He stepped into the wood, knowing that there was no finer place for another ambush. At once it grew pitch dark; a branch slapped across his face, and round the right side of his head, setting a new fire burning within it. He stopped: a few yards in and he was totally lost. He was effectively blind: there was no way forward.
And then he heard a sound; distant at first then louder, coming towards him. He backed away, retracing his steps without turning, his eyes on the direction of the crashing din. He wondered whether there were deer that high up, in such weather.
Before he could dwell further on the question, the noise was upon him, a small dark bundle, running for his life, scraped and cut by the lashing branches, but safe, crashing into his arms. 'Spence!' he cried, a sob choking him. 'Are you okay?'
Without waiting for an answer, he turned towards the light and to the way out of the woods. The snow had turned heavy once again, although not as bad as before. He looked at the boy and realised that his weather-suit had gone. 'How did you get away?' he asked.
'He had a strap attached to me,' Spencer told him. 'In the dark he couldn't see me unfasten my snowsuit. When I had it done, I fell over, rolled out of it and ran away.'
'Is he coming after you?'
'I don't know.'
Mario's head swam. He knew that he was concussed, and that flight was beyond him. And so he stripped off his own suit and made the boy climb inside it, then turned, shivering already in sweater and jeans, but more than ready to face the kidnapper, should he be foolish enough to risk his wrath.
Sixty-two
Alex heard the front door open; a few seconds later, her father appeared in the doorway of the sitting room. She checked her watch. 'It's nearly nine. What sort of time is this to be crawling in at?'
'Stop it,' he pleaded. 'You sound just like your mother when you say that.' He walked towards her. 'Have you eaten?'
'No, I waited for you. I've got a table booked at the Golf Inn, if you want. They said as long as we got there before nine thirty they'd feed us. Don't worry, I'm paying.'
'Trish is in?'
'Yes, her boy-friend's working tonight.'
'Come on, then. I'll change my shirt and we'll go.'
As he stepped into the light of the hall she saw him more clearly. 'God,' she said, 'you look bushed. Are you sure you want to go? I can always whip something up.' And then a memory came back to her. 'Oh, shit, I forgot: Stevie Steele called earlier. He said he needs to talk to you.'
'It had better be urgent,' Bob growled. 'Bugger the shirt, they can take me as I am. Come on, I'll phone him from the restaurant.' He fetched a heavy leather jacket from the cloakroom off the hall, and they headed for the door.
The restaurant was a few hundred yards away from the house; in less than ten minutes they were seated at a corner table, and Alex was ordering wine from the extensive list. As soon as the waiter had gone her father took out his phone and dialled Steele. It was Maggie Rose who answered. 'Hold on, I'll get him,' she said.
'Thanks, Mags. Oh, and before I forget, I want to see you in my office next week, as soon as we can both fit it in.' He waited, until her partner came to the phone. 'You wanted me,' Skinner grunted.
'Yes, sir. I'm sorry about the timing, but I don't think it can wait. I've spoken to Superintendent Chambers and she agrees. I want to reopen the investigation into George Regan's son, and link it with DCS Pringle's daughter's so-called accident.'
'Her death, you mean. Ross passed away this afternoon.'
He heard Steele's gasp. 'Sorry, sir, I didn't know that.'
'No matter. What's prompted this?'
'George has found a witness, a woman who saw someone legging it into the lower entrance to the car park at around the time the pathologist reckons the boy died. She described him as running away from someone, only there was nobody chasing him.'
'That's your link?'
'It's enough for me, boss.'
'And me, Stevie. Given what happened to young Spence McIlhenney, I've been kicking myself all night for not pursuing the theory, even with no evidence to say so, that the two events might have been linked.'
'What happened to him?'
'You don't know? Call Neil, and he'll fill you in. I'm on-side with you on this; this is your investigation. You're detached from all other duties and you report directly to me. Here's where you start. I want you to identify every investigation where Regan, Pringle and Neil McIlhenney worked together, plus I want a list of all the other officers involved with them. That's a priority: I don't want any more tragic so-called accidents. Get moving on it first thing tomorrow. If you find you need help, then co-opt Ray Wilding from the head of CID's office, on my authority. He'll be sat on his hands for a while anyway.'
He hung up just as the waiter appeared with Alex's choice of wine, and with a pint of lager. 'You look as if you need that,' she told him.
'I'll let the Faustino breathe for a bit.'
He picked up the tall glass gratefully, and drained almost half of it in one gulp.
'That sort of day?' his daughter asked.
'Since about four o'clock.'
'What was that about Neil?'
'Someone tried to snatch Spencer, his boy, at the top of the Hillend ski slope.'
'My God,' she gasped. 'You mean a perv, a paedophile?'
'I don't think so. Did you read about George Regan's son being killed, and Ross Pringle being gassed in her room on the campus?'
'Yes.'
'Well, this may have been the third in a series… in fact, I'm bloody sure it was.' He stopped as the waiter approached. 'I'll have the black-pudding starter, then venison,' he said, then turned back to Alex. 'A year ago, kid, I would have made that assumption on day one. I don't care how clearly accidental they looked, I would not have bought that coincidence.'
'Pops,' she told him, 'you can't do the thinking for the entire force.'
'Why not?' he shot back at her. 'I'm the highest-ranking CID officer. I'm not supposed to make mistakes, especially not one that put a kid's life at risk. I have not had my mind on the job, daughter. I have been so bloody preoccupied with my domestic life that my performance is suffering. I wouldn't take that from a junior officer, so I sure as hell won't take it from myself. I have to get my eye back on the ball, or kick the damn thing into touch.'
'Shape up or ship out, you mean?'
'That's about it.'
'And which will it be? No, forget that: it was a damn silly question.'
He forced a grin. 'I had a moment of weakness this afternoon,' he confessed, 'but that's gone. My decision's made: it's not a matter of choosing job or family. How many men have to do that? No, it's a matter of finding the proper time for both and giving both my total attention.'
'And what about this woman you told me about? Is there room for her too?'
'She's as committed to her job as I am. We have common interests and we like each other; that's all there is to it. Aileen's not an issue; Sarah is, and the future of our marriage.'
'Well, sort it out, Pops, please, for I do not like to see you like this. I'm going to have serious words with my stepmother when she gets back.'
'You will not. Don't get involved, and don't take sides.'
'I'm promising nothing; I'm on your side, damn it, and that won't change.' She rapped the table. 'Now, enough of that and tell me what happened to Neil's son. You said "tried to snatch him", from which I take it that he's okay.'
'He's got some cuts and bruises, and he's shaken up, but he's all right. Mario McGuire's not so good, though. He's in the Western.'
'Mario?'
'He took the kids skiing. At the moment the best guess is that the kidnapper was watching the house, and tracked them to the centre. We know that he hired skis and boots there, and bought a snowsuit and goggles… paid cash, God damn it, so there's no card to trace. He grabbed Spencer when he was isolated from Mario, and Lauren was on her way down the slope, The big fellow worked out what had happened and set off after them, but the guy lay in
wait for him and whacked him with a rock in a sock: they found it at the scene.'
'How bad is he?'
'He'll live. The doctor who examined him at the scene reckoned concussion and maybe a hairline skull fracture. They're keeping him under observation to make sure there's no inter-cranial bleeding. He was hit pretty hard, but not hard enough to stop him picking himself up and heading back up the slope to where he and Spence found each other. When our officers got there, he was standing guard over the kid and ready to slaughter anyone who touched him. He decked two constables before they calmed him down.'
Alex gazed at him in horror. 'That's awful,' she exclaimed. 'What about Lauren? She must have been hysterical.'
He surprised her by laughing. 'The words "hysterical" and "Lauren McIlhenney" do not go together. Neil was in a far worse state than she was when I told him what had happened.'
Sixty-three
Detective Inspector Arthur Dorward was used to out-of-office calls, but Stevie Steele's Sunday-morning visit took him by surprise. He and his wife had only just finished breakfast when he arrived.
Dorward, who ran the scene-of-crime unit, was universally regarded as one of the most competent men on the force. When he heard the story, he needed very little guidance on what was required. 'I'll pull my best team together,' he said. 'We'll get back out to the campus and go over that room again, and again, and again, until we can prove someone sabotaged that gas fire. I can only hope that it hasn't been compromised since we were there.'
'I called the university last night. I told the security staff to seal the room, but they said they were pretty sure that nobody's been in it since your lot left.'
'That'll be a break if it's true. Don't worry: if there's anything there we'll find it, now we're treating it as murder and not a simple accident investigation.'
'There's something else,' his colleague told him. 'When you get to the lab, you'll find a sock with a rock in it waiting for you. Right now, it's being shown to the pathologist who's being asked to say whether it could have caused young George Regan's fatal injury. When you get it, I want you to go over the boy's clothing to see if you can find any fibres that match it'
Dorward smiled. 'This sounds like a fun day.'
'It would be, if it wasn't so bloody serious.'
Steele left him on his doorstep, and drove for twenty minutes until he reached Neil McIlhenney's house. The chief inspector opened the door for him before he had time to ring the bell. He still looked grim and shaken.
From the kitchen, they could hear the children. 'How are they?' Stevie asked.
'Fine, thanks, all things considered. Spence has got an eye on him like he's been in with George Foreman, but otherwise he's okay. He's quite proud of the shiner, actually. Lauren's her usual controlled self. They're both more worried about Mario than they are about each other.'
'How is he?'
'He's okay. I called the Western this morning and they let me speak to him. He's still a bit woozy, but he's sounded like that on many a Sunday morning.'
'You don't blame him for taking the kids up there?'
McIlhenney looked at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head. 'Why the hell should I?' he exclaimed. 'If this guy was going to follow them, I'd rather he did it when Mario was there than when he wasn't. McGuire's Rambo act is something to be feared; it's as well for you he's on-side about you and Maggie.'
'So I've been told,' Stevie conceded. 'Can we sit down?' They were still in the hall.
McIlhenney looked contrite at once. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I'm forgetting my manners.' He led the way into the living room. 'Would you like a coffee? A croissant?' He grinned. 'Christ, man, would you like breakfast? Lou's feeding the bears, I'm sure she could knock something up.'
'That's very kind of you, sir, but I'm fine.'
'Sir, is it? This is starting to sound formal… which, I suppose, it is. The boss called to tell me you were carrying the ball on this investigation.'
'Plural.'
'Pardon?'
'Investigations: we're linking the attack on your son with the deaths of George Regan junior, and Ross Pringle.'
McIlhenney nodded, to himself rather than to his colleague. 'Of course you are.'
'There's a witness in the Regan case; someone who reported seeing a running man.'
'He'd better keep on running.'
'Let's hope he does, but we'll still have to catch up with him. Sir…'
'Neil, for God's sake.'
'Neil, then; I'm starting by looking for links, between the three attacks and between the victims.'
'You mean between their fathers?'
'Exactly. I need to know about every investigation where DCS Pringle, DS Regan and you all worked together. I'm going to ask all of you for your recollections. You can see why it's important; we've got to find out if other officers' families might be at risk.'
'Absolutely.' McIlhenney smiled. 'The sun is starting to shine on you, Inspector. I've been thinking about that too, and I reckon I can cut your workload. There was only one single investigation on which I worked with George Regan and Dan Pringle.'
Steele straightened in his chair. 'Are you sure about that?'
'One hundred per cent. I was a detective constable then, and I was drafted in from my own division because Central CID was short on manpower. Once the case was closed, I went back to Western.'
'And were there other officers involved? Do you recall that?'
'Not on the CID team. There were a few uniforms, but they wouldn't be identifiable. Dan, George and I were the police witnesses in the High Court.'
'What was the investigation?'
McIlhenney stood. 'First, let me get you a coffee. You're showing signs of zeal, the mark of a man with Bob Skinner on his tail.' He left the room, to return carrying a mug and a glass of orange juice.
'Thanks,' said Steele, as he took the mug. 'Don't you drink this stuff?'
'No. I guess that makes me an unusual copper, doesn't it?'
'I can't think of another.'
The chief inspector settled back into his chair. 'I wasn't always, though. Back then I was a real archetype. I drank eight mugs a day, minimum. I smoked, ate anything deep-fried in batter, went for a few pints after work, all that stuff. I was like a younger Dan Pringle, you might say.'
Steele detected an edge of bitterness in his tone, but did not pursue it.
'The investigation you want to know about took place ten years ago. It involved a girl called Patsy Aikenhead; she was only a kid, twenty-one years old, married to a guy called Chris Aikenhead, aged twenty-six, as I remember. They had a big flat in Marchmont. He worked offshore on an oil-production platform, making good money. She was a qualified nursery nurse, so they adapted the flat and set her up in business as a child-minder. She had a nice wee life, until one of the kids in her care was admitted to the old Royal Infirmary with convulsions. The baby died… Mariel Dickens, aged one year and one month… and the post mortem revealed cerebral haemorrhage as the cause of death.'
'Who called the ambulance?'
'Patsy did, at fifteen minutes after one. The child had been delivered to her care at half past eight that morning, and the pathologist reported that the injury was sustained between one and a half and two hours before she arrived at the hospital.'
'Where was the husband at this time?'
'On his platform.'
'Did she work alone?'
'No, she had an assistant, a Spanish girl called Magda Vilabru. George and I interviewed them, under caution from the start: they were both terrified, and they both denied harming the child. We interviewed the mother, Jocelyn Dickens, and the grandmother, who was living with her at the time. They both stated that Mariel had been happy and healthy when she was dropped off at the nursery.'
'How did you proceed,' Steele asked, 'if neither woman accused the other? Did you charge them both?'
'We didn't have to. We took each of them through their morning, and found out that at some point… neither could be s
pecific about when that was… they had run low on disposables and baby food, and that Magda had gone to get some. We interviewed the woman in the corner shop that she used, and she told us that the girl had arrived there just before half past eleven. She was a regular customer, so she and the shop assistant chatted for ten minutes, Magda made her purchases and walked back to the nursery. We had a woman officer replicate the journey, several times; it took a minimum of sixteen minutes. That meant…'
'That Magda couldn't have been there when the child was injured.'
'Exactly,' McIlhenney affirmed. 'Enter Detective Superintendent Pringle.' He looked at Steele. 'I know you worked with Dan, but I'll be frank. He was a good officer, no question, but to my mind he had two weaknesses: he was too quick to judgement and he liked to be in at the kill.'
'I can't argue with that,' the inspector admitted. 'I've noticed the same. What did he do in this case?'
'He marched in and took it over. George and I had done all the work, and he told us to back off, that we were being too soft and that he was going to interview Patsy Aikenhead. I sat in on it, under orders not to say a word. Honest to God, Stevie, he terrorised the girl. She had no lawyer, no nothing, as he lashed into her. She was in tears inside five minutes. Inside fifteen minutes, she had admitted that she'd been in a foul mood because one of the babies was cutting back teeth and upsetting the others. Inside an hour, she had signed a statement admitting that she might have thrown Mariel into a cot and banged her head on the bars. Dan wrapped it up at that, and charged her with culpable homicide.'
'It went to trial, though? You said you were all witnesses.'
'We were. The defence withdrew the statement, but they couldn't deny that it had been made. The case hinged on that time period when Magda was away from the nursery, and the shop assistant confirmed the statement that George and I had taken from her at Torphichen Place. Magda wasn't in court herself, by the way, she'd gone back to Spain, and refused to come back to give evidence. It didn't matter, though. Juries always want to convict someone in dead baby cases, and they found Patsy guilty; unanimous verdict. The judge remanded her in custody for reports, as he had to since she was a first offender facing a jail sentence, but he warned her that he had it in mind to make an example of her, as I recall it, "to those who take responsibility for the care of other people's children". Yes, that's how he put it.'
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