The Sirens - 02 (20 page)

9

I managed to get parked just in front of the office, and I made him go first up the stairs. I followed behind, the still-playing CD player in my left hand, the gun in my right.

"Through there," I said, motioning towards the bedroom, "you'll find the wardrobe. You're welcome to anything that's not a suit."

He closed the door behind him, and I managed to relax slightly for the first time since he woke up.

I used the time wisely.

I wasn't quite as computer illiterate as I let Doug believe, and in a couple of minutes I'd burned a new CD with fourteen copies of track four of "The Sons of Loki". I'd just started playing it again in the CD player when two things happened at once...the phone rang, and Betty Mulholland walked into the office. I just had time to cover the gun with my jacket before motioning her to my clients' chair.

I answered the phone, and old lady Malcolm was on the end.

"The old glass-eyed janitor here at the hospital said you have a message for me."

Betty Mulholland was already looking impatient, and I had to be careful.

"I've got your package," I said. "Where do you want it delivered?"

"You've got the boy?" she said. "Is he all right?"

"Yes and yes," I replied. "I can deliver it tomorrow, just tell me where."

"You mean Maryhill Police station or Skye, don't you?" she said. "I've told you already. The only folk that know what to do with him are on Skye. Just get him there, and you'll get paid."

"Okay," I said, trying to keep it light. "Tomorrow it is. I'll be in touch." And that's when Jessie Malcolm's voice changed. It was the old janitor who next spoke.

"I'll be seeing you," he said, and once more I heard the tap-tap, the sound of a finger against a glass eye. He chuckled, and had hung up before I had a chance to reply, which was just as well, as Betty was already looking at me strangely.

"It's a bit late to be doing business, isn't it?" she said.

I looked at my watch. It was just before 3.00 a.m.

"The early bird catches the worm," I said, and smiled, testing the water.

She wasn't biting.

"That hire car outside," she said. "Is it yours?"

I thought about lying, but it would have been a feeble attempt. The car company had my credit card details on file.

I nodded.

"You got trouble coming," she said. "You were caught on CCTV leaving the depot. And you've only got yourself to blame...you told them they needed to install the cameras."

"The watchman?" I said.

"Dead," she replied. "And we both know what did it."

I nodded. I lit two cigarettes and passed one to her.

"Am I under arrest?"

"Not from me," she said. "I'm off duty."

"Thanks."

And John Mason chose that moment to remove the hypodermic dart from his chest. A short squeal of pain came from my bedroom.

"It's Doug," I said, lowering my voice. "He got lucky."

Her left eyebrow raised.

"Must have been his dress sense," she said.

We blew smoke at each other for a while, but there was no further noise from my room.

"Seriously, Derek," she said, "They'll be round to see you first thing in the morning."

"I'd better not be here, then," I replied. "I need that favor, Betty. I need you to make this go away."

"Too much to ask. This is a murder enquiry."

"Give me two days," I said. "If there's another murder, you can throw the book at me. And if not...you can find a real junkie to blame. Our problem will be over."

She stood and came over to stand above me.

"You're not shitting me, are you?" she said. "I could lose my job."

"Big Jock will back you up," I said. "And as I said, I only need two days."

"Promise?" she said.

She leant over me. We were almost nose to nose, then she came closer and planted a soft kiss on my lips. Her tongue flicked out and licked mine, then was gone just as quickly as she pulled away.

"Sealed with a kiss," she said with a smile. "I'll see what I can do... but now you owe me more than breakfast...a lot more."

Just as she was about to leave the music came to the end of the track again...and started over.

She raised an eyebrow again.

"Your favorite song?"

"No. Doug's," I said. "It helps his rhythm."

I got a small wave as she left, and I found myself wishing she'd come back. Life had suddenly gotten more interesting.

John Mason came out of the bedroom a minute later. He was wearing a pair of denims that had given up fitting me a year or so ago, and a woolen jumper I'd got as a present and had never worn. He dropped the hypo on the table in front of me.

"I can't believe you stuck me with that thing," he said.

"You deserved it," I replied.

"So what's the plan?" he asked again. And this time I had an answer.

"We get you back to Skye. Irene promised they knew what to do. Do you trust her?"

He nodded without even thinking about it.

"But not the brothers," he said.

I agreed with him on that one.

"I don't pretend to understand any of this," I said. "But I know you were calm until you left the island. And we've got to get you out of Glasgow, anyway. Are you up to it?"

He nodded, but in truth, he looked as ill as Doug had on that hospital bed. His face was ashen, his eyes red-rimmed, as if he'd been crying continuously. He finally looked all of his years, and more.

"When do we go?" he asked.

"Coffee first, and a smoke, then we'll be off. We can be in the Auld Kelpie in time for breakfast."

"I'll get the coffee," he said.

I watched him as he filled the kettle and did all the little domestic things people do while making coffee. This was the beast that had mauled Doug, had almost killed Jock McCall, and had murdered Wee Jim Morton. And here he was, making me a cup of coffee. And the problem was, although I hadn't moved more than a yard from the gun, I was already relaxing in his presence. And I had no idea how much influence the sedative was having, and how much was the music. As if he'd read my mind, he asked: "Do we have to have that music on?"

"Oh yes," I said. "And we'll have it on all the way on the road, so you'd better get used to it."

I gave him a cigarette to go with his coffee.

"Have you ever met an old janitor with a glass eye?" I asked. "Or a slightly younger version, either a fisherman, or dressed like an aging biker?"

He looked at me blankly.

"Never mind," I said. "I thought he had something to do with the case, that's all. Drink up. It's time we were going."

I took the CD out of the player and watched him very closely as we headed for the car. I had the gun pointed at his back all the way.

I put him in the passenger seat, and laid the gun across my lap. Before we set off I put the CD in the car player and once more the song filled the car. I knew I was going to be heartily sick of it by the time we got to Skye. But it would be worth it to keep me alive.

I had enough petrol for the whole journey, and enough cigarettes, and I doubted I would be stopping along the way. My back muscles were already complaining, but that couldn't be helped. At least the Ford was easier to drive than the Land Rover beast, and at this time in the morning, we'd make good time.

Mason was quiet as we made our way out of the West End, and apart from asking for a cigarette, he didn't speak until the city was behind us. I turned the CD volume down...but not as far as I couldn't hear it.

"You know," he started. "I didn't quite tell the truth. Back on the boat trip out of Portree."

"I wondered when you'd notice," I said. I dropped my speed by ten miles an hour...there was a story coming...one I would be best to pay attention to.

He started straight ahead as he spoke.

"It was no accident that I was on Skye," he said. "I had an email from Irene. She was tracking down her husband's family tree. And she found me. We sent emails back and forward for months, until it felt like we knew each other. Then, last year, she invited me for a visit."

"Did your mother not try to stop you?"

"I didn't tell her. Years before she'd spun me a tale about how it would be dangerous for me on Skye, but she wouldn't tell me why...maybe if she had, things would've been different.

"When I got to the island Irene couldn't have made me more welcome, and at first, the three brothers were friendly enough, but there was always a sense that they had something else on their minds.

"Matters came to a head one night when we'd all been drinking heavily. The brothers started in on me...or rather, on my father. The kindest thing that they said about him was that he was a traitorous bastard, and they accused him of causing the death of their own father. And that's when I heard the story of what my mother and father had done on Skye. They..."

"If it involves your mother, a travelling band of hippies, and a moonlight flit, you can save some time. I've heard it," I said. "Your mammy isn't so reticent these days."

"She told you?" he said, incredulous. "And she wouldn't tell me, in all these years?"

"Seeing you maul my partner loosened her tongue a bit," I said, and I didn't manage to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

That quieted him for a while, and we smoked in silence while the darkness slid by outside. The CD came to the end of its first run through, and this time I found the continuous play button and started it off again.

"It was that bloody tune that started it," he said softly. "One minute I was in the middle of an argument with the brothers, the next I'm out on the seashore, with no memory of how I got there. You know what happened next...the bit about the seal was the truth. As was my nighttime rampage over the moor. What I haven't told you is that the brothers let me go. All that clock and dagger stuff was just a trick to get you to take me."

"Why would they let you go?" Aren't you 'The Chosen'...the one who'll restore the family destiny that your father almost broke?"

"That's what they told me," he said. "But there's one thing I overheard that worries me. 'Let him go', they told Irene. 'She'll be frantic, and our job will be easier'."

"What did they mean?"

"You're the detective. You tell me."

* * *

The next time I looked over he was fast asleep, and breathing normally. I drove on into the night, wondering just what would be waiting for me on the island. Something just didn't fit. I'd heard all the stories, but it was like a Kurosawa film. Everyone saw something different, and I felt that the single new point that would throw light on the matter was missing. All I knew for a fact was that John Mason was a shapechanger, under the right circumstances. And that he could survive a dose of tranquilizer that would fell an elephant. Whether that was supernatural or genetic, I had no way of determining.

Actually I didn't think it mattered. I was getting paid to deliver him back to Skye, and although I'd be interested to find out how the beast was tamed, I could quite happily live without the knowledge. That was the night talking; cynicism and defeatism were always lurking in the dark to jump at me. I lit a cigarette and smoked them away.

The CD finished again, and once more I re-started it. I knew the tune by heart by now...I knew where the singer paused for breath...where the drummer came in just a fraction too early. I found myself singing along, about an octave lower. Mason snapped upright, new sweat on his forehead. My right hand made a grab for the gun, and the car veered onto the wrong side of the road, but as soon as I stopped singing Mason relaxed.

"Bad dream?" I asked.

He nodded, but didn't offer any details.

"So how do they do it?" I asked. "The brothers, I mean. How do they keep you calm?"

He shrugged.

"There's the music, of course. And a lot of beer. But I don't think it's them. I think it's something about the old pub itself...I just feel calm when I'm there."

"I'm much the same about The Vault," I said. "Sometime I get so calm I have to lie down."

He laughed, and I started to laugh with him. Just at that moment we drove through Glencoe village, and Wee Jim's accusing face came to mind. Mason was still smiling, but I no longer felt like it.

"The Sons of Loki story," I asked. "Do you believe it?"

"No," he said, without thinking. "But the brothers do. It's like a religion to them."

Aye,
I thought.
And maybe that's the key we're missing.

* * *

We drove across the Skye Bridge just as the sun came up, and we passed Sligachan just as the first walkers of the day were heading for the Cullins. By the time we got to Portree the town was just waking up for the day. The first pensioner had already bought his newspaper, the postman was on his rounds, and the smell of warm bread wafted into the car from the baker in the square.

"It feels like home," Mason said.

"Get used to it," I replied. "You could be here for a while."

As I parked outside the Auld Kelpie Irene came to the door. She had a broad smile on her face.

"Welcome back," she said. "I knew it was okay for him to go away."

Before I got out of the car I stashed the gun under my seat, but I kept the spare darts in my pocket. I opened the car door, tried to stand, and squealed in pain as my back went into spasms, bending me almost double.

"Are you okay?" she said.

"Nothing a large whisky wouldn't cure," I replied. I reached over and switched off the car engine, and the music stopped. I was about to start it again when she put her hand on my arm.

"You don't need it...not here," she said, and gave me her arm to lean on as she led me into the bar.

Mason was already inside, standing in the center of the room, a big smile on his face.

"See. I told you," he said to me. "I feel calm already."

"It looks like the journey didn't do you any harm," Irene said.

"You obviously haven't been watching the news," I said.

"A tragedy, right enough," she said. "But a son should do his duty by his father, don't you think? He had to be there."

If I'd been feeling better I might have argued, but it was all I could do to fall into a seat.

"About that whisky?" I said.

She brought me a very large whisky, which went over smooth on the tongue and put a fire in my belly. Slowly, I started to feel as if I might walk again.

Mason was walking around the room, a dreamy smile on his face.

"What is it about this place?" I asked Irene.

She smiled back, and her face seemed to waver. I rubbed my eyes...I suddenly felt very tired.

"Stay awhile," I heard Irene say, but she sounded like she was shouting it from the bottom of a well.

She leaned closer, and her smile widened into a gaping maw filled with too many pointed teeth.

"Stay for lunch," she said, just as I slipped away. I fell off the seat and hit my head, hard, on the floor, but I was already past caring.

* * *