Birthdays for the dead

Andy Inglis s Range Rover sat in the middle of the grass, the sides smeared with mud. He stood beside it, dressed up like a country squire in tweeds and a flat cap, an elderly black Labrador at his feet. Two men trotted a pair of muscular greyhounds up and down in front of the car.

Put the bitch up first Mr Inglis turned, saw me, and threw his arms out. Beaming. Ash, you old bastardo! I hear you caught the Birthday Boy: that deserves a drink. Got a couple bottles of Veuve Clicquot in the office, eh?

Where s Mrs Kerrigan?

She sort you out with the key for your new flat yet?

One of the guys walked over to the starting gates, the greyhound loping along beside him.

Inglis pointed. See that? That s a twenty-second dog or I m a scabby arse. She ll

For God s sake, Andy: is Mrs Kerrigan here or not?

He threw back his head and roared out a laugh. Caramba, you re obsessed, aren t you. Fine: she s in the office. Tell her to crack open the bubbly.

I limped up the stairs, ignoring my phone ringing in my pocket.

Alice looked back at the racing track. Ash, we do have a plan, don t we, I mean a better plan than we had at ACC Drummond s house, we re not going to march in and

Same plan. I pulled out the gun, checked the magazine. More than enough bullets to kneecap the bitch.

My phone went silent, then blared out its old-fashioned ring again.

There s three people down there who ve seen us go up to the office, if you shoot her someone s going to notice and

She s got Katie.

Whoever was trying to call hung up. Then Alice s phone started ringing instead. She pulled it out. Dr McDonald? No Is it? Yes, we did, he was a photographer with the local paper She put a hand over the mouthpiece.

It s Sabir.

The Westing s main office had a panoramic window overlooking the track. The lights were on And there was Mrs Kerrigan, standing in the middle of the room with her back to the door, a phone clamped to her ear.

I hobbled up the last flight of stairs, shirt sticking to my back.

Alice slowed, hanging back. Did he? All thirteen of them? That s great No: a confession s perfect Uh-huh

The office door swung open on creaky hinges.

Mrs Kerrigan didn t turn around. She leaned over a desk and shuffled through some sheets of paper. Yez ve got to be kiddin. I m lookin at the figures now, and there s no way Naw, this whole thing s a ball of shite.

Two hobbling steps and I was right behind her.

No: you listen to me, you little bollox, if I don t see three grand by Friday, your

I cracked the gun off the back of her skull. She dropped the phone and grabbed the desk, knees buckling. So I hit her again.

Mrs Kerrigan crumpled to the carpet, both hands on her head, blinking hard, teeth bared. Aya feckin bastard

I pointed the gun at her stomach. You said next time I should pull the trigger.

Alice grabbed my sleeve. Ash? Sabir says DC Massie needs to speak to you.

I m busy.

Yer feckin dead is what ye are!

Ash, she says it s urgent Alice held the phone up to my ear.

Hello? Rhona s voice crackled out of the speaker. Guv, we ve got something! Someone phoned the hotline: said they saw Katie getting into a Silver Mercedes on Friday night! Didn t get the number plate, but she was certain it was a man driving chunky, balding at the front, long hair at the back. Dickie s putting out an appeal for them to come forward.

I swallowed. I see.

Mrs Kerrigan glowered up from the carpet at me. I ll hack yer balls off and shove them right up yer gobshite arse. Yer feckin Her head snapped back, blood spurting from her nose.

Alice hopped from foot to foot, clutching her right hand. Ow That always looks so much easier in films.

Mrs Kerrigan wobbled twice, then keeled over flat on her back and stayed that way.

Oh fuck.

I stared down at her, lying there, unconscious and bleeding. That nose was definitely broken.

Oh, fuck.

Silver Mercedes; chubby; receding hairline, but long at the back. It was Ethan Baxter.

Chapter 50

The front door wasn t even locked. I lumbered down the hall. ETHAN FUCKING BAXTER!

The silver Mercedes sat outside rescued from K amp;B Motors.

WHERE ARE YOU, YOU LITTLE SHITE?

The kitchen door was open. I barged in.

Ethan was sitting at the table, sobbing away to himself. The fibreglass cast on his left arm was cracked and filthy, smeared with dark-red stains. A half-empty litre of Belvedere lay on its side in front of him, next to a small white plastic tub the kind that came with a child-proof cap and doctor s directions printed on a sticker. Like Henry.

He looked up at me, eyes red and watery. I didn t mean to

Where is she?

I m so sorry

I leaned on the table, looming over the little bastard. WHERE IS SHE? Flecking his face with spittle.

Oh no, not again. Alice picked up the plastic container. Triazolam sleeping pills. She put a hand on Ethan s forehead and levered one of his eyes wide open with her thumb. How many did you take?

He squealed when I grabbed him by the throat and hauled him out of the chair. WHERE IS SHE?

I didn t mean to!

I will break every fucking bone in your body, you