The Special Dead

by Lin Anderson

  ‘And now his son is implicated.’

  ‘Do you believe his confession?’ Bill said.

  ‘The DNA sample I took from his body will indicate whether he was with Leila the night she died,’ Rhona told him.

  ‘What about the other crime scenes?’

  ‘We should know in forty-eight hours.’

  ‘How would you feel if your son was a murderer?’ Bill said to the air, but also to Rhona. ‘Would it be your fault?’

  ‘There must be a time when a child becomes an adult and makes their own choices.’

  ‘That sounds like Magnus talking,’ Bill said. ‘Do we not make the child that becomes the adult?’

  ‘You and I both know that no matter how good and loving a childhood might be, psychopaths still exist.’

  ‘Was Mark Howitt a psychopathic killer or a daft boy who found himself caught up in something terrible?’ Bill said.

  ‘That’s what we have to find out.’

  Forensics were a way of mapping out what happened in intricate detail. There was no emotion involved, only science. The science of who, where and when.

  There was a cleanness in that. A certainty. Yet nothing was certain. In the past, the present or the future. It was how you viewed it that mattered.

  Imagine a fence post above a ravine where a body lies. Whose DNA was on it? Those who had placed their hand there as they climbed over the fence to take a closer look at what lay below? The man who had cut the post? The man who had hammered it into the ground? All had imprinted their person on it. Only one DNA sample belonged to the person who’d held on to that post as he’d tossed his victim into the ravine.

  DNA wasn’t enough, but in Mark’s case, it might be sufficient to make the authorities believe the man who made the confession was in fact guilty of all three murders.

  On the other hand, DNA could also be purposefully placed at a crime scene to implicate the innocent. In Rhona’s opinion, Mark Howitt’s confession hadn’t cleared up the mystery, but only added to it.

  Rhona told Bill what she thought.

  ‘I’ll request Magnus watch McNab’s interview with Mark,’ Bill said, ‘and also examine his written confession. Maybe he can give us some insight into the thought processes that led to his suicide.’

  As she made to leave, Bill added, ‘You and McNab sort out your differences over the Stonewarrior case?’

  The sudden question had caught her unawares, but Rhona answered as honestly as she could. ‘McNab and I will always have differences of opinion. But we’re okay, I think.’

  ‘Good.’

  The text came in as she pulled up in her parking space at the lab. Seeing it was from Danny, she said a silent thank you to Sean. The answer to her message about meeting with Ollie was short and sweet.

  I’ll be there.

  The second task McNab had allotted her, of helping identify a list of police officers currently on the DNA database, would take a lot longer. In that, she had DI Wilson’s help. Bill had surprised her by bringing up the subject himself just prior to her departure from his office. His message had been suitably oblique, but she knew Bill well enough to believe that he too was on the case.

  52

  Freya had chosen to sleep within the magick circle. After receiving McNab’s text, she’d resigned herself to the fact that he wasn’t coming, tonight at least. She’d fetched a pillow and duvet and, wrapping herself in it, had lain down before the altar. The smell of incense and flickering candles comforted her and had eventually lulled her to sleep. That and the sense that both Leila and Shannon were there with her.

  The box room had no window and therefore no daylight penetrated the space. Eventually the distant sound of cars outside roused her and she’d woken to the lingering fragrant smell, but a thick darkness, as the candles had all burned themselves out.

  She rose, groaning a little at the stiffness of limbs that had spent the night on a hard floor. Every morning since Leila’s death, she’d woken with a tight knot of fear in her stomach. This morning it had lessened, although hadn’t disappeared altogether.

  She showered and put on the coffee machine.

  Checking her mobile, Freya listened again to McNab’s voicemail just to hear his warm tone of concern for her, but wishing too that there was a further message from him.

  He’s a police officer, she told herself. That’s his life. If I want to be with him, I’ll have to get used to it.

  She left the flat just after nine and began her walk to the university library, determined to make proper use of her day. The deadline she’d set herself on her thesis wouldn’t be met if she didn’t start applying herself again. Grant had been kind to her over the whole business, checking up on how the thesis was going, encouraging her to talk to him about the investigation and her place in it. He’d even allowed her to skip a few of her shifts in Archives to allow her more time with her research.

  She’d discovered in their talks just how well informed Grant was on the Ferguson collection and on the occult in particular. It was easier to ask him a question sometimes than to go searching the catalogue for the answer. He could often point her to the exact pamphlet or volume to refer to. Considering there were 670 books in the collection on the history of Witchcraft, Grant’s recall was considerable.

  Freya knew Grant was aware of her Wiccan beliefs and respected them. She found their talks on the subject reassuring and often enlightening. He’d apparently had similar discussions with Leila and Shannon.

  Dr Peter Charles had been equally interested in her work. They’d spent an hour in the old library together. He’d revealed he’d been a chemistry student at the university and since the Ferguson collection had originally been under the auspices of the chemistry department, he’d seen the old library in its original form. He’d voiced his disappointment that the precious collection was now housed ‘in that soulless glass tower block’.

  ‘But it’s safer there,’ Freya had remonstrated.

  His smile at that point had been thoughtful and not a little sad. Afterwards, they’d walked together through the cloisters, but rather than head for the exit he’d urged her to accompany him to what she’d always considered the front of the building, the Gothic face that overlooked Kelvingrove Park and the art gallery below.

  He’d walked her round, describing the meaning and purpose of the elaborate carvings and statues.

  When they’d eventually reached the gates again, he’d held her hand in his and thanked her kindly for taking the time to talk to an old man much obsessed with ‘what we don’t yet understand’.

  Her reply – ‘Is that not what a place of learning should be obsessing about?’ – had brought a grateful smile.

  When he’d departed down University Avenue, Freya had crossed to the Wellington Church, whose doors stood open. It wasn’t a place for her religion, yet from the moment she’d come here to Glasgow and the university precinct, she’d admired its splendour. With its neoclassical portico, complete with a full colonnade of Corinthian columns, it stood in direct contrast to the Gothic splendour of the university across the way.

  Standing there in the entrance had reminded Freya that Wiccans needed no stone palace in which to worship, but only the magick that came from acknowledging their place in the eternal cycle of being. Freya had had the feeling that Dr Peter Charles would agree.

  This morning as she approached the library entrance, she spotted a figure she knew was waiting for her. Had the auburn-haired man been Michael, she would have run towards him and thrown herself into his arms. When she realized it was Danny, Freya stopped, her desire to turn away and hope he hadn’t seen her uppermost in her mind.

  But he had seen her and there was to be no escape. From Danny or from the stomach-churning fear his reappearance had brought her.

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  Freya registered the sunken eyes and ashen skin.

  ‘You look terrible,’ she said.

  Danny brushed her concerns away and indicated the rucksack
he had over his shoulder. ‘There wasn’t a list in the Goddess statue, but I have Leila’s Book of Shadows.’ Before Freya could respond, he rushed on. ‘Leila recorded all the spells she cast with the Nine. I think we can work out who they are.’

  ‘Then you have to give the book to the police,’ Freya said.

  He read her determined expression. ‘I will, after we figure it out.’

  Freya wasn’t convinced.

  ‘If I hand it over now, what will they do? These people don’t understand what’s in there. And they don’t believe in magick. Leila did, Shannon did and you do.’ Danny looked imploringly at her. When she didn’t respond, he added, ‘Chances are they’ll come to you anyway.’

  In that he might be right.

  ‘Okay,’ Freya said. ‘I’ll take a look, but that’s all.’

  Relief flooded Danny’s face. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Let’s go inside. I can find a quiet corner for us in Archives. Then if Leila made reference to anything in the collection, we can check it out.’

  Freya knew she should ask permission from Grant to bring Danny into the library, but was pretty sure he wouldn’t object, not if he thought it might help. She signed Danny in as a visitor and led him to the lift. Minutes later they were ensconced in her usual corner at the desk near the window.

  ‘We’re not allowed coffee in here,’ she apologized, ‘although you look as though you could do with one.’

  ‘I’m okay,’ Danny said. He pulled up a chair and sat down, shielding the contents of the desk from anyone who might suddenly appear from beyond the shelves that enclosed them. Once he seemed certain there was no one in the vicinity, he withdrew the Book of Shadows from his rucksack and placed it on the table.

  It is quite beautiful, Freya thought, like Leila.

  Fashioned from green leather, the surface etched with a pentagram held in the hands of the Goddess, it was fastened by two beautifully fashioned brass clasps.

  Traditionally, a personal Book of Shadows should be destroyed on the owner’s death. Seeing it here before her made Freya feel that Leila was still alive.

  Danny unclipped it and, as he began carefully turning the pages, Freya glimpsed elegant and intricate writing and drawings, all in Leila’s hand.

  ‘What’s in here will mean more to you than it does to me,’ Danny said, ‘although I can sense my sister when I touch it.’

  He leafed through, eventually finding the section he was looking for, entitled ‘The Nine’. ‘There’s a page for each of them,’ he said, his voice bristling with anger.

  Freya ran her eyes over the first entry, which consisted of a full-body sketch of a man and a date, which looked like a date of birth. Alongside this was what she guessed was a reduced version of the date of birth resulting in a single digit – the owner’s birth number.

  Below were two paragraphs of dense script written in what looked like the Seax-Wica runic alphabet, the first of which was in couplets.

  ‘What does it say?’ Danny said eagerly.

  ‘I think the first part may be the spell, but it’ll take time to decipher both sections,’ Freya explained.

  ‘How much time?’

  ‘I’ll have to get a copy of the runic alphabet and see what I can match up.’

  Danny looked exasperated.

  ‘I thought you would know.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I will try, but I’ll need to concentrate.’

  Danny seemed to accept that. He glanced at his watch. ‘I have to be somewhere. Can I call you later? See how you got on?’

  Freya was relieved at the suggestion. She certainly couldn’t focus with an impatient Danny there beside her. As he rose to leave, a figure popped his head round the shelves.

  ‘Freya?’ Grant said in surprise. ‘I didn’t know you were in.’

  Freya, flustered, stood up. ‘I’m sorry. I was planning on coming to talk to you but got a little waylaid.’

  Grant’s glance had fallen on the book, despite Danny’s attempt to shield it.

  ‘What have you got there?’

  Freya didn’t see any reason to lie, but still she hesitated to tell the entire truth.

  ‘It’s a Book of Shadows, my friend found. He thought I might be interested in taking a look at it.’

  Grant was scrutinizing Danny, and Freya realized with a jolt that of course anyone who’d known Leila would recognize the likeness between them.

  Danny took the initiative and held out his hand. ‘I’m Danny, Leila’s brother.’

  Sympathy flooded Grant’s face as he took Danny’s hand.

  ‘I’m so sorry about your sister. She was such a lovely young woman.’

  Danny nodded his appreciation.

  ‘Is that Leila’s Book of Shadows?’ Grant said.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘I understood that it was normal practice for a Witch’s book to be burned on her passing?’

  ‘There’s nothing normal in the way my sister died.’

  Grant looked aghast at having upset Danny. ‘I apologize. That was an inappropriate thing to say.’ He turned to Freya. ‘If you need any help deciphering the contents – I assume that’s what you’re doing – then I put myself at your disposal.’

  ‘Grant knows a lot about the various Wiccan alphabets,’ Freya said.

  ‘I’d rather it was kept between Freya and me,’ Danny said. ‘It’s all I have left of my sister.’

  Grant nodded. ‘Of course. I understand. I’ll leave you to it.’

  When Grant disappeared, Danny looked at Freya.

  ‘Can he be trusted?’

  ‘Leila trusted him. Shannon too. He knew they were Witches. He knows I’m one.’

  ‘I don’t want him looking at the book.’

  ‘Okay,’ Freya said. ‘If you like I’ll take it home to study.’

  Danny looked relieved when she didn’t argue. ‘I’d rather you did.’

  ‘I’ll need to check out a couple of reference books to help.’

  Danny nodded. ‘I’ll call you later.’ He turned back as he remembered something else. ‘I’ve spoken to the forensic woman. I think she’s on our side.’

  His words were unexpected, but nevertheless made Freya’s heart lift.

  ‘I hope so.’

  53

  Danny’s decision to come to Ollie’s flat had forced McNab to change plans, so he never made the library and still hadn’t met up with Freya.

  Instead he was now seated beside the man who, after Mark Howitt, he’d sought the most. Danny Hardy looked even more like his sister than McNab had previously registered, but then he’d never seen Leila alive, only some photographs. He had no wish to recall the terrible image of her corpse hanging in that room.

  McNab was glad Danny had never witnessed that, although seeing his sister laid out in the mortuary was bad enough.

  Danny Hardy was clearly a man in mourning, who also had revenge on his mind. McNab could empathize with that. He’d made his own vow to expose the Nine. Mark Howitt’s death had only strengthened his resolve on that front. So he and Danny shared a common goal. McNab just had to make sure they played their cards as close to the law as was necessary, to avoid any of them paying a heavy price for actions such as the one they were involved in now.

  ‘Okay.’ Ollie peered at them through his trademark specs. ‘I’ve uploaded the three video clips and enhanced the quality. I can do more work on them, frame by frame, but that will take time.’

  ‘Who took these?’ McNab asked Danny.

  ‘I set it up beforehand and Leila agreed to start the recording, secretly of course.’

  ‘Which goes some way to explain the quality, and why the camera isn’t always focused on the right spot,’ Ollie said as he set the film running.

  Initially there was more sound than image, but eventually two figures appeared in the camera’s line of sight. McNab felt the tension in Danny’s body as the lens found Leila’s naked back. In this instance, Leila’s body shielded the man’s face, but they did have a partial view of
the left hand.

  ‘Stop,’ McNab ordered. ‘Can you zoom in there?’

  Ollie selected the area and did as asked.

  ‘That’s a pinkie ring. Is there a crest of some sort on it?’

  Ollie eased in further. ‘A horse or maybe a unicorn?’ he suggested.

  ‘Any views of his face?’

  The male had his back against the raised end of the sofa, Leila astride him, continuing to block their view.

  ‘Did she do that on purpose?’ McNab said, exasperated.

  ‘I had a hard time persuading her to let me film it at all. From Leila’s point of view I was messing with the spell,’ Danny explained.

  It was clear when they reached the end of the clip that their only means of identifying the first male was by the ring.

  The man in the next video was just as hidden, although there was a good shot of his right ear.

  ‘Ears are pretty unique and identifiable, provided we come up with a suspect,’ Ollie assured them.

  Number three was the best of the bunch. This man was tall and broad, so that even though Leila was astride him, she wasn’t totally blocking his face. Ollie paused the video at the appropriate moment and zoomed in.

  The hairline was grey, the dark eyebrows distinctive, as were the brown eyes.

  ‘That’s better.’ Ollie voiced what McNab had been thinking. ‘Particularly having access to the eyes.’

  Danny regarded McNab. ‘What happens now?’

  McNab didn’t want to promise something he couldn’t deliver.

  ‘It’s a start, but it’s not enough. Not until we have suspects to compare them with.’

  ‘What if one of the men in the video clips is a police officer?’

  ‘Did Leila say he was?’

  ‘She hinted it,’ Danny said.

  ‘If that’s true, that would help.’ McNab explained why the DNA of serving officers was stored during a live investigation.

  ‘So you have access to details on this group, even images of them we could compare to?’ Danny said excitedly.

  ‘In theory, yes, although they’ll probably be in the hundreds and they’ll cover all of Scotland.’

  ‘If I run their photos through the comparison software . . .’ Ollie began. ‘We might get lucky.’