Big Boy Did It and Ran Away (32 page)

‘Just these cunts staunin’ here wi’ their fingers up their holes when they should be oot findin’ this paedophile bastart.’

‘Sounds like yous need tae get your priorities straight. It’s no’ a crime tae care aboot your weans, ye know.’

‘I would entirely agree with you on that, sir,’ said Mellis. ‘However, I’m sure Mrs Ash cares deeply about her own child, and having this going on outside her front door can’t be very comfortable for either of them, so perhaps—’

‘His wife and kid are still in there?’ Angelique said with open disgust. ‘With all this shower outside?’

‘There’s a PC in the house,’ assured Glenn. ‘Jane Beckett. Been there since late last night.’

‘Still,’ she said, rounding on the Number One Parents, ‘how would you like this goin’ on outside your house if you’d a three‐
month‐
old baby in your arms?’

Number One Mum looked at her like she’d found her on the sole of her shoe. ‘Whit side o’ the fuckin’ rainbow did yous recruit her?’ she grunted, drawing her eyes off Angelique. ‘Fuckin’ PC Munchkin.’

McIntosh put a hand on her arm. ‘Angelique, please,’ he said imploringly.

‘I’m calm,’ she assured him. Glenn witnessed the exchange with a quizzical look. Mellis smiled back at him, playing on what the uniform didn’t know. Big bloody wean.

Angelique turned once more to face their visitors.

‘I’d say you’ve made your point with your protest, but seeing as Mr Ash isn’t actually here, I don’t think there’s much reason to go on intimidating his family, so how’s about we all call it a morning, eh?’

‘Listen, Chocolate Drop,’ growled Number One Mum, taking an unknowing dip in the piranha pool, ‘you cannae tell us tae leave. We know wur rights.’

‘Angelique,’ said McIntosh again, this time sounding more nervous.

‘I’m still calm.’

‘Come on, you heard the officer,’ Mellis broke in. ‘Mrs Ash has a right to her privacy.’

‘An’ we’ve a right tae protect oor kids fae shite like her husband,’ countered Number One Mum, her face getting redder with every word.

‘Well,’ said Mellis, ‘maybe you could do that more effectively if you were with them, rather than standing out here.’

This was the wrong thing to say.

Number One Mum’s head visibly shuddered, then she gripped the placard in both hands and swung it at Mellis, who dived backwards, taking Glenn to the floor with him. Angelique dropped and swept the woman’s chubby legs with a kick, bringing her to the ground before kneeling on her back and whipping out her cuffs. She had barely got hold of the woman’s hand when Number One Dad waded in with a rescue attempt. He caught McIntosh off‐
balance, batting him aside with an elbow‐
blow to the face, then bore down on Angelique. She sprang to her feet and sidestepped his swinging right fist, deflecting it with her upturned left wrist to his enormous surprise. The manoeuvre left them inches apart, staring into each other’s eyes, which was where it was easy to read what was coming next. He lunged at her with an intended headbutt, meeting instead two fingers of her right hand, splayed to bridge his nose and poke each eye.

Number One Dad howled in pain and took a step back, holding both hands to his face, but he only needed a moment’s respite before rage and (yawn) pride sent him flailing literally blindly at her. Angelique had already checked her step in readiness for launch, so that by the time he bundled into range, she was already airborne for the two‐
footed kick that would render him unconscious before he even hit the floor.

‘Now,’ she addressed the gaping crowd, ‘as I was saying, I’d like you all to respect Mrs Ash’s privacy and kindly disperse from in front of her house. Or do I have to get angry?’

She didn’t.

‘You all right?’ she asked McIntosh, who was cuffing Number One Mum. His mouth was bleeding a little, but he looked more pissed off than anything else.

‘This is police brutality, ya fuckin’ black bitch.’

Angelique crouched down in front of their prisoner. ‘No it’s not. But you call me that again and I’ll show you what is. Okay, tubby?’

‘Fuck me,’ was Glenn’s contribution, after he and Mellis had picked themselves up from an embarrassingly ineffectual tangle on the tarmac.

‘Secret Agent X, Sergeant Glenn. In action. She’s a black belt in three different martial arts. It would have been four, but when she was a brown belt she killed the Kempo instructor during training, and he was the only one in Scotland.’

‘Don’t listen to him,’ she told Glenn. ‘He’s havering.’

The sergeant nodded.

‘I didn’t kill him, I only broke his collarbone. And it is four.’

Angelique rang the doorbell and waited for PC Beckett to answer. McIntosh, Mellis and Glenn formed a queue behind her on the garden path.

‘DS Mellis, would it be possible for you to get some backup down here?’ she asked.

‘Eh, aye. Of course. Why?’

‘Well, I just figure five polis is maybe not quite enough to be milling around Mrs Ash’s living room.’

‘Point taken. Come on, Sergeant, we’ll wait our turn. Oh and Angel, before you speak to her, you should know: Ash told her nothing about the shooting or dead punters at the airport. He said he’d fallen in the water escaping from a mugger. Didn’t want to alarm her, ironically enough.’

‘Got you. Cheers.’

PC Beckett led them inside. The phone rang as she closed the door. Everybody looked at everybody else. Mrs Ash emerged from the living room wearing a puke‐
stained sweatshirt and jogging bottoms, baby in arms, looking like she hadn’t slept since the Nineties.

The phone in the hall had a remote handset. Angelique lifted it and offered it to her host, beckoning an exchange for the child.

‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘You’d be amazed the number of things you learn to do while still holding this wee parcel.’

Accordingly, Mrs Ash cradled the child in the crook of her right arm and held the handset to her face with her left, retreating to the living room. Receiving no signals for or against, the three cops followed her in. She sat down before pressing the speak button, gesturing with a nod that they should take their places on the sofa.

‘Hello? Raymond! Oh thank God. Where are you? Are you all right?’

She looked defensively at Angelique, who had sprung to her feet upon hearing the name.

‘Yes. There’s been police here since last night. What’s happened?’

Angelique sat down again, biding her time, trying to piece together what she could from Mrs Ash’s side of the conversation, which was by far the smaller.

‘Oh God. Yeah, there’s been a bloody lynch mob outside since first thing this morning. I don’t know what the police think. No. But … but can’t you … Jesus. Okay. Okay. I know. Oh Christ, Raymond. No, he’s been fine. I know. A bit of posseting. He slept nearly four hours. Okay.’ Etcetera. Until, tearfully: ‘I love you too. Okay.’ She held the phone up. ‘He says he wants to speak to one of you.’

Angelique took the handset.

‘Hello, this is DI de Xavia.’

‘Howdy. Raymond Ash.’

‘Where are you, Mr Ash?’

‘You’ll understand if I’m reluctant to say.’

‘Nonetheless, it would be best for everybody if you came home, then we could clear all of this up.’

‘You don’t have a clue what needs clearing up here. I know nothing about those boys. First I learned about it was in the newspaper.’

‘Me too, Mr Ash. There’s a lot of things we need to discuss, and I don’t need to tell you your wife’s very worried.’

‘So am I. Look, my money’s runnin’ out fast, so cut the headgames and listen up. I was abducted at the school yesterday by two men posin’ as polis. They stuck me and my car in the back of a truck and took me to an abandoned farmhouse. I can’t give you an exact location, but it’s somewhere off the road between Kincregie and … fuck knows, it’s round there somewhere. They all had guns, and there was a lot of comin’ and goin’, like they’re preparin’ for somethin’. I don’t know what they wanted with me, but I got the impression I wasnae the main attraction. That’s probably how I managed to escape. I stole one of their cars. Mine’s still there. Black Polo. You find that place and find them, then I’ll think about comin’ in.’

‘If you come in now, we can protect you from whoever they are.’

‘Who’s gaunny protect me from you?’

‘Mr Ash, you’re not under suspicion for these boys’ disappearances.’

‘Tell that to the vigilantes.’

With which he hung up.

‘Fix Mrs Ash a coffee, would you, Tosh?’

‘I’ll get it,’ said Beckett.

‘Tosh’ll help,’ Angelique insisted. McIntosh nodded, getting the picture. The other cops left the room, whereupon Mrs Ash pulled up her sweatshirt and plugged the little one in.

‘You must be telepathic.’

‘Experience with my sister‐
in‐
law. I can distinguish between hungry crying and non‐
specific disgruntlement. The fact that he was practically chewin’ through your jersey helped too. Do you want me to go as well?’

‘No, you’re all right.’

They sat in silence for a while, Angelique waiting until the feed was well in progress before asking any questions. Another thing she remembered from James’s wife was that you wouldn’t get a nursing mother’s full attention until the little human pump had relieved some of the pressure in her chest. From the kitchen, she could hear McIntosh on his radio, relaying this farmhouse’s sparse location details. It was about an hour north of Glasgow. They were going to get the local force to suggest likely candidates and then check it out with ARU back‐
up.

‘Mrs Ash?’

‘Kate.’

‘What did he tell you?’

‘Same as you. That he’d been abducted and then escaped. Christ, I wish I knew where he was. I know he’s okay just now, but …’ She sighed anxiously. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Who would want to kidnap Ray? He’s not making it up, though. He’s scared. I’ve never heard him like that.’

‘There’s nothing … untoward that he’s been involved in? That you know of?’

‘Ray? Are you kidding? Neither of us has the time to get involved in more than a cup of tea these days. And any spare time he does get he spends wired to his computer.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Games. Shoot‐
em‐
up stuff. It used to be his business. He ran a PC games network in Allison Street – The Dark Zone – before he became a teacher.’

‘What about yourself? Work‐
wise, I mean?’

‘I work for a marketing and PR firm. I’m on six months’ maternity leave just now.’

‘So it’s unlikely they’d be after him to get to you.’

‘Hardly.’

Her expression changed, something dawning on her as she ruminated on this evidently absurd possibility.

‘You’re not interested in these boys, are you?’ Kate said. ‘You’re after something else. Do you know about something Ray’s involved in?’

‘Yesterday was the first time I heard his name. But you’re right, I’m not involved in the missing boys investigation. Would you mind if I had a look at Ray’s computer?’

‘Sure. Hang on, Martin’s finishing up here. I’ll show you myself in a minute.’

McIntosh eagerly beat Beckett to taking the kid, and was rewarded with a shoulderful of puke for his enthusiasm. Kate led Angelique up the stairs and into a small, cluttered room, dominated by an impressive PC set‐
up. The walls were covered with cartoons, all of them hand‐
drawn. Taking pride of place above the PC monitor was one of a stubby cowboy with a beard down almost to his waist and a sheriff’s badge shining through it. Kate noticed Angelique’s interest.

‘Ray used to draw cartoons for a few local publications. He’s been doing it since he was wee. He had a regular one in The List a few years back, usually music‐
related.’

‘Are these all his, then?’

‘No, a lot of them are copies from Bud Neill. Ray’s crazy about him. That’s how he got started. His dad had a scrap‐
book of Bud Neill cartoons and Ray used to copy them when he was a kid.’ She pointed to the cowboy. ‘He even uses that as his online player model. Lobey Dosser.’

The name meant nothing to Angelique, but she did recognise one of the cartoons, having seen a framed version on the wall at the Tulliallan training centre. It depicted two drunks in a fight, one jumping up and down on the other, bottles lying discarded around them, and in the foreground two uniformed cops. The caption read: ‘Now, the smart caper here, probationer, is tae wander roon the corner till somebody reports it.’

‘You said he just plays games,’ Angelique said, booting up the machine. ‘Where’s the joystick?’

‘Only lamers use joysticks.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Just quoting Ray. It’s his only area of machismo. The kinds of games he plays, you use a mouse. You can use a joystick, but you’d just be frag‐
fodder.’

‘Frag‐
fodder?’

‘Sorry. I try not to listen when he starts, but you can’t help picking up the lingo.’

Angelique had a quick scout around the system, checking the usual places: recent browsing history, temporary caches, deleted mail. Personal greetings correspondence aside, it backed up what Kate said: everything was gaming‐
related, even the techie websites about improving processor and graphics performance. She ran a Fastfind, looking for image file‐
types. The dedicated cyber‐
pervs were often known to have their collections stashed away somewhere, and a cluster of .gifs or .jpegs in one folder was the giveaway. In Ash’s case, the only image files were in his Internet temporary cache, all belonging to those gaming pages. If he’d been inclined to abduct little boys, she’d have expected to find something more illicit than the Savage UK CTF fixture list, whatever the hell that was.

It was the den of a typical overgrown adolescent, a regression cave where he could retreat now and again with his toys and nostalgia. Outside it, there was clearly a very strong marriage and a child he’d become a teacher in order to support. There was nothing to suggest a reason why he would attract the attention of the Black Spirit, or indeed any other gun‐
toting ne’erdowells. Neither was there anything to back up Glenn’s idea that he was an attention‐
seeking fantasist, or on the verge of a breakdown, other than the kind most new fathers go through when they realise it’s for keeps. The only jarring thing was that he hadn’t told his wife the truth about his evening swim, but this was probably because he didn’t want her worrying. Same with the dead bloke at the airport. It didn’t do for one new parent to let the other think he was totally losing it.