by Val McDermid
‘Consider what?’ Karen sampled her pho and decided the temperature was acceptable.
‘Yes, Gary Foreman’s DNA will be present in the bodies of the recipients of his organs. But just take one step backwards. When the medics are analysing the recipients’ blood, how do they know it’s the donor’s DNA that they’re seeing in the mix?’
Karen processed the question then buried her head in her hands. ‘I am so fucking stupid,’ she said.
River tested her soup and winced. ‘What is it about you Scots and your asbestos mouths?’
‘They’ll have had to analyse the donor DNA before they even started doing the transplants. Gary Foreman’s dead so he’s got no right to confidentiality, he’s got no human rights. There’s no reason for the transplant authorities not to release that DNA to us. OK, we might have to get a sheriff to sign off on it, but this way doesn’t compromise a living soul.’ She made two fists and punched the air. ‘You are a genius, River.’
River shrugged. ‘I’m just slower off the mark than you. So, does that resolve your moral dilemma?’
‘Pretty much. I’ll talk to Semple in the morning, see what he thinks.’
‘It’s not a hard case to argue, particularly since this is probably the last chance the victim’s family has for closure.’
The two women concentrated on their soup. In a spirit of celebration, Karen ordered an iced coffee with condensed milk, the speciality of the house. She was about to take her first sip when her phone alerted her to an incoming text. It was from Jason.
Bingo. Email from Spartacular transport guy. On Tuesday night, the SUV was signed out to Will Abbott.
Karen closed her eyes, saying a silent thank you to the fates.
‘Something wrong?’ River asked.
‘Quite the opposite,’ Karen said. ‘Something very, very right.’
55
Karen waved River off on the last train back to Carlisle. The revelation that had emerged from their meeting had set half her mind at rest. But Jason’s text had provoked fresh tumult in her thoughts. What was she to do about the Gabriel Abbott case? Did she have enough to go to the Macaroon and demand that Alan Noble open his case files to her? Was there any obvious way to get beyond the circumstantial to solid probative evidence? Or was she going to have to walk away? Her personal certainty that a five-times murderer would walk free if she did that wasn’t actually a valid reason for arresting someone.
She walked back through town. It would have been quicker to follow the path beside the Water of Leith but there were a few places where there wasn’t enough light pollution from the city to illuminate the way clearly. Karen wasn’t afraid of being attacked, but she didn’t trust her own sure-footedness in the dark and she was already carrying an injury that compromised her movements.
As she walked, she turned over possible ways to resolve what she saw as the irrevocably entwined cases of the plane crash and murder of Gabriel Abbott. Once he’d uncovered the true identity of his mother, he’d only have been a couple of careless conversations away from discovering Frank Sinclair was his biological father, a revelation that would have been embarrassing at the very least.
To a man like Frank Sinclair, possessed of a towering ego and the power to pander to it, the idea of being exposed as a liar and a hypocrite would have been unbearable. And it would undermine his public position as an arbiter of other people’s morals. How far would such a man go to protect position and reputation? Did he have the sort of people around him like that English king who had wanted rid of Thomas à Becket, the kind who would do what their boss hinted he wanted? ‘Who will rid me of this lying crooked little bastard?’ It was all a bit melodramatic, a bit medieval. But she never ceased to be amazed at the lengths apparently respectable people would go to in order to keep the aspidistra flying. She knew not to underestimate the petty bourgeoisie.
And then there was Will Abbott. How far would a single-minded eighteen-year-old with a killer idea have gone to realise his dream? A narcissist wouldn’t hesitate to put his own certainties ahead of the lives of others. If he’d known the terms of Ellie and Caroline’s wills, he would have known he’d have all the capital he needed to get Glengaming off the ground. But how much did he know about Gabriel’s parentage and how long had he known it? Did he know when he took possession of his inheritance that a sizeable chunk of it wasn’t morally his? What would Gabriel have done once he found out? By all accounts, he was a smart man with a hefty dollop of paranoia in his make-up. Would he have been smart enough to work out that his non-brother had had a powerful motive for murder all those years ago?
But noodling around with motive wasn’t taking her any closer to finding the sort of evidence that would impress the fiscal. These days, they wouldn’t countenance a prosecution unless they were more than 50 per cent certain of a conviction.
She turned on to Hamilton Place, distractedly dodging a group of young men heading down towards Stockbridge. Where was the evidence coming from? They had Will Abbott signed out as the driver of a black SUV that had been seen close to where a black SUV had tried to run Karen down. But that was will-o’-the-wisp thin. And the cameras wouldn’t have sufficient definition to reveal the driver. Will could have handed the keys to anyone. He could even argue that the SUV had been taken without his knowledge or consent and returned before he needed it next. What Karen was sure of and what she could prove were two very different things.
She still needed to place him in the area on the night of Gabriel’s murder. Had he supposedly been in Newcastle then too? What vehicles had he had access to? If they could find that out, she could set Jason up with hours of camera feeds to work through. And what about the gun that had killed Gabriel? People talked a lot about violence in video games. Could somebody have given Will Abbott a gun as a kind of joke?
‘Get a grip, for fuck’s sake,’ Karen said aloud, to the surprise of a middle-aged couple walking past. She was reaching absurdly for things she didn’t even know, never mind that she could prove.
Was there anything about 1994 that might lead somewhere? The only loose end she could think of was the experiment that had won Will Abbott a school prize. If that had anything to do with the mechanism of the bomb that had blown up the Cessna, it was another piece of circumstantial evidence that would add to the pile. Sometimes circumstantial could be enough to convict, if you could only amass enough of it.
As she neared home, Karen stopped to buy milk and ibuprofen at the supermarket. Her shoulder had started to ache again. It was distracting her from her surroundings, making her concentrate all her attention inwards. She popped a couple of pills on the final walk back to the flat, but they seemed to have no effect. She stood under the shower for what felt like ages, but the nagging throb didn’t ease up.
Wrapped in a towel, she sat with a cup of tea staring out at the night. Low cloud, no moon, the sea a dark shapeless presence in the gap between her and the lights of Fife. There was a low point in every investigation, a place where all roads seemed to lead nowhere. Tonight she was in that nowhere zone. Once she could have counted on Phil to dig her out of her depression, to remind her that it was like this every time and she always got past it in the end, even if every case didn’t end with a conviction. But now she was on her own to face the bleakness.
Angry with herself, knowing sleep was a million miles away, Karen decided to go out again. Without even thinking about it, she headed straight for the Restalrig Railway Path. As usual, it was deserted at this time of night. Even the dog walkers seemed to give it a miss for that last turn of the night. Karen turned up her collar against a sudden sharp wind and kept walking, trying to ease her pain and get her thoughts off their repetitive treadmill.
And then everything changed. Some instinctive apprehension kicked in. Animal instinct told her she was under threat. She heard heavy breathing, felt the heat of another body close at hand. Karen half-turned, needing to know what the adr
enaline was telling her to flee. The movement deflected something hard and heavy that had been heading straight for her head. Instead, it landed full force on her already bruised shoulder. Karen screamed in pain, a terrible rending sound that cut a ragged slice through the night. She had a confused awareness of another body crashing into hers, the momentum carrying her to the ground, a knee in her ribs. Karen tried to wriggle away, but her left arm was a useless drag holding her back.
She squirmed her right arm free and clawed at the shadowy face of her assailant. She was rewarded with a yelp as her nails made contact with flesh. He jerked his head back before she could find his eyes, grabbing her jacket and pulling her towards him before slamming her into the ground again.
Karen found her breath and yelled at the top of her voice. Noise was her friend right now. The louder the better, the more chance of rescue. She smashed her right fist into his ribs and felt his weight shift off her chest. As she prepared to punch again, he went on the attack, grunting with effort. She saw an arm and something else cutting across the light. Then darkness and silence.
56
The first thing she knew was that she felt sick. A deep, heavy weight of impending nausea that filled her senses. Her whole body was swaying. Karen opened one eye a crack. A swim of blue light against white. It hurt her head so she closed her eye again. She heard a groan and wondered who was in pain.
‘Can you hear me, Karen?’
That was her name, right? But she didn’t recognise the voice. Not Phil. Not one of her pals. No need to answer.
‘You’re going to be all right, Karen.’
She knew that was risible. Wanted to laugh but couldn’t be bothered. That groan again, and this time she recognised the sound. It was her. She tried to speak, but all that came out was another unformed groan.
‘Take it easy, Karen. Can you hear me?’
What would it take to make this stranger shut up? ‘Aye,’ she managed to force out.
She felt a hand patting her shoulder. The good one. The one that didn’t feel like a red-hot burn. ‘We’re on our way to the hospital,’ the voice said.
She turned her head and threw up. Then everything went black and quiet again.
The next time she opened her eyes, Jason was standing next to the bed, his expression stricken. The nausea had passed and the pain had been replaced by a distant feeling of vague discomfort. ‘Take that look off your face, Jason. I’m not going to die,’ Karen croaked.
A huge grin spread across his face. ‘You’re awake. Brilliant.’
‘What time is it? What happened?’ Karen tried to move but there was something obstructing her. She looked down to see her left arm strapped in a sling across her body.
‘You broke your collarbone. Well, probably Will Abbott broke your collarbone, but either way, it’s broken. It’s nearly four o’clock. In the morning. You were knocked out cold.’
‘I don’t remember. The last thing I know is that I went for a walk down the Restalrig Path.’
‘Well, we’ve got Will Abbott in a cell at Gayfield Square. When the uniforms arrive, he said he saved you from being mugged by three Arab-looking guys. He’s not said a word since then. We’ve also got three Syrian refugees in custody who are claiming they weighed in to save you getting a beating from Will Abbott. I know who I believe, but the bosses are dancing on hot bricks, waiting to hear from you.’
Karen closed her eyes momentarily, trying to focus. ‘All I can say is that I know the Syrians and I have a good relationship with them. And I believe Will Abbott tried to run me down earlier this week. So that’s got to be enough to interview him on, if not to charge him. Oh, and I think I scratched his face, so you should probably take scrapings from under my nails. Did they find what he hit me with?’
Jason shook his head. He clearly hadn’t paused long enough to comb his hair, which stuck up in five different directions. ‘One of the Syrians says he saw Abbott throwing something up the embankment, but there’s no point in looking till it’s daylight.’
‘So we’ve got Abbott in custody right now? With a strong probability he’s going to be charged with assaulting me?’
‘Maybe even attempted murder,’ Jason said. ‘He must have hit you really hard.’
‘Has anybody told the Macaroon?’
Jason nodded. ‘The duty sergeant called the chief super and he called the ACC. He hasn’t shown up yet, though.’
‘Where’s my clothes? My phone? For fuck’s sake, help me up, Jason.’
‘I’ll get a nurse,’ he said, leaving her lying fuming and impotent.
It took half an hour and a lot of forcefulness before Karen managed to get out of bed and into her fleece. Two nurses and a junior doctor kept telling her they wouldn’t be held responsible, that she might have a concussion, that she was taking risks with her health. ‘There’s no point arguing with her,’ Jason had said glumly as he took scrapings from under her fingernails.
Karen limped out to the car with Jason, wincing as she sat in the passenger seat. ‘I’m not putting the seat belt on,’ she said. ‘Get over it.’ Then she slid her phone out of her pocket and keyed in the Macaroon’s number. ‘Head for Fife,’ she told Jason.
Her boss answered the phone eventually, sounding extremely unhappy about it. ‘Do you know what time it is, DCI Pirie?’
‘I do, as it happens. I’ve just got out of the hospital with a broken collarbone and a head injury. We have my attacker in custody. And I want permission to access DI Noble’s files on the murder of Gabriel Abbott because I believe my attacker may be his killer.’
‘What?’ Lees shouted. ‘You’re making no sense. Obviously, that blow to the head—’
‘Will Abbott attacked me. I think because I’m the only person investigating his connection to the murders of his brother and his mother twenty-two years ago.’
‘You’re raving. I understood that Abbott rescued you from a mugging?’
‘That’s the opposite of what happened. The Syrian refugees are my friends.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Pirie, keep your politics out of this.’
‘It’s nothing to do with politics. I know these men. I’ve spoken to them several times. I’ve arranged for them to meet with Craig Grassie, the local MP. They’re the last people in Edinburgh who would mug me. Will Abbott, concentrate on him. I need access to those files while we’ve still got him in custody.’
‘On what basis?’ Lees was sounding less angry now, more cautious.
‘On the basis that he’s tried to derail any investigation into his actions. First by complaining to DI Noble about me, and now by trying to kill me. For the second time this week, actually.’
‘The second time?’
‘He tried to run me down on Tuesday night.’
‘Why am I only hearing this now?’
‘Because I only had circumstantial evidence. But the circumstantial evidence is growing into quite a pile now. All I’m asking is a look at the case files. How can that be a problem?’
The Macaroon said nothing.
‘I know Abbott is the kind of high-profile businessman that the government loves. But that doesn’t mean he should get away with murder,’ Karen said. ‘You’ve got to let me do my job.’
Lees sighed. ‘Fine. A look at the case files. That’s all. You’ve got no operational authority here.’
‘Thank you.’ She ended the call before he could change his mind. As they headed round the ring road towards the Forth Bridge, Karen leaned against the headrest. Whatever lovely drugs they’d pumped into her were still working very nicely. It would be easy to drift into sleep, but she knew that wasn’t a good idea. Not with a head injury. ‘Where’s DI Noble based? With the Gabriel Abbott investigation?’
‘Glenrothes, I think.’
‘That’s where we’re going, then. It’s time Gabriel Abbott got some proper police attention.’<
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57
It would have been fair to say that DI Alan Noble was less than thrilled to be rousted out of bed at half past five in the morning by a nervous duty sergeant who claimed he was under orders from DCI Pirie. Who claimed to be under orders from ACC Lees – a claim Noble wasn’t about to contest, since that would involve waking his commanding officer. That would have to wait till later. As it was, he took his time showering, dressing and drinking two cups of coffee before he ambled into the station just over an hour later.
‘You’re an embarrassment to your rank, Inspector,’ was the greeting he got from Karen. ‘This is a murder inquiry, not a community policing assignment. When a superior officer gives you an order, you don’t dawdle. You carry it out.’
‘Aw, come on, it’s the middle of the night. And it’s not a murder. Nothing’s that urgent in a case that’s been sitting for a couple of weeks already.’
‘It is when there’s a suspect in custody with the clock ticking for a different offence.’
Noble looked shocked. ‘A suspect? In my case? I already told you, it’s not a murder. It’s a suicide. You can’t be a suspect in a suicide.’
‘Just because you’ve written it up as a suicide doesn’t make it one. It’s murder now, all right? Now let me see the case files.’
‘But I—’
‘Do you really want me to wake ACC Lees again? Because he was really pissed off when I called him earlier. I don’t fancy your chances of getting a civil word out of him.’
Noble looked like he’d bitten into a chocolate and found a scorpion. ‘This isn’t your case.’
‘Stop being so bloody pathetic and give us access,’ Karen snapped, brandishing her phone. ‘I’m going to count to ten, then I’m calling the ACC to report your insubordination.’
Noble flushed. ‘They’re in the incident room.’ He wheeled round and marched down the hallway. He unlocked an office and waved them inside. It was small; a cluster of chairs around four tables pushed together, five computers at the ready. Archive boxes piled in one corner. Crime scene pictures pinned to a corkboard wall. ‘Our so-called incident room. One step up from a broom cupboard.’ Then he looked at Karen as if seeing her for the first time. ‘What happened to you?’
