Once home, he passed the taxi-driver a fifty-pound note and impatiently waited for the receipt.
Hurrying up the steps to his house, he fumbled with the key in his door, then hurried into his hallway.
Dumping his overnight bag on the floor at the bottom of his stairs, he flicked on all the lights, then bounded up the stairs two at a time.
Fetching a chair from the spare bedroom he positioned it under the trapdoor to the attic, stepped up onto it and then fought with the latch above him.
Pulling the trapdoor and the ladder down, he climbed the steps and reached out into the darkness to switch on the light.
Once up in the attic he took a moment to orient himself and decide where Fiona would have kept her stuff amongst all the piles of boxes and debris they had accumulated during their lives but refused to throw out, just in case it became useful at some point in their futures.
McKenzie realised this was not going to be a simple task.
By now his heart was pounding, and the heat in the attic was already making him sweat.
McKenzie peeled off the layers down to his shirt and trousers, dropping his other clothes through the hatch to the floor beneath, then got to work.
Kneeling down he started to go through the boxes, pile by pile.
It was like mining for gold.
With so little free space around, half the struggle was finding somewhere else to put the piles which he moved from one place to another.
He was almost thirty minutes into the search when he found the pile of tins which Fiona had been referring to.
Her school-day memories.
School books. Jotters. Pictures she painted. Her poems, essays and homeworks.
School reports, medals and exam certificates
And a tin full of photographs.
Bingo!
The photograph McKenzie was looking for was halfway down the pile inside the tin, but easily visible from the top: it was so long and wide.
McKenzie was looking for two people. From what Daniel Gray had said, ‘she turned up at the ball looking exactly like Gasbag. Same dress. Same hair.’
If he could spot two girls looking very similar, both wearing similar dresses, then hopefully he’d be able to identify one of them as Maggie. The other one would be Gasbag. McKenzie would then get Fiona, or someone else from her year, to tell him the identity of the other person.
There was something else too. Had Daniel not also said that she was wearing a red dress that night? That both of them were wearing the same, red dress?
How many people would be wearing red dresses in the photograph?
Hopefully not too many.
As he pulled the photograph out from amongst the pile, he remembered more clearly how he and Fiona had looked at it together in the school hall during the Reunion ball.
When they initially stood before the pinboard in the hall covered with all the school photographs, Fiona had pointed to the old photograph taken at their Prom and challenged him to find her amongst all the other pupils. Embarrassingly, he’d initially gone for another girl.
McKenzie’s eyes immediately started to search for that girl, and quickly found her in the second row.
He could see now why he’d mistaken the other girl for Fiona. They were both tall and thin, and did both look quite similar, although Fiona had changed a lot since then.
The other girl looked similar in the face, but her hair was tied back, and she was wearing a green dress.
Fiona on the other hand, was standing in the front row, had her hair down on one side, and was wearing… a bright red ball gown.
McKenzie blinked and looked closer. His heart skipped a beat.
His eyes immediately started to scan the photograph for other girls wearing red dresses. Surely there would be more. Several. A lot?
It took only a second to realise that this was not the case.
At first it seemed as if only Fiona had been wearing a red dress.
No one else in the front row was, or the second.
But in the third row it was not so easy to see.
Then he saw her.
In the third row. Fourth person along.
Maggie Sutherland.
He’d recognised her from the photograph Wishart had shown the team: her face hadn’t changed much over the years, and her eyes were still the same, bright blue piercing jewels that made her stand out from the crowd.
She was a very attractive young woman.
Her hair curled down beautifully on side of her head, just like Fiona’s.
The people in front of her were blocking most of the view of her body, but McKenzie could still see the dress covering her right shoulder, and the side of her waist.
It was red. Bright red.
She was the only other woman in the picture wearing a red dress.
For a second he heard Daniel’s voice echo in his head.
“Same hair. Same dress.”
McKenzie felt suddenly light-headed. The photograph seemed to go in and out of focus, and his hands started to shake.
With a sickening feeling of dread, McKenzie realised the truth.
In spite of all the clues, he’d only now just discovered the identify of GasBag.
It was his wife.
Fiona.
Chapter 45
Wednesday
The Grange
McKenzie’s House
03.40
McKenzie felt sick.
The world around him was spinning, and he had to bend forward and lower his head, taking deep breaths, until he managed to bring his breathing under control.
His heart was racing.
His mind numb with shock.
He found it strangely difficult to think.
Thoughts came to him in short, abrupt sentences.
Fiona, his wife, was GasBag.
The killer was going to kill GasBag.
She was the next target.
His wife WAS GasBag.
The killer was going to kill his wife.
And Little Bump.
A deep breath.
Another deep breath.
Turning onto his back, he lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling of the attic.
He had to think.
He had to protect his wife. And his unborn child.
Think.
Think.
Okay, good, Fiona and Little Bump were not at home. They should be safe.
They were far away in Callander. In a caravan in the middle of nowhere.
He’d spoken to her only an hour or so ago.
She was safe.
Safe.
Calm down.
Good.
She was safe.
What next?
Bring her into protective custody.
Now.
Immediately!
But he had to call her first. Don’t alarm her. Just check she was okay.
McKenzie reached into his pocket for his mobile, pulled it out and dialled her number.
Shit. There was no reception in the attic.
Get up. Go downstairs…
He struggled to sit up, taking deep breaths.
He edged towards the rim of the hatch in the attic, gripped the ladder and lowered himself slowly down.
Holding onto the bannister he walked slowly down the stairs to the kitchen.
The mobile reception was good there. He knew that.
Sitting down at the kitchen bar and taking more deep breathes to calm himself down, he called her.
The phone rang.
There was no reply.
He hung up and called her again.
He let it ring… and ring…
“Hello?”
Incredible, unbelievable relief.
MASSIVE relief.
“Fiona, H… Hi!”, McKenzie stuttered and coughed. “Just calling to s… say I’m back home. How are you?”
“You woke me up.”
“Is your sister there yet?”
“No. She’s coming. She
should be here soon.”
“Good. Will you call me when she arrives?”
“Yes. But don’t worry. The Braxton Hicks seem to have gone away for now, and I’m feeling fine. Honestly.”
“Good….that’s brilliant news.” McKenzie hesitated… “Slight change of subject, but I was looking for a book earlier in the house. I was just wondering if we had a copy… Someone I was talking to earlier today said that everyone in your year at Portobello High School had been given a copy a few years ago, and she’d recommended I read it. Apparently it’s very funny and worth a read.”
“What’s it called?”
“Remember Me?” McKenzie swallowed. “I don’t suppose you ever remember getting a copy?”
There was a moment’s hesitation at the other end of the phone. A few seconds silence that seemed to last an eternity. Then came the answer.
“No, sorry.”
“What do you mean…you can’t remember getting it, or you know you didn’t get a copy?”
“I just can’t remember getting it. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t.”
McKenzie’s heart sank.
“But, you know me, I never through anything out, especially books. When we moved from the flat to the house I packed everything up in boxes, and most of my book collection is still in the attic. If I got sent a copy of it, the chances are that it’s still there, in one of the boxes. I know I never read it, but you could try looking there? The boxes of books should be easy to find…I labelled most of them with their contents when we moved.”
McKenzie’s eyes were shut tightly, his mind racing. This couldn’t be happening.
“Campbell?”
“Yes, sorry, … Change of subject again…when did you say you think your sister should be there?”
“I didn’t. But soon. Very soon.” Fiona replied.
“Good. Listen, I don’t want you going anywhere until your sister arrives. Don’t leave the caravan at all until you speak to me or I give you permission. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Fine. But it’s the middle of the night, and I’m not going anywhere…Campbell. What’s this about? You’re making me nervous now...”
“Remember I told you about the increased terror threat? To the Queen. Well, it’s very serious,” McKenzie lied. “I don’t want you going anywhere just now. Just stay where you are? I’ll tell you when the threat’s passed. Okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good, now go back to sleep. Lock your door, and call me in the morning. Okay?”
“Yes, fine.”
“I love you Fiona. A lot. Please look after Little Bump for me. Say goodnight to him from Daddy.”
“You need to get some sleep, Campbell, You’re exhausted.”
“I know,” he replied. Exhausted was an understatement. “I will. As soon as I can.”
McKenzie blew her a kiss, and then hung up.
Seconds later, McKenzie was scrambling back up the ladder to the attic.
He felt nauseous. Light-headed.
It only took him a few minutes to locate the boxes.
Fiona was as good as her word.
The word “BOOKS” had been scrawled in large black letters across the top of three cardboard boxes.
Pushing a few other boxes roughly aside to make space, he grabbed the first of the boxes and pulled it towards him.
He ripped open the top of the box and started ploughing through the contents, pulling them out and dumping them on the floor.
McKenzie’s heart was pounding.
Reaching the bottom of the first box, he grabbed the second, and ripped the lid off in one go.
This time, he tipped the box on its side, scattering the contents across the floor, before wading through them with his hands.
Nothing.
He took a deep breath, wiped the sweat from his forehead and his eyes, and then bent forward and reached for the third and last box.
The top of this box was covered in duct tape, and McKenzie fumbled with his fingers to find enough purchase to rip it off.
Grabbing his keys from his pocket he forced one of them into the middle of the strip of tape, and pulled sharply backwards, forcing the lid open.
Standing up, he lifted the box up and dumped its contents onto the floor where the box had just been.
With the empty box still held in his hands in front of his chest, McKenzie looked down, and time seemed to grind to a halt.
On the edge of the pile, its cover facing up, and mocking him with its title, ‘Remember Me?’ glared up at him from the floor.
McKenzie fell to his knees and thumped his hands against the floor.
“FUCK!”
In that moment, all last vestiges of hope evaporated, and left in its place was only certainty.
Gasbag and Fiona were one and the same.
McKenzie collapsed forward, steadying himself with an outstretched hand, his head bowed, his thoughts racing.
An image of Fiona, heavily pregnant with Little Bump, flashed into his mind.
McKenzie took a long deep breath of air.
From now on every second counted.
A matter of life and death.
His wife’s life. And his childs.
Standing up, he retreated from the attic, and hurried down the metal ladder. He took the stairs two at a time and dialled the number of Fettes Row as soon as he got reception on his phone in the kitchen.
McKenzie demanded to speak to the senior officer in charge.
It turned out he knew the officer. They were friends.
“Brodie, Campbell McKenzie here. I need you to do something urgently for me. I need you to call Stirling and send some cars and armed officers to a caravan park in Callander. We have a serial killer in Edinburgh, four dead so far in five days, and my wife is next on the list. I expect the killer to try to kill her in the next twenty-four hours. We need to pick my wife up, bring her into protective custody, and keep her alive.”
“Fiona?”
“Yes, and she’s pregnant.”
“Campbell, I have to honest with you. I don’t know if Stirling with have any men to spare just now. They’ve just found a bomb in Stirling and all officers have been assigned special duties. We also found a bomb in Edinburgh, and one was found in Glasgow. The threat level has now increased to its highest ever in Scotland since the system began. Someone is out to kill the Queen.”
McKenzie was speechless.
“What type of explosives? TNT used in commercial demolitions? And warnings were given so that the bombs were found not exploded?”
“What are you getting at, Campbell?”
“It’s my serial killer. He’s deploying decoys, sucking up all possible police resources. Freeing up the streets to get everyone off my case, and give him a free rein to commit his string of murders.”
“Are you serious?”
“Never more so, Brodie. Listen, if you need special authority, call DCS Helen Wilkinson. She’s the Guv on this one. But I need you to help me, Brodie. Do the right thing now. I need a Tactical Team in an ARV to go fetch my wife now! Please! Help me!”
There was a moment’s silence. Brodie was thinking.
Not if he should help McKenzie or not, but how.
“Okay, I’ll do my best. You need to text me the address and directions. And any special instructions.”
“Good. I’m going to try and get there myself, but I’m in no fit state to drive just now, and I need to wake one of my team up and get them to drive me.” McKenzie explained. “Brodie, once the Tactical Team is on the way, please get the team lead to call me on this number. Okay?”
Brodie agreed and promised to help as best he could.
As soon as they hung up, McKenzie texted the instructions over.
He then called DCS Wilkinson.
She didn’t pick up.
He tried her again.
This time she did.
“McKenzie, it’s four in the morning. This better be good.”
McKenzie hesitated.
It was anything but good.
Where should he start?
-------------------------
Wednesday
04.20
Hanging up the phone on DCS Wilkinson, McKenzie flicked the switch on the kettle and went through the motions of making the strongest cup of coffee ever.
Whilst he waited for the kettle to boil, he rang Brown.
“Elaine, it’s Campbell.”
“Guv? What… ”
“It’s Fiona. My wife. She’s next on the list to die.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Are you fit to drive?”
“I… yes… sure. Why?” she replied, trying to understand the reason for asking the question.
“My wife’s in Callander. In a caravan. I’ve requested a Tactical Team to go fetch her and protect her. But it’s dubious that they may have the spare capacity just now… ” McKenzie explained to her about the increased threat level, and the bombs which McKenzie was almost certain came from TNT taken from Portobello High School.
“Can you come fetch me and take me to her? I’m in no fit state to drive, but I need to get to her. I can update you on what I’ve learned as we drive.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, Guv.”
True to her word, Brown arrived exactly on time.
McKenzie was waiting outside by the road.
He handed her a fresh coffee and climbed into the passenger seat.
She immediately drove off and headed through town towards the road to Stirling. At this time of the morning there was no need to use the bypass. The streets were still deserted.
McKenzie called Brodie.
“Good news Campbell. I’ve got an ARV with four officers en route to Callander.”
“Thanks. When are they expected to get there?”
“They left ten minutes ago. I’m guessing in fifteen minutes.”
“Tell them to put the blue lights on.”
“I’ve already told them.”
“And tell the lead officer to call me the moment they get there.”
“He already knows.”
“Our SatNav says we’ll be there in an hour. We’ll meet them there.”
“McKenzie, what’s going on? You didn’t tell me much… ”
It took McKenzie ten minutes to give him the lo-down on what had happened so far. Brodie was audibly shocked.
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