Remember Me 2

by Ian C. P. Irvine

  “And all of this has happened since last Friday?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many are in your team?”

  McKenzie named them all.

  “Are you kidding me? Is that all?”

  “Please, Brodie. Don’t go there… It’s a running argument with DCS Wilkinson. The Queen comes first. Us mere mortals are dispensable. Listen, I’ve got to go. DI Brown and I need to talk.”

  McKenzie hung up.

  Brown yawned.

  “Sorry about this, Elaine. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re lucky. When I got home I was so stressed that I almost got the red wine out, but I just went straight to bed. I was asleep within seconds.”

  McKenzie didn’t hear her.

  He’d put his head against the window and was staring out into the darkness.

  Outside he probably appeared calm to Brown, but inside, he was shaking like a leaf.

  He closed his eyes to picture Fiona. He imagined her stroking her tummy.

  McKenzie yawned.

  And within seconds, he was asleep.

  -------------------------

  Wednesday

  Stirling

  04.35

  McKenzie awoke with a start. At first he didn’t know where he was but quickly realised that Brown was shaking him awake.

  “Your phone,” she urged, “It’s been ringing.”

  “How long have I been asleep?” he stretched, and then fumbled with the phone in his pocket.

  “About ten minutes. Deeply. You were snoring your head off, Guv!”

  “I don’t snore.” McKenzie protested.

  McKenzie didn’t recognise the number on the screen but called it straight back.

  “Hello, this is DCI McKenzie. You just called me?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m Sergeant Stewart. I’m leading the team sent to collect your wife and bring her into protective custody.”

  McKenzie was immediately alert.

  “Are you there? Can I speak to her?”

  There was a momentary pause.

  “DCI McKenzie, I’m sorry. We’re here at the caravan. But it’s empty. Your wife is not here.”

  “What?” McKenzie sat bolt upright in his seat, shouting the reply, causing Brown to turn and stare at him whilst she continued to drive. “What do you mean?”

  “Sir, there seems to be signs of a disturbance within the caravan. The door was open when we arrived. The nearest neighbours, about ten metres away, reported hearing a car arriving about half an hour ago. There were some loud voices, and then the car left. One of the neighbours came to investigate, and found the door of the caravan open. He looked inside, and found it empty.”

  McKenzie was beginning to panic.

  “Are you sure she’s not hiding somewhere? Have you searched around the caravan?”

  “Yes sir. Your wife is not here.”

  “Keep searching. I’ll try calling her. And her sister. I’ll call you back in a moment.”

  McKenzie hung up. His hands were shaking.

  Brown offered to pull over.

  “No, keep driving. Fiona’s not there.” His voice was shaking. “I’m calling her now… ”

  Good. The phone was ringing.

  Then it was answered.

  “Hello?”

  It was not Fiona’s voice.

  “Who is this?” McKenzie demanded.

  “PC Williams. To whom am I speaking?”

  “DCI McKenzie. Why are you answering my wife’s phone?”

  “Hang on sir, I’m passing the phone over… ” A moment of silence, then the voice of Sergeant Stewart again. “DCI McKenzie, your wife has left her phone in the caravan. It was lying on the floor… ”

  “Fuck!” McKenzie swore loudly. “Hang on, I’m going to call my wife’s sister.”

  He hung up and dialled the number.

  It rang three times, then was picked up.

  “Campbell, hi, are you okay?” she asked.

  “Where are you? Is Fiona with you?”

  “I’m driving back to Callander. Fiona’s in the caravan still. Someone burgled my house, so I had to go back and switch the alarm off… ”

  The world began to spin. McKenzie felt very, very sick. He quickly pressed the button to let the window down and took several deep breaths of fresh air.

  “Campbell? Are you okay? What’s the matter?” Fiona’s sister asked.

  “How far away are you from the caravan?”

  “I’ve just left the house. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”

  “Maryln, I’ll meet you there. Sorry, I’ve got to go.” McKenzie hung up.

  “What’s the matter? What’s happened?” Brown urged. “Tell me.”

  “Shit. Shit. SHIT!” McKenzie screamed, hitting the roof of Brown’s car, and ripping the fabric.

  “We’re too late. We’re too bloody late. The killer has got Fiona!”

  Chapter 46

  Wednesday

  Callander

  05.00

  McKenzie stood in the centre of the caravan hugging Fiona’s sister.

  She was almost inconsolable, blaming herself for leaving Fiona alone.

  McKenzie himself was barely holding on, and felt close to losing it.

  It all seemed so unreal.

  None of this could surely be happening.

  After speaking with Marilyn by phone he’d spent the next ten minutes talking with the senior officer in Sterling, trying to persuade him to take further action.

  Road blocks? A helicopter search?

  Something! Anything!

  The senior officer in Sterling had however, done all the right things. He’d agreed to set up several road blocks, and stop and search passing cars and vans, but had warned that realistically it may achieve nothing.

  Circumstances were pointing towards the fact that she had been abducted, however probably almost an hour had passed since her abduction and when the police arrived, and Callander lay in the middle of the countryside. Although there were only one or two routes north and south from Callander, the roads very soon came to junctions that presented multiple options north, south, east or west.

  Worse still, Callander was a small town. CCTV coverage was limited and only covered the centre of the town. There was nothing on the caravan site or near its entrance.

  Without any knowledge of a number plate to feed into the ANPR system, there was realistically no real hope of catching anyone trying to escape from the town.

  By the time they’d been alerted to her abduction, the abductor and Fiona could realistically be anywhere within an eighty mile radius. By the time a roadwork was set up, they could be anywhere in Glasgow, Edinburgh, or quite far North.

  McKenzie knew this to be true, but insisted they try, at least for an hour. If nothing by then, they could call them off.

  By the time he arrived at the caravan, he was trying his best to regain control of his emotions.

  As part of police training, they learned to cope with stress, and had studied techniques on how to focus under pressure.

  McKenzie was grateful for all the training he’d received and now found it all invaluable. Breath, focus, breath. Repeat.

  Arriving at the caravan and seeing the obvious signs of a disturbance, and being handed Fiona’s mobile, was too much though. McKenzie had been forced to step outside the caravan, and walk round to the rear.

  He knelt down, covered his heads with his arms and cried.

  After a few minutes, he’d stood up. Walked back to the front of the caravan, swallowed hard, and stepped back inside.

  “There are tyre marks outside on the edge of the grass and the gravel. Please make sure they’re investigated and identified by forensics.” He instructed Brown, who he’d already asked to liaise with the police department in Stirling.

  Moments later, Marilyn had arrived.

  McKenzie had sat her down, and calmly told her what had happened.

  She’d cried. They’d hugged. Then McKenzie had mustered all his
inner strength and regained control.

  “Elaine, we’re going back to Edinburgh. The team here know what they’re doing. I’ll speak to DCS Wilkinson on the way back and get her to arrange for some more officers to come here from Stirling and do what they have to do. We’re needed back in Edinburgh.”

  McKenzie spoke to the officers on the scene, and told them that they also needed to investigate the break in at Marilyn’s house. Get forensics all over the building. Check CCTV. Look for any cars in the neighbourhood driving on nearby roads at the estimated time of the burglary that could belong to the burglar. McKenzie explained that it was highly likely that the same person who abducted Fiona had either broken into the house in Sterling hoping to find them there, or had done it deliberately to set off the alarm and hope that Marilyn would return to the house and leave Fiona alone in the caravan. He also instructed to check CCTV for traffic in the Callander area in the minutes before and after the estimated time of Fiona’s abduction.

  Ten minutes later he, Brown and Marilyn were en route to Edinburgh via Sterling. After dropping Marilyn off at her home, McKenzie pulled out his notebook and started making notes.

  He then called round his team, woke them up and summoned everyone into the office for a 7 a.m. meeting.

  Lastly he called DCS Wilkinson.

  “Ma’am, I have some bad news for you… ” And he spent the next few minutes briefing her, waiting for the inevitable interruption, and worrying how the conversation would go.

  “Campbell,” she began, and he could tell from the use of his first name that this was the precursor to the ‘serious conversation’ which had to be had.

  “Campbell, you know I have to take you off the case now. You know… ”

  “That I can’t investigate the disappearance of my own wife? That there’s a conflict of interest?” McKenzie interrupted.

  “Exactly.”

  “With all due respect, Ma’am. What are you proposing? You’ve made it repeatedly very clear that there are NO officers available to help assist my investigation, the death toll of which is now four. Probably averaging roughly one a day. You’ve made it abundantly clear that until the Queen goes home to have tea in Buckingham palace, that not a single soul can be freed up to help save a Scottish commoner’s life. But now, because my wife has been kidnapped, magically you are going to make a whole team available from the Kidnap Unit to investigate? Or are you really, realistically saying that you have to take me off the case, and then my case is on hold until the Queen goes home, and until normal Police service resumes? During which, by the way, my wife will be killed?”

  “Campbell…” DCS Helen Wilkinson was about to reply, before McKenzie cut her short.

  “Or, Ma’am, were you just about to say that until I formally file a missing person’s report on my wife, that you do not have to do anything because no missing person has been reported? Or were you about to suggest that given the circumstances that I have a day to find the killer, and save my wife, before you would hand my case over to the Kidnap Squad?”

  “Both of those. You have until lunchtime on Thursday. Then you’re off the case.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am.”

  “Good luck, Campbell.”

  She hung up.

  -------------------------

  Wednesday

  Edinburgh

  Incident Room

  Operation Blue Building

  07.00

  McKenzie stood before a sea of worried faces.

  Everyone was there. Including DCS Wilkinson.

  McKenzie was just about to clap, but he looked down at his hands and changed his mind at the last moment.

  “Good morning everyone.” He started.

  All eyes were on him.

  You could hear a pin drop.

  “As you know we’ve had another murder. Daniel Gray. The ex-headmaster of the school. Decapitated, his head left on this lap. It also turns out that I led the killer to Mr Gray who had taken to living off the grid, presumably to avoid being tracked down and killed by the killer. Everyone who is now dead has had a copy of this book in their house.” McKenzie held up Daniel’s copy of the book. “The book details the plight of Maggie Sutherland, her experience of rape at the hands of the victims, now dead, and the alleged mishandling of her plight by the then Headmaster, now also dead. The book details the deaths of the victims quite vividly, and as we have seen, where possible, the true-life murders of the victims have mimicked those described in the book.”

  “The book describes five deaths. Five victims. Four of whom are now dead. The last person to be named as a victim, and whose death is described in the book, is a girl at Portobello High School, who in the book is nicknamed ‘GasBag’ ”. McKenzie’s voice faltered. He reached for a glass of water and took a sip.

  “Early this morning,” he continued. “I remembered that Daniel Gray had told me that at the last school prom which Maggie Sutherland attended, the same evening that she claimed she was raped, GasBag and Maggie had come dressed to the ball in identical red dresses and hairstyles. Maggie had sought to look like GasBag, because she believed that Ronald Blake was attracted to GasBag and her looks. Maggie wanted to be just like her.” McKenzie’s voice cracked again, and he took another sip.

  “After I returned to my house from my trip to Coll, I found a photograph taken at the ball, and discovered that the only two people at the ball wearing a red dress, and with similar hairstyles to boot, were Maggie Sutherland and my wife, Fiona… ”

  McKenzie took a minute, closed his eyes, and then continued.

  “At about four-thirty this morning, police officers despatched from Sterling to my sister’s caravan in Callander, where my wife Fiona had gone to rest and be safe, discovered that my wife had been abducted… ”

  There was a sharp intake of breath from everyone in the room apart from DCS Wilkinson and Brown. But no one talked. All eyes were on their Guv.

  “Please forgive me… this is all quite stressful,” McKenzie apologised. “I have discussed this with DCS Wilkinson and she has agreed to let me carry on leading the case, for now. Until tomorrow lunchtime, so we can maintain our momentum.” McKenzie looked briefly at DCS Wilkinson, and she nodded.

  “Okay. From now on EVERYTHING we do must count. We must not waste a second. In the next few days, possibly hours, it is very likely that the individual or individuals behind these deaths will try to kill my wife. I will not let that happen. And I am asking you to work me to prevent it. To save my wife. And to capture the bastard behind all of this and bring him, or her, to justice.”

  He paused.

  “I can tell you that I am exhausted. We all are. But imagine how the killer must feel. So far, he, or she, or they, are continually one step ahead of us. And we are running at full pelt. It’s likely that they planned a lot of this in advance, but now they’re executing their plans at such a rapid pace, I can promise you, they will make a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. Especially when they’re tired. And the killer must be even more exhausted than I am.”

  McKenzie paused.

  “I have already made mistakes. Daniel gave me the clue about the similarity of Gasbag and Maggie on Sunday. I never picked up on it. A huge mistake. The time for mistakes is past. We won’t make any more. From now on, I want everyone to question everything, double-check everything. Focus. Discuss. Share. And then re-check. Everything. Agreed?”

  They all nodded.

  McKenzie took a deep breath.

  “Okay, moving swiftly on, early last night I received information back from the Director of Amazon KDP in the UK telling me the identity of the person who wrote Remember Me? and how many copies were printed. He confirmed it was Maggie Sutherland. The book was published two years before she committed suicide. Last night I was informed by the Director of Amazon that only six copies of Remember Me? were ever published. Just after my last conversation with my wife before she was abducted, I discovered that she too had been sent a copy of ‘Remember Me?’ quite a few years ago.
That means that we can now account for five of the six copies of Remember Me? that were published. So, who has the last copy? It could be Maggie Sutherland, or probably the killer. At first, I thought the latter would be the obvious choice, but later I realised that there’s a possibility the killer may actually be unaware that these books even exist. We don’t know for certain that he is following instructions in the book, or from somewhere else.”

  “I don’t necessarily agree,” McLeish interjected. “On each of his victim’s heads he’s scrawled the words ‘Remember Me?’. The title of the book! And the victims are being killed in ways which are pretty much described in the book. I think the killer has got the book. He’s read it, and he’s enacting the book in real life.”

  “I agree,” Wishart said.

  “But I can see the Guv’s point. We don’t know for sure. It’s not sure.” Lynch argued. “What I think we really need to know, is why the killer is doing it?”

  “You’re all right. And they’re all good points. Which could mean that either the killer knew Maggie Sutherland intimately and knew all about the problems she’d had, and she told him about the book. Or, perhaps, somehow he was either given the last copy of the book from Maggie, or he got it from her once she’d died. To be frank, it could be we’ll never know. For now though, let’s proceed accepting that both options are possibilities: one he knew about the book, the other he didn’t.” McKenzie summed up. “Okay, let’s park that one for now and recap what we know overall and decide what we need to do.”

  McKenzie turned to the whiteboard behind him.

  “For now, we can put on hold all the actions we have pending. Unless you have new information that is immediately pertinent to the case, such as the identity of the killer, new suspects, or a possible number-plate of a van or car used to abduct Weir, Blake or McRae, then we start with a clean slate. There’s no point in calling round any more staff or pupils. We know who the next victim is going to be. It’s my wife.”

  McKenzie picked up a photograph of Fiona from the table behind him and stuck it with blue tack to the whiteboard for everyone to see. “You’ll all get copies afterwards.”