Guilt Trip: A Gritty edge-of-your-seat crime thriller packed with mystery and suspense (DS Vicky Dodds Scottish Crime Thrillers Book 5) Read online

They’re here for the bloody music.

  Someone’s called to complain about the bloody music.

  Thank God for that din.

  He breathes out and twists the key in the ignition and gets a throaty growl from the engine.

  Perfect.

  2

  Vicky trotted down the last few steps, keeping a hand on the rail, then trudged across the chessboard hallway. The light was on the blink, a Morse code pattern flashing across the ancient tiles. The door shut in her face.

  Fantastic.

  She opened it and stepped out into the freezing night.

  Up ahead, Jamie was shivering. ‘Mum, I’m freezing.’

  Cheeky wee sod.

  His glasses caught the streetlights, his attention locked on his phone, held side-on like a camera. Recording a video, again. And he wouldn’t take a telling. On that or wearing just a Day-Glo orange hoodie in this temperature. And his hair was soaking wet from his swimming event. He was looking more and more like his father every day, but his hair was way too long, swooping down over his eyes.

  ‘Jamie, wait!’ Vicky charged after him onto the pavement and grabbed his hand. Traffic thrummed past. A bus hissed as it pulled in at the stop.

  He stood on the pavement edge, staring into his mobile again. ‘What?’

  ‘This is a busy road and you’re staring at that phone all the time.’ Vicky joined him at the edge, stepping between the parked cars, grabbing his hand and shifting his head left and right like when Bella was little. ‘Dad and Bells are at home, waiting for us. Fish suppers tonight.’

  While Vicky wasn’t his mother, it felt like he was her son. Especially now things were on the way to being formalised, with that glinting ring on her finger. She plipped her car, the lights flashing across the road. ‘Come on.’ A long gap in the traffic, so she grabbed her son’s hand and pulled him across the road towards the car.

  Bella was at that age where she didn’t want to even be seen with her mum, let alone holding hands with her in public. Jamie, though, was always doing it, maybe because of who he’d lost.

  Vicky twisted the key in the ignition and hauled her belt on while Jamie got in. ‘Let’s get you home.’

  Jamie buckled in and the engine caught.

  Vicky’s mobile rang.

  ‘Perfect…’ She reached into her jacket for her mobile and checked the display:

  Forrester calling…

  What the hell did he want?

  ‘Jamie, I’ve got to take this, okay?’

  He didn’t even nod, just kept his focus on his phone.

  She answered it and put it to her right ear, so Jamie would only hear half of the chat. ‘Hey, sir.’

  ‘Doddsy.’ Forrester let out a deep breath. ‘You still in the station?’

  ‘No, I finished up half an hour ago. Paperwork’s all in your inbox.’ She looked over at Jamie. ‘Had to collect Jamie from his swimming competition. Rob’s collecting Bells from a sleepover and—’

  ‘Aye, spare me the details.’ Forrester sighed down the line. ‘Need you to do me a wee favour.’

  Those favours were never small and never got repaid. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Got a lad in Craigie who’s supposed to call in every day at six. It’s ten past and he hasn’t called.’

  Vicky got that sour taste in her mouth. She knew precisely where this was going. ‘You want me to visit, right?’

  ‘Well, I’d ask Mac, but he’s busy. And it’s on your way home. Lad’s probably not charged his mobile or fallen asleep. You know how it is.’

  And Vicky was the idiot who answered the call on a Sunday night.

  Cars fizzed past, barely slowing for the roundabout.

  She massaged her temple – she really needed to get home. Get Jamie home. That fish supper had her name on it.

  She looked over at her son, his phone screen as bright as a torch. ‘Give me the details.’

  ‘A witness protection deal. Lad lives on his own. Name of Gavin Mason.’

  ‘Left up ahead.’

  Vicky slowed at a set of traffic lights, opposite a boarded-up pub, the For Sale sign swaying in the wind. She leaned over to switch the heating up a few notches, then rubbed her hands together and glanced over at Jamie. At least having him on navigation duties stopped him filming.

  Gavin Mason…

  The name meant nothing to her. Nobody’s relative, either. Well, not on the father’s side. Witness protection job could mean a name change, though.

  ‘Mum. It’s green.’

  Vicky put the car in gear and drove on, veering left onto Craigie Road. Low-slung boxy council houses, three or four satellite dishes on each one, opposite a medium-rise blocks of flats, all with a Soviet style. Parked cars on both sides thinned the road like fur on arteries. Two bus stops sat almost exactly opposite each other, surrounded by trees, their arthritic branches dusted with frost.

  Vicky pulled into a parking bay in front of the address. She’d visited so many houses and flats in this area over the years that she could find any number blindfold.

  A block of four flats, two on each floor. Small gardens in front, bigger ones out the back. No signs of life inside any of them.

  On the pavement, a fat man lurched from step to step, arm outstretched as his equally fat Labrador hauled him along.

  Jamie unclipped his seatbelt and cracked his knuckles.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘Come on, Mum!’

  ‘Stay here and keep the door locked. No ifs, no buts.’

  Jamie folded his arms, hiding the pout he’d inherited from his father. ‘Can’t believe this.’

  ‘Stay here or you’ll lose your mobile for a week. Okay?’ Vicky got out of the car and the wind whipped her coat open. She zipped it up and slipped on a pair of gloves, then locked the car and walked towards Gavin Mason’s flat, cold air knifing into her lungs.

  She hated being hard on Jamie, but the way their particular family dynamic worked with her and Rob swapping bad-cop roles for the other’s kid seemed to be working. Slightly.

  Window-rattling music blasted out from a house a few doors over, a fast heartbeat of bass and clattering drums, the kind of racket kids overdosed to.

  Whoever had stuck the stone cladding on the bottom right flat hadn’t told the other three, all still covered in magnolia harling. At least it seemed to be magnolia under the street lighting. A patch of bare earth instead of a front garden, a low wall at the back. Darkness behind, probably a disused drying green, the weeds getting a winter breather.

  No music, no smells.

  Vicky opened the gate and walked up the drive, frosted over and slippery. Gavin Mason was stencilled on a plastic rectangle just below a panel of frosted glass lit up from inside. She knocked and stepped back.

  A roach sat on the ground; the bitter tang of dope hung on the air.

  Still no reply. No movement inside.

  Aye, she was getting a bad feeling about this.

  But this was Forrester’s thing. She just had to check on him. So he wasn’t in, that wasn’t her problem. Just had to report back.

  Aye…

  Keep telling yourself that…

  She flipped the letter box and peered through. Couldn’t see anything. A strong whiff of dope smoke from inside. Damp air too. ‘Hello? Anybody home?’ She waited. Still nothing, so she knocked again. Nothing. She tried the handle and the door slid open. ‘Mr Mason? It’s the police.’

  The smell of stale pizza hung under the sweet-sweat whiff of cannabis. Skunk. Not a casual smoker.

  Vicky entered. ‘Gavin?’

  Kitchen-living room. The walls were a dirty off-white. Threadbare red carpet, more bare patch than threads. Scabby brown two-seater settee. Huge wall-mounted TV. Framed posters on the wall – footballers, golfers and a couple of bands she’d never heard of. Not a million miles from Jamie’s bedroom walls, just missing the giant robots with even bigger guns and swords.

  Whatever this guy had done, who he was in protection fr
om, it clearly hadn’t paid off for him.

  A closed laptop dominated the coffee table. Glowing with blue and purple lights. A gaming laptop. Huge thing like Jamie kept pestering them for his Christmas. Next to it was a wallet, a smartphone and a heaped-up ashtray.

  Vicky opened the wallet and found Gavin Mason’s driver’s license.

  Mid-twenties. Short dark hair, stern look at the camera.

  Well, some people would leave their wallet behind, but nobody that age would leave their mobile behind.

  A signed Rangers shirt took pride of place in the middle of the wall, next to some lemon-yellow units with a fake-oak counter. A rusty smell like… blood.

  ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

  Gavin Mason lay on his back, a dark puddle on the laminate where his head should be, shaped like a speech balloon.

  3

  ‘The ambulance is two minutes away. Over.’

  Not that Gavin Mason needed it now.

  Vicky’s skin tightened all over her body. Her ears hummed like a fridge. ‘Perfect, thanks.’ She dragged her gaze from that sightless stare. In a painting, the eyes followed you around, watching you. With a corpse, they looked right through you, as if you didn’t exist. Instinct made her want to reach out and lower the eyelids. But she didn’t. ‘What about local support?’

  ‘Just ahead of the ambulance. Should be with you any minute.’

  ‘Okay.’ Vicky turned around and walked over to the door. Her foot slid out from under her and she went down, face hitting the lino, her cheek bearing the brunt of it.

  Her phone scattered across the damp floor.

  She pushed up to all fours. The floor was wet. So wet in here – sounded like the shower was on. Her pride hurt a lot more than her face. Still, at least nobody had been around to see her fall like that. She almost saw the funny side in it.

  ‘Hello? Ma’am?’

  Vicky reached over for her mobile and picked it up. ‘Hi, I need to hang up now.’ She cut the call and sat up, rubbing at her cheek. It’d probably bruise.

  ‘Mum, are you okay?’ Jamie stood in the threshold, mouth open.

  ‘Get out!’ Vicky got up and charged over.

  He was strong, peering into the flat. ‘Holy shit, is that Gavin Mason?’ His eyes widened and he threw up onto the path.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Vicky grabbed his arm and dragged him back along the path towards the car. ‘Jamie, are you okay?’

  He shut up and let her take over. ‘Was he dead?’

  ‘He was. I’m sorry you saw that.’ The street music was still thumping away. ‘I told you to stay in the car.’

  ‘You were ages, Mum. I got worried about you. Then I started doing some video and I saw you fall over.’

  ‘This is a crime scene.’ Vicky led Jamie towards the car. ‘I need you to stay here.’

  Jamie slouched out onto the pavement then over to the car and let himself into the back. Wasn’t going to sit in the front next to her, was he?

  The gate banged in the wind.

  Vicky closed it, then took out her mobile and dialled.

  ‘Hey, are you still at that house?’ Rob’s voice was almost a shout.

  Set Vicky’s nerves even more on edge. ‘Rob, something’s happened. Jamie’s okay, I just need you to come here. I’ll text you the address.’

  The line crackled. ‘We’re coming. I’ll bring Bella.’

  ‘Thanks, Rob.’

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Vicky loosened her collar. Even in the bitter cold, sweat prickled her neck. ‘Listen, I need to go. Sorry. And thank you for being you.’

  ‘Always, Vicky. Always.’ The lined clicked dead.

  Vicky dialled Forrester’s number.

  Answered straight away. Someone was shouting in the background and loud cheers swelled up. No doubt at the rugby club. ‘Have you got a hold of him yet?’

  The street was now choked with vehicles – panda cars, a couple of ambulances, the crime scene van, the pathologist’s four-by-four. Uniformed plod guarded the area outside the cordon, hands tucked inside the stab vests over high-visibility yellow jackets.

  The crime scene manager shivered by the path, armed with a clipboard and a pencil moustache.

  Vicky sat in the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel like a throat.

  Detective Sergeant Euan MacDonald was in the passenger seat. Long overcoat, dark suit. Scribbling in his notebook but kept glancing up at Vicky. ‘Let me get this straight. You don’t know the deceased?’

  ‘Never heard of him until tonight when Forrester called.’

  From the back seat: ‘His name’s Gavin Mason.’

  Vicky turned. ‘Jamie, DS MacDonald was talking to me. We don’t—’

  ‘But he’s dead!’

  Vicky fixed him with a long stare. ‘Jamie.’

  ‘He—’

  ‘Shhh.’

  MacDonald cleared his throat. ‘So neither of you know him?’

  ‘We’ve been over this.’ Fire burnt up Vicky’s neck. ‘Forrester asked me to check up on him. Door was open, dead body lying there. That’s it.’

  ‘Mum, was he murdered?’

  MacDonald swallowed. ‘So Jamie saw the…’

  ‘Followed me inside, even though I told him to stay in the car.’

  ‘I’ve got it on video.’ Jamie held up his mobile, playing jerky footage of him walking up to the house, then showed Vicky inside, standing next to the corpse. Then falling on her face. ‘See?’

  Vicky snatched the mobile out of his hand. ‘What the hell?’

  ‘Hey! That’s my phone!’

  ‘This is… You’ve filmed a dead body.’

  Silence while MacDonald scribbled and Jamie pouted.

  Vicky couldn’t believe he’d done that. ‘Have you shared this with anyone?’

  ‘No, Mum.’ Jamie folded his arms around him. ‘Can I have my phone back?’

  ‘Not for a bit.’ She flicked through the open apps. Instagram, TikTok, Snapchat, WhatsApp. ‘Doesn’t look like he’s shared this video.’

  ‘Good.’ MacDonald tapped his pen off the notebook. ‘So you definitely haven’t heard of this guy before tonight?’

  ‘Euan, I’ve told you, no. What is this?’

  ‘Just doing my job, boss.’ MacDonald swivelled round to Jamie. ‘What about you? Name mean anything?’

  ‘I’m being quiet.’

  Vicky rolled her eyes. ‘Jamie.’

  He huffed out a breath. ‘I’ve never heard of him, no.’

  MacDonald wrote that down, then peered over the top of the seat at Jamie. ‘Must’ve been pretty upsetting what you saw in there, eh?’

  ‘It’s kind of cool, really.’ Jamie shrugged. ‘Kayden’s going to be well revved when I show him at school tomorrow.’ He shot a glare at Vicky. ‘After I get my phone back.’

  MacDonald turned all the way around, knees on the seat. ‘Need a sample of your DNA, Jamie. That okay?’

  He frowned. ‘What for?’

  ‘Well, you were sick outside the house, so we need to eliminate you from the crime scene to help us find the baddie who did this. Your mum here’s already on the system, so we need to get you on there too.’

  Jamie was nodding fast now. First time in years he’d been interested in something that wasn’t made by Samsung or Sony. ‘Will it hurt?’

  ‘Just need to take you to the station and a CSI will pop a cotton bud in your mouth. You won’t feel a thing.’

  ‘Will it be Uncle Andrew? He’s a CSI, isn’t he?’

  MacDonald winked at him. ‘Aye, it probably will be. And you can tell Kayden all about that too.’

  ‘Cool as. Will you take my statement then?’

  ‘Sure thing. Come on, then.’ MacDonald got out and leaned against the car, waiting.

  Jamie was still in the back. ‘When will I get my phone back, Mum?’

  ‘I’ll try and get it to you tonight, okay? Promise.’

  ‘Friends don’t break promises, remember?’ The back
door clicked open and Jamie got out, chatting with MacDonald as they walked away.

  ‘Jamie!’ Rob was about twenty feet away, storming along the pavement, dragging Bella along behind him. He wore a tracksuit, bright white shoes shining like his bald head.

  Bella was all dolled up – thick winter jacket, stone-washed jeans tucked into Ugg boots. Her hair’s designer windswept look was exaggerated by gusts of the real thing. Ten going on twenty-five.

  Vicky got out of the car and sloped towards them. ‘Rob.’

  He grabbed her in a hug. ‘Are you okay? What happened? Where is he?’

  ‘I’m fine. He’s fine.’ Vicky broke off and took a step back, then ran a hand through Bella’s hair, though she wasn’t that far off her own height. ‘He’s off to have a DNA swab.’

  ‘What, why?’

  She jabbed her thumb in the direction of the van. ‘Um, Jamie entered the crime scene.’

  ‘A crime scene?’ Rob took a deep breath. ‘Vicky…’

  ‘There’s a body in the house. I didn’t know that when we got here. He was filming me because, well, he films everything, and I fell over.’

  ‘Right. Well, it’ll give him something else to bring up in therapy when he’s older.’

  ‘Dad!’ Jamie wandered over with MacDonald, doing his best to slouch against the wind.

  Rob ran over and put his arms around his boy. ‘You okay?’

  ‘I’m well revved.’ Jamie pulled back and beamed at MacDonald. ‘I’m part of a murder investigation! Euan said I had to wait until you got here before he takes my statement. And I’ve got to give a DNA swab!’

  MacDonald smiled at Rob. ‘DS Euan MacDonald.’ He held out a hand. ‘Colleague of your… eh, of Vicky’s.’

  Rob puffed his chest out, eyes narrowed. ‘She’s my fiancée.’

  ‘Congrats. Had one of them myself once.’ MacDonald gave Vicky some side eye. ‘Need to ask your son some questions about what happened down at the station. That all right?’

  ‘Jamie, go with DS MacDonald here and I’ll join you in a bit.’ Rob folded his arms. ‘I need a minute with your mother.’

  ‘We’ll go sit in my car, out of the wind.’ MacDonald led Jamie away.