by Helen Fields
Ava knelt down slowly and began releasing the knot that was preventing Janet from drawing breath.
‘And who is the true you?’ Ava asked, keeping the conversation going while her fingers worked too slowly.
Across the room, the other man’s feet were drumming a death dance on the carpet, his body finally giving up the fight.
‘Not who,’ Maclure smiled. ‘Like most humans, you lack vision. When I realised denying nature was wrong, when I gave in to it, it all happened so fast. It’s blissful, Ava. I wish I could have shared it with you.’
Ava released the noose from Janet’s throat, almost too scared to attempt to find her pulse. Instead, she moved across the room to help the man, turning her back on Maclure as she repositioned herself.
She heard his steps, heavy, purposeful, before turning to find him using an armchair to get himself into the window frame, thrusting his upper body out into the void. He lurched forwards, arms outstretched, face a vision of ecstasy as he tipped downwards.
Ava sprung across the space between them, screaming, grabbing at his right foot before it could slip out, wrenching her shoulder painfully. The weight of him dragged her body upwards. She used her legs to brace herself either side of the window, slamming her head painfully against the wall.
Rune Maclure smashed against the outside wall and window, cawing furiously, kicking Ava’s face with his free left foot, dangling perilously head down and flapping his arms maniacally.
Then a second pair of hands reduced Ava’s burden, and a third, a fourth. Bodies filled the room. There were cries for stretchers and medics. Someone told Ava to release her grip on Maclure’s leg and she did so gratefully, wondering why she couldn’t use her right arm and why she was being slowly lowered to the floor.
The paramedics took over. Ava could see an oxygen mask being fitted over the top of Janet’s face and someone else was performing CPR on the man on the floor. Lance Proudfoot, she realised – he’d phoned her earlier and she’d been too busy to return his call. Then several people were holding her and telling her to brace. The pain finally registered in her upper body, and a man’s voice was counting to three and telling her it would all be all right in a moment. Her body was being pulled apart. The pain was blinding, almost surreal. Everything faded out of focus and she could hear a woman screech. In the few seconds before her world reassembled, she realised the screech had been her own.
‘It’s back in,’ a man told her. ‘It’ll be sore but you’re going to be fine now. You’ll need to rest it and take anti-inflammatory painkillers.’
Ava sat up and allowed a sling to be fitted over her previously dislocated arm.
‘Will they live?’ she asked, looking across the room to Janet Monroe and Lance Proudfoot.
She had no idea what the journalist was doing there or how he’d been a step ahead of them, but at least someone had been there with Janet and for that she would always be grateful. Lance Proudfoot had a habit of being in the wrong place in the middle of the worst kind of police operation.
‘Janet’s in better shape than the man. They’re en route to the hospital now. We have an air ambulance on its way,’ Tripp said, appearing at her side and dismissing the other officers.
Rune Maclure had been lowered in through the window and was pinned on the floor, still making a bizarre, high-pitched animal noise deep in his throat.
‘Help me stand up,’ Ava told Tripp, keeping their backs against the wall as Maclure was handcuffed and removed from the flat.
‘Are you okay? Your arm was badly dislocated. You’ll be dizzy …’
Ava ignored his concerns.
‘Call ahead to the hospital. There’ll have to be a psychiatric evaluation asap,’ she told Tripp.
‘Is that how he’s going to spin it? The procurator fiscal will get their own psych report. We’ll have a chance to fight it.’
‘Not this time,’ Ava said, seeing Maclure’s gun on the floor at the base of the window and taking an evidence bag from her pocket. ‘The Rune Maclure I met before wasn’t the man who was here today. And that noise he was making. He talked about becoming. When he threw himself out of that window, he genuinely thought he was going to fly away. No question about it.’
She bent down, using the bag to pick up the gun without adding her own fingerprints to it, making sure the safety catch was engaged before sliding it into her pocket. It would need to be added to the evidence log as soon as possible.
‘Had Maclure taken drugs?’ Tripp asked.
‘I don’t think so. More likely down to the lack of them. The man they’re flying to the hospital is Lance Proudfoot. We should inform his family about what’s happening.’
‘Lance … I know that name.’
‘Yes, you do, which brings me to our next stop of the evening. Could you drop me at DI Callanach’s, please? Lance Proudfoot’s a journalist and a close friend of Luc’s. I need to go and break the news in person.’
Chapter Forty-One
18 March
Tripp dropped her off outside Callanach’s flat and sped away to help oversee Rune Maclure’s processing. Ava checked her watch. She could afford ten minutes, no more. Using her key, she let herself into the corridor and took the stairs quietly, keen not to wake any of his neighbours at such an antisocial hour. Police work had made her forget the relevance of time in so far as which part of the day or night it was. A clock was only for reminding you how urgently the next task needed to be handled.
She felt a stab of jealousy as she ran up the stairs for those people whose jobs started at 9 a.m. and stopped at 5.30 p.m., whose weekends were their own and who’d never had their holiday cancelled while they stood in line at the airport. How much easier for them to do classes, make social arrangements and have actual relationships. Ones that didn’t crumble under the stress of their profession.
Ava knocked on the door. No answer. She knocked harder then gave his mobile a call. When that, too, received no response, she tried his landline. That was engaged, which was strange in the small hours, given that she couldn’t hear his voice inside. It was possible that someone from MIT was calling to update him, but then surely he’d have come to the door. She hadn’t wanted to use her key on his flat door. It was one thing letting herself into the stairwell to the apartments, but going further was an invasion of his privacy. More than that, it assumed a connection between the two of them that was no longer active, if indeed it had even been real.
She caught movement from behind the door’s eyehole. No more than the briefest darkening of the dim light beyond, a flicker, but the flat was definitely occupied.
‘Luc,’ she called quietly. ‘It’s me. I should have come before now, I realise that, but something’s happened. Please, open the door.’
Waiting proved futile. Her watch showed she’d already wasted half the time she’d allocated. In five minutes, another police car would arrive to get her to the station. Perhaps Callanach was being stubborn, only that wasn’t like him. What concerned her more was the prospect that his current suspensions – in all but name – had sent him into the same spiral of depression that had disabled him so badly at the end of his time at Interpol. If that were the case, there was only one thing to do.
‘I’m coming in,’ she said as she slipped her key into the lock and walked into the dark living room, clicking the door shut behind her.
There was a light on in the bedroom.
‘Luc,’ she called. ‘It’s just me. I apologise for letting myself in, but it’s important. I hope you don’t …’
Callanach was on the bed, bare-chested but wearing jeans, sitting with his legs stretched out but his arms folded. Perched on the window seat, one hand wrapped around something Ava couldn’t quite see, was Astrid Borde.
‘Hello,’ Astrid said brightly. ‘Luc was hoping you’d just go away, but I’m glad you’ve come in. Things were getting rather dull. You don’t seem surprised to see me here.’
‘I’m not,’ Ava smiled. ‘You appeared in some footage
I was watching earlier today. You have quite an unmistakeable figure.’
‘And you have a key to Luc’s flat. Why is that?’
She addressed the question to Callanach, who simply shrugged.
‘What, no attempt at excuses? No elaborate tales of working late together? Luc, are you not going to defend DCI Turner’s honour?’
‘DCI Turner can defend herself,’ Callanach said. ‘She has a key because we’re friends. If you’re looking for anything more than that, I’m going to have to leave it to your imagination.’
‘Sweetheart, you sound almost bitter,’ Astrid purred. ‘Do you know, I actually believe that nothing’s going on between you.’
‘Ms Borde, did you smother Bruce Jenson with a cushion?’ Ava asked.
‘That’s an oversimplification. I did many things. I helped Luc when he couldn’t help himself; although I recognised from his email to his mother that he was asking for assistance. I also ensured that justice was done. Bruce Jenson and Gilroy Western raped Luc’s mother. Did you know that?’
Astrid’s cheeks were fevered, her eyes too bright. The obsession she’d had with Callanach was not at all diminished by the passage of time. Ava almost pitied her. Callanach, on the other hand, looked exhausted. Not scared, not even interested. Just done with it all.
‘I did know, actually,’ Ava said. ‘Luc told me when Jenson was discovered dead. And Gilroy Western, that was your work, too?’
‘Not just me. You keep saying that as if Luc and I weren’t involved in it together.’
‘We weren’t,’ Callanach responded dully. ‘Because there is no we. I wasn’t communicating with you, Astrid. The emails I sent my mother were private. You hacked into them, the same way you hacked into mine.’
‘Hacking’s a hysterical term. Your mother emailed me before when I was in contact with her. I just had to guess her password. You kept the same private email address from when you worked at Interpol and I had access to your personnel records, remember? Sloppy of you not to have changed it. I paid an online company based in Colombia to access your email account. It’s not even a hidden Web service. Took them less than a day. But you knew I could do that, too. What I found in there was a clear call to arms and I responded exactly the way you wanted me to.’
‘And the email to Western purporting to be from Jenson’s solicitor?’ Ava asked.
‘The easiest part of it all. When people want to believe what they’re reading, they get careless.’
Callanach looked Ava in the eyes briefly then looked away. She saw that he’d given up. Astrid had the sort of fixation that couldn’t be reasoned with or persuaded. The sort of fixation, in fact, that made it possible for her to suffocate a terminally ill man and cut the brakes of another who had plenty of life left in him yet.
‘You can’t arrest me,’ Astrid declared. ‘I’ll tell them Luc was in on the whole thing. He’s suspended at the moment, isn’t he?’
‘No, he’s not,’ Ava replied, taking a step closer to the bed. ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’
‘Don’t lie to me. He hasn’t been into work for a while now. I’ve been watching. And yes, you can sit down, but don’t touch Luc. I don’t want either of you to touch each other.’
‘He’s on administrative leave, nothing more than that. He certainly isn’t suspended.’ She sat.
Touching Callanach was the very last thing she’d had in mind when she’d gone round there, but now Astrid was rattled for the first time and Ava could use that. The thought of her and the man she was obsessed with being intimate was what Astrid couldn’t bear. Ava pushed herself far enough back on the bed to be next to Callanach’s feet.
‘What is it you think’s going to happen now? Are you and Luc supposed to go sailing off into the sunset? Only if Luc disappears now, he’ll make himself a suspect and I’m sure you’ll agree he has a face that stands out in a crowd, so trying to stay out of sight might be tricky.’
‘I know places we can go,’ Astrid pouted. ‘You forgot about me pretty quickly when I disappeared and I was right here in Edinburgh most of that time.’
‘You weren’t wanted on suspicion of murder,’ Ava reminded her.
‘And Luc won’t be, either. You already told me it was a woman on the CCTV footage from the care home.’
‘Do you think I’m just going to let you go?’
‘Ava …’ Callanach warned her quietly.
She laid a gentle hand on his ankle and rubbed it affectionately.
‘Don’t worry. Astrid and I can sort this out,’ she said, giving him a warm smile.
Astrid got to her feet.
‘I told you not to touch him,’ she growled. ‘Do you know what I’m holding? You really don’t want to piss me …’
‘Hand grenade.’ Ava cut her off. ‘I’m guessing you bought it in Sweden. They’re easy to get hold of there and much cheaper than most people realise. You probably bought that for, what, no more than fifty euros?’
Astrid stared at her.
‘You’d have taken multiple ferry journeys back. No way you’d have been able to fly with it. Hiding hand grenades in a car, however, is relatively low-risk. They’re currently the favoured weapon of some Swedish gangs. It’s becoming a problem.’
‘You’re so arrogant,’ Astrid hissed. ‘You think I don’t have the guts to pull the pin?’
‘And ruin Luc’s face?’ Ava laughed, reaching out to take hold of Luc’s hand. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘Because if I can’t have him, no one’s going to.’
She stamped a foot, childlike, frowning, clutching her hand around the grenade. The end of her thumb was inserted into the ring and would require some manoeuvring.
Ava slipped her hands into her pocket, gesturing compliance and defeat.
‘He’s all yours,’ Ava said. ‘I’m seeing someone, anyway. To be honest, Luc’s not really my type. All style and no substance, if you know what I mean.’
Astrid paused, looking from Callanach to Ava and back.
‘You … you don’t need to be rude about him. You shouldn’t be. He works for you. You’re supposed to respect him.’
‘Respect him?’ Ava laughed. ‘After that sordid fling he had with the Spanish doctor? My God, she was all over him. It was embarrassing. She used to turn up at the station all the time – I actually had to ask her to leave once.’
‘What Spanish doctor?’ Astrid demanded. ‘Who was she?’
Her attention turned to Callanach, who sighed deeply and rolled his eyes.
‘No one. She was no one. It was a passing phase, nothing more. Don’t get …’
‘Are there photos of her on your phone?’ Astrid demanded. ‘Give it to me. I want to see.’
Callanach paused.
‘Let her see,’ Ava said. ‘She killed the men who raped your mother, Luc. I think Astrid has a right to know what you’ve been doing while she was out there plotting and planning to assist you.’
‘It’s charging in the lounge,’ he said. ‘Help yourself. The unlock code is 9004.’
Astrid moved cautiously towards the doorway, peering into the lounge.
‘You,’ she motioned at Ava. ‘Get it for me.’
‘Fine,’ Ava said, drawing her hands out of her pockets to push herself up from the bed, sliding Rune Maclure’s gun, still in the evidence bag, under Callanach’s ankle to shield it from Astrid’s line of vision.
Walking slowly into the lounge, hands raised, she noted the part-open window and wondered how Maclure was doing. More importantly, how Lance Proudfoot was doing. Callanach would want to be at his bedside as soon as possible. She detached the phone from its charging cable and typed in the security code, swiping through until she found the photo gallery.
‘Here.’ She held out the phone for Astrid, who carefully swapped the grenade to her left hand, looping the new thumb through the pin.
Ava cast a look at Callanach, who’d taken the opportunity to reach down and take the gun in his hand, tucking it close in to his hip.
Astrid took a step towards Callanach, leaving her back exposed and Ava behind her. It was the best chance Ava was going to get. She rushed forwards, grabbing Astrid. Pushing her thumb as hard as she could into the tendons in the back of Astrid’s hand and forcing her to relax the fist partially, Ava wrapped her own hand over the newly exposed section of the grenade, wrestling Astrid for control of it. Callanach was up in a second, on his knees on the bed, gun levelled at Astrid’s face.
‘Astrid, let Ava take the grenade,’ he ordered.
Astrid laughed, hurling the mobile into Callanach’s face and freeing her second hand, then grabbing Ava’s wrist to force her off the grenade.
‘I will shoot,’ Callanach shouted.
‘I killed for you!’ Astrid screamed back.
Ava elbowed her in the base of the throat and Astrid choked, her knees buckling, twisting towards the window seat. Getting a knee onto the window seat, giving her better purchase to pull the grenade from Astrid’s hands, Ava yanked as hard as she could.
There was a moment of silence. The grenade floated into the air, a gracefully spinning ovoid. They watched as one, Ava’s eyes the first to return to Astrid’s hand, where the pin remained fixed around her thumb like a Christmas cracker trinket, ill-fitting and ridiculous without its counterpart. Then Astrid was jumping for it, with Ava reaching both hands out for the live bomb, as Callanach threw down the gun, scrambling to launch himself off the bed. Ava got to it first.
‘Window!’ Ava screamed at him.
Callanach shoved the slightly open frame, thrusting it completely upwards, leaving a big enough target for Ava not to miss. As she was aiming, Astrid thrust a knee into base of Ava’s ribcage, folding her double. Astrid grabbed the grenade back again from Ava’s hand, clutching it to her chest.
