The Distant Echo

‘I don’t know. It’s a theory, that’s all. But we’re going to look very fucking stupid if we point the finger at these four students and then there’s another human sacrifice come Beltane.’

‘Beltane?’ Shaw said faintly.

‘End of April, beginning of May. Big pagan festival. So I think we should stand back from hitting these kids too hard until we’ve got a better case against them. After all, if they hadn’t stumbled across Rosie’s body, the Land Rover would have been returned, nobody any the wiser, no damage done. They just got unlucky.’

Then they’d finished their drinks and left. But Lawson’s words stuck in Maclennan’s mind. He was a fair man, and he couldn’t help acknowledging that the PC had a point. If they’d known from the start the identity of the mystery man Rosie had been seeing, they’d barely have looked twice at the quartet from Kirkcaldy. Maybe he was going in hard against the students simply because he had nothing else to focus on. Uncomfortable though it was to be reminded of his obligations by a woolly suit, Lawson had persuaded Maclennan he should hold back on charging Malkiewicz, Kerr and Mackie.

For now, at least.

In the meanwhile, he’d put out one or two feelers. See if anybody knew anything about satanic rituals in the area. The trouble was, he didn’t have a clue where to start. Maybe he’d get Burnside to have a word with some of the local ministers. He smiled grimly. That would take their minds off the baby Jesus, that was for sure.

Weird waved goodbye to Alex and Mondo at the end of their shift and headed down towards the prom. He hunched his shoulders against the chill wind, burying his chin in his scarf. He was supposed to be finishing off his Christmas shopping, but he needed some time on his own before he could face the relentless festive cheer of the High Street.

The tide was out, so he made his way down the slimy steps from the esplanade to the beach. The wet sand was the colour of old putty in the low grey light of the afternoon and it sucked at his feet unpleasantly as he walked. It fitted his mood perfectly. He couldn’t remember ever having felt so depressed about his life.

Things at home were even more confrontational than usual. He’d had to tell his father about his arrest, and his revelation had provoked a constant barrage of criticism and digs about his failure to live up to what a good son should be. He had to account for every minute spent outside the house, as if he was ten years old all over again. The worst of it was that Weird couldn’t even manage to take the moral high ground. He knew he was in the wrong. He almost felt as if his father’s contempt was deserved, and that was the most depressing thing of all. He’d always been able to console himself that his way was the better way. But this time, he’d placed himself outside the limits.

Work was no better. Boring, repetitive and undignified. Once upon a time, he’d have turned it into a big joke, an opportunity for mayhem and mischief. The person who would have relished winding up his supervisors and enlisting the support of Alex and Mondo in a series of pranks felt like a distant stranger to Weird now. What had happened to Rosie Duff and his involvement in the case had forced him to acknowledge that he was indeed the waster that his father had always believed him to be. And it wasn’t a comfortable realization.

There was no consolation for him in friendship either. For once, being with the others didn’t feel like being absorbed into a support system. It felt like a reminder of all his failings. He couldn’t escape his guilt with them, because they were the ones he’d implicated in his actions, even though they never seemed to blame him for it.

He didn’t know how he was going to face the new term. Bladderwrack popped and slithered under his feet as he reached the end of the beach and started to climb the broad steps towards the Port Brae. Like the seaweed, everything about him felt slimed and unstable.

As the light faded in the west, Weird turned towards the shops. Time to pretend to be part of the world again.

10 (#ulink_3cc6d80d-c97f-5908-a7ad-bd0254503260)

New Year’s Eve, 1978; Kirkcaldy, Scotland

They’d made a pact, back when they were fifteen, when their parents were first persuaded that they could be allowed out first-footing. At the year’s midnight, the four Laddies fi’ Kirkcaldy would gather in the Town Square and bring in the New Year together. Every year so far, they’d kept their word, standing around jostling each other as the hands of the town clock crept towards twelve. Ziggy would bring his transistor radio to make sure they heard the bells, and they’d pass around whatever drink they’d managed to acquire. They’d celebrated the first year with a bottle of sweet sherry and four cans of Carlsberg Special. These days, they’d graduated to a bottle of Famous Grouse.

There was no official celebration in the square, but over recent years groups of young people had taken to congregating there. It wasn’t a particularly attractive place, mostly because the Town House looked like one of the less alluring products of Soviet architecture, its clock tower greened with verdigris. But it was the only open space in the town centre apart from the bus station, which was even more charmless. The square also boasted a Christmas tree and fairy lights, which made it marginally more festive than the bus station.

That year, Alex and Ziggy arrived together. Ziggy had called round to the house to collect him, charming Mary Gilbey into giving them both a tot of Scotch to keep out the cold. Pockets stuffed with home-made shortbread, black bun which nobody would eat, and sultana cake, they’d walked down past the station and the library, past the Adam Smith Centre with its posters advertising Babes in the Wood starring Russell Hunter and the Patton Brothers, past the Memorial Gardens. Their conversation kicked off with speculation as to whether Weird would manage to persuade his father to let him off the leash for Hogmanay.

‘He’s been acting pretty strange lately,’ Alex said.

‘Gilly, he’s always strange. That’s why we call him Weird.’

‘I know, but he’s been different. I’ve noticed it, working beside him. He’s been kind of subdued. He’s not had much to say for himself.’

‘Probably something to do with his current lack of access to alcohol and substances,’ Ziggy said wryly.

‘He’s not even been stroppy, though. That’s the clincher. You know Weird. The minute he thinks anybody might be taking the piss, he erupts. But he’s been keeping his head down, not arguing when the supervisors have a go. He just stands and takes it, then gets on with whatever they want him to do. You think it’s the business with Rosie that’s got to him?’

Ziggy shrugged. ‘Could be. He took it pretty lightly at the time, but then he was off his head. To tell you the truth, I’ve hardly spoken to him since the day Maclennan came over.’

‘I’ve only seen him at work. Soon as we clock off, he’s out of there. He won’t even come for a coffee with me and Mondo.’

Ziggy pulled a face. ‘I’m surprised Mondo’s got the time for coffee.’

‘Go easy on him. It’s his way of dealing with it. When he’s getting his end away with some lassie, he can’t be thinking about the murder. Which is why he’s going for the all-comers’ record,’ Alex added with a grin.

They crossed the road and walked down Wemyssfield, the short street that led to the Town Square. They had the confident stride of men on their home turf, a place so familiar that it conferred a kind of ownership. It was ten to twelve when they trotted down the wide, shallow steps that led to the paved area outside the Town House. There were already several groups of people passing bottles from hand to hand. Alex looked around to see if he could spot the others.

‘Over there, up at the Post Office end,’ Ziggy said. ‘Mondo’s brought the latest lay. Oh, and Lynn’s there with them too.’ He pointed to his left, and they set off to join the others.

After the exchange of greetings, and the general agreement that it didn’t look like Weird was going to make it, Alex found himself standing next to Lynn. She was growing up, he thought. Not a kid any more. With her elfin features and dark curls, she was a feminine version of Mondo. But paradoxically, the elements that made his face seem weak had the opposite effect with Lynn. There was nothing remotely fragile about her. ‘So, how’s it going?’ Alex said. It wasn’t much of a line, but then, he didn’t want to be thought to be chatting up fifteen-year-olds.