by Lin Anderson
Olsen nodded. ‘He should have been here by now.’
Roy paused. ‘And Dr MacLeod?’
‘We’re out of contact at the moment, but yes. When we make the move, I want her with us.’
57
The girl was nervous, her hands trembling a little, her voice cracking as she spoke. Kyle had his hand on her back, encouraging her.
‘Can you describe this man?’ Rhona said.
‘He was tall, with blond hair, spoke good English, with little to no accent.’ She hesitated as though remembering something that frightened her. ‘I never forget a face.’ She swore in Polish and looked at Kyle. ‘That’s what I said to him. I never forget a face.’ She turned to Rhona. ‘Does that mean he’ll be looking for me too?’
Kyle urged her into a seat, realizing her legs were unlikely to hold her up any longer.
‘He’s gone,’ he said, then turning to Rhona looked for confirmation of that fact. ‘He has, hasn’t he?’
‘We believe that’s likely, yes,’ Rhona assured him.
‘I told him everything he asked.’ Annieska shook her head worriedly. ‘Even where the girl was staying. And the van.’ She looked to Kyle. ‘I told him you were looking for someone to drive it south for her.’
‘So he may have pretended to be that someone,’ Kyle said to Rhona.
Rhona couldn’t deny the likelihood of that.
It went some way to explaining the phone call to Isla’s room, then her exiting the hotel, which at least one employee had thought he’d witnessed. It would have been so easy for a man such as Annieska had described to force Isla into the van, the blood on the door frame and the sleeping bag testament to the force he’d used.
‘If she’s dead, it’s my fault,’ Annieska said, her face growing even paler.
Kyle put his arm round her shoulders. ‘No, it’s not. Who says you were the only person he was talking to about what happened? The whole village was alive with the story, either true or imagined.’
Rhona agreed with him. ‘But what you’ve told us is important. And the fact that you can recall him in detail even more so.’
Annieska looked mollified by her words, but not less frightened.
‘I need you to speak directly to Inspector Olsen,’ Rhona continued. ‘Tell him exactly what you’ve told me.’
She considered how that might be possible. Ruaridh could perhaps set something up via Aviemore police station or she could bring Olsen back this way to talk to Annieska in person.
Another possibility came to mind. One that might ease the young woman’s fear. Olsen had said he planned to meet McNab at the R2S headquarters in Aberdeen. Apparently the leader there, Roy Hunter, was an old friend of Olsen’s. Roy’s forensic team had worked with Rhona many times and their facilities were extensive.
‘Would you be able to come to Aberdeen with me? Be interviewed direct by Inspector Olsen?’
Rhona watched as the idea took root.
Annieska glanced at Kyle, who nodded his encouragement. ‘Okay,’ she said. Her decision to go on the offensive brought her to her feet.
‘Will I need an overnight bag?’
‘I could drive you both through,’ Kyle offered. ‘That way Dr MacLeod doesn’t need to come back.’
His suggestion pleased Annieska, and made the logistics easier for Rhona too. She shot him a grateful glance.
‘There was something, apart from his accent,’ Annieska said, as though just remembering. ‘His left hand. He had a tattoo on his wrist like a band. It said …’ She grabbed her notebook and, writing something down, handed it to Rhona.
‘Uten Frykt,’ Rhona repeated. ‘It’s Norwegian for “without fear”.’
Annieska’s alarmed eyes met hers.
‘That’s the man you’re looking for, isn’t it?’
The meeting with Kyle and Annieska had taken place on Rhona’s return from the deposition site. Rhona hadn’t been able to identify the three large bird carcasses she’d exposed in the shallow grave, but birds of prey they’d undoubtedly been. How they’d died wouldn’t be for her to determine, but by their burial, it did appear their deaths had been orchestrated.
Her relief at discovering that the disturbed earth had nothing to do with the missing Isla had been considerable. She’d tried to call McNab late morning from the flying club to tell him the result, but had encountered only an incoherent and obvious drunk at the other end of the phone. Her anger at this had resulted in a slammed-down receiver. A subsequent attempt to then update Olsen had proved less dramatic, but equally unsatisfactory.
On the return journey to Aviemore, Ruaridh had been apologetic for wasting her time with the burial site.
‘It had to be done,’ Rhona had told him. ‘I’m just glad it didn’t prove to be a human grave.’
‘It’ll cause a stooshie in the valley, none the less,’ he’d said, knowing he didn’t have to explain why.
On the way back to the hotel, Rhona had tried to plan her next move. She couldn’t leave until she’d heard from Olsen at least. As for McNab. He’d been drunk on the midday phone call. Her worry hadn’t been caused by his open admission that he wanted her, but by the fact that he was drinking to excess again. Something had triggered his fall off the wagon, and the longer Rhona had considered it, the more she’d thought it had to be about Mary.
McNab had been really cut up about the hit-and-run. She’d urged him to go to the hospital although he’d seemed reluctant to do so. What if he had gone there, and his meltdown had been the result?
Checking her mobile as they’d approached Aviemore, she’d watched the signal strength increase, finally reaching 4G as they encountered the roundabout outside La Taverna. Seconds later, Rhona had heard the ping as her emails were delivered to the inbox.
Glancing swiftly down the list, she’d spotted one from Olsen, but nothing from McNab. Unhappy about that, she’d made a call.
After Rhona had explained about Annieska, she’d asked Olsen about McNab.
‘He never turned up at R2S as requested,’ Olsen had said. ‘And I can’t reach him anywhere.’
‘There’s one more thing we could try.’ Olsen had waited as Rhona had explained. ‘McNab always went to Bill when things got really bad, and he’s at the same hospital as Mary.’
‘You’ll call DI Wilson?’
Rhona had said she would.
‘After which I need you and Annieska here,’ Olsen had stressed. ‘As soon as possible.’
When the mobile had rung out, Rhona had pictured its insistent tone cutting through the silence of that hospital room. Eventually, she’d killed the unanswered call. The reason Bill hadn’t chosen to respond, Rhona had hardly dared imagine.
Knowing the hospital was unlikely to give an update on either Mary or Margaret’s condition over the phone, Rhona had considered another possibility, which she hadn’t mentioned to Olsen.
Not being in Glasgow, she couldn’t turn up in person, but Chrissy could.
God bless Chrissy, Rhona had muttered as her forensic assistant had answered immediately. Allaying Chrissy’s fears with a brief résumé of the morning’s excavation, she’d then switched to the real reason she’d called.
‘McNab’s on a bender?’ Chrissy’s voice had been tinged with concern. ‘Shit. He was in a good place, what with the new girlfriend and all. I’ll find out what’s going on, don’t worry.’ There’d been a moment’s silence. ‘Want to tell me why you’re headed for Aberdeen?’
‘Olsen asked for me.’
‘To do what?’
‘I don’t know as yet,’ Rhona had told her honestly.
58
It was a replay of the pizza scene. Him dripping wet with the towel round his waist. The female with the wide-eyed look in the doorway. Only this time it wasn’t the new delivery girl, Sandi, but a pissed-off-looking Ellie standing before him.
‘I’ve been pressing your buzzer for five minutes.’
And don’t I fucking know it.
McNab fought to control his inn
er thoughts and the tone of his reply. ‘I’m sorry. I was in the shower.’ He stood aside to let her enter.
‘You didn’t answer your mobile.’ Ellie glanced around the room, her gaze coming to a halt on the empty whisky bottle and glass on the table. ‘Been having a party?’
‘A one-man occasion,’ McNab said. Keen to be free of her penetrating look, he indicated he was going to get dressed.
Once behind the door, he told himself to get a grip. Ellie wasn’t the one at fault here. Dressing swiftly, he exited to face the music.
This time he went to her and kissed her lightly on the lips, hoping his breath didn’t smell or taste of alcohol. ‘You okay?’ he asked, now noting her look of distress.
‘When I couldn’t get hold of you, I went to the hospital.’ Seeing his expression, she quickly added, ‘I thought you’d be there.’
‘I was for a while,’ he admitted.
‘I said I was her sister … and they told me Mary was in a critical condition. A subdural haematoma. They may have to operate to relieve the pressure on the brain.’
McNab tried to assimilate this. He’d known it was bad when they’d been ejected from the room. Then he and Davey had had the bust-up and Davey had insisted he get the fuck out of there.
‘Is Davey with her?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t see him.’
‘The bastard,’ McNab hissed through his teeth.
Ellie took a step back from him, and McNab caught the wary look in her eye.
‘What’s going on between you two, Michael?’
‘You don’t want to know,’ McNab said with a coldness he felt in his bones.
‘Can I help?’
She looked so vulnerable at that moment, McNab drew her into his arms. ‘It’s police shit. My job.’ She felt slight and fragile against him, although he knew Ellie was anything but that.
She let him hold her briefly, then pulled away.
‘The vehicle that took Mary down,’ she said. ‘I think I know where you can find it.’
He should have called it in, but hadn’t. His excuse was that it might be nothing. The truth was, McNab hoped the opposite.
Eyewitnesses to the hit-and-run had provided a description of the vehicle involved, but like him, recalling number plates hadn’t been anyone’s strong point. Besides, McNab had no doubt that those number plates wouldn’t see the light of day again.
They had more hope via the CCTV cameras that had caught the vehicle in its escape. Although if it went off-road and into hiding, or was altered to disguise it, things would get much more difficult.
A normal run-of-the-mill idiot who bolted in terror after they’d hit a pedestrian didn’t have the mates, the tools or the know-how to disappear the car and the driver. In most cases a hit-and-run happened through drink, drugs, daredevil driving or even a temporary blackout. Not this time. Attempted murder more than fitted the bill.
McNab’s head was pounding, although he suspected insufficient caffeine was exacerbating the after-effects of his whisky binge. Ellie’s story had had an urgency that meant they left the flat immediately on the back of her bike, with no recourse to coffee first. McNab hadn’t argued with the chosen mode of transport, aware that the level of alcohol still in his bloodstream would be above the legal limit, and likely make him a danger on the road.
It had been impossible to talk on the journey and Ellie hadn’t been clear about their final destination when they’d set off. How she’d located the vehicle had also been sketchy and McNab had the impression Ellie wasn’t giving him the full story, which appeared to involve a couple of bikers who’d come into the shop.
But if she was right and it was the car they’d seen?
He wasn’t geared up to ride pillion, apart from the helmet supplied by Ellie, and the accompanying drizzle felt more like pelting rain when travelling at thirty miles an hour, which quickly soaked McNab through. His mobile tucked next to his heart had sent up a vibration on more than one occasion during the journey, but McNab had made no attempt to check who the caller was, even during their brief traffic-light stops.
This being his third journey on a backie with Ellie, McNab tried to convince himself that it would be a lucky ride. He would locate the bastard that had mowed Mary down, and find out where Amena Tamar had been taken, although he knew that was more a hope than a likelihood.
Eventually Ellie drew to a halt and cut the engine. A quick glance around indicated the setting wasn’t what McNab had expected. The row of modern bungalows with adjacent garages and neat gardens didn’t seem like Neil Brodie territory to him, although in truth, most drug-gang masters preferred their abodes to be outwith the areas they were intent on exploiting.
‘Here?’ he said, indicating the house opposite.
‘No,’ Ellie shook her head. ‘The garage at the end of the road.’
McNab tried to get his bearings. The poor weather conditions and restricted view riding pillion had seen him give up on mapping the route, yet it seemed by Ellie’s expression that she was assuming he knew where exactly in Glasgow he was.
When the realization came that he did, it arrived like a thunderclap.
‘This is Davey’s old street, before he moved up to the mansion,’ he said, as much to himself as to Ellie.
‘He still owns the garage,’ she told him. ‘They repair motorbikes, as well as cars.’
McNab was beginning to put two and two together to make more than just four.
‘And you think the hit-and-run vehicle’s in there?’
‘At the back, covered and out of sight,’ she explained. ‘The biker who got curious was visiting the garage for a reason other than motorcycle repair,’ she said bluntly.
Fuck. So Davey was allowing folk to deal in his workplaces.
McNab felt anger flood his face. He caught Ellie’s glance and knew that was why she hadn’t elaborated before bringing him here, and probably why she hadn’t urged him to call it in.
A silence hung between them, before he said, ‘I want you out of here, now.’
‘You’ve no transport … I can wait.’
‘I want you to go,’ he ordered. ‘And let me do my job.’
When she didn’t immediately respond, McNab added a please, Ellie.
Her look softened. ‘You’ll call me?’
McNab quickly promised, impatient now for her to be gone.
Waiting until the throb of the bike melted into the distance, McNab set off towards the garage.
59
The forecourt was busy with cars, either emerging from the main building or waiting to go in for repairs. Noticeably, all the vehicles in view were towards the top of the range. It seemed Davey’s customers weren’t short of cash.
A quick reconnoitre gave McNab an idea of the layout of the buildings. According to Ellie, the vehicle he sought was somewhere at the rear and under cover. An area where the dealing might also be taking place.
McNab headed round the back, attempting to look as though he should be in the vicinity. If he was stopped, he decided he would simply brass-neck it and say he was there to see Mr Brodie on business. He’d even give his name minus the police tag. That way, if Brodie was about, the bastard’s curiosity would be whet at least.
As he circled the buildings a series of lights clicked on, puncturing the late-afternoon gloom and indicating the presence of security cameras. If dealing was happening here, then the buyers were being recorded big time. All the better to blackmail them if required.
Like Davey, was the thought that entered his head.
McNab decided not to go down the how-did-it-happen path, but to stay focused on the here and now. As far as he was concerned, Davey was fucked whatever way he looked at it, and by being fucked, he’d endangered Mary.
As he approached a rear shed that aligned with a high wire fence, a door in the metal opened and light streamed out. Beyond the guy exiting, McNab spotted another set of overalls seemingly at work on a vehicle in the privacy of the shed.
Slipping into
shadow, McNab watched as the guy outside lit up a cigarette, then walked in the general direction McNab had come from. Once he was out of sight, McNab approached the open door and stepped in as a high-powered drill whined into action.
Goggled up and wearing ear protectors for whatever he was doing to the tail of the big black gas guzzler, McNab’s entry apparently went unobserved. Circling the vehicle, he noted that the front bumper had been dented and a headlight damaged. The number plate had also been removed.
As he backed towards the door, it swung open. McNab’s swift attempt to get out of sight appeared at first to have worked. He watched a pair of overalls walk past, then a voice barked an order for the mechanic to finish up. After a few minutes both men exited, the door was slammed shut and McNab found himself alone. Something he wouldn’t have been averse to, if he hadn’t heard the lock being turned behind them.
At this point McNab began to suspect the second man at least had been aware of his presence, hence the swift shutdown.
If so, what happened now?
While he waited to see if anyone would come back, McNab took a closer look at the vehicle. The mechanic had succeeded in removing the back number plate, which lay nearby. McNab brought up the CCTV footage Ollie had sent to his phone and set it in motion again. If there was the slightest image of a partial that matched this plate he wanted to see it.
It had been over in seconds. Mary’s brief appearance at the door of the salon. No sound, but every time he’d watched the muzzed footage McNab could hear in his head the screech as the vehicle took off from somewhere just off screen, then the thump as it had hit her. Its presence masked Mary, but McNab’s imagination had run wild with what her face had looked like on impact.
Realizing he’d been too caught up in his imaginings and not focused on the micro moment the back plate had been in view, he ran it again. But it was no clearer now than any of the times he’d viewed it previously. The first couple of letters might be the same but only a forensic study of the actual vehicle could prove that this was the one.
He was two-thirds round the car with his camera phone when he heard the click of the door being unlocked. McNab slipped his mobile in his pocket and moved in behind a set of shelves laden with parts.
