Against the Clock by John Carson (best mobile ebook reader TXT) 📕

because some fanny has kicked him to the kerb? You’re even dafter than you look. What say you, Jimmy?’

‘I have to agree with the boss on this one, Robbie. That’s a poor show, you admitting you like country.’

‘Nothing wrong with a bit of Johnny Cash,’ Evans answered, putting his foot down as they flew over the Queensferry Crossing Bridge.

‘I don’t know what the speed limit is on your planet,’ Stewart said, ‘but if I feel like my arse is about to eat the seat, it’s time to cool your fucking jets.’

Evans eased off the gas.

‘Did you think you were driving your pickup truck down the road, Daisy Duke waving to you in your rear-view? Or were you having a fucking stroke?’ Stewart said.

‘I’m just trying to get us there quickly, sir.’

‘Hooring up behind a fucking caravan is only going to get us into the back of a fucking hearse quickly, ya daft bastard.’ Stewart turned to look at Dunbar. ‘You can drive us back. Evans has forgotten what conveniences a modern car has, like working brakes and indicators.’

Dunbar grinned as Evans looked at him in the rear-view mirror.

‘A Cortina has all the functioning features of a Fred Flintstone car. What about you, Harry? What you got?’ Stewart said.

‘I drive an Audi.’

‘Nice cars. They go like stink. Just looking at the gas pedal would part your hair. You like it?’

‘Nice machine.’ Harry didn’t add that it was his wife’s car.

‘Aye, well, Willy Wonka here would do well to get himself a decent motor.’

Evans looked in the mirror as Stewart turned away to look out the window. Willy Wonka?

Dunbar just shrugged his shoulders. They both knew Stewart wasn’t playing with a full deck.

‘Full of chocolate, in case you couldn’t put two and two together,’ Stewart said, like he had eyes in the back of his head.

Evans had driven up this motorway before and knew to take the A921, heading east for Burntisland. Stewart sat and pointed things out as they drove by, like the Asda at Dalgety Bay, as if he’d never seen a supermarket before. He claimed he would never set foot inside another one since his ex-wife shopped there.

They stayed on that road and took it right down to the Links, and followed the signs for the centre, although the heavy police presence would have guided them if they were about to take a wrong turn.

DI Matt Keen walked across when he saw the car approaching. ‘Good to see you again, sir,’ he said to Dunbar. They had worked on another case together before.

‘Likewise.’ Dunbar introduced his boss, and Stewart gripped Keen’s hand like he was trying to pop it, but Keen kept eye contact and waited for Stewart to let go.

They had parked in the little gravel car park next to the centre and Keen walked them round to the crime scene. The sun was out and there was very little wind, making for a pleasant day. It would have been even more pleasant if a killer hadn’t dumped a body there.

‘Two joggers found her earlier. The vomit at the scene is from one of them. He said he was only sick because he’d been running, not because he saw the dead body.’

‘Fat bastard, is he?’ Stewart asked.

‘Not particularly.’

‘I used to go jogging, but what a waste of time that was.’

‘I can see that,’ Keen said under his breath.

‘What?’

‘I said, you can see here. Where the body was found.’

There was a forensics tent at the scene and a tarp had been draped over the railing on the entrance walkway.

‘She was dumped here sometime during the night,’ Keen said. ‘The leisure centre closed at six and nobody saw anything as they were leaving. The staff, I mean, after closing time. You passed the pub on the other side of the railway line, and that closes at eleven. But even if somebody did see a car go across, they probably wouldn’t have wondered why it was there.’

‘Especially if they were half-jaked,’ Stewart said.

They stepped inside the tent, where the girl was still sitting up against the wall. Her face had the same pink markings as the others. Only her face and feet were showing.

‘Good morning, gentlemen. I’m Dr Sarah Coulter, pathologist. I don’t believe we’ve met before.’ The young woman smiled at them as they introduced themselves.

‘This is a sad ending for this young girl. I cut open the wrapping, as you can see, and there’s a dress in there which is too small. DI Keen said that the body that was found yesterday had a dress tucked inside too. Maybe this is the clothing she was wearing when she went missing.’

Harry nodded. ‘It is. We have photos of her wearing it tacked up on a board in our station.’

‘I’m assuming this place has CCTV?’ Stewart said. He looked over at Keen.

‘It does, sir, yes. I have one of my sergeants viewing footage now.’

‘It’s obvious that he didn’t carry her here,’ Dunbar said. ‘He wouldn’t have wanted to get caught, so it’s most likely he just parked at the pavement and heaved her out.’

‘I wonder if he knew the closing times?’ Stewart said.

‘You can find out anything on the internet, sir,’ Evans said.

Harry looked at Zoe Harris. Taken when she was eight, now thirteen. A little girl with her life ahead of her, until some bastard decided to alter the course of history.

‘I wonder why he just didn’t dump her somewhere less obvious?’ Keen said.

‘He did this with his other two victims,’ Dunbar said. ‘One in Edinburgh, one in Glasgow, and now this girl. He put them back where he took them from.’

‘Aye, who knows how those sick fucks think,’ Stewart said. He looked at the doctor. ‘How about a time of death?’

‘A few weeks ago. But she wasn’t decomposing for all that time.’

‘There’re signs of her being frozen?’ Dunbar said.

‘Yes. He kept her somewhere before he decided to dump her.’

‘Did forensics find ID on her?’ Dunbar asked Keen.

‘No. But there was a jotter in there full of drawings. With a