“This place is totally haunted,” Fletcher decided as we decided to walk around the perimeter of the room we were in. It was impossible to tell how large it was as our torches didn’t light up more than a three-foot radius around us before giving up the ghost to the dark.
“Don’t say that. You’re going to jinx us,” I said, repositioning my phone so the torch would fall directly on the closest wall and any doors there. “I don’t need to be bringing any spirits home to my flat. I’ve got enough problems right now.”
“We could have brought a Ouija board,” Fletcher joked. “Maybe the ghosts could tell us where the money is.”
“Please do not even joke about that,” I begged. “That’s how horror movies start.”
“I guess you’re right. Best not to risk it,” Fletcher said. “I’m definitely not making it out of a horror movie alive. The gay ones always die.”
“What about me? Do I live?” I asked. My light fell on a door, and I rattled the handle, but it was locked.
Fletcher hummed as she thought about it, fake-stroking her chin. “I think you die. You probably sacrifice yourself so that the final girl can make it out alive.”
“So long as I go out in a blaze of glory,” I said.
We hit the corner of the room and turned to the left, and I tried the next door we came across, finding it locked as well. Something creaked deeper within the factory, and Fletcher immediately froze and tried to shine her light in that direction, although, of course, we couldn’t make anything out through the darkness. Apprehension crawled up my spine. If the people from the shadow organisation had followed us here… I forced myself to cut the thought off. They had yet to act against me since that day on the Kraken’s boat, so there was no reason to think that they would suddenly change that now.
Except, of course, for the fact that the Kraken was now back in my life and staying at my mum’s, and I had a new lead into my father’s disappearance…
Enough. I actually mouthed the word to lend it extra weight, glad that the darkness kept Fletcher from seeing.
We carried on after Fletcher determined that there would be no more noises aside from that first one, though her face said she definitely thought there were ghosts or something creeping toward us. It took another minute to finally find a door that opened and led to a set of stairs leading downward. There were boot prints tracked through the dust layering the concrete, and I was willing to bet they would match Carmichael’s shoes. Fletcher and I stood at the top and shone our lights down, neither of us willing to venture down there right away. I knew logically that there was nothing spooky or supernatural down there, but something about the whole atmosphere of the old factory had me more willing to believe in ghosts. This was Scotland, after all. There were spirits everywhere. Ghost stories were as easy to come across as whiskey.
Finally, I lifted a leg and started down the steps, dust puffing up around my boots as I added my prints to Carmichael’s. I could feel Fletcher right at my back, though her feet were silent on the concrete, her torch shining around my side to add to the illumination.
The air seemed to grow colder as we descended into the basement, and I was glad of my heavy coat. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I looked around for a light switch, but when I flicked the one on the wall, nothing happened. We were stuck with our puny phone lights. Still, they were enough to walk around the dark and dusty room and find the trunk pushed up against the back wall alongside a long-abandoned desk coated in dust and spiderwebs. There was a padlock on the chest, but it wasn’t clasped shut, so I pulled it free of the latch and lifted the lid, the hinges creaking in protest the entire way.
And there, at the bottom, lay the duffle bags Carmichael had taken to Barron’s place. I turned to grin at Fletcher, who was also smirking down at them like she couldn’t quite believe they were actually there.
“Jackpot,” I said.
Twenty-Three
The press was waiting for us when we arrived back at the station with duffle bags full of recovered money in the boot of my car. There was a news van outside, and several camera operators and reporters were gathered around the front doors, two of them speaking with Warren O’Donnell and Rita Callaghan, the insurance agent for the bank. Fletcher groaned as she looked out of the window at all the people, and I nodded along in agreement. Press releases were part of the job, but that didn’t mean I liked them, and certainly not now, while I was trying to stay under the radar of a certain shadow organisation.
“Well, let’s get this over with,” Fletcher said, her hand on the door.
I sighed, but we swung our doors open almost in unison and climbed from the car. The reporters at the back of the assembled group immediately noticed our arrival, and their heads swivelled around at the sound of our doors closing again. I rounded the car to the boot and popped it open, and I pulled out two of the bags of money while Fletcher hefted the third onto her shoulder. Then we walked toward the crowd and the waiting regional manager, whose eyes locked on us eagerly the moment he realised we were coming toward him.
He pushed through the press to come meet us, and the cameras turned to keep him in view and include us in the spot as well. I cleared my throat, knowing I needed to perform to the crowd no matter my opinion.
“Mr O’Donnell,” I said by way of greeting as Rita hovered behind his shoulder, a little notepad in hand. “I believe this belongs to your bank.”
I dropped my two duffels to the ground and bent to unzip one of them partway, revealing the stacks of notes nestled within. The assembled reporters gasped, and the camera operators zoomed in on the money. Relief washed over Warren’s shoulders, and he slumped slightly, one hand going to his chest and pressing into his ribs over his heart.
“We haven’t counted it yet, obviously, but we feel pretty confident that it’s all there,” I continued.
Warren seized my hand and pumped it furiously, so furiously that I thought he was going to pull my arm right out of its socket.
“DCI MacBain, DI Fletcher, thank you,” he said emphatically. “You have no idea what this means to the Royal Bank of Scotland and to me personally. You’ve done us a great service.”
“Happy to help,” I assured him and clasped my free hand around the back of his as I gave him a short smile. When he released my hand, I turned to face the press fully, smoothing down the front of my shirt, which was definitely covered in dust from the climb back out of the old factory. “Last night, the Inverness Police apprehended the three suspects involved with the recent robbery of the Royal Bank of Scotland and the death of the bank’s manager, Mr Barney Crane. We were able to determine the identity of the killer as well as ascertain the whereabouts of the stolen money.” I nudged one of the duffle bags with my toes, and I really hoped my face was as red as it felt with all those cameras on me. “Thank you for coming out.”
I found the key to press releases was usually short and sweet, so as soon as I’d laid out the bare bones of the case, I picked the duffle bags back up and pushed my way through the cameras and reporters toward the station doors, Fletcher, Warren, and Rita following close behind me. The assembled reporters kept trying to shove their microphones or recording devices in my face to ask me questions, but I ignored them all, having given out enough information to fulfil my duty to the press, in my opinion.
Once we were inside, the four of us went into Dunnel’s office, and after that, it was just a matter of paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork. The money was counted first thing, using a machine Warren had brought with him, and then, because Rita was there, all the forms had to be filled out in triplicate and authenticated. Not to mention, Fletcher and I had to finish our arrest reports and all the other busy work to start the process of officially closing the case. We had to stay late to even make a dent in it all, though, at nine o’clock, I called it, slamming a folder shut and rising from my desk as my back creaked in protest.
“I’m going home,” I announced to Fletcher, who took the excuse to put down her pen as well
, cracking all her fingers before she stretched them out.
We gathered our things and headed out to our cars together, moving slowly as our exhaustion overtook us. I waved goodnight to a couple of the night shift inspectors who looked oh-so-happy to be there. It was dark when we stepped outside, the sun having set several hours ago, and the orange streetlamps cast their glow across the car park, making the night seem soft and quiet.
“Hey, if I pick you up, will you go to my mum’s with me tomorrow morning?” I asked Fletcher as we stopped beside our respective cars and went looking for our keys. “I need to check in with her and the Kraken, and if you want in on the investigation, you should be there, too. But no pressure, of course,” I continued quickly as I realised that I was presuming she still wanted to be a part of all this craziness. “I completely understand if you want to back out.”
“Back out?” Fletcher said with a grin. “Have you met me? Of course, I’ll go.”
“Thanks,” I said, letting out a quick sigh of relief.
“Besides, I love your mum. Maybe she’ll show me more baby pictures.”
“No, not happening,” I said shortly, but Fletcher just began to laugh and kept on laughing as she climbed into her car and drove all the way out of the car park, leaving me to hang my head and sigh again, this time in resignation.
Twenty-Four
Fletcher and I arrived at my mum’s house just after ten o’clock. I knew she’d be there because I texted to be sure, and she replied that she’d have breakfast ready for us. I was pretty sure she’d been stress-baking a lot since the Kraken had come to stay because Sam had messaged me to ask why Mum was leaving baskets of scones and biscuits on her doorstep.
Fletcher and I got out of the car and walked up to the front door side by side, though she hung back a step as I reached out and knocked.
“Come in!” my mum called, and I twisted the knob and let us into the house, which smelled like hot sugar and cooking berries. We took our shoes off then padded down the hall into the kitchen. Eleanor and the Kraken sat at the island in the middle of the room, the Kraken poking around on a tablet while my mother furiously kneaded dough in a bowl.
“How’s it going?” I asked carefully, sensing the tension in the air between them.
My mother dropped the wooden spoon with a little more force than was absolutely necessary. “Just fine,” she huffed, though her face and tone brightened as she smiled at Fletcher beside me. “Tara, dear, so good to see you again. You know, I’ve been going through old photos recently and picking out the best ones to show you, just in case you came by again.”
Fletcher grinned toothily at her, and even the Kraken perked up at the mention of possible baby pictures, but my deep, deep scowl warned her off from suggesting that she might like to see them, too.
“I filled Fletcher in on all the new stuff on the way over here,” I said before the conversation could switch into Embarrassing Stories About Callum Mode.
Fletcher nodded, her grin dropping off her face as she grew more serious. She shucked off her leather jacket and folded it over her arm as she sat down on one of the empty stools across from the Kraken and my mum.
“Mum, were you able to pull that missing person file?” I asked.
She nodded and moved away from probably over-kneaded dough to cross the kitchen to her satchel, where it sat on the kitchen table. She rooted around in it for a few seconds before she came back with a slim folder. Then she returned to her spot across the island from us, opened the file up, and spun it around as she pushed it toward us so that we could see. I started perusing its contents, but my mum was already explaining what was inside.
“Like the Kraken said before, Parson McCormick disappeared five years after your father did, under similar circumstances. One day, he was there, and everything was normal, and the next, he was gone. No note, no reason for his leaving. His car was missing, but he hadn’t packed any of his clothes, which was the main reason his wife, Marion, filed the report.” Eleanor paused to take a breath and went back to kneading her dough. “There’s no obvious connection between him and Alasdair. Parson was a store manager for Tesco, and he doesn’t seem to have the same Loch Ness obsession as Alasdair did, so it’s unclear how they met. I haven’t had much time to dig very deeply, though. There’s no reason to think that their disappearances are connected.”
“Except that the Kraken says they are,” I mused. I looked at her with my fingers resting lightly atop the missing persons file. “How do you know he was one of my father’s contacts?”
“Emails,” the Kraken said simply. The rest of us waited for her to elaborate, and when she didn’t, I let out an exasperated sigh.
“Can we see these emails? What did they say?” I demanded.
Fletcher pried the missing persons file out from under my hand and dragged it closer to her, leafing slowly through its meagre contents.
The Kraken picked up a tablet that looked like my mother’s and ran her fingers swiftly across the screen before she flipped it around and held it up in front of my face. I leaned forward over the counter so I could read it. There were only two emails in the chain, the first one from Parson to my father. It simply read, “I thought this might interest you,” and there was a file attached beneath. The reply from my father said, “Wipe your hard drive. You don’t want records of this on any of your systems.”
“What’s the file?” I asked, my skin buzzing with excitement over the cryptic messages.
“Unfortunately, it’s corrupted,” the Kraken said. She tapped on the thumbnail, but that simple action made the entire tablet fritz out, and she had to do something very complicated looking to restore it. My mother squawked, clearly displeased about whatever the Kraken was doing to her device, but the Kraken ignored her.
“I’m working on restoring it,” she continued. “But that’ll take time and better equipment than I have here.”
“Are you willing to do that for us?” I wondered since the Kraken wasn’t exactly the type to do anything out of the goodness of her heart.
“I suppose I’m invested now,” she drawled. “And it could be useful to have an inspector and former police chief owe me favours.” The Kraken grinned, the expression more than a little sharp, and I had to admit, I was worried about what exactly that meant.
“What about Kane?” I asked, citing the strange man who had pointed me down the path to the Kraken in the first place. “Do we think he knows this Parson guy?”
“Maybe,” the Kraken said with a shrug. “But I’d be careful about contacting him. He plays his own game.”
I nodded slowly. I’d definitely gotten that vibe from him that day by the loch when he’d approached Sam and me.
“Fletcher, thoughts?” I said, turning to my partner.
She slid the file on Parson away from her and rested her elbows on the island. “We’ve got a bunch of tiny nuggets but no way to connect them. There’s the underground lab, all these separate players, and the cigarette butt you found, so what’s the thread? Aside from your father, of course. There’s got to be something else there, something that drew your father into all this trouble that connects him to everything else again.”
The four of us sat in silence as we thought about Fletcher’s question, and my mother finally stopped beating her dough and pushed the bowl away from her, her hands white from flour.
“It has to be related to his work,” Eleanor said. “I know he had some strange cases and reports come across his desk, but I went through all of those when he first disappeared. There was nothing there.”
“Well, we know more now,” I pointed out. “It could be worth another look.”
My mum nodded, though I doubted she relished the thought of going through all those files again. It was a daunting task, but one I’d be there to help with the entire time.
“Let’s start there,” I said when no one spoke up to break the small silence. “Maybe Martin will turn something up on that cigarette butt soon.”
“I’ll wal
k you to the door,” my mother agreed before she rounded the kitchen island to stand beside Fletcher and me. The Kraken went back to faffing around with the tablet without bothering to say goodbye, so I returned the favour and left the room without a word to her.
At the door, Fletcher and I put our shoes back on, and then my mother pulled me in for a quick but tight hug, and I wrapped my arms around her as well, wondering if she was as overwhelmed by all this as I was.
“Take care of yourself,” she said as she let me go, and then she gave Fletcher a hug, too. “Sorry, we didn’t get around to any baby photos. Next time.”
Fletcher grinned and winked at me. “Looking forward to it.”
“No,” I said bluntly, but neither of them was listening to me.
Eleanor saw us out the door and held it open until we’d gotten into the car, and I waved goodbye before I put it in reverse and eased out of the driveway. Once we hit the main road, I set off in the direction of the station, my hands tight on the steering wheel as I couldn’t help but check all my mirrors for any sign of a stalker.
“Tonight, you’re trying to meet Lena at the train station, aren’t you?” Fletcher asked me as we trundled through the city centre, struggling to get anywhere against the flow of traffic.
“Assuming she didn’t switch her train to an earlier one,” I said glumly because I was ninety per cent sure that was what had happened.
“What are you going to say to her?”
I sighed as I stared out the window. “I don’t really know. I suppose I’ll ask why she bailed without a word like that. I think that’s all I really need to know. Then maybe I can move on.”
“And if you don’t like the answer?” Fletcher wondered.
“Then at least I’ll have an answer, rather than living in this limbo,” I said.
Fletcher nodded and fell silent, and I focused on my driving, constantly checking the mirrors. The talk with the Kraken and my mother had put me on edge, and I was having trouble calming my nerves again. This upcoming potential rendezvous with Lena certainly wasn’t helping.
Fatal Transaction: A DCI MacBain Scottish Crime Thriller Page 34
