style="font-size:15px;"> ‘With it being the Pictish cemetery. Maybe this was some sort of satanic rite? In which case, could it not have been a stranger who just picked on Rosie because she fitted in with what he needed for a human sacrifice?’
Maclennan’s skin crawled at the possibility. What was he thinking of, not to have considered this option? If it had occurred to Jimmy Lawson, it might well occur to the press. And the last thing he wanted was headlines proclaiming there was a ritual killer on the loose. ‘That’s an interesting thought. And one we should all bear in mind. But not one we should mention outside these four walls. For now, let’s concentrate on what we know for sure. The students, the Lammas Bar and the door-to-door. That doesn’t mean closing our eyes to other possibilities. Let’s get busy.’
The briefing over, Maclennan walked through the room, pausing for a word of encouragement here and there as officers bunched around desks, organizing their tasks. He couldn’t help hoping they could tie this to one of the students. That way, they might get a swift result, which was what counted with the public in cases like this. Even better, it wouldn’t leave the town with the taste of suspicion on its tongue. It was always easier when the bad guys came from the outside. Even if the outside, in this instance, was a mere thirty miles away.
Ziggy and Alex got back to their residence with an hour to spare before they had to leave for the bus station. They’d walked down to check and had been assured that the country services were running, although the timetable was more honoured in the breach than the observance. ‘You take your chances,’ the booking clerk had told them. ‘I can’t guarantee a time, but buses there will be.’
They found Weird and Mondo hunched over coffee in the kitchen, both looking disgruntled and unshaven. ‘I thought you were out for the count,’ Alex said, filling the kettle for a fresh brew.
‘Fat fucking chance,’ Weird grumbled.
‘We reckoned without the vultures,’ Mondo said. ‘Journalists. They keep knocking at the door and we keep telling them to piss off. Doesn’t work, though. Ten minutes go by and there they are again.’
‘It’s like a fucking “knock, knock” joke in here. I told the last one if he didn’t piss off, I’d knock his puss into the middle of next week.’
‘Mmm,’ said Alex. ‘And the winner of this year’s Mrs Joyful Prize for Tact and Diplomacy is …’
‘What? I should have let them in?’ Weird exploded. ‘These arseholes, you have to talk to them in language they understand. They don’t take no for an answer, you know.’
Ziggy rinsed a couple of mugs and spooned coffee into them. ‘We didn’t see anyone just now, did we, Alex?’
‘No. Weird must have persuaded them of the error of their ways. If they come back, though, you don’t think we should just give them a statement? It’s not like we’ve got anything to hide.’
‘It would get them off our backs,’ Mondo agreed, but in the way that Mondo always agreed. He specialized in a tone of voice that managed to suggest doubt, always leaving himself a way out if he found himself accidentally swimming against the tide. His need to be loved coloured everything he said, everything he did. That and his need to protect himself.
‘If you think I’m talking to the running dogs of capitalist imperialism, you’ve another think coming.’ Weird, on the other hand, never left room for qualms. ‘They’re scum. When did you ever read a match report that bore any resemblance to the game you’d just seen? Look at the way they ripped the piss out of Ally McLeod. Before we went to Argentina, the man was a god, the hero who was going to bring the World Cup home. And now? He’s not good enough to wipe your arse with. If they can’t get something as straightforward as football right, what chance have we got of getting away without being misquoted?’
‘I love it when Weird wakes up in a good mood,’ Ziggy said. ‘But he’s got a point, Alex. Better to keep our heads down. They’ll have moved on to the next big thing by tomorrow.’ He stirred his coffee and made for the door. ‘I’ve got to finish my packing. We better give ourselves a bit of leeway, leave a bit earlier than usual. It’s hard going underfoot and, thanks to Maclennan, none of us have got decent shoes. I can’t believe I’m walking around in wellies.’
‘Watch out, the style police’ll get you,’ Weird shouted after him. He yawned and stretched. ‘I can’t believe how tired I am. Has anybody got any dexys?’
‘If we did, they’d have been flushed down the toilet hours ago,’ Mondo said. ‘Are you forgetting the pigs have been crawling all over the place?’
Weird looked abashed. ‘Sorry. I’m not thinking straight. You know, when I woke up, I could almost believe last night was nothing more than a bad trip. That would have been enough to put me off acid for life, I tell you.’ He shook his head. ‘Poor lassie.’
Alex took that as his cue to disappear upstairs and cram a last bundle of books in his holdall. He wasn’t sorry to be going home. For the first time since he’d started living with the other three, he felt claustrophobic. He longed for his own bedroom; a door he could close that nobody else would think of opening without permission.
It was time to leave. Three holdalls and Ziggy’s towering rucksack were piled in the hall. The Laddies fi’ Kirkcaldy were ready to head for home. They shouldered their bags and opened the door, Ziggy leading the way. Unfortunately, the effect of Weird’s hard words had apparently worn off. As they emerged on the churned-up slush of their path, five men materialized as if from nowhere. Three carried cameras, and before the foursome even realized what was happening, the air was thick with the sounds of Nikon motor drives.
The two journalists were coming round the flank of the photographers, shouting questions. They managed to make themselves sound like an entire press conference, so quickfire were their enquiries. ‘How did you find the girl?’ ‘Which one of you made the discovery?’ ‘What were you doing on Hallow Hill in the middle of the night?’ ‘Was this some sort of satanic rite?’ And of course, inevitably, ‘How do you feel?’
‘Fuck off,’ Weird roared at them, swinging his heavy bag in front of him like an overweight scythe. ‘We’ve got nothing to say to you.’
‘Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,’ Mondo muttered like a record stuck in the groove.
‘Back indoors,’ Ziggy shouted. ‘Get back inside.’
Alex, bringing up the rear, reversed hastily. Mondo tumbled in, almost tripping over him in his haste to get away from the insistent badgering and the clicking cameras. Weird and Ziggy followed, slamming the door behind them. They looked at each other, hunted and haunted. ‘What do we do now?’ Mondo asked, voicing what they were all wondering. They all looked blank. This was a situation entirely outwith their limited experience of the world.
‘We can’t sit tight,’ Mondo continued petulantly. ‘We’ve got to get back to Kirkcaldy. I’m supposed to start at Safeway at six tomorrow morning.’
‘Me and Alex too,’ said Weird. They all looked expectantly at Ziggy.
‘OK. What if we go out the back way?’
‘There isn’t a back way, Ziggy. We’ve only got a front door,’ Weird pointed out.
‘There’s a toilet window. You three can get out that way, and I’ll stay put. I’ll move around upstairs, putting lights on and stuff so they’ll think we’re still here.
