by Lin Anderson
‘Where are you?’ McNab demanded.
There was a moment’s silence, then in a shocked whisper, she said, ‘He wasn’t dead.’
37
She’d asked Sean not to come back tonight so that she might have the flat all to herself.
Beware of what you wish for sprang to mind as Rhona locked the door behind her, the turning of the key echoing in the silence.
In the kitchen, Tom’s uneaten food was a sad reminder of what had just happened to her cat. Rhona lifted the dish and took a closer look at the contents, but there was nothing in there bar the dried pellets of food Tom always had.
Noting his escape route was still open, Rhona had the brief thought while closing the window that she could venture onto the flat roof and check if there was anything up there that might have caused the damage.
But definitely not tonight and in the dark.
In the sitting room her laptop lay open where she’d left it in the horror of the moment when she’d realized something was badly wrong with Tom. The sharp smell that had alerted her then still lingered.
It would have to be cleaned up, before she could settle down to work.
As Rhona went to fetch the means to do that, another thought occurred. If she retrieved a sample of the vomit, she might be able to identify what had provoked it. As she’d told Conor, they couldn’t check for toxicity unless they had an idea what they were looking for, but something in the pungent mess might give her a clue. And if it was something present on the roof she would curtail Tom’s visits up there.
Something he wouldn’t be happy about.
Her sample collected, Rhona stored it in the fridge and returned to a more fragrant sitting room. She checked her mobile and found a missed call from Chrissy.
She briefly contemplated phoning back, but noting the time, decided not to. Chrissy might indulge in a quick drink after work, but she was always home to put her son, wee Michael, to bed, and her time with him then was sacrosanct.
The story of Tom’s life being saved by ‘the handsome’ Dr Williams would have to wait until morning. Rhona could already picture Chrissy’s eager delight in the retelling of that tale.
The heat of the day had dissipated and Rhona now felt a slight chill in the room. She rose and turned on the fire, then went to close the curtains. Below, the park was enveloped by darkness, the steps she’d climbed earlier merely a faintly lit path. Rhona thought of Conor returning home, his mind still troubled by what he thought he hadn’t done for Andrew Jackson.
It wouldn’t have been ethical for her to reveal that they were already considering the possibility that Andrew had taken his own life. It might well be revealed that he’d used the yew needles she’d discovered in the flat to achieve that.
Why he would have gone into the tunnel to die, she couldn’t as yet fathom, but Conor’s statement tomorrow about Jackson’s state of mind would no doubt be welcomed by the investigation team.
At moments during their conversation in the pub, she’d wondered if Conor hadn’t yet revealed everything he knew about the victim. Conor wasn’t a medical doctor, so he didn’t have to adhere to the code on doctor–patient confidentiality, but she didn’t believe he’d voiced all his concerns in either of their conversations.
The thought occurred that maybe the best person to talk to Conor was Magnus, there being undoubted crossover between their academic areas. Magnus might perhaps reassure Conor that he wasn’t to blame, even inadvertently, for Jackson’s death.
Rhona made a mental note to suggest that to Bill in the morning.
Settling back on the couch, she checked through the list of recently delivered messages, aware that lab results, particularly regarding DNA, weren’t particularly speedy. Had there been clear evidence that Jackson’s death was a homicide, her impatience would have been even greater, although the discovery of forensic suit fibres on the body had rendered the picture even more complex, and she was keen to know if any DNA had been found on the fibre.
Registering that nothing new had arrived in her absence, Rhona shut the laptop. She should, of course, if following Conor’s advice, head for bed and get more than six hours’ sleep. She smiled a little at the memory of his intensity as he’d spoken of his work, something she could relate to herself.
He’d even gone so far as to offer her a sleeping aid. ‘I use it with my patients and it has a good success rate,’ he’d said, before adding, ‘Andrew wouldn’t use it, unfortunately. So the only sleep he got was at the clinic.’ At that point Conor had fished out a USB drive from his pocket and offered it to her. ‘Play this on your computer when you get into bed. You’ll fall asleep faster, and sleep more soundly.’
‘And my imagination will improve?’ Rhona had joked.
‘An added bonus,’ he’d said.
Rising, Rhona decided a shower before bed was in order, if only to dispense with the lingering scent, imagined or otherwise, of Tom’s dice with death. Crossing the hall, she double-checked the front door was locked before heading for the shower.
Stripping, she turned the regulator to a little hotter than usual and stepped under the spray. The pin needles of heat brought a blush to her skin and, more importantly, the beat on her head helped calm her thoughts.
She hadn’t regarded herself as a poor sleeper, but a demanding work schedule had often resulted in fewer hours than Conor had recommended. Heading to bed earlier hadn’t always helped, as her brain had then taken the opportunity to go into overdrive. Tonight, Rhona recognized as just such an occasion.
So maybe she would take his advice and use the sleep aid.
The shower on full power, she didn’t hear the house phone ring out at first. More used now to the mobile, the main line was sometimes used by Sean when she didn’t respond to her mobile.
Rhona stepped out of the shower and, wrapping a towel round her dripping body, went to answer it. If it was Sean returning her call, he might just have an inkling about what had made Tom so ill.
‘Hello?’
It was either a poor line or the background noise of music and chatter was simply drowning out the caller’s response.
Rhona tried again. ‘Hello? Sean?’
The background noise ceased as though someone had put their hand over the receiver.
Rhona waited.
The words now spoken were definitely not being said by Sean. In fact it was a voice Rhona didn’t recognize, either its gender or its owner.
‘Who is this?’ Rhona demanded.
The voice repeated the words, leaving her in no doubt as to what was being said.
38
McNab tried the recall button, but this time there was no answer. Ellie’s whispered words, ‘He wasn’t dead’, made no sense, although if she was talking about the body in the tunnel, then that meant she had definitely been down there.
McNab’s final demand, asking again where she was, hadn’t been answered. He’d already left the station when he’d placed the call. He could turn round and head back there, and ask Ollie or whoever was on duty to put a trace on her mobile. Then he would at least know where Ellie was.
But something stopped him. If he did that, then Ellie became part of the investigation, and he wasn’t at all sure she was. He definitely needed to speak to her face to face before he took this any further. But how was he to achieve that?
There had been background noise including loud music during the call, which suggested Ellie was in a bar or a club when she’d contacted him. McNab tried to recall where she and her friends hung out. Was it one of the places she’d taken him? In the excited blur of their early courtship, they’d visited lots of different bars, although rarely for long, the desire for sex having driven them to whichever of their flats was the nearest.
McNab recalled one place where the rock music had been turned up high, which was also a much-loved venue for bikers, judging by the Harleys and Triumphs that had been lined up outside. Ellie had seemed well known there, and there’d been food on offer. Something, McNab ac
knowledged, he would welcome.
Heading back into the town centre, he ditched the car as soon as possible and walked the rest of the way. He hadn’t remembered the name of the pub, but a quick online search had brought up an image of the bar frontage, which, he recalled, had looked more like a fancy-dress outlet than a rock bar.
Outside it now, he ran his eye over the current row of motorbikes, hoping to find Ellie’s among them, and was disappointed when he didn’t. Still, if she was planning to consume alcohol, Ellie wouldn’t have brought the bike. She was a stickler about that, and not just because she was dating a cop.
When he opened the door, the music hit him like a wall. McNab checked out the upstairs clientele, including those clustered round the pool table, but saw no one he recognized. Ellie had taken him downstairs on their visits, and he headed there now, the music accompanying him.
Despite the noise level, folk still seemed to be having conversations, which impressed McNab no end. He headed for the bar and, waving the offer of a menu away, ordered the pizza slices and curly chips he’d shared with Ellie.
The barman looked familiar, so McNab acted as though he too should be recognized.
‘Ellie sold me on the curly chips,’ he said, hoping for a positive response to the name drop.
The bartender took a second look, although it wasn’t clear he had recognized either Ellie’s name or McNab’s face by his stock response of ‘How you doing?’
‘Good,’ McNab said with a wide smile. ‘I’m supposed to meet Ellie Macmillan here. Have you seen her?’ He attempted a searching look around the room.
‘Nope, sorry,’ the barman said, giving the impression he did at least know who Ellie was. ‘Where you sitting?’
McNab gestured to an empty table with a view of the room.
‘I’ll send her over when she appears. Are you wanting a plate to share?’
McNab said yes to keep up the pretence that Ellie was expected. He was hungry enough for two anyway.
‘What about a drink?’
McNab ordered a pint.
Seated at the table, the large plate of pizza slices and curly chips in front of him, McNab kept his eye on the room as he ate.
After he’d taken McNab’s order, the barman had gone briefly through the back. Since he’d entered the order on the till screen, McNab suspected his disappearance had nothing to do with the food, plus he’d caught the quick glance sent in his own direction beforehand.
He began to wonder if this was just going to be a replay of what had happened to him earlier in the Harley shop.
If Ellie had made it plain to her friends that she didn’t want to see him, whenever or wherever he might turn up …
The pretence that Ellie was going to appear being over, McNab set about finishing the food. At least by doing that, he was avoiding drinking the beer, which he now craved. An image of the rest of the night was panning out in front of him, and it definitely involved visiting the off-licence on his way home.
His head shot up as a female voice interrupted that line of thought.
‘Michael?’
It wasn’t Ellie, but it was near as dammit.
‘Izzy.’ McNab rose in delight and almost hugged her. ‘Is Ellie with you?’ He looked about.
She gave an abrupt shake of her head. ‘Ellie’s not here. I don’t even think she’s in Glasgow.’
McNab now registered how strained Izzy’s face was.
‘What’s happened? What’s wrong?’ he said, his heart sinking.
It came out in a rush, as though Izzy was afraid she might stop herself before the end. ‘Four of us were racing in the London tunnel. We saw the body. Ellie wanted to tell you.’ Izzy hesitated. ‘I stopped her.’
As McNab processed the startling confession, a lot of things suddenly started dropping into place, in particular Ellie’s call that night when he was at the crime scene.
That’s what she’d phoned about and he’d behaved like a prick in his response.
McNab took refuge in facts. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’
The words flowed, anxious as she was to be rid of them. ‘We were racing. Ellie made it to the car a second before me. She spun her back wheel round to get there. I was blocked and pissed about it. She went through. I pulled up. Then Gemma and Mo came up behind and … we saw him.’
She halted there, a flash of relived horror crossing her face. ‘Ellie went up close. She touched his neck. She said he was dead.’ She halted and gathered herself. ‘We sent the other two home. Then we argued. I told her not to report it. I was screwing the guy who gave us the key. He would get the sack if we told.’
She threw McNab a challenging look. ‘I’m not giving you his name,’ she said defiantly.
‘I don’t care about him,’ McNab told her. ‘When did you last see or hear from Ellie?’
‘Not since the speedway last night. She’s not answering her phone and she’s not at the flat.’
‘What about her dad? Could she be at home?’
Izzy shook her head adamantly. ‘No way is she there. She hates his new wife, Sylvie.’ She made a grimacing face. ‘Ellie only sees her dad at the speedway because Sylvie doesn’t go there. She doesn’t like the smell of petrol,’ Izzy added as a finale to her obvious disgust at the new wife.
‘But could Ellie have told her father where she was going?’
‘And not tell me? I don’t think so,’ Izzy said adamantly.
‘She called me earlier.’ McNab had wanted the whole story before he told Izzy that.
Izzy looked at him, open-eyed. ‘Fuck. Is she okay?’
McNab couldn’t answer that. ‘She said something weird, but maybe now it makes sense.’
‘What did she say?’ Izzy demanded.
39
‘Taxine is a collection of alkaloids which occur naturally in yew trees,’ Rhona explained to Bill. ‘Fifty to one hundred grammes of chopped leaves is sufficient to kill an adult. They can be brewed like tea for drinking or made into a potion and added to some other beverage.’
Bill looked thoughtful. ‘Such as red wine,’ he muttered. ‘But I understood the wine at the locus tested okay?’
‘It did,’ Rhona agreed. ‘But he may have already taken the potion, and the wine in the glass could have been purely symbolic. Like the bread,’ she added, ‘which he didn’t consume.’ Rhona explained the theory she and Chrissy had come up with regarding the bread and the presence of teeth marks, but absence of DNA.
‘When will we know if it was taxine that killed him?’
‘Now Toxicology know what to look for, quite quickly, I expect.’
Bill turned from her then and stared out of the window. Something was bothering him and Rhona didn’t think it was her explanation about the taxine or even her story of what had happened with Conor.
She waited, knowing Bill was about to tell her, and hoping, whatever it was, it didn’t involve McNab.
With a tensing of his shoulders, Bill seemed to make up his mind. He turned abruptly from his view of the city and, going to his desk, handed Rhona a piece of paper.
Rhona examined it, aware that whatever it contained was what was worrying him.
Skimming the contents, she swiftly located her own name. The fact that it was there at all was enough to forewarn her. Still, she didn’t buy what the report stated.
‘It’s possible, but unlikely,’ she said.
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘My DNA could have been on the scene, although most skin is covered by the PPE.’
Rhona thought back. Had she inadvertently scratched her cheek with her wrist? Or by leaning over the victim, allowed skin cells to drop in?
She replayed that night in the tunnel. She’d replaced her outer gloves regularly. She’d certainly been tired, especially towards morning. Even thinking about it now, the smell of the place returned, a mix of damp and disuse and the rank stink of diesel from the generator.
The ballast was sharp, it might have penetrated her suit, but su
rely she would have noticed? When Chrissy had identified the fibre as one coming from a PPE suit, neither of them had considered it might have been from hers. But it could have been. They weren’t able to check now in any case, the suit having been already discarded.
Everyone who worked with forensic services had to provide a buccal swab for elimination purposes. The presence of her DNA on the fibre found in the nostril was unfortunate, but an explanation was possible. As to how the fibre got there in the first place …
But that wasn’t the deposit Bill was really concerned about.
‘I can’t see how this second contamination could have happened,’ she said, even surer now that she was right. ‘The body remained clothed at the crime scene.’
‘So you had no contact with any part of it under the clothing?’
‘None,’ she assured him. ‘I saw the body naked for the first time at the autopsy.’
Rhona’s brain raced round the problem, trying to be logical, questioning herself and her actions. Imagining ways that this could have happened and without her knowledge. She’d been in the tent alone for a long time. No one could vouch for her, except herself. Yet still her mind kept coming back to the one conclusion that made any sense.
‘I believe there is a possibility that both DNA samples were planted on the body.’
Bill remained silent, but she knew his mind was analysing what she’d just said.
‘That would be difficult to prove.’
‘Exactly, and it throws doubt on how I processed the scene.’ Rhona halted, remembering McNab’s earlier remark that they were being played by the fucker who’d left the body in the tunnel. She repeated this for Bill.
‘So the perpetrator has forensic knowledge?’
‘A lot of people do,’ Rhona said. ‘They watch TV, read the books. Take courses in it. And you can buy a PPE suit online.’
She had happily taught those who wanted to know more about the subject, although McNab had voiced his opinion, more than once, that he didn’t like giving ammunition to any fucker who might use it against them.
‘Why your DNA? How could they know you would be the one to process the scene?’
‘They’re close enough to me to find that out,’ Rhona said with a shiver of realization at how many people that could encompass. ‘Or it didn’t matter if it was me or not who attended the scene. My DNA would still be found, which was the point.’ She paused. ‘They must know our DNA is stored for elimination purposes.’