Sins of the Dead

by Lin Anderson

  McNab put his helmet back on, noting the Bluetooth connection had been humming.

  ‘Ollie?’ he said on high alert.

  ‘She’s back online, sir.’

  McNab gave a whoop. ‘Where?’ he demanded.

  ‘Currently on the M8 heading south over the Kingston Bridge.’

  Jeez, they were well ahead.

  ‘Can you see the cameras? We think they may be in a small white van. Make and registration number not yet confirmed.’

  McNab turned to the others. ‘Okay, we have a tracker on Rhona.’ He told them the location. ‘I’m heading there. The rest of you should go home. This is police business.’

  ‘Fuck that,’ Izzy said. ‘Just you try and lose us.’

  McNab had no wish to argue with Izzy or Ellie, whose expression suggested she felt the same. If they kept up, well and good, but he wasn’t about to hang around waiting for them.

  Conor’s frightened face flashed in the headlights as the five bikes, led by McNab, circled before exiting the square. He acknowledged McNab’s thumbs-up, signalling that at least they knew where they were headed, and raised his own hand in response.

  Poor bastard, McNab thought, I’ve only dispensed some hope.

  McNab took the shortcut, roaring down the steps to meet University Gardens. A short walk away and they would be in Ashton Lane and the jazz club where, according to PC Watson, Rhona had planned to spend the evening.

  If only that had been true.

  McNab put his foot down and heard the roar behind him as his posse did the same.

  The traffic was thick on the Kingston Bridge, headlights running like a string of Christmas lights. They were travelling in convoy. Him in front, followed by Ellie, then Izzy close on her, taking, he realized, every opportunity to try and overtake.

  Fucking hell.

  ‘Tell Izzy to fall back,’ McNab relayed to Ellie.

  ‘There’s no way she’ll do that.’

  The traffic was peeling off into lanes as they approached the far side of the bridge. They could really screw up here, if they chose the wrong slip road.

  The massive granite landmark of the old Co-op building loomed up on their left. It was decision time.

  ‘Ollie,’ McNab demanded. ‘We need to know which way?’

  In the interim, McNab zigzagged his way through the bunched-up traffic, skimming cars, dodging into spaces, checking behind him periodically to see if his female posse was still with him.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Ollie. Hurry up.’

  ‘Okay,’ the voice finally came back. ‘They’ve taken the M8 west, and it’s a white van, registration number—’ he began.

  McNab interrupted him at the fourth character. ‘I bet that’s the van that almost put me off the road outside Rhona’s.’

  He forced his way right across the carriageway to the sound of multiple honking horns. Ellie was close on his tail, hotly followed by Izzy. The other two he’d lost in his rear mirror.

  They were already breaking the speed limit and without doubt they would have police bikes on their tail soon. All well and good.

  He switched the Bluetooth connection to Ellie. ‘We keep going,’ he told her. ‘Whatever happens.’

  106

  He wasn’t driving erratically, nor was he going too fast.

  He has me, and he has a plan, Rhona thought, as indicated by his steady driving.

  Rhona could see nothing outside from where she sat, although the intervening glass lit up periodically with the beams of oncoming traffic.

  They were, by the frequency of such lights, likely heading west or maybe south, the eastern route to Edinburgh being much busier. Either of those directions would bring him into empty country fairly swiftly, where he could leave the main road and its traffic cameras and wind his way to the remote location he had in mind.

  As soon as he stopped the van and came for her, the game would be over.

  She had to be prepared for that.

  Rhona felt about in the dark again, looking for the shovel and finding it. The space was limited and swinging it at him when the doors opened wouldn’t be easy. Something smaller and sharper would be better. If she did manage to disable him, she could commandeer the van.

  It was a nice thought, much easier in the planning, she feared, than in the execution.

  He’d been a worthy adversary up to now, Rhona acknowledged. There was no reason to believe he wouldn’t continue to be.

  Turning her head towards the intervening glass, she spotted a sign, partially obscured, suggesting they were on the M8.

  So, he was headed west, or should he choose to recross the River Clyde via the Erskine Bridge, he might be intending to go north instead.

  Even as she thought this, Rhona was suddenly flung to the right as he made his choice.

  Bracing herself against the side of the van, and shifting round, she caught a glimpse of the oncoming panoply of lights that outlined the upward curve of the approaching bridge.

  Something had happened to spook him, she realized, as his ever-increasing speed pressed her against the metal side. Rhona checked her tracker, praying under her breath that it was because he now suspected they were being pursued.

  The roar of a fast-approaching motorbike, quickly followed by another, resonated like thunder inside the van. At first her captor seemed to take no notice and Rhona knew he was assuming the bikes would soon overtake, leaving him clear again.

  She had no idea how her captor had known she would turn up at the sleep clinic. She had to assume that something Conor had said had alerted him to that possibility.

  What she did know was that Ellie would have turned up there and found her missing. Ellie and her pals were supposedly racing tonight. That was her cover story with McNab, which meant there were four of them.

  Assuming Ellie had contacted McNab when she found her missing, maybe they would have followed her tracker. That, Rhona’s heart soared, could explain the increasingly deafening noise that thrummed the sides of the van and vibrated the metal beneath her.

  How many Harleys did it take to make that sound?

  A sudden sharp swerve threw her to one side, and she realized her abductor was now attempting to break free of his cortège, unsuccessfully it seemed.

  The noise had changed. The bikes were, Rhona suspected, now up front, to the right and behind, effectively corralling the vehicle.

  The scream of an approaching siren, then another, filled the air, indicating the cavalry were about to join the advance party.

  Rhona’s moment of elation was short-lived as her abductor made one last bid for freedom. With a sharp swerve to the left, he crashed against and then through the barrier onto the accompanying walkway, smashing into the outer railing that had been the launch pad for a string of suicides since the bridge had been built.

  107

  She was physically here. She was alive and breathing. The space about her was safe.

  Yet, still she shook. Still she remembered. Still she relived.

  Compartmentalize.

  That’s what everyone on the front line did.

  Soldiers, police officers, fire crew, doctors.

  If you were consumed by every life you lost, every killer you didn’t catch, you would never save a life, nor bring a killer to justice.

  The problem was … the wall she’d built between what she did and who she was had collapsed.

  Back again, standing at the kitchen window, in the room that had made her buy this flat, looking out at the view that had secured the sale, Rhona couldn’t help but regard it differently now.

  The convent garden looked the same, but now she read it differently – the plants, the trees, the pollen that had clung to her abductor’s clothes. That garden had allowed him access to her home.

  How could she ever look down on it again and rejoice in its peacefulness?

  But I’m alive, she reminded herself. Count your blessings. You survived and, remember, Andrew Jackson and Claire Masters did not.

 
Why me?

  That was the question uttered by every survivor. She’d known that to be the case, yet never properly understood the sentiment until this moment.

  She’d also imagined she knew what she would do in her deepest darkest moment, and she’d been wrong.

  You are what you do in any given circumstances. Not what you think you might do.

  All those months of castigating McNab for what had happened at the end of Stonewarrior, she’d never considered his state of mind, the torture he’d been put through in the hours before he’d done what he had.

  It had been on the night of the tunnel discovery that they’d had their latest argument about it. She’d been so angry with him when he turned up later at the locus. She’d even accused him then of stalking her.

  Rhona turned from the window.

  Thank God he’d ignored her on that front.

  Unsurprisingly, it had been McNab’s face she’d first encountered as the back door of the van had been opened. McNab who’d led her to the waiting ambulance and helped her inside.

  He always has your back.

  Dazzled by the beams of the Harleys, and unsteady in her still-drugged state, Rhona had barely registered the faces of her rescuers as McNab had led her to the ambulance, but she knew Ellie was among them.

  She’d attempted an apology then for not telling him what she’d decided to do. For involving Ellie in the plan.

  ‘We’ll talk later,’ was all McNab had said.

  Rhona turned to survey the sparkling kitchen, all evidence of it as a crime scene gone.

  This had been her first move to try and regain her life, but she knew there was something more important she needed to do. Something she’d been avoiding but could do so no longer.

  If she was ever to be comfortable in this kitchen again, she would have to unmask her demon and look him in the eye.

  108

  McNab was shaking his head in disbelief at her request. Bill, on the other hand, regarded her with questioning eyes.

  ‘I have to confront him, properly,’ Rhona said. ‘Otherwise I will always recall him as the demon of my nightmares.’

  ‘You saw him on the bridge,’ McNab began.

  ‘I was still drugged,’ she responded. ‘I saw a figure being bundled into a police car.’ Rhona halted for a moment. ‘I know his voice. I know how he moves. I have never seen his real face. Not properly. I want to see him. I want to speak to him.’

  When there was no response except a determined negative look from McNab, she went on, ‘I have to confront him, otherwise he’ll continue to haunt me.’

  ‘You’ll see him in court,’ McNab said.

  Rhona shook her head. ‘No. I don’t want to wait that long.’

  A quick glance at the boss suggested that he might, just might, be on her side. McNab not so much.

  ‘You can’t see him alone,’ Bill said. ‘McNab could sit in with you.’

  ‘No,’ Rhona said quickly. ‘Not McNab. That wouldn’t work.’

  McNab’s face was like thunder, but Rhona tried her best to ignore that. If McNab was to be in there with her, she would be consumed with fear, not of her attacker, but of how McNab might react.

  Perhaps picking up on this, DI Wilson gave a small nod. ‘Another officer, then?’ he suggested.

  ‘I’d like it to be Magnus,’ Rhona said swiftly.

  She had thought this through. If anyone should observe any interaction between herself and her abductor, then it should be the psychologist.

  Bill was considering this and, Rhona hoped, coming round to the idea. McNab wisely was keeping his mouth shut, although with difficulty, Rhona noted with a half-smile.

  Bill looked to McNab. ‘Okay, Detective Sergeant, let’s contact Professor Pirie and set this up.’

  ‘You okay?’ Magnus’s concerned look almost brought a smile to her face.

  ‘I am,’ Rhona assured him, although she had no idea if that were true.

  The interview room smelt of previous occupants and disinfectant, only slightly masked by the scent of the coffee Magnus had brought in with him. The officer who stood by the door gave her a reassuring nod as the door opened and a figure appeared and was handed over.

  Rhona kept her eyes on Ray Howden as he was ushered to the seat across the table from her.

  Magnus introduced himself and indicated that they would be recording anything said in the meeting. Ray nodded, a smile curving his lips.

  He wants this as much as I do, Rhona registered. It makes him feel important.

  Rhona took some moments to study the man before her. So this was her personal demon, minus the mask. No longer one of Conor’s shadow men, but flesh and bone, with pale blue eyes and dark hair. Ordinary and unremarkable. Someone she’d hardly noticed at the sleep clinic, and even now couldn’t recollect from her lectures.

  His knowing smile, as he met her eyes, suggested that he knew her a great deal better than she did him.

  ‘Dr MacLeod,’ he said, finally taking the initiative. ‘You’d like to know why, wouldn’t you?’ He smiled.

  Magnus had warned her of how this might go. That a perpetrator like Howden would want to control both her and the interview.

  When Rhona chose not to respond, a flash of what looked like anger crossed those eyes.

  ‘Because the sins of the dead,’ he said, the smile back on his lips, ‘are all-consuming.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Rhona said under her breath and, catching Magnus’s eye, indicated that the meeting was at an end.

  109

  Arriving afterwards at the lab, she’d met the scent of fresh coffee and the smell of filled rolls, accompanied by Chrissy’s welcoming face.

  ‘You’re not ready to come back yet,’ Chrissy said in her forthright way, when Rhona explained what had just happened. ‘You’ve taken a step, but there’s a few to go yet.’

  At this point Chrissy had reached out for one of Rhona’s still-bruised hands.

  ‘McNab said you planned to go west when this was all over.’

  ‘It’s not all over,’ Rhona reminded her.

  ‘Your part in it is. Once the bastard goes to trial, that’s a different matter.’

  When Rhona didn’t looked convinced, Chrissy came back with, ‘We’ve been through this before, remember? When McNab got shot.’ She gave a rueful smile then, as though remembering. ‘Back then, I was the one tortured by guilt and you were the one telling me what to do about it. We survived then and we will again.’

  Rhona had mooched about the lab after that, her gaze constantly focusing on the thick tree cover below, her eyes drawn to the spot where she knew the yew tree must be.

  ‘Okay,’ Chrissy said, coming to stand beside her. ‘Begone. Get packed. McNab’s coming for you in a couple of hours’ time.’

  And with that Rhona was summarily dismissed.

  Tom had already departed, having been picked up by Sean shortly after she’d called him. During his brief visit, they’d spoken of nothing but her trip west and how long she might stay on Skye.

  ‘Tom’s fine with me for as long as you need,’ Sean had said. ‘Just keep in touch, promise?’

  Rhona had duly accepted his hug and given her promise.

  In no man’s land, she had no idea if she could or should resurrect what she’d had with Sean. Or even if he would want her to.

  Rhona glanced at her watch. McNab would be here soon, so she should be ready.

  She fetched the small bag she’d prepared from the bedroom, then systematically walked round the flat, checking the windows were secure and the burglar alarm Bill had had installed was switched on.

  The advancing roar of the motorbike took her to the sitting-room window. When McNab had suggested she abandon the idea of him driving her to Skye, Rhona had imagined he was merely trying to get out of the job.

  She’d been wrong about that.

  Rhona waved to him, indicating she would come straight down.

  If she was to leave her old life behind for a while, maybe McNab was
right, and this was the way to do it.

  Epilogue

  There were many ways to head into the west.

  They might have taken the route described in the traditional song, ‘The Road to the Isles’.

  Sure by Tummel and Loch Rannoch, and Lochaber I will go.

  McNab had chosen instead to travel via Stirling, Callander and Glencoe, informing Rhona he’d discussed the bike route with Ellie and was following her advice. Rhona knew this way well too, but didn’t tell him so.

  Better that McNab found out what it was like for himself.

  Reaching Glencoe, McNab stopped briefly, suggesting he needed to stretch his legs, but Rhona knew how overwhelmed he was by the place, like most other first-time visitors before him. The sense of ominous history loomed above them on either side and Rhona could never travel through here without thinking of the haunting story of its past.

  They went by way of the Great Glen, weaving through the summer traffic, before emerging at last to climb and look down on Loch Garry stretched out like a veritable map of Scotland. Then it was Glen Shiel and its mini Alps and a brief stop at Eilean Donan Castle.

  Rhona laughed to see McNab taking photographs on his mobile to send to Ellie, as though she might be the only person who hadn’t encountered an image of that particular famous castle or watched the movie Highlander.

  But Rhona really came alive when she saw the curve of the bridge ahead of her. The bridge that would take her home to Skye.

  Acknowledgements

  The character of Dr Rhona MacLeod was inspired by a former maths pupil of mine, Emma Hart, from my home village of Carrbridge. Her enthusiasm for forensic science was transferred to me and thus the pupil became the teacher. This led me to take the Diploma course in Forensic Medical Science at my former university of Glasgow, where I had initially studied mathematics.

  There were two writers among the audience of seventy professionals on the evening course – myself and my pal and co-founder of Bloody Scotland, Alex Gray. You can guess who had their hands up all the time.

  Throughout the course we made many friends, who are of course the real people in the world we choose to write about. Without their expertise, this, and all the other books in the Rhona series, wouldn’t have been possible.