Davie is busy whipping up eggs with a fork. He’s stuck four slices of bread under the grill. The kettle is boiled. It’s not often he sits down to breakfast like this, but he’s enjoying looking after his house guest. They’d shared the beers and the curry. Chatted into the night until he’d fallen asleep on the couch and Callum had passed out on the chair. Despite the beers, and the half bottle of vodka Davie had found at the back of a kitchen cupboard, Callum is bright and breezy this morning, and Davie is glad to have him around. He’s barely been in the station lately. He realises he misses it. Or maybe he just misses the banter.
‘Thanks for last night,’ Callum says.
Davie laughs. ‘Some men might take that the wrong way,’ he says. He pours the egg mix into a frying pan. The smell of eggs frying in butter makes his mouth water.
‘Ah, you know what I mean. It’s not that I’ve got doubts about Lorna. Not really. It just seems to be happening so fast. Her mother asking about table decorations and floral chair-backs. That’s what set me off. What the hell’s a floral chair-back anyway? Why do we need to cover up the chairs? I don’t get it. I think you’re right, though. The wedding is just a day out. Lorna and her mother can deal with that. I’ll do the rest of it. The being-a-husband bit – I reckon I can just about manage that. Anyway, cheers. I appreciate it. I needed someone to talk to, and I knew you were the one. You’ve known both of us for long enough.’
Davie flips the eggs. Scrapes the crispy bits from the bottom of the pan. ‘Yet I didn’t even notice you’d got together. Some detective I am, eh?’
‘Do you think that’s what you’re going to do? Stick with CID? I don’t fancy it myself, but I don’t know what we’re going to do if they close the station. Lorna said an email came in yesterday. There’s a meeting planned for next month to discuss it. I reckon that’ll be our marching orders . . . relocate or take a package. And I can’t imagine it being much of a package. Not with the cuts and the way things are now.’
Davie is about to reply and tell him about his plans, but their chat is interrupted by Davie’s phone ringing. He takes the pan off the heat, checks the caller display. Malkie. He thinks about not answering. Having his breakfast first. He can’t do it. He has to tell him that he still hasn’t spoken to Marie. He’s going to suggest they go round to see her together. A bit later, though. Let her sleep off the party hangover.
‘Morning,’ he says. ‘What’s fresh?’ He’s not expecting anything major. They’ve already planned to go to the shows the next day. The woman in hospital is recovering. The hospital is being cooperative about Graeme Woodley. It’s only a matter of time before he turns up.
‘Something’s happened. I need you to keep quiet. Keep calm. Go round to Marie’s. Now. Keep it low-key. Call me when you get there. Don’t let her go anywhere. I think she knows where Woodley is.’
Davie’s stomach flips. ‘What’s happened, Malkie?’ He stares longingly at the pan of eggs. Callum is already buttering toast. Davie has a feeling he’s not going to get anything to eat after all.
‘Just find Marie. Then call me. I’ll need you to come round to Willow Walk.’
A spike of dread pierces him. ‘Willow Walk? What number?’
He already knows what the answer will be.
‘Twenty-three,’ Malkie says. He hangs up.
Davie tries to fight the panic. That’s Ian’s house. Where they had the party last night. Ian had texted him in the afternoon, asking him if he was going. Davie said he’d make it along if he could, knowing he probably wouldn’t bother. Shit! What has happened? Ian and Anne are his closest friends. He’s no idea how he’d cope if anything bad happened to them.
‘Callum, I have to go out. Finish your breakfast. Make yourself at home. I’ll call you at the station later.’
‘What’s happened? You’re as white as a sheet. Can I—’
‘Just stay here. Please. I’ll call you later.’
He leaves him with the scrambled eggs on toast. His appetite has vanished. His stomach is churning. He has a very bad feeling about this.
Marie is not in. Or at least she’s not answering the door. Davie walks round the back to her kitchen window. It’s pulled shut. Underneath it, there’s a black bucket. Something else. A pile of Lego bricks. Something has been built and smashed on the ground. Lego. What was it with the Lego? The woman in the hospital . . . Shit.
He texts Malkie: ‘No sign of Marie. I think Woodley has been here.’
He gets back on the scooter and floors it around to Willow Walk. He’s not alone. The street has been sealed off with crime-scene tape. Several vehicles are parked in the middle of the road. Police cars. Two ambulances. A white van. There is an eerie silence. Why is no one out on the street? He parks the bike. Scans the windows of the houses on both sides. Sees faces, staring out. He lifts the tape and walks into the street.
‘Sorry, you can’t come in here.’ It’s a uniformed officer that he doesn’t know. Someone from another station. Why wasn’t he called?
‘DI Reid sent for me,’ he says. ‘Sergeant Gray.’
‘Right. OK. Go through.’
Davie walks along the pavement. As he gets closer to Ian’s house, the churning in his stomach gets worse, giving him sharp cramps. The back doors of the ambulances are open. He can hear the faint sounds of sobbing. He watches as crime-scene investigators clad in white protective suits slip in and out of the front door. Silent. Solemn.
‘Where’s Malkie?’ he asks one of them. She’s carrying something in a plastic bag. Looks like a shoe. The plastic bag is smeared with blood.
‘Inside,’ she says. ‘You’ll need to get suited up if you’re going in.’
Davie is numb. Feels like he is in a trance. He walks to the CSI van, finds a box of suits and shoe covers in the back. Pulls them on over his clothes. He has never done this before, but his instincts have kicked in. He knows what to do. He sees Ian and Anne’s camper. The doors are open. No one inside.
He walks into the house.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he says. He has no more words.
The place is a scene from a horror film. Pools of blood. Smears. Spatters across the chairs and the couch. There are remnants of the party still around, but the CSIs are quietly and diligently putting everything into evidence bags.
Malkie walks out from the kitchen.
‘What happened? Is anyone . . .’ Davie doesn’t know what to say. He takes a deep breath, ignores the smell. Tries to short-circuit his brain into action.
‘Six have been taken to the Infirmary. Four were dead at the scene, two clinging on, but I don’t hold out much hope. Couple of witnesses out there in the ambulances. Not very helpful so far. Seems that the whole lot of them were pissed up and high as kites. They were passed out in various places. Didn’t hear what went on in the living room, but they can hazard a guess. Someone went kamikaze with a kitchen knife. It must’ve been utter carnage in here a few hours ago.’
‘Why didn’t you call me earlier? Who called it in?’
Malkie pauses. Considers his reply. ‘Your friend Anne. Her and Ian slept in their camper. Said the party was out of hand. They left them all to it.’
Christ, Davie thinks. Why didn’t you call me, Ian?
‘Where are they now?’
‘Been taken to the hospital. Both in shock. They’ll be OK, though. As for the rest of these poor buggers . . . this is one of the worst things I’ve ever seen. This is going to rock the whole community.’
‘Why did you ask me to find Marie?’ His stomach has tied itself into a knot. He can barely get the words out.
‘It’s not her we need, Davie. It’s Woodley. He was here last night. She was introducing him to everyone. She was hammered, apparently. Caused a bit of a scene. One of the witnesses said she and Woodley had a screaming row, but she doesn’t know what happened after that. We don’t know when she left. No sign of Woodley, but he can’t have gone far. Not in the state he’s in.’
‘What do you mean? What state is he in?’
‘Well, it’s only a guess. But I think he might be the one who carved the place up. Something happened with him and his sister. Tipped him over the edge. We’re searching for him now. Wondered if you might have any insights. Local places he might hide out.’
‘He’s not local, though, is he? He won’t know anywhere in the town any better than you do.’ He pauses. Tries to think. Is there anywhere to hide up by the Track? Probably not.
‘No derelict buildings or anything around, then?’ Malkie asks.
The thought smacks him on the side of the face. What Laura said. She’d been rambling on, and he’d meant to ask her, but then they’d been talking about the shows . . . ‘Jesus. Yes. Marchmont Lodge. It’s an old children’s home. Not quite derelict, but it’s a place where people hang out. Lots of rooms, plenty of dark nooks and crannies. It’s meant to be getting developed soon. The new owners have managed to scare away the usual druggie inhabitants, but the kids are still hanging out down there. Someone mentioned to me the other day that they thought there might be someone in there.’
‘Right. Let’s go. Mike, Simon – get the details from Davie. We’re going to check out this place. Get Louise. If you find Woodley, be careful – he is considered armed and extremely dangerous. Take him in if you can, but if there is any problem whatsoever, do not take any risks. We have specialists for this kind of thing. I don’t want any heroes. The main thing is to locate him. Try not to spook him. We need him in one piece.’
Davie watches as the officers disperse. Sees the expressions on their faces. Excitement. Determination. Despite the worry swirling in his stomach, despite the danger his friends are in, he wants to be part of this. His mind is made up.
‘What can I do?’ he says.
‘We need to find Marie, Davie. That’s the best thing you can do to help right now.’
Davie feels ice run down his spine. What if she was still in the flat? He’d assumed she had left. But what if she was inside? What if she was hurt?
Or worse.