Do Unto Others

DO UNTO OTHERS A DCI HARRY MCNEIL NOVEL JOHN CARSON Copyright © 2023 John Carson Edited by Charlie Wilson Cover by Damonza John Carson has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book. All rights reserved Created with Vellum For the real Angie Fisher CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Author’s Note Other titles DCI Harry McNeil series Calvin Stewart series DI Frank Miller Series DCI Sean Bracken series Max Doyle Series Scott Marshall Series About the Author ONE Back then Angus Smart hating skulking behind the bushes that bordered the playing field, but it was a necessary evil. He’d waited until darkness came down before venturing out of the house. He had risked a quick peek round the gap in the hedgerow but had nearly shat himself when he’d seen old Mrs McDougal coming along with her guard dog, a poodle that did a very fine impression of a Rottweiler. He’d made the mistake of trying to pet the little bastard one day and it had growled and done its best to chew one of his bollocks off. Angus loved dogs, but this thing was a radge. And there it was, pulling on its lead, sniffing about like it was on crack, pulling her every which way, heading towards where he was hiding. He had backed off, moving further along behind the hedge, keeping well away from the gap, feeling like he was a paedo. He’d put on his long anorak – his good Barbour one, mind, not some shite out of a charity shop – but had realised it made him look even more of a pervert as he stood there, waiting. If the old cow let her poodle come in here for a sniff, and she followed it, he would turn his back and hope she didn’t see him in the darkness. If she did, what was the worst that could happen? ‘Well, your honour, I saw the defendant having a pish in the bushes. No, I didn’t actually see his little dinky-do, thank goodness. It was awful. I nearly fainted, and if it hadn’t been for my dog, I might not be here to tell the tale.’ That would go down well. He’d be in Grampian prison where the term ‘arranged marriage’ had a whole different meaning. ‘No, Paul, we’re not going in there,’ he heard the old woman say, and at first he thought Mrs McDougal had a boyfriend with her. Angus screwed his face up at the thought, a prim and proper woman like Mrs McDougal going out with a man. Then he remembered that was the dog’s name. He shuddered as he heard Paul growl and for a moment he thought the dog’s owner was going to bring him in here, but they passed and carried on their way. Trees also lined the playing fields, big, tall bastards which were good to hide behind if you were a teacher waiting to meet a pupil, like he was. The thought of Octavia coming here to meet him made him feel like he too was a teenager, although he’d left that era of his life behind a long time ago. Hey, steady. You’re twenty-six, not sixty-six. The voice of reason mentally slapped him on the back, convincing him he was doing the right thing. He looked at his watch and a brief wind shook the branches of the tree he was standing under, dropping raindrops on him. There had been a shower earlier on when he was coming over here, so he’d put on the raincoat he kept in the boot of his car. Then realised that this just added to the image of the deviant creeping about in the bushes. ‘There’s Angus-the-perv,’ the locals might say if they saw him. Angus and Octavia had kept their affair secret, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Everybody knew everybody else’s business on this God-forsaken island. That was why they were running away soon. This weekend. While Angus’s girlfriend, Emily, was still over on the mainland visiting her parents. School had broken up for the summer holidays, so the kids weren’t missing anything by going over to see Woodchipper Willie. That’s what Angus called his girlfriend’s father behind his back, after the old man had given him the ‘if you hurt my daughter, I’ll kill you’ talk a few weeks after she’d introduced him. Angus had laughed, thinking the old bastard was pulling his leg, but then Willie’s face had gone bright red, and he’d assured Angus that he ‘wasn’t fucking joking; I’ll put you through a fucking woodchipper’, just before his wife, Claire, came back into the living room with a glass of water. ‘I was only giving him the warning,’ Willie had complained between splutters, feeling the chance of actually being able to crank up the machine slip through his fingers. Claire had spoken to Angus as Willie