The Barbershop Seven (124 page)

Blackadder looked at The Amazing Mr X, exchanged a glance with Barney, stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

'She's been reported missing, sir. Same set-up as McLaven. No sign of a body, but blood on the carpet.'

JLM let out a long sigh and turned round. The Amazing Mr X looked a little concerned. Barney raised an eyebrow; there goes another one, he thought, and he wasn't progressing very far with his investigation. Maybe it wasn't so easy to be a detective after all.

'Jesus,' said JLM. 'For crying out loud. You sure she's not just gone for a pint, or something?'

'Blood on the carpet,' Blackadder repeated.

'Maybe she was shaving,' quipped JLM.

'Your hair looks lovely, sir,' said Blackadder. 'I think you should come out.'

'You're right,' said JLM, glancing around at the mirror. 'My hair does look lovely. Thanks, Barn.'

And finally JLM rose and walked to the door, out to face another little crisis in his government.

***

A
s what counted for panic once again embraced the parliament building, the killer of the nebby wee cow sat back and relaxed with a hot cup of joe. At first she'd thought she might hang around and wait for building security after she'd made the call; ensure that they found the body before whoever it was who was cleaning up after her. And then she'd thought, sod it. I'm the killer, I should be in charge, I'll do it my way. I'll start toying with the idiot.

And so, after she had stabbed Stratton in the neck with one delightfully fluent ping of the knife, she'd removed the right shoe of the Minister for Parliamentary Business, then carefully cut off her big toe and placed it in a small polythene bag and into her coat pocket. Then she had bound the foot and put it back into the shoe. Then she'd left the scene of the crime, a small ancillary room on the top floor of the Assembly Building, returned to her office and placed the call to building security. More than likely, she thought, the body would be gone by the time they got there. Highly unlikely, however, that the ad hoc undertaker would notice that Mrs Stratton was not complete.

She sipped her coffee, munched on a fig roll, and pondered the variety of naughty things that one could do with a severed toe.

The Comedians

––––––––

F
inally the media had something decent into which to get their teeth. Rather than the vague disappearance of a couple of cabinet ministers, they now had two more vanishing in the parliament building itself, leaving blood on the carpet at that.
The Executive Cull Picks Up Pace
, boomed BBC Scotland at six-thirty.
Arch Diver & Nebby Wee Cow the latest to go missing,
said Scotland Today.
Government in Crisis
, thundered Newsnight Scotland, with the appropriate graphic displaying the exponential curve of the presumed slaughter of the cabinet.
Disney to sue First Minister at refusal to let his children watch Jungle Book
, said Channel 5.
Britney's underwear in new love triangle
, said Sky News.

For a few hours only, the media were more interested in the death of the very minor celebrities of the cabinet, than they were in JLM and Hookergate or Disneygate or World Cup 2014gate. By the following morning, the disappearance of McLaven and Stratton would not be front page in many of the newspapers, but they dominated the television for a few hours.

Barney was back in the very comfortable cell of his room, watching the television reaction to the latest news, when there was a knock at the door. Much as there was every night. It seemed to Barney like he was the new thing in town.
What are you doing tonight? I'm going to see the freak, Barney Thomson
. He didn't immediately leap up, only vaguely interested in who it might be. Some other messenger of his past, more than likely, with another explanation as to who he was and where he'd come from.
Actually son, you came up the Clyde on a banana boat
.
As a matter of fact, you're a holographic image
.
It's a wonder what the people at Lego are doing these days
.
Apparently they made you out of bits of body that other people didn't need. You're a low-cal, decaffeinated zombie, fully back to life but with none of the slime.

He wearily walked to the door, sort of hoping that it would be Alison Blake returned to quash the rumours of her indifference. It would give him something to do, if nothing else.

Solomon and Kent were waiting outside, hanging around like a couple of blokes who didn't know what to do with themselves, looking up and down the corridor.

'Solomon and Kent,' said Solomon.

'I remember,' said Barney. 'I only saw you this morning. I thought you were going to give me a few days?'

'That was before the roof caved in,' said Solomon.

Barney nodded. True enough. There'd been a one hundred percent increase in the death rate. If it continued at this pace they'd all be gone by the day after tomorrow. And where would the country be then? Well, actually...

He stood back and ushered them in, nodding at Sergeant Kent as they passed.

'By the way,' said Solomon, 'who did you tell people we were? They're looking at us like we're cowboys.'

'Jehovahs,' said Barney, closing the door.

'Jesus Christ,' said Solomon. 'Couldn't you have said we were serial killers?'

Barney walked over to the drinks cabinet. Cracked open a Bud, turned to the others.

'Get you anything?'

Kent shook his head.

'You got any unblended malt in that thing?' said Solomon, expecting the answer no.

'Seven different types,' said Barney.

Of course there are, stupid, thought Solomon. This is where the taxpayer's money is going to, after all.

'I'll take a Glen Ord if you've got it,' he said.

Barney checked, nodded, cracked open the small bottle of Glen Ord, poured it and passed over the glass.

'What's the big secret with you guy's being police?' asked Barney. 'Four cabinet ministers have disappeared. The place is swarming with you lot.'

'Not us,' said Kent.

'Did I say you could speak?' said Solomon, going straight into his Bill & Ben routine with Kent. 'Look, this whole thing with you, nobody on the force actually knows about. We're investigating the murder of Veronica Walters. That's our thing. The boss just thought that since you were on the inside, you might be able to make a few enquiries. So, we're kind of a liaison. We're not technically involved in the cabinet murder investigation. We have access to what they know through the boss; we'll pass on to him anything that you can come up with.'

'The left hand doesn't know what the right is doing?' said Barney, settling back in his comfy chair.

'Yeah, but the dick knows everything,' said Solomon, 'and that's what matters.'

Barney smiled.

'Never let it be said that a man's brains aren't in his dick,' said Kent.

'Shurrup,' said Solomon.

'All right,' said Barney, 'what d'you want me to do? Seriously. I'm just a guy. I'm not a detective, I can't manipulate people, I'm not particularly adept at the deductive process. With the exception of Longfellow-Moses I don't know anyone in the cabinet. I may be on the inside, but I'm probably on the inside of the wrong box.'

Kent started to say something, but was silenced by a raised hand from his superior, so he slumped down onto the sofa that Barney's women usually sat in, plonked his feet on the coffee table and shoved his hands in his pockets. Puffed his cheeks out so that he looked like a baboon and let out a long whistle of air.

Solomon watched the display with contempt, took a swift wee shot of Glen Ord, then turned to Barney.

'We're at a loose end here. There's four of these comedians gone missing and we've no idea. Now security's been stepped up in the last day, pretty tight in the parliament buildings. I'm not saying that no one could get in, but whatever was done to McLaven and Stratton was more than likely committed by someone who works in the building. Which begins to narrow it down, because the two we had before today went missing outside the building. So, you following me?'

'Like a dog,' said Barney.

'Good,' said Solomon. 'We've got one thousand, three hundred and twenty-three people working in the complex who aren't dead yet. We have to work on the assumption, until something better comes along, that it's one of them who's committing the murders. Right, where do we go from there? Why would anyone want all the members of the cabinet dead?'

'Apart from the obvious,' chipped in Kent.

'Ignore the monkey,' said Solomon, 'because even the obvious doesn't apply. The First Minister has totally removed power from his ministers. They've maybe still got one Hell of a lot of paper to push around, but when it comes to real responsibility and power in the decision making process, zip! Why should anyone have a grudge against any of them, when none of them have made a decision in the past year?'

'Very good,' said Barney. 'So what, you've also eliminated everybody in the building from your investigation?'

'What would Sherlock Homes say now?' wisecracked Kent.

'Ignoring the sideshow,' said Solomon, 'the logical conclusion is that it's someone, or a group, who have direct dealings with the cabinet. The people in each of the government departments don't really have too much business with the cabinet, except through their minister. So, to cut the crap, we're looking at a member of the cabinet itself, someone from the First Minister's office who has regular dealings with the cabinet, or one of the civil servants who has to deal with the cabinet. Sound good?'

'Sure,' said Barney. 'Have to start somewhere.'

'Exactamundo,' said Solomon. 'So, we realise you don't have access to all those groups. But what we're asking you to do is to integrate into the group you're already in. The First Minister's men and women.'

'I've already shagged one of them,' said Barney. Boys will be boys.

'Hey,' said Kent. 'Excellent.'

'Yeah,' said Solomon, 'very good. Find out as much as you can, find out what they know, if any of them have dealings with any of the other two groups. Most of all, find out about Weirdlove, 'cause if ever there was a sinister motherfuck on this planet, that guy is it.'

'Aye,' said Barney. 'You must've seen him this morning as you left.'

Solomon shook his head. Kent gave Barney one of those suspicious little looks that he threw his way every now and again.

'Nope,' said Solomon. 'Why'd you say that?'

Barney shook his head. Because I was presuming he came in as you two left, he thought, but didn't say. Perhaps Weirdlove had ghosted in through the closed door. Perhaps he'd been in the room all along.

'Doesn't matter,' said Barney. 'Look, I'll see what I can find out. What d'you want me to do? How should I contact you?'

Solomon reached inside his coat pocket and produced a small red flag on a small brown pole. Kent rolled his eyes and hurrumphed.

'When you think you've got something for us, doesn't matter how insignificant it seems, stick this in the window of your room. We'll get in touch.'

'You're kidding me?' said Barney.

'He likes to pretend,' said Kent, getting to his feet, 'that his life is a movie. All undercover trickery and car chases.'

'Can it, Kent,' barked Solomon. 'You got anything to tell us, Barn, you put this in your window. You got that?'

'Whatever you say,' said Barney, and he saluted.

'Right,' said Solomon. 'We're out of here. Come on, Superman.'

Kent made a face at Solomon's back and followed his leader to the door. As he passed Barney he put his hand on his shoulder, squeezed, and said, 'Well done on shagging the vicar, mate. Excellent.'

And they left.

When the door was closed, Barney turned round quickly, wondering if Parker Weirdlove was going to be standing inside again, as he had been before. Not this time, and Barney slumped back down into his seat.

'How did they know I slept with the vicar?' he muttered to the room.

––––––––

I
t was half-time at the '70s retro show at the Royal Concert Hall in Glasgow and the appropriate generation had packed out the auditorium to watch the usual remnants of one of the century's darker decades of musical output. Of the eleven acts on the bill, there were at least two versions of the Bay City Rollers, an octogenarian line-up for Mud, featuring none of the original band members, Alvin Stardust and his 300lb codpiece, and a varied selection of has-beens, never-weres and be-glittered psychopaths whose egos had remained trapped on Top of The Pops for close on thirty years. It was, to be fair to the lads Fat Bastards, an appalling show. And the audience was fifty-three per cent larger than for the previous night's performance from Scottish Opera.

In the middle of the back row, as inconspicuous as a person who was on Reporting Scotland every other night could be, was Winona Wanderlip, decked out in an enormous Rubettes hat, which she'd possessed since she was ten and had grooved along to
Juke Box Jive
. Along with an absurdly enormous pair of dark glasses, of the variety sported by Peters out of Peters and Lee, it made her blend in with the seventies crowd, so that no heads were turned in her direction.

The man sitting next to her was dressed in a suit and tie, much as he always was. He stood out a mile, but still no one paid him any attention. Something about him made people not want to be caught looking at him.

'It's got to be one of the cabinet,' said Wanderlip. 'Seriously, who else is interested? I don't even see JLM having anything to do with it. He just ignores us all anyway, so why bother killing us off?'

'Quash the rebellion,' said Parker Weirdlove. 'It's good dictator skills. The slightest hint of trouble, and you ditch the ringleaders. Melanie was getting arsey; you said yourself that Peggy came out of your illicit cabinet meeting prepped to make a challenge; Nelly was, well, Nelly.'

'And Wally?' said Wanderlip, giving him a sideways glance.

'Exception to prove the rule,' said Weirdlove. 'I don't know.'