Snow Storm (2 page)

“
No sir.
Potential nightmare,” was all Burke could come up with.

“
There’s
nothing on any of the press sites so far but there have been phone
calls and not just from the press.”

“
I
see.”

“
Ah but you don’t. Obviously there is the fact this happened
right under our noses, right outside headquarters and right next to
two schools. That’s bad enough once it hits the press but the real
kicker is the fact the Divisional Commander’s kids just happen to
be Fettes students. Fan-fucking-tastic. So he’s undoubtedly getting
grief from that lawyer missus of his who just happens to be on the
board of governors and of course the kicks are getting fed back
down the line.” He stopped, took off his thick framed specs and
began rubbing his temples. “December: it’s bad enough I have to try
and get my hands on this tablet my son wants that nobody seems to
have. Have we got
any
leads?”

“
None so far
sir.”

“
And the guy
who found the head?”

“
Looks like
just a passer-by who got nosey. He was too freaked out to get a
proper statement according to the guys on the ground at the time.
I’ll try to speak to him later on today.”

“
Ok.” Gray
nodded to himself. “Going forward I want you to keep me in the loop
as and when developments occur. I really feel like I’m
fire-fighting here with the media and everything else. It’s
important we’re all singing from the same hymn sheet.
Right?”

“
Right,”
Burke confirmed, wondering at the same time precisely what it was
he’d agreed to.

He made his
way back to his desk and found he had two missed calls, one from
Rachel asking him to pick up some milk on the way home as she had
acquired a craving for macaroni and cheese and another from Dr
Brown asking him to call back.

He called
Brown back first, telling himself not to hope too much. It rang out
as it always seemed to when he thought about it too much so he
picked up a copy of The Metro and had a quick look at the stories
of the day. They predicted a big freeze which under further
scrutiny wasn’t exactly all the story it was billed as, with the
met office predicting temperatures may well drop as low as minus
five. Strange that such a thing could happen in winter. Slow news
day. Tomorrow wouldn’t be. He booted up his PC and had a look at
the BBC and Sky News web sites. He went on the theory that
somewhere in between these two lay the truth. Again, nothing
eventful was happening in the world at large. He was just about to
start a Sudoku puzzle when the phone rang. It wasn’t a number he
recognised but it was an Edinburgh land line.

“
Ah Jim.” It
was Brown, instantaneously recognisable for being the only person
Burke knew who seemed able to snore and talk at the same
time.

“
Doc, what’s
the latest?” he asked holding his breath.

“
Well it
would appear it was actually a case of off with his
head.”

“
That doesn’t
sound fun.”

“
No, not my
idea of a good time either but it doesn’t look like he’d have known
much about it. There doesn’t seem to have been too much movement
involved. Whoever did the chopping had a good go at it with a
non-struggling target which it looks like they would have needed
under the circumstances.”

“
How
so?”

“
Well rather
than cutting at the neck with a sharp blade hostage execution video
style or using a chainsaw, they appear to have used something a bit
heavier. Judging by the number of cuts and the thickness of the
blade I’d say a machete rather than a cleaver, something longer,
but rounder at the end so he couldn’t get a square cut and had to
hack at the loose skin on the exit side of the neck several
times.”

“
Nice.”

“
Indeed.
Other than that I’d say between 45 and 50, probably obese judging
by the subcutaneous fat levels on the jowls alone, heavy smoker and
drinker going on the stained teeth, and the fatty build-up in the
carotid arteries along with the broken veins around the face. He
was also fond of cocaine it seems. His nose and in particular
septum show signs of the kind of degeneration associated with that
particular hobby.

“
We’re
looking at the missing persons register but obviously there are a
few missing middle aged men, although none in the past three weeks.
Doesn’t exactly sound like he was living rough or on the run
though.”

“
No. If
anything I would say he was living a bit too well.”

“
Anything
else?”

“
Well, there
is one other point. Pink tooth.”

“
Pink
tooth?”

“
Yes. It has
been known to turn up in autopsies or in this case partial
autopsies before, notably following the Boxing Day Tsunami in 2004.
However in this case only one tooth was affected.”

“
Interesting.
Meaning?”

“
It can
happen as a result of an in injection of Arsenic Trioxide into the
root pulp of a tooth prior to root canal surgery.”

Burke
realised he was rubbing his jaw at this point, the memory of a
recent root canal treatment still a bit too raw. “I suppose we’ll
be cross referencing dental records anyway.”

“
Ah yes, but
in this case, should you draw a blank, they don’t use this
procedure anymore. It had a tendency to cause Periodontal Tissue
Necrosis and it was linked to Osteomyelitis.”

“
I see.”
Burke said trying to second guess the good doctor and failing
miserably.

“
My point is
it was only ever in common use in the former Soviet
Bloc.”

Burke was now
very awake and it wasn’t the espresso.

As he woke he
realised he couldn’t move. He struggled against it but something
restrained him at the feet and the wrists, even, could it be, the
neck?

He could
remember the pub, the drinks. Most of them he’d chucked aside or
hidden when no one was looking. So why was his head so fuzzy? He’d
met… but that couldn’t be right, could it?

There was a
lot of background noise, loud metallic banging and heavy machinery.
He must be on an industrial estate. Had somebody spiked him? Was
that it?

“
Ah, back in
the land of the living,” boomed a voice behind him, causing his
heart to pound. “I’m impressed. You do seem to have a high
tolerance for your tranquilisers. But then I seem to remember you
always did.”

It was. How
could this be possible? And why?

“
What is
this?” His words were slurred - the effects of whatever chemical
was doping his system. “Why?”

“
For the
greater good I’m afraid.”

“
But…”

“
You got in
the way, that’s all. Don’t think of it as personal. This is merely
a business transaction and you unfortunately are collateral damage.
You of all people should understand that.”

“
But.”

“
I know. You
explained it all in great detail last night. I don’t expect you’ll
remember, but, well, I felt I owed you something of an explanation
at least. You may not be able to see the bigger picture but you do
have the consolation of knowing it wasn’t entirely your own fault
and really there was nothing you could have done.”

He struggled,
pulling at his restraints trying to get free, knowing it was a
futile gesture. Instinct drove him to it even though he knew there
was no way out.

“
And so to
business I’m afraid. This shouldn’t hurt as such and I’m reliably
informed it should at least be quick.”

“
You can’t,”
he shouted, feeling the anger and rise now. “You know they’ll come
for you.”

“
Oh quite. In
fact I would go so far as to say I’m counting on that.”

He felt the
tightening round his neck, slowly at first and then all at once. He
kicked with legs that wouldn’t move and screamed with a voice that
wasn’t there.

********************

The county
buildings were cold. The draft drove a constant circulation of damp
December air round the ancient stairs and upwards, permeating the
building as a whole. They were in the function room next to the
kitchen on the first floor, where the mock châteaux’s high windows
looked out over the town’s festively lit gardens and the Mercat
Cross.

This
particular meeting of the community council had been convened for
over an hour and they had so far only managed to wrangle over the
placement of double yellow lines down one of the side streets. One
faction’s opinion was that they were needed as sometimes it was an
outright struggle to get past something parked in the lane and this
could cause delays.

“
Delays in
what?” someone had asked. This was Wigtown after all. If you wanted
to be in a hurry you’d picked the wrong place to live. There were
choruses of approval from others at this.

Why was it,
someone else asked, that certain residents of the town wished to
stay so firmly in the dark ages? It was all very well having the
scenery and living in a remote corner, but why did it have to come
at the cost of progress?

Eventually
the matter was drawn to a close or some kind of stalemate and the
meeting moved on to the latest applications for planning consents
to build wind turbines and the evil inefficient overrated view
polluters or environmental saviours they were, depending on the
various stand points.

After they
had ploughed through this and most had lost the will to live, the
man in the pin striped suit was introduced, though the nature of
his visit had been a subject many pondered during the preceding
discussions, owing to the fact that his carefully thought out getup
had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

He was announced as Giles
Herriot-Watt of the law firm Farquhar and Donaldson in Edinburgh
and duly stood to address the room.

“
Good
evening,” he began, in an accent that seemed stuck somewhere
between Edinburgh, the Home Counties and San Francisco. “I
represent a company called Brentwood which as many of you may be
aware, has recently made a significant commitment to investing in
this area in purchasing the industrial complex at
Baldoon.”

There were nods of
approval round the room. This being a small town in a sparsely
populated area, everyone knew the land round Baldoon had
transferred hands recently and there had been a fair bit of
discussion of it around the town, mainly from farmers worried about
the cost of the feed they bought there sky rocketing along with
every other overhead. There were even rumours about a factory and
the jobs it might bring to the area.

“
And to that
end,” the suit continued “as a gesture of good will and a sign of
my clients long term commitment to their partnership with this area
I have been asked to set up a scholarship fund for the town,
helping gifted students to cope with the high cost of uprooting
themselves to study in areas where, let’s face it, the cost of
living may be somewhat prohibitive.”

Another chorus of nods
from the heads in the room followed by a slow growing round of
applause.

“
My clients
have also asked to remind everyone that it is imperative they
retain a modicum of privacy in their operations at Baldoon. Some of
the development work being undertaken in the complex is of a
sensitive nature and as such could be prone to acts of industrial
espionage. This is a matter my clients take very seriously and as
such they are willing to offer a reward to anyone reporting any
information relating to such activities.”

This time the
nods were more confused and disjointed, as was the round of
applause.

With that he thanked them
for their time and made a sharp exit.

Tongues were not long in
starting to wag.

********************

Burke was
woken by the phone at around five, having been battered yet again
by the other half’s restless feet. He’d tried to relax as much as
possible, continuing his way through a Battle Star Galactica
box-set – the original 1978 series not the new version, which
despite the hype, he hadn’t yet found time to digest. He couldn’t
see how they could top the original, with Lorne Green post Bonanza
and Dirk Benedict before The A-team. They’d even cheekily put a
Cylon Robot in the opening sequence to The A-team for Benedict to
shoot a look of vague recognition at.

Rachel didn’t
approve of this particular fetish. She continued looking at Baby
Gap online, save for the odd troubled glance over the top of her
specs. She later explained that she’d been watching him as he took
turns at smoking his e-fag and practising shuffling cards in ever
more elaborate fashions. She wished he would learn how to
relax.

He told her not to worry
as he picked up a copy of a John Belushi biography in an effort to
read himself into rapid eye movement.

Sleep eventually did find
him and he drifted into a dream where a plague swept through the
city turning everyone it touched into zombies. There was a cure, a
pill you could take but it was only available in a hospital that
looked suspiciously like the security queue at Edinburgh airport.
He waited for what seemed like forever driven mad by the screams of
a small child behind but when he looked there was no one there.
After a wait that seemed unending he arrived at a security gate and
tried to go through but froze as a strangely familiar bell went
off.