by Lin Anderson
Writing reports eased the mind. Rhona always made them as detailed and explicit as possible. That often meant she wasn’t required to appear in court to support them. Science was clean, but couldn’t stand aside from the inevitable.
Why did people do what they did?
She realized she longed to talk to Freya about what had happened that fatal night in the tower room. She wanted to examine the residue and establish what had caused the fire. But most of all, she needed to know what had happened to the Book of Shadows. Without realizing it, the book had become uppermost in her mind.
It wasn’t scientific. It had, for Rhona, no basis in reality, yet it held, she suspected, a window on the truth.
And all forensic scientists wanted to look through that window.
She was surprised by McNab’s arrival in the lab, but not exactly put out by it. She was in truth glad to see him out of hospital, despite the bandaged arm and shoulder.
‘Coffee?’ she offered, to break the tension between them.
He nodded enthusiastically and she set about filling the machine, usually Chrissy’s job, and spooning in the coffee.
‘Make it strong,’ he urged.
As she did so he told her about a letter to Bill from a deceased Mark Howitt Senior, explaining how he had become involved with Leila Hardy. Rhona dropped the scoop and the final spoonful of coffee sprayed along the surface.
‘He chose to die with his wife,’ McNab went on. ‘He left the sealed letter for the boss at the scene.’
‘So Mark’s father was the owner of the denied DNA?’ Rhona said.
‘Yes, although not one of the Nine.’
‘And the theory that Mark died to protect him . . .’
‘Probably true,’ McNab said.
Rhona set the coffee machine on. Listening to it humming seemed the only normal thing about this moment. They remained silent until she handed the coffee to McNab.
‘We’re not going to find them, are we?’ she said.
‘The boss won’t give up, and neither, I suspect, will we.’
69
There are three ways to traditionally kill a Witch. Hang her, drown her or burn her.
The fire in the tower had raged all night. He recalled another fire that had happened before he’d come here, in the 100-year-old Bower Building just off University Avenue. The building had been completely destroyed, including a great deal of research material.
Maybe that had been his inspiration?
But like then, as apparently now, there had been no fatalities reported, so the chances were the Witch hadn’t died.
His anger rose to burn in his throat.
He was in the section on the occult and had asked not to be disturbed. In truth, he was amending the catalogue to take account of the missing items, including the book on runic alphabets he’d taken to the old library on Saturday evening.
He couldn’t imagine it had survived.
He had his story straight for whoever came to speak to him. And someone would come. He had nothing to hide. He had helped a colleague out by supplying a book she required. A little against the rules as the book in question should never have left this building, but then the main building was still on campus as he’d said jokingly in his conversation with Freya.
There was the small concern regarding the signet ring and the likelihood that he would be questioned about Dr Charles. He could only answer in good faith. The man had presented himself as a benefactor of the Special Collection and asked to speak to their current PhD student whose thesis was on Witchcraft, a strong interest of his.
That much was true. The fact that he and Dr Charles also shared a worldwide interest in the trade in ancient tomes and pamphlets on the occult need not be revealed.
At this point in the thought process, a small niggling doubt arose. Should he land in trouble over this, he doubted whether he would have the back-up of Dr Charles or anyone else in the group. As such, he had material hidden away that he knew they would be interested in, to trade with. It was all a matter of planning and organization.
He withdrew a book to gaze again on the illustrations which featured the many and varied methods used to torture and dispose of Witches. The colours were still as bright as when they’d been painted. The terror and cruelty as vivid on the page as in the minds of those who had devised them.
People imagined that Witchcraft was no more and that the enlightened mind had taken its place. He knew differently. Witchcraft was as powerful and established as it had always been. Its ancient artefacts and writings were eagerly sought by those in power, throughout the world. Like fine wine, it only rose in value.
He would have preferred to have retained Leila’s Book of Shadows as a reminder of all that had happened, but because of what it was suspected to contain, it had needed to be destroyed.
He was a little sorry about that.
Hearing the sound of the door opening, he returned the book to its allotted place and went to see who had disturbed him.
As he passed the main gates, McNab registered that the smoke and the acrid smell of the fire had gone, yet he could still taste it on his lips and feel its effect in his lungs. He stopped before attempting the hill to the main library and tried to take a deep breath, which only resulted in a fit of coughing. He checked his mobile for any message from Danny. When there wasn’t one, he decided to assume all was well with him and Freya.
There were questions he required answering and Grant Buchanan, he believed, was the only man who could do so.
When he asked for Mr Buchanan at the front desk, he was informed that he was working and had asked not to be disturbed. McNab showed them his badge and insisted.
The man behind the desk made a call which wasn’t answered.
‘I’m sorry, he’s not picking up.’
‘Then someone can deliver me to him.’
‘We’re a bit short-staffed at the moment.’
‘Tell me where to go and I’ll find him myself.’
Grant waited for his visitor to appear, ready with an admonishment for disturbing him after strict instructions not to.
At that moment something strange happened. He thought he saw Leila’s auburn head pass by on the other side of the bookshelves. It was both familiar, yet disquieting. Then the face appeared, her face and yet not her face. He stared, slightly unnerved, as his brain finally reminded him that this was Leila’s younger brother who stood looking at him.
His first instinct was to be angry, both for having been frightened by the similarity and by his sudden appearance, but instinct warned him that this was not the reaction required. He must remain solicitous, just as he had been before when he’d found Danny and Freya here with the Book of Shadows.
‘Danny. I’m so pleased you’re here. I’ve been calling the hospital and the police trying to find out if Freya was still in the building when the fire—’
‘Freya’s in hospital. She’s fine. The Book of Shadows was destroyed in the fire.’
Grant adopted a suitably sad expression. ‘That’s unfortunate.’
‘But then, as you reminded me, a Witch’s Book of Shadows should be burned on their passing.’
‘That was a throwaway remark. I apologize for it. As long as Freya’s all right.’
How like his sister, he looks, Grant thought. Those green eyes, the hair, even the shape of the face and the flashing anger when challenged.
‘How did you know the suspect had confessed to my sister’s murder?’
A cloud appeared on his horizon, a dark cloud that suggested a storm was brewing.
‘I didn’t,’ was all he could muster.
‘Are you calling Freya a liar?’
Leila’s male equivalent had moved towards him with, he thought, the stealth and quietness of a cat about to spring.
He took a step backwards and met the desk where he’d been viewing the images of tortured Witches.
‘Do you know what Leila’s instructions were about her book?’ Danny spat at him.
&
nbsp; He shook his head, no longer trusting his voice.
‘That by burning it, her death would be avenged.’
He composed himself. Things were not as acute as they had at first seemed. The brother knew nothing. He was merely angry and upset. Before he could find a suitable retort however . . .
‘I don’t believe that Wiccan stuff. I prefer my own version of revenge.’
The yag-dirk now in Danny’s hand was undoubtedly Leila’s, taken like the Book of Shadows from her altar. He accepted in the seconds that followed that he should have cleared her temple when he’d had the chance. The night he’d met with the suspect in that building, he had chosen not to, because it would have aroused suspicion.
He was paying the price now for that error of judgement.
He contemplated shouting, but the basement was soundproof, as was most of the library, the idea being that you shouldn’t be disturbed. He might wrestle with the young man but he would surely lose. Then again, if the young man harmed him, he became the criminal.
He therefore chose to say what he really thought about Leila Hardy. ‘Your sister overstepped the mark. She thought herself more important than she was. She actually believed the stuff she peddled, but she wasn’t selling magick, she was selling sex.’
The remark hit home as he knew it would. Danny made a lunge at him, which he’d prepared himself for. What he hadn’t anticipated was an addition to the fray. The policeman appeared from nowhere, like an avenging angel, grabbing the blade in his bandaged hand.
There was a brief struggle as the two men fought for supremacy, but there was no doubt in his mind who would win. Eventually order was restored.
‘As you saw, this mad man attacked me—’ he began. The look the detective threw him stopped him midsentence.
‘I’d like you to come with me to the station, Mr Buchanan. We have some questions to put to you regarding the deaths of Leila Hardy, Shannon Jones and Barry Fraser.’
70
It was a strange group that gathered one week after the fire, in so much as two of those present weren’t police officers or forensics or those normally associated with the investigation of a crime or crimes.
Danny and Freya looked out of place, and definitely not of this world, Rhona thought.
Danny was clean shaven, his hair now cut as short as his sister’s. Freya, tall and striking in a quieter way, looked both resolute and a little apprehensive.
And who could blame her?
Addressing a room full of detectives was a daunting prospect.
Magnus too was there, standing at the back, his part in the investigation acknowledged.
Bill asked Freya to begin by telling her story as she recalled it. All of it from the beginning. Rhona felt McNab’s tension, and his affection, as Freya mustered herself to speak to the assembled officers.
Once begun, she spoke well and with authority. It was obvious that she’d chosen to ignore any preconceived ideas the company might have against Wicca and Witches in general. In a short space of time her honesty and forthrightness had won most of them over, not as believers, but at least as willing to try and understand.
She spoke of the importance of the Ferguson collection, and its value worldwide.
‘Think of the tablets from Mount Sinai,’ she explained, ‘or the original writings of Jesus or Mohammed. Witchcraft is practised everywhere in the world in many various forms, like Christianity or Islam. Whatever has been written about it is precious and very valuable to both believers and unbelievers.’
She spoke of Leila and Shannon and what she’d discovered in the Book of Shadows. Her recall was explicit, not of all the details of the Nine entries, but of Leila’s translated wish that the book should be burned, because by doing that, her death would be avenged.
Finishing on that particular statement, Freya took her seat.
Rhona took to the floor immediately afterwards, silencing the ripple of discussion that had followed Freya’s pronouncement. Scientific findings rather than Wiccan predictions proved a more comfortable place for the team.
Leaving aside how the fire had been started, Rhona concentrated on the debris they’d sifted from the back room.
‘There was no key anywhere in the inner room. The only way the door could have been locked was from the main room, and that’s where we found the key. Which means that Freya had been locked in and, according to the fire department, the fire started deliberately.’
Even if they couldn’t get Grant Buchanan on the other killings, they could certainly charge him with the attempted murder of Freya Devine.
In the excited babble that followed, McNab took centre stage and introduced Danny, who then spoke about his concern for his sister and the video clips he’d taken. The clips were shown and the link between Freya’s story of the signet ring highlighted. The mock-up of the man who’d called himself Dr Peter Charles now appeared on the screen.
‘We believe this man may already have left the country. Freya recalled some data she translated on him including, importantly, his date of birth. The name Peter, which was recorded in the Book of Shadows, she believes was his chosen magick name. His real first name she suggests will have the same name number. The letters will add up and subsequently reduce to 1, as does his date of birth.’
Bill indicated the image now on the screen:
P+E+T+E+R = 7+5+2+5+9= 28=10=1
‘We’ll maybe get the Tech team to deal with all the possibilities conjured up by that,’ Bill said as a ripple of amused consternation went through the group.
The atmosphere in the room is upbeat, Rhona thought. We have Buchanan and we have the possibility of his accomplice. It wasn’t everything, but it might prove enough.
Freya asked to speak to Rhona when the meeting was over and Bill offered them his office. McNab didn’t accompany them, although Rhona could tell by his body language that he really wanted to.
Rhona was aware he was still concerned about Freya, but he hadn’t revealed why, even though she and McNab were on better terms now, the Stonewarrior secret they shared diminished by more recent events.
Once they were alone, Freya said, ‘I wanted to thank you for your help. You were right to let me visit Leila’s flat. I shouldn’t have left there without speaking to you first. If I had, things may have turned out differently.’ She paused. ‘But what I really wanted to ask was this: Do you have the forensic evidence to prove Grant killed Leila and Shannon?’
Her full report was taking form, but despite the extent and depth of the forensic analysis, Rhona doubted whether it would be enough to guarantee a conviction. In particular, the hand on the video had not been a match for Grant Buchanan and his DNA had not been included in the dolls. She saw little point in raising Freya’s hopes.
‘We have evidence, but it isn’t conclusive. What I can say with conviction is that Mark Howitt wasn’t responsible for their deaths, or the death of Barry Fraser. We are clear that Grant Buchanan attempted to murder you.’
Freya nodded. ‘Then their deaths may go unavenged?’
‘The law isn’t about revenge, Freya,’ Rhona said.
Freya gave her a small smile. ‘No, you’re right. It isn’t.’
Rhona thought back to Freya’s words later as she stood at the kitchen window, watching the sun set over the convent garden.
She’d wanted to add that the law was about seeking justice for the victims of crime, but had stumbled at that point for two reasons. One was the look on Freya’s face, the other, Rhona’s own sense that she had somehow failed the victims.
A pair of arms surrounded her.
‘What are you thinking about?’
‘A cat,’ Rhona said.
‘Tom? He’s in the sitting room on the sofa.’
‘No, Leila’s cat. I called the SSPCA. Apparently they re-homed it, but it didn’t stay at the new owner’s for very long. I think it may be hanging around Leila’s, hoping she’ll come back.’
‘Are you planning to rescue it?’ Sean said.
&
nbsp; In truth, Rhona hadn’t considered it, but now that Sean had mentioned it, maybe she should?
‘A Witch’s cat should really live with a Witch,’ Sean said. ‘What about Freya?’
Rhona smiled, imagining McNab’s reaction to the big black cat making Freya’s flat its home.
‘I’m not sure the cat would stay, even if Freya agreed to take it.’
‘Some cats are better left alone,’ Sean stated.
He turned her round and kissed her.
‘You ready to eat now?’
‘Yes,’ Rhona said, ‘I am.’
71
When McNab woke in the early hours of the morning Freya was no longer beside him, the place she’d lain cold to the touch. He rose and went looking for her, knowing where she would be.
The door to her temple was closed, but he detected the scent of incense and saw the flickering candlelight below the door.
McNab knew he couldn’t disturb whatever ritual was being played out beyond that door. Her trust in Wicca was important to Freya. She’d told him she’d looked on death that night in the old library, and hadn’t been afraid, because of her beliefs.
But the time Freya spent in there seemed to be getting longer.
When he’d questioned her about it, she’d mentioned something about scrying, which apparently enabled a Witch to see into the past or the future. She’d shown him a mirror, one whose face had been painted with black enamel, its gilt frame painted with symbols.
‘Wiccans believe if we focus our thoughts on the black mirror, we can look into the past and sometimes the future.’
McNab could tell by her expression that Freya was trying to be honest with him, and reminded himself that his mother had been a firm believer that Jesus had died on the cross for his sins, of which there were many. He’d loved his mother, but hadn’t believed a word of it. The same went for Freya.
‘Okay,’ he’d said. ‘What does the black mirror tell you?’
‘What happened the night Leila died.’
What had surprised McNab most was that Freya’s interpretation of events matched his own so closely, to the extent that the team were already working that line of enquiry.
