A Song for the Dying. Stuart MacBride

      ‘Settle down.’ Ness pointed off to the side. ‘Dr Docherty?’

      ‘Thank you, Detective Superintendent.’ Fred Docherty had changed his look a bit since the initial investigation. The concrete-coloured suit was gone, as was the curly hair. Now he sported a sharp black Armani-looking number with a red shirt and white tie, his hair short and straight, swept back from his forehead. The boyish looks and nervous voice had been replaced by a strong jaw and stainless-steel gaze. No trace of a Glaswegian accent.

      He paused, letting everyone get a good look at him.

      Alice grabbed my hand and squeezed. ‘This is so exciting …’

      ‘Ladies and gentlemen, let us consider Unsub-Fifteen. He’s clearly … Yes, Inspector?’

      Shifty had his hand up. ‘Aye, who’s “Unsub-Fifteen” when he’s at home?’

      ‘An excellent question. “Unsub” means “Unknown Subject” and “Fifteen” differentiates him from the fourteen other active homicide investigations currently underway in Oldcastle. I think it’s unwise to give the target of an investigation like this what might be considered a,’ Docherty stuck his fingers in the air and mimed quote marks, ‘“cool nickname”. It can contribute to their perception of themselves as something apart from, and above, the norm. Something to live up to. And, as we’ve yet to confirm a connection between Unsub-Fifteen and the offender known as the Inside Man, I want us to clear our heads of any preconceptions about what’s going on here.’ A smile. Bright, but not cheesy or sarcastic-looking. ‘Does that help?’

      Shifty shrugged.

      ‘Good. Now, having reviewed the evidence, I’m pegging Unsub-Fifteen as being in his mid-to-late thirties. Chances are he’s had a string of mediocre jobs and never really excelled at anything. He’ll have been in your cells before, probably more than once and probably for petty crimes. A little wilful fire-raising, perhaps vandalism. Possibly cruelty to animals. Certainly we should be checking out anyone with a history of mental illness.’

      Docherty folded his arms and tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowed. As if all this was just coming to him as he spoke. ‘He’s come from a close family – that’s a definite – but chances are that he’s all alone now. His mother probably abused him emotionally rather than physically, belittled him, criticized him, controlled every aspect of his life. That’s the source of his rage against women. When we find him, everyone will be surprised that he’s been capable of this kind of horrendous act. And they’ll describe him as introverted, someone who kept himself to himself and never caused a fuss.’

      Docherty nodded towards a short stack of paper on the table at the front. ‘I’ve made up a list of the kind of red-flags you should be looking for, and a couple of follow-up questions you can ask to narrow the field.’ The smile was back. ‘And speaking of questions: does anyone have any?’

      Sitting near the front, a hand appeared above the rows of heads. The voice that went with it was flat, and nasal, and instantly recognizable: Rhona. ‘How come he never sent a letter after Doreen Appleton?’

      ‘Well, that’s actually more about the offender known as “the Inside Man” than Unsub-Fifteen, but it’s still valid. He didn’t send a letter because she was a trial run, a warm-up. She doesn’t count. He hasn’t quite worked out what it is he wants yet. So, he dumps her body, doesn’t use the nine-nine-nine call he forced her to record, and moves on to Tara McNab. That’s when it really begins.’ Dr Docherty nodded, agreeing with himself. ‘Anyone else? Don’t be shy.’

      Alice’s hand shot up, fingers splayed, waving slightly. ‘Me, me!’

      ‘Yes …? I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’

      ‘Alice McDonald. First: huge fan, I thought you were great in that documentary about the Tayside Butcher.’ She still had her hand up.

      Docherty preened. ‘Oh, you saw that. Great. Thanks. So, what’s your question … erm … Alice?’

      ‘You say he’s attacking women as sublimated revenge against an emotionally manipulative mother figure, but that doesn’t explain the significance of the dolls, does it?’

      ‘Well, that’s another good question, you see—’

      ‘By stitching the dolls into their abdomens, the Inside Man is making them pregnant, isn’t he? Literally putting a baby into their tummies …’ She wrapped one arm around her middle, lowered her hand and twisted the fingers through her hair. ‘Of course then he muddies the water by dressing them in white nightgowns which are clearly symbolic of innocence and virginity, but if this is revenge against an unloving mother, why is he trying to impregnate her? I mean I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, I helped Northern Constabulary catch someone who did just that, then stabbed her sixty-four times in the throat, her head nearly came off when they tried to load her into the body-bag, the pictures were really quite disturbing.’

      ‘I see.’ Docherty’s smile chilled a good five degrees. ‘So in your opinion my profile is wrong?’

      Alice tilted her head to one side, mirroring his. ‘I didn’t say it was wrong, I just don’t think it’s entirely right.’

      On the other side of Alice, Dr Constantine’s voice was barely audible. ‘Fight, fight, fight, fight …’

      Docherty’s jaw worked from side to side, chewing on something bitter.

      ‘No offence.’ Alice pressed a hand against her chest. ‘Like I said, big fan. Huge.’

      Ness stood. ‘Perhaps it would be more productive if Dr Docherty and …’ she checked her notes, ‘Dr McDonald could take this discussion offline and report back to their team leaders with the outcome. In the meantime: I find myself having to remind you all that there is a strict media blackout in force. The Powers That Be are not happy someone broke the moratorium and told the press about Claire Young. I don’t care who you are, or who you report to, the only information that gets out of this investigation is in the official press briefings. Are we all clear on that?’

      Some shuffling from the crowd.

      Superintendent Knight stood, wearing his dress uniform at half seven in the morning, as if that was going to impress anyone. ‘On that note, one of my team from the Specialist Crime Division, DI Foot, will be inviting certain of you to assist him in uncovering who was responsible for feeding details to the Daily Record yesterday. I expect honesty and integrity. And if I don’t get it there – will – be – trouble.’

      Ness nodded. ‘Right, that’s it, people. Individual team meetings commence in five. Grab a cigarette or a cup of coffee if you can. It’s going to be a long day.’

      ‘… looking good, my man.’ DS Brigstock patted me on the back, grinning with his mouth open, cheeks and forehead stippled with impact-crater acne scars. ‘Don’t he look good, Rhona?’

      Rhona smiled at me, exposing a mouth full of thick grey teeth. ‘Great to have you back, Guv.’

      Half of Ness’s Major Investigation Team had stayed behind, while their SCD rivals bustled out to cram in a quick cigarette or get something from the vending machines.

      Jacobson’s team had drifted apart: PC Cooper off running an errand; Dr Constantine on the phone in the corner; while Huntly was having what looked like a very intense conversation with a tall thin man in a grey suit – one of Superintendent Knight’s SCD lot. The discussion all big arm gestures and hissing whispers.

      Rhona stuck her hands in her pockets, hunched her shoulders. ‘Listen, Guv, I was thinking of throwing a wee party, you know to celebrate? And—’

      ‘I’m not sure if we’ll have time, will we, Ash?’ Alice stepped in close, slipped her arm through mine, and smiled at Rhona. ‘I’m really glad I was able to arrange his release, I mean you wouldn’t believe the