The Killing Parade: A Pulse-Pounding Scottish Detective Thriller (DCI Bone Scottish Crime Thrillers Book 4) Read online

  THE KILLING PARADE

  A DCI Bone Scottish Crime Thriller (Book 4)

  T G Reid

  DEDICATION

  To Shakey - who keeps me on the straight and narrow.

  PROLOGUE

  Deborah Dee, or Dee Dee as her fans knew her, scraped her nails along the cold, wet road by her side. She forced her swollen eyes to open and the rush of light exploded as searing pain behind her sockets. Reaching up, she ran her hand gently across her battered face. Her fingernail caught on a flap of skin torn away from her cheek. She moaned in muted agony.

  Beneath her crumpled, prostrate body, her legs were spread out, one folded under the other. Her designer pyjama bottoms were torn and blood-splattered, and her bare feet red-raw from fleeing across rough ground.

  Forcing her head up, she wiped at the blood again and peered into the blurry view ahead: a narrow country road, stretching towards a small humpback bridge. Pushing her hands against the road, she attempted to clamber to her feet, but her head was spinning like an out-of-control Waltzer and she flopped back down. She tried again, heaving her legs upwards until she was on her knees.

  Focusing on the white line in the centre of the road stretching out ahead of her, she clambered to her feet and staggered forward, following the line towards the bridge. With each faltering step, the explosions in her head intensified. She groaned again, almost losing her balance as she cleared more blood-soaked tears from her view. When she reached the bridge, she could see the lights of Kingsburn Village in the near distance. If she could reach the first house, she could get help.

  Stumbling on, she heard footsteps following behind. She turned, but before she could cry out, a hard thump knocked her sideways onto the low bridge wall. She tried to escape but arms were on her, lifting her up and over, and she tumbled backwards into the shallow stream below. Still conscious, she kicked out, and scrambling back through the freezing water, she dragged herself under the arch. Pushing up against the cold, wet wall, she held her breath and listened.

  Above her, she could hear the clump, clump, clump of feet pounding over the bridge. The stream gurgled as it cascaded over her battered limbs. She listened again. Nothing. Was he gone? A click by her ear made her turn. Her attacker was on top of her.

  “No!” she cried out. But the weight drove her back against the wall. A sudden pressure on her left side.

  The hooded figure leaned in and hissed, “Shhh,” in her ear, and a corpse-cold blade punctured her skin, and slid slowly between her ribs, slicing through flesh and artery until it found its prize. And in one final, fatal twist, the blade plunged through the centre of Dee Dee’s heart and before she could take a final desperate, agonising gasp, she was gone.

  ONE

  Detective Chief Inspector Duncan Bone turned up the collar on his coat to fend off the biting north-easterly wind blowing into his face.

  “Jesus Christ, Alice. Are you sure about this?” he asked, glancing ahead at the ancient wooden cruiser bobbing about haphazardly, its tiny, vulnerable hull thumping with force against the harbour wall.

  “It was her last wish, and it’s all paid for,” Alice replied with a frown that she hoped would disguise her fear.

  “But it’s blowing a hooley out there. We might be accompanying her into the North Sea,” Bone said, trying again.

  Alice looked down at the agitated vessel. “Honestly, I had no clue that she wanted to be buried at sea. I think I’d rather take my chances in your car.”

  “Bloody madness,” Bone replied. “And why Tynemouth, of all places?”

  “She was born in Morpeth, but moved to Scotland when she was five.”

  “I never knew that.”

  “She had a soft spot for Northumberland, so I suppose she wanted that to be her final resting place.”

  A gust of wind almost blew the two of them off the side and into the tempest.

  “Morpeth Cemetery would have been a lot easier.” Bone pulled at his collar again.

  “You should thank your lucky stars she didn’t want to be buried at sea in Scotland. The designated area is over a hundred miles out.”

  “Oh dear God,” Bone replied.

  “I must admit it’s a pretty dramatic way to go, though,” Alice said, gazing out at the white horses galloping across Tynemouth Bay and crashing against the lighthouse at the end of the pier. “There’s really no need for you to come with us, you know.”

  “I love your mum, and she would want me to be here with you, I think.”

  The minister from Alice’s mother’s local church appeared from a hut tucked into the high harbour wall, accompanied by the skipper of the vessel, clad in a full-body sou’wester and clutching an armful of life jackets.

  “Doesn’t exactly fill you with confidence,” Bone muttered.

  “Hello, Alice and Duncan,” the ashen-faced minister said, battling with the hood of his anorak.

  “Morning, Reverend Hollingsworth,” Alice replied. “Thanks for this again.”

  “There’s no need for thanks. Ruth was such a lovely woman. It’s an honour for me to send her off into the arms of God.”

  “Poseidon, is it?” Bone muttered, and Alice elbowed his side.

  “Mr Fenwick the skipper, has just confirmed that we’re all set,” the minister continued. He attempted a smile, but his upper lip twisted sideways and twitched.

  “Are you sure it’s safe out there?” Alice asked the skipper.

  “Aye, I’ve been out in worse. It’s not like we’re fishing or scuba diving, though we might be food for the fish at this rate.” He let out a loud guffaw and shook his head. “Once, we were barely out of the harbour and the body got blown overboard. Bloody nightmare. It took the Coastguard two days to recover the bloody thing and by then, well…”

  “Thank you, Skipper Fenwick,” the minister interrupted, taking a life jacket and, with shaking hands, attempted to put it on.

  “Here, let me help you,” Bone said and pulled the jacket over the minister’s inadequate pakamac.

  “I have the hymns and readings Ruth requested, and the skipper has a ghetto blaster on board to play her choice of music.”

  “A ghetto blaster?” Bone asked. “I haven’t heard that expression in years.”

  “Says the man who has a 1970s cartridge player in his car,” Alice replied. “I didn’t realise she’d organised a soundtrack.”

  “Oh yes, we discussed her plans at length, you know, when she found out she—”

  “Did you not try to talk her out of this madness?” Bone cut in, almost losing his balance again.

  “I would never dream of interfering with my parishioner’s funeral arrangements, Duncan, though I did suggest an ashes alternative, but Ruth was very clear that she wanted her body to be committed to the sea.”

  “We better be off before this weather takes a turn for the worse,” the skipper said.

  “Worse? Can it be any worse?” Bone said.

  “This is a gentle breeze, believe me,” the skipper replied. They headed down the jetty and the skipper leapt on board his boat with expert ease. “Right, who’s first?” he asked, stretching his hand out.

  Bone reluctantly stepped forward and as the boat dropped below the walkway, he jumped on, the skipper catching him before he careered across the deck and over the other side.

  “Next,” the skipper said, and Alice followed Bone’s example, but handled the leap a little more gracefully. Finally, the minister lined himself up.


  “Come on then,” the skipper urged.

  The minister glanced back at the shore and the safety of the harbour office, and with a sigh, grabbed the skipper’s hand and leapt on. But as he landed, he slipped on the wet deck and fell onto the coffin, which was prepped and ready for dispatch at the rear of the cruiser.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, scrambling to his feet, and glancing at the box. “Oh, I hope I didn’t do that?” he said, pointing at a puncture in the side.

  “Ach, no. We have to drill those in the thing so that it doesn’t end up on Whitley Bay Beach. Not a good look for the tourist board.”

  Along the length of the coffin was a hand-painted image of a beautiful sandy beach, framed by low-hanging palm trees and a golden setting sun.

  “That’s so sweet,” she said. “Mum loved her Caribbean holidays.”

  “Shame she didn’t want to be buried there as well,” Bone said. “Mad as a March hare, but very lovely indeed, eh Ruth?” Bone nodded to the coffin and smiled.

  “That was done by my sister-in-law, Sharon,” the skipper added. “She’s a talented lass, isn’t she?”

  “Seems such a waste to send it to the bottom of the sea,” Alice replied.

  “I’m sure she’d do you another one, if you like.”

  “You’re fine,” Alice smiled and glanced back at Bone.

  “Right, let’s be off. Sit yourselves down and hold on for dear life,” the skipper said with a grimace, and disappeared into the tiny cabin.

  As the boat headed out of the harbour, the waves intensified and sprayed up the sides, and the boat rolled and creaked in the rising swell.

  “I think we’re going to need a bigger boat,” Bone said with a grimace.

  Once past the harbour wall and lighthouse, the wind picked up. The skipper turned the boat into the oncoming assault from the North Sea, the waves pounding the hull with force and threatening to topple the craft completely.

  “How long is the journey?” the minister shouted through the howling gale, his face turning more green than grey.

  “I think it’s about two hours out, but that’s in fair weather. We should go inside,” Alice said.

  “No!” the minister replied, his eyes as wide as saucers. “I’m staying out. It’s just that I can’t swim.”

  “What?”

  “If we go over, I’ll—” He spun round and, leaning over the side, retched into the sea.

  “Nice,” Bone said taking Alice’s arm. Together they edged along the bench and scrambled into the skipper’s cabin.

  “Is it likely to get any calmer?” Bone asked. “The minister is heaving his kidneys up out there.”

  “If we’re lucky we’ll be back by the time the force nine hits.”

  “And if we’re unlucky?”

  “Then we’re unlucky.” The skipper grinned, exposing three missing front teeth. Inside, the roll of the boat felt worse, and Bone felt queasy.

  “Here,” Alice said, “chew on this.” She handed him a thin strip of ginger. “You can’t say my mum did things in half measures.” Alice smiled.

  “I reckon she’s laughing her head off at us up there right now,” Bone said.

  “She always had a mind of her own, that’s for sure.”

  “What’ll you do with the farm now?” Bone pulled a face. “God, this is awful,” he said, picking a string of chewed ginger pulp from his mouth.

  “I’ve decided to move in,” Alice said.

  “Not sell it then?”

  “I thought about it, but I just couldn’t. There’s too much family in there. I’m part of that farm’s DNA.”

  “How will you juggle your work and looking after it?”

  A loud boom sounded as a wave struck the side and the boat lurched sideways, sending Bone into Alice’s lap.

  “That was a corker,” the skipper said.

  “This is a nightmare.” Bone shook his head. “Is the minister still with us?”

  Alice peered out through the cabin door. The drenched minister was wiping at his face with one hand, while the other remained locked on the handhold by the bench.

  “Just,” she replied.

  “Right,” the skipper said. “I’m going to head round the point now, so the minister needs to come in, unless he’s keen to meet his paymaster.”

  “Jesus Christ, we’re not even out at sea yet?” Bone complained.

  “It’s alright for you. If we go down, you’ll be able to swim to shore and won’t feel the cold.”

  “I think this is even beyond my wild swimming abilities,” Bone replied.

  Two long hours later and after multiple near-capsizes, the skipper cut the engine.

  “We only have a few minutes here, so you’re going to have to make it quick,” he said, the boat rocking and rolling in the relentless storm. Bone and Alice clambered out onto the deck. The minister appeared to have lost about three stone since leaving the harbour.

  “Are you up to a short service?” Alice asked. “The skipper said we have to turn back soon.”

  The minister looked up and his eyes swelled with tears. “Yes,” he replied with as much enthusiasm as a condemned man. He attempted to stand, but the movement brought on another surge of nausea and he about-turned and retched violently over the side, his body contorting in pain.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll say a few words,” Alice said.

  The skipper appeared.

  “We need to go right now,” he said, approaching the coffin.

  “Okay,” Alice said.

  “I love you, Mum, and we will all miss you very much. You have been my inspiration my whole life. I remember when I was six, you said something to me I’ve held in my heart ever since. You said—”

  “It’ll have to wait. This weather is getting worse. I’m going to have to unhook her.”

  “I don’t want to die!” the minister yelled into the gales. “Please take us back!” he pleaded, wiping the remains of his breakfast from his chin. “This is God’s punishment for not believing in him. Forgive me!” he sank to his knees on the deck.

  “Keep it together, man!” Bone yelled at him. “Your boss was a bloody fisherman.”

  “Could you give me a hand?” the skipper asked Bone, and they unbuckled the straps holding the coffin to the slider, and slowly, they tilted the box until it was at the tipping point.

  “Bye, Mum. I hope we’ll meet again one day.” Alice said.

  The minister stumbled to his feet, and trying to compose himself, quickly blessed the coffin and uttered, “We commit the earthly remains of Ruth Galloway to the deep, looking for the Resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to come, through our Lord—” He clutched his mouth and mumbled, “Oh, Jesus Christ,” and heaved over the side again.

  Bone and the skipper raised the stretcher, and the coffin slid off, dropping into the sea and instantly disappearing beneath the waves. The skipper dashed into the cabin, started up the engines, and turned the vessel back towards Tynemouth.

  Alice sat down next to the empty rack and gazed down into the angry black water.

  “That’s her away,” she said, and Bone squeezed in beside her and took her hand.

  “Home,” Bone replied.

  “So sorry,” the minister mumbled, his head bowed. “I’m not a worthy servant.”

  “Don’t worry, my mother wasn’t religious. I’m not even sure why she wanted you to come.”

  “She told me,” —He swallowed again— “if there is a God, then it seemed rude not to be formally introduced.”

  “Typical Mum,” Alice said.

  Suddenly the sounds of Rod Stewart’s Sailing floated over the roar of wind and the sea.

  The skipper stuck his head out.

  “Sorry, I forgot about the music. Is this the right one, Vicar?”

  “Yes, that’s it,” the minister replied. “And she requested we should all sing along. I printed the words at the back of the programme, but I think the rain has ruined them.”

  Alice laugh
ed. “She knew how much I hated Rod Stewart. Thanks, Mum.” Then, reluctantly, she followed Rod’s growls. She nudged Bone in the ribs and he joined in, then the minister, and finally, the skipper’s loud discordant rendition bellowed out from the cabin. And as the wee boat battled through the waves towards land, they all belted out the song and forgot about the relentless nausea and high probability of drowning.

  When the boat arrived back in the harbour, the weather-ravaged passengers alighted onto the jetty like a basket of battered cod.

  “Are you sure I can’t tempt you with a dry towel and a hot drink?”

  “No, we best be getting back,” Alice replied, and Bone shot her a withering look.

  With quick farewells, Bone and Alice headed to Bone’s ancient lurid green Saab, waiting in the car park, like a half drowned, abandoned toad, and the minister returned to the office hut with the skipper.

  “Why did you turn down a piping hot coffee? Are you insane?” Bone asked.

  “I just need to get away from this place,” Alice replied, climbing into the car.

  “Are you okay?” Bone asked, sliding into the driver’s seat.

  “Just drive,” Alice said.

  “Easier said than done. Bertha doesn’t like the rain.”

  “Bertha?”

  “Rhona christened her a few months ago. I think it’s sweet.”

  “Until the rust bucket doesn’t start.” Alice shook her head.

  Bone turned on the ignition. The car spluttered and coughed to life.

  “See, she never lets me down,” Bone said, triumphantly.

  “Unlike the driver,” Alice replied.

  Bone glanced over, but Alice wasn’t smiling. He rolled the Saab out of the car park, tooted a farewell to the skipper and minister, and headed back to the motorway.

  TWO

  It was after eleven when they finally arrived back at Alice’s house.

  “You can stay if you like. You must be worn out after today,” she said turning to Bone, who was loitering at the bottom of her steps.

  “I wouldn’t want to impose on you,” Bone replied.