“Elaine, I was just wondering if you’d managed to talk with the Forensics team yet about when they’ll be finished with the school? When do we get it back, and when can we finally get the chance to demolish it?”
“Guv, they’ve agreed that they will be out of there in a few days time.” She bluffed. “I think we’re probably looking towards the end of the week. Maybe we could be looking at Friday for the final demolition. A week later than originally planned, but better late than never.”
Ten minutes later, McKenzie was at the school, standing face-to-face with Bruce.
“If it’s safe, can you take a sample of the TNT to Fettes Row and make sure it’s left for the attention of DCS Wilkinson at the front desk?” He smiled, the first time that day, but it didn’t last for more than half a second. “Tell the people it’s the TNT. They’ll know what to do. I’m going to call them just now… ”
Gary Bruce agreed.
“And then come back and start making plans for blowing up Portobello High School up. Tomorrow. The sooner the better. I’ll leave that to you. It’s your area of expertise not mine. Just tell me when you’re doing it, because when you do, I’m going to have to get my team out of here and into St Leonards.”
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11.20
After calling Fettes and alerting them to the fact that a bundle of TNT was on the way to them, McKenzie then made his way around his team, finding out what progress had been made.
Wishart was just about to finish the book. She was a fast reader, as promised. Once done, she’d start checking the other books for any informative notes and scribbles.
Apart from one point, so far the book hadn’t revealed anything new. What had caught her attention however, was the question of how GasBag was projected to die. Where, and how?
In the book it was done in the Physics Lab. An unlit Bunsen burner had been left on and a big bag, containing GasBag’s unconscious body inside, had slowly filled up with gas. When the whole bag was filled with gas, an electric spark had been passed between two cables fed into the bag, and the gas had been ignited and blown up.
“I don’t want to dwell on it for now, but I think it’s important to understand how it might be planned. We need to anticipate it and stop it from happening.”
“Another reason for blowing this bastard up as soon as possible, so there’s no chance it can happen here!” McKenzie swore, waving at the old school outside the window and revealing some of the tension he was feeling. In general, with the exception of this case, McKenzie never swore in front of his team.
“Heard anything from the Embassy on any possible name change?” McKenzie quizzed Brown.
“Nope. Not yet, Guv.”
Lynch was back now. He showed him the signature he’d found and told McKenzie the news about Hamish Hamilton being identified within the graveyard.
“Great work. Now we know for sure that he’s back in the country. He must definitely be operating under a pseudonym. We just have to find it!”
McKenzie had just finished suggesting that Lynch pass the signature on to the writing experts in Fettes Row when his phone buzzed.
It was PC Grant.
She was very excited.
Chapter 49
Wednesday
On board the Ferry en route to Barra
11.30
PC Grant was speaking too fast.
“Slow down, and tell me what you’ve found!” McKenzie instructed her, putting the phone on loudspeaker so everyone in the room could hear her.
“I was searching through the CCTV footage from the different feeds on the boat - there’s about thirty cameras on the ship - and I’d already been through the feed from the restaurant. I was about twenty minutes into the crossing on Monday’s trip and looking at the CCTV from the bar when a man with a hoodie came down and sat at the far edge of the bar. He ordered a coffee. He sat there for about ten minutes, and started to nod off. His head jerked forward, and he sat up. His hood was still up, but then he automatically pulled it back when he woke up, and looked around, then carried on drinking his coffee. After a few sips he pulled the hood up and covered his head again. I recognised him immediately. Exactly the same face as his army photograph. A bit bald on top, receding hairline, but the same face.”
“Brilliant. Well done.”
“I’ve printed off photographs and emailed screen-captures to PC Jordon for the team. Anyway,” she continued. “He ordered another coffee, this time take-away, and then got up and walked away. I’ve got pictures of him standing up. Walking. I then moved to the feed from another camera and tracked him going along the corridor and into the gents. When he came out, he went to the restaurant and ate some food, but by now he’d put his hood back up. I’ve images of him in almost high res from quite a few angles. He was wearing a blue Super-Dry top, and blue jeans, and training shoes with red stripes on the heels. Easy to spot really. Noting the times he appeared, I managed to find him on several others feeds and track him going down to the deck. I was hoping to see him get into a car. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. He was on a bicycle.”
“A bike?” McKenzie queried.
“Yes, Guv. When the ferry docked, he cycled off. It was the same ferry that would have taken him back later that night to Oban after he’d killed Daniel Gray, and I’m just about to start to look at those too. But the point is, when he got back to Oban, he would have been on a bike. Maybe he got the train up? Or most likely, he came by car, parked the car somewhere, unloaded a bike, and walked or cycled onto the ferry. I understand what he’s doing Guv. He’s trying to lie low, sneak across under the radar, and not draw any attention to his main mode of transport. It would have worked too, but he made a mistake. He took his hood down at the bar. And we got him straight away.”
McKenzie thumped the table.
“Did you hear that everyone? He just made his first mistake, and we were all over it!” He turned his attention back to the phone. “Okay, it’s obvious he must be really tired. If he got the morning ferry on the Monday morning at seven fifteen from Oban, he must have driven overnight from Edinburgh once he heard me give the details to the helicopter crew. He obviously jumped on the news he got about where Daniel Gray was living and took action straight away and went for the very next ferry. But it cost him a night’s sleep. And he just made his first mistake. Grant, can you please check out the rest of the CCTV feeds on the return trip? We can’t wait for you to get to Oban this evening. We need to act fast on the information you’ve given us now. We’ll pass these images and information to DI Dean and the Fettes Cyber Team and Ray Luck at ACT, and see what they can make of it. Great work, Grant. Call us if you have anything new, okay?”
McKenzie hung up and walked across the room to the whiteboard.
He ringed Hamish Hamilton in red again.
“Team, we’re making great progress. We now know that Hamish Hamilton is back in Scotland and it was almost definitely him that had some form of friendship or relationship with Maggie Sutherland and then killed Daniel and the others. He was at the graveyard and on Coll in the last few hours that Daniel was alive. Lynch? Do what you can to find out how Maggie Sutherland and Hamish Hamilton knew each other. What job did Maggie do? Where did she study? Did she have a Facebook presence? Anything. Wishart? Put pressure on the Home Office and try to get more help on finding out whatever name he’s using now. We need a name folks. An address. And a telephone number so we can track him. Good, now everyone get back to work!”
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11.45
Seconds later McKenzie was on the phone to Ray Luck.
He briefed him on what they now knew and had discovered.
In return Ray sent McKenzie an aged computer-generated high-resolution photo of what Hamish Hamilton would look like now. Incredibly, it was almost identical to the images McKenzie then sent to Ray from the CCTV capture on the boat.
“Okay. We’re working on a few things, DCI McKenzie, but now you’ve given me this
it will help. I’ve got to go. We’ll speak soon.”
There was no messing around. Ray was on the case.
McKenzie respected that. And it also reassured him.
For the first time since early that morning McKenzie allowed himself to feel the tiniest bit of hope.
He then closed his eyes and said a small prayer.
He thought about Little Bump. About Fiona.
But that was too much. He opened his eyes and went back to work.
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11.50 a.m.
After hanging up on DCI McKenzie, Ray Luck issued new instructions to his team. They had recently finished their other project and had just been briefed by Ray when McKenzie had called, offering them fresh intelligence.
“Okay, pay attention everyone. We’ve got some new intel on board. So let’s recap what we know. Okay, so we now we have five anchors to work from and some extras.”
“The five anchors are, firstly, the number plate of the white van used by the suspect for at least the week before last Saturday. Second, the photograph of the suspect which we can put into the BloodHound system. Third, the army record of the suspect. Fourth, a physical location: we know he got off the Ferry in Coll and committed a murder and we can therefore guess that he got the first ferry back and got off at Oban on the mainland as soon as possible. On the Monday, the ferry arrives at Oban at 9.55 a.m. and leaves at 12.45 a.m., getting back to Oban at 15.25 p.m. Fifth, we also believe we know how the suspect was dressed when he left the ferry and that he was riding a bike. Additionals include the fact we think he may have changed his name in Australia, but don’t know what it is. He’s probably Catholic. He knew the deceased Maggie Sutherland who we discussed at the first briefing. We also have rough times and defined locations for where we think the suspect may have been, but which are not confirmed.” He checked his watch. “It’s now almost midday. You know what to do. Go for it.”
The team immediately dispersed and hurried back to their terminals dotted around the walls of ACT Room 5. The walls were covered in large LED displays, showing an ever-changing dynamic tapestry consisting of video conferencing feeds, computer screen displays, statistics, CCTV feeds, and a big clock, which showed the recorded time since the disappearance of Fiona McKenzie.
On one of the screens, was a picture of the cyber team in Edinburgh, where DI Dean could be seen sitting beside a terminal and assisting one of the seconded ACT team members in Police Scotland Fettes Row.
The ACT team knew what they were doing. They did this every day and knew every trick in the book.
They’d been split into several teams, each progressing a different lead. A jar full of £5 notes sat on the desk beside Ray Luck’s terminal, the result of the traditional sweepstake to see which team would provide the vital clue that would locate the suspect and empower the local team on the ground to capture him, or her. The winning team got the contents of the jar and enjoyed a night down the local pub at the cost of everyone else.
Although Ray had not mentioned anything to DCI McKenzie, Ray was extremely hopeful.
Once they had a photograph of a suspect, and a confirmed location where they had once been, it was normally just a matter of hours before ACT could track them down.
In today’s modern world, once the digital hounds had been unleashed, only an expert or the dead could remain hidden for long enough to evade detection and capture.
It was twelve o’clock now.
Ray’s money was on the Green Team, so called because they normally made the other’s green with envy. Going on past experience, with all the modern cyber technology at their disposal, Ray guessed that it would probably only take them several hours to complete the job.
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12.05
McKenzie was worried.
Although DCS Wilkinson had agreed to letting McKenzie continue to lead the investigation, McKenzie knew that there was a serious conflict of interests here.
Under normal circumstances, he would be taken off the case immediately and it would have been handed over to the National Crime Agency. For the first time since last Friday, McKenzie was almost grateful to whoever was behind the terrorist threat because it was that threat which was allowing him to continue to manage the search for his wife.
Handing over the search now would be disastrous. The momentum they were building up would be lost just at the moment their reduced team was really gelling and being to function together, seamlessly.
If Wilkinson kept true to her word, he would have command until tomorrow at midday.
Two things could threaten that however, and McKenzie was concerned.
Firstly, at this moment in time, Fiona had technically been abducted, and she was the victim under threat. If, however, Hamilton made any contact with the team and made any demands regarding Fiona, technically, in the processes that Police Scotland followed, Fiona would cease to be the victim, and become the hostage, and the classification of victim would pass to McKenzie, and a Kidnap Team from the National Crime Agency would formally take over Fiona’s case. At that point, McKenzie knew that the full processes and mechanisms for protecting a kidnapped person would kick into play, and he would be surrounded by processes, technology and people designed to help find the hostage. In most circumstances this would be brilliant news, however, in this case, it would be disastrous. McKenzie knew the killer had no intention of returning Fiona. His soul mission was to carry out the murder so vividly depicted in the final chapters of ‘Remember Me?’. So long as he himself was in control, he believed he had a better chance of finding the killer and his wife.
So, what would happen if the killer contacted him?
Would he declare it, or bury it, potentially threatening his career?
McKenzie already knew the answer to that.
He would rather bury his career than his wife and child.
The second problem he faced was the question about the TNT which they had sent over to be analysed and compared with the explosives already found as part of Operation Crown.
If Fettes determined that they were the same explosives, from the same sources, then Operation Crown may take over command of his case. Although this may throw the full weight of Police Scotland behind the search for the terrorist, who was now obviously one-and-the-same person as the killer McKenzie was investigating, it would also result in an initial delay and result in the investigation losing precious hours. Even worse, if not handled properly, it could tip the killer off, resulting in him expediting the murder of Fiona and Little Bump and the killer then running for cover.
On the other hand, things were looking good.
For now, for the first time, McKenzie’s team had several cards in their favour.
How long that would last, and how long McKenzie would remain in control, McKenzie did not know.
All he knew was that the clock was ticking, and with every second that passed, the threat to Fiona and Little Bump increased.
Some place, somewhere, McKenzie knew that the killer - almost certainly now identified as Hamish Hamilton - was making preparations to kill his family.
Tick. Tick.
Tock.
Chapter 50
Wednesday
Henderson’s Vegetarian Restaurant
Edinburgh City Centre
12.15
Marie McDonald was crying.
She was sitting at a table at the back of the restaurant, feeling very strange and for the first time in years, not fully in control of her emotions.
She was scared. Excited.
And worried.
In the past few days, so many incredible things had happened.
Last night she had hardly slept a wink. For many reasons.
All of which had been truly, truly amazing.
Wonderful.
Fantastic.
First of all there had been Stuart.
They had made love.
In a hotel which they had spontaneously booked near Portobello Beach.
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With an incredible view of the sweeping bay that led out to the North Sea.
Then there had been Stuart again.
As they had made love one more time.
She had drunk champagne, just two glasses, but it was enough to celebrate the occasion.
Then, slightly mysteriously, Stuart had been forced to leave. He’d received a phone call, and he’d seemed concerned.
He’d left, but promised that he would meet her today for lunch, and he’d assured her that he would give her his decision about Poland then.
After he’d left, Stuart had texted her several times.
Each time the mobile had pinged, she’d felt a surge of excitement.
She felt like a teenager again. Carefree. Reckless. In love.
After Stuart had gone, she started to get ready to go home.
She was in the process of dressing when she changed her mind.
She needed some time and space to herself to think about the money she’d been promised. She needed to process the fact she’d just been promised one hundred and fifty million pounds.
One hundred and fifty million pounds!
It was an astronomic sum.
With so much funding, all her hopes and dreams for her children could come true.
At the back of her mind, however, she couldn’t stop herself from doubting that all of this could be happening.
She’d spent most of the night looking out of the hotel window across the bay, mesmerised by the lights dancing on the water, reflecting from the houses dotted along the shore or the boats at anchor.
At one point, she’d seen a shooting star, and she closed her eyes and started to make a wish, but then realised that perhaps, just maybe, all her wishes were already coming true.
Eventually she had fallen asleep, showered and then tried to check out, only to discover that the room had already been paid for by Stuart.
Remember Me 2 Page 24
