Fatal Transaction: A DCI MacBain Scottish Crime Thriller Page 3
“Of course I’ve tried calling him,” Reilly said, looking offended at my suggestion, though the man was not the most technologically adept, so it was a fair question on my part. “I don’t know how to track his phone, nor do I know who his other friends are.”
“What about AA?” I added as Reilly motioned for me to step back so he could exit the bathroom. “He’s got to go to meetings in town.”
“Sure, but I don’t know where.” Reilly was starting to sound frustrated, his grip tight around the prescription bottle as his worry mounted. The man was usually the coolest, most level-headed person I knew, but his friend’s disappearance had thrown him right off his rhythm in a way I’d never seen before.
“That’s okay,” I said, trying to make my voice soothing, though that wasn’t the natural dynamic between the two of us. “Do you know if it’s an iPhone? Then we can use the Find My iPhone feature.”
Reilly shook his head. “I have no idea. I haven’t seen him in a while. We usually just talk over the phone.”
“That’s also fine,” I assured him. “We’ll give his phone number to Martin. Maybe he can turn something up.”
At that, Reilly finally cracked a smile, tucking the bottle into one of his pockets. “That guy’s still there? I’d thought he’d have been fired by now.”
“You know, Dunnel’s tried,” I joked with a shrug. “Nothing sticks.”
Reilly laughed, some of the worried lines across his face smoothing out, though a pensive tinge remained around the edges. His hand stayed in the pocket with the bottle he’d found, turning it over and over again in his fingers.
We left Charles's flat and made our way back down the dingy stairs and out the front door of the building. It had started to rain in that short amount of time we’d been inside, though, for the moment, it was still a light drizzle, the cold drops splattering against my head as I hunched my shoulders and rushed for my car, Reilly close behind me.
We practically threw ourselves into the front seats, and I let out a short huff as I shook some of the water from my hair and twisted the key in the ignition so I could get the heater going. Summer was coming soon, in theory, but we still had several false starts to go through before the temperature began to rise in earnest. For now, the spring rains would continue to hound us, cold and restless as they turned the city grey and foggy.
I drove back to the station so we could deliver Charles’ phone number to Martin, as I’d promised Reilly. He’d taken the prescription bottle out of his pocket again, staring down at it as we travelled as if he could somehow puzzle a clue out of its blank depths. Oxycodone wasn’t as common a drug of choice in Scotland as it was in, say, the States, at least, as far as I knew, but it was certainly possible to get it, given how many surgeries used it as a prescribed painkiller. If we could figure out Charles's old supplier, maybe we’d be able to find him, too.
When we arrived at the station, I parked as close to the front doors as I could get as the rain had picked up over the drive, and Reilly and I dashed from the car to the doors as soon as I’d turned off the engine and put on the parking brake. We stood on the mat for a few seconds so we could shake out our coats and hair, and I snapped the collar on my long overcoat, though that made more water run down my neck rather than getting rid of it. I sighed and peeled the coat off, hanging it on the stand near the door where it would dry out better than it would if hung off the back of my chair.
It looked like Fletcher was still out to lunch since she wasn’t at her desk, and Dunnel’s door was closed, though I could see his light on through the drawn blinds. Reilly and I made our way to the lift at the back of the room and rode it down to the basement, where the lab was. The temperature dropped considerably when the lift doors opened and set us out in the long, cement hallway, and I wished I’d kept my coat on, even if it was wet.
I led the way to the double doors at the far end of the corridor, and they swung open at my touch, admitting us into the station’s lab. Almost everything in the room was made of stainless steel or some kind of medical-grade tile that looked like marble. A glass partition blocked off the right third of the room, the round table, projector, and screen that the techs used to give reports to the rest of us visible through the clear panes. I didn’t really understand what half of the equipment in the lab did, not that I needed to. I just needed to be able to put together the information they spat out.
Martin and his assistant, Benson, were seated at one of the steel tables, eating lunch. Martin looked up the moment he heard the doors open and immediately set his sandwich down on its white paper while Benson paused with chopsticks halfway to his mouth.
Martin and Benson were almost opposites of each other. Martin was far older, in his fifties, with a shaved head and a neat, grey goatee framing his mouth, the colour of the hair made lighter by the darkness of his skin. His eyes glittered sharply behind his wire-rimmed glasses, and his hands were growing a bit gnarled with age, not that it had stolen away any of their dexterity.
Benson, on the other hand, was redheaded, anxious, and honestly, a bit of a klutz. A small whiteboard hanging off the back wall read “Days Since Benson’s Last Incident: 5.” Benson spent a lot of time breaking beakers and whatnot. He had a spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and his ears were somewhat too large for his head. His parents had probably hoped he’d grow into them when he hit puberty, but then he never did. Martin and Benson’s relationship seemed to mostly consist of Martin threatening to fire Benson, while Benson was too smart for that threat to actually hold any water.
“Reilly, is that you?” Martin demanded as he took in Reilly’s small frame and grizzled face. Martin hopped down from his stool and hurried across the lab so the two of them could clasp hands and grin at each other. “I thought they’d finally put you down like the old dog you are.”
“They tried. It didn’t stick,” Reilly replied, reaching forward with his other hand to clap Martin on the shoulder. “How are you doing? They still letting you do science stuff? I thought you’d gone blind years ago.”
“Har, har,” Martin droned, rolling his eyes as he grinned. “My eyesight’s just fine.”
“Is that why you wear glasses?” Reilly shot back immediately.
“Martin, we could use your help if you’re not too busy,” I interrupted, stepping right up beside the two of them so that I was practically standing in between them. If left unopposed, Martin and Reilly could rib on each other for literal hours. It would be hilarious, but nothing would get done.
Martin cleared his throat and put on a more serious face as he stepped back and wrapped up the last of his lunch. “Sure thing. Reilly, have you met my new assistant, Benson?”
“New assistant?” Benson protested. “Martin, I’ve been with you for a couple of years now.”
“You’ll always be the new assistant,” I told him, patting him on the shoulder as if in consolation. “Martin’s last assistant was the new assistant right up until the moment he left to move to England.”
Benson sighed, his slight shoulders slumping, but he only remained in the dejected position for a couple of seconds before he perked back up and stuck his hand out to Reilly. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“Sir?” Reilly repeated as he clasped hands with the much younger man. “I think I like this one, Martin. He’s very polite. Respectful of his elders.”
“He’s only polite because he doesn’t want you to strangle him with your bandages, you old mummy,” Martin shot at him, his eyes twinkling.
“Martin, we’ve got a phone number for you to run,” I prompted quickly before the two of them could go off on another tangent. “Reilly, do you want to give it to him?”
“Right.” Reilly took out his old man flip phone while Martin snagged a pad of paper to scribble the digits down on. It took Reilly a second to navigate to his contacts, but he rattled off a string of numbers to Martin, who dutifully jotted them down.
“What’s this about?” Martin asked once he was finished.
“No problem,” Martin said, folding the page with the number on it up and sticking it in the pocket of his lab coat where he wouldn’t forget about it. “Always happy to help out an old friend, even if he’s got one foot in the grave.”
“You’re one to talk,” Reilly replied without missing a beat. He and Martin grinned at each other, and then Reilly turned to look at me. “I’m going to stick around and catch up with this old codger for a bit. I’m sure you’ve got loads of paperwork to do. You don’t need me hanging around, distracting you.”
“I definitely have a lot of reports to finish,” I said, thinking back to the massive stack on my desk as my heart sank toward my boots. “I’ll leave you two to it. Dinner or drinks tonight, Reilly?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” my old partner said with a wink.
“Hey, Callum,” Martin called out as I turned to head for the doors, so I paused and looked back at him.
“Did you want any more help with all that Loch Ness Monster stuff?” he asked, and I cringed as Reilly’s eyes immediately landed on me, his curiosity piqued. “You haven’t mentioned it in a few months, and I thought you were really getting somewhere with your dad’s old computer. I could help you out again if you’re stuck. You’ve just got to point me in a direction.”
I shrugged and rubbed at the back of my neck. “I’ve kind of given up on all that. It wasn’t going anywhere, and it was just driving me crazy.”
Martin sounded so eager to help that I felt a little bad lying to him like that. When Sam had first found that photograph amongst my dad’s old stuff, I’d brought it to Martin to enhance, and then I’d asked for his help to monitor the old cryptid forums that my father had been a part of. I hadn’t told him anything that had happened after that, though his technical expertise would no doubt be very helpful down in that weird lab Fletcher and I had stumbled across. But I was not going to get him involved in anything dangerous, and I really, really wished he hadn’t brought it up in front of Reilly. Reilly was like a dog with a bone. It was why he’d made such a good inspector. If he got a whiff of this, he wouldn’t stop until he’d pried the entire story out from behind my gritted teeth.
Martin’s face fell at my somewhat blasé answer to his question, though he obviously tried to keep most of his disappointment below the surface. Martin was fascinated by cryptids, which was why he’d been so excited to help in the first place since the old photo had seemed to involve a never before seen sighting of the Loch Ness Monster.
“Sorry, mate,” I said with another shrug. “I just… I need to put all that to bed. For the sake of my own sanity.”
If only I could do that in reality. My paranoia was certainly going to drive me mad sooner rather than later.
“I get it,” Martin said, waving off my apology. “If you ever pick it back up, I’m here.”
“Thanks,” I told him honestly. I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, pointing at the doors. “Alright. I’ll leave you two to it. Paperwork and all.”
“Have fun,” Reilly called as I made for the doors again, and I turned around just long enough to make a rude gesture in his direction.
Two
Barney Crane was working late. That was both a blessing and a curse because, on the one hand, he was avoiding another blowout argument with his wife, but on the other hand, it would no doubt cause a shouting match of its own when he did finally get home. But for the moment, he simply could not handle another bargy, and so he sought solitude in the quiet, empty arms of the bank he managed, cocooned in his office with the day’s paperwork.
He didn’t even really know what it was they were fighting about. Bills one day, dirt on the floor the next, the way the flat was just a few degrees too cool for Melanie’s taste. He’d tried everything to get things back to the way they’d been. They’d gone to couple’s therapy, they’d gone on holiday, they’d adopted a damn dog, but there was always something. He’d left the dishes out. She’d forgotten to hoover. On and on and on.
And so he was hiding, pretending, at least for tonight, that everything was normal. Even, in his darker moments, that he was single again and didn’t have to worry about compromising every day with another human being.
Barney checked his phone. There were no messages from her, asking where he was. There never were. She would simply give him a look in the morning or whenever he returned and then go back to reading her paper, and he would try to apologise, and it wouldn’t work. Then, the next night, she would do the same to him.
He hunched over the papers on his desk and tried to focus on the numbers he was entering into his computer. He would call Melanie in an hour and try to apologise. Maybe if he was proactive… but no. There really wasn’t any point any longer. The two of them just needed to accept the fact that it was time for a divorce. If only it were as easy as that, and their families weren’t quite so Catholic.
A clang ran through the empty bank, and Barney’s head snapped up to look at his closed office door as a frightened shock ran down his spine. It had sounded like something hitting the marble floor then rolling off down the corridor. Barney licked his lips. It was probably just the security guard. Maybe he’d dropped his torch or something. That was all. It was nothing to be worried about.
He waited for the guard, Broderick Smyth, to check in with him, maybe apologise for dropping something and causing such a scare, but five minutes passed, and the man never appeared at his door. There were no further sounds, no movement on the security monitors mounted in a box on the left-hand side of his desk. Barney frowned as he stared at the tiny, grainy screens. He should have been able to make Broderick out as the guard went on his rounds. Sure, the cameras had a few blind spots, but not so many as to keep Broderick hidden from sight for several minutes unless he was standing stock still in one of them, not doing his job.
Barney supposed he should go check up on Broderick. He really didn’t want to leave the safety of his lockable office, though. In his years of working as a bank manager, Barney had often dreamt of being the one to stop a robbery, getting marked as a hero in the eyes of the city and the press and even those of his wife, of saving his marriage by saving the money, but in truth, each time he’d heard the call of a bird or the rustle of the wind, anything that might have been construed as a break-in, he found himself locked to his chair, unable to compel his limbs to move.
This time was no different. He felt glued to the cushion as his heart hammered away in his chest, and he listened desperately for anything else out of the ordinary. In truth, the bank felt too silent, too still, and he hoped that was just his overactive imagination, but he could usually hear Broderick’s heavy steps scuffing along the floor as he ambled down the hallway, could usually hear the creak of the guard opening doors, but there was none of that now. Hadn’t been for quite some time, Barney realised.
So what had fallen, and where was Broderick?
Barney planted his hands against his desk like he was going to heave himself out of his chair, but then he stayed like that as the minutes ticked by. He took a deep breath. He could do this. He could walk out that door and investigate. It was probably nothing. Just a mug left in a precarious position by one of the day staff that had finally fallen.
Barney told himself that three times before he finally got to his feet. This could be a funny story to tell Melanie, he assured himself. Maybe something funny that the two of them could laugh about. And if it was robbers, then he could prove himself a hero and finally give her a reason to look at him with fresh eyes, not as the stodgy, stagnant man he was, but as the kid with vast dreams he’d been when they’d married.
Barney was well aware that he would not be fighting off an
y robbers, no matter how often he daydreamed of the excitement. The truth was, he was forty-five and overweight, and he hadn’t hit the gym since his fortieth birthday. He was soft and weak and flabby, and he was sure that was a large part of the reason Melanie had lost such interest in him, but no matter how hard he wanted to change, he simply couldn’t take that first step.
But surely this counted, he thought as he pushed his office door open and stepped out into the hall. He wasn’t just sitting behind his desk, waiting for the problem to go away. He was being proactive, going to investigate. He’d prove to Melanie that he could grow again, that they could grow together.
Dammit, he should have grabbed a weapon before leaving his office. Something stout and heavy, like the glass award he kept on his desk, but he knew that if he went back for it, he might not make it out the door again, so he’d just have to keep going and hope he found something suitable along the way.
Sounds echoed strangely within the bank, so he wasn’t completely sure where the sound had come from, which meant he needed a plan. He checked the guard’s station first, heading to the lobby at the front of the bank. The security room was hidden behind a nondescript door to the left of the teller cubicles, and Barney knocked first then rattled the knob when there was no answer. He had a key to the door on his ring, so he pulled the bundle off the clip on his belt and unlocked it. It wasn’t unusual for the room to be empty, as Broderick frequently left to make his rounds, but Barney decided to check inside for any clue as to his whereabouts.
The collection of security monitors above the desk mirrored the ones in Barney’s office, though the screens were larger and the pictures a little clearer. Barney stepped into the room to watch them for a few minutes, trying to spot any sign of Broderick on them.
His heart immediately leapt up into his chest.