safe. Wouldn’t you? I mean it’s all about power and possession, isn’t it?’ Dr McDonald stared at the white toes of her red Converse Hi-tops.
I glanced over her head at Dickie. ‘And she doesn’t talk like this when it’s just the two of you?’
‘Hardly ever.’ He raised his hand, as if he was about to pat her on the shoulder.
She flinched. Backed up a step.
Dickie sighed. ‘I’ll … em … leave you to it then.’ He put his hand in his pocket, out of harm’s way. ‘Ash? You hurrying back to Oldcastle, or have you got a minute?’
Hurrying back? Still hadn’t decided if I was pointing the Rustmobile towards Newcastle and putting my foot down. ‘Long as you need.’
‘So,’ I slid the glass door shut, and leaned on the safety rail, ‘does she provide her own straitjacket, or does that come out of your budget?’
The view from the balcony outside the meeting room was every bit as dismal as Sabir had promised: overlooking the dual carriageway and the Kingsway Retail Park. Huge glass and metal sheds bordering a lopsided triangle of parking spaces. Up above, the sky was solid grey, the light cold and thin through the pouring rain. At least it was relatively dry here – the balcony for the room above kept the worst of the weather off.
Cigarette butts made soggy drifts in the corners, little orange cylinders swelling on the damp tiles. DS Gillis was down the other end, puffing away – the smoke clinging to his beard as if it was smouldering – grumbling into a mobile phone, pacing back and forth.
DCS Dickie sparked up a cigarette, took a long, deep drag, then rested his elbows on the safety rail, one hand rubbing at the bags under his eyes. ‘How’s the arthritis?’
I flexed my hands, the joints ached. ‘Been worse. How’s the ulcer?’
‘You know, when I took on this bloody investigation, I was untouchable. Top of my game, going places … Remember the Pearson murders?’ Another puff. ‘Now look at me.’
‘So what did happen to your last profiler?’
Dickie made a gun of his thumb and forefingers, stuck it to his temple, and pulled the trigger. ‘All over a hotel bedroom in Bristol, three weeks ago.’ He glanced over his shoulder, towards the meeting room. ‘Dr McDonald might be a nut-job, but at least we won’t be sponging her brains off the walls anytime soon. Well … touch wood.’
I turned, looking back through the glass doors. She was still standing in front of the blown-up birthday cards, fiddling with her hair. Staring up at Hannah Kelly’s bleeding body. I forced a smile into my voice, laid it on thick. ‘Not really your fault though, is it? The Birthday Boy was always going to be a bastard to catch.’
‘By the time we know he’s got them, it’s a year too late. The trail’s cold. No witnesses, or they can’t remember, or they make shit up because they watch too much telly and think it’s what we want to hear.’ Dickie flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette, then stared at the glowing tip. ‘I’m up for retirement in four months. Eight years working the same bloody case and not one single sodding clue … Until now.’ His eyes narrowed, wreathed in smoke. ‘Two bodies, probably more on the way. We’ll get DNA, fibres, and we’ll catch the bastard. And I’ll take my gold watch and march off home to Lossiemouth with my head held high, while the Birthday Boy rots in a shite-smeared cell for the rest of his unnatural little life.’
‘You coming to help with the door-to-doors?’
A pause. ‘Any chance you could take Dr McDonald back to Oldcastle with you? Show her the body recovery site, let her get a feel for the place?’
Yeah, because babysitting a mentally unstable psychologist was right up there on my list of life goals. ‘You’re not coming?’
Dickie pulled a face, curling the corners of his mouth down. ‘Do you know why I’m still here, Ash? Why they didn’t boot me off the case and get someone else in?’
‘No other bugger wants the job?’
A nod. ‘Career suicide. Speaking of which … I need another favour.’ He stood up straight, one hand rubbing at the small of his back. ‘Our last psychologist, Bremner, didn’t just top himself, he took his notes with him. Burned the lot in the hotel bin: disabled the smoke detector, set fire to everything, then bang.’
I tucked my hands in my pockets. It was getting colder. ‘Always thought he was a bit of a prick.’
‘Managed to screw something up on the servers too. Every psychological document we had – poof, up in smoke. Sabir tried recovering the data, but Bremner cocked up so long ago all the backups were shagged too.’ Dickie took one last draw on his cigarette, then sent its glowing corpse sailing out into the rain. ‘Not wanting to speak ill of the dead, or anything, but still …’
‘What’s the favour?’
‘Well, you’re still friends with Henry, aren’t you?’
‘Henry who?’ Frown. ‘What, Forrester? The occasional Christmas card maybe, but I’ve not seen him for years.’
‘Thing is, Dr McDonald has to start again from scratch; be a big help if she could discuss the case with him. Maybe see if he’s got any of his original files?’
‘So give him a call. Get him to courier everything over.’
Down the other end of the balcony, Gillis snapped his phone shut, then ground his cigarette out against the wall and let it fall to the tiles at his feet.
Dickie stared out across the retail park. ‘She says she needs to see him. Face to face.’
Gillis lumbered over. ‘You tell him yet?’
‘“Tell him” what?’
A smile cracked the space between the cigarette-stained moustache and bristling beard. ‘Shetland. You’re taking the Doc up to see your old mate, Forrester.’
I pulled my shoulders back, chin up. ‘Take her yourself. You’re the one looks like a bloody Viking.’
‘The old git doesn’t want anything to do with the case. We need his help. You’re his friend. Go up there and talk him round.’
Dickie sighed. ‘Come on, Ash, you know what Henry’s like: once he digs his heels in …’
I scowled at them. ‘Shetland?’
Gillis squinted back. ‘You don’t want to help us catch the bastard? Really? What kind of cop are you?’
‘It’s only a couple of days, Ash: three or four tops. I’ll square it with your boss.’
Dr McDonald wasn’t the only mental one. ‘I’m not going to Shetland! We just turned up two bodies and—’
‘It’s going to be nothing but hanging around waiting for lab reports in Oldcastle now anyway. That and processing three hundred door-to-doors.’ Dickie nodded towards the meeting room, where Dr McDonald was gazing up at the birthday cards. ‘When we catch the Birthday Boy we’ll need her up to speed for the interviews. I want
