The Innocent Dead - Rhona MacLeod Series 15 (2020)

by Anderson, Lin

  McNab waited, although his brain was working overtime on what she’d just told him. For the confirmation clothes to be buried with Mary, her killer must have been to the den, before or after he’d taken Mary.

  ‘We found a blue jumper in a box in your loft,’ McNab said quietly. ‘Was that Mary’s?’

  Karen seemed startled by the question, then said guiltily, ‘After everyone said she was missing, I ran back to the den to look for her. The dress and the bag were gone. I wondered if she was hiding somewhere in the woods. I went looking, shouting her name. That’s when I found the jumper.’

  She hesitated. ‘I should have given it to the police, I know, but I hoped she’d come back. I was a wee girl who’d lost her best friend and it was the only thing I had of hers.’

  ‘Did you ever wash the jumper?’ McNab said.

  ‘Oh no. My mother never knew I had it. I kept it hidden. Like the diary.’

  If Mary was wearing the jumper when she’d met her assailant, then evidence of that contact could still be on it. In 1975, forensic science, in its infancy, would likely have gained little from it. And considering other evidence had disappeared during the years in between, maybe the jumper would have done the same.

  If the confirmation outfit had remained in the bag, then chances were it had never been handled by the killer, which was why they’d only found Mary and Karen’s DNA on it. As for the jumper . . . McNab allowed himself a small glimmer of hope.

  And now to the tricky question.

  ‘Who do you think sexually assaulted Mary?’ McNab tried, knowing this might prove the key to everything.

  Karen didn’t or couldn’t meet McNab’s eye. ‘I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. All I wanted was to wear that dress.’

  ‘But you think you might know now?’ McNab tried.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she repeated.

  ‘But you suspect?’ McNab tried again.

  Her response, when it came, didn’t answer his question.

  ‘My dad told me I had to forget everything that happened that day. Everyone in the street suspected everyone else. My dad said we had to protect the innocent and not listen to gossip or repeat it. My mum was terrified that whoever had taken Mary would come back for me.’

  ‘What about Eleanor?’ McNab said.

  Karen gave a small laugh. ‘My sister hated it most of all. She blamed Mary for everything.’ She reached for the school jotter and handed it to McNab. ‘I was just a wee girl,’ she said. ‘I didn’t understand what was going on. Except that if Mary was dead, it was my fault.’

  ‘Well,’ McCreadie said as McNab re-entered the conservatory. ‘How did it go?’

  McNab ignored the question and addressed Marge. ‘I think Karen needs a friend. Maybe you could go and sit with her for a bit?’

  ‘I’ll go right up.’

  Marge having departed and shut the door behind her, both Magnus and McCreadie were waiting for whatever McNab had to say. By the former detective’s expression, McNab suspected what he’d just been told by Karen wasn’t likely to have reached McCreadie’s ears between Karen’s arrival here and this morning. Not unless she’d been talking in her fever-filled state.

  The diary, however, was a different matter. Once Karen had fallen asleep, there had been ample time for McCreadie to take a look at what was in the jotter that McNab now had in his hand.

  McCreadie must have ordered more coffee, because just at that moment Lucy arrived with a tray. McNab was delighted. A caffeine fix was just what he needed at this point in time.

  He told Lucy so, and was rewarded with a glimmer of a smile.

  After Lucy left, McCreadie took his chance, his voice fierce and impassioned.

  ‘I know I’m not officially on the case, but I was the investigating officer forty-five years ago. I screwed up big time back then, so I’ll do everything in my power to get it right this time.’

  McNab listened to McCreadie’s little speech in silence, then said, ‘So you’ll be happy to answer a few questions regarding Karen Marshall’s recent disappearance?’

  McCreadie looked slightly taken aback by this, but nodded anyway. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Had you already seen Karen in Stirling since her disappearance, and before you met her in the castle woods?’

  When McCreadie didn’t immediately answer, McNab repeated the question.

  ‘No. I had not,’ he said cautiously.

  ‘What if I told you that you were captured on CCTV in Karen’s presence at least twice in the time since her disappearance?’

  ‘Then I’d say you were mistaken.’

  ‘You haven’t asked where this might have occurred,’ McNab said.

  ‘Because I haven’t left the house for weeks, apart for my short walks on King’s Knot and Castle Hill,’ McCreadie said, seemingly on solid ground now. ‘I have a deadline to meet on the next book, so a quick walk is all I can spare at the moment. Ask Lucy, she’ll tell you.’

  McNab could see that Magnus had no idea where all this was going, but he finally came in on the action.

  ‘You suspect from this footage you’re referring to that someone, a man, was stalking Karen?’ he said.

  ‘Our super recognizer thought so.’ McNab laid it on thick, just to be sure. ‘If he had an image of you for comparison,’ he said, looking pointedly at McCreadie, ‘then Ollie would be able to eliminate you.’

  McCreadie never flinched. ‘Well, of course I’d be happy to supply an image. As I said, I’ve barely been out of the house. Assuming it’s true that someone is stalking Karen, then that’s a worrying development. There’s no chance it was McLaughlin before his demise?’

  ‘What do you know about McLaughlin’s demise?’ McNab said.

  ‘Just what’s been released to the press.’

  McNab didn’t believe that, but let it go anyway and asked his final question.

  ‘Have you read or photographed the contents of Karen’s diary?’

  ‘I have not,’ was McCreadie’s immediate response.

  ‘So it won’t turn up on one of your true crime podcasts?’

  McCreadie gave a wry smile. ‘Not until after it’s been presented in court and if I have Karen’s permission, Detective Sergeant.’

  So that was it. McNab rose to go. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said.

  McCreadie came back in then. ‘I was planning to ask Karen to stay here until she’s feeling better?’

  ‘I think that would be wise,’ Magnus intervened.

  McNab okayed this and made to leave. ‘There’s a strategy meeting tomorrow, first thing,’ he told Magnus. ‘We’ll talk there, Professor Pirie.’

  Pulling on his waterproofs at the bike, McNab had another quick look at the note Karen had given him along with the diary. A note she’d said had been posted through her letter box.

  It said, I know who you are.

  When McNab had asked Karen what she thought it meant, she’d said, ‘Someone around here knew that I was Karen Marshall, Mary’s friend.’

  Even Marge and the women at the cafe weren’t aware of that until Karen had told them. But . . . perhaps one of her not-so-far-away neighbours had already worked it out. The guy who’d known Karen’s husband, and who’d met Karen on King’s Knot, then miraculously encountered her again as she visited her husband’s grave in the Old Town Cemetery.

  Former DI Jimmy McCreadie, now crime writer J. D. Smart.

  The rain came on as he left Stirling, reminding McNab just how wet you could get when riding a Harley. And going fast only made it worse.

  56

  ‘Well,’ Chrissy said as she elbowed her way through the crowd, ‘it looks like a good turnout for the lovebirds.’

  Rhona, following in Chrissy wake, had to agree. Police officers, she thought, were easy to spot, even out of uniform. Why, she wasn’t sure, but it was true. Paula’s friends and probably co-workers definitely did not look the same. Or maybe it was because the groups were at this moment clearly delineated. Hopefully once the drink flowed, ther
e might be more of a mingling.

  ‘What does Paula do?’ Rhona said, aware that even if she didn’t know, Chrissy likely would.

  ‘She’s a GP, I believe,’ Chrissy said, confident as ever with her answer.

  Having now got them to the bar, Chrissy asked Rhona what she wanted to drink. ‘Not the white wine,’ she advised.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because, take it from me, the white in here is shite. What about a cocktail instead?’

  At this point Rhona noted that the board behind the bar was offering two cocktails for the price of one, which may well have prompted Chrissy’s suggestion.

  ‘Okay. Get me what you’re having.’

  Rhona wasn’t planning to stay much past one drink to toast the happy couple, so taking a chance with Chrissy’s choice seemed okay.

  While Chrissy got the drinks, Rhona sought out the couple, spotting them standing together in a corner. She headed their way.

  Janice, seeing her approach, looked pleased, and immediately did the introductions. Paula, Rhona discovered, was from Inverness originally, but knew Skye well. In fact she’d been a locum in Broadford for six months.

  ‘You’re from the Misty Isle, I hear?’ she said.

  ‘My adoptive parents were,’ Rhona explained. ‘That’s where I got the MacLeod name.’ They chatted for a while, exchanging names of people they might both know, including Jamie, the undertaker, and the famous Blaze, the Border collie that had aided Rhona on her last case on the island.

  By that time, Chrissy was back with two French 75s, which she assured Rhona was only gin and prosecco, ‘although it should really be champagne’.

  They toasted the happy couple.

  ‘How did McNab take your announcement?’ Rhona said.

  ‘With complete mystification,’ Janice said. ‘Said he didn’t even know I had a boyfriend.’ She mimicked McNab’s surprise.

  They all laughed.

  ‘And him a detective,’ Chrissy said, shaking her head.

  ‘I think he’s a bit perplexed that he never worked out the gay part. Seeing as he’s always right about everything,’ Janice said. ‘He was quite sweet, to be honest.’

  ‘I’m dying to meet this man who’s my partner’s other partner,’ Paula declared.

  ‘Not as much as he’ll want to meet you,’ Chrissy said. ‘In fact,’ she looked around for the umpteenth time, ‘where the hell is he? Surely he must be back from Stirling by now?’

  There was a sudden silence as the three who knew why McNab had been in Stirling registered that they couldn’t speak about it. Not in mixed company. Perhaps, sensing this, Paula informed them she was off to the Ladies. ‘I’ll be there a while,’ she added.

  ‘You’ve got her well trained,’ Chrissy said, impressed.

  ‘I do the same thing when we attend doctors’ functions. Folk like talking about their work, but if it’s not your work, it’s a lot less interesting,’ Janice said.

  ‘So how’d it go in Stirling?’ Chrissy said. ‘Have you heard?’

  ‘Nothing since we spoke before he left,’ Janice told her. ‘However, I do know McNab didn’t like being summoned by former DI McCreadie, even if it was because he’d located Karen Marshall.’

  ‘It did sound a little convenient that he should be the one to find her,’ Rhona said.

  ‘D’you get the feeling the former detective likes to be just one step ahead of us?’ Janice ventured. ‘Even to the extent of managing the story?’

  There was a murmur of thoughtful agreement on that.

  At that moment, Chrissy spotted the subject of their conversation. ‘Here comes McNab in his biker gear. And he’s wet.’

  McNab had no difficulty threading through the throng as they all stepped back to avoid him.

  ‘Ladies,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Sorry I’m late. And that I’m very wet.’ He halted there, adopting a worried expression. ‘I am still allowed to refer to you as ladies?’

  ‘Fuck off, McNab,’ Janice told him with a grin. ‘How’d it go with J. D.?’

  ‘I spoke to Karen alone. She gave me the diary. She’s staying with Smart until she feels better,’ McNab summed it up in three sentences, before turning to Rhona. ‘We need to have words about the jumper, Dr MacLeod. And soon.’

  At this point, Paula returned. Rhona watched as Paula and McNab realized who they each were, while Janice winked at Rhona.

  ‘So,’ said Chrissy, ‘Paula . . . McNab. McNab . . . Paula.’

  ‘Don’t I get a first name?’ McNab said.

  ‘You have one?’ Janice retorted, her expression astonished.

  ‘Yes,’ Chrissy said, ‘it’s Michael. My wee boy’s named after him.’

  Paula looked taken aback at this, glancing between them, the question Is he McNab’s? etched on her face.

  ‘He’s not the father,’ Chrissy put her right. ‘I’m one female he hasn’t bedded.’

  ‘Hey,’ Janice intervened. ‘Not the only one.’

  Rhona kept her mouth shut, as did McNab. And they did so without looking at one another.

  Chrissy explained further. ‘McNab saved wee Michael’s life before he was born.’

  ‘I’ll tell you the story later,’ Janice promised Paula.

  ‘I’m delighted to meet you, Paula,’ McNab said. ‘And when I get a drink, I’d be happy to toast the pair of you.’

  ‘So where’s Ellie?’ Rhona enquired when McNab arrived back with more drinks for everyone.

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘No answer to my texts since I stood her up to go to McLaughlin’s murder scene.’

  ‘You did let her know why?’

  ‘I did. But a little late,’ McNab admitted.

  ‘So you went home alone with a carry-out meal and brooded in the shower?’

  McNab’s face broke into a grin. ‘You know me too well. What about you?’

  ‘I stood up two men. One of whom was my son who I haven’t seen in six months or more.’

  ‘Okay. You win.’ McNab raised his glass to her.

  The group had split up as Janice and Paula moved round the room, greeting everyone. McNab glanced over at their progress.

  ‘You really had no idea?’ Rhona said.

  ‘Nope. Never thought about it for a moment,’ McNab admitted. ‘I had a notion on Janice when she arrived. That shows you I had no idea.’

  ‘I remember,’ Rhona said. ‘But then again you’ve been known to fancy all new arrivals.’

  She thought McNab might dispute that, but he didn’t.

  ‘How are things with Ellie?’ she said.

  ‘How are things with Sean?’ he countered.

  The silence from both of us pretty well sums up our relationships, Rhona thought. She moved on to more favourable ground.

  ‘You wanted to talk about the jumper?’

  Rhona listened intently to a fuller description of McNab’s conversation earlier with Karen, including his thoughts that the killer may not have had contact with the confirmation dress at all.

  ‘Karen blamed herself for her friend’s death,’ Rhona said. ‘No wonder she stopped talking.’

  McNab nodded. ‘Thing is, I had a quick look at the diary. There’s not a lot in there, and most of it contradicts what Karen just told me.’

  Rhona considered this. ‘Maybe she was writing what she wanted to be the truth back then, rather than what was the truth?’

  ‘So which story do I believe? The one I heard today or what’s in the diary?’

  ‘Can I read it?’ Rhona said.

  ‘I photographed the pages and sent copies to you and Pirie along with the recording I made of our conversation,’ McNab said. ‘McCreadie says he’s not read the diary, but I don’t buy that. He had twelve hours minimum when Karen Marshall was in his house, likely not compos mentis. He would have been desperate to know what was in that jotter. I would have, if I was in his shoes,’ he admitted.

  ‘I’ll take a look when I get home,’ Rhona promised. ‘Oh,’ she said, remembering. ‘We collected a sal
iva sample from the back of McLaughlin’s neck.’

  Midway through taking a slug of his pint, McNab grued. ‘Not a good image to hold in my head.’

  ‘But it means we have a DNA sample for whoever was breathing down his neck,’ Rhona said, thinking if anyone uninitiated was listening into their conversation, it wasn’t a pretty picture they were painting. She recalled once before, sitting enthusiastically discussing blood splattering in a pub with Chrissy, only to realize those sitting around them were making moves to get away.

  ‘There was one thing in the diary, though.’ McNab returned to their previous subject. ‘It sounded like Karen was also being creeped out by some bloke.’

  ‘Did she give a name?’

  McNab shook his head. ‘She mentioned a bloke hanging about the local shops, exposing himself. But there was also a reference to someone closer to home, I think.’

  The conversation ended there with a surprise arrival. Rhona saw Ellie first. She was headed towards them, with a look on her face that suggested trouble.

  Rhona called a welcome, to warn McNab of his girlfriend’s imminent arrival and hopefully soften whatever she had in mind.

  ‘Ellie?’ McNab turned in surprise. ‘Hey, you did get my message?’

  ‘Which one?’ Ellie smiled sweetly, although there was a cold steel in her eyes.

  Rhona made her excuses and, silently wishing McNab luck, absented herself from what looked like the impending fray.

  57

  The heavy rain of the previous night had thankfully cleared and spring returned, making Rhona’s walk to work through the park something to be enjoyed, and not endured.

  On her way home after the pub the previous evening, she’d picked up a microwave meal and, reheating it, had then settled down to read the diary. It hadn’t taken long to see what McNab had meant regarding fact and fiction.

  The diary had read like her own made-up stories as a child, where she had starred in numerous imagined mysteries along the lines of The Famous Five. Despite this, Rhona had still had a strong sense of reality in some of the diary’s detail, like the skipping song and the fear and loss when Mary did not return.