Christopher Brookmyre - A Tale Etched in Blood and Hard Black Pencil

TO BE PROOFREAD

Title:

A Tale Etched in Blood and Hard Black Pencil

Author:

Christopher Brookmyre

Year:

2007

Synopsis:

We could tell you about the bodies. We could tell you their names, where they were found, the state they were in. We could tell you about the suspects too, the evidence, the investigators; join a few dots, even throw you a motive. But what would be the point? Youre going to make your own assumptions anyway. After all, you know these people, dont you? You went to school with them. We all did. Granted, that was twenty years ago, but how much does anybody really change? Exactly. So if you really knew them then, youll already have all the answers. If you really knew them thenPut on your uniform and line up in an orderly fashion for the funniest and most accurate trip back to the classroom you are likely to read, as well as a murder mystery like nothing that has gone before it. Forget the forensics: only once youve been through school with this painfully believable cast of characters will you be equipped to work out what really happened decades later. Even then, youll probably guess wrong and be made to stand in the corner.

Friends Reunited

A re they deid? Jesus Johnnybags, are they both deid? Fucks sake, man, answer us. Fucks sake.

Naw. Wee Elastoplast an theyll be fine. Whit does it fuckin look like? Ye any aspirin?

Aspirin? Whit, is that gaunny fuckin revive them?

Its for ma heid. Its fuckin thumpin. Cannae think straight.

You cannae think straight? Fucks sake, how dye think Im feelin? Whit a mess, man. Whit a fuckin mess. Whit the fuck happened? I mean, for fucks sake, thatsthats

I know who it is.

Well in the name ay the wee man, I know you liked him aboot as much as me, but youre no tellin us ye

Im no tellin ye anythin. Yere free tae draw your ain conclusions, but the fact is, the less I tell ye, the less ye can tell any cunt else.

So why the fuck did ye ask us tae

I need help. Ye gaunny give us a hand, or whit?

Or whit? Or you kill me as well so I cannae tell any cunt?

Dont be fuckin stupit. Im desperate here. Does it no look pretty fuckin desperate tae you?

Naw, it looks like I missed desperate and came in well past dia-fuckin-bolical. Jesus God. Whit the fuck?

Aye, well, the worsts yet tae come. Thats how I need your help. If ye cannae dae it, I understand. Its no like Im askin for a loan ay your lawnmower or somethin. All Id request is ye keep your mooth shut. Your shout. Stay or go, but if its go, go noo.

Im stayin. Im stayin. I am. I just need a wee minute here, but.

Weve no got a wee minute.

Naw, right enough. So whit is it ye want us tae dae?

Detective Superintendent Gillespie, looking the picture of elegance and poise, as ever.

Aye, youd best get that in before I see the bodies. I tend not to be so elegant when Im poised over a lavvy bowl. I always know Im in for a treat when I spot you Forensics boys walking about wearing face-masks.

I love the smell of corpses in the morning.

Funny nobody ever asks if youre single, Alex. Karen is standing under a small cluster of trees, offering relief from the light drizzle. It gets more heavily wooded further ahead, where Alexs cybermen are resplendent in their coveralls, making the scene look like cheap BBC sci-fi. Its a copse of trees, she thinks, but the word wouldnt come earlier, because it was too close to corpse, and she doesnt want to cement the association. Doesnt want to create another word or sight that can only ever after make her think of human remains. Theres no end of beauty spots and isolated idylls of tranquillity that have been utterly ruined for you if youre in the polis. Shes not kidding about the face-masks, but, on the whole, Alex is nonetheless a welcome sight, because hes good at reminding you its just a job. The thought lasts for a wee while, at least; though probably works better for him. Hes a pathologist. He sees meat and evidence, and while shes talking to him, so does she. But afterwards, shes the one whos got to put the pieces back together until they form a picture of a human life, one that ended in the worst possible way.

Story I heard, you were offered the chance to pass on this one, let Keith Fox handle it, and yet here you are.

This is my old native soil, Alex.

Youre from Carnock?

Naw, naw, Braeside, she says, looking down the valley to where the town she grew up in sits hugging the foot of the hills. Couldnae resist the lure of the home fires.

Apposite choice of words, Detective, under the circumstances.

Crispy critters?

Double body-barbecue, aye. Thats what attracted the farmers dog. Buried bacon, probably still warm when Rover smelt it.

Buried?

Aye, but not very deep. Id say your killer dug a shallow pit to burn the bodies in, then ran out of time, or petrol, or both. Dawns breaking, maybe. Whatever. Doesnt want the smoke spotted. So he just fills it in and fucks off. Jobs definitely only half done. I mean, no much chance of an open-casket funeral for either of this pair, but your boy wanted more than to ruin their looks.

Tried to make them unidentifiable. Did he smash the teeth?

No. I think he had his sights set on complete obliteration, no evidence of remains whatsoever.

What? Just by burning them in a pit?

Aye. I said thats what he set his sights on. I didnae say he was any good at it.

Right. Weve got tae get rid ay these bodies. We need tae get rid ay that fuckin BMW fae ootside as well, but that can wait.

Whit aboot Tempos motor?

That can stay. Its meant tae be here.

Is emdy due here that would be lookin for him? Whit aboot the rest ay these lodges? Whit if theres a bookin? Whit aboot a cleaner, mibbae?

The cleaners no due unless the lodges are in use.

How dye know.

I just know, awright?

Whit aboot bookins, but?

Dont know. Never bother. Weve got time tae work, but weve no got time tae waste, ye get me?

Aye. So whit are we daein wi the bodies? Gaunny bury them somewhere?

Naw. Are ye fuckin daft? Bury them? Dae ye no read the papers? Some cunt oot walkin his dug ayeways finds them when bodies get buried. Or some cunt sees ye cairryin a shovel, an thats you fucked again. Nae danger. Weve got tae make sure theyre never found, an the only way tae guarantee that is tae make sure theres nothin left tae be found.

Aw fuck, man, youre no talkin aboot choppin them up an bungin them through a mincer or somethin, are ye? I couldnae handle that.

Dye think I could fuckin handle that? Are ye forgettin who these cunts are, lyin there? Naw. Im talkin aboot dissolvin them.

Dissolvin them? Where the fuck are we gaunny get some-thin thatll dae that?

Im no quite sure, but I thought wed gie B&Q a try.

Fuck, man, its no workin. Stinks tae high heaven an aw.

Need tae gie it mair time.

Mair time? Its been two hours an aw weve gied thems a fuckin rash.

At least thats mair than the first stuff we bought did tae them. Thank fuck we kept the receipt.

Well, we cannae go back tae B&Q a third time. Itll be shut by noo. This stuff isnae workin.

Mibbae need tae leave it overnight.

Overnight? Whit, so oor next moves in broad daylight? Come on. If this stuff was gaunny dae the biz, it would be fizzin an bubblin like somethin oot Doctor Jekyll.

Well whit else dae ye suggest? Mibbae theres a big cheese-grater through-by we can use.

Stop actin the cunt. Im tryin tae help here.

Sorry.

See, whit we need is, hingmy, yon super-acidMate ay mine used tae work at Redhill Plastics, an he says they had this fuckin nasty stuff they used, called ololeum.

Linoleum? Whit, we gaunny wrap them up in it?

Naw, no linoleum: ololeum. Any cunt got a wee splash on them an they were straight doon the burns unit.