion, while Steel told a filthy joke about two farmers and a bisexual sheep.

No more talk of marriage.

Two pints later and they were bitching about Insch behind his back. Two more and Rennie was beginning to make giggling noises. By then Logan was ready to call it a night, but he had another pint anyway. He walked, a little unsteadily, back from the toilets to find the constable holding forth on the Wiseman case.

‘I’m just saying, OK? I mean … I mean,’ Rennie was having difficulty staying upright on his stool, ‘if this was a book, right? If this was a book, or a film, or something … then …’ He burped. ‘Scuse me … If this was a book, it’d be one of us, wouldn’t it? The Flesher? He’d be … he’d be the last person you’d expect!’

He nodded, had another drink, then waved a finger at them. ‘Faulds! For example … Chief Cons … Consable Faulds – we’ve only got his word he’s a Chief … Consable, don’t we? And where is he now? Vanished!’

Logan smiled. ‘He’s flying back to Birmingham. You took him to the airport, you idiot.’

‘Ah! Ah …’ Rennie tapped the side of his nose. ‘But we don’t know that for sure, do we? Hmmm? He could’ve … could’ve turned round soon as I was gone and scarpered. Could be out there right now: killing peoples.’

‘You’re pished.’

‘Pished like a FOX!’

Steel banged her hand on the table, making all the empty glasses rattle. ‘Karaoke!’

That was it – definitely time to go home.

A clunk, and Heather sat bolt upright on her stinky mattress, eyes straining in the dark. Heart hammering against her ribs. Maybe he’d come back? Maybe he’d come back with more food and water?

Her stomach growled again: a huge angry animal clawing its way through her innards. She’d never been so hungry in her life.

Another clunk, and a thin sliver of yellow light raced across the rusty metal floor. Heather scooted forwards on her hands and knees, peering through the bars.

The Butcher’s shadow blocked out the light for a moment, then he stepped inside, walked over to the bars and placed a bottle of water and another tinfoil parcel where Heather could reach them.

She didn’t even wait for him to back away this time, just grabbed the plastic bottle. The water was cool and sweet in her mouth. Like the tears of angels. She drank half of it in one go before ripping the foil package open. There was a paper plate inside, full of breaded escalopes, so hot she nearly burned her fingers.

God it was delicious. The best veal she’d ever tasted.

The Butcher stood and watched her eat. Nodding.

She chewed and swallowed. ‘Can … can I have more water? Please? I get so thirsty.’

There was a moment’s silence, and then the Butcher turned his back and walked out, closing the door behind him. The darkness closed around her.

Heather started to cry. All she wanted was some water. She just wanted some bloody water! She screwed up her face, fists curled over her eyes, rocking back and forth. Just some fucking water …

Worthless, stupid bitch can’t even ask for water properly. Can’t do anything properly. Can’t die with her family, has to get herself trapped in the dark, all alone.

She pulled one of the fists from her face and punched herself in the stomach as hard as she could.

Stupid.

Punch.

Useless.

Punch.

BITCH!

CLUNK and the door opened again. Heather froze. The Butcher was back, with a multi-pack of bottled water. He put it on the floor, then tore it open and started passing the individual plastic bottles through the bars.

He came back.

‘Thank you …’ She was crying again. He came back. ‘My … my name’s Heather.’ She reached out and took one of the bottles from him. The Butcher froze for a moment. Then snatched his hand back. ‘Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to …’

He backed up against the wall, staring silently down at her.

‘I’m sorry! Please, don’t leave me in the dark! Please! I—’

But he was gone, slamming the door. BOOOM.

Alone in the dark, Heather curled up in a little ball and screamed herself hoarse.