by Lin Anderson
When the first SOCO arrived, they’d filled in the usual checklist, which included the question Was the light on or off? The light had been on, which meant the accused was lying. Along with the details of the forensic report on the body, this meant Mary’s killer would be going away – hopefully for a very long time.
Rhona set the notes on one side and laid her head back on the sofa, overcome with tiredness. She thought about sleeping right there on the couch, knowing once in bed she would likely end up staring at the ceiling for hours before the nightmare took over. She fetched the duvet and draped it over her, then reached for the remote.
The late news had already begun. As far as she knew, Bill still had a blackout on Emma Watson’s role in the discovery of the skull, so she was surprised to hear the newsreader reveal that it had been discovered after a car had gone off the road in the recent storm. A description then followed of a man believed to have been in the vicinity at the time, who the police urged to come forward. There was still no direct mention of Emma or Claire. It looked as though Bill was taking Claire’s story about a man on the road seriously, unless something else had come to light that Rhona didn’t know about.
She lowered the sound on the television to a background murmur and nestled down, leaving the table lamp on. Tom had come to join her, and the steady rhythm of his purring began to lull her towards sleep.
She was wakened by the alarm. Her initial reaction was confusion as she heard the murmur of early morning television. Then she was absurdly grateful that she had slept through the night, something that hadn’t happened for some time. She rose, her limbs stiff from the confinement of the couch.
Claire Watson phoned while she was eating breakfast.
‘I’m afraid you won’t be able to see Emma today. My mother died last Sunday and I have to go to the nursing home and finalise arrangements for her funeral tomorrow.’
McNab had never mentioned that the child’s granny had just died, in fact had died the night of the crash. Rhona wondered whether he knew.
‘What if we meet with you after the funeral?’ Rhona suggested. ‘I could check out the wood with Emma on her way home.’
The silence that followed was long enough to convince her that Claire had changed her mind about allowing the excursion at all.
Finally she answered. ‘If Emma is distressed …’
‘Then of course we won’t go.’
Claire, sounding mollified, gave Rhona a time and a place.
‘We’ll be there,’ Rhona promised.
The old and the new High Courts of Glasgow sat side by side at the foot of the Saltmarket, both pillared entrances, the new version reflecting the grandeur of the old.
Behind the court Shipbank Lane housed Paddy’s Market, Glasgow’s legendary flea market. Started by Irish immigrants in the nineteenth century, it still sold second-hand clothing to the poor of Glasgow. Recent reports suggested the end of the two-hundred-year-old market was nigh, as the City Council had announced plans to lease the site and turn it into a showcase for aspiring artists. Rhona felt a stab of sadness about this. The gentrification of the city was intent on wiping out its past.
McNab was waiting for her in the lobby.
‘I’ve done my bit. Apparently forensic testimony is next up.’
‘Good.’
‘So we can head south after that.’
Rhona told him about her early morning conversation.
‘Shit. I had no idea the granny had died.’
‘Claire never said?’
He shook his head. ‘No wonder the kid’s screwed up. OK, so when do we go?’
‘I got her mother to agree to tomorrow after the funeral.’
The clerk emerged from the court and beckoned Rhona over.
‘Will you be here when I come out?’
‘I’ll get a coffee and wait for you.’
‘So?’ McNab said when she re-emerged.
‘I think he’s fucked.’
‘That’s what I like to hear.’
McNab had gone to Mary Healey’s funeral. Him and most of the residents of Alison Street. He was a Govanhill boy himself. ‘Brought up in Govanhill Street in a top-floor tenement,’ he told Rhona. Hence his desire to see the old woman’s killer go down.
‘Fancy a real coffee?’ McNab made a face at the polystyrene cup in his hand.
‘Definitely.’
An early morning frost had combined with freezing fog to blanket the city in white and grey. It was still an improvement on a howling wind and snow. Rhona wound her scarf tightly round her neck and stuck her gloved hands in her pockets.
‘Central Café?’
She nodded and hurried to keep up with him. When they reached the café, he pushed the door open to let her enter first. The contrast in temperature made Rhona’s cheeks burn. McNab stopped for a word with Rocco, the proprietor, while she headed for a window table.
The Central Café was one of those places you hoped would be there for ever. Some felt it already had been. McNab remembered it from his childhood, as did people twenty years older. It was one of the old-style cafés, of which there had once been many. No longer an ice-cream parlour, it was now better known for its fish and chips.
Rhona recalled a similar establishment at the top of Byres Road when she’d been a Glasgow University student. The proprietor had made the best Horlicks ever, substantial and creamy enough for a poverty-stricken student to use as a lunch substitute.
McNab arrived with a large mug of black coffee, just the way she liked it. It was at times like this she was reminded just how well he knew her.
‘I saw the bit on the late news. You’re sure there was someone on the road?’ she asked when he’d settled himself opposite.
‘I had a look at the R2S video of the crash location. If there was a man there and he was facing like Claire said, then he was staring back at the wood in the direction of the deposition site.’
‘Really?’
‘I decided that merited trying to find him, if only to eliminate him from the inquiry.’
Rhona told him about the glass fragment. ‘I’m checking out the constituents, but it looks like it might be stained glass.’
‘As in a stained-glass window?’
‘Yes.’
McNab considered this. ‘It’s not much to go on.’
He was right. On its own the glass wasn’t a lot of use, but it might be if they came up with a suspect.
‘I did a trawl of unsolved cases,’ he said. ‘There are twelve missing children during the period we’re focusing on.’ He handed Rhona a printout.
She ran her eye over the pictures.
McNab pointed to a smiling elfin girl. ‘She disappeared from St Pancras station nine years ago. She was with her big sister one minute, gone the next. Only one possible sighting of her later that day with a middle-aged man getting into a red car, no make, no registration number.’
‘I don’t think it’s her.’
McNab waited for an explanation.
‘The skull Emma found didn’t have that overlap on the front teeth.’
‘That simple?’
‘Teeth are unique and last a long time. Obviously we’ll check out the dental records of all the missing kids against the remains, but at a first glance I would say that isn’t our child.’
They sat in silence for a moment.
‘What if the dead child was never reported missing?’ she suggested.
They both knew that was a possibility. For a minor to be registered as missing, a parent or guardian would have to inform the police. Social services weren’t interested in your child unless you were on their radar. Kids joined and left schools in the urban areas with monotonous regularity, especially those with itinerant workers for parents. As for those in the care system, recent high-profile cases showed how easily they could disappear, especially ten years ago.
They both contemplated the thought that the skeletal remains would never be identified and the killer never found.
Rho
na broke the silence. ‘I’ve got to head back to the lab.’
‘What about tomorrow?’
‘The funeral’s at eleven.’
McNab’s brow darkened. ‘The meeting with the super is at nine. I’ll call you when it’s over.’
Rhona left him at the table, staring into his coffee. He looked terrible, hollow eyed and haunted. She suspected the disciplinary inquiry wasn’t allowing him much sleep. Whatever the outcome, it didn’t bode well for him. If Bill took the rap, McNab would never forgive himself. If they believed McNab’s story, then he was in trouble. Either way was bad news. They might have caught the Gravedigger, but he’d left his mark on them all, including Magnus, the psychologist they’d called in to help. Rhona contemplated calling him and asking his advice on her meeting with Emma. She’d promised to get back in touch. Maybe now was the time.
20
Magnus looked different. It took a moment to register that his long hair had been cut off. He no longer resembled a Viking warrior. Rhona felt a little saddened by that.
She stood back to let him enter. Tom covered the initial awkwardness by coming running to see who the visitor was. Magnus scooped the kitten up. ‘What’s your name?’
Rhona told him.
‘Hey, Tom.’ Magnus rubbed the ears and was rewarded by a rolling purr. When he set Tom down, the kitten scuttled off towards the kitchen. Rhona hesitated in the hall, not sure which room to use. She opted to follow Tom. In the kitchen they could sit with the table between them, which seemed appropriate somehow. She waved Magnus to a seat and offered him a whisky. ‘It’s Highland Park.’
He smiled. ‘I converted you, then?’
‘I like the taste.’
Magnus had championed the Orcadian whisky at one of their first meetings, using it to illustrate Rhona’s sense of smell. His own highly developed sense of smell had played a large part in the search for the Gravedigger.
She poured two drams and offered him a jug of water. He added a little and swirled the mixture round the glass. Rhona did the same. They took a sniff before tasting.
‘So, how have you been?’ Magnus got the question in first.
‘Fine,’ Rhona lied. She had no intention of telling anyone about the nightmares, particularly him. She caught him studying her expression. He would know she was lying. She waited for him to delve further and was glad when he didn’t.
‘What about you?’
‘Fine.’ He looked down. She suspected they were both being minimal with the truth. ‘The university gave me some time off. I spent it in Orkney, as you know.’
Rhona nodded. She had visited him there, staying a few days in his house overlooking Scapa Flow. In those surroundings things had been easier between them. The mutual attraction had still been there, but neither had acknowledged it and they’d parted amicably.
‘It’s good to be back at work.’
Things got easier after that. Rhona explained about the car crash, Emma’s disappearance and reappearance nursing the skull. Magnus was obviously shocked by the story.
‘The news never mentioned a child was involved in finding the remains.’
‘McNab didn’t tell you?’
Magnus looked puzzled. ‘I haven’t spoken to McNab.’
So McNab hadn’t followed Bill’s orders and called in the psychologist. Rhona decided not to elaborate on that.
‘There’s more,’ Rhona went on. ‘The skeleton was well concealed under a pile of branches but for some reason Emma poked her hand in and retrieved the skull.’ She paused for a moment. ‘She says she heard it calling her.’
Magnus’s brow furrowed. ‘Calling her?’
‘I know it sounds daft, but there it is. Now she insists there’s another body doing the same.’ She handed him the printout McNab had given her.
He studied it for a few moments. ‘You’ve searched the wood for other remains?’
‘Bill sent in specially trained dogs. They’re not totally reliable but in this case they didn’t show any more interest in the wood, apart from the deposition site. The child is obviously distressed by this and insists she’s right.’
‘So where do I come in?’
‘I have permission to take Emma back to the wood tomorrow morning. She was wandering about in there for some time before they found her.’
‘And you thought she might have seen something that’s preying on her mind?’
‘Yes.’
‘I suppose it’s possible. There’s a fine line between imagination and reality, especially with children as young as Emma. Is the girl under stress at home or school?’
‘The mother left her partner recently. That’s all I know. McNab’s been dealing with the family. It seems Emma’s taken a liking to him.’
Magnus contemplated this.
‘What if I come with you? Would that help?’
Rhona had considered this option before calling Magnus and decided it might be more productive than just asking his advice. There was, however, the issue of McNab.
‘I’ll have to run it by the mother first and …’ Rhona decided to come clean. ‘DS McNab will be going down there with me.’
‘And he won’t want me around?’
Rhona explained about the disciplinary investigation. ‘McNab blames himself for Bill’s predicament.’
‘As do we all,’ Magnus said grimly. ‘Check with the DS first. If he’s willing, I’ll come along.’
They made small talk after that, both keen for the meeting to end. They said goodbye at the door. For a moment Rhona thought Magnus would embrace her, the way he had done in Orkney, dispelling the awkwardness between them. Part of her wanted him to, but she folded her arms.
‘You’ll let me know, then?’ Magnus looked sad, as though he had been reading her mind as well as interpreting her body language.
When she closed the door on his echoing footsteps, Rhona realised just how nervous she had been that seeing Magnus again would serve only to feed the nightmares.
21
‘Do I have to come in?’
‘I don’t want to leave you in the car.’
Emma made a face and opened the door.
Claire reached for her daughter’s hand and they walked together towards the entrance. The hospice looked over the river. On sunny days the view from the garden was quite beautiful. Today a freezing mist clung to the sluggish, oily water.
Claire hesitated for a moment before she pushed open the glass door, aware that this time there would be no welcoming smile from her mum. She wished once again that she’d stayed overnight at the hospice the previous Sunday. She’d turned the offer down, anxious to end the day as normally as possible for Emma’s sake.
Susan Richards looked up as she approached the reception desk. ‘Claire.’ She opened her arms and gave her a big hug, then stood back and looked at her. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I should have stayed.’
‘She didn’t want you to, you know that.’
Susan was right. Her mother had insisted she take Emma home. Let the child sleep in her own bed.
‘I think she knew,’ said Claire.
The nurse nodded in agreement. ‘Carol called me in after you left to give me her instructions in the event of her death.’ She chuckled. ‘I get the feeling she’s keeping an eye on me to make sure I carry them out.’
Claire felt Emma’s little hand tighten in her own.
‘I have Carol’s things in my office.’ Susan bent to speak to Emma. ‘Your gran left something special for you.’
They walked along a familiar corridor. Through open doors, Claire saw groups of visiting relatives. She wished she could turn back the clock and be like them again.
Susan ushered them into a room where a large picture window gave a view of the nearby suspension bridge. Her mum had had the same view. My bridge to the stars, she’d called it.
She handed Claire an envelope. ‘A list of the six people she invited to the funeral. She joked that there were only six left alive she liked, apart from
you and Emma. She asked me to post the invitations as soon as I knew the date. I understand you were an only child?’
Claire nodded. ‘Mum didn’t have me until she was forty. I was a bit of a surprise. She’d been told she was unlikely to have children.’
Susan handed Emma a cardboard box. ‘Your gran asked me to give you this.’
Emma laid the box on the table and removed the lid. Inside was a photograph album.
‘Your gran spent a long time on that. She said it was a record of your family’s history. Photographs and stories. She told me some of them.’
Emma replaced the lid and clasped the box to her. Claire felt her own chest tighten.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ said Susan.
‘You’re coming to the funeral?’
‘My name’s on that list.’
Claire sat for a moment in the car park, watching pedestrians cross her mum’s bridge to the stars. This would be the last time she came here. She felt suddenly bereft, as though losing this place was the same as losing her mother.
‘OK?’ she asked Emma.
A small voice answered yes, the tone upbeat.
Claire glanced in the driving mirror and saw the album, now out of its case, being hugged to the girl’s chest.
She took the route alongside the river. The mist had lifted and the opposite bank was no longer a mysterious place on the other side.
‘I’m going to call in at Granny’s house. Make sure everything’s all right.’
They’d been checking on her mother’s house once a week since she’d moved into the hospice. Their visits had been swift and perfunctory. Devoid of her mother, the house had taken on a different guise, its emptiness almost threatening.
Claire stood shivering in the small hallway. She had left the heating on to avoid burst pipes, but not set it high enough to warm the place. She turned up the thermostat and was heartened to hear the boiler roar into action.
