by Lin Anderson
And she’d stuck up for his role in the Stonewarrior case, something Magnus had also told him about. But more important than both of these were her early suspicions that they were being played by the perpetrator, which suggested to McNab’s mind that DC Fleming had the makings of a real detective.
Settled now, opposite the two policewomen, Ellie looked reasonably at ease, although McNab knew her well enough to recognize the nervous movement of her hands.
Asked to describe that night in the tunnel, Ellie, glancing first at the mirror, took a deep breath and did as requested. Both officers listened in silence, with only an occasional request for clarity on timing.
During the initial run-through, Ellie had seemed assured, McNab observed, probably because of the practice run with him earlier.
But when asked for a repeat, her determined tone had faded, a weary, frightened voice taking its place, the nervous hand movements multiplied.
McNab gripped his coffee cup more tightly. They were going for her now. Something he couldn’t have done, but understood why it was necessary.
If Ellie’s story was true, then she was, apart from Rhona, the only person to have engaged with the perpetrator and heard his voice.
‘Tell me again about the phone call,’ DC Fleming ordered.
Ellie was staring into the middle distance, reliving the call once again.
‘He said, “I know what you did.” I … I said,’ she stumbled, ‘I didn’t harm him.’
Her voice changed, as though morphing into her memory of the caller. ‘No, but you felt a pulse. You felt something.’
Her own voice replied, afraid and sorry, ‘He was cold. He was dead.’
The caller’s voice became wheedling like a guilty conscience. ‘But you’re not sure of that, are you? You could have saved him if you’d called the police. You could have saved him.’ A pause, then, ‘I know what you did,’ again.
The same words used to Rhona, McNab thought. I know what you did.
Ellie raised her head and looked directly at DC Fleming. ‘There was a torch beam. He was watching me. He knew there was a pulse. Faint, but there.’
The interview over, McNab accompanied a pale and tired-looking Ellie to reception.
‘You did grand,’ he said, fighting his desire to hug her. ‘Go back to my place and have a sleep.’
Ellie looked surprised. ‘You never wanted me staying there before.’
‘Well, I do now,’ McNab said sharply, unable to disguise his fear that she might disappear on him again.
‘I’m going into work. Mannie’s expecting me.’
McNab realized she was giving him her movements to allay his fears.
‘I’ll call you,’ he promised. ‘Let you know when I’ll be home.’
Ellie shook her head. ‘No point. They took my mobile, remember? I’ll head for the Rock Cafe after work. I’ll see you there.’
It was a compromise of sorts and at least at the cafe she would be safe.
McNab saw Ellie off, then headed back inside. Her return should have made things easier, but he realized she was as much on his mind now as when she’d been missing.
He went by the coffee machine on his way to the strategy meeting and relived the moment when Ellie had turned the tables on DC Fleming.
She thought Ellie was lying, or at least making up part of the telephone conversation.
She’d challenged Ellie as to why her voice changed when she repeated the caller’s words, as though you’re reading from a script, she’d said.
‘I know his voice by heart,’ Ellie had told her. ‘I’ve replayed it so often.’
‘And how did you do that?’ DC Fleming had demanded.
‘I have an app that records incoming calls.’
That had completely thrown DC Fleming. McNab smiled, remembering her expression.
Maybe she wasn’t a real detective quite yet.
‘Clever girl,’ McNab said to himself. ‘You kept him talking and he made his first mistake.’
82
Dr Mackie was already in full flow as McNab slipped in at the back.
‘The convent garden,’ she was saying, ‘is the most likely way the abductor gained entry to the property.’
There was silence in the incident room as they waited to hear why the soil scientist believed this to be the case.
‘August is part of the summer–autumn season which involves a second flowering of the nettle family, plus pollination of herbaceous plants such as beet, chard and wild spinach. Three of these can be found in the convent garden close to the intervening wall. The small area behind Dr MacLeod’s building is grass only.’
She replaced the image of the convent garden on the screen with one of Rhona’s kitchen window.
‘We retrieved evidence of nettle pollen and wild spinach round the window casing, the suspected entry point to the flat. Also, similar pollen samples were found on the rear steps of the stairwell leading to the back door of the tenement and hence the garden. That door isn’t kept locked.’
McNab had fretted about the open window, but he’d never considered the back entrance or the convent as a potential weak point. How often had he seen Rhona stand at that window looking out on what she called ‘her oasis of calm’. While he, McNab, had sought his peace in a bottle of Scotch.
‘There’s one further indication that the garden of the convent played a role in Dr MacLeod’s abduction.’ Dr Mackie brought up another image. ‘The intruder brushed this willow tree as he made his way between the two properties,’ she told them. ‘The willow, important in both Celtic and Christian mythology, also symbolizes the will to endure the most challenging of situations.’
A metaphor, McNab thought, for Jen Mackie’s belief that wherever Rhona was, she would be focused on surviving. If that hadn’t been her intention, it had had that effect none the less, judging by the expressions around him.
‘We retrieved soil samples from the back stairs and the metal ladder leading onto the roof, confirming DS McNab’s theory that that was the route used to access the top-floor flat from the convent garden.
‘How Dr MacLeod was removed from the building is less obvious. Chrissy has reported that an analysis of the white wine indicated it had been doctored, so the likelihood is that Rhona was semi-conscious and barefooted. As such, we assume there was a vehicle parked close by to transport her.
‘It’s now accepted that the perpetrator has forensic knowledge and is using it. But to what degree? He wasn’t wearing protective clothing on entering the flat, otherwise we wouldn’t have discovered the pollen deposits. That may have been to avoid generating interest or perhaps there’s a limit to his knowledge.’ She paused. ‘The footprint in the kitchen may reveal that limit.’
As Dr Mackie stood down, a rumble of talk broke out in the room before DI Wilson silenced them and ordered them back on the job.
After which he gestured to McNab that he wanted a word in his office. McNab followed him inside and DI Wilson shut the door.
‘I’m glad Ellie’s back safe and sound,’ were his opening words.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘So, how did the interview go?’
When McNab explained about the recording, the boss looked mightily pleased.
‘She says it’s not great quality,’ McNab added, ‘but Tech will do their best to clean it up.’
DI Wilson nodded, preoccupied now, McNab knew, by the more pressing issue of Rhona’s disappearance.
‘Chrissy told me … about Rhona’s condition,’ he finally said. ‘I understand she spoke to you about it before she disappeared?’
‘She did, in confidence, sir,’ McNab stressed.
DI Wilson gave him a swift look. ‘It will go no further than me, Detective Sergeant. And when we find Dr MacLeod safe and well, there will be no reason to tell her that I know.’
McNab nodded, relieved by that.
‘But,’ DI Wilson continued, ‘her condition makes it even more imperative that we locate her, and soon,’ he st
ressed. ‘So let’s hope whatever Jen Mackie comes up with via the soil samples gives us a possible lead on Dr MacLeod’s whereabouts.’
‘Wherever Rhona is, sir,’ McNab heard himself say, ‘you can guarantee she’ll be doing her damnedest to set herself free.’
83
The rising water had been busy.
Rhona had assumed that the space beneath the rock would get blocked by the extra earth her captor had shovelled in, but instead the water channel had narrowed and its increased flow had dug deeper into the floor of her prison.
Rhona, feeling her way towards the gurgling water, slated her thirst.
The opioid was wearing off, leaving her with a dry mouth and trembling limbs as the cold water took its toll on her body.
The feeling of drug-induced pleasure was gone, dropping her back into cold reality with a vengeance, but her brain was clear enough now to consider what her chances truly were.
Her abductor had kept her alive until now, Rhona reasoned, but for what purpose? Only to terrify her with the prospect of being buried alive? Or had she been taken as yet another forensic test for the investigation team?
Abduct an expert on buried and hidden bodies, and see if they can find her?
Rhona recalled the test demo she and Jen Mackie had videoed for the class. Rhona had donned wellie boots and walked in a well-known but unnamed Glasgow park. She’d presented the boots to Jen and, for the benefit of the class, asked her to demonstrate how she might track the soil to its point of origin.
It had been a popular event, especially when Jen had got to within yards of the spot where Rhona had stood.
Was that what her own capture was about?
The more she considered that possibility, the more likely it seemed.
Rhona tried to relive the scene in the kitchen, but her recall always stopped at the moment she’d tried to stab the glass splinter into her attacker’s leg. Whatever had happened after that had resulted in her being transported here. Obviously a vehicle had to have been used, but what about once inside the tunnel?
The thought that it might have involved more than one person crossed her mind. Might they be dealing with a duo rather than a lone perpetrator? Although she’d only heard and seen one up to now.
If they both wear demon masks, how would I know the difference?
Rhona turned her thoughts back to here and now. She’d got free of her restraints and her gaoler had countermanded this with the opiate. But to administer it again he would have to enter her grave to do it.
And this time she would be ready for him.
84
‘So everyone on the main diploma course viewed this video featuring Dr Mackie identifying the location of the soil on Rhona’s boots?’ DI Wilson asked.
‘It was also made available online to the MOOCs students and the part-timers,’ Jen told him.
McNab was bristling, but trying hard not to show it. A swift look from the boss enforced this as the correct strategy.
‘However,’ Dr Mackie was saying, ‘what we gave them was fairly superficial. The soil map of Scotland, the way we eliminate areas, focusing in on possibilities only.’
McNab could restrain himself no longer. ‘Then the mud conveniently left behind is a red herring.’
Jen Mackie shot him a look that suggested he might be right, so McNab cut off what he planned to say next and waited for her response.
‘The partial print could be explained by the spilt wine which loosened the soil, or as DS McNab suggests, it may have been put there for a reason. The lack of other identifiable footprints in the flat or on the stairwell might indicate the intruder’s own footwear was covered.’
McNab came back in. ‘So we waste our time and effort looking in the wrong place?’
McNab parked the bike at the top of the steps leading from the park to Rhona’s flat.
From his vantage he noted that the search team, who’d begun at dawn, were still combing the dense undergrowth that led down to the park.
It was a slow and laborious business, but it had to be done, he conceded, although the only way they would find Rhona there was if she was already dead. Something he didn’t believe was the case, yet.
Of course, the perp might have already killed her and buried her body, in order to enjoy watching them search for her remains. But then, McNab reasoned, Rhona would be merely another victim, whereas she’s the opponent he needs to defeat.
His mind went back to Ellie. He’d thought Ellie a prospective victim because someone had seen her with the body in the tunnel.
An organized killer liked to engage with the investigation, directly if possible. When Ellie had been identified, possibly via the Harley connection, the next move was to inform her that she’d been seen, and only the perp would have known that Jackson might not yet have taken his last breath.
Anyone watching Ellie would have soon learned about her connection with him, the detective. How much pleasure that must have given the perpetrator. Even more so when Ellie did a runner.
His recent conversation with Fran had established they’d located Ellie via the ride-out, but before they could reach out to her, she’d left Aviemore.
‘I’m really glad she’s safe and back with you,’ Fran had said, relieved. ‘I thought we’d let you down.’
So the perpetrator hadn’t gone looking for Ellie. That had all been a ruse to take their eyes away from his real goal. Rhona.
He doesn’t want the game to end, McNab thought. All that planning and practice, working up from interfering with dead bodies, to a kill, heavily marked as suicide. Then Claire. Claire wasn’t planned, just required, probably because she could identify him.
Calling Ellie had been the perp’s first mistake; having to dispense with Claire his second.
He’d tried his best with the second locus, tarting it up to match the theme, the signature, but it had been hurried. He got the evidence on the hanging wrong. He must have known that the fact she’d been strangled would be revealed at the postmortem.
Claire’s murder wasn’t half as accomplished as his first effort.
How long had he been watching Rhona, studying the pattern of her life? Weeks, months, longer, planning her abduction?
To achieve his goal, he would have had to get sufficiently close to Rhona to be allowed entry to her flat. Only then would he have known about her habit of keeping the kitchen window open for the cat.
85
He and Sean Maguire hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but despite their history, McNab liked the guy. At this moment, he also pitied him. McNab doubted if Maguire had shut his eyes since Rhona had disappeared.
They were seated at her kitchen table, meeting here at McNab’s request. He could have asked Maguire to come to the station, although DS Clark had already spoken to him. Interviewing partners was routine with any ‘disappearance’. When someone went missing, the partner was always on the radar.
So there was nothing odd about Maguire having been the first port of call.
McNab wondered how he’d felt about that. Someone you really care about goes missing in what appears to be violent circumstances, and you’re the first one the police interview.
And here he was back again.
‘How are you doing?’ McNab found himself saying.
Maguire set down the freshly brewed coffee in front of McNab before answering.
‘Probably about the same as you, Detective Sergeant.’
They sat in silence for a moment, then McNab opened the proceedings.
‘Would you be able to list everyone you can think of who might have had access to the flat, this kitchen in particular?’
Maguire threw him a quizzical look. ‘This is Rhona’s place. I don’t live here.’
‘But we can’t ask Rhona,’ McNab said, the tetchiness obvious in his voice.
At this, Sean rose and went to the cupboard McNab knew to be home to the whisky. Motioning to the bottle, then at McNab’s mug, Sean asked the silent question.
McNa
b nodded, then watched as a decent measure was added to his coffee. Maguire, he knew, was trying to bridge the divide between them, for Rhona’s sake if nothing else.
Then again, the poor bastard doesn’t know what I know.
McNab briefly considered revealing the pregnancy. At least then he could stop feeling guilty about knowing about it. And start feeling guilty about not keeping his word to Rhona?
‘I take it you want a list of names?’ Maguire was asking. ‘The ones I know about anyway?’ he added, a slight edge to his voice.
McNab nodded and pulled out his notebook.
‘As you probably know, Rhona didn’t do entertaining, so no dinner parties. She always said she wouldn’t have people here she didn’t like.’
Maguire’s voice caught in his throat and McNab realized the guy was closer to breaking down than he thought.
In recognition of this, McNab tried to soften his own tone. ‘Let’s think recently. Last couple of months maybe. Did you arrive to find anyone here with Rhona?’
Maguire threw him a penetrating look. ‘Apart from you, you mean?’
‘Apart from me.’
‘The guy from the sleep clinic, Dr Williams. He’s been here a few times. Helped Rhona with Tom, but you know that already. Someone left her a bottle of red wine at the door. She didn’t seem to know who.’
‘And the white wine in the fridge?’
‘Rhona thought that was me, but it wasn’t. Not this time anyway. I told DS Clark that already.’
‘Is that everyone?’
‘There’s a new guy moved into the neighbouring flat. He seems friendly. Came to say hello, but I don’t know if Rhona invited him in. I thought you’d interviewed the other residents?’
The guy Maguire was talking about, name of Craig Robbins, worked at the Kings Theatre and rented out a room through Airbnb. According to his interview with DS Clark, he’d never been inside Rhona’s flat. That couldn’t be verified, of course, without Rhona.
‘Then there’s Mrs Harper who’s looking after Tom, but I assume you’ve spoken to her.’ He paused. ‘Shouldn’t you be checking out the folk on her course, and those she worked with? It had to be someone who at least knew about forensics?’