Cold as the Grave
Page 20
32
The Western General never truly slept, but it had entered a period of night-time quiet when McLean arrived with Rahel and Emma in tow. He had only briefly contemplated suggesting Emma take a taxi home on her own, and decided swiftly to keep that idea to himself. It helped that she seemed to have formed a bond of sorts with the young refugee. He could only guess at what Madame Rose had told the two of them while he’d been discussing Middle Eastern mythology with Jasmina.
They must have looked an odd sight, the three of them walking the empty hospital corridors. McLean in his tartan trews and formal jacket, Emma in a long fur coat, and Rahel with her angry red hair and matching attitude. Nobody commented, of the few folk they saw, so maybe being outlandish was the best way to remain incognito.
A lone uniformed constable sat on a chair outside the room where the young woman who was almost certainly Rahel’s sister lay. McLean didn’t manage to see the title of the book he was reading before he scrambled to his feet, slipping it into a pocket as they approached.
‘Detective Chief Inspector, sir. Nobody said . . .’
‘At ease, Constable.’ McLean racked his memory for the name. ‘It’s Sullivan, isn’t it?’
‘Sir.’ The young man nodded, smoothing down his jacket with hands that didn’t quite know what they were supposed to be doing. He tried to keep his gaze on McLean, but couldn’t help darting glances at his two mismatched companions.
‘The young woman.’ McLean waved a hand at the door. It had a thin glass panel let into it, and beyond he could see the corner of a bed surrounded by intensive-care machinery. ‘She’s still unconscious, I take it?’
‘Aye, sir. No’ really sure when she’ll wake up.’
McLean couldn’t help noticing he’d said ‘when’, not ‘if’. He hoped it was more than just youthful optimism and innocence.
‘I need to see her,’ he said. ‘More importantly, this woman needs to see her.’ He pointed at Rahel with an open hand. ‘It’s possible she may be able to identify her.’
The constable nodded, then produced a clipboard and pen from behind his chair. ‘You’ll have to sign in, sir.’
McLean did as he was asked, adding Rahel’s name to the very short list of people who had visited that day.
‘I’ll just wait here,’ Emma said, and peering into the room beyond, McLean could hardly blame her. There wasn’t much space to start with, and most of it had been filled with life-support apparatus. The bed in the centre of it had been rigged up with a traction frame, wires and supports holding limbs in what looked like very uncomfortable positions. At first he thought that there were only limbs, as the young woman’s head was almost totally engulfed by pillows and half obscured by bandages. He had seen photographs of her taken not long after she’d been found, bruised, bloodied and caked in filth. Somehow, cleaned up and kept alive by gently humming machinery, she looked worse.
‘Akka?’
Rahel’s uncertainty was understandable. She stood close to McLean, just inside the room, not daring to go any closer at first. Then she took a step, another, each one a hardening of her resolve, until she stood at the head of the bed staring down at the comatose young woman.
‘What happened to her? Who did this?’
McLean edged around the bed until he was standing beside her. ‘We found her on an industrial estate, out Sighthill way. Whoever did it left her for dead. It’s only luck she was discovered in time.’
Even as he said it, he questioned the use of the word. There was nothing lucky about this poor wreck of a human being.
‘Is this your sister, Rahel? Is this Akka?’
Rahel nodded, reached out a hand towards the bed, then clenched her outstretched fingers into a fist and withdrew it again.
‘She’ll get the best possible treatment. If anyone can help her it’s the doctors working here.’
As if hearing his voice for the first time, the young woman in the bed let out a low moan, so soft it was almost inaudible. The eye not covered by bandages flickered under its closed lid for a second or two, then she fell still again. If the humming and beeping machinery registered anything, McLean couldn’t tell, but it was a positive sign nonetheless.
‘Come.’ He laid a hand gently on Rahel’s shoulder, half expecting her to shrug it off and refuse to be parted from her sister. Instead, something seemed to go out of her and she allowed him to steer her from the room.
‘Why does it not surprise me to find you wandering through my hospital in the dead of night.’
They had barely reached the end of the corridor, McLean, Emma and Rahel each silent in their own thoughts as they walked to the entrance and hopefully a taxi, when they were interrupted by a familiar voice. McLean had known Doctor Caroline Wheeler for many years now, and he couldn’t ever recall a time she hadn’t looked tired. Now was no different, although given the late hour it was hardly surprising.
‘I could say the same for you, Caroline. Do you never sleep?’
Doctor Wheeler’s smile took too much effort to last long. ‘It’s been known to happen. Once or twice a year.’ She turned to Emma. ‘It’s good to see you looking so well, Em. And Tony, the trews suit you. Maybe you should wear them more often.’ Finally, she looked at Rahel, part hiding behind the two of them, and her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Ah.’
‘Rahel Nour, this is Doctor Caroline Wheeler.’ McLean made the introductions. ‘And judging by the direction she was walking, I’m guessing she’s been looking after your sister.’
‘Sister. Yes, of course.’ Doctor Wheeler nodded to herself. ‘You’ve been to see her, I take it?’
‘Just now, aye. Maybe not the best time, but . . .’ McLean stopped speaking, not quite sure what else to say.
‘Will she wake up?’ Rahel asked.
‘That is a very good question. And one to which I have no answer. Not right now.’ Doctor Wheeler had a clipboard with her, and she peered at it intently for a while. McLean knew a prop when he saw one.
‘She’s in better condition than when she arrived here. That much I can tell you. We’ve set her bones, cleaned up her wounds. She’s going to lose one eye, I’m afraid.’ Doctor Wheeler let out a long, weary sigh. ‘Well, actually she’s already lost it. We had to remove it to stop infection getting in. She’s going to be here a long while yet.’
‘But you don’t know if she will wake up,’ Rahel said. ‘Why do you do this for her? Who will pay for it all? I have no money.’
‘We don’t charge for our services here. Not if we can help it. And as to why I do this, it’s my job.’ Doctor Wheeler shrugged.
‘Akka’s in good hands here, Rahel,’ McLean said. ‘She’ll get the best medical attention she can, and we’re guarding her in case anyone comes looking for her. She’ll be safe, but we still need to find out who did this to her.’
‘I’m away on my rounds now, but I’ll let you know the moment anything changes with the patient.’ Doctor Wheeler turned her attention from McLean back to Rahel. ‘Akka, did you say? And you’re Rahel. Rahel Nour. OK. I’ll get the records updated. Nice to know she’s not a Jane Doe any more.’
McLean opened his mouth to speak, but a buzzing from Doctor Wheeler’s pocket interrupted him. She pulled out a very old-fashioned-looking pager, peered at the message scrolling across its tiny LCD screen with a worried frown.
‘Good to see you, but I have to go.’ Without any further ado, she hurried off up the corridor towards the intensive-care unit, leaving the three of them alone again.
‘What’s that about?’ Emma asked, then stepped swiftly out of the way as a pair of orderlies hurried by, pushing a trolley laden with expensive equipment. Shortly afterwards a couple of nurses rushed in the same direction.
‘Something’s up. Best we leave the experts to deal with it.’ McLean directed the two women towards the entrance hall as yet more hospital staff rushed past.
>
‘I go back to circus now?’ Rahel’s question was almost hesitant, as if the implications of her situation were beginning to sink in.
McLean pulled out his phone and checked the time. Almost midnight. Tomorrow would start early with a morning briefing, and while Rahel’s identification of her sister wasn’t immediately relevant to his own cases, he was sure she had information that would be. Could he risk losing her again?
‘Would you stay there if I took you? Would you talk to us tomorrow, on the record? At the police station?’
Rahel stared at him, her green eyes defiant. And then she seemed to deflate. He’d thought her in her late teens, but now she looked more like a fourteen-year-old pretending to be sixteen.
‘Are you going to arrest me? Will you send me back there? To the war?’
McLean opened his mouth to assure her he had no such intention, but Emma beat him to it. She put an arm around Rahel’s shoulders and pulled the young woman into an unresisting hug.
‘Nobody’s arresting anyone, and they’re certainly not sending you away. It’s too late to go back to the circus now. Come on. Let’s all go home.’
The sharp taint of exhaust fumes from the departing taxi hung in the crisp night air as McLean unlocked the back door and flicked on the lights. When he turned to let Emma and Rahel in, it was to see the younger woman staring up at the dark house, her face a picture of disbelief.
‘Come on in. It’s too cold out here to stand about on the doorstep.’
Still staring as if she couldn’t quite believe what was happening, Rahel allowed herself to be steered indoors by Emma. When they stepped into the kitchen, the heat from the Aga was a welcome relief, and without thinking McLean set about filling the kettle and putting it on to boil. Only once he’d done that did he glance at the clock over the door, seeing it was closer to one now than midnight.
‘Is many people living here? They are all asleep?’ Rahel’s gaze darted from fridge to table to sink and back to McLean, never resting anywhere for long.
‘Just me and Emma,’ he said, then felt something move at his feet. ‘And the cat.’
Mrs McCutcheon’s cat, usually nowhere to be seen whenever a stranger arrived at the house, had sauntered in as if she had not a care in the world. She sniffed the air, then walked boldly up to Rahel and nudged her hand.
‘Oh, hello there, puss.’ Rahel crouched down and rubbed the cat behind her ears, getting a deep rumbling purr in response. McLean wasn’t sure whether to be jealous or relieved, settling for a bit of both.
‘Anyone want a cup of tea?’ he asked, hoping the answer would be no. He’d need to be at the station for six o’clock, which didn’t leave much time for sleep.
‘I’m too knackered for tea. Think I’ll head to bed.’ Emma walked over to the Aga and removed the kettle from the hob. ‘Rahel, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping, OK?’
Rahel straightened up, looked around the kitchen one more time. ‘I can’t believe . . . How big is this house? It is like a palace, no?’
‘Don’t get too comfortable now,’ McLean said. ‘This is only temporary. Until we can work something out. I still need to ask you questions. A lot of questions. About how you got here, about Akka and the others. And we’ll get you to see the young girl we found, Nala. If we can identify her as Akka’s daughter, that opens up all manner of possibilities.’
‘Nala.’ Rahel’s eyes widened at the name, the young teen showing through the hardened exterior again. ‘I must see her. I have to protect her.’
‘She’s safe where she is. Trust me.’ McLean recalled the CCTV footage he’d seen, the look of fear on the little girl’s face when he’d arrived at the charity offices. Could he really be sure she was fine in some care home right now? He had to believe that she was.
‘Get some sleep, OK?’ he said. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow, and then you can see her.’
33
‘What the fuck did you think you were doing taking her back to your house? Why didn’t you bring her here the moment you found her?’
McLean had been preparing himself mentally for this bollocking ever since Emma had offered Rahel a place to stay. It was irregular, to say the least, but, even so, he was surprised at the deputy chief constable’s anger. It didn’t take a genius to work out that something else was bothering Call-me-Stevie, and McLean was prepared to give good odds he knew what that something else was. Or that someone.
‘I only found her by accident, and late last night at that, sir. I’d no reason to arrest her, and if I’d tried to bring her in for an interview then, she’d have disappeared again and we’d be no further on with the investigation.’
‘And which investigation is that exactly, McLean?’ Robinson paced back and forth in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass that made up one wall of his office. ‘I thought you were already tied up with the two dead girls and that other bloke. That not enough work for you? Need to go poking your nose into Jo Dexter’s cases over at Vice now?’
Definitely something else bothering the DCC. Someone else. McLean didn’t want to come over too defensive, but he shoved his hands in his trouser pockets anyway. The warm weight of the tiny brass lamp figurine was strangely comforting, reminding him more of the wonderful show than the strange conversation that had come afterwards. He’d transferred it from the pocket of his tartan trews the night before without thinking.
‘Our investigations overlap, sir. Makes sense for us to follow leads when we find them. DI Ritchie’s been liaising with Vice so we can share resources. And anyway, I tried to call Jo last night but she wasn’t answering her phone.’
Robinson stopped mid-stride, then rounded on McLean. ‘That’s because she was representing Police Scotland at the Dee Trust charity fundraiser all night. Covering up for a detective chief inspector who thought it would be more fun to bunk off and go to the circus instead.’
‘I . . . I was there, sir. At the fundraiser.’
‘For all of five minutes, right enough. Jane Louise said she’d spoken briefly to you, and then you were gone before she could introduce you to anyone. That’s not the sort of impression you were supposed to make.’
‘Impression I . . .’ McLean shook his head in disbelief. He hadn’t failed to notice the casual use of Mrs Saifre’s double first names, which both confirmed his suspicion of what was really bothering the DCC, and dropped the man yet further still in his estimation. ‘Sir. It’s a miracle I even turned up at all. If Emma hadn’t wanted to go and see what all the fuss was about I’d have stayed home. Hobnobbing with the kind of people who like to be seen at that sort of event is not part of my job description. As you already pointed out, I’ve got the deaths of two wee girls to worry about, and a young man who may or may not be connected to them somehow. Quite frankly I’ve better things to be doing with my time. And if I want to make a donation to charity, that’s my business and nobody else’s, OK?’
Robinson went very still, the blood draining from his face as if there were a vampire at his neck. When he spoke, it was quiet, controlled and all the more chilling for that.
‘The Dee Trust is not some fly-by-night organisation providing virtue-signalling services to the high and mighty. It’s an important – no, it’s a crucial part of the city’s fight against delinquency. Without the services they provide in places like Inchmalcolm Tower our job would be ten times more difficult to do. You understand that, McLean?’
‘I understand that it’s private finance taking over public service, if that’s what you mean, sir. I also understand what makes your good friend Jane Louise Dee tick, and it’s not the warm glow of satisfaction from doing good deeds.’
‘Never took you for a socialist. Not with the sort of cash you’ve got in the bank.’
‘Is this an official reprimand, sir? Or are you just pissed off because Mrs Saifre’s been bending some minister’s ear and he’s passed it on to you?’
‘You’ve never had much respect for authority or the chain of command, have you, McLean? Always thought of yourself as better than those above you.’
‘Better?’ McLean fought the urge to take a step back as the DCC loomed over him. ‘No, sir. But I’ve had experience of your new friend Mrs Saifre before. You want to know what she’s really like, then ask Grumpy Bob. Better yet, see if Sandy Gregg will tell you about her house blowing up.’
‘I . . . what?’ Robinson’s confusion trumped his anger, and McLean dared to hope the worst of the tirade was over now.
‘We’ve had run-ins with Jane Louise Dee before, sir. She’s very rich, very powerful, and she won’t take no for an answer. I know she can be charming when she wants to be, and she’s an expert at taking a tiny bit of influence and leveraging it until she owns you. I don’t trust her in the slightest, and I don’t want to have anything to do with her unless it involves carting her off to a cell.’
Robinson stared at him, the thoughts as clear on his face as they were no doubt muddied behind it. McLean gave him the time he needed, even if he was anxious to get on with interviewing Rahel and tracking down wherever it was Social Services had taken Nala.
‘I still find your attitude unacceptable, McLean.’ The DCC moved as he spoke, striding back around his desk and dropping into the seat. ‘Whatever your personal opinion of Ms Dee, she is still a friend to Police Scotland and has the ear of people who can make both of our lives far more miserable than they already are.’
‘As I said, sir—’