by Lin Anderson
I do not know if this plan will work, but I expect you know by now if it has.
Tell Brynja I love her.
Einar
Rhona laid the letter down. She retrieved the whisky glass and cradled it in both hands, too shocked to raise it to her lips.
She had been right all along. She should never have trusted him. She should never have slept with him. Einar Petersson had wormed his way into her life with his lies and his promises. His sole purpose had been to find McNab, not for her, but for Kalinin. Anger rose like a thick wave. When it subsided, she raised the glass to her lips and drank down the remainder of the whisky as though in a toast. But whom was she toasting?
McNab, who, if what Petersson had written was true, had escaped death again? Or Petersson, who had sacrificed himself to make that happen?
She had no idea how long she’d been sitting in the unheated kitchen before the buzzer sounded. Rhona rose stiff with cold and went to answer it. It was Sean.
‘Rhona? Can I come up?’
‘Why are you here?’
‘Bill told me about Petersson.’
Rhona released the catch and walked slowly towards the door. When she opened it, Sean was already there. Rhona looked at him, a little dazed, and he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
‘Are you OK?’
‘No,’ she said honestly. ‘I’m not.’
He wrapped his arms about her. The warmth of his body was a shockwave against her own chilled flesh.
‘You’re freezing. Why’s the heating not on?’
Rhona had no idea. She had no idea about anything.
‘Come on.’ He led her through to the sitting room and sat her on the sofa. ‘I’ll bring you the duvet. You need to get warm.’
He lit the gas fire and brought through the coverlet, tucking it about her, then headed for the kitchen. Rhona heard the boiler roar into action as the central heating came on.
Tom suddenly appeared and jumped on her lap. Sensing her distress, he climbed to rub himself against her cheek. Cocooned in warmth she watched the fire leap and dance and thought of Petersson sitting below the M74, his arms bound by wire, smelling the petrol and knowing what was about to happen.
And in that moment she forgave him the lies and betrayal, because who was to say she wouldn’t have done the same to protect someone she loved?
‘Here. Drink this.’ Sean put a mug in her hand. ‘I’m making you something to eat.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
Sean shot her a look that brooked no argument.
The liquid was tea, but so heavily sugared as to be unrecognisable. It was the classic drink given to those in shock. Am I in shock, Rhona wondered? I’ve seen uglier, more violent deaths than Petersson’s, and watched McNab apparently bleed to death in my arms.
Time slipped past. It seemed only seconds before Sean reappeared with a plate of food.
‘An omelette. Is that OK?’
Rhona took it without demur. When she’d finished it and the tea, she did feel better.
‘Thanks.’
Sean produced the letter. ‘This was in the kitchen, and I read it. I hope you don’t mind.’
She shook her head. ‘I have to let Bill know about it.’
‘What if I call him?’
Rhona was about to protest then didn’t. She’d already told Bill what Slater had said. The letter merely confirmed it.
Sean left the room as he dialled, and Rhona was secretly relieved. She never wanted to hear or read the letter again.
He returned minutes later. ‘I spoke to him. He says to get some sleep. He’ll see you tomorrow, if not at the post mortem then at the strategy meeting.’ Sean looked concerned. ‘Surely you don’t have to go to Petersson’s post mortem?’
‘Of course I do. It’s my job,’ Rhona said, more sharply than she’d intended. ‘Look, if you want to get going, I’m fine now.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I have work to do before tomorrow.’
‘And I have a spot to play at the club.’
They were both lying, but it made things easier.
‘Can you let yourself out?’
‘Of course.’
Rhona thought momentarily of asking Sean to return the key he still held to the flat, but something stopped her. Sean was the only man she’d ever given a key to, and there might come a time he had to use it.
She heard the front door close and found herself relieved at his departure. It had been kind of him to come, but there was a difference between having a lover and having a friend. Rhona wasn’t sure the two roles could be combined in anyone, let alone in Sean Maguire.
49
‘You’ve seen these tattoos on Petersson?’ Despite the grim circumstances, Slater couldn’t quite hide his prurient glee.
‘Yes. They’re quite distinctive,’ Rhona replied evenly. The tattoos had clinched it for her at the crime scene and it was no different here at post mortem. The watch could have been planted, as could the wallet, but the tattoos were instantly recognisable.
Dr Sissons continued with his examination, either unaware of the undercurrent in his audience, or else refusing to acknowledge it.
‘And the burns were definitely the cause of death?’ Slater asked.
‘There’s no evidence at the moment to suggest otherwise,’ Sissons said, glancing at Rhona. She saw sympathy in the pathologist’s eyes before he resumed his recording.
She turned away from the table. Having said what she’d come to say, Rhona no longer wanted to be in the room with what remained of Einar Petersson.
In the changing area, she de-gowned and began to splash cold water on her face, aware that the scent of scorched flesh permeated every hair of her head and pore of her body. Bill appeared silently beside her to do the same thing.
When they’d finished and made use of the paper towels, Rhona fished out the letter and handed it over. Bill scanned it quickly, having been apprised of its contents by Sean on the phone. He folded it and put it in his pocket.
‘Looks like I owe Slater an apology.’
‘If we believe what it says.’
‘Why shouldn’t we?’
‘I don’t think there was ever a time when Petersson told me the truth.’
Bill put his hand gently on her arm. ‘I think this time he did.’
‘McNab hasn’t been in touch?’
‘His best bet is to stay off the radar until he turns up in court.’
‘I take it Slater’s in charge of all of this?’ She motioned towards the mortuary.
‘Yes.’
‘So you didn’t have to be here?’
‘Like you, they couldn’t keep me away,’ Bill said.
‘Have you spoken to Charlie?’
‘I have and what Aurora said was true. There was a laptop in the boot of his car, marked with the initials JE. I’ve passed it to IT for examination.’
‘What did Charlie have to say about that?’
‘He was shocked that I could think for a minute that he would steal from ‘the wee lassie’. Told me he’d bought the laptop on eBay.’
‘You believe him?’
Bill raised an eyebrow. ‘We’re looking into it. But even if he did steal the laptop, it doesn’t necessarily mean he had anything to do with her disappearance.’
‘And Sally Murphy?’
‘Charlie genuinely seemed hurt about that. Said it was a lie, of course. Maintained he was only doing his job. He also realised pretty quickly it was more about Jude than Sally. Told me he would do everything he could to help us find her.’
Rhona noted the tone of Bill’s voice. ‘You don’t believe him?’
Bill shrugged.
‘When will you find out if the laptop is Jude’s?’ she said.
‘This morning, I hope.’
‘I can see why he might steal the laptop at an opportune moment, but what about the film?’ Rhona said.
‘I’ve been thinking about that. Taking the film would make the burgl
ary look as though it was linked to Jude’s disappearance, and therefore nothing to do with Charlie.’ Bill shook his head. ‘Now, if we only had a body.’
‘You think there is one?’
‘Don’t you?’
Bill emerged from the city mortuary to find Slater and Black standing outside. He wondered briefly if they had been waiting for him.
‘Seems I owe you an apology.’ Bill handed over the letter.
Slater opened and read it. When he’d finished, he glanced at Bill and for a moment Bill imagined he saw real emotion in Slater’s eyes.
‘And all the time you thought I was responsible for McNab getting shot and for him disappearing again. How does it feel to be so wrong?’
Bill didn’t answer. ‘What happens now?’
‘None of your business, as I keep trying to tell you.’
‘Has McNab been in touch?’
Silence.
‘Thought not. Petersson might think you’re innocent but McNab’s not so sure. I take it Kalinin will turn up in court?’
‘Two days from now.’
‘And you expect McNab to be there?’
‘I do.’
‘You can expect me too, and Dr MacLeod.’
‘Dr MacLeod might be better staying away, seeing how she was fucking one of Kalinin’s right-hand men.’
Bill walked away, his hackles up. Christ, how he hated that man.
He made a point of putting Slater out of his head as he made his way to the address given him by DS Clark. Sally Murphy had moved from the halls of residence into a flat just off Alexandra Parade, but it took Bill a good ten minutes after parking the car to locate the flat. It was in a row of fairly dilapidated tenements, which judging by the variety of window dressings was definitely student territory.
Sally answered on the first buzz. ‘Come on up, it’s the third floor.’
The entry area was clean but badly in need of a paint job. At the foot of the stairs, a child’s buggy shared a space with a bunch of interwoven bikes. As he climbed, Bill noted at least four occupants listed on every door.
Sally was waiting at an open door. She ushered Bill into a large hall with multiple rooms leading off. From behind the door of one came the sound of an electric guitar. It wasn’t ear-splitting but it was near enough.
‘Sorry about that,’ Sally apologised. ‘Tim has to practise and we’re all usually out during the day.’
Bill smiled. ‘There’s a drum kit in our house. Electronic, but it makes as much noise as the old-fashioned kind.’
Sally led him into the kitchen. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’
‘Thanks, that would be good.’
Bill glanced about. This, he realised, was the sort of place Lisa would be living in soon. Messy, functional and nothing like Margaret’s pristine kitchen at home.
Sally opened the fridge. Inside, each shelf had a label on it, reminding the occupants what was theirs to eat. She extracted a small carton of milk.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t have any sugar.’
‘No problem.’
Sally opened the carton and sniffed the contents. Satisfied it wasn’t off, she poured a little into each mug.
As she settled herself opposite him at the table, Bill registered how pretty she was, with dark hair coiled up at the back of her head. There was a smudge on her nose that Bill took for paint.
Bill left his tea to cool. ‘So, Charlie—’ he began.
She interrupted him. ‘A dirty old man.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he comes into your room when he knows you’re in the shower, or in your bed.’
‘Everyone seems to like him.’
‘That’s because he targets one person and is ultra careful with everyone else. When that person gets freaked no one believes them, because Charlie’s such a good guy. Charlie is a creep. Believe me.’
‘What happened exactly?’
‘He was really good to me when I first moved in. Behaved like a perfect grandfather. No funny business. Then one night he offered me a lift back to halls. It was late. I was drunk. Charlie wanted more than a thank you for the taxi ride. I refused. Then he starts turning up unannounced in my room.’
‘Why didn’t you report all this to the authorities?’
‘Yeah? Nice old guy accused of assault by drunken art student? I decided it was better to move out.’ She paused. ‘Then I heard about the girl.’
‘Jude Evans.’
‘Aurora said she had Asperger’s. They don’t pick up on social signals, do they? It struck me maybe Charlie was working on her and she didn’t even know.’
‘Charlie denies you were ever in his car.’
‘Never in it? I was sick in that car. That’s what stopped him.’
‘He didn’t rape you?’
‘No.’
‘Do you want to make a complaint?’
Sally looked worried. ‘I’d rather not unless you find out he has something to do with Jude’s disappearance. Then I’ll stand up in court and say my piece.’ Her hand trembled as she raised the mug to her lips.
‘If we’re going to prove you were in Charlie’s car we’ll need a mouth swab to identify your DNA. Are you happy to give that?’
She nodded. ‘How?’
‘Can you go down to the station? I’ll warn my sergeant to expect you. Ask for DS Janice Clark and tell her what you told me. For the record.’
Sally seemed unsure.
‘It won’t go any further unless you agree.’
She showed him out, even more vulnerable than when he’d arrived. Bill understood why. Sally had banished the incident with Charlie to the back of her mind but he’d just brought it all back.
When Bill reached the bottom of the stairs a young woman was struggling to free her bike from the middle of the pile. Bill offered his assistance.
‘Thanks. That would be great.’
Bill untangled it for her and she bestowed a big smile on him.
No wonder Charlie loved his job, Bill thought. A fresh batch of females, like this young woman, arriving at the halls every autumn. He could play the role of kindly grandfather and handyman. Always obliging. Even when they were coming home drunk and needing a lift.
But maybe this time the friendly warden had overstepped his mark.
50
Rhona didn’t go directly to the lab after the post mortem. The truth was she didn’t want to be confined to the car with the aroma of the mortuary still hanging about her. She left her car and walked towards the river, hoping the scent of the water would drive other smells away.
She’d intended asking Bill before he left whether they’d located Brynja in Switzerland. She felt a strong desire to speak to Petersson’s daughter, to tell her how sorry she was about her father’s death and try to explain what had led to it.
She’d reached the river now, far upstream from where they’d discovered Sinclair’s body. Rhona knew she should be back at the lab, studying the plastic sheeting Sinclair had been wrapped in and trying to use the debris it held to pinpoint exactly where Sinclair had been killed. But somehow that didn’t seem quite so urgent after what she’d just viewed on the slab.
She stood by the water’s edge, the brisk breeze whipping her hair back from her face. When this was over, she decided, she would take a trip to Skye, maybe even visit Raasay again. Breathe fresh air.
Turning abruptly Rhona began her walk back, knowing from past experience that the best thing to do when she felt like this was to work. She quickened her pace, remembering that there might be a result back from SDNA by now. The sample of semen she’d retrieved from the cinema victim had been small and she’d had to multiply it using PCR, but she was hopeful of a possible match with that of Gavin MacLean.
Which brought her thoughts round to Edward. He wouldn’t be happy if the MacLean case was reopened, particularly if it involved his benefactor, Lord Dalrymple.
The thought brought a brief smile to Rhona’s lips. Maybe she should tell Edward how instrumental their
son had been in finding the body in the first place? She could imagine how well that would go down.
At the car now, she unlocked it and slipped inside, switching on the air conditioning instead of the heater so as not to encourage the smell again. As she pulled away from the kerb, she noticed a small black car immediately draw out behind, a male in the driver’s seat. The thought crossed her mind that whoever had picked up McNab the first time would be very keen to locate him again. And like Petersson, they might imagine she could help them with that.
The car sat on her tail all the way through the town centre, then she lost it as she approached the university precinct. You’re getting paranoid, she told herself as she parked outside the lab, knowing that if she’d paid attention to her paranoia regarding Petersson, things might have turned out differently.
Chrissy wasn’t there, but had left a message to say she’d gone with the team to examine two vehicles in connection with Jude’s disappearance. She had also left details of her examination of the plastic sheeting. Rhona made herself a coffee and settled down to study them.
The best news was that the cyanoacrylate spray they’d used on the sheeting had produced a fingerprint. A good one. Chrissy was pretty pleased about that. Sinclair had been dragged over rough ground as evidenced by the scuff marks on the plastic and samples of small stones picked up on the way were still being analysed. Chrissy had also located blood spots where the wire had pierced the plastic, possibly where the attacker had cut his finger on the barbs. The polythene sheet itself was black and 500 gauge, part of a builder’s roll designed for lifting heavy objects.
‘Good work, Chrissy,’ Rhona said, reading on.
The wire had been identified as high tensile steel, tradesman Apollo. Used with fencing to provide additional security. Both plastic and wire were probably available near to where McNab had been held, either in that building or across on the M74 site itself.
Rhona left the notes and went to check her inbox.
The reply was there from Dundee. She took a moment to compose herself, then read it. The DNA of the semen sample taken from Dominic McGeehan had found a match with Gavin MacLean, a suspect in the murders of Glasgow University students James Fenton and Peter Graham. Which meant Gavin had been operating for at least three years before they’d caught up with him.
