He opened the door and peered round. There was only one woman in the waiting area. ‘Ma’am? Come on through.’ He opened the door wider, allowing her to pass in front of him.
‘Straight down, second door on the left.’ Even as he said the words, he felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. She seemed strangely familiar, as if he knew her from way back when. Even her walk reminded him of someone, though the name hovered just out of reach.
He had to force his eyes away from her swaying hips as she followed his instructions to the letter and walked a couple of steps ahead without question. That train of thinking is what gets cops in trouble – back it up. Eyes now front and centre, he followed her into the interview room and motioned towards the seat with his hand.
‘Sit. My name is Mark McKay. I’m a detective sergeant for major crimes. I’ve been asked to come down and chat to you. You think a body’s gunna turn up today? What makes you think that?’
‘Straight to the point – I like that. Wait a minute… Mark McKay… you didn’t go to Morningside High, did you?’
Mark paused. Why is she so familiar? He racked his brains thinking and eventually only one person sprung to mind. ‘Toni Baillie? No way. It’s been…’
‘Probably nigh on twenty years. So, you’re a cop? Like your dad was, right? How is he? I always liked your dad. He used to joke all the time that you were all going to follow him into the force.’
Mark sat back in his chair, a little shocked. He hadn’t thought about her in years. She’d really grown into herself. That’s a polite way of thinking ‘hot’. Chill, idiot. His blood ran a little cold at her question about his dad, though.
‘My dad died – during the course of duty. Not long after you left school, actually. What happened? We were told your parents had taken you out and relocated you?’
‘Um, well yeah I guess that’s kind of what happened. There’s a longer much more boring version though.’
‘So, what brings you here today?’
‘Before we get into all that, how much do you remember about me and my family?’
‘Not much to be honest – we were friends, we hung out. Your family are Romani – it never bothered me, but you got bullied, a lot.’
‘And you stepped in – a lot. Thanks for that, by the way.’ She paused before continuing. ‘I know this is going to sound mad, but given you remembered I’m Romani, perhaps not too mad that you won’t believe me.’
She took in a deep breath and continued. ‘Some Romanis are born with gifts. It’s our heritage but it’s not as common as you’d think. My gran was psychic – she knew things before they would happen and used her gift, trained herself. I inherited the same gift, though she died while training me and I… well I didn’t want to use it after that so I kind of ignored it.’
Mark folded his arms across his chest, trying to stop his face disclosing what he really believed about psychics.
He drew in a breath as she continued.
‘Except it’s not that easy to ignore. As I grew up, it grew with me and got to the point that ignoring was impossible. Sometimes I see events, people, places. All that sort of stuff. It’s often hard to piece together exactly what’s been shown to me – like TV with bad static I guess. Other times it’s really clear but only for short bursts. Following me so far?’
Her eyes met his and showed… what? Apprehension maybe?
‘Over the last few days I’ve been having the same flashes. It’s grown stronger and more clear until last night when I saw it in full, like a movie playing. It’s a stone corridor somewhere, very dark. There’s a man… well I think he’s a man. He’s obscured by shadows – but he comes across as male. He has a young man with him, tied at his feet.’ She gulped and drew in a shaky breath. ‘The shadow man cuts the lad’s throat and throws something on his stomach. I can’t see what it is. But… well it’s going to happen today. I just know it is. And I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell you. You might be able to stop it if you know it’s going to happen. My gran always said, “forewarned is forearmed”. Sorry it’s not more. I’ve pushed to see where the stone room is but I can’t.’
Mark unfolded his arms from across his chest and leaned back in his chair. He didn’t particularly want to say he didn’t believe her, but it was written all over his face and he knew it. She obviously believed it – but she couldn’t expect to walk into a room and have everyone else just believe. That was just plain daft. She was essentially saying she could see the future. And that just wasn’t possible. Was it? He tried not to show his disbelief, though, and nodded in response to her statement.
She looked instantly disappointed, and a little hurt. Knowing her from his school days made it even harder but he couldn’t pretend to believe something for which he had no proof. And proving this was real was nigh on impossible. He shook his head and opened his mouth to apologise but Toni stood.
‘I thought maybe you might be different from everyone else. You always seemed open to everything at school. But you grew up to be as close-minded as everyone else.’
‘Hey, you don’t know me – you don’t get to judge me as close-minded. Which I’m not by the way. You’ve been brought up knowing your gift is real – you’ve had proof over the years and believe in it. I was brought up differently. I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but I need hard evidence to believe something like that. It’s how I’m wired up. Tell me anything about the man who gets his throat cut – something that might help me identify him. If I can find him with the information, then I’ll run with it, speak to him. Can you give me anything else?’
Toni shook her head slowly, then refocussed her eyes on his. For that split second, he was lost. She’d caught him like he was a fish on a line and drawn him in. If it was possible, they darkened even more when she registered his expression. He tried to pull away, he really did, but she had him mesmerised. She broke contact by coughing lightly.
What the hell was that? I couldn’t move. He shifted his feet, uncomfortable with the sudden rush of emotion he’d felt. That reaction wasn’t normal. It was a very good thing they hadn’t remained friends after school, he decided. He couldn’t cope with that kind of loss of control.
‘A postcard, he puts a postcard down on the young man’s stomach. There’s an old picture on it – it’s a black and white print. A scary picture, that looks kind of like how he killed the man. I can’t identify him though, there’s literally nothing else coming. I’m sorry.’
‘Can I have your number… I mean, I’ll ring you once I’ve looked into what you’re saying.’ Mark’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Get a grip! What the hell is the matter with you?
Toni pulled a pen and paper from her handbag and quickly scribbled it down. She didn’t wait for him to open the door, even when she saw he’d gone to. His mum had raised him well. When they reached the adjoining door to the front office, she pressed the button on the wall to open it and half-walked through, before turning back towards him. ‘Thanks for listening. I know you don’t believe me, but I appreciate you not throwing me out after the first sentence.’
Mark nodded, not quite knowing what to say. He watched as she swayed through front office and out of the entrance.
Chapter 2
17th December, 0940 hours – Princes Street, Edinburgh
Francis Wright stood on the steps of the National Gallery and looked up and down Princes Street, his shrewd eyes taking in the parents whose kids were running riot, and the women who looked like they were wandering alone. And the men – the younger men, in their late teens or early twenties. He liked them that age. They were pliable and prone to do what he wanted more easily.
Always with a little coercion, which he was more than happy to provide.
His eyes zeroed in on one lad – he was maybe twenty at a push. He had blond hair and blue eyes – everything Francis liked in his companions. His clothing was designer but older models – the young man looked despondent as he sat on the bench opposite Primark.
&n
bsp; Perfect.
He practically skipped down the steps and made his way to the bench where the young man sat.
‘Cigarette?’ he offered as he sat down – not too close, though. He didn’t want to spook him.
‘No thanks, I don’t smoke.’ The lad looked up momentarily then returned his gaze to the floor.
‘I shouldn’t – doctor keeps telling me to stop. It’s a filthy habit, really. Just visiting, are you?’
‘No. I live here. Yourself?’ He glanced over at Francis – wary but too polite not to respond.
‘I live locally. Always a nightmare this time of year, isn’t it? Too many bloody tourists if you ask me. And those markets – overpriced tat. Bet you don’t buy off them. You look like your head’s screwed on right.’
A slow smile spread over the young man’s lips. ‘Not a chance. Even if I was rich, which I’m not. Like you said, overpriced tat. I’m Lee Robson by the way.’
‘Francis.’ He held out his hand, his breath catching in his throat, half expecting the lad not to take it. But he did, and his skin was soft to the touch – almost like it had baby talc covering it. A shiver passed over him. Lee would be the next in his long list of conquests.
‘So, what brings you down to Princes Street today? I’m just here people watching. Might go and grab some breakfast. I’m hungry. Want to join me? My treat? I’m meeting my friend Duke, he’s a good lad. We can chat about how stupid tourists are?’ Francis’s attempts to make friends worked and Lee nodded.
He was never wrong – could tell a hungry lad a mile away. And once he had food in his tummy, the friendship would be formed. With a friendship came trust. And that’s how he’d get Lee to do what he wanted. Even if he didn’t want to. Which Lee wouldn’t, initially anyway. They never did.
But they all came round eventually.
17th December, 0945 hours – Toni’s flat, Harrison Gardens, Edinburgh
The row of old-style town houses overlooked Harrison Park. It was a private park – only the residents of the houses overlooking were allowed entry. It was well-kept and in summer a lovely place to sit and ponder.
This wasn’t summer though – it was the dead of winter and not one person was in the park. The bare branches and ice on the grass made it seem unwelcoming. Toni was sitting in the chair in her window overlooking it. It was her favourite place to sit – it helped her think.
She was disappointed that Mark hadn’t believed her when she’d told him what she’d seen. The reaction was similar from most people to be fair, but it still stung. He’d popped into her thoughts at odd times during the years since she’d last seen him. Toni always thought of him fondly, remembering all the times he’d stepped in when the other kids were being mean because she was a ‘gypo’ or a ‘pikey’. When she’d realised it was Mark she’d be speaking to, she’d dared to hope that he would believe.
Toni had never really had an easy time of it. She was true Romani, which meant that as a child, she had always had to follow the strict rules in place for her culture. Her gran had been the psychic – it had skipped a generation and ended with Toni, something which her mother, Hester, had never been overly pleased with. Not that she had been pleased with anything really when Toni had been a child. The fact Toni had the gift and she hadn’t had always caused upset. Even before…
The wind rustled the bare branches of the trees in the park and Toni took in some deep breaths. She hated thinking about her family. It was always… traumatic. Her paternal gran had been her one true friend – the only person who was ever honest with her. Toni was her name-sake – the only child to be named after her. Antonia Defiance Baillie.
Toni had heard the story a million times when she was young. Her mother had wanted to name her Kezia, but her gran had insisted she be named after her as the firstborn. Her mother had fought it for nine months, and when she’d been born, her gran and her dad, Riley, had gone straight to the registry office and named her as they wanted. There’d been a massive row when her mother had found out, so she’d been told. It had resulted in her mother threatening to leave numerous times. That was something that wasn’t done back then – in her culture, you married young, and you stayed married. The marriage had eventually broken down, though, and when she was nine her mother ran off in the middle of the night, leaving her behind. Her dad had drank himself into oblivion, but she’d always been okay because her gran had taken her in and raised her.
Toni often wondered about her mum – where she was, how she was. Her gran had refused to talk about her mother after she left, and Toni eventually stopped asking. The wonder was always there, though. And the lack of understanding – she’d never get why her mother left her behind – knew 100 per cent if she ever had kids she’d never run off without them. It was for that reason that she’d never tried to find her mum.
Black thoughts threatened to invade – all the reasons she was no longer classed as a member of her community – but she pushed them back. No way could they be allowed to come to the forefront. She’d end up a gibbering mess. Besides, it wasn’t something she could change anyway. What was done was done.
Without warning the vision sprang forth so suddenly it made her gasp. Normally she had to focus on what her mind was trying to tell her, try and glean the meaning from the snippets she saw, but this was full on. She could smell the damp concrete in the tunnel, knew it was pitch black. Panic threatened and for a moment she wanted to retreat, to leave it and return to the seat she knew she was really sitting on. But Mark hadn’t believed her. Maybe this one would give her more information – something she could use to make him believe. Toni allowed herself to drift into the vision, relying on her senses to relay information to her. She had a guide – Sam – who was always there in every vision, looking out for her and keeping her safe, helping her maintain some control. She could hear him in the background whispering, telling her to be careful.
The smell of damp concrete changed to fear – palpable and dense. It wasn’t her fear though, it was the fear of the young man in her mind, the one who was about to die. The shadow of his killer appeared beside him, and she practically felt his strong arms move her physically. She knew then she’d been granted access into the mind of the young man. It was unexpected, had only happened to her a couple of times before. But she dug deep and rooted around. Aaron – his name was Aaron. She felt the coolness of a blade against her neck, knew without a doubt that she (or Aaron really) was about to die. Panic rushed up her throat, the absolute certainty that she would die was overwhelming and Sam, her guide, rapidly dragged her from what she was seeing, knowing it would be too much for her.
Tears covered her cheeks, and her hand was at her chest, grasping her throat frantically as she slowly came out of the vision. She heard Sam whisper his apology in the back of her mind, and acknowledged that silently, but was still reeling from the absolute terror that poor Aaron had felt. Now though, she knew she had the proof Mark would need. Picking up the phone, she dialled 101 and asked to speak to him directly.
17th December, 0950 hours – Sneaky Reekie Tours, The Royal Mile, Edinburgh
Heather Copeland was late – she should have been on The Royal Mile waiting for her tour group – a small one. The first one of the day was never busy, thankfully. An accident on the main road had meant delays in her getting there on time. No excuse, though, not in her boss’s eyes anyway.
She tied the lace on her steel-toed boots, and pulled her thick jacket on and grabbed the vault door key as she left the office. It was a cold day – cloudy now but still the ice glittered on the floor. Getting up Canongate to the market on The Royal Mile would take her about ten minutes walking so she picked the pace up and jogged, thankful for the woolly scarf round her neck.
The meeting place was a small board on the wall of the market, and a few people were milling about by the time she got there.
‘Hello, hello! Pretty chilly one in Auld Reekie today. Hope you’ve all got yer woollies on! Who’ve we got for the tour then?’
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bsp; She pulled her list out and ticked off the four people present. Only one hadn’t arrived yet.
‘We’ll just wait a couple of minutes for him, see if he turns up. Does anyone know where this wonderful city got its awful nickname of Auld Reekie?’
The silent shaking of four heads was the only response.
‘It originates from the days when the people who lived here used the streets as the means of disposing of the passing of the bowels. Once a day, they’d head to the open door of the rooms they lived in, and shout “guardaloo” before throwing the bucket contents down the street. The streets led down to the river, and you can imagine the smell in the streets with everyone doing this! Travellers used to bypass the city: no one wanted to head up the streets of Auld Reekie!’
She always put on her best theatrical voice for the tour, and she could see it was appreciated by the grins from those on the tour. Checking her watch, she realised it was now five past the hour. No one else had turned up, so she used her arm to wave her people on and gave them a history of the bridges as they walked down to the vault entrance.
Heather knew the dim tunnel lights would be on now – they were on timer in the office – so she unlocked the door and wandered across the stone floor that led to the ramp. It was a steep walk down to the vaults, with a couple of deep steps at the bottom. Ramping up her voice, she told the visitors all about the underground city.
The tour was done at least five times a day, more during peak season. She did three days a week round her university course. She had the same spiel for each tour and did it because it paid well for the work involved. Same as a lot of the students in the city. She also worked in a bar four nights a week, and relied on her student loans to see her through. After doing this for almost two years, giving the tours’ historic information was almost second nature. She barely even noticed the dark tunnels and uneven floors anymore – but she knew the people following her did.
From the Dark Page 2
