Blood Torment

by T F Muir

  Gilchrist pressed closer. ‘So tell me, Annette, why store Michelle’s toys in the attic?’

  ‘I . . . it was . . . Kevin said we should.’

  Gilchrist had asked himself why Kevin Kirkwood had been sweating when he’d first answered the door. The suitcases had not been packed, and all the rooms appeared clean and tidy. So he’d instructed a search of the attic and found a pile of scattered toys and clothes that looked as if they’d been thrown up there.

  He engaged Whetlow in a long look of disbelief, then focused again on Annette. ‘So, let me recap, Annette, can I? Your husband, Kevin, left home on Sunday, around midnight, and returned in the small hours with an adopted daughter. And last night, he said he’d found some holiday deal in Corfu, too good to pass up, and you had to leave at short notice, except you couldn’t take your brand-new baby daughter with you. So you phoned your mother-in-law and arranged for her to look after her, the child you’d been dreaming of for years, then Kevin threw all her clothes and toys into the attic before starting to pack the suitcases.’ He bared his teeth in a brief smile. ‘Is that about right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I haven’t missed anything, have I?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Good.’ Gilchrist held her gaze. ‘Do you watch TV?’

  She frowned, wary of his question. ‘Not really.’

  ‘You never watched it at all in the last week?’

  ‘Not really. I’m too busy for that.’

  Jessie chuckled. ‘Me too,’ she said, which brought a glare from Whetlow.

  ‘You have three TVs in your home,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Every one of them works. The first one we tried, the one in the master bedroom, was set on the BBC News. Do you recall watching the news at all?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘Even the one in the kitchen? That was set on the BBC news channel, too.’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘And the big one in the lounge? Did you watch that?’

  ‘We’re seldom in the lounge.’

  ‘So that’s a No?’

  ‘Yes. I mean, yes, it’s a No.’

  He nodded to Jessie, who opened her folder and slid a number of photographs across the table.

  ‘CCTV footage of your husband, Kevin, and a Mr Sandy Rutherford driving to meet each other on Sunday night,’ Jessie said to her. ‘Do you know Sandy Rutherford?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Katie’s probably in the Range Rover’s boot.’

  Whetlow scowled as she studied them. ‘These prove nothing of the sort.’

  ‘Keep looking,’ Jessie said. ‘There’s also footage of them driving back.’

  Annette lowered her head, struggling to hold back the tears.

  ‘I don’t blame you for wanting a child so desperately,’ Gilchrist said. ‘But whose idea was it to abduct Katie Davis?’ He watched his words burrow into her system. ‘Someone must have come up with the idea, Annette. Was it you? Was it Kevin?’ He let several seconds pass, then leaned in closer and whispered, ‘Or was it someone else?’

  She lifted her head and stared at him, eyes wide and brimming, as if knowing she had no option but to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

  Gilchrist said, ‘Help me, Annette. Give me a name.’

  She glanced at Whetlow, pursed her lips as if to seal them for good, then levelled her eyes at Gilchrist. ‘It was Rachel’s idea,’ she gasped. ‘Rachel Novo.’

  Gilchrist pushed his chair back and stood. ‘Charge her,’ he said.

  Annette gasped, ‘What?’ and turned to her solicitor.

  But Whetlow could only shake her head.

  When Gilchrist contacted the Met, he was surprised to be told that Novo was on her way to Scotland, having boarded a flight to Edinburgh. He flicked his mobile on to speaker, and signalled Jessie closer.

  ‘We’ve passed the surveillance assignment to Lothian and Borders,’ the Met officer said. ‘Have they not been in contact with you?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Gilchrist said, reining in his anger. He should have been the first person the Met called before passing anything to Lothian and Borders police. ‘You got a name for me?’

  ‘Sorry, sir. They said they would contact you directly.’

  Gilchrist bit his tongue, then ended the call.

  His first thought was to arrest Novo the instant she landed in Edinburgh. But an idea was blossoming deep within his mind, niggling away, demanding recognition. Novo’s flight to Scotland had surprised him. But again, nothing about Novo should surprise him.

  ‘Novo couldn’t have heard about Rutherford’s death or her mother’s arrest,’ he said. ‘Not yet. Could she?’

  ‘I don’t see how. But even if she had,’ Jessie said, ‘she’s never spoken to her bitch-for-a-mother for well over a year, and I can’t see her having any sympathy over her stepfather’s death; even less for her mother’s arrest for his murder. So I don’t get it.’

  Even as Jessie’s logic dug into his mind, another thought was nudging to the fore.

  ‘Why now?’ he asked. ‘Why fly to Scotland?’

  ‘Not for the weather, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Maybe Novo would be sympathetic to Rutherford’s death,’ he tried. ‘But what if she was much closer to him than anyone ever knew.’ He glanced at her, saw he had her attention.

  ‘So you’re thinking he’s some old stud who’s giving her one on the side?’

  ‘Not necessarily, although I wouldn’t discount it out of hand. He abducted Katie and made the exchange with Kirkwood. We’re pretty sure of that. And it was Novo who arranged the . . . adoption,’ he said, clawing the air, ‘with the Kirkwoods. But did Kevin Kirkwood know Rutherford? I don’t think so.’

  ‘So you’re saying . . .?’

  ‘That my mention of the name Rumford – not Rutherford – jolted Novo into action. That they could have known each other for a long time. That she flew to Scotland before she knew anything about Rutherford’s death.’ He stared into the distance, let his thoughts tumble into place. Then he focused his attention on Jessie. ‘If I didn’t know any better,’ he said, and almost smiled, ‘I’d say we’ve flushed her out.’

  ‘So, she’s flying to Scotland to do what?’

  ‘That’s what we need to find out.’

  ‘I can’t wait to cuff the bitch.’

  ‘No. Don’t. Not yet. Let’s just keep an eye on her.’

  ‘Tell me you’re joking.’

  ‘Don’t sound so deflated,’ he said. ‘Maybe the fun is about to start. Get on to Lothian and Borders, and tell them to keep tabs on her when she lands.’

  By 5.15 p.m., Jessie had established that Novo had taken a BA flight from Heathrow to Edinburgh, then a train to Gleneagles. But Gilchrist was almost lost for words when she told him Novo had slipped her Lothian and Borders surveillance.

  ‘They lost her in Gleneagles?’ he spluttered.

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘But there’s nothing in Gleneagles,’ he pleaded.

  He tried Vera, but she had no idea why Novo was in Gleneagles. And Andrea was no help either. She’d been taken by ambulance to Ninewells Hospital after being found unconscious at her kitchen table, suspected of having taken an overdose. She had not yet been reunited with her daughter and, despite being told Katie was alive and well, had remained in a disconsolate state of depression. Social Services had been contacted, and were discussing taking action to remove Katie from her mother’s care.

  So Gilchrist tried another route.

  ‘Do you have that list of properties managed by Rutherford’s company?’

  Ten minutes later, he and Jessie had addresses of three residential properties close to Gleneagles – two in Auchterarder and one in Blackford. A call to the property management company’s manager, Shari McKay, confirmed that both Auchterarder properties had long-term tenants, but that the Blackford property was rarely rented out.

  ‘It just sits there gathering dust, does it?’ Gilchrist
asked her.

  ‘Mr Rutherford’s a golfer,’ Shari said. ‘He stays there when he plays Gleneagles.’

  From the tone of her voice, Gilchrist realised that she knew nothing of Rutherford’s death. But he didn’t want to complicate their conversation, and said, ‘Is anyone renting it at the moment?’

  ‘I’ve no idea—’

  ‘You run the business, and you don’t know if anyone’s there or not?’

  ‘It’s Mr Rutherford’s personal property—’

  ‘But it’s on the company books, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but only Mr Rutherford rents it out.’

  ‘Which brings us back to my question. Is anyone renting it at the moment?’

  ‘Would you like me to phone Mr Rutherford and—?’

  ‘No.’

  A pause, then, ‘I could call the property and find out if someone’s there?’

  ‘No need,’ Gilchrist said. ‘We’ll make our own way there.’

  He suggested Shari meet them at the Blackford property, but she had several meetings to attend. So he arranged to collect the keys and security code for the alarm system from their main office in Perth; but he did not have it in his heart to tell her of Rutherford’s death.

  Then he ended the call.

  At 7.33 p.m., he and Jessie drove into Blackford.

  They found Rutherford’s property at the north end of the town.

  Gilchrist drove past, checked the windows – curtains open – then parked out of direct line of sight of the house, about a hundred yards away. Before exiting the car, he said, ‘Let me get the latest from Mhairi,’ and phoned her on the car’s system.

  ‘I was just about to call you, sir.’ Mhairi sounded out of breath. ‘Jackie’s uncovered some troubling stuff about Dimitri Novokoff.’

  ‘Troubling?’

  ‘Yes, sir. She’s found out that Novokoff was never a partner in any microbrewery business in Maroochydore. He never even went to Australia. I was going to mention it earlier to you, sir, but I wanted to check it out first.’

  ‘So he’s a liar,’ Jessie said. ‘Is that why Novo divorced him?’

  ‘That’s what I wanted to tell you, sir. Novo didn’t divorce him.’

  ‘She didn’t?’

  ‘No, sir. She’s widowed.’

  ‘Dimitri’s dead?’ A cold frisson flushed Gilchrist’s skin. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Apparent heart attack on a private beach in Tangier. But he was with Novo when he died. They were the only two on the beach. Because he’s Russian by birth, and his father was a diplomat, his body was flown from the country before a post-mortem could be carried out. It turns out that Novo was held in custody for a couple of hours and questioned by the local police. But there was insufficient evidence to make an arrest, so they released her. When the Russian Embassy threatened to interrogate her, she sought refuge in the British Embassy and was flown back to the UK the following day under Embassy protection.’

  ‘She must have had some political contacts to pull that off,’ he said.

  ‘I think her father might have had something to do with that, sir.’

  ‘What about Novokoff’s father? Did anyone contact him?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir, but this is when it gets interesting.’

  Gilchrist turned up the volume. ‘We’re listening.’

  ‘Jackie confirmed that Novo spent five days in a hotel in Marbella within one month of her husband’s death.’

  ‘To do what? Meet Novokoff’s father? Or someone from the Russian Embassy?’

  ‘We don’t think so, sir, but it’s the dates that are significant.’

  Gilchrist risked a look at Jessie, but she looked as confused as he felt.

  ‘Novo’s medical records around that time confirm she was pregnant.’

  ‘And Dimitri was the father?’

  ‘We don’t know that for sure—’

  ‘So what happened to her child? Did she have a termination?’

  ‘No, sir. She gave birth.’

  ‘So she must have had the child adopted,’ he said, still prying.

  ‘Not directly, sir.’

  ‘Did Novokoff’s family claim the child and take it to Russia?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Gilchrist eyed the dashboard; he cast a glance along the street, then back to the phone as he struggled to work out what Jackie had found, why Mhairi was calling, then thought he saw his slip-up. ‘How is a child not directly adopted?’ he asked.

  ‘Novo had the child,’ Mhairi said, ‘but under the name of her twin sister, Andrea.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Jessie hissed.

  Gilchrist slapped the dashboard. ‘So Katie is Novo’s daughter?’

  ‘It looks that way, sir.’

  Which explained why Andrea had kept in contact with Novo, and also her call on the morning of Katie’s abduction to tell Novo that her daughter was missing. But he was still at a loss as to why Novo would arrange for Rutherford to abduct Katie in the first place.

  ‘Anything else we should know?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s it, sir.’

  Gilchrist almost cursed. ‘Get Jackie to focus on Rutherford. And see if she can find out any more on that hotel in Tangier – who else was staying there at the time of Dimitri’s heart attack. And get her to text me the instant anything comes up. You got that?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Gilchrist hung up as Jessie let out a rush of breath. ‘Jesus. I thought my family were a bunch of nutters, but this lot takes the biscuit. You think Vera the grannie knows the details?’

  ‘Nothing would surprise me.’

  ‘We need to ask her.’

  ‘On the other hand,’ Gilchrist said, reaching for the door handle, ‘if Novo’s where I think she is, you can ask her instead.’

  CHAPTER 36

  Rutherford’s Blackford property was a two-storey detached stone building that had undergone extensive external refurbishment – vinyl windows, fasciae, guttering; joints freshly grouted. Sheer blinds on the downstairs windows provided privacy from nosy passers-by. Upper-level windows sparkled clean.

  But no movement from within.

  Gilchrist confirmed the address, but found no nameplate on the door frame.

  ‘Keep an eye on the upstairs windows,’ he said, and waited until Jessie stepped back to the edge of the pavement. He rang the doorbell, heard it chime from somewhere deep in the hallway. ‘Anything?’ he asked.

  ‘Not yet.’

  Two minutes later, he tried again. ‘Any luck?’

  Jessie shook her head. ‘I don’t think she’s here.’

  Gilchrist felt his hopes deflate. He’d been certain this was where Novo would be. But he waited another courteous minute, then slipped the keys from his pocket, slotted the Yale into the lock and gave a twist.

  The lock turned over. He pushed the door open.

  The first thing that struck him was the heat, as if the thermostat had been turned up all day. The second was the silence – no beeping from the alarm. Had the last person forgotten to set it? Or was someone at home?

  The heat warned him that it had to be the latter.

  He stood still, held his arm out to prevent Jessie from entering.

  ‘I don’t hear the alarm,’ she said.

  ‘Might not’ve been set.’

  ‘You smell food?’

  Gilchrist inhaled, caught the faintest hint of coffee.

  ‘She’s here,’ Jessie said.

  ‘Well, someone is,’ he agreed, hedging his bets.

  ‘Maybe she’s through the back,’ she said, and pushed past him.

  Gilchrist closed the door, eased it back on its lock.

  By the time he turned around, Jessie was halfway along the narrow hallway.

  He caught up with her as she stood in the kitchen doorway.

  The kitchen appeared to be two rooms knocked into one, which overlooked a lawn and an expansive wooden deck with no balustrades, as if someone had laid planks over half the back garden. Trimmed hedges
over twelve feet tall – leylandii cypress – were as good as brick walls for restricting nosy neighbours. Dusk was falling, and shadows darkened the farthest reaches.

  ‘Not much of a view,’ Jessie said.

  Gilchrist could only agree, but wondered if the garden had been designed more for privacy than for horticultural elegance.

  ‘Window’s open a touch,’ Jessie said.

  ‘And that’s a fresh brew on the counter,’ he said.

  Jessie walked to the window and scanned the garden. ‘Maybe she’s out walking the dog.’ She turned to face him, her mouth tightening as her gaze locked on something over his shoulder—

  ‘Breaking and entering’s against the law.’

  Gilchrist turned at the sound of Novo’s voice, felt his blood chill at the sight of her. He was no expert in guns, but if he were a betting man he would put his money on the gun aimed at his chest being a Makarov – a Russian pistol. And the steadiness with which Novo held it warned him she was an experienced marksman – or was that markswoman?

  Maybe Dimitri had been a useful husband after all.

  ‘We were given the key,’ he explained. ‘And we did ring the doorbell.’

  ‘Why are you here?’ Novo’s blonde hair, no longer tied back in a bun, brushed her shoulders. Her white blouse was open at the neck and a diamond pendant pulled his eyes to her freckled cleavage. Too much sun, he thought. Not like her twin, who looked positively pale by comparison.

  ‘To talk to you,’ he said.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘One guess,’ Jessie said, and the sightline of the Makarov’s barrel shifted from Gilchrist’s side as Jessie stepped away from the window.

  ‘Katarina’s your daughter,’ Gilchrist said, and watched his words work through Novo’s mind to end in a creased narrowing of her eyes.

  ‘I see I might have underestimated you,’ she said.

  ‘No mights about it,’ Jessie snapped. ‘Did you really think you’d get away with it?’

  ‘Get away with what? There’s nothing illegal about having a child brought up by your twin sister.’

  Gilchrist thought Jessie looked stung, as if she knew Novo would always be one step ahead of her, always smarter. ‘So you admit it?’ he said. ‘That you’re Katie’s mother?’