by Lin Anderson
McNab remembered Mannie’s advice and, taking out his mobile, he pulled up the Dunedin Chapter Facebook page.
53
On re-entry, Rhona secured the door by putting on the heavy old-fashioned door chain, something she rarely did, even at night. Sean had remonstrated with her more than once about that, but Rhona had always felt safe here.
So why was she doing it now?
Refusing to answer that question, even to herself, she dumped the bag containing the dead seagull next to the kitchen sink. It had taken some ingenuity to retrieve it from the large bin, and had involved taking down a chair to stand on and a means of propping the lid open. Designed to be lifted by the refuse lorry, and tipped and emptied automatically, the lid required a foot on a metal bar to aid opening.
Having initially failed to hold it open long enough to locate her bag, it had come down heavily on her in the process.
As she’d turned the lock, Rhona had winced at what would no doubt prove to be heavy bruising on her upper right arm. Still, she smiled grimly to herself, she had got what she wanted.
But there was still the roof to check.
Rhona baulked a little at that. No fan of heights, the roof wasn’t somewhere she would choose to go. She contemplated whether it was really necessary to go up there at all, since she had retrieved the dead gull.
Dismissing that as a lame excuse, she double-bagged the bird and put it in the fridge, then went to change into clothes more suitable for clambering about on the roof.
Retrieving the pole hook for the trapdoor, she exited, checked for her keys, then pulled the door shut behind her.
The metal steps extended, Rhona cautiously climbed up, unbolted the trapdoor and emerged onto the flat roof, which was surrounded by a low stone balustrade. Sean had managed to persuade her on one occasion to take in the delights of Glasgow from this commanding viewpoint. A year or so ago, at Hogmanay, they had watched the city fireworks celebration. Despite it being spectacular, Rhona would still have preferred to watch it from the bay window in the sitting room or even from the park below.
Steeling herself against what was definitely a stronger breeze up here on the rooftop, she took a look around. The gull had swung in at the kitchen window. Where exactly was that in relation to her position now? Getting her bearings, Rhona left the trapdoor open and moved in that direction.
On her way, she could see no evidence that wiring had been used to dissuade gulls from landing on the roof. Also she’d had no notification as a resident that there had been any such plan, so it seemed unlikely.
Picking her way through puddles from the last heavy shower, Rhona now stood above her own kitchen window. Far below, the convent garden was bathed in sunshine, although heavy dark clouds were massing on the horizon, suggesting the rain was destined to return and soon.
Cautious about approaching the knee-high balustrade, the only barrier between herself and an attack of vertigo, Rhona crouched to take a closer look at the carved stone barrier, checking it for the wire that had descended to her window.
It didn’t take long to spot it. Wound round the upper section of one of the pillars, it hung loose below, waving in the strong breeze. Might the wire have been originally attached to the seagull? Taking out her mobile, Rhona took a video of its position and of the knot that held it in place, before carefully untying it with gloved hands.
A few feathers had stuck to the balustrade, glued there by what she assumed was dried blood. Nearby, she spotted more remains, clotted blood and what might be evidence that Tom had encountered the bird up here, as suggested by his vomit.
There was, after careful inspection, no sign of yew needles or berries, either partially consumed or not.
If Tom had eaten yew in whatever form, it looked as though he had done it via the bird’s carcass.
Winding the wire into a neat bundle, Rhona slipped it into an evidence bag. The scene on the roof and the associated earlier incident with the bird made no sense to her even now, but she couldn’t dismiss the possibility that someone had deliberately set out to either frighten her with a dead bird or to injure her cat by offering it poisoned food.
As she rose, a gust of wind caught her and Rhona grabbed the balustrade to steady herself as a loud bang signalled the trapdoor being blown shut behind her. Unnerved by the thought that she might not escape the roof, Rhona immediately headed in that direction.
The rain came on in earnest as she felt around the door for the embedded ring which would allow her to lift it. The earlier arm injury screamed out at her as she struggled against the wind to open it enough to let her drop down onto the top of the metal steps.
Inside now, her hair and face soaked, she paused to pull the hatch closed behind her, just as the sound of footsteps signalled someone coming up the stairwell.
As Rhona slid the bolt into place, a figure appeared on the landing.
Conor’s expression was, Rhona thought, as startled as her own when he spotted her above him on the ladder.
‘I was checking the roof for dead birds.’ Rhona indicated her gloves. ‘In case that’s what made Tom ill.’
‘And did you find anything?’
She could have told Conor then about the dead seagull incident but for some reason chose not to. Just indicated instead that she’d found nothing of significance.
‘How is Tom?’ Conor asked.
‘On the mend. I have to pick him up later.’ Rhona suddenly remembered the flat tyre and cursed herself that she had done nothing about it.
Conor seemed to be reading her mind. ‘I was passing on the bike and noticed your tyre was still flat. I could put the spare on if you like?’
It was a generous offer. One that Rhona decided she would accept.
‘Would you? That would be great.’
‘If you let me have your car keys.’
‘Of course.’ Rhona roused herself and, stepping off the ladder, pushed it back into place and fished out her door keys. ‘Come on in. I’ll get them for you.’
As Conor made to follow her into the kitchen, Rhona suddenly remembered she’d left the pregnancy test, now out of its bag, sitting in full view on the table. Something she had no wish to advertise.
‘If you wait here,’ she said, halting Conor in the hall while she fetched the keys from her handbag.
Reappearing, she found him standing outside the open door of Sean’s room. From the look on his face, she was pretty sure he’d sussed the debris in there as belonging to a male.
Mustering himself, he said, ‘Should take fifteen minutes or so, if all goes well.’
‘I’ll put some coffee on.’ Rhona matched his matter-of-fact manner, while inwardly castigating herself. For what?
Leaving the door off the latch for his return, Rhona scooped up the pregnancy test and headed for the bathroom.
She had put this off long enough.
While rifling through her bag for the keys, she’d unearthed her pill strip, and just as Chrissy had suggested, she’d missed one, over and above this morning’s.
There was a small but not insignificant chance of a pregnancy. Rhona didn’t need to be a scientist to know that. Even now as she broke open the package, she was aligning dates with when she’d last had sex and when her next period was due.
The nausea she was experiencing now, Rhona recognized as fear.
54
Chrissy had assured him that Rhona had gone home, but she’d seemed pretty cagey about why exactly. Which was unusual for Chrissy. McNab had always counted on her to be straight with him. Even when he didn’t like what she had to say.
When he’d demanded to know if Rhona was ill, Chrissy had looked as though she might reveal something, then had quickly changed her mind.
‘Bill told her to take a couple of days off till all this blows over, and she decided she would.’
McNab didn’t buy that, mainly because, although Chrissy was a better liar than Rhona, she wasn’t that good.
After they’d parted, McNab had tried Rhona
’s mobile, which had rung out unanswered. She could of course be ignoring his call. At that point he’d decided he’d prefer to speak to her face to face.
McNab found a parking space just off Sauchiehall Street and, walking through the park, made for the steps leading up to the Circus. En route he noted that the yew tree locus was still cordoned off, the whole area being examined, they’d been informed at the meeting, by the soil scientist who’d aided Rhona in the Sanday case.
The heavy shower he’d driven through from the station had dissipated and already the surface water was evaporating in the heat of the sun. McNab headed up the steps two at a time. Reaching the top, he spotted Rhona’s car parked a few yards from the main door of her block.
Mustering himself, he approached the entrance, aware that there was every chance Rhona would deny him entry when he rang her buzzer. But it seemed his luck was in. Finding the latch off, McNab ignored the intercom and headed up the stairs, keen now to get this over with.
As he reached the third landing, McNab heard voices in conversation from above, one undoubtedly Rhona, the other a man, whose voice he didn’t recognize. McNab stopped in his ascent and waited, not sure whether he should appear right at this minute. Then again, if Rhona’s door was already open, she was unlikely to shut it in his face.
As McNab reached Rhona’s landing, the tall figure turned to face him. McNab did a quick reconnoitre, just like he’d done with the guys in George Square, and decided he’d never seen this bloke before, in any capacity.
Checking Rhona’s face when she caught sight of him, McNab saw a mixture of what he read as guilt and annoyance.
‘Detective Sergeant McNab,’ she announced. ‘This is a surprise.’
One she obviously didn’t relish.
Her companion, on the other hand, appeared quite pleased to hear who had just arrived.
‘Dr Conor Williams, Glasgow University Sleep Clinic,’ he introduced himself.
‘Conor kindly offered to change my flat tyre for me,’ Rhona added, somewhat unnecessarily, McNab thought.
McNab gave the man a cursory nod then, taking his chance at the open door said, ‘I’ll wait for you inside.’
‘I’ll be on my way then,’ McNab heard Williams say as he headed for the kitchen.
Jeez. Who the hell studies sleep? McNab thought as he marched in to discover a coffee pot on the table, a mug on either side. McNab pondered what the cosy tête-à-tête had been about. Certainly Conor had looked pretty at home in Dr MacLeod’s company.
McNab countered a feeling of jealousy with a reminder that he’d just passed what was obviously the Irishman’s room, indicating that Sean Maguire was still in the picture and had not been replaced by Dr Conor Williams.
Hearing the front door being closed, McNab fetched himself a fresh mug and poured out the remainder of the coffee.
When Rhona entered, the look on her face was hardly welcoming.
‘Why are you here?’ she said.
‘I could say the same to you,’ McNab countered.
‘I’m off the case.’
‘But not the job. Never off the job.’
Her expression at this suggested his words had hit home. Regardless of the current circumstances, the Rhona MacLeod he knew would still be at the lab. There were numerous tasks she could have been working on outwith the Jackson case. He knew that and so did she. So why wasn’t she?
Rhona turned from him but not before McNab had registered what he could only describe as a look of panic. He watched as she went to the fridge, opened it, only to swiftly close it again, as though unsure why she was there at all. Then apparently mustering herself, she proceeded to fill the kettle and switch it on. As she did this, McNab was taken aback to note that those normally steady hands of hers were undoubtedly trembling.
What the fuck was wrong with Rhona?
McNab’s first instinct was to get in there, while her defences were down, and demand to be told what was going on, but something stopped him.
‘Can you make the coffee stronger this time?’ McNab said as he exited, pretending to go to the toilet when in fact he just needed out of the room for a moment.
Nothing was right about this. Nothing at all. Not Chrissy. Not Rhona. Plus, despite what Professor Pirie had said in his lecture, McNab did know when folk were lying, even if the lies were being left unsaid.
They’d been through a lot together, he and Rhona MacLeod. Some bad – very bad – as well as good. McNab regretted it had come to this and knew exactly where the rot had set in.
But that couldn’t be changed now. Or ever.
But it isn’t about that – or at least he didn’t think so.
McNab stood, hands on the sink, staring at his own reflection in the mirrored cabinet. He was at a loss, he had to admit it. But, he decided, he would outline his fears that she might be a target, for at least the perpetrator’s desire to challenge the investigation, and in particular the forensic side of it. He would question Rhona about the students in her lectures. About who might have access to her DNA. About everything he’d mentioned in that meeting.
Having made that decision, McNab ran the cold water, splashed his face and reached for the towel. As he did so, he caught sight of something he recognized, because it wasn’t the first time he’d encountered such an item discarded in a wastepaper bin.
McNab reached in and took it out.
55
‘It’s none of your business.’
Rhona had initially remained silent and stony-faced when asked for an explanation for what he’d found in the bathroom. McNab couldn’t blame her. His language had been out of order. His obvious anger even more so.
He sat down, wanting her to do the same, but still she stood there, defying him. A lesser woman, he realized, would have walked out on him by now, or ordered him to.
‘What are you going to do?’ McNab tried again.
Her shoulders sagged a little. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’
McNab thought, by the way Rhona said it, she already had.
‘You’ll tell him first?’
‘I haven’t decided that either.’
Her face was set now, like it had been on that hill above Glasgow after he’d done what she’d forbidden him to. McNab suddenly didn’t want them to harbour any more secrets.
‘Does Chrissy know?’
She glanced at him then, her eyes determined. ‘No.’
That floored him.
‘Then why was she so cagey about you being ill?’
‘I was having bouts of nausea. Vomiting. I thought I had a virus …’ She tailed off.
McNab latched on to that explanation. ‘Maybe you do? It’s not a hundred per cent. Is it?’
The old Rhona reappeared, albeit briefly, and gave him a wry smile. ‘You want the scientific answer to that?’
‘Fuck, Rhona. I’m sorry.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Why? It doesn’t affect you either way.’
McNab wanted to say he wished it did, but never would.
They were stuck there in that moment, somewhere in no man’s land. How could he speak to her now about the reason for his visit? And yet, maybe that’s exactly what he should do. As McNab cleared his throat, they both heard the front door open and someone come in.
‘Sean,’ Rhona said under her breath and shot McNab a pleading look, the words don’t say anything left unspoken.
The Irishman paused in the kitchen doorway, a bag of groceries in his hand, a surprised look on his face.
‘I thought you’d be at work, Rhona,’ he said.
‘I came home to write reports. Fewer interruptions.’ Rhona attempted what might have been a laugh. ‘Then DS McNab turned up.’
‘So I see.’ Sean looked to McNab, as though awaiting an explanation for his presence there.
Now would be the time to make himself scarce, but McNab wasn’t willing to go, just yet.
‘Rhona’s got something to tell you,’ he said firmly.
If a look from Rhona cou
ld kill, McNab acknowledged he would now be stone dead.
Sean’s eyes moved between them. McNab watched as fear flickered there.
Fuck. He thinks we’re screwing.
‘About what?’ Sean finally ventured.
As Rhona attempted to form a response, McNab jumped right in.
‘She’s at home because she’s been taken off the tunnel case. Her DNA was found on the body, somewhere it couldn’t have been.’ He continued before Rhona could stop him. ‘We believe it was planted. We also believe the perpetrator may be targeting Rhona directly.’
The impact of his statement was twofold. McNab heard an escape of breath from Rhona as relief flooded her, and Sean’s expression moved from fear he was about to be dumped to concern for Rhona’s well-being.
He turned to her. ‘Is this true?’
McNab watched as she gathered herself. ‘It’s possible,’ she admitted.
‘I’d put it more strongly than that and so would the boss,’ McNab said. ‘That’s what I came here to tell her.’
Rhona walked McNab to the door, desperate to have him leave, aware that getting Sean to do the same might be more difficult. She needed to eat something, but worried that if she did, her stomach would give her away again. Something she didn’t want either men to see or comment on.
Stepping onto the landing with McNab, Rhona drew the door half closed behind her, then said what had to be said.
‘Thank you.’
McNab, looking surprised, gave a small nod and a half-smile.
He looks as rough as me, she thought.
‘Will you tell Chrissy?’ he said in return.
Rhona wasn’t sure she would and told him so. ‘I don’t want to be persuaded by anyone either way. This is my decision.’
He looked pained by that. Rhona thought he was about to lecture her again, but that’s not what happened.
‘I went to see Mary Grant last night,’ he began. ‘She told me she was pregnant when she left me for Davey. It was mine or so she says. She got rid of it. Never told me or Davey.’ McNab halted, a catch in his throat. ‘I guess she thought the same way as you.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘I’d have been a shite father back then. Maybe even now. Mary knew that.’