The Bone Yard Page 28

  There was an extended silence. I could feel my heart pounding like a bass drum played by a Sumo wrestler.

  “Here it is,” the guardian shouted, almost making me drop the mobile. “Code-name Leadbelly. Entered facility 23.5.2015.”

  It was him. Since he was on the register, the chances were he was still alive – unless the Corrections Department had failed to update its archives.

  Hamilton was continuing to read. “Known confederate of Howlin’ . . .”

  I signed off, called Davie and told him to pick us up. It was a long shot but I reckoned it was worth it. Leadbelly had delivered the goods in the past and he was our best chance of finding the Wolf now. He was probably our only chance.

  The tide was out so we were able to cross the causeway to the island. There was thick, freezing fog and I could think of numerous places I’d rather be. Starting with the Bahamas.

  “How are your thighs?” Katharine asked from behind me.

  “In need of a serious massage.” At one stage last night she’d been on top, pounding up and down on them.

  “I’ll remember that next time.”

  I smiled to myself. “You reckon there’ll be a next time, do you?”

  “I do.”

  I looked over my shoulder and saw the grin on Katharine’s face. Behind her Davie was trudging along with his head bowed.

  “What’s the matter with you, guardsman?” I called.

  He raised his head. “Oh, nothing,” he said morosely. “Being forced to watch a performance of Romeo and Juliet first thing in the morning is quite uplifting, really.”

  “Asshole,” I said, realising as the word left my lips that Katharine had come out with it at exactly the same time. That was a bit worrying.

  The guards at the gate knew we were coming. They admitted us to the prison yard. The place was like the set of a low-budget movie based on an Edgar Allan Poe story. The Fall of the House of Usher, perhaps. I almost expected the high walls to cant over at any moment and plunge us without a sound into the icy waters of the estuary.

  Katharine stood on the flagstones, running her eyes round the cell windows. She’d spent three years on the island for dissident activities. It didn’t look like she was overjoyed to be back.

  One of the guards led us into the accommodation block and down damp steps to an interrogation room. The door slammed to behind us and in the single bulb’s dim light I became aware that there was a hunched figure covered with a threadbare blanket on the floor in the far corner. No movement came from it.

  “Leadbelly?” I said in a low voice.

  Nothing.

  Davie stepped up, ready to haul him to his feet. I shook my head.

  “Leadbelly? It’s me, Dalrymple. The guy who sent you the Huddie Ledbetter tapes.” That had been the deal when he gave me information before. He’d been amazed that I kept my part of it. But that was nearly two years ago. God knows what life in the tomb of the island had done to his memory since then. The original Council tried to rehabilitate prisoners, but the iron boyscouts never gave a shit about the few remaining lifers.

  Thin fingers appeared at the edge of the blanket, pulling it down to reveal a skull that Poe would have swooned over – hairless, unwashed, skin shrunken over uneven bone. An eye sunk deep in its socket glinted out at us.

  “Huddie?” came a croak. “Huddie’s dead and buried.” There was a vacant laugh. “Lucky bastard.”

  I went over to him and knelt down, gagging at the stink that rose up to greet me.

  “You remember me, don’t you, Leadbelly?”

  “Aye, I remember you. What the fuck do you want this time?” The words were harsh but the tone had a touch of the bitter humour that flourishes in hell-holes like this – until the inmates succumb to disease and malnutrition.

  “Howlin’ Wolf.” I let the name sink in.

  Leadbelly moved his head. Now both his eyes were on me. “What about him?”

  “He’s back.”

  I became aware of a grating noise that was gradually getting louder. When I saw the prisoner’s shoulders shaking, I realised that this was his version of laughter.

  “And he’s been killing people.”

  Leadbelly didn’t stop laughing immediately, but the noise and movement slowly came to a halt.

  “What the fuck do you expect? He wasn’t called the Wolf just because he liked the old guy’s music.” He began to crank the laughter up. “The Wolf does the business and suddenly Leadbelly’s popular again. That’s a real fucking joke.”

  I leaned forward into the pollution cloud that hung over him. “If you give me what I need, I’ll get you out of here.”

  That shut him up. After a minute I began to wonder if I’d given him heart failure.

  “I said, I’ll get you out of here.”

  He jerked into life again. “I heard you.” He let loose a manic cackle. “I was just trying to work out if I can trust you.”

  “I got you the tapes, remember?”

  “Aye, you did.” He thought about it again. “All right, what is it you want to know, man?”

  “The Wolf, he had a lot of safe houses in the city, didn’t he?”

  Leadbelly nodded. As his head came down, I saw evidence of insect life on his scalp. “Let me guess. You want the addresses. You’re fucking crazy, man. There were dozens of places over the years.”

  “Yes, but not in the last few months before we hit you at Soutra. We busted most of them and forced you out of the city, remember?”

  The prisoner looked at me blankly, then nodded. “Aye, you’re right. Seems like a century ago.”

  “Safe houses, Leadbelly. Or contacts – were there any friends or family?”

  He cackled again. “We were a bunch of psychos, for fuck’s sake. We didnae go back to our mothers for high tea on Sunday afternoons.”

  “I’ll get you out,” I repeated. Talking the Council into that would be the thirteenth labour of Hercules – the one the big man would have given the bodyswerve – but I’d think about that later.

  “I reckon you might too.” Leadbelly pulled himself to his feet. He was way beyond ordinary malnutrition. It looked like his bones had been on a diet. “Okay, here’s the stuff. Two places you fuckers never found. A top-floor flat in the New Town. St Stephen’s Street. I can’t remember the number, but there was a tourist shop two doors further down selling Independent Edinburgh Rock and shite like that.” He paused to draw breath. “And a house down beyond Jock’s Lodge. What was it? Oh, aye. Mountcastle Street. It was number 35. I remember that because it’s my prisoner number.” He opened the blanket and showed the label stitched on his filthy striped tunic. “He used to take women there and give it to them.” He looked over my shoulder and bared the rotten stumps of his teeth at Katharine.

  “Let’s go,” I said, turning to the others.

  “Here, what about me?” Leadbelly called.

  “I’ll be in touch. I said you could trust me.”

  A deranged baying followed us down the dank passage. Maybe it was just ironic laughter. Or maybe it was a salute from Leadbelly to the former leader of his pack.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The tide was lapping at the sides of the causeway and we had to move quickly.

  “All the flats in St Stephen’s Street were turned into hostels for cheapskate tourists three or four years back, weren’t they, Davie?” I said over my shoulder.

  “Aye. There’s no way he’d go there.”

  “Mountcastle Street’s our only chance then. It’s not so far from Roddie Aitken’s flat and the palace ruins where he did for the female auxiliary.” I was gasping for breath, the frozen cottonwool of the fog massing in my lungs. “He could have cut across the park.”

  Davie was suddenly right behind me. “Doesn’t that street back on to the old railway sidings at Craigentinny?” he asked.

  “Bloody hell, you’re right. It’s the perfect place to lie low.”

  Not long after independence when the Council was busy sea
ling off the city, a wagon carrying a tank of some highly toxic chemical had come off the rails at the sidings. The fumes killed a lot of the local residents, making the guardians even more determined to cut road and rail links with the outside world. The surrounding area was evacuated and the houses left deserted. As the citizen body was gradually reduced by desertion and illness, it never became necessary to repopulate the area. So the guard patrols it less regularly than most places.

  “It’s still a bit of a longshot, isn’t it, Quint?” Katharine said.

  I turned and looked at her. Our rapid pace across the causeway didn’t seem to be affecting her at all. Her cheeks were red but her breathing was almost normal, whereas my legs were about to give way.

  “Longshots are my speciality, remember?” I said, as we hit the mainland and headed for the Land-Rover.

  She didn’t look very convinced.

  Davie turned off the Portobello Road and drove into the wasteland. None of the houses had windows or doors, none of them even had window or door frames. Since the Supply Directorate provides only the most basic fixtures and fittings, the houses have been easy targets over the years for citizens still hankering after the do-it-yourself superstores that used to enhance every suburb. The gaping holes in the buildings made them look like open-mouthed skulls whose eyes had long since gone to the carrion birds.

  We coasted to a halt before the corner of Mountcastle Street.

  “Are you sure you don’t want back-up?” Davie asked, his hand on his mobile. “I’ve only got my truncheon and my service knife.”

  “I’ve got a blade too,” Katharine said, lifting her sweatshirt.

  “Whatever happens, you’re staying here,” I said to her with as much authority as I could manage.

  “Who are you to give me orders, Quint?” she asked, her green eyes flashing. There was no sign at all of the night before’s tenderness. “I saved your skin the last time we did something like this.”

  It was hard to argue with that. I turned to Davie to see if there was any hope of help from him, but he was deeply immersed in the view from his side window.

  I weighed up the options. “All right. Call Hamilton, Davie. Tell him where we are and what we’re doing. That way, if we blow it, he’ll be here to pick up the pieces. You could let Harry know as well. Even the Wolf would think twice about mixing it with his guys.”

  I turned to Katharine as he hit the buttons. “I’m not giving you orders, for God’s sake. But you’re better off out of it. The Wolf and his gang killed women for fun.” A vision of Caro lying on the barn floor with her leg twitching came up before me.

  Katharine moved her face close to mine. “We’re in this together, Quint. Come on, let’s finish it.”

  The intensity in her voice surprised me. For someone who reckoned this was a longshot, all of a sudden she was very committed.

  “Okay,” Davie said, “they’re all on their way.” He gave me a serious look. “Why don’t we wait for them, Quint?”

  Katharine dug her elbow into my side. “No, let’s check the place out now.”

  I wavered between them, then sat on the fence. “We’ll do a recce. That way, if it’s clear, we won’t be wasting too many people’s time.”

  Now it was Davie who was looking unconvinced. I shrugged at him and followed Katharine out of the Land-Rover.

  We were crouched down behind the crumbling garden wall of number 33. The fog had risen a bit and we could see the open gap where number 35’s front door had been. There was no sign of anybody, no sound because of the fog’s muffling effect. Nothing but cracked paving stones, overgrown gardens and litter carried by the wind from the inhabited regions. The houses in the street were semi-detached and quite large. They must have had at least three bedrooms.

  “Right, here’s how we’ll do it,” I said. “Katharine, you go round the back and look into all the ground-floor windows there.” I stared at her sternly. “Without going inside.”

  She nodded reluctantly.

  “Davie, you and I’ll go in the front. You take the upstairs and I’ll take the downstairs.”

  “Quint,” he said desperately, “they’ll be here in a few minutes. Let’s just hang on.”

  Katharine glared at him, then moved away quickly before we could stop her.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Davie grunted, heading after her on all fours.

  By the time we reached the front entrance, Katharine had already disappeared round the side. I stuck my head over the edge of what had once been a bay window. And swallowed back a surge of vomit. The carcass of a sheep lay spreadeagled on the floor in a pool of coagulated blood. All but one of the legs were missing and the belly had been split open and ransacked like a stolen handbag. The animal had probably been taken from one of the pens near the palace in the Enlightenment Park.

  I tapped Davie’s shoulder. “I think it’s him. Get Katharine back to the Land-Rover.”

  He nodded and moved away to the side of the house. I took a deep breath and went in the front entrance. The floor was uneven and damp. I almost slipped as I looked cautiously into the right-hand front room. There were piles of sodden cardboard all over the place, but no other sign of habitation.

  Then I heard it. The beginning of a shriek that was cut off. It came from the back of the house. I instantly thought of Katharine and ran down the corridor. To the left was what had been and apparently still was the kitchen. In the far corner were the remains of a fire and sheep bones gnawed clean of meat were strewn across the floor. But no people.

  “In here, cocksucker.” The voice from the other rear room was deep but strangely unsteady. “I’ve found myself an old friend.” There was a harsh laugh. “Haven’t I, darling?”

  I felt a pain in my chest like I’d just been clubbed by an iron bar. I moved towards the doorway.

  “Well, well. And now I’ve got another old friend.” Howlin’ Wolf was standing against the hole where a fireplace had been. I’d only ever caught a glimpse of him once, when he and the Ear, Nose and Throat Man turned away from Caro’s body. He was big, almost as big as the animal who strangled her, his face and upper chest covered with a heavy beard. But it was the eyes I remembered – tiny, screwed-up sparks of malevolence. He had his arm round Katharine’s neck. She was on her tiptoes, her cheeks blazing red as she fought for breath.

  “The great fucking Quintilian Dalrymple,” the Wolf said, grinning at me. “The shithead who chased me and my boys out of the city. Looks like it’s time for some bills to be paid.” Again his voice wavered. It was out of synch with his hulking frame.

  I leaned forward on to the balls of my feet and tried to make things out in the unlit room. Katharine’s head was twitching, her eyes fixed on me. She seemed to be telling me to stay back. But it was the Wolf’s face that I was trying to see. The small patches of skin between the top of his beard and his piggy eyes were blotched with crimson, as was his forehead. I’d seen lesions like that very recently.

  “You’ve found an old friend?” I said, playing for time and wondering where the hell Davie had got to.

  Katharine struggled in his grip, her eyes protruding unnaturally.

  The Wolf laughed again, like a demon looking forward to an eternity of pain. “The bitch here. I know her very fucking well.” He pulled her round to face him. “Isn’t that right?”

  Katharine’s feet were completely off the ground now and a harsh choking sound was coming from her. I stepped forward.

  “Stand still, you,” the Wolf shouted. “I’ve already seen one of your women die.”

  Bastard. I froze. Gradually he lowered Katharine’s feet to the floor.

  “I reamed this one’s ass many a time, fucker.” He coughed and spat out a discoloured lump. “Maybe I’ll ream it again in a minute. After I’ve cut her.”

  “You’re the one who’s reamed, Wolf,” I said, trying not to look at the top of Davie’s head which had appeared at the far end of the window. “You’ve got radiation sickness, haven’t you? It’s got much
worse in the last few days. That’s why you’ve been lying low.” I gave him a bitter smile. “Don’t worry, there are plenty of lead coffins available in the Bone Yard.”

  “The Bone Yard?” he said, coughing again. “You know where it is, fucker?”

  “I found it, thanks to your cassettes. And I’ve got the Electric Blues. And the guard’s top squad of headbangers is on its way.” I wasn’t planning on sparing him anything. “And I found you because Leadbelly told me about this place.”

  His head jacked upwards. “Leadbelly spilled his guts? Did he fuck, liar!”

  I raised my shoulders with as much nonchalance as I could find. “How else could I have tracked you down? You had some kind of stash here, didn’t you? What was it? Drugs? Weapons?”

  He spat on the floor again. “Both. You chased us out of the city before I could clean the place out. There was a sack of ancient Es in the loft.” He gave me a murderous glare. “And a set of butcher’s knives that I’m going to use on the bitch and you.”

  Katharine’s eyes bulged as the Wolf tightened his arm again.

  “So you were the leader of the Cavemen,” I said, trying to stall him. “And later you moved east and set yourself up as the Screecher.”

  He laughed again. “I like my people to live in fear. They know to keep away when I sing my blues.”

  I heard the noise of engines in the distance. Glancing over at the Wolf, I saw that he had his ear cocked.

  “Running out of time, fucker,” he said, pulling a long-bladed knife out of his belt. “Say goodbye to the woman.” He didn’t wait for me to speak, just raised the knife and brought it down with slow deliberation towards Katharine’s abdomen.

  The moment seemed to last for ever. Then there was a blurred movement from my left. Katharine immediately dropped to the floor like a stone. The Wolf stayed upright, his small eyes suddenly open very wide. For a couple of seconds it seemed he’d lost the plot. Davie was at the window, staring at the haft of his service knife. The blade was embedded in the wall an inch from the Wolf’s head. Then the Wolf shook his head and looked down at Katharine. There was only one thing for it. I charged him, feeling the crunch as his own knife penetrated his chest and went right through into the plasterboard behind. I watched as his eyes slowly stopped twitching, then stepped back. The Wolf fell forward like a statue on to the cracked concrete, his head turned to one side with the hood of his coat lying partially over it. There was a long rattle in his throat then I heard the words “The Killing Floor”, followed by a fading gasp. Trust the animal to die with the title of one of his namesake’s songs on his lips. I stood up, giving him one last look. His eyelids were still wide apart but nothing else was open for business.