The Night Hunter: An Anderson & Costello police procedural set in Scotland (An Anderson & Costello Mystery)

by Caro Ramsay

  ‘She is missing,’ I say. ‘Rod got the Facebook campaign going. Avril said that was the best thing to do. A whole load of people have responded – school pals, uni pals, running pals, the gym, men she liked, men she’d never even looked at, her teachers, clients, and staff from Boadicea. I think Rod has been everywhere and spoken to everybody.’

  ‘Boadicea? The refuge for battered woman?’

  ‘For victims of domestic violence,’ I correct him.

  ‘Why were you not doing that stuff?’

  ‘I’m not good at it.’ I deflect that question. ‘But nobody has heard from her. That means that something’s happened to Sophie.’

  ‘But Rod had all those conversations one to one.’ Billy seems to mull this point over. ‘And what happened last night?’

  ‘You’re the one with friends in low places; you must have friends in the force that can tell you that.’

  ‘I use my natural charm.’ He wiped some snot from his nose on the back of his sleeve. ‘It’s been confirmed it was Lorna Lennox.’ He does the trick with the sideways chip again, and globules of fat gather at the side of his slavering mouth.

  ‘I knew it was her,’ I repeat. ‘I don’t get things like that wrong.’

  He looks over my shoulder and sighs. ‘So Sophie left about dusk, she had been waiting for the rain to go off. There was a vehicle track close to the path where she ran through the trees. The track itself is isolated. And she was young, slim, smallish. Clever. Of a type. As was Lorna. And Gillian.’

  ‘All that is true.’ All that is perfectly true, and I’m chilled by the way he has connected these words, these cases. ‘You think that Gillian is still alive?’

  ‘Lorna has been missing for six months and she was alive until last night. No reason to think that Gillian is dead.’

  ‘She’s been missing two years.’

  ‘Two years and three months, to be exact. But Lorna was held somewhere, held prisoner.’

  Suddenly I am short of breath.

  He nods, acknowledging that he has struck a chord. ‘But they were all taken from different locations within a ten-mile radius by someone with the means to hide them. It’s not easy to hide a human being. You need property, isolation.’

  ‘There are loads of places like that up here.’ I am thinking of every house that I go past as I drive up here, every remote light on a hillside.

  ‘But now we know where one of them ended up. My ex-colleagues with Strathclyde’s finest are spending most of the day today going through all those wee crofts dotted around the Rest, every garage, every outhouse. Including your pal Eric’s.’ He smiles at me. ‘They’re trying to puzzle out where Lorna came from, if she really did come over the top of the rock face.

  ‘Eric thinks she was dumped from a car.’

  He nods at me thoughtfully, as if agreeing with Eric’s thought process. ‘What was your opinion of Lorna, when you saw her? Physically? Medically? What do you think had happened to her?’ He gives me that encouraging nod again. I can see that he would have been a good interviewer.

  ‘Well, she was thin, her skin was poor, she had an injury to her left calf.’

  ‘Left calf?’ he repeats.

  ‘Yes. She was covered in scratches and scars – they were recent – but the injury to the leg was much older. She was pitiful. When I see her in my mind’s eye I think of those scenes from Belsen. Those long limbs, skeletally thin.’

  ‘And?’ he prompts.

  I think, picturing her in my mind. The Henry The Eighth Tearoom recedes, and I am out there on the road again. I can feel the tarmac through my trousers, hear the sounds of the animals down near the water, feel the chill in the air. The weight of her head is on my knees, and there is a peculiar noise rattling from her. I take my jumper off, I roll it up, I look down the length of her … ‘Ankles,’ I say.

  ‘Ankles?’

  ‘They were discoloured.’ I try hard to think. ‘At first I thought they were marks from socks being tight but there were changes to the skin, as if she had been chained or shackled.’

  ‘OK …’

  I find the thought shocking. Billy is made of harder stuff and crams another chip into his face and nods as though he finds this noteworthy.

  ‘Anything else that you’ve forgotten to tell the police about Sophie? And don’t lie to me, you’re rubbish at it.’

  ‘They know her gym bag was missing too. She always kept some stuff in it.’

  ‘Stuff for going to the gym or for going away for the weekend?’ He has spotted my omission. ‘With someone like Mark Laidlaw. They met through the refuge.’ He is thinking deeply now, staring into the middle distance. ‘She ever mention him to you? He is a person of interest, as they say.’

  That is a black and white question – did she ever mention him to me? ‘No.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No.’

  He gives me a long, hard look but I do not waver. He continues, ‘I’ve had a chat with the cop in charge of Gillian’s case although it’s barely active; the finding of Lorna might get it fired up again. I want to know the results of the PM and I do have my friends in low places. You need to talk to the new SIO.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he talk to Rod? He’s the one who knows all this, he’s in the middle of it all. I’ve lived up here since May.’

  Billy sniffles slightly. ‘Look, Elvie, I need to clarify if Sophie is part of my case or not. Maybe she left of her own accord, maybe she has reasons for not getting in touch with her family. Maybe she was running from one of you. Sophie is a very attractive young lady, and Rod is your mum’s boyfriend. Maybe you should ask what was in that house that she wanted to get away from.’ He drains his coffee cup, puts a twenty on the table to cover the bill and leaves. I stare at the cold, glutinous chips sitting on his plate.

  Billy knows as much about Sophie – my smiley and lovable big sister, cute as a box of pink peppermints, as adorable as a bunny – as there is to know. He is wily like a fox. I like the idea of sending the fox after the rabbit.

  I am still mulling the conversation over in my mind as I take the Loch Eck road back to the house. Something runs in front of the car and I slam my foot on the brake to avoid a flash of red fur and fluffy tail. A red squirrel stops in the middle of the road, perches up on his hind legs with his front paws raised as if he’s about to go three rounds with the bumper of the Merc. After a little whisker twitching, he bounces on his way to the undergrowth at the side of the road where I follow the ripple trace in the foliage until he reappears, bolting up a tree. He sits on a branch, hands on hips, looking at me. The message is clear – what do you think of that then?

  I am still smiling as I pull into the driveway at Ardno. The timer on the gates says four thirty-five and as they swing open I can see the Shogun abandoned in front of the house. I park the Merc beside it and walk round the back where the patio door is open a little. Something is not right. The door is ajar but Charlie is sitting on the swing at the bottom of the garden, on his own. Parnell’s big rule: Charlie is never to be left on his own. He is the only son of a millionaire and all that, but here the wee guy is, sitting, not swinging. He does that when he’s feeling out of sorts. I can tell that he has been crying by the way he turns his head, defiantly looking away from me. I wave at him to let him know that whatever huge issue is troubling his little mind, I am OK with it. We have already agreed on many occasions that it is sometimes a bit tricky to be four, but being four is shitloads better than being three, or a grown-up, or a monkey.

  As I walk to my flat, it becomes very clear what is troubling Charlie Parnell, aged four. I hear his dad through the patio doors. They are in the kitchen, and the white voile curtains are blowing in the wind slightly, making them twirl through the gap. I hear gentle birdsong, the clunk-clunk of Charlie making circular patterns with the swing and the forceful, unpleasant voice of Alex Parnell coming from within. He is interrogating his wife, the tone hard and persistent. I can make out the question, So where were you then? Where?
/>   I can’t make out the words of Mary’s mumbled answer but there is fear in her voice. I’ve heard her sound like that before. Before the bruises appear.

  I hear her say something about Charlie as she appears as a dark shadow at the curtains, her clumsy hands pawing them to get through. She is so desperate to escape, she is halfway across the patio before she realizes I’m standing there. The expression on her face sears into my mind. The same expression was on Sophie’s face. Shame, fear, relief. Somewhere in there are the words, help me.

  ‘I’m back,’ I start, as though I have heard nothing. ‘I’ve left the Merc at the front. Do you want it in the garage or …’

  The curtain is nearly ripped from its track as Parnell pulls it to one side. ‘Don’t you …’ Then he stops when he sees me. My mind fills in the unspoken words: ‘… walk away from me … ’

  ‘Oh, Elvie, glad you’re here. Maybe you can shed some light on a matter I’m concerned about.’

  ‘If I can,’ I say cheerily. Mary wants the patio to open up and consume her.

  ‘Last Tuesday. Can you recall what Mary was doing?’

  Now I do look at her but I keep the expression on my face to one of mild amusement. ‘Tuesday? Her book group and then some yoga, I think.’ I shrug.

  ‘She didn’t go out again? In the Shogun?’

  ‘No.’

  We share a brittle silence. Charlie’s swing is quiet and motionless. Even the birds seem to have stopped singing.

  ‘There’s some mileage logged on it that we cannot account for,’ says Parnell. His tone is more than accusatory. He waits for an answer.

  Out the corner of my eye I can see Mary looking past me to Charlie. She is scared and humiliated. I keep my gaze focused on Parnell. ‘I had it.’ My voice is simple, a bit confused.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Fifty miles from here to Dunoon, does that account for it?’

  ‘Just about,’ he says, jangling his change in his pocket. Uncertain.

  ‘Sorry if I shouldn’t have, but I did shout on Mary and tell her.’

  Mary looks at me, lost.

  ‘You might not have heard, you were doing your yoga thing. I didn’t want to disturb you.’

  ‘I didn’t hear.’ Her voice is almost a whisper.

  ‘Not surprised,’ I say cheerily. Contrary to popular belief, lying can be easy when folk think you incapable of it. ‘You had your whale music on and I didn’t shout that loudly. I knew I would be back before you noticed.’ I make my voice stern and nod towards Charlie who is watching us, still sensing the tension. ‘There was an urgent need for large chocolate buttons. Ears for teddy bear cupcakes.’

  ‘There were chocolate buttons in the cupboard.’ Parnell’s stare is challenging.

  ‘And none of them were left by the time we turned the oven off.’ I force him to look away.

  Mary looks puzzled then the penny drops. ‘Oh, those cupcakes … I was wondering.’

  I move towards the door of my flat, as if I consider this conversation over. ‘Your son is a keen baker but gets a bit rattled if the ingredients aren’t exactly right. He was a wee Gordon Ramsay heading for a five-star strop.’ I smile at Parnell. ‘So I nipped out to Morrisons in Dunoon, got a few things while I was there. Was that OK?’

  ‘Why not take the Polo?’ Parnell fires the question at me.

  ‘No booster seat,’ I reply.

  Now he smiles at me, his melting smile. ‘Oh, I see, that’s fine. Just that the accountant was wanting to know about the mileage.’

  ‘Well, if it will help I’ll get a notebook. I can stick it in the glove compartment then you’ll know where I’ve been.’ I nod my head in a fair-enough kind of gesture. ‘Or I can get a booster seat for the Polo.’

  Mary swallowed. ‘The notebook might be a good idea, Alex. I couldn’t remember what I was doing, thought I was going doolally for a minute.’ She looks at me closely. ‘Elvie? How are you after last night?’

  Now Parnell joins in, hands out of pockets and outstretched towards me. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Elvie, we’d forgotten. Come in and have a coffee. You must be exhausted.’

  ‘I’m fine. I’ll go up to the flat if you don’t mind. I’ve just had a long chinwag with some cops. I’m coffeed out. I’ll be down in half an hour to let you away. You’re going out to dinner, aren’t you?’ Now I am the nanny talking to a normal married couple again.

  ‘Anytime that suits you. So, any news on last night?’ They move to stand together. He has his arm round her shoulders.

  I do my shrug thing. ‘The dead woman was Lorna Lennox right enough.’

  Mary takes two steps forward and hugs me. ‘Oh, you poor thing.’ The hug is for more than witnessing the death of a young woman. She stands back.

  ‘Well, let us know if there’s anything we can do,’ says Parnell. ‘And, oh yes, if you need time off, Mary can look after the boy.’

  ‘But you have that fundraiser in Glasgow on Monday night.’

  ‘I don’t need to go,’ mutters Mary.

  ‘Yes, you do.’ Parnell is abrupt. ‘It will be a late one and we’ll stay over.’

  I nod. ‘No problem, I can take Charlie to my flat if you want.’ I turn to Mary. ‘If you’re thinking about that navy blue dress, you know it’s still at the drycleaners.’

  Parnell smiles, now full of good humour. ‘And while you’re at it can you make sure my dinner jacket is clean as well, Elvie? It’s formal black tie. I’ll see you later.’ He goes back in through the curtains and leaves the two of us on the patio. The sun beats down on my back, the sweat makes my acne prickle.

  Charlie has clocked that Mum and Dad have stopped arguing. Mum did not get hurt. In his wee world all is well.

  ‘Shall we go and give him a push?’ I ask.

  ‘Why not?’

  We walk away from the open patio doors across the expanse of lawn. She whispers thank you out the corner of her mouth. Any more than that and Parnell might hear, any gesture and Parnell might see.

  I act as if I have not heard.

  I have no idea where she was or what she was doing, but whatever it was, it is something that she needs to do and something that Parnell cannot find out about. And if it makes her happy, that’s enough for me.

  I pluck Charlie’s baseball hat from his head and place it backwards on my own. Mary pulls him back on the swing and I stand in front to make him feel secure. He knows that I will catch him. We chat about everyday stuff. The weather. What it’s like to be an astronaut, and the big topic of the day – do you get Coco Pops in space? I let Mary deal with that one. Alex Parnell is behind that curtain watching every move we make – I ignore the temptation to turn round and wave at him.

  MONDAY, 4 JUNE

  ‘Hi, I didn’t want to bother you yesterday, you seemed busy,’ Mary says, standing on the doorstep of the flat. ‘You went for a very long run.’

  ‘I had a lot to think about. Come in.’

  She hesitates. ‘I just wanted to return this book I borrowed.’

  ‘You didn’t borrow a book.’

  Her eyes flit sideways down to the patio. The message is clear: Parnell is out and about, having a quick smoke and a coffee. I lean forward, pulling my hair from my eyes so I can see him. I wave. He waves back. He could be in Marbella sauntering around enjoying the sunshine in his shorts and T-shirt, but he’s at business. It’s half seven on a Monday morning and the mobile is already glued to his ear, a look of intense concentration fixed on his face.

  ‘Ta,’ I say, playing along, and take the book from her. Catch-22, anniversary edition. ‘Have you read it?’

  ‘Bits of it, but it’s not worth the hassle from Alex, he doesn’t like me reading. I think he’s a bit threatened by anybody with an education.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’ She mimics me slightly. ‘Oh, Elvie, you are a tonic.’

  ‘I mean, why are you giving me this?’

  She turns to look behind her, checking on Parnell, then taps the book with her forefinger. ‘
I was given it by … a friend to see if Rachel wanted to do it at book group but I think it’s a bit beyond them. Thought you might like it.’ Her eyes wander past me up the stairs. ‘Can I talk to you a minute about the arrangements for the week?’ she asks rather formally.

  ‘Come on up.’

  She gestures to Alex. I do not see his response but I presume that his watch has been flashed at her. Don’t be long. There is already heat in the air and she is wearing a new long-sleeved shirt, the shade of blue matching the bruise on her wrist.

  Once in the flat she collapses on the sofa and swings her feet up in a way she’s not allowed to in her own house. ‘Sorry you had to witness that on Saturday.’

  ‘He was giving you a hard time.’ I place the book on top of a pile on the coffee table before going into the bedroom to get my running shoes.

  ‘He has a lot on at work and he gets so stressed about it all.’ Her voice drifts through the hall to me.

  ‘Why does he take it out on you?’

  She never answers that question.

  ‘So, are you going to this thing tonight?’ I notice that she still has not told me where she really was that afternoon.

  ‘I have to.’

  ‘Well, I’ve to go to Glasgow today to sign a formal statement.’ I tap the copy of Catch-22. ‘I’ll take that and read it tonight in the flat; Charlie can watch Sponge Bob.’

  ‘That’ll work,’ she nods, then looks at me. ‘Elvie? Do they think last night had something to do with you? That poor woman?’

  ‘How can it? Nobody knew that I was going to drive past that place at that moment in time, did they?’

  She shrugs. ‘I don’t like the idea of anything happening to you.’ She rubs her arms with the palms of her hands, easing the itching of new bruising. ‘How’s your mum?’

  ‘Mum doesn’t want to talk about any of it until she does want to talk about it, then she blows her top. Or she gets drunk.’

  ‘Everyone has their way of coping, I suppose. It would be so much easier if they knew that your sister was safe. Somewhere.’ She looks out the window, echoing Eric’s thoughts. I think they have been talking about me. I wonder when she last saw her own parents. I’m pretty sure Parnell has annexed Mary from them as he has annexed her from all her friends. ‘Poor Grant, he must have been very close to Sophie for him to fall apart like that.’