“Where do you work?” Fletcher asked.
“At the Highland Archive Centre. I restore old manuscripts, particularly ones from the Middle Ages. I’m in Inverness for a year, for, well, it’s kind of like a placement program before I return to London.” Some of the anxiety dropped from his voice as he entered the familiar territory of his work.
“Are you working on anything in particular right now?” Fletcher continued, and I nodded in approval. She was both gathering information and working to calm Haruto down.
“This collector here in Inverness came across this old, old, old copy of The Life of Saint Columba. That’s why I was sent up here. We’re still working to determine its age, but it’s in bad shape, and I’ve been working to restore it as well as date and catalogue it.” He perked up, straightening in his seat as his voice began to take on a ‘professor who’s about to embark on a long aside’ slant. “Did you know that it contains the first known recorded sighting of a water monster in the Loch Ness?”
My mood darkened at the mention of the Loch Ness monster, but I fought to keep it off my face. “The people following you?” I prompted, hoping to lead to conversation back to more tactical matters.
“Right.” Haruto took a deep breath as he tried to reorient himself. “The next night, when I got home, my door was unlocked. I always lock my door.”
Fletcher clearly decided my desk was uncomfortable because she grabbed an empty chair and pulled it up between the two of us. “Was anything missing? Out of place?”
“No. Everything was normal.” I could see in Haruto’s face that he knew how his story sounded. It sounded like he was paranoid, jumping at shadows, imagining connections that simply weren’t there.
“Have you noticed anything substantial?” I asked. I didn’t mean to sound dismissive, but it came out that way anyway.
His face fell at my words. “I’ve seen the same woman four times. On my street, outside my work, inside the Archives… though we’re open to the public, so I guess that’s not overly suspicious… and then outside the pub where I went to get dinner last night. I think she has dark hair. I don’t know. She was always wearing a hat or a hood, but she’s tall. As tall as you are, maybe.” He leaned forward and stared at me with pleading eyes. “Look, I know it doesn’t sound like very much, but I promise I’m not just imagining things. Someone’s watching me. I can’t concentrate on my work. I can barely eat. I almost destroyed an entire page of my manuscript the other day, and--”
“I believe you,” I cut him off before he could spiral any further into his building whirlwind of anxiety. Then I corrected myself, nodding at Fletcher. “We believe you. We want to help. Do you feel comfortable going home until we can come by this afternoon to look it over and make sure it seems secure?”
Haruto’s face contorted with panic at the thought of going home alone, so I quickly continued, “What if I sent a constable with you to watch over things until we get there?”
The fear drained away, leaving exhaustion splattered across Haruto’s features. He nodded slowly. “I guess that would be okay.”
“Everything is going to be fine,” I promised as he wrote down his address and phone number. Odds were, he had watched one too many horror movies and worked himself up over nothing, but if our investigation helped ease his mind, then I didn’t see the harm in poking around his house, so long as it didn’t take too much time away from the Finn Wair case.
I asked Constable Barnes to escort him back to his apartment and keep a lookout for a few hours, promising him a couple of pints as a thank you for the favour. It was so easy to bribe people with the promise of pints around here.
Once Haruto left, I tucked the slip of paper with his address on it into my pocket and stood, pulling my long duster off my chair and slinging it around my shoulders. “Ready to head to Finn’s school?”
Fletcher hopped up eagerly. “Yes.”
“I’m driving.”
“I figured.” She smirked as I nodded, glad that she understood how this was going to work.
We headed for the door, pausing only to allow a constable leading a slight, red-haired man in handcuffs to pass through the narrow aisle between the desks. My phone buzzed as we reached my car, and I fished it out along with my keys, unlocking the door for Fletcher before I opened the email from my sister.
“You’re not going to believe what I found in dad’s stuff,” the message read, and there was an attached photo of the nearby Loch Ness. I didn’t bother to open up the thumbnail. I knew what it would be. Some kind of weird image that would further her theory that Alasdair MacBain’s disappearance had something to do with the Loch Ness Monster. I couldn’t believe that stupid thing had come up twice in one day. “Can you send it to the guys at the lab?”
“Fine,” I replied, just to appease her and stop her from trying to look into this on her own. I forwarded the email to the lab, along with an apology and a brief explanation.
“Everything okay?” Fletcher asked when I climbed in the car.
“Just my sister,” I said, and she nodded as if that were answer enough.
I started the car and eased us out of the cramped parking lot, shifting quickly through the gears once I hit the main street. Fletcher pulled the school’s address up on her phone and clipped the device to the vent holder so I could see the screen.
“Do you really think someone is following that kid?” she said when it became clear that I wasn’t going to start a conversation.
“Not really,” I answered honestly. “I think his anxiety and paranoia are feeding each other, and he’s got himself all spun up over nothing. It sounds like that horror movie kicked it off.”
Fletcher nodded, hooking her heel over the opposite knee. “I did that once. One Halloween weekend, I watched three or four horror movies in a row alone in the dark and spent the next week convinced that there was something around every corner and behind every door.”
“How old were you?” I asked.
She hesitated, cheeks turning slightly pink. “Older than I care to admit. Do you like horror movies?”
“Hell no,” I said far too quickly for my liking.
Fletcher laughed but didn’t mock me for it. “What happened to your old partner?” she asked instead.
“He’s not with us anymore.”
In the rearview mirror, I saw Fletcher’s face go white as she realized her mistake. She opened her mouth once, twice. “I-I’m sorry. What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”
I rolled the car smoothly through a turn, the gap between us and the oncoming car perhaps a bit small. “Oh, he moved to Edinburgh. Forgets to call.”
Fletcher’s mouth dropped open, and she reached over and punched me in the arm as I began to grin. “I didn’t realize you were funny.”
“He retired about five years after he should have. He’s a chronic workaholic. I’m sure he got bored and applied to be a Special Constable and is now driving everyone in the Edinburgh branch nuts.”
“Were you two close?”
“We became partners when I was a rookie, like you. We worked together for a long time. I was sorry to see him go. Sometimes, I even miss him, but then I remember how much of a pain in the ass he was.”
“I’m great at being a pain in the ass,” Fletcher said, and I laughed.
“Trust me. He’s got the whole world beat in that regard.”
Four
I parked at the back of the school lot just as it started to rain, and Fletcher pulled an umbrella from the black bag she brought with, popping it open as she stepped out of the car. I turned up the collar of my duster and bent my head against the rain.
“You’re one of those,” Fletcher said and held her umbrella aloft to cover me as well, even as I glared at her.
Ivy covered much of the building’s brick face, sharp and green against the red stone while the rain distorted the colourful posters and letters pasted to the inside of the windows. An iron fenced enclosed a small play structure and miniature footbal
l field. The school day had ended an hour ago, and so the school grounds were empty and silent beneath the weight of the rain.
Inside, the secretary directed us to the headmaster’s office, and I knocked on the door beneath the plaque that read “Headmaster Finnegan,” a drop of water running down my neck, making me shiver.
“Enter,” a deep voice called from within.
Several floor lamps filled the room with a warm glow. The light gleamed off the rich wooden desk, and dark bookshelves lined two walls, all filled with thick, no doubt literary tomes bound in leather. The windows behind the headmaster’s seat looked out on the play structure, and the blinds were thrown open to let in as much of the watery light as possible. The headmaster himself was a prematurely balding man, his moustache the thickest patch of hair on his entire head. He wore the classic academic knitted waistcoat and bowtie, and he watched us enter with eyes hidden behind a pair of half-moon spectacles.
Fletcher and I flashed our badges at him, and a moment of shock ran across his face.
“What can I do for you, Inspectors?” he asked quickly, motioning for us to sit in the chairs before his desk.
“I’m DCI MacBain. This is DI Fletcher,” I introduced us. “We’re here about the disappearance of Finn Wair. You’re aware he never made it home on Tuesday?”
“Yes.” Finnegan nodded, smoothed his thinning hair. “Ms Wair contacted us about his disappearance, but our after-school monitor for the day, Ms Redding, didn’t notice anything unusual. She saw Finn come out the door… he doesn’t get picked up on Tuesdays, just walks himself to his music class a few streets over… but she didn’t see Finn leave the grounds. Another child was having a meltdown over the state of his crushed crisps. She was distracted.”
“How does Finn do in school?” Fletcher asked. She had her little notebook out and was jotting things down as Finnegan spoke. “Did he ever get in trouble? Or did he have any… not enemies, since he’s seven… but was there anyone he didn’t get along with?”
“He’s a good kid. He has trouble focusing sometimes, and some of the older kids occasionally like to make fun of him for not having a father, but it’s nothing serious.”
“Any friends?” I said, and the headmaster rattled off three names for Fletcher to write down. “How about anyone strange hanging around the school?”
“Not that’s been reported to me.”
“What can you tell us about Ms Wair?” I asked. Obviously, the distraught mother wasn’t a suspect, but I wanted to build as broad a profile as possible for the case.
Finnegan shrugged. “We’ve only interacted a couple of times. Our teachers deal more with the parents face to face. She’s a nice woman, a bit hard to pin down. She always seems a bit sad, even when she’s smiling.”
“Does she ever mention Finn’s father?”
“No. I gather he took off before Finn was old enough to start school. I get the feeling he’s a rather taboo subject in their household. Finn certainly never mentions him.” Finnegan spread his hands across the desk in a kind of ‘what can you do’ gesture and smiled apologetically.
“Do you mind if we take a look around? Maybe talk to a few of Finn’s teachers?” I would do all those things even if Finnegan did, in fact, mind, but it was always good to make sure people were on your side, especially at the beginning of an investigation.
“Of course.” The headmaster nodded. “Ms Redding should be in her classroom, and I believe Finn’s homeroom teacher, Mr MacTaberd, is still around as well.”
“Thanks,” I said then glanced at Fletcher to see if she had any other questions before we left. She inclined her head towards the door, tucking her little notebook into the pocket of her blazer.
We saw ourselves out of the office. I left my card with the secretary, just in case, and Fletcher got the numbers and addresses for Finn’s couple of friends, giving the woman behind the desk a wide grin and a thank you. Then we wound our way through the hallways to speak with Ms Redding first.
Her door was open, so I stepped right inside, scuffing my foot on the ground to announce myself. Ms Redding looked up from her papers, startled by our entry, but when we showed her our badges and explained why we were there, her face smoothed back out.
“You didn’t see anything out of the ordinary that afternoon?” I asked once the preliminaries were out of the way. The brightly coloured posters on the wall caught the eye, and I kept having to drag my gaze back to Ms Redding as she spoke.
“Unfortunately, no. I assumed he had left for his music class like he does every week.”
Fletcher opened her notebook once more. “Where is that exactly? Who teaches it?”
“It’s in the basement of St. Stephen’s Church. I think the teacher’s name is Lena Taggert.” Ms Redding’s face crumbled as if it were a low stone wall suddenly hit by a runaway truck. “It’s all my fault. If I’d been paying closer attention, maybe I would have seen something or been able to stop it. That poor boy’s been kidnapped, and it’s all my fault. I’m a terrible teacher.” She buried her face in her hands as a sob cut off the rest of her words.
I shared a look with Fletcher then slowly reached across the desk to lay my hand on her arm. “You’re not a terrible teacher. I doubt there was anything you could have done. Sometimes bad things happen, but you can’t get bogged down on what might have been. You have to focus on what you can do now.”
Ms Redding sniffled but emerged from behind her hands. “Do you really mean it?”
“Yes. And Finn will be back before you know it.” I glanced over at Fletcher. “Right, Fletcher?”
“Right. I just transferred up here, but when I arrived, they said MacBain is the best, so the case is in good hands,” Fletcher promised, elbowing me in the side.
“Besides, we don’t know for sure that he was kidnapped. Maybe he just wandered off and got lost.” I doubted that. In today’s age of phones and the Internet, it was growing harder and harder to get well and truly lost.
Ms Redding managed a smile, and Fletcher and I left her to her grading, quietly shutting the door behind us. The hallway was sparsely decorated. There was a corkboard proclaiming an upcoming concert and the week’s updates, but otherwise, the walls were left to the bland, tan brick and the classroom doors.
Fletcher bumped into me with her shoulder as we walked, headed for Mr MacTaberd’s room. “Funny guy, inspirational speaker. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Make a cheese toastie,” I said grimly.
“Are you serious?” Fletcher raised one eyebrow in judgement, but her smile undermined the expression. “That’s basically the easiest meal in the world.”
“I know, I know. I can cook plenty of other things, but I always burn my cheese toasties to a crisp. I don’t know what it is.” I shrugged. It was my curse. It was truly unfortunate because I also loved cheese toasties.
“What about a ham and cheese toastie?”
I had to pause for a moment because I had honestly never thought of that. “Huh, never tried to make one. Maybe it would work.”
Fletcher laughed, the sound echoing down the empty school corridor, and I smiled back at her. She reminded me a little of Reilly, my former partner, though his wit usually had a more insulting edge to it.
We caught Mr MacTaberd just as he was locking up his classroom. The sides of his head were buzzed, the tight curls stiff on top, and his dark skin was stark against the starched white collar of his shirt, his tie loosened for the end of the day. He nodded to us as we approached, stowing his keys in his pocket.
“DCI MacBain,” I said and showed him my badge. “Do you have a minute?”
“I’m on my way out, but of course. What can I do for you?” Despite his last name, Mr MacTaberd spoke with an American accent, his vowels short and clipped.
“We’re headed outside as well, actually. Do you mind if we walk with you?”
“Of course not.”
Fletcher and I fell in line beside Mr MacTaberd, following him towards the school�
�s main entrance. He walked quickly, purposefully, and I had to lengthen my stride to keep up.
“What can you tell us about Finn Wair’s parents? We’ve met his mother, but no one’s been able to tell us anything about the father.”
“He called me once, sometime last year,” Mr MacTaberd admitted. “I don’t know how he figured out I’m Finn’s homeroom teacher or where he got my number, but he just wanted to ask me how Finn was doing. Didn’t try to set up a meeting, didn’t ask for any personal information, he just asked how Finn was doing in school. He sounded, I don’t know, sad. Then he asked if I could keep this between us and hung up.”
“Did you keep it to yourself?” Fletcher asked.
“I told his mother. It seemed only right.”
“How did she take it?” We reached the front doors and stopped just inside them as it was still raining outside, and I had no desire to get wet while we finished this conversation. I was still slightly damp due to the walk from the car.
“She didn’t seem like she knew how to take it, just asked me to let her know if he ever called again.”
“And did he?”
Mr MacTaberd shook his head. “I saved the number though, and I tried to call when I heard… you know, but the number was disconnected.”
“We’ll need that number,” I said, and he gave Fletcher his phone with the contact open on the screen. She scrawled it across a fresh page and circled it.
Mr MacTaberd hesitated, squeezing the strap of his satchel in both hands. “Is it possible Finn just ran away? His mother, she’s a lovely woman, but she’s a bit overprotective. Maybe Finn just got overwhelmed and took off.”
“We’re looking into all possibilities. We haven’t found any evidence of foul play.” I didn’t add ‘yet.’ No reason to freak the man out when we still didn’t have all the facts. I shook his hand, and then he opened a large umbrella, hurrying down the steps and out into the rain.
“What now?” Fletcher asked. She had her own umbrella in hand but hadn’t opened it yet.
Buried Secrets (DCI MacBain Scottish Crimes Book 1) Page 3
