Dead Pretty: The 5th DS McAvoy Novel (DS Aector McAvoy) (43 page)

‘How . . . ?’ splutters Pharaoh. ‘How did you find out about Reuben helping these people?’

Delphine smiles. She spits into the fire and watches the saliva sizzle on the hot stones.

‘He needed a special somebody,’ she says proudly. ‘I was just a little girl when he came into our lives but I knew from the first day that he was mine and nobody else’s. We saw something in each other. I wasn’t an easy child, I know that. I was into things that nobody else was into. I remember the slapping my mam gave me when she found me digging up the graves in the garden. I’d found finger bones, you see. I was playing with them, in the dirt, happy as you like. Dad never told me off for things like that. When I got sent to bed he’d come up and tell me stories. They would be about good people and bad people and white knights and black knights. It would always be damsels in distress and good, pure-hearted warriors saving them. As I got older the stories changed. They weren’t men on horseback. They were here and now. And by the time I was a teenager we both knew what he was telling me. We both knew what he did when he had to. Mum was so jealous. It got so that me and Dad were together all the time. She drank and drank and turned on him so horribly. I just kept topping up her glass. Hiding her pills. I even started putting extra salt on her food when I read that it could speed up the effects of cirrhosis. She was in the way. She was forcing him away from us.’

‘Cotteril,’ says Pharaoh, and her vision blurs, mixing with the pictures in her mind. She sees the dead copper, typing his suicide note on his home computer and downing his whisky laced with enough painkillers to murder three men.

‘Lying bastard!’ whispers Delphine, her face turning ugly. ‘Dad never confessed – he had nothing to confess to! Everybody knew about Cotteril being Mathers’ relation. We kept waiting for you lot to find out. You never did. I had to phone the papers and tip them off but it took an age before they ran with it. Waiting for a slow news day, Dad said. It should have been enough to get Dad released but nothing changed. It made me angry. We still had a lot of Mum’s old pills left. It wasn’t difficult persuading the dirty bastard to let me in his house. Told me it was a bit naughty of me to be there in my short skirt and holding a bottle of Scotch. But I said I wanted him to know there were no hard feelings. So we drank. He fell asleep soon after. Never woke up again.’

Pharaoh feels her throat begin to close up. Feels a tremor in her chest. ‘Hannah,’ she says weakly. ‘Her body . . .’

Delphine is still scrolling through Pharaoh’s phone. She’s pulling a face at whatever she is reading.

‘Why do you never put a kiss on the end of your texts to Hector? You do to everybody else. You’re dead mean to him in some of these messages. Then you’re all apologetic the next moment. This is the one who’s bringing Dad back, yeah? He’s going to be in for a treat. I hope he’s grateful for all Dad and me did to bring him a little peace. It broke Dad’s heart hearing you talk about how much Hannah’s disappearance had affected Hector. He kept going on about it after you left. Dad had always known what I’d done, of course. He’d never said as much, but he knew about her and about Ava. He mentioned it for the first time last night. Said that it would be nice if her family at least had a body. If your Hector got to sleep a little easier. Only took a couple of Facebook searches to find him. When I saw the flowers it just seemed perfect. I was happy enough leaving her where she was, in the pile of horse shit in the bottom field where she’d been lying since I killed the dirty cunt, but Dad likes things to be artistic and sweet. I dug her up. Laid her out like a princess. Dad was pleased. Said there was no need to talk about it again. I don’t know who these people are who took him, but they’re going to be sorry. He’s the good man in all this.’

Pharaoh drops her head back to the floor. Feels as though she is burning up. She tries to wipe sweat from her face but struggles to move her arms.

‘You think I didn’t see what you were trying to do?’ asks Delphine, glaring. ‘Flirting with him in those interviews. Smelling like a whore for him. Showing him your hair. I tried, you know. Tried to be what he likes. Let him see me time and again – dropping my towel, positioning the mirrors. It didn’t work. Too much like a little girl. Couldn’t grow hair for him, not properly. Look at me now, though. You think he’ll like it?’

Delphine raises her arms above her head. Pushes her clothes back to show the mangled, matted strip of hair and skin she has cut from the body of a dead girl and glued to her own naked flesh.

Pharaoh grimaces as pain racks her. Manages to find some anger. ‘You’re insane.’

‘You got under his skin. Messed up his head. Took him away from me. And whenever I saw him in prison you were all he would talk about. He was carving you. He didn’t know whether you were a victim or a target. Didn’t know how he felt about you. Still doesn’t. But I know he only needs one person in his heart and that person is me. I know he wants me. He’s always wanted me. But he resists. I’ve done all the things I know he likes. Worn the clothes; the boots and little dresses. I’ve tried so many times to get him to look at me the way I want him to but he’s too good a man for that. But I’m a woman now. He won’t have to fight it forever. Won’t have to keep himself busy with slags like you. He’ll have me, and I’ll be all he’ll fucking need.’

Delphine reaches up to the mantelpiece and pulls down a small, wicked-bladed knife with a wooden handle and a missing tip.

‘He gave me this when I was eleven,’ says Delphine. ‘Showed me how to carve. I’ve made some beautiful things. You should go and see the little patch of woodland where Dad and me used to go to get some time together. It’s beautiful. Peaceful. He’ll probably tell me to stick your body there, but I don’t think I can do that. I’ll find you somewhere more suitable. Somewhere cold and dark. I’ll plant you. Use you to fertilise the flowers.’

Delphine bends down. Squats over Pharaoh and pulls her arms above her head.

Grins in the firelight as she brings the blade down. Places the steel against the flesh of Pharaoh’s armpit and begins to carve.

Chapter 32

‘You’re bleeding.’

‘It’ll stop.’

‘I can drive, if you want. I know this road . . .’

‘Mr Hollow, I would advise you not to distract me. Or speak at all, really. I’m doing this because I believe you’re going to be sent to prison for a very long time. I’m doing it because this is DSU Pharaoh’s case. Be quiet, please, sir.’

‘I haven’t done anything wrong, I’ve told you. Trish will understand.’

‘Please . . .’

‘The surname Pharaoh. She’s never told me. Unusual, isn’t it? And her husband has a different name.’

‘Mr Hollow . . .’

‘I googled her when I was in prison. Impressive career. She’s an impressive person. You’re a good friend to her. Loyal. I’ll make sure there’s no trouble for you over all of this.’

‘Trouble?’

‘When the press run with it.’

‘You may well be under arrest by then.’

‘We’ll see. There is so much I want to tell you, but you’re holding back. Why are you a policeman?’

‘To help people.’

‘Seriously? You can’t just leave it at that. Are you a copper’s son, or anything?’

‘My dad has a croft. He’s a caretaker. Electrician. Sells old rolls of carpet. He’s many things, but never a cop.’

‘Nobody else? No hero?’

‘My dad.’

‘No, I mean somebody to emulate. Granddad?’

‘My great uncle was a constable in Glasgow for a couple of years. Came down from the Highlands with dozens of others to help get the gangs to let go of their hold. Ultimate hard-line, zero-tolerance policing. He came back more worldly-wise and cynical. He told me some stories when I was a kid. Stories about locking up villains. Maybe it started there.’

‘Thank you. That’s interesting. And Pharaoh’s name?’

‘Not a chance.’

‘We’re nearly there. There’s a right turn coming up just ahead.’

McAvoy turns the car into the pocket of darkness. Feels a change in the texture of the night air as the vehicle bumps over potholes and fallen branches and enters the woods. Turns the headlights to full for a brief moment so he can take a mental snapshot of the obstacles ahead. Sees the outline of Pharaoh’s car. The curved bow-top of the wagon. The rotten teeth of titled headstones.

He pulls to a halt. Turns to Hollow and glowers. ‘You’ll do what you’re told,’ says McAvoy, ‘or you’ll be in cuffs until backup arrives.’

He climbs from the car. Feels the fog reach into his throat and nostrils, and the pain in his shoulders rise to his temples. Moves his head slowly, left and right, wincing. He feels somehow hungover. There’s a dull throb at his jawbone and behind his eyes.

‘There’s a light on,’ says Hollow, climbing out of the car and gesturing towards the cottage. ‘Delphine will have a fire on. We’d probably read to each other tonight.’

McAvoy starts to picture the scene. Blinks down hard on it and kills it before it can fully form. He doesn’t want to imagine it. Doesn’t want to think that the girl inside the perfect little cottage is about to have her life shredded and crumpled like damp paper.

Hollow goes first, shouting his daughter’s name. He reaches the door three steps ahead of McAvoy. Turns the handle and enters the kitchen.

Sees.

Delphine Hollow, her knee beneath Trish Pharaoh’s throat. The blade he gave her, pushed into the skin of Pharaoh’s armpit, lost in a pocket of blood, skin and hair.

Hollow turns, raises his boot and kicks the door shut. Hears the thud as the ancient wood slams against McAvoy’s shoulder. Slams home the bolt and spins back to look at his stepdaughter as she goes about her work.

Delphine looks back over her shoulder. She locks eyes with her stepfather. She grins girlishly, guiltily, as if she has been caught stealing biscuits.

Wordlessly, she offers the knife.

‘This wasn’t what we agreed,’ says Hollow gently as he walks forward, eyes on the red-soaked blade. ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen again.’

‘She’s been lying from the start,’ says Delphine, applying more pressure to Pharaoh’s throat. ‘The messages are all in her phone. She’s been running an operation to catch you for all the bad men.’

Hollow considers Pharaoh. Her eyelids are fluttering and there is red at the corner of her mouth. She’s still squirming beneath Delphine, seems to be struggling to control her limbs.

‘Things aren’t always what they seem,’ says Hollow. ‘You’ve been wrong before. You were wrong about Hannah. She would never have told anybody.’

‘You’re too trusting,’ says Delphine, looking back down at Pharaoh. She changes her grip on the knife. ‘You think people are like you. They’re not. That’s why you’re special.’

Hollow stands above his stepdaughter. Her pale skin is flushed and that stale, sour smell of sweat and turned earth is rising from her bare flesh. He reaches forward and strokes her hair. Takes a handful of it. Looks down at Trish Pharaoh and sees revulsion in her eyes.

‘She’d have understood,’ says Hollow, and when he gently pushes Delphine’s head against his hip, he sees goosepimples rise on her skin. ‘She still could. We have to think. To talk . . .’

McAvoy comes through the window as if launched by a catapult. He slams into the table in a storm of flying glass, crashing down onto the tombstones with a thud that smashes his teeth together and sends pain coursing into every part of his body.

On the floor, Trish Pharaoh manages to get a hand free and hits Delphine at the hinge of her jaw. She pushes the heel of her hand against the teenager’s nose, forcing her backwards, registering the sound of the knife clattering onto the floor.

Hollow watches as Pharaoh pulls herself upright, blood and dirt and vomit streaking her hair and skin; pure, ferocious anger in her blue eyes. Sees her grab Delphine by her gorgeous, unruly hair and slam her head into the edge of the table.

Hollow turns. Jumps past McAvoy’s outstretched hand. Crunches on broken glass and hauls open the door, disappearing into a swirl of black and grey as if tumbling into a tomb.

‘Get after him!’ screams Pharaoh. ‘I’m okay. I’ve got her. Get the bastard right fucking now.’

McAvoy puts his hand down on broken glass. Feels pain and wetness and doesn’t give a damn. He pulls himself up and splutters forward, tripping on the stones as he stumbles back outside.

Shivers with pain and cold as the mist closes around him. Hears a low, rustling whistle as the breeze moves the trees and leaves fall like dead skin.