Davie wants to murder Malkie. The fear that had gone through him when he’d gone to identify the woman who turned out not to be Marie had convinced him that he was in no way immune to having a heart attack. No matter what shape he was in. Davie’s always known he’s not cut out for the murder squad. He hasn’t seen many corpses in his life, but he’s seen enough to know that he can’t cope with them on a daily basis. Malkie told him the stats not that long ago, about the number of bodies he’d had to deal with in Edinburgh and the Lothians. Mostly drug overdoses, or old people who’d died alone. In both cases, the bodies were often in a state of putrefaction, which makes Davie feel sick just thinking about it. How sad, when no one even notices that you’re dead.
The woman in the hospital still hasn’t been ID’d. Malkie’s team are cross-checking with people recently reported missing, but, as is often the case, people go missing and no one notices. You’d hardly send out a search party if you didn’t see your friend for twenty-four hours. Maybe she lives alone. Maybe she has no one to miss her. Davie worries about having no one to miss him. He’s hoping Marie might change that, but it seems that after the initial enthusiasm her interest is already waning. They’d pencilled in a date for the night before and she’d called it off without any explanation.
Malkie had shown him the victim’s clothing. The black skirt, the white blouse. The clumpy shoes. Not Doc Martens, but something similar. Even without the possibility of a tattoo, he’d have been able to identify Marie based on the shoes. No way she’d wear anything other than the real thing. But Malkie wasn’t to know that, and the other clothing, plus the hair and the age, and the fact that she wasn’t far outside the town, made her a not-unsuitable candidate. Davie shudders. What if it had been her?
Despite knowing Marie for about twenty years, he realises now that he doesn’t know her at all. They’d gone out for a drink a couple of times a few years back, but he’d been the one to pull back from that. He’s had no shortage of offers, but something always seems to get in the way. Marie became good friends with Anne, after joining her class at the high school – but by then Davie, and Ian – Anne’s husband – had already left. Davie joined the police, and Ian started a series of nothing jobs until he was lucky enough with a win on the Football Pools that meant he was able to buy his shop.
He’d been working there ever since, and Davie had been at Banktoun Station ever since.
He’s not far off being eligible for early retirement now, but who retires when they’re forty-eight unless they’ve got something better to do? Not him. In fact, Malkie and the murder squad aside, he’s quite keen on the idea of switching over to CID. He reckons he’s got a good ten years left in the force, but he needs something more than local policing to keep him on his toes. His brain is starting to go stale, and he’s not one for Sudoku. Luckily Malkie is more than happy to help him out. Only problem is, if he takes an official position as detective, he’ll have to go and do the training at some point, and he’s not sure he’s capable of sitting for eight hours a day with a bunch of fast-trackers and keen recruits. Still, at least he’d be fine with the fitness part. He’s been doing karate since he was ten, and running the local club is one of the highlights of his life. You need to get out more, pal, he thinks. He hasn’t been to a gig in over a year. Him and Ian used to go to all the Mod meet-ups on their scooters back in the day. He’s too old for all that now. But he’s still got the scooter.
The next morning he finds himself back at the computer, working on his original task. He wants to find the link between these drug deaths. He wants to stop them reaching Banktoun. Time for a wee recce, he decides.
‘I’ll leave you two lovebirds to man the fort.’
He doesn’t wait for a response. Callum, and Lorna, his new fiancée, are through in the kitchen, apparently making tea, but Davie imagines they’re up to something else in there. Something even nicer than tea. He’s envious of them, finding each other. He can’t even be bothered to tell them to get on with their work, as there really isn’t much to do. Someone broke into the vet’s surgery the other night but hadn’t managed to nick anything of interest, as the medicine cabinet was locked with a key-coded lock and there is a dearth of competent safe-crackers in Banktoun. Chancers, aye. Plenty of those. They’d been caught on CCTV, and they’d had the sense to wear hoods.
All might’ve been OK, except Davie and Callum had already recognised one of them from his distinctive logo’d hoodie, and he was currently in the cells, stewing. They’d picked him up at home, where he’d clearly celebrated his poor attempt at a burglary by drinking half a case of Special Brew, realising that the bottles of sterilising alcohol he’d nicked would probably make him go blind – plus, he’d already sold it. But to whom, Davie didn’t know. Some people were beyond desperate. The man was a petty thief, but with another break-in under his belt it was likely he’d get a custodial sentence this time. What a waste of a life. Davie has sympathy for some of those people who just never manage to make it, but Stuart Mason is a sad lowlife who’d once been caught trying to strangle a dog down by the river. Davie has no time for the man and is happy to keep him in the cells for as long as they’re allowed. He might interview him when he comes back, assuming he’s sobered up. Plus, his brief isn’t particularly rushing to get there to his aid.
On a lamppost outside the station, a freshly tacked poster is advertising Forrestal’s Fun Fair. So the shows are in town. This is interesting. Lots of unsavoury types hanging around there. Davie pulls out his BlackBerry and types himself a quick note. He might nip down there for a gander later. Maybe he’ll ask Marie. It’s as good an excuse as any to spend time with her, and it’s something that doesn’t involve them having to talk too much – give her a chance to relax in his company again. Maybe he’ll win her a giant teddy on the rifle range. And maybe he’ll spot something interesting while he’s there. Young lads, moving around different towns, meeting different folk along the way. Selling them more than candyfloss and cheap hotdogs. In his head, he tries to map out the list of the drugs cases that Malkie has given him.
Wonders which town the shows visited last.