The Special Dead

by Lin Anderson

  ‘I want to know who sent it and who owns the mobile number in the message. The guy in the video could be our prime suspect. See if you can match him with the CCTV footage. I’ll call in after I’ve spoken to the boss.’

  ‘Will do.’

  McNab checked the time. The boss was expecting a report in person, and he certainly had plenty to tell him.

  The rain that had given them problems earlier had eased in the interim, although judging by the thick mass of dark clouds, they could look forward to another downpour soon enough.

  McNab headed off on foot, aware he should have done something about his car. That something was to turn up at the pound and pay the fine. For that he needed to borrow a vehicle and a driver to transport him. All of which took time. Something he didn’t have.

  The incident room was working full out – on the wall board photographs of Leila and Shannon, alive and dead, plus a myriad of other material. Despite everything being recorded on Return To Scene software and accessible by all, there was still a demand to see it up there – to watch the placing of each piece in what seemed like a giant jigsaw puzzle. If the recent victim was Barry Fraser, then they had yet another death to add to the puzzle.

  At least now he could walk into the boss’s office and tell him that they might have a lead on the perpetrator.

  DI Wilson was in his seat facing the window. When he heard the door open he swivelled round to face McNab. The face was still too thin, but there was a light in his eye and a firm set to his mouth. A look that McNab knew only too well. That look was usually present when he or some other member of the team had screwed up and let the boss down. McNab had met that look often and deserved it.

  Surprisingly, when DI Wilson realized that it was McNab, the look changed.

  This time McNab was waved to a seat.

  ‘I’m sorry, boss, about being out of touch,’ McNab began.

  DI Wilson shook his head, dismissing McNab’s opening line of apology.

  ‘Tell me about the Bath Lane body.’

  McNab described the scene, and the possibility that the victim might be Barry Fraser.

  ‘Has his home address been checked?’

  ‘Someone’s gone round. I’m still waiting for the officer to get back to me,’ McNab said.

  ‘Why do you think it might be Barry despite the injuries to his face?’

  McNab decided it was time to reveal what Freya had told him. Even as he outlined what she’d said about Danny and Barry being involved in taking footage of Leila’s sexual encounters with the nine pillars of the establishment, he could hear all the things he should have asked her resound in his head. The boss was looking at him with a questioning air, no doubt wondering the same thing.

  ‘I told her to come in this morning and give a full statement, sir,’ he finished.

  There were a few moments of silence, then the question: ‘Were you aware that Freya Devine was in contact with Daniel Hardy?’

  ‘No, sir. Not initially,’ McNab added.

  The eyes were boring into him now.

  ‘And when did you become aware of this, Sergeant?’

  McNab’s throat closed and he covered it with a cough. This was turning into an interrogation with him on the receiving end, and the boss was ace at scenting a lie.

  ‘Daniel Hardy was at her place, just prior to my arrival, sir.’

  ‘And you were there, why?’

  Now he was on tricky ground. He could come clean and admit he was sleeping with a possible witness, or lie. He never got the chance to do either.

  ‘Since when, Sergeant?’ DI Wilson said, a hard glint in his eye.

  ‘I met her at the university library. She turned up one night at the flat, frightened about the death of two of her colleagues. That’s when she told me about their visit to the Edinburgh coven.’

  The boss had risen as McNab talked, and walked back to his spot by the window, so that McNab was addressing his back.

  ‘Did you learn nothing from the Stonewarrior case, Sergeant?’ the voice said.

  ‘I learned to curb my drinking, sir.’

  The boss turned to face him. ‘But not yet to vet your sexual partners before bedding them?’

  ‘She’s a post-grad student from Newcastle working part-time at the library. She’s not a criminal,’ McNab said defensively.

  ‘But she is a possible witness.’

  McNab couldn’t refute that. Freya hadn’t appeared to be when they’d first met, but that excuse wouldn’t wash with the boss.

  ‘I severed my relationship with Freya Devine as soon as I realized that might be the case, sir.’

  If the boss did the maths, he would know the timeline didn’t quite match his pronouncement. McNab didn’t wait for that to happen. He took out the mobile and laid it on the desk.

  ‘I received a video recording a short while ago accompanied by a message stating that this is the man we’re looking for for Leila’s murder, together with a mobile number.’

  McNab set the video in action.

  DI Wilson had sat back down and was now staring at the mobile screen. When the video ended, he played it again.

  ‘I’ve already given it to the Tech department,’ McNab said. ‘They should be able to trace who sent it.’

  DI Wilson nodded. ‘We need to pick up Daniel Hardy. If he took this video, he was there when his sister died. If it wasn’t him, I want to know who it was.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  McNab made to rise.

  As he did so, DI Wilson surprised him by saying, ‘I called in a favour on the missing DNA report.’

  McNab waited in anticipation.

  ‘My source confirmed that one of the Nine is a serving officer.’

  40

  ‘You should be telling this to a police officer,’ Rhona said.

  ‘I don’t want to get Michael into trouble.’

  McNab was already in trouble, Rhona thought, but didn’t say so. The young woman looked worried enough.

  She’d arranged to meet Freya Devine in The Pot Still, which seemed appropriate, considering its role in the investigation and its proximity to the crime scene. When Rhona arrived, Freya had been sitting in a corner alone, a pot of tea in front of her.

  Rhona had approached and introduced herself.

  ‘I’m very grateful that you agreed to see me,’ had been the reply.

  Rhona had ordered a coffee and taken a seat across the table from her. Freya was young, but definitely not as young as McNab’s previous disaster of a relationship that had nearly cost him his career. She also looked and sounded intelligent, another improvement on the previous one.

  Rhona had waited for her coffee to be delivered before she’d encouraged Freya to tell her why she’d asked to speak to her. Then it had all come tumbling out. Freya’s original meeting with McNab at the university. Her shock at Leila’s death. Her conversation with Leila about sexual magick. Then Shannon’s non-appearance at work.

  ‘I wanted to go round and check on her, but Michael stopped me. He already knew by then that Shannon was dead.’ A shadow crossed her face, then she pulled herself together and went on. ‘He was very kind to me.’ She looked as though she might say more on that, but didn’t. ‘He came to check on me after you received the stick figure. Told me to be careful of visitors or deliveries, and to inform him if anything odd happened. So I told him about Danny Hardy’s visit.’

  Rhona waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, Rhona said, ‘And that didn’t go down very well with McNab?’

  ‘He thought that Danny and I were –’ she paused and looked directly at Rhona – ‘which we aren’t. Danny told me he didn’t trust the police to find Leila’s killer, and he knew that Leila had kept a list of the men she was performing sexual magick with, but he didn’t know where it was. He thought I might know.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘No, but I suggested a possibility and he said he would look there.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘On her altar in h
er Goddess statue.’

  ‘Where is her altar?’ Rhona said.

  Freya looked surprised. ‘I thought she worshipped at home.’

  ‘There was no altar in her flat.’

  ‘That’s strange. I got the impression Danny knew where it was.’

  ‘He didn’t mention a location?’

  Freya shook her head. ‘Shannon would have known . . .’ She stumbled to a halt.

  Which was probably why Shannon was dead, was left unsaid by either of them.

  ‘If Leila didn’t worship at home, then where might she choose?’ Rhona persisted.

  Freya inclined her head a little as though in deep thought. ‘My mother had a little hut in our garden. I use a box room in my flat.’ She thought again. ‘Somewhere quiet where she was unlikely to be disturbed. A basement maybe, easily accessible.’

  ‘The university somewhere?’ Rhona tried.

  ‘I thought Shannon might have been using one of the rooms that originally housed the Ferguson collection.’

  ‘On the occult,’ Rhona added.

  Freya seemed surprised she should have heard of it.

  ‘Professor Pirie, who works with us as a profiler, spoke about it,’ Rhona explained.

  ‘I found a set of keys in Shannon’s desk.’ Freya produced a simple ring with two keys on it, one large, the other much smaller. ‘The bigger one opens a small back room there. Shannon had let slip something. I thought . . .’ Freya hesitated.

  ‘Thought what?’ Rhona urged.

  ‘Shannon said something about a Wiccan secret.’

  Rhona waited for her to continue.

  ‘I thought she might have unearthed a manuscript left behind when the collection moved to the main library. Or maybe she’d been using the room to worship in. But there was nothing there.’

  ‘Shannon’s bedroom had a circular mat but she didn’t have an altar either,’ Rhona told her.

  Freya looked at her, wide-eyed. ‘So maybe she and Leila were worshipping together?’

  Rhona suspected so. ‘But where?’ she said.

  Freya shook her head. ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘I suggest you go down to the station and give a full statement. Tell them everything you’ve told me,’ Rhona said.

  Worry crossed Freya’s face. ‘It was me who came on to Michael. I don’t want him to get into trouble because of it.’

  ‘Just tell them the whole story. That’s the best thing.’

  Freya didn’t look convinced but eventually nodded. ‘You’re right. That’s what I’ll do.’

  ‘Why did you contact me in particular?’ Rhona had to know.

  ‘Michael gave the impression . . .’ Freya seemed to want to choose her words carefully, ‘you were someone he trusted.’

  Who can I trust?

  In answer to the internal question, two names immediately sprang to mind – Bill and Chrissy. At one time she would have also said McNab, but since the Stonewarrior case, she wasn’t so sure. Sean’s name hadn’t occurred, and she questioned why.

  Perhaps it wasn’t possible to truly trust a lover? Then she thought of her adoptive parents, who’d been both friends and lovers until death had finally parted them. Bill and his wife Margaret were the same.

  As to Chrissy and Sam, Rhona wasn’t so sure. The cracks in that relationship were already showing. Sam, Chrissy believed, would go back to Nigeria when his training as a doctor was complete. Chrissy had already declared that she wouldn’t go with him. She was also determined that their child, named after McNab, would stay in Scotland with her. Circumstances had drawn her and Sam together, and it appeared that circumstances would break them apart.

  As for McNab and Freya . . .

  Rhona recalled how upbeat McNab had been since he’d met Freya. Seeing McNab joyous had been a revelation. One that hadn’t lasted long. He’d always said, in his job, everyone was a liar until proved otherwise. It seemed McNab had decided that was also the case with Freya.

  But maybe he was wrong?

  Freya hadn’t asked Rhona to plead her case with McNab, but Rhona decided she just might, given the opportunity.

  Had she registered the padlock in passing, even subconsciously? No. Her focus had been on the body and its immediate vicinity. Searching the surrounding area had been the prerogative of the crime-scene manager.

  She hadn’t considered the padlocked door at all, not until Freya had shown her the key ring she’d found in Shannon’s desk and stated how the larger key opened a door in the previous Ferguson library in the old building, but what the smaller key was for, she had no idea.

  At that point Rhona had asked if she could have the smaller of the keys to study and Freya had handed it over without argument.

  Rhona retrieved the said key from her pocket and approached the door on the lane side of the Lion Chambers, yards from where the latest body had been discovered. This entire section of the building reeked of damp, its crumbling concrete sprouting glossy green growth, fed by a broken drainpipe further up the narrow eight-storey property.

  All the metal on the door and the security-grilled windows was corroded, including the thick chain, but strangely not the padlock itself, where the area around the keyhole gleamed clean with use.

  Rhona eyed the small key.

  If Freya was right and Shannon and Leila had worshipped together, might it not have been near Leila’s flat?

  It just could be.

  Rhona whispered a silent please.

  As though in answer, the key turned swiftly to the right. The padlock clicked and fell open.

  According to the two officers sent to check out Barry Fraser’s flat, there had been no sighting of him in the last two days. Apparently he lived alone but entertained frequently, often after the pub shut.

  ‘No music, no noise, no nothing, according to his downstairs neighbour, who sounded pretty relieved about that,’ the uniforms had told McNab.

  They hadn’t forced entry, unlike McNab with Shannon’s flat. Mainly because McNab was of the opinion that the body currently on the mortuary slab was Barry Fraser. He was just awaiting DNA comparison with the mouth swab taken in the interview to prove it. McNab anticipated that the same swab would prove that the barman, although an occasional sexual partner of Leila’s, wasn’t one of the nine ‘important’ men featured in the dolls.

  The method used to kill him, a sharp implement shoved into his eyes, had a ritual feel to it. Knives were often the weapon of choice in Glasgow, but the eyes weren’t the usual entry point. McNab couldn’t help but feel that stabbing someone’s eyes out indicated that the killer hadn’t liked what Barry had viewed with them. If what Freya had said was true – McNab could hardly say her name even to himself without feeling pain – then Barry and Danny had truly pissed off Leila’s important customers.

  En route to the Tech department, McNab stopped at the coffee machine for a double espresso. He drank it down and pressed the button for another, aware that coffee had been his only sustenance apart from anger since he’d risen from Freya’s bed that morning. He’d assumed he’d have to go hungry for a while longer, but cheered up as he approached Ollie’s cubicle and spied what awaited him on the desk.

  Ollie grinned round at him.

  ‘I took the liberty of ordering a double helping, seeing as you ate most of mine the last time.’

  McNab eyed the giant filled roll with delight.

  ‘Sausage, bacon, egg and tattie scone special,’ Ollie informed him. ‘And strong black coffee. Is that okay?’

  McNab’s mouth watered in anticipation. ‘Better than okay.’

  Ollie waved him to a seat and pushed the plate and cup towards him. McNab set about the roll with vigour, while Ollie retrieved the display he’d obviously had planned for McNab’s visit.

  A name appeared on the screen alongside the number sent to McNab’s mobile phone.

  ‘The number belongs to a Mark Howitt. I did some research on him. He’s on LinkedIn, has a Facebook page and tweets now and again.’

 
Ollie pulled up a photograph.

  ‘He works for RBS in Edinburgh, a trader of some sort. Aged twenty-seven. Has a penthouse flat built in the grounds of the former Royal Edinburgh Infirmary overlooking the Meadows, so not short of money. Went to Edinburgh Academy, which is a fee-paying school, followed by Edinburgh University, where he studied law.’ Ollie paused here, while McNab polished off the remains of the roll and had a slug of coffee.

  ‘Now the really interesting part.’ Ollie paused for effect. ‘It appears that Mark Howitt has an illustrious father. Sir Mark Howitt Senior QC.’

  ‘Jesus,’ McNab said as he registered the name. ‘His old man’s a High Court judge?’

  ‘Assuming the lead you were sent is true.’

  Now came the crunch. ‘Is he the guy in the video with Leila?’ McNab said.

  ‘Probably,’ Ollie said.

  ‘What do you mean probably?’

  ‘According to the software there’s a sixty per cent probability that the partial view of the face in the video is a match for Mark Howitt,’ Ollie said. ‘However . . . the video jumps just after the climax scene and before we see the hand approach the victim’s mouth.’

  He ran it again for McNab, stopping it at the spot mentioned.

  ‘When it starts again, only the female’s face is visible. I’m not sure where her hands are.’

  McNab remembered waiting for Leila to pull the cloth from her mouth.

  ‘The two slices of video are taken at different times?’

  ‘I believe so. Unfortunately, we don’t have a good shot of the man’s hands during sex, so we can’t compare them to the hand at the end. I’ve been trying to find clear images of Mark Howitt’s hands but no luck so far.’

  ‘So we bring him in,’ McNab said.

  ‘That would be good.’

  ‘And if we have the ID wrong . . .’ McNab imagined the fallout if that were the case.

  He took a mouthful of coffee. His heart was already beating rapidly and he didn’t need the caffeine, but the coffee felt the equivalent of a celebratory drink.

  ‘What about the judge?’ Ollie said.

  McNab acknowledged they would have to tread carefully. He could approach the boss and give him the news. Let DI Wilson decide. Alternatively . . .