A Deviant Breed (8 page)

His biggest regret though, was that in the depths of guilt and grief, he allowed Jim and Elaine to take over the raising of his daughter.  A decision Zoe would later cite as one of the reasons for her hostility towards him.  It had made perfect sense at the time.  He could not pack his job in and certainly could not afford nursery fees or a nanny.  So Jim and Elaine would be carrying the burden of child-minding duties and school runs anyway.  His parents, though willing, lived in Jedburgh and were much older.  To make life easier for his in-laws Zoe moved in with them.  Naturally, as grandparents tend to, they spoiled her and, as the years passed, slowly indoctrinated her into believing that the blame for her mother’s premature death lay entirely with her selfish, ambitious, hard-drinking father. 

5

Andy ‘Shaggy’ Lound shrieked and crabbed backwards across the turf.  Everyone about snapped around.

‘What is it, Shaggy?’ Professor Geary shouted, poking her head out from the finds tent.  Shaggy pointed his trowel towards the pile of turf and soil he had excavated.

‘What?’

‘A heid!’ he gasped back.

‘Not another skull?’

‘Heid!’
he repeated louder,
‘a feckin’ heid.’

Zoe, immediately stopped what she was doing and ran over to him.  She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw what Shaggy had uncovered. Hands to mouth, she turned to meet the professor’s troubled gaze with wide-eyed horror.

***

Both investigations were thrown into turmoil by this latest find.  Professor Geary’s archaeological dig was well and truly a crime scene and officially put on hold, and DCI Dunbar’s ‘unexplained death’, had almost certainly turned into a double-homicide investigation or, heaven forbid, the start of a serial-killer enquiry.

‘I’m sorry, Professor, but as of this moment –’

She nodded her understanding. ‘Seb! Strike camp; we’re retreating until Chief Inspector Dunbar tells us different.’

The team of diggers busied themselves taping off and covering their own trenches to protect vital finds yet to be recovered.  Doctor Vasquez emerged from the exhibits tent with an expression of glum resignation.  Did Dunbar detect a veil of something darker waft across his face?  His resentment of their presence ran deeper than Geary’s, of that he was certain.  Surely he could not be so thin-skinned as to still be brooding about Dunbar’s folk combo joke.  Perhaps, like Archie English, Doctor Vasquez considered his work too important to suffer such interruptions. 

‘Take what you need for your research.  The rest of the finds can go back to Dundee after their CSI people and Inspector Tyler have gone over them with you.’ Geary ordered.

‘I should stay really, there’s –’ Vasquez’s protest began.

‘Nothing you can do here until the police have finished,’ she cut in.  ‘Oh and press Allyson on cross-matching of the DNA results.’

‘She’s
your
missus!’ He snapped back.

‘Don’t want to be accused of emotional blackmail,’ she retorted. Vasquez ignored her and began clattering and banging packing cases about in the tent like a sulky brat.  ‘The rest of the crew may as well adjourn to the pub for now.’  Geary turned to fix Dunbar, who was still wrestling with the concept of Professor Holmquist being Geary’s wife.  ‘Save me from moody academics.  I thought
we
were supposed to be the unpredictable gender.’  Dunbar resisted the urge to comment. 

‘E-Bee-Gee-Bee’s en route, sir,’ Tyler announced breathlessly, having had to hike up the nearest hill to find a signal on her phone.  Professor Geary eyed her quizzically. ‘Our senior SOCO, the guy that was here yesterday,’ Tyler explained.

‘Suits him.’

‘Don’t use it within earshot though,’ Tyler cautioned. ‘Another moody bloke!’

‘Is there any other kind?’  Geary quipped as she turned to go, but hesitated. ‘I feel I must remain on site – as an observer,’ she added. ‘To preserve the integrity of any finds of archaeological and historical significance.’

‘Aye well, we could use another expert eye,’ Dunbar conceded.

***

Dunbar wandered over to the spot where Shaggy had made his horrific discovery.  The head was still lodged in the earth, canted over to the right.  Partially exposed it cocked a gaping, empty eye socket upward surrounded by peeling, decomposed flesh.  The grim death mask stared blindly back at him as if the victim had turned to look up to see who had disturbed their slumber.  Stooping as low as his injured leg would allow he could still make out strands of grey hair amongst the fibrous soil. 

Zoe came alongside him, only for him to try and shield her from the grim find.  She fixed him defiantly, cocked her head and skewed her lips into a goofy pout.

‘What?  I dig up the dead for a living.’

‘I suppose,’ he replied softly.  He found it hard enough to relax around his daughter at the best of times.  So the presence of a partially decomposed head poking out of the ground only a few feet away, added to his discomfort.

‘This sort of complicates things for us all doesn’t it?’ she said, staring at the head.

‘What happened to history?’ he responded, ignoring the question.

‘I volunteered for one of Shelagh’s field trips – what can I tell you?  Archaeology rocks!’

‘Geology rocks, don’t you mean?’

She cocked her head and wrinkled her nose at his teasing.  Dunbar frowned as he met her gaze.  She’d changed so much since leaving sixth form; from girly to grungy.  Had she jumped aboard the gay bus too?    Not that it mattered, but if she had, it was yet another detail of her life his daughter had decided not to share with him.

‘This has really pissed Shelagh off.’

‘Me too!’

‘She’s been on the blower to Allyson bitchin’ about Obag’s curse.’

‘Surely she doesn’t buy into....’

Zoe shook her head, ‘Nah!  Pressure’s getting to her is all.  The season’s short, so time’s tight.  Seb told her not to expand the trenches.’

‘Strikes me as a bit of a smartarse.’

‘The Vaz-man, yeah, he is but, respect!  The mon knows his stuff.’

‘They’re an item y’know, Geary and Holmquist – a couple.’

‘
Durhhh!
  Work with them, drink with them – they’re totally cool.’

‘Cool?’ he repeated with an amused smile. ‘Shelagh and Sebastian play in a ceilidh band.’  It seemed a very strange conversation to be having with his daughter over a severed, semi-decomposed head, but he was glad of it. They didn’t talk much.

‘So do I – sort of, but we do more edgy stuff – punk folk.’

‘
Yeah!?
’ He responded, with genuine surprise.  Zoe nodded, ‘
We!?
’

‘Me, Shaggy, Josh – a guy from my old history group and his girlfriend, Becky.’

‘Nice to know I didn’t waste my money on that guitar.’  He looked over his shoulder to see Shaggy stacking equipment. ‘So are you and Shaggy? –’

‘
Shaggy!?
  she gasped.  ‘In his dreams – no, just study buddies and band mates.’  ‘What’s your band called then?’

‘Sonic Nymph.  I play acoustics –’

‘Acoustics? Plural?’

‘Yeah, I’ve got into mandolin and ukulele too – and share vocals with Josh – he’s our percussionist.’

Dunbar did not try to mask his surprise, even if it was tinged by disappointment.  These were things he felt he should know about his daughter.

‘Our stuff’s more Dropkick Murphys’, Mischief Brew and Pogues inspired rather than the kind of stuff that floats Shelagh or Seb’s boats.  Shaggy plays fiddle and Becky just about anything that requires a good pucker and blow.’

‘Really?  Her boyfriend must be a happy bunny then.’ She gave him an admonishing look, then chuckled and nodded. Until that moment he had had no idea his daughter was in a band, but at least he knew who The Pogues were –
Fairytale of New York
, best Christmas pop song
ever
in his book. ‘So Becky’s the nymph of the band’s name?’

‘As in mythical fairy tale creature, not porn star.’

It was worth asking, didn’t often make her laugh either. ‘And the sonic bit?’

‘We feed our stuff through a synth.  We gigged at The Black Rose Tavern a few months back.’

‘On Rose Street?’ She nodded, ‘Wow! – that’s – I don’t really get in there.’

Zoe looked him up and down.  ‘Nah’, not really your scene hey dad?  You look more – Man at The Raconteur.’

‘That’s not really my scene either, but Elspeth likes it.’

Zoe didn’t look surprised.  After all, it was one of the capital city’s more chichi wine bars.  And Zoe had reached the conclusion that her step-mother was a pretentious, social-climbing bitch quite some time ago.

Elspeth Rennie was everything Maggie was not, cultured and self assured, independent of mind and means.  Elspeth was a career girl who had no intention of bearing children, which suited him fine. Her wealth came courtesy of her high-flying job as a PA and a generous if acrimoniously fought over alimony settlement from her first husband.  And that was the added rub for Jim and Elaine.  Elspeth’s ex was a prominent Edinburgh lawyer almost twenty years her senior and a leading member of the city’s Catholic elite. 

Dunbar was a detective sergeant when they met.  It was on the occasion of a drugs bust on a new wine bar that was little more than a money laundering front for the former gangland enforcer turned drug dealer, Gordon ‘Doc’ Monaghan.  It was not the first occasion Dunbar had arrested Doc and would not be the last time one of the man’s underlings would take the fall for him.  The manager duly offered himself up as the patsy.  Of course Doc professed his outrage that a trusted member of his staff had tarnished his reputation and that of his establishment, abusing his trust to push drugs.  Neither was anyone in the know fooled when, “out of concern for the real victims of his manager’s crime – the man’s family,” Doc offered financial support.

That must have been the deal they had struck.  After all, the poor bastard went down for him.  According to rumour, Doc regularly saw to it that the manager’s wife’s
other
needs were met too.   He reckoned it the least he could was keep the wolf from the door – and the dogs away from the pussy.

***

‘How is she?’ Zoe asked.

‘Oh, y’know – on the go.’

‘In Aberdeen?’

‘Last I heard.’ 

Zoe decided not to pursue it.  Both of them knew she was not really interested or even cared what her step-mother was doing, or where she was doing it. 

‘Pop was complaining about never seeing you.’

Dunbar eyed her curiously. ‘When was this?’

‘Last week.’

‘Bet he was pleased to see you.’

‘Yeah, I think – it’s hard to tell.  Didn’t like my piercings – or hair.’

Dunbar bit his tongue, neither did he.  ‘I’ll – yeah, I’ll try and get down there while we’re –’

They fell silent neither knowing where to go with that conversation.  Another topic too painful to talk about or one that invariably ended in a row. 

Dunbar’s father was a lost and bitter soul who sought solace in whisky, though it had not always been the case.  He was once a respected business leader in the Borders who managed a thriving tweed mill in Hawick that provided work for hundreds of locals.  Having worked his way up from apprentice he was seen as the very model of a company man until the business was taken over.  An audit cast doubt on his management, even his honesty.  Words such as irregularities, nepotism, back-handers and under-the-counter-deals were banded about.  His father could explain, but the new owners would not listen and it proved to be the excuse the parent company had been looking for. 

He opted for resignation rather than face the ignominy of being sacked.  Not long after that scandal broke the business went into receivership.  Although this had nothing to do with him, given the timing, it was not how the employees saw it when handed out their P45s.  He was blamed, branded corrupt and ostracised by his redundant workforce, people he had counted as friends.  And all because of Dunbar’s sister and the deal she brokered for her husband Edoardo ‘Eddie’ Piero.  His father did not blame her but Dunbar did – and Zoe had learned long ago not to broach the subject.

***

‘Wish I’d known though.’

‘What?’

‘That you were playing at The Black Rose.’

They shared a sad, knowing look.  Zoe shrugged in a sort of apologetic way. She glanced at the hole in the ground and curled her lip.

‘Dinnae ever let them plant me, dad.  Cannae bide the thought of someone like Shaggy or Plug digging me up.’

‘Do you not like them?’

‘Ach, they’re canny enough aye, but – well, Plug’s a bit – y’know, into it.’

‘I’d have thought that a prerequisite for a student of archaeology.’

‘I mean a wee bit ghoulish – he was proper pissed off that Shaggy caught this one.  He’d have said nothin’ an’ kept diggin’. Loves makin’ finds, so he does but, I guess we all do.’

‘He looks a bit older than –’

‘Immature – mature student, making for lost time,’ she cut in. ‘Dole, drugs, drink, homelessness – got onto a programme, got sorted and now there’s nae stoppin’ him.’

Dunbar fell silent but eventually turned and eyed her curiously.  ‘Better put it in writing.  I won’t be around to stop them planting you, love.’

‘You might.’

‘Don’t talk like that.

‘I mean it.’

‘So do I.’

‘Gran and Granda dinnae believe in cremation,’ she said, adding, ‘burnin’s the fate o’ all sinners – why tempt it?’ cruelly mimicking her maternal grandfather.

Dunbar smiled, it was uncannily accurate. ‘They won’t be around either.’

‘You don’t know that.’ Zoe turned to face him. ‘Let’s face it – I’ve got the gene.’