by Lin Anderson
Rhona did as suggested. Tom’s body felt so lifeless when Conor passed him to her that Rhona searched for a pulse again.
‘Forget the pump,’ she ordered, locking the car remotely from where she was. ‘Let’s go.’
She gave him the address, then called the emergency number to warn them she was on her way and the reason for their visit.
‘Not sure it’ll taste like coffee, but it’s hot and black.’ Conor handed Rhona the cup. ‘Any word while I was at the machine?’
‘They’ll monitor him overnight. The vet says I can go home.’
‘He’ll pull through?’
‘They seem to think so.’
Conor looked as relieved as Rhona felt. ‘Have they any idea what he ate?’
‘No, and without a pointer, they wouldn’t know what toxins to test for,’ Rhona said. ‘It’s the same with humans and poison, although a human can hopefully tell you what they consumed.’
‘And if they can’t?’
‘Trickier.’
‘So they might die and you wouldn’t know why?’ Conor looked horrified at the thought.
‘Context is everything,’ Rhona said. ‘That’s why reading a crime scene is so vital.’
‘And why you hang around in those tents for so long?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But surely a pathologist can discover the cause of death at the autopsy?’
Rhona had met this conversation before, in her lectures in particular. The general public believed anything was possible, probably from watching too many episodes of CSI and associated TV dramas.
‘With an obvious injury, usually, yes. In the case of poison, there are so many tests Toxicology could be asked to do. We need a clue to point us in the right direction,’ Rhona said.
Conor was obviously processing what she said.
‘I was worried that Andrew’s sleep paralysis might have contributed to his death, but what if … ?’ Conor halted. ‘The news just said an unexplained death – do you really not know how he died?’
‘We’re working on it.’ Rhona wasn’t saying anything that hadn’t been said on air. She observed Conor’s troubled look. ‘Is there something else?’ she encouraged him.
‘After we spoke, I went back through the notes of my conversations with him. In retrospect, he may have been suicidal.’ Conor scrunched up the empty coffee cup and tossed it in the bin. ‘I failed him.’
‘You’re not a psychiatrist. You weren’t responsible for his mental health.’
Conor didn’t look convinced.
‘When are you giving your statement to the police?’ Rhona asked.
‘Tomorrow morning. That’s what I called to tell you earlier,’ he explained.
Rhona finished her own coffee and disposed of the cup. ‘I’m glad you did. Your help probably saved Tom’s life,’ she said gratefully.
Her words seemed to cheer him a little. ‘Shall we ditch the car and get a drink?’ he suggested.
Rhona agreed. It was the least she could do in the circumstances.
34
Tracking down all those with possible access to the London Street tunnel would take longer than twenty minutes, which was all he’d had before the council offices were destined to close for the night.
‘If you come back tomorrow …’ The woman on the desk had given him a pleading look at that point. The last thing she’d wanted before home time was the job McNab had just requested.
‘I don’t have access to that information,’ she’d explained further, ‘I’d need to talk to maintenance and,’ she’d given a small apologetic smile, ‘they’ve knocked off already.’
It had been a futile trip, he’d known that before he’d embarked upon it. If he’d come straight here after the Harley shop instead of heading for Ellie’s flat …
Exiting the building, McNab took himself over the road and into George Square. The outside tables of the pub next to Queen Street station were packed with office workers, enjoying an after-work drink in the sunshine. McNab contemplated joining them, but knew he couldn’t abandon the car in the city centre and expect to find it still there tomorrow morning.
Instead, he found an unoccupied bench, and sat down. The text from Chrissy encouraging him to come to the jazz club had arrived as he’d entered the council buildings and he had yet to respond.
He had to admit he was attracted by the idea.
Plus parking was free in the nearby side streets and if he headed there right now, he might just get a vacant spot before the nearby residents returned from work and commandeered all the spaces.
On the other hand, Chrissy, he knew, would pump him about Ellie, and he would also have to face Rhona, but yet he was tempted. If only to see if Rhona looked better than she had at the strategy meeting.
From that thought sprang another.
Despite Janice having given him tasks, ostensibly as part of the team, he most definitely wasn’t in the driving seat. Something that was pissing him off. Still, if he wasn’t essential, then they wouldn’t miss him too much if he wasn’t around, and he was free to knock off at normal times, rather than be on constant duty. That idea brought a faint smile to McNab’s lips.
The late sunshine was having the ‘taps aff’ result Glasgow was known for. Three blokes with undeniably the physique for it had dispensed with their upper garments and were operating the ‘sun’s out, guns out’ principle, much to the pleasure of the passing females, whose verbal responses and selfies were no doubt immediately destined for social media.
The feeling of being outside life, looking in, was one McNab was used to. If you were a detective, that was essentially your role. Watch everyone, trust no one, and most of all remember everybody, but everybody, had a secret – and more often than not, that secret could bring a brush with the law.
Even now, he was figuring out the backstory to everyone in the little tableau before him. He’d already checked out the faces of the three guys to see if he knew them. He wasn’t a super recognizer like Ollie, but if he’d busted someone, he usually remembered.
McNab found himself almost disappointed when nothing about them seemed familiar, which made him, he acknowledged, a sad bastard.
He could imagine Ellie’s reaction to that, if she’d been here.
The sudden thought of Ellie cut through him like a knife, and he checked his mobile again, just in case she’d got back to him, aware now that whatever message he left would likely go unanswered.
Did she just want him out of her life for good?
Maybe it was the detective in him that didn’t believe that to be true. He’d seen enough lies told to believe he could recognize one, despite the Viking’s lecture suggesting the contrary. Ellie was afraid of something. He’d seen that in her eyes at the speedway. And that something involved him, but McNab wasn’t convinced that it was him.
Folk were nervous around the police, even if they hadn’t done anything wrong. Ellie had been acting as though she had done something wrong.
Maybe she’d screwed someone else and it was just guilt he’d seen.
McNab shook his head. He didn’t accept that. Ellie had been pretty straight with him up to now, almost painfully honest at times. They hadn’t vowed to be exclusive, but she’d told him outright that if she was thinking of having sex with anyone else, she would tell him first, and that he should do the same for her.
That had been an interesting if uncomfortable conversation.
McNab had eventually agreed to the arrangement, although he didn’t like to point out that offers like that didn’t come his way too often.
As the idea took root, that it was something to do with his job which had so spooked Ellie, McNab thought again about the phone call she’d made the night of the tunnel discovery, which led then to the memory of those motorbike tracks. Then her minder at the Harley shop, who seemed very keen that McNab should leave, and even keener when he discovered that the guy seeking Ellie, namely himself, was a cop.
Could it have been someone from th
e Harley gang who had called in the body?
That would make sense if they’d turned up there to race and discovered the remains. The operator who took the anonymous call had been unable to confirm the gender of the caller.
Might it have been a female, even Ellie?
If so, had that been enough to make her break off contact with him? McNab pondered such a scenario. If she had been down there, and they thought up to four bikes had, then they had been there illegally, but it wasn’t exactly the crime of the century.
What if they’d seen something more than a dead body? What if they’d seen the perpetrator?
That train of thought spooked McNab.
Had Ellie gone into hiding from him or maybe because of who or what she’d seen in the tunnel? And what about her mates? Izzy hadn’t seemed perturbed at all by meeting him at the speedway. In fact she’d seemed pleased, by the way she’d kept throwing Ellie encouraging looks.
Encouraging Ellie to do what? Find out what she could from him about the investigation?
McNab went for the car, aware that he was likely too late to meet Chrissy at the jazz club. He should head back to the station, catch DS Clark, who would, no doubt, still be there, and report what had happened at the Harley shop, plus his thoughts about it.
As he reached the car, just in time to thwart a parking attendant intent on giving him a ticket, his mobile rang. McNab flashed his ID at the surprised meter man, then answered the call.
It was Ollie.
‘Come see what I’ve found on the two old guys at Marshall’s.’
35
‘So where d’you suggest we go?’ Conor said as he manoeuvred the car into a parking space outside the building he said housed his own flat.
Getting her bearings, Rhona realized how close they were to the gated entrance at the eastern flank of Kelvingrove.
‘You’re right next to the park,’ she said.
‘I am, which makes the bike the sensible travel option. However, it’s still being fixed, so I was lazy enough to take the car to work today. So,’ he said, ‘where do you normally go for a drink?’
‘After work, usually Ashton Lane.’ Rhona could have mentioned the jazz club and Sean at that point, but chose not to.
‘Do you want to go there?’ he offered.
‘Let’s find somewhere closer, then I just have to climb those,’ Rhona indicated the steps that led up to Park Circus, ‘and I’m home.’
Five minutes later they were seated in a bar on Sauchiehall Street with a welcome drink in front of them. Rhona had stuck to white wine, while Conor had taken his time choosing a craft beer.
‘Skye Gold?’ Rhona had said, a little surprised by his choice.
‘I sampled the Red and the Black versions when I went walking there,’ Conor had told her. ‘Good stuff.’
‘So,’ Rhona said, ‘you know my home island?’
‘You’re from Skye?’ Now it was Conor’s turn to be surprised.
‘I wasn’t born there, but my parents were.’ Rhona told him about the cottage. ‘With arguably the best view on the island.’
‘D’you go back often?’
‘Not as often as I’d like,’ she said. ‘I was briefly there last autumn, not since. But I do plan to go for Christmas.’
Although she’d contemplated this, Rhona hadn’t been sure about it until this very moment. Probably because both Sean and Chrissy would expect her to be in Glasgow over the festive period.
‘Tell me more about your work,’ she said, changing the subject.
‘You’re sure? I might send you to sleep,’ he joked.
‘I’ll take that chance.’ Rhona smiled her encouragement.
‘Sleep is, to my mind at least, the strangest and most amazing thing that we do every day,’ Conor said eagerly. ‘Did you know on average we will spend thirty-six per cent of our life asleep?’
Rhona pulled a face. ‘I doubt I will.’
‘Then you need to address that, and soon,’ Conor told her, his tone immediately serious. ‘If you only get six hours’ sleep a night for six weeks straight, that’s as destructive as getting none for forty-eight hours,’ he warned.
‘Why?’ Rhona genuinely wanted to know.
‘Because sleep flushes toxins out of the brain and it consolidates our knowledge, getting rid of all the stuff we don’t have to remember.’ He was watching her reaction. ‘Added to that, during sleep, our imagination runs free and unhampered by the process of just being alive. We see and experience things we couldn’t possibly imagine when awake.’
‘Like Einstein and relativity?’ she reminded him.
‘Exactly. Einstein said imagination was more important than intelligence. If students only slept more and partied less …’ Conor smiled. ‘Seriously, though, how the brain works is the last great frontier. And understanding sleep is a big part of that.’
Rhona sipped her wine. For an evening that had started out so badly, it had definitely improved.
‘Go on, this is interesting,’ she urged him.
‘Well,’ he began again, ‘your brain is relatively quiet throughout most sleep phases, but during REM sleep it definitely comes to life.’
‘To sleep, perchance to dream?’ Rhona offered.
Conor’s expression darkened as he completed the famous quotation. ‘To die, to sleep – to sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub. For in this sleep of death what dreams may come …’
Rhona had forgotten the context of the quote and Hamlet’s thoughts of his own death. Now it seemed almost too apt.
To cover the moment, she said, ‘So REM sleep is essential?’
‘It’s absolutely critical. Without the slow-wave sleep which helps our bodies recover physically and the REM sleep phases –’ he halted for a moment – ‘then we literally start to die.’
He met her eye at this point, his own gaze troubled, and Rhona realized he was thinking about Andrew Jackson again and what he hadn’t done for him.
Conor put down his glass. ‘I should really be getting back. I’ve some work to do before tomorrow,’ he said.
Rhona nodded. ‘Me too.’
They left their drinks unfinished and went silently to the door. When they reached the car, Conor offered to accompany Rhona to the top of the nearby steps and thus nearer home.
‘They’re not very well lit,’ he warned her. ‘And with the neighbouring undergrowth so close …’
‘I’m not afraid of the dark or the undergrowth,’ Rhona told him. ‘Besides, running up those steps is how I keep fit,’ she added.
Her attempt to lift the mood again was rewarded with a half-smile. ‘Okay, but remember, don’t stray from the path,’ Conor said, quoting Tolkien.
‘I won’t,’ she promised.
Stopping halfway up, Rhona turned with a wave, only to find Conor gone.
36
Ollie’s call had been a godsend. No decision to make and yet somewhere to go.
The more info he took back to Janice the better, even better if none of it was gained through going off-grid. He was playing good cop at the moment and, if not exactly enjoying it, McNab recognized it as serving a purpose.
Ollie was in IT, his desk displaying the refuse of what he’d consumed since McNab had been there last. He looked up at McNab’s approach, perhaps hopeful of more brain-stimulating fodder. McNab didn’t usually disappoint, and didn’t now, although his offering of a single caramel log from the dispensing machine, an Ollie favourite, didn’t seem quite enough at this late hour.
‘If this is good, I’ll buy you that pizza at Marco’s,’ McNab said in a rare moment of generosity – or was it that even Ollie’s company was better than eating at home alone?
Ollie didn’t say yea or nay, just ushered McNab into a seat and urged him to take a look at the largest of his three current screens, on which there was a list.
Without taking time to read the contents, McNab immediately said, ‘What is this?’
Ollie sighed in what McNab assumed was exaspera
tion. ‘Your two old dead guys were enrolled on this free MOOCs course,’ he said.
McNab had heard that MOOCs word before, at Stanley Robertson’s house.
‘What the fuck does MOOCs mean?’ he said in irritation.
Ollie looked taken aback that he didn’t know. ‘Massive open online course. Universities all over the world run them and they’re free via the internet.’
‘Okay,’ McNab said, somewhat mollified. ‘What course were they taking then?’ he said, never expecting to hear the answer that followed.
‘One on forensics,’ Ollie told him.
‘You’re fucking kidding me?’ McNab said with a little laugh.
Ollie shook his head. ‘Nope. Very popular it is too. Run by Glasgow Uni. Even stars Dr MacLeod,’ he added.
‘What?’ McNab’s voice rose in accordance with his amazement.
‘Some of the lectures are recorded from the diploma course that Dr MacLeod lectures on,’ Ollie explained in a patient manner.
McNab didn’t like that, but he wasn’t exactly sure why.
‘That’s their only connection with each other?’ he asked.
‘I haven’t found anything else, except of course the company that they chose to bury them,’ Ollie said.
‘One was cremated,’ McNab corrected him.
‘Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes,’ Ollie said soulfully.
McNab stared at him. ‘You do fucking realize there are no computers in the afterlife?’
‘How do you know?’ Ollie said, all wide-eyed. ‘Maybe, just maybe, we’re all in The Matrix.’
‘Oh, fuck off,’ McNab said, and meant it.
Ollie had declined his offer of a pizza, so now McNab had a decision to make. Eat alone at Marco’s again or go home and order in. After Ollie, he’d checked if Janice was still about, only to discover that she had a life which she had gone home to. Unlike himself.
He wallowed for a moment, recalling other nights when he’d picked up Ellie and they’d eaten together and ended up at her flat or his.
That prompted his call, which was ringing out now. McNab didn’t expect an answer, so was shocked when he got one.
‘Michael?’
Her voice was sweet to his ears at first, then he registered something other than pleasure.
