The story Karen had told McNab of what had really happened that day – the switching of outfits, Karen taking Mary’s place at the altar to be confirmed – did ring true, because it answered many of the questions they’d had. Rhona had gone over the sequence of events using Karen’s story and for the first time it seemed to her that they fitted. It’s what had happened afterwards that still had to be made clear.
The killer had taken possession of the bag, so he’d visited the den after Karen’s departure. Had he known Karen would return to change and had he been watching for her? Maybe he’d intended to also take Karen?
Rhona wondered if Karen had considered this afterwards, and fear at this happening had kept her silent?
The shaded drawing and what it had revealed showed that Karen had been afraid of Alec McLaughlin, who’d taken to sitting on the hill watching them play tennis, while shouting obscenities. Her father had warned her about bad men. Karen had puzzled over whether she knew of any bad men, then thought she knew one.
Was she thinking about Alec at that point or someone else?
As for the jumper story, that too had rung true. She could only hope that they would recover something from it that might give them a lead to Mary’s killer.
For once Chrissy wasn’t at the lab before her. Rhona had a silent wish that it was because Chrissy had stopped to pick up their filled rolls on the way. As she thought this, she noted the row of porridge pots staring down defiantly at her from the shelf near the coffee maker. Rhona assured them their days were numbered as she set about making the coffee.
Chrissy entered shortly after, accompanied by a delicious smell, signifying that Rhona’s wish had just come true. Trying not to gloat at the porridge pots, Rhona acted as though this was simply normal.
‘Coffee’s ready,’ she announced as Chrissy plonked the two brown paper bags on the table.
‘Full works,’ Chrissy promised.
Once settled and eating, Chrissy said, ‘Where did you disappear to last night? When I came back from my rounds, you were gone,’ she added accusingly.
‘Ellie arrived when McNab and I were talking. I was avoiding what looked like a possible fight.’
‘Wise move,’ Chrissy agreed. ‘And here I thought you’d ducked out before Dr Walker arrived. Remember how you invited him?’
‘Oh God, did he come?’ Rhona said in horror.
‘Of course, and he spent a lot of time looking for you. I was no help, since I didn’t know you’d left,’ Chrissy said. ‘Looks like you’re on a run of standing men up.’
Rhona had completely forgotten about inviting Richie, but she could hardly tell him that.
As though reading her thoughts, Chrissy said, ‘I’d like to be a fly on the wall the next time you two meet up.’
‘I went home early to read Karen’s diary,’ Rhona said. It was an excuse, but a real one. ‘McNab had photographed it and sent it through, along with a recording of his talk with her.’
‘So you can text Dr Walker and tell him that so as to prolong his agony. Or you can tell him you’re not interested in going out with him.’
Neither sounded appealing to Rhona at that moment.
‘So,’ Chrissy said. ‘What about the diary? Did it give us a clue to the killer?’
‘I think you should read it yourself, before we start work,’ Rhona said. ‘Maybe you’ll spot something I didn’t.’
Leaving Chrissy to do that, Rhona checked to see what they’d had back from their various tests. Although they’d not found semen on the body to check for DNA, Chrissy had extracted skin and microscopic blood spots from under Mary’s fingernails. From these they had a DNA profile, but still no match.
McNab was excited about what they might retrieve from the jumper, but assuming they did and it provided the same profile DNA, it still wouldn’t give them the suspect’s name if he wasn’t on the database.
There were other things they could do, though. With two sources of the same DNA, they definitely had a reason to extend their search. Perhaps through a familial search, hoping that a close family member had broken the law. The blond hairs they’d recovered from the body, without roots, weren’t ideal for DNA capture, but they could extract mitochondrial DNA from them and confirm if it was a match for the other two sources.
At this point her mobile buzzed, and it had McNab’s name on the screen. She answered.
‘Dr MacLeod here,’ she said.
‘I love when you talk dirty, Dr MacLeod.’
‘You sound cheerful, Detective Sergeant McNab. I take it things went all right last night with Ellie?’
‘Well, she didn’t dump me. Just told me she was thinking of having sex with someone else.’
‘What?’ Rhona said, mystified.
‘We agreed at the beginning of this relationship that we would tell one another if that was the case. At least, Ellie proposed the arrangement and I agreed. Never believing it would ever happen.’
Rhona now realized the forced cheerfulness was just a cover for what he was really feeling.
‘Apparently when I’m on a murder case like this one, I become obsessed,’ McNab added, ‘and not with her.’
Rhona finally found something she could agree with. ‘That’s true of you, me, maybe all of us in this line of work . . . except Chrissy.’
Thank God she had made him laugh.
‘Have you read the diary?’ McNab changed the subject.
‘I have.’
‘And what do you think?’
Rhona told him.
‘Can you meet with Magnus and me, before the strategy meeting?’ McNab said. ‘Magnus knows the state of Karen’s mind, I hope. You know how what she said fits with the forensics. We need to put everything together before we talk to the team,’ he finished.
McNab sounded keyed up. Rhona knew what he was like when something had landed. Something important. But he obviously wasn’t yet ready to tell her what that something was.
58
McNab wondered if Rhona had sensed his excitement. This is what he lived for in the job. The moment the scattered pieces started to shuffle into place.
‘I’m ready,’ he told Ollie.
The initial picture on the screen was Jackson’s passport photograph from the last time. McNab thought again that the face looked like a Ukrainian terrorist or a Mafia hitman.
However, the full face wasn’t what Ollie was interested in. He’d wanted images of the man’s stance, the shape of the shoulders, the way he held his head. Trawling social media and God knows where else, he’d found a selection of such images, and now McNab was watching them spool across the screen.
The software running alongside was doing its job, checking each image by comparing it to the physical attributes of the man in the CCTV images. However, the software, no matter how powerful, wasn’t as good as Ollie, and he was just using it to prove to McNab that he was right.
Eventually the program made its decision.
The man in the various images was the missing husband of Eleanor Jackson, who was supposedly somewhere in a truck in Europe. But he wasn’t, because he’d been caught on CCTV in Stirling, within touching distance of Karen Marshall.
‘I’m checking European police records, in case he comes up in any of them,’ Ollie said. ‘So far he’s clean.’
‘Or he’s not been caught yet,’ McNab added.
‘So what now?’ Ollie said.
‘It’s time Mrs Jackson and I had another chat.’ McNab helped himself to a ring doughnut from the box he’d brought for Ollie. ‘How are things with Maria?’
‘She’s putting me on a diet,’ Ollie said.
‘No more doughnuts?’
‘She says you’re to bring me fruit instead,’ Ollie said in a crestfallen manner.
‘Irn-Bru still all right?’
‘Apparently the new one has less sugar, so she’s okayed that, in moderation.’
McNab patted Ollie on the shoulder. ‘She sounds like a keeper. I’d do what she says. You’ll live
longer.’ McNab popped the last bit of doughnut in his own mouth.
There was nothing like a sugar rush at times like this.
McNab stopped by the coffee machine to add caffeine to the mix, then went to find his partner. He recalled last night’s meeting with the soon-to-be Mrs Clark, or Mrs – what was the lovely Paula’s surname? Maybe they didn’t do the Mrs thing anyway and just stayed with their own names.
He had discovered since the news of their engagement had been broken to him that he was becoming more observant of his colleagues, not wishing to be caught out again. Criminals he could read like a book. Ordinary law-abiding citizens and their sexuality obviously not so well.
He knew he was avoiding thinking about Ellie and her determined but also questioning suggestion she’d made last night. Shock had been his first and main reaction. So much so that he hadn’t slept much afterwards, his brain having decided to replay their conversation like a broken record all night long.
McNab forced himself to focus instead on Ollie’s news, and to wonder if he should visit Mrs Jackson alone or take his engaged partner along. Even as he considered this, McNab realized the likelihood was that DS Clark would be the one to decide.
He found Janice at her desk reading Karen’s diary, a knot of concentration creasing her brow. She was good at the focused thing, he realized. Good at picking up the nuances in what people said, and how they reacted. In contrast, he was at times the veritable bull in the china shop.
Janice looked up then, sensing his watchful eyes upon her.
‘What?’ she said.
‘A good time last night, was it not?’ McNab ventured.
‘You mean, what did Paula think of you?’
That was Janice, straight to the point. ‘Well, I liked her,’ McNab tried.
Janice gave him a half-smile, but failed to respond with a reciprocal comment from Paula about him. Having waited slightly for this, McNab delivered his news. ‘Ollie has identified the man in the CCTV footage in Stirling as Eric Jackson.’
Janice assimilated this, taking her time. McNab could almost hear her brain working on it.
‘So, you’re going to see Mrs Jackson and you want to know if I’m coming with you?’
God, she was good. McNab smiled back, acknowledging how right she was.
‘I’ll stay here,’ she told him. ‘I want to listen to the recording again. There’s something Karen isn’t telling us, in the diary and in the interview.’
‘Any idea what that could be?’ McNab said.
‘Ask me when you get back,’ Janice said, returning to her screen.
McNab headed for the Gents, only to have his mobile drill loudly on the way. He answered without consulting the screen to find out who it was.
‘DS McNab here.’
‘She’s gone. Karen’s gone.’ McCreadie rushed on. ‘She was sleeping – or we thought she was. I was writing in the conservatory and Lucy was in the kitchen. Karen must have walked out.’
‘How long ago?’ McNab demanded.
‘We have no idea, it could be up to two hours. I drove to Rowan Cottage and her car’s missing from the garage.’
‘Have you tried Marge? Maybe she went to the recovery cafe?’ McNab said.
It was obvious by the silence that he hadn’t.
‘I’m sorry. My head’s been in the book.’
It sounded like fictional crime had won over fact.
‘I’ll deal with it,’ McNab said and rang off.
Marge answered on the first ring. ‘She’s gone, hasn’t she?’ she said before McNab could tell her what had happened.
‘I was hoping she’d come to you. Have you any idea where she might have gone?’
There was a moment’s silence before Marge said, ‘There was something she wasn’t telling us. I’ve seen that too often not to recognize it. She’s either decided to do what she tried back in the cottage or she’s gone to confront her fears.’
‘Gone where?’ McNab said.
‘That I don’t know.’
‘You’ll call me if she gets in touch?’
Marge assured him she would, although she didn’t sound optimistic.
McNab set the wheels in motion for a second search for Karen, the most important thing being to find the car. He’d already discarded his plan to go to see Eleanor Jackson. It was more important to meet with Magnus and Rhona prior to the strategy meeting as previously planned. Eleanor Jackson would have to come into the police station instead.
The biggest question around this was the place of Eric Jackson in the story. Mrs Jackson had maintained from the beginning that she was not in touch with her sister. But what if she’d been lying? What if she’d always known where Karen was?
And why lie about her husband’s whereabouts?
Of course, it could be that Eric was the one telling the lies. Perhaps he just liked taking some time out before he came home after a job. Or maybe he rarely came home at all? Maybe the forty-four-year-old marriage Eleanor had so proudly announced didn’t exist in reality.
The biggest question of all was why Eric Jackson had been in Stirling, and so close to his sister-in-law.
59
The rain had come on as she’d left Stirling, a steady grey drizzle that matched her mood. Karen hadn’t driven this road since her mother’s death. How many years ago had that been? She realized she didn’t know, or didn’t want to remember.
Professor Pirie had been right about the detective. He had been kind. She’d felt bad when the professor had explained how hard DS McNab had been working to find her. That was the problem, she acknowledged. It had been since Jack’s illness and death. All that time she’d never considered herself, because she’d had Jack to look after. Now she thought only of herself. What she wanted. What she needed. What might bring her peace.
But mostly of how much she wanted it all to end.
Marge had told her that her recovery would play out like this . . . until, that is, she faced up to the truth, no matter how difficult that was. Until now, she hadn’t known what that truth was, or pretended she hadn’t.
Remember the innocents in all of this, her father had told her. Whispers and innuendo are evil things. If you don’t have something good to say about someone, her mother had told her, then say nothing at all.
Mary didn’t believe that. Mary said what she thought. Mary was braver than she, Karen, could ever be.
And Mary had died because of that, a small voice reminded her.
Her arm burned under its dressing but Karen welcomed the pain, because it kept her focused, both on the road and on what she had to do. Turning on the radio, she almost expected to hear her name again, to discover the police were already looking for her, but there was no mention of it on the hourly news, although she was pretty sure they would be searching for her car.
It took a lot less time and effort than she’d imagined to travel beyond the boundaries that she had set herself. To go back in time.
As she approached the steep hill of her youth, Karen had a sudden memory of travelling down that brae at breakneck speed on her bike, trying to catch Mary up. Then she was back at the entrance to the Catholic school and the playground where she’d first learned to ride the same bike, a second-hand one that she and her dad had painted blue.
The biggest surprise of all on returning to the past was how small the street looked, how small the houses and the gardens out front were. As a child her dad’s garden had always seemed so big.
She parked outside her old house and sat for a moment to compose herself, then she locked the car and set off up the path that led to the rough ground. Looking back on the row of houses that had been her world before Mary had disappeared, Karen suddenly remembered who else had stood on the hill looking down as she did now.
Closing her eyes, she could hear Mary’s voice shouting at her to ‘get the ball’ after she’d missed a shot. You had to be fast, because no matter how quickly you ran down that brae, the tennis ball moved faster.
She’d even
tually caught up with it and, turning, had seen Alec come down from his perch on the hill and stand close to Mary, no doubt whispering his obscenities.
Turning abruptly to dispel the image, Karen made for the distant trees. Nothing much had changed up here, she noted, apart from the rubbish scattered through the undergrowth.
As she approached the wood, she realized it too had shrunk in size, or maybe part of it had been cut down. The remaining trees seemed scrawny; the old stone wall where the crow had stared down on her was broken, the stones scattered.
She carried on towards where she thought the den had been, only to find nothing of the structure remained. None of the branches they’d pulled together to form a wall and a roof. Nothing to show it had ever existed.
She walked on through the remaining trees towards the distant sound of traffic. Emerging from behind a scrubby hedge, she found a tarred road, where before it had been a farm track. In the near distance, new housing fanned out across the hillside near the small reservoir where the boys had gone fishing for minnows.
He’d used to park the van here, pretending he had come to fish, then wait in the woods to watch them. Sometimes, when they’d been there for ages and didn’t want to go home, they’d had to pee among the trees, giggling at how horrified their mums would be if they were to find out.
No doubt he’d watched that too.
A wave of nausea washed over Karen and she had to lean head-down against a stubby tree.
How long had he planned it? When did he decide which one of them it would be? Had he meant to kill or was it a mistake made in that moment?
If he’d come upon me there instead of Mary, he might have left me alive, knowing I would never be brave enough to tell anyone.
Mary would have told if she’d stayed alive, because Mary was old enough to understand what was going on.
It was Mary who told my dad about the flasher at the shops. It was Mary who told Robbie about Alec shouting at us. It was Mary who’d tried to tell her parents about Father Feeney.
Karen turned and walked back to the car. There was somewhere else she had to go on this street. Someone she had to see, before she finished her journey.
The Innocent Dead - Rhona MacLeod Series 15 (2020) Page 28
