The Devil Inside Page 14

  “He attacked our home Brodie,” she exclaimed. “The home we made together. It feels like a…violation.”

  “You’re no’ wrong there hen, it does and he knew that would be a good way to hurt us. Do you want him to know he’s been successful? Because if we do let him know he’ll only target our home again.”

  Cass looked down at the pavement, idly kicking at the path with the toe of her boot, her anger receding as his words made sense to her. “So what can we do then?”

  “Go back to Glasgow, rally the troops and use every resource we have available. We’re too isolated here to do anything.”

  “Do you think Mary’s here, trapped somewhere? Do you think she’s even real?”

  “Aye she’s real, I’m positive,” he said a little sadly. “But the only way to set her free is to bring down Malachi properly. Slinging shit at his house won’t get us anywhere.”

  Cass chuckled as it hit home how ridiculous her plan had been. “You’re right. Thanks Brodie, I nearly did something stupid because of my temper.”

  “You’re welcome hen, although I do feel a bit weird. I was the voice of reason then and I’m no’ used to that.”

  “Sorry,” she said, kissing him. “You know, while we’re here there’s no harm in taking a peek at Malachi’s house.”

  “Aye, how no?”

  “I knew you couldn’t resist you nosy bugger.” She took his hand. “Come on.”

  They hurried down Ettrick Road, which was lined with very grand grey stone houses set back from the road. Some stood proud for all to see, others crouched behind high hedges and walls. It happened that number ten was one of the hidden ones, just the roof visible from behind a high wall.

  “Looks like this wall was built recently,” commented Brodie, patting the stone. “So no one can see Malachi torturing and brainwashing anyone.”

  “Most likely and there’s no way we can scale it without being seen.”

  “Aye. What we need is the local gossip whore.”

  “How will we find them?”

  “Simple. We’re strangers hanging about their nice street. They’ll soon make themselves known.”

  Sure enough, two minutes later the front door of the house across the street opened to reveal a middle-aged woman wearing a maroon leisure suit, a black cardigan draped across her shoulders like a cape.

  “Can I help you?” she called to them, disapproval in her eyes at how untidy they were making her street look.

  “Aye you can,” replied Brodie, jogging over to her. He pointed to Malachi’s house. “What can you tell me about the people who live there?”

  Her suspicious blue eyes filled with vindictive fire. “Why do you want to know about them? Are you reporters?”

  “No doll,” he replied, taking one of his cards out of his pocket and handing it to her. “We’re private investigators.”

  “Our business is unfinished business,” she read off the card. She looked back up at Brodie. “What does that mean?”

  “It means we clean up other people’s messes.”

  “So go on then Mr Brodie…”

  “It’s MacBride,” he sighed, as usual to little effect.

  “What mess has Malachi left?”

  “Not sure yet. What do you know?”

  “Why should I talk to you?”

  “Because you’re sick of the smug prick lording it up around here.”

  She blinked up at him. “You’re very direct, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve found it’s the best way to be. I don’t have time for fannying about.”

  For a moment Cass thought he’d gone a bit too far and offended the woman but she smiled.

  “So you’re investigating him then?”

  Brodie replied with a single nod.

  That was enough to make her drop into full-on gossip mode. “They’re up to weird stuff in there. I’ve seen people go into that house and never come out again.”

  “How many people would you say have vanished in there?”

  “Hard to say, probably about a dozen. Not that I spy on them or anything but our lounge window faces the street, so it’s hard not to notice people coming and going.”

  “Could they have gone out the back way?” said Cass.

  “No. There’s no rear exit, only the front. There used to be until Malachi built that monstrous wall. Honestly, it ruins the whole street. We complained to the council but they didn’t do anything, probably because he greased a few palms.” She ended this statement with an indignant sniff.

  “Did you ever see a wee woman go in,” said Brodie. “Small and dainty with long blond curly hair?”

  “Not that I remember but so many people come and go.”

  “How long has he lived here?”

  “Almost a year. We used to have such a nice family living in that house too, so quiet, never caused any bother but they emigrated to France.”

  “Does Malachi cause a lot of bother, apart from the wall?”

  “It’s the coming and going at all hours. There are cars rolling up and down the drive all day and night. Very suspicious if you ask me but then again, he’s the head of a cult, so he’s going to be dodgy, isn’t he?”

  “Precisely doll,” smiled Brodie.

  “Do any of his followers live on this street?” said Cass.

  “No, thank God. I don’t like any of that shifty lot. You can tell who they are because of their black outfits. They keep knocking on our doors, trying to convert us but Malachi annoyed us all so much with his giant wall that we all send them packing.”

  “You sound a sensible lot.”

  She gave him an appreciative nod. “We all hope he’ll move soon and leave us in peace. I tell you when that day comes we’ll all be out, tearing down his hideous wall with our bare hands. It’ll be Berlin all over again.”

  “Have you ever seen anyone famous or in a position of power visit the house?”

  “That awful actor Brett Martins has been a few times, speeding up the road in his silly little Porsche. Have you seen his films? They’re dreadful with absolutely no basis in reality. In his last one he managed to kill three people with one bullet.” Her lips pursed disapprovingly. “The ridiculous little troll.”

  Brodie’s chuckle rolled down the street. It was deep, pleasant and made her smile.

  “Anyone else?” he said.

  “Are you hoping I’ll give you a certain name?”

  “Not particularly. I’m just trying to work out who he has in his pocket.”

  “I dread to think but the only one I’ve noticed is Brett Martins. But I will tell you something very interesting - Valerie Massie, she lives next door to Malachi.”

  She pointed to the grey stone house to the left of Malachi’s, which had a neat lawn and one of those twisty trees either side of the front door.

  “Well,” she continued. “Valerie’s heard some very strange noises coming from that house.”

  “Such as?” he prompted when she paused for effect.

  “A few times she swore she’s heard screams and weird wails and moans. She’s reported it to the police several times but nothing’s ever been done. Her husband, Trevor, collared Malachi about it once. He apologised and said it was part of a healing ritual, that primal scream therapy where you stand there and yell like an idiot. Trevor asked him why anyone would do primal scream therapy at two in the morning and Malachi replied they had to go as the mood took them. The noises died down after that but now and then they hear wails of pain, as though someone’s terrified - or being tortured.”

  She ended this speech with an excited smile, clearly pleased with all the drama. Brodie wondered what she’d do for entertainment if Malachi ever did leave.

  There was nothing else useful she could tell them, so they bid their goodbyes and flagged down another passing taxi to take them back to the hotel.

  The recovery vehicle arrived ten minutes after they got back and an hour later they were on the road, heading back to Glasgow. Security at the hotel had found the
relevant footage but the two people who had slashed their tyres had been wearing masks, so it was useless.

  “Waste of bloody time,” sighed Brodie as he drove.

  “Not really,” replied Cass. “At least we know Elaine’s alive.”

  “Aye, that’s something I suppose.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “First of all, we go home and sort out our house.”

  “And then?”

  “Brett Martins is still filming in Glasgow. We’ll talk to the wee fud.”

  “I’m looking forward to that one.”

  Brodie gave her a sideways glance. “Why, you got a wee crush on him hen?”

  “God no. I just want to watch you make him wet his pants.”

  “So you won’t be asking for his autograph then?”

  “No. I don’t like film stars. Egotistical tossers,” she replied, making him laugh.

  A couple of hours later, Cass and Brodie pulled up outside their house.

  “Well it doesn’t look too bad,” said Cass, getting out of the car.

  The front of the house was at least clean, although the downstairs lounge windows were boarded up.

  “Elliott said they hired a cleaning company to get rid of all the shite,” said Brodie. “The glazers are coming tomorrow to sort out the windows.”

  Cass walked up the path, staring in dismay at the destroyed flowers in the garden, what had been a riot of colour reduced to withered brown. The remnants of the wishing well had been swept away, leaving behind just a few brown splinters.

  “Bastards,” she muttered.

  Mrs Beig emerged from her front door and leaned on the waist-high fence to chat.

  “Did your nice tall blond friend tell you what happened?” she opened.

  “Aye he did doll,” said Brodie.

  “It’s terrible when you can’t go away for a single night without something happening.”

  “Did you see who it was?”

  “No, sorry. It happened in the middle of the night. I was woken by the smashing of glass. I looked out and saw some shadowy figures in the garden, so I called the polis. They came pretty quickly. Must be because you used to be one of them,” she smiled fondly. “I made sure to tell the operator the house belonged to you.”

  “Aye, thanks for that.”

  “You’re very welcome. I’m sorry about what they did to your garden, you’d just got it looking so lovely.”

  Cass nodded sadly. She’d nurtured some of those plants so much they’d felt like babies to her. “It’s a good job I enjoy gardening.”

  “I’m sure you’ll have it looking beautiful again in no time. Mr Stewart from down the street came by with his dog for a nosy. He pointed out to the polis that your car had been damaged too,” she smiled, eyes twinkling as she pointed to his old Astra parked on the drive. Brodie loved the car so much he refused to send it to the scrapyard where it belonged. “But I told him it always looks like that.”

  “You know she’s a she, not an it,” he replied good-naturedly.

  “Whatever you say Brodie. Don’t worry, the house is spotless. The cleaning team did a thorough job. I let them in with the spare key and supervised them.”

  “I bet they were quaking in their boots.”

  “People these days need a toe up their arse to keep them moving.”

  “You’re no’ wrong there. Right, now we’ve checked out the damage we need to head to the office. See you around doll.”

  “Aye, bye Brodie, Cass,” she called as they headed back to the car.

  They arrived at the office to chaos.

  “What the hell is going on here?” demanded Brodie as Elliott, Ross and Christian tore about like their arses were on fire with mops and buckets of water while a drenched Roger stood in the middle of the soaking wet room, wrapped in a bizarre red kimono, flinging his arms about and yelling.

  Brodie pointed to Ross and Christian in turn, who had come to a halt at their appearance. “If you pair of fannies have flooded the sink again…”

  “It’s no’ us Boss,” said Ross. “We were all out on jobs. Me and Christian came back first to find the sprinklers on full throttle.” He pointed to Roger. “Then he came down here and started whinging at us.”

  “I’m whinging,” announced Roger, stamping a foot. “Because unlike you three I was in my office when the sprinklers went off while I was treating a very nervous woman with a fear of drowning. Being soaked in water when she was in the midst of confronting that fear did not help. She ran out screaming that she’d never come back. I didn’t even get paid for my time.”

  “How the hell did the sprinklers go off?” said Cass.

  “Sabotage,” said Elliott. “The box that houses the controls has been prised open.”

  Brodie slammed his fist down on Ross’s desk. “The fucking bats.”

  “Bats?” said Roger. “You mean the cult who were picketing the office?”

  “Aye, the same.”

  “I’ve seen them hanging around. They’ve even followed me a couple of times when I’ve left. Once again Brodie MacBride you have caused me no end of trouble.”

  “Don’t start,” barked Brodie. “I’m no’ in the mood. While you’ve just got a wee bit wet we’ve been threatened, intimidated, my tyres have been slashed and our home has been vandalised.”

  Roger’s eyes filled with concern. “Oh my gosh, your home? That’s terrible,” he said, stepping past Brodie to address Cass. “Are you alright my dear?”

  “Well, I’m pissed off because they destroyed our beautiful garden,” she replied.

  “Oh no, you worked so hard on it too.”

  Brodie slapped Roger’s hand away when he rested it on Cass’s arm.

  “Ow,” cried Roger, cradling his stinging limb. “That’s assault.”

  “Get over yourself Princess. Now, if you’re no’ gonnae help clean up this mess then bugger off out of it, you’re getting in the way.”

  Cass threw Brodie a chastising look before turning to Roger. “We’re so sorry for the trouble you’ve had. Send us the cleaning bill for your office.”

  “Thank you Ms Carlisle. You are as ever very gracious.” He frowned at Brodie. “I don’t know how you managed to land such a magnificent woman.”

  “Believe me,” he replied. “I wonder that every day myself.”

  Roger exited in a cloud of indignation and dripping water.

  “I hope you’ve got some knickers on under that get-up,” Brodie called after him.

  “I’ve called in the cleaning company who sorted out your house,” Elliott told Brodie. “They’ll be here in half an hour. I thought they’d do a better job than us and our mops.”

  “Good thinking son,” replied Brodie. “Right, you lot get yourselves off home and get changed. You smell like cabbage.”

  “Cabbage?” exclaimed Christian, who was very particular about his appearance.

  “Aye, that’s been on the boil for hours. Then come straight back. We’re going to temporarily move premises to one of the safe houses. Cass, I need you to check the computers and make sure they’ve not been fried by the water.”

  “Isn’t that like running away?” said Ross.

  “No it’s bloody well not,” retorted Brodie. “This is a business and we can’t operate like this. We move somewhere the bats can’t find us and that will only help us finish up with all this shite faster. Stuff happened in Edinburgh, we’ll get you up to date later. Now go, you’re honking the place out.”

  Elliott, Christian and Ross nodded and rushed out just as the cleaners turned up, who began quickly and efficiently sorting out the mess, shaking their heads in amusement at the boys’ pitiful attempts.

  Brodie and Cass retreated into the bullpen, which was similarly saturated.

  “Bloody bats ruined my newspaper,” commented Brodie, frowning at the congealed mess on his desk.

  Cass opened up the laptop on his desk beside the ex-newspaper and sighed. “I don’t even need to switch it on to know it’s r
uined. At least all our data is backed up, so we’ve not lost any information.”

  “Bastards,” spat Brodie. “That’s five new laptops I’ve got to buy. I hate laptop shopping. The pain in the arse assistants never just sort out the one I want, they have to try and sell me a more expensive model. It gets on my tits.”

  “I’ll sort out all that.”

  He kissed her. “You’re an angel.”

  “You can order a new coffee machine,” she grinned before ducking out of the door.

  “Crap,” he sighed.

  CHAPTER 12

  The rest of the day was spent transferring what hadn’t been ruined to the safe house, which was actually a first floor flat in a block on Sauchiehall Street. Brodie had bought it in case they needed a back-up office. It had five bedrooms, so they could all sleep over if necessary. It had cost him a pretty penny but it was worth it.

  Elliott carried in the wee office cactus with great reverence and carefully placed it on the windowsill in the sunlight to dry out. Cass arrived with new laptops for each of them, as well as a couple of new landline phones and a big box of gourmet doughnuts from the same bakery Pete had bought his, to enthusiastic cheers.

  “I checked the building’s CCTV,” Christian told her. “Whoever did it wore balaclavas but we’re pretty sure it was the bats.”

  “Probably the same people who kidnapped poor Elaine,” said Brodie. “They broke in no trouble and knew what they were doing with the sprinkler system. That indicates training and nerve.”

  “Have you brought them up to speed about what happened in Edinburgh?” Cass asked him.

  “Aye I have hen and they’re as pissed off as we are.” His mobile phone started to ring. He yanked it out of his pocket and barked, “What?” down the line, making Cass smile.

  “I’m at your office but there’s a bunch of middle aged women here telling me I cannae come in,” said Pete. “One threatened me with a mop when I tried to step inside.”

  “We’ve had to move to one of the safe houses.”

  “How? No’ the bloody bats again?”

  “Aye. I’ll text you the address. Get your arse over here pronto.”