And so they sat down, Rhona casting a grateful glance at Richie for trying.
The hall became a babble of movement and noise as the crowd took their seats, including the other three people at their table. As the introductions began, Rhona was already planning her escape from both the table and, even better, the event.
Her best bet, she decided, was the arrival of a call-out to an imaginary crime scene. If Richie played along, she might be able to rescue him too. Even as she planned this, she realized she was nonetheless curious as to what Edward wanted to say to her.
They hadn’t been in contact for some time, although she was aware that he and Fiona were still together and that Jonathan, their son, was at art school. Jonathan was nothing like his father. Rhona knew this because she and Jonathan had been to hell and back together.
She would always wish Jonathan well. His sister, Morag, however, she feared was a perfect combination of both her parents.
‘It’s good to see you looking so well, Rhona,’ Edward was saying.
‘What do you want, Edward?’ Rhona finished off the wine in her glass.
He made a troubled face, as though they were the best of friends and yet she’d chosen to fall out with him over some unknown trifle.
‘Our son, of course,’ he said.
‘We don’t have a son. As I recall, you wanted him aborted and I gave him up for adoption.’
The smile never faltered.
‘We were young and stupid.’
‘I was certainly stupid having anything to do with you.’
Rhona’s voice had risen and she noted that Richie was looking over at her with a worried expression on his face. She forced herself to stay calm.
‘What is it you want?’ she tried again.
‘I want to get in touch with Liam,’ Edward said.
‘But why?’ Rhona was genuinely perplexed. ‘You’ve never wanted to before. In fact, when you were running for parliament, you asked me – no, warned me – that Liam’s existence should never be revealed.’
‘That was then. Now is now. I want to make contact with him.’
‘How is your own son, Jonathan?’ Rhona changed tack.
‘Oh, you know. Living the life of an art student.’ Edward managed to make it sound as though Jonathan had joined a religious cult.
‘Has he come out as gay yet?’ Rhona said.
Edward’s face became like stone. ‘As I said, Jonathan is fine. I’ll send him your regards. Back to Liam. I understand he’s back in the UK and looking for a job?’
Now that was news to Rhona, so how did Edward know? Rhona tried to remember when she’d last had a communication from Liam. Had he mentioned coming home and getting a job here? Unsure, she simply waited, knowing Edward didn’t require an answer. In fact he never required an answer.
‘I may have an opening for him, but I need his contact details.’
If Edward knew Liam was coming home and wanted work, how was it he didn’t know how to contact him?
At that moment her mobile rang. Rhona made a point of answering it, only then noticing that Richie was missing from his seat.
‘Emergency call,’ Richie’s voice said. ‘If you need to escape, meet me at the front gate.’
‘Of course, DS McNab,’ Rhona said. ‘I’ll be right there.’ Ringing off, she apologized to the table, but sadly she was required at a crime scene.
Ignoring Edward’s furious expression, she rose and made her way swiftly through the tables just as the first course was arriving. Wherever she and Richie went now, she decided, it had to offer food, because she was starving.
25
Janice had refused to phone Professor Pirie to tell him they were bringing in McLaughlin for questioning, so McNab had had to do it himself. He’d finally made the call from the jazz club, after Rhona had left on her date with the blue-eyed pathologist and Chrissy had departed to tell her son a bedtime story.
McNab had required a second pint before he’d got down to the job of calling the professor. (He would have preferred whisky but was still rationing himself on that front.)
Pirie, acting surprised to hear McNab’s voice, had been cautious but positive in his response.
‘Are you contacting Mr McLaughlin or shall I?’ he’d said.
‘DS Clark has already been in touch with him,’ McNab had responded. What he didn’t repeat were DS Clark’s words: ‘McLaughlin was very keen, and stressed he’d like Professor Pirie to be there.’
‘So I’m officially on the case?’ Magnus had said, sounding self-satisfied to McNab’s ear.
‘You’re on for McLaughlin’s interview,’ McNab had conceded, knowing full well that meant the boss wanted the professor fully involved. ‘Can you be here tomorrow morning at nine?’
McNab had chosen the time, hoping that Professor Pirie might well have a class then. There had been a moment’s pause, in which McNab celebrated the fact that the professor wouldn’t make it after all, before his hopes had been crushed.
‘That’s fine, Detective Sergeant. Shall I come in earlier to discuss tactics?’
Discuss tactics? Fuck’s sake, McNab had almost said, but had managed not to.
The time they’d agreed was fast approaching. McNab had had to miss his workout this morning just to meet it. One bonus at least.
As he contemplated this, DS Clark arrived with the professor and, thankfully, coffee.
‘You’ll be behind the observation glass, Professor,’ McNab said. ‘No doubt your star pupil will be giving his best performance.’
‘Are you planning a standard cognitive interview focusing on the day of the girl’s disappearance?’ Pirie asked.
‘Yes,’ Janice came in quickly. ‘We’ll start with free recall around the day Mary McIntyre disappeared. We have some images of the street layout to help with context reinstatement.’ She halted there, noting McNab’s expression.
‘I expect McLaughlin will know all about this method, Professor,’ McNab said, ‘seeing that his degree is in Forensic Psychology?’
‘He will,’ Pirie nodded, with no sense of taking offence at McNab’s obvious dig, ‘and in depth.’
‘So, Professor,’ McNab said. ‘What do you suggest?’
‘Mr McLaughlin loves the sound of his own voice so getting him to talk won’t be a problem. However, despite his knowledge of psychology, I suspect getting him to recall backwards rather than in chronological order, since lies are usually rehearsed that way, may prove useful. Another thing. He’s narcissistic, so perhaps get him to try and recall the day from someone else’s point of view. Say Karen Marshall’s, Mary’s best friend. The girls were apparently joined at the hip, metaphorically speaking.’
‘How did you know that?’ McNab said, recalling Robbie, Mary’s brother, using the same expression.
‘I’ve been reading old newspaper reports,’ Magnus told him. ‘Why?’
‘Nothing,’ McNab said as his mobile buzzed. Answering, he listened, then said, ‘Someone will be up for him.’ Ringing off, he looked at Janice. ‘Me or you?’
‘I’ll go,’ Janice said. ‘Let’s see how he deals with a female officer. Fifteen years ago there weren’t many of us around.’
Pirie had moved next door to the viewing room. McNab was already conscious of being watched. That sensation was the only psychic phenomenon he accepted, mainly because it had saved his life on a couple of occasions. Once upon a time, Pirie had tried to explain the psychological reasons for thinking that someone was watching you. McNab had started listening but had soon grown weary. All those words for something he simply knew to be true.
The other thing McNab knew, from instinct or intuition, was when he was in the presence of evil.
He glanced up as the door opened and Janice stood aside to let McLaughlin enter. In that moment, McNab felt the hairs on his arms rise in warning. Evil, it seemed, had many forms. In this case, it had taken on the role of Santa Claus via a red jacket, fastened over a large belly, fluffy white hair with beard to match, and rosy
cheeks.
McNab found himself wanting to say ‘Ho, ho, ho’.
McLaughlin immediately came forward, hand outstretched. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective Inspector . . . oh sorry, Detective Sergeant McNab. I’ve been following your career quite closely during my studies.’
McNab did not accept the handshake, which he knew was a wrong move since it then put McLaughlin at an advantage. Although his head had told him to shake hands, his arm, with the hairs still standing, had simply refused.
McNab glanced at Janice to check how she was faring but couldn’t read her expression or body language. As for McLaughlin, he gave an avuncular laugh and sat down.
McNab began the formalities but McLaughlin interrupted him to ask in a puzzled fashion where Professor Pirie was. ‘I understood he would be present.’
‘That wasn’t possible,’ Janice said coolly. ‘Professor Pirie has classes all morning.’
McLaughlin raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Not according to his online timetable.’
McNab could almost see Pirie shaking his head in the next room at the way things were going. Perhaps even memorizing the scene for the subject of future lectures.
‘How Not to Start an Interview with a Psychopath’ seemed an appropriate title.
Eventually they were ready.
McLaughlin, McNab thought, looked keen. Unsurprising really, the way things had transpired up to now. He sat relaxed in the chair, a small, contented smile on his pink lips.
Trying to ignore the self-satisfied air emanating from McLaughlin, McNab said, ‘The purpose here is for you to tell us everything you remember.’
A cognitive interview normally began with a free recall. Something McLaughlin would know. From the look on his face he had his story all ready and waiting.
‘No bother,’ McLaughlin replied.
‘So, Mr McLaughlin,’ Janice said, ‘where were you exactly when you first heard that Mary McIntyre was missing?’
McLaughlin’s reaction to this was a joy to behold. Whatever he’d thought they might start with, it certainly wasn’t that question. He looked nonplussed, but only for a moment.
‘My exact location?’ he said slowly.
McNab could almost see the wheels turning as McLaughlin restructured his no doubt well-rehearsed story.
‘As near as you can remember.’
McLaughlin shut his eyes, supposedly recreating the image of that day, which was all part of the cognitive handbook. Eventually he said, ‘I was sitting on the hill in front of the Catholic primary school.’
‘Why there?’
His eyes still shut, McLaughlin continued, ‘It was where we hung out. You could see all up and down the street and onto the houses opposite.’
He went on, ‘I was sitting there watching all the kids coming down the road from the chapel. Two by two, girls in white dresses and veils. Boys in suits. They were heading for the school. Mary McIntyre’s mum came into the garden to watch for Mary. But Mary wasn’t among them. When she couldn’t see her, Mrs McIntyre ran up to the teacher who was at the front. Then they both looked through all the kids. There must have been eighty of them. But Mary wasn’t there.’
He paused for a moment, focusing his now-open eyes directly on Janice.
‘That’s when I saw Karen Marshall, Mary’s pal. She lived in the house opposite the entrance to the school. She was in the front garden. I thought she was waiting for Mary too. But Mary never came. That’s when I knew she was missing.’
‘Tell us about Karen,’ McNab said.
‘Her dad was like you, a police officer. A detective constable.’ He eyed McNab. ‘Better not screw up again, Detective Sergeant, or you’ll be back at that rank.’ He smiled at his own little joke.
McNab felt Janice’s slight nudge under the table, warning him not to rise to the bait. He didn’t, mainly because he was having a mental picture of doing a lot worse than that to the creepy bastard.
‘What happened next?’ Janice asked.
‘Well, things got a bit heated. Mary’s dad arrived. He was a mean bastard at the best of times. Had a big thick belt with a buckle that hung on a hook in the kitchen. He would whistle his kids in for the night and if they didn’t come right away, they got that belt.’
He paused, looking for a reaction. When there was none, he went on, warming again to his story. ‘Mary’s dad went off up the road towards the chapel to look for Mary and the rest of the kids went into the school. Karen came out of the garden and set off to where she and Mary had a den they’d made. They thought no one knew about it, but we all did.’
‘Where was this den?’ McNab said, revealing the map they’d prepared of the area in 1975.
McLaughlin drew it towards him and, after studying it with interest, pointed to a wooded area which lay beyond the open ground between the two schools.
‘You said we all knew about it,’ Janice said. ‘Who’s we?’
‘Me, Mary’s brother Robbie. He used to go up there with one of his pals. What they were up to, who knows?’ He smiled as though he knew exactly.
Thinking back to his discussion with Robbie, McNab suspected he knew what McLaughlin was implying, so he didn’t ask.
‘What happened next?’ he prompted instead.
‘I followed her. She was running. Then she suddenly stopped. Something had spooked her. I couldn’t see what it was. Then she ran on. I didn’t take the path, I cut round the back through the trees.’ He stopped there for a moment, looking at them both. ‘That’s when I saw him.’
McNab and Janice both waited, knowing he’d set them up to ask who he’d seen. When they didn’t rise to the bait, he looked irritated, but only briefly.
‘Robbie McIntyre was there, and he was carrying something.’
Something tweaked in McNab’s brain. He’s lying, McNab thought. The fucker is lying. Maybe just this part. Maybe all of it.
‘Describe what he was carrying,’ Janice said.
‘I was too far away to make it out, but it was definitely white.’
At this point McNab considered whether McLaughlin knew about the confirmation dress in the grave. But how? It hadn’t been released to the press and general public, although he had asked Robbie if he might be able to identify the dress his sister was wearing when she’d disappeared. Robbie might contact McCreadie about it, but McNab couldn’t for a moment imagine a link between either of those two men and the creature that sat opposite him.
‘Please carry on, Mr McLaughlin,’ Janice said.
‘I went home then.’
‘Did you see Karen again that day?’
He shook his head. ‘Folk came out and looked about the place, including Karen’s dad. The police did the round of the houses and garden sheds. Asking when we’d last seen Mary.’
‘When did you last see Mary?’ Janice said.
This time McLaughlin was ready with his answer. ‘The night before when she was whistled in. She didn’t show up at first, so she must have been at the den or in the woods. When she did appear, her dad was livid and dragged her inside the house. She got the belt that night. I heard her crying.’
‘Did you tell the police all of this when you were interviewed?’ McNab said.
‘Of course I did, but DI McCreadie didn’t like me. He thought I did it, and made sure everyone else thought that too.’
So that’s why he’s here, McNab thought, to plead his innocence.
But McLaughlin wasn’t finished yet and he’d kept his bombshell for the end.
‘Wee Mary McIntyre was pregnant when she disappeared. Did McCreadie tell you that, Detective Sergeant?’
26
She’s taller, Rhona thought. Tall and gangly, although her face had barely changed, nor had the intense look McNab had mentioned.
Emma had been nine when they’d last met and, as McNab had said, she wasn’t far short of a teenager now. She’d greeted Rhona with a delighted smile, although once the subject moved to why they were meeting, the serious look had returned.
&nbs
p; Her mum, Claire, had delivered Emma to the police station at midday as agreed, but had chosen not to accompany them on their trip to the moor. It was, she’d explained, too big a reminder of what had happened to her daughter the last time they’d met. Rhona didn’t blame her for that.
‘Just text me when you’re on your way back,’ Claire had said with a forced smile, ‘and I’ll be waiting for you.’
McNab too had chosen not to accompany them but had seemed relaxed about Magnus going. Rhona had been given the impression that he was glad to see the tail end of the professor, who’d apparently been observing an interview McNab and DS Clark had been conducting. Emma, on the other hand, had greeted Magnus with great warmth. It had been Magnus, together with Rhona, who’d persuaded McNab to acknowledge the child’s role in the earlier investigation.
Magnus had to sit in the back, so that Emma might sit next to Rhona, although no one spoke as they headed southwards out of the city. The rain came on to match their mood, streaming the windscreen, with the only sound being the soft thump of the wipers.
As they began their climb up onto the moor, Emma roused herself, as though in preparation for what was to follow. Rhona couldn’t imagine what was going through the girl’s mind, but couldn’t dismiss the thought that, by bringing her here, she might be making Emma relive her previous trauma.
A quick sideways glance revealed the opposite. Emma, alert now, wore the determined look Rhona remembered.
The rain had stopped by the time they took to the dirt track that led to the excavation site. As a watery sun broke through the clouds to fashion a rainbow, Rhona couldn’t help but wonder, if it was a sign of luck, what that luck might mean. That Emma wouldn’t locate another body nearby? Or, alternatively, that she would?
Rhona parked in her usual place, and they all climbed out. The rain clouds were now scurrying across the sky, hurried by a brisk wind. Underfoot was muddy and a walk through the sodden heather wouldn’t be a pleasant experience.
The Innocent Dead - Rhona MacLeod Series 15 (2020) Page 12
