Sins of the Dead

by Lin Anderson

  Whereas a normal bloke would have at least shared a joke about it, McNab had decided. That thought had been swiftly followed by another, more honest one. Maybe I’m just jealous of his magnetic attraction.

  That attraction had been further demonstrated by two more interruptions en route to the office, both female, both encounters playing out in a similar manner.

  At that point McNab had realized that he’d never seen Pirie with a female on his arm, although he was pretty sure the Prof fancied Rhona, which in all honesty was probably the real reason for his own dislike of the man.

  ‘In here.’ Pirie had broken that train of thought by ushering McNab into his office and flicking on a sign that said he was busy and not to be disturbed.

  McNab had been at Pirie’s flat on a previous occasion to discuss a case, but he’d never been in his place of work before.

  All places of learning made McNab uncomfortable and Pirie’s office was no exception. A quick scan of the bookshelves, filled with titles like the one Pirie had quoted from in his lecture, had just served to irritate him further.

  Pirie’s offer of a strong coffee had eased things a little. McNab had drunk his swiftly and requested a refill before they got down to business.

  After that things had become interesting. McNab’s own disquiet at the sin-eater image had been surpassed by Pirie’s reaction to Claire’s photographs of Mr Martin and Mr Robertson.

  ‘How long before the discovery of the tunnel body did these attacks happen?’ had been Magnus’s immediate response.

  ‘They occurred on two adjacent nights, three days before the body was reported.’

  ‘Who was first?’

  ‘Mr Martin with the bread,’ McNab had told him. ‘Claire cleaned that up, but didn’t tell her employer. Then came the wine found on Mr Robertson.’

  ‘Spilt on purpose to ensure she had to report it,’ Pirie had said almost to himself.

  ‘Whoever did it wanted Claire to call us?’ McNab said.

  ‘I suspect so.’

  DI Wilson didn’t look up as McNab entered, which might or might not be a bad sign. His relationship with the boss was a turbulent one, on McNab’s side at least. Most officers complained about their superiors; few did about this man. He was regarded as the bulwark between those below and those above. He had certainly proved to be McNab’s defence on more occasions than one.

  DI Wilson’s compassionate leave while attending his dying wife had, McNab realized, left him like a boat without its rudder, which signalled that if, or when, the boss gave up or retired, McNab would have to change his own modus operandi. That meant either leaving the force to become a security guy or maybe returning to undercover work, where it was easier to do your own thing.

  With that abiding thought, he realized the boss wasn’t ignoring him, but was engrossed by whatever was on his laptop screen. He turned it towards McNab to reveal the images of Mr Martin and Mr Robertson side by side in their coffins.

  ‘I want you to follow up any leads on the breakins at the funeral parlour. Speak to the families, find out if there was any reason these two men were targeted.’

  McNab opened his mouth then shut it again. To do what the boss was asking would involve revealing what had happened to the deceased’s families and put Claire in the firing line, which he had led Claire to believe wouldn’t happen.

  ‘Well, Sergeant?’

  The boss listened as McNab explained about the shirt, the clean-up operation and Claire’s role in all of this, but it was clear from his expression that what McNab had said changed nothing.

  ‘Professor Pirie believes there’s a strong possibility of a connection between whoever was involved in the tunnel death and events at the undertaker’s. He’ll outline this at the strategy meeting tomorrow morning. Find out everything you can before then.’

  The final remark was both an order and a dismissal. McNab hesitated but only for a second before saying ‘Yes, sir’ as though he meant it.

  DI Wilson held him with a commander’s eye. ‘And don’t disappear on me this time, Sergeant.’

  19

  McNab, feeling very much the interloper, joined a sea of Tigers fans walking swiftly from the parking lot to the nearby stadium. He’d been lucky to get one of the last parking spaces available. If he’d arrived any later, he would have had to seek a spot somewhere in the surrounding streets and probably would have missed Ellie’s ride-out.

  Most of the fans obviously held season tickets, because there was virtually no queue at the box office. McNab paid up and headed inside past a shop full of red regalia and a neat little bar, busy with punters buying their pint for the match.

  McNab passed by reluctantly, because downing a pint would have helped him face the prospect of meeting Ellie again. He’d spent the time between his interview with the boss and coming here looking for excuses not to turn up. Why? Because he was a coward where relationships were concerned.

  Yet here I am.

  McNab found himself a second-row place next to a pillar and texted Ellie that he’d arrived, muttering under his breath that it was too late to back out now.

  The stadium, he noted, was pretty full, the atmosphere friendly. Plenty of families, he guessed, as he surveyed those around him, and an almost even split of women and men. Something you didn’t see at a football match.

  McNab had been a keen Celtic supporter as a teenager, hence his knowledge of the area round Paradise, but once he became a police officer he’d stopped going to matches, because, when there, he couldn’t pretend not to be an officer of the law, especially when he ran up against arses.

  No problem with that here, he thought.

  There was a crowd of kids on the centre grass taking part in some sort of running game. Regardless of who won, it seemed they all got sweeties. McNab began to relax.

  Hey, this wasn’t so bad.

  Once the kids all got back to their parents in the stand, the loudspeaker announced that the Harley-Davidson girls would lead out the teams. Six Harleys appeared in the far right corner and over the megaphone came the riders’ names. First up was Ellie. Seeing her roar onto the track, McNab relived the moment when he’d first learned she was a biker chick, and suddenly remembered how lucky he was.

  You’re a prick, he told himself as a cheer went up from the crowd on Ellie’s approach to the main stand. Caught up in the excitement, McNab waved wildly and bawled her name as she waved back to the crowd.

  ‘Ellie, as you all know, is the daughter of Tiger veteran Willie Macmillan.’

  This announcement was greeted by an even bigger roar of approval, signifying Ellie’s father’s fame, which resurrected McNab’s doubts about being here.

  Next time round the circuit brought the speedway riders themselves, kicking up a shower of shale against the barriers as their uncovered back wheels swung round the bend in the circuit. When the scent of ethanol hit his nostrils, McNab questioned why the fuck he’d never tried out a bike like that for himself.

  Then Ellie was back for her second circuit. All six female riders were waving to the fans and McNab was pretty certain Ellie had spotted him beside his pillar, then realized that the guy in front of him was blowing her a kiss.

  Fuck that!

  McNab stepped down alongside the guy for a closer look. He was about the same height as McNab, had a build that suggested he worked out, a hipster beard and the usual haircut to go with it.

  ‘You a friend of Ellie’s?’ McNab said, putting the emphasis definitely on friend.

  The guy looked as though he might take offence at McNab’s belligerent tone, then changed tack.

  ‘Wish I was, mate,’ he smiled. ‘I take it you are?’ When McNab nodded, he added, ‘Lucky man.’

  The Harleys were leaving the arena. McNab kept an eye on his mobile, hoping there would soon be a response from Ellie to his earlier text. When there wasn’t, he sent another urging her to meet him in the shop.

  Ten minutes later, with no response from either of his attempts, he beg
an castigating himself.

  You’ve messed up, mate. Big time.

  Shouldering his way through the crowd keenly watching the first race, McNab headed for the bar, empty now of punters. He would have gladly ordered a beer, but settled instead for a large black coffee. He’d fucked up enough, he decided, without resorting to drink as well.

  ‘Michael.’

  McNab turned at her voice. She was still in her leathers, her face flushed with either excitement or embarrassment.

  ‘You were great,’ McNab immediately said. ‘I was waving like mad.’

  She gave a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  ‘Can we talk?’ McNab was aware his own voice held a pleading tone.

  ‘Let’s go out front,’ she said, making for the door that led to the entrance area.

  McNab followed, rehearsing his words in his head, realizing they wouldn’t sound any better when said out loud.

  She’d loosened her hair, which had been tied up under her helmet, and it now hung round her face. She looked, he thought, lovely and fearful.

  Was she afraid of him? Why?

  ‘I only have a few minutes,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll stay,’ McNab offered. ‘And meet you at the end.’

  She was struggling with this. He could see that on her face.

  ‘There’s a get-together afterwards. My dad …’ She trailed to a halt.

  ‘Okay,’ he said cautiously, registering the fact that she didn’t want him there. ‘What about tomorrow night? We could get something to eat.’

  ‘I thought you’d be working,’ she blurted out. ‘I … I saw the news. The guy in the tunnel?’

  So the discovery was out there. McNab fell silent, wondering if that’s what had frightened her.

  ‘I’m not involved in that,’ he fibbed.

  ‘Oh.’ She looked relieved.

  ‘So we on for tomorrow night?’

  As she considered her response, a girl appeared behind her. Also dressed in leathers, he assumed she too had been one of the lead-out riders.

  ‘Hey, Ellie. Is this your policeman?’ A pair of green eyes sized McNab up. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’

  Ellie didn’t look as though she wanted to do that, so McNab helped.

  ‘Michael McNab,’ he offered with a smile. ‘But don’t tell the entire world I’m a cop,’ he whispered.

  ‘Izzy McElroy,’ she offered, accepting his proffered hand.

  Ellie made a point of checking her watch. ‘We’d better go,’ she told Izzy. ‘I’ll ring you later,’ she promised McNab as she whisked the bold Izzy away, leaving McNab a little puzzled by their interchange.

  Ellie had clearly not wanted a meeting between himself and Izzy. That had been obvious enough by the look she’d worn from the moment her pal had arrived.

  McNab hadn’t considered that maybe having a police officer as a boyfriend wasn’t as acceptable as Ellie had initially made out.

  Well, you thought you were about to get dumped. Seems you were right.

  McNab heard a roar as the race finished. Someone had won here, but it definitely wasn’t him.

  ‘Shut up,’ Ellie said under her breath. ‘Just shut the fuck up, Izzy.’

  Izzy adopted a belligerent look, but didn’t do as requested. ‘You need to stick with him. Find out what they’re doing about the bike tracks down there.’

  ‘He won’t tell me,’ Ellie insisted. ‘He’s a fucking detective and I don’t fuck someone to get their secrets.’

  ‘No, but you got me to fuck someone for their keys.’

  ‘It was your idea,’ Ellie reminded Izzy.

  ‘You wanted to race down there.’

  This was going nowhere. Ellie tried to still her trembling hands. She should have ignored McNab’s request to meet in the shop. She should have broken it off, not stalled him until tomorrow night. It was Izzy’s arrival that had prevented her.

  Ellie walked away, afraid she’d say even more to regret later. Izzy was a friend. A long-time friend. They shared history. They shared a love of bikes. Izzy would be there long after McNab had gone. And he would go. Ellie knew that. The job was everything to him. And the job would win, every time.

  We were lucky to get this far.

  Admitting she’d been in the tunnel and had seen the body would only hasten things, even if she’d said they’d intended calling it in, only to discover someone else had. Michael always played the detective, even when he was trying not to. He assumed everyone was lying until they were proved innocent.

  And she wasn’t innocent.

  20

  Stanley Robertson’s last abode had been with his loving daughter and her husband.

  Harry Martin, on the other hand, hadn’t been so lucky. It seemed he’d spent his final years in a council-run nursing home.

  Having been summarily dismissed by Ellie, McNab had driven to the Eventide Home, mindful of the boss’s orders to be prepared for tomorrow’s strategy meeting. At the home he’d learned that Harry had been ‘a crotchety old bugger’ who’d proved difficult to please. He also hadn’t mixed well, thinking himself above the other residents because, according to Harry at least, he had a millionaire son living in Hong Kong.

  ‘Who, sad to say, didn’t care about his father,’ had been the verdict of the young Polish nurse McNab had spoken to.

  Aleksandra had made McNab a strong coffee and they’d sat in her office where she’d seemed happy to answer his questions concerning Harry.

  ‘He didn’t get visitors or phone calls. When I contacted his son to tell him Harry was dead, he said that was a shame and asked us to organize the funeral, as he wouldn’t be coming back for it. I was the only one there,’ she added, ‘apart from that nice girl from the undertaker’s. She was quite upset.’

  McNab could see Claire doing that. Kind to the end and way beyond the call of duty.

  He had explained about the breakin and asked if Harry had had any enemies.

  ‘Harry pissed people off with his superior manner,’ she said, ‘but in truth he did it because he was lonely.’ She’d smiled a sweet smile at McNab then and added, ‘Most people are, you know.’

  At another time, McNab would have asked for her mobile number. Even as he left, he’d wished he had. After all, he reasoned, he was about to get dumped.

  I can always call back, he consoled himself.

  The Robertson story proved to be the opposite of Harry’s.

  Stanley had lived out his final years in the bosom of his family, or at least in the grandpa flat they’d had built for him. When McNab apologized for visiting in the evening, Stanley’s daughter had dismissed his concerns, more interested in talking about her father than the reason for McNab’s appearance.

  ‘We miss him every day,’ she told McNab, tears welling in her eyes.

  At this sight, McNab wondered again how he might raise the subject he’d come about. How did you say that some fucker messed with your dad while he lay in his coffin? Any idea who that might be?

  They were seated in Stanley’s small sitting room surrounded by framed photographs of his late wife, his three children and numerous grandchildren.

  ‘We’re investigating a breakin at the funeral parlour around the time your father and another gentleman were there,’ McNab began. Before she could react, he hurried on. ‘We believe it had something to do with the other man,’ he lied, ‘but we have to check with you about your dad.’

  As her face creased in concern, McNab continued before she could ask for details.

  ‘Can you think of anyone who might have held a grudge against your father?’

  ‘A grudge?’ She looked horrified. ‘God, no. He was the kindest of men.’

  McNab was on a hiding to nowhere here and knew it.

  The daughter was thinking, perhaps dredging up memories she’d rather forget. McNab waited, mildly hopeful.

  Then she shook her head.

  ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘My dad made a point of not falling out with anyone.’ />
  There was, McNab realized, no one here willing to speak ill of the dead.

  ‘Did he go out much?’ he tried, hoping for some connection outside the family circle.

  ‘He wasn’t that mobile. He did a lot on his laptop – free courses in subjects that interested him.’

  ‘Such as?’

  She wrinkled her brow. ‘The courses the university offered. MOOCs he called them,’ she added, obviously having no idea what that meant, much like McNab himself.

  ‘Do you still have his laptop?’ he asked, wondering if Stanley’s blame-free life was as good as stated.

  ‘I do.’ She rose and went to a desk near the window, extracting a laptop from the drawer.

  ‘May I take this with me? Just to check,’ McNab said.

  She hesitated, then nodded. ‘You will bring it back?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What about the other man?’

  ‘We’re asking the same questions of his family.’

  McNab parked his car at the flat and walked back to the pizza place, deciding for once to sit in and eat rather than order a takeaway.

  He’d been avoiding an evening alone in the flat with nothing but his thoughts. Something that had been happening increasingly of late. It was always the same at this stage of a relationship. The moment when he began to withdraw, or she did.

  He should be used to it by now, because it always played out the same way.

  And whose fault is that?

  At least the job didn’t change. It never improved and it often got worse, but it was always there and he knew how to do it. At moments like these McNab understood perfectly why men might be drawn to join the forces. There the path was mapped out for you, and you could put personal stuff on the back burner until you came back. Or maybe forever.

  ‘Detective Sergeant McNab. Long time no see.’

  Marco had spotted him from the kitchen and had come to the counter, behind which the pizza bases were being stretched and hand-spun by a young guy who was obviously showing off to a group of girls nearby.