The Skeleton Road

by Val McDermid

‘I don’t know. How does anybody get a gun in this country? Considering they’re supposed to be banned, they’re bloody everywhere. Let’s just say for the sake of argument that he got a gun and shot the general. So he comes back to Oxford and when it looks like Petrovic has done a runner, he moves in on Maggie. Who says no, she really wasn’t coming on to him. Because she wasn’t. She was just being polite, or not wanting to hurt his feelings or whatever. And she had the general to hide behind.’

  ‘So he’s done a murder for nothing. That’d piss on your chips.’ Jason took a Coke out of his desk drawer and popped the top.

  ‘That’s the understatement of the morning. But time goes by and there’s no comeback. And then one day, Fraser Jardine finds a body on the roof of the John Drummond and it all kicks off. And Maggie sees the man’s name on a list of potential suspects and she’s hit between the eyes with a terrible moment of guilt. It’s all her fault.’

  ‘Aye, like Adam and Eve and that. The woman made him do it.’

  Who’d have thought that the Mint knew the Bible? Or that he could draw meaningful comparisons from it? ‘You are full of surprises today, Jason. But you’re right. In that moment, she realises that the general’s death is squarely at her door. So she hasn’t got the right to dob in the actual killer.’ Karen gave a wry smile. ‘It all makes a horrible kind of sense, doesn’t it? So we’d better start working our way through every name on that list until we find the mystery man.’

  ‘I printed the full list out while you were away. Names and addresses and that. Some of them have got car registrations as well, so we can double check that.’ He raked around in his desk drawer and produced two sheets of paper.

  As Karen held out a hand to take it, her phone rang. The caller ID was blocked, but that wasn’t uncommon with calls from police phones so she took it. DCI Pirie,’ she said chirpily.

  ‘Karen? It’s Jimmy Hutton. DCI Hutton.’ She should have recognised the voice of Phil’s DCI. They’d been out in a foursome with Hutton and his wife a few times. But he sounded stressed, his pitch higher than usual. Her heart rate rose, the sense of panic in her gut familiar to anyone who loves a cop. But she tried to stay calm.

  ‘Aye, Jimmy. How can I help you?’ As if it was just a routine call between two officers of equal rank.

  ‘Karen, I’ve got some bad news.’

  There was only one kind of bad news. ‘Jimmy? Tell me he’s alive.’ She was aware of the Mint getting to his feet and moving uncertainly towards her. Her mouth was suddenly dry, a sharp metallic taste on her tongue.

  ‘He’s been run over. He’s on his way to hospital.’

  ‘The Vic?’ Karen was on her feet now too, grabbing coat and shoulder bag. ‘I’m on my way, Jimmy. Hang on, would you?’ She held her phone to her chest and took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Jason, I need you to drive me. Phil’s been in an accident. The Vic. Blues and twos.’

  They ran out of the building, Karen with her phone to her ear, still talking to Hutton. ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘I’m not a doctor, Karen. He was conscious when they loaded him into the ambulance, that’s got to be a good thing.’

  ‘The Vic, yeah?’

  ‘The Vic. I’m heading there now.’

  Into her car, flashing blue Noddy light clamped to the roof. Jason pulling out into the traffic like a madman, careering through the clogged streets, dodging in and out of bus lanes. Running red lights, jinking between cars and buses.

  ‘What happened?’

  Hutton breaking up, then back again loud and clear. ‘So we were waiting for him when he gets back from the airport.’

  ‘This is the money-laundering bastard, right?’

  ‘Right. And he reverses into his drive. Big ugly fuck-off white BMW SUV, just what you need in Cramond. And we front up and he panics. Phil’s standing in front of the Beemer. Stab vest and everything, “police” on the front in big letters. Arms out, couldn’t be clearer. Fucking stay put, dickhead.’ Hutton abruptly running out of steam.

  ‘Only he doesn’t, right?’

  ‘Right. He stood on the gas and hit Phil full on. Didn’t fucking stop.’ Hutton’s voice cracking, like he’s on the edge of tears. Karen’s ears ringing, like someone slapped her on both sides of her head at once.

  Hammering down Queensferry Road towards the dual carriageway and the road bridge over the Forth. Heart hammering too, like the Runrig song. Why is she thinking about Runrig now, for fuck’s sake? ‘He’s going to be OK, though. He’s tough as old boots, my Phil.’

  ‘Just get here, Karen. Just get here. He needs you.’

  The line went dead. She didn’t think it was a black hole. She thought it was just that Jimmy Hutton couldn’t speak any longer. She couldn’t work out why she wasn’t crying. Why she wasn’t feeling anything except a terrible urge to get to Phil’s side.

  ‘You all right, boss?’ Jason said without taking his eyes off the road. Just as well since he was doing over a ton, horn blaring and light clearing people from their path.

  ‘Bastard ran him over. Went right over the top of him.’

  ‘What? In the street, like?’

  ‘No, it was a take-down. Guy rapes his wife then gives her to his pals. That’s his speciality. But they’re doing him for money-laundering. And he just drove straight into Phil.’

  ‘Fuck.’ Jason pressed his lips tight together. She realised he was close to tears.

  ‘He’ll be OK. He’ll be fine, Jason.’ She kept telling herself that all the way across the bridge and down the motorway and along the dual carriageway and into the emergency bay at the Victoria Hospital in Kirkcaldy. Karen leapt out of the car almost before it had stopped. ‘I’ll see you inside,’ she said, running as fast as she could into the A&E department.

  When police officers are brought injured to hospital, everything changes direction to focus on their needs. The emergency services cleave to each other in times of crisis and nothing stands between an injured officer and the care he or she needs. So as soon as Karen identified herself she was hustled through to a tiny waiting room where she found Jimmy Hutton and a couple of guys she vaguely recognised. They were all huddled on chairs, hunched up as if making themselves appear smaller would somehow help Phil.

  Jimmy struggled to his feet like an old man and drew her into an embrace she didn’t want. All she could hear was a mumble of apologies and other well-meant pointlessness. ‘What are they saying?’ she demanded as soon as she could disentangle herself.

  He couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘It’s not good. He’s unconscious. They think he’s got internal injuries as well as broken bones. Both legs, his pelvis, ribs.’

  Her heart seemed to tighten. She couldn’t draw in enough air to keep dizziness at bay. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘They’re prepping him for surgery. The good news, Karen, there is some good news… The good news is, no head injuries.’

  ‘I need to see him.’

  ‘I’ll get a nurse,’ one of the other guys said.

  As he left, Jason came in, looking as young and frightened as she’d ever seen him. ‘Any news?’ he asked.

  ‘They’ve got to open him up and find where he’s injured,’ Karen said. A thought struck her like an electrical charge of rage burning along her veins. ‘You have arrested him, Jimmy? The bastard who did this? You do have him in custody?’

  Hutton ran a hand over his bald head. ‘We were stunned, Karen. He was gone before we could do anything to stop him. There’s a nationwide alert out for him and his vehicle. He’ll not get anywhere, not with the ANPR cameras. They can search the data in real time. They’ll get him.’

  She didn’t know what to do with herself. Literally. Sit down, stand up, walk around, bang her head against the wall. They were all equally possible, equally ridiculous. If Phil was here, he’d tell her to get a grip.

  Her immediate problem was solved by the arrival of a middle-aged Asian woman in blue scrubs. ‘I’m Aryana Patel,’ she said. ‘I’m going to be operating on Mr Parhatka.’

>   ‘I’m his partner,’ Karen said. ‘His bidie-in.’ To clarify what kind of partner.

  Ms Patel nodded. ‘I have to tell you he’s quite poorly but we’re reasonably confident that with the right intervention, he’s going to make it.’

  ‘“Reasonably confident” – what does that mean?’ It was Jason, his fear transposed into aggression.

  ‘It means they’re not making promises they can’t be sure of keeping,’ Karen said, laying a hand on his arm. She faced Ms Patel. ‘Can I see him before he goes into surgery?’

  ‘He’s unconscious. He won’t know you’re there. And…’ She made a face. ‘He’s not been cleaned up yet.’

  ‘I’m a cop. I’ve seen the human body fucked up in even more ways than you have, Doc. He might not know that I’m there right now, but I need to be able to say to him at some point down the line, “I was there. I held your hand. I kissed you.”’

  The doctor nodded. ‘I understand. Come with me.’

  Nothing Karen had witnessed before had prepared her for the wave of shock and pain that hit when she saw Phil. His clothes had been cut free from his body but they still lay under and around him like the shed skin of a lizard. His legs were all unnatural angles. Bone pierced the skin in at least three places. His face was paler than she’d ever seen it; he looked, bizarrely, as if he’d shed pounds since she’d left him that morning tucking into a bowl of grapefruit and pineapple. She wanted to throw herself on him, to protect his broken flesh from more damage. But the stolid, sensible Karen was still in charge. She stepped to his side and took his limp hand in hers. She raised it to her mouth and kissed his fingers, noticing his knuckles were scraped and raw. ‘I love you,’ she said. ‘You know you’re my hero, Phil. You give my life a meaning I never expected it to have. So you better get a grip and get back to me. You hear me? I love you.’

  She kissed his hand again then backed out of the room. She let herself cry then, soundless sobs and fat unstoppable tears, forehead against the wall, shoulders heaving. Nobody bothered her. Nobody tried to offer pointless comfort. The staff just bustled around her and let her be.

  And then she got a grip.

  40

  It was clear that Jimmy Hutton and his team intended to keep vigil until Phil emerged from surgery. The thought of being trapped in that tiny room full of big men who didn’t know what to say was enough to make Karen want to lock herself in the cleaners’ cupboard. To her surprise, she realised the only person whose company she could tolerate was the Mint.

  ‘I’m going for some fresh air,’ she announced to the room. ‘Jason, with me.’

  Startled, he jumped to his feet, eyes swivelling round the assembled guys like a panicking wild horse. ‘OK, boss.’

  Once the door closed behind them, he said, ‘We’re not really going for fresh air, right? You hate fresh air.’

  It was a line he’d learned from Phil, she suspected. ‘There’s a Costa Coffee down in the atrium of the new bit,’ she said. ‘That’s where we’re going to set up base camp. I already sorted out with Ms Patel to give me a bell as soon as Phil’s out of the theatre.’

  Armed with lattes and muffins the size of a baby’s head, they annexed a table as far from the main thoroughfare as possible. ‘Are you all right, boss?’ Jason reached for the packets of sugar he’d snagged on his way and tipped four into his cup.

  ‘To quote our national Makar on the occasion of her widowhood, “Hellish, but thanks for asking.” I’m scared and I’m worried and I don’t know what to do with myself except the one thing I know I’m good at.’ Seeing his frown, she added gently, ‘That would be coppering, Jason. And it’s the thing about me Phil was proudest of. So he’d be bloody furious if he thought that him being on the operating table meant me ignoring my work.’

  ‘So we’re going to work?’ He looked as dubious as he sounded.

  ‘We are. We’re going to drink our coffee and eat our muffins and we’re going to think very hard about where we’re up to and how we move forward. And if we can’t come up with any better ideas, we’re going down the road to our house and we’re going to hammer the phones and the Internet until we find every one of those hotel guests and either eliminate them or nail them to the wall. You with me? Or do you want to go back and hang out with the boys? I won’t think any less of you if you do. We all deal with crap like this in our own way.’

  Jason shook his head. ‘I’ll stay with you, boss. We’re a team, right? And Phil, he’s still kind of part of our team. So it’s like, you and me.’

  Karen nodded. She wasn’t sure whether she’d be able to concentrate but she had to try. Surges of black rage and hot fear ran through her at unpredictable intervals; she wondered if this was how Maggie Blake had felt when her general had disappeared without a word. She worked her way slowly down the coffee and the muffin, letting the caffeine and sugar do their thing. She worried at the problem of Petrovic’s death so she didn’t have to think about Phil being carved open by Aryana Patel. But nothing shifted, nothing suggested itself.

  And so they ended up back at the house where she and Phil had built their life together. Having Jason there was a blessing; being there alone would have been unbearable. They sat in the study, Karen on the landline and the laptop, Jason on his mobile and Phil’s iPad, working their way down the list. Late in the afternoon, five hours after they’d left the hospital, they agreed there was nothing more they could do. They’d eliminated nine of the sixteen for a variety of reasons ranging from a prosthetic leg to having only set foot outside the isle of Eigg once in a lifetime ahead of this trip. Of the remaining seven, three had given addresses that had no correspondence in reality. They could have been having an illicit affair; they could have simply lied on the principle that they didn’t want junk mail; or one of them could have been a killer. Either way, there was nothing more that Karen and Jason could do.

  Karen had gone through to the kitchen to make another cup of coffee when the idea hit her. If Maggie had recognised a name, there was a chance that Dorothea Simpson or Tessa Minogue might know it too. They needed to run those names past the two women. And this time, she wouldn’t make the same mistake. She’d ask them face to face, going through the names one by one.

  Excited by the idea, she hustled back to the study to tell Jason. But halfway down the hall, the phone rang. Aryana Patel sounded as knackered as Karen felt. ‘He’s out of surgery,’ she said. ‘He’s had a very bad time. We’ve had to remove his spleen and part of his liver. We had to take out a section of his large intestine and setting the bones of his legs and pelvis has been a real challenge. But he’s holding his own.’

  ‘When will I be able to see him?’

  ‘You can come any time you like. But he’s in intensive care and we’ve put him in a medically induced coma to give his body a chance to get over its initial trauma. So for the next three days, he’s going to be deeply unconscious. Some people like to keep a bedside vigil, reading and talking and playing music. Others prefer to stay away because they struggle with seeing the people they love like that. It’s not like someone being in a coma as a result of injury where you want stimulus to rouse them. With a medically induced coma, the aim is to keep the patient stable and pain-free. So I would say it’s entirely up to you, Karen.’

  She thought for a moment. Surely the best get-well-soon present she could give Phil would be a solution to the problem of the mysterious skeleton on the roof. She and Jason could go back to Oxford and pursue her latest idea and still be back long before Phil awoke. ‘I think I’ll keep myself busy at work,’ Karen said slowly. ‘But only if you promise me you’ll call me at once if there’s any change in his condition.’

  ‘I’ll make sure there’s a note to that effect at the nurses’ station. And his parents are already here. I’m sure they’ll be straight on the phone if you’re needed.’

  Another good reason for going to Oxford. Karen ended the call and carried on into the study. ‘Phil’s out of surgery and he’s doing OK. But they’ve kept h
im in a coma so he can heal better. It’ll be three days before he’s awake. So we’ve got a window of opportunity to do something that’ll totally impress him when he wakes up. It’s brainwave time, Jason. Let’s get going.’

  ‘Going where, boss?’

  ‘Oxford, Jason. Where else?’

  41

  The trouble with dramatic revelations was that the world didn’t stop turning. Sitting at her desk, looking out at the view of rooftops and distant spires, Maggie couldn’t quite believe that everything on the skyline was still the same. Her convictions about her life had been altered beyond recognition, but nobody else knew. Nobody except a Scottish cop, and she didn’t know the half of it. Now Maggie was back in Oxford, everything felt unreal and trivial.

  The way she thought about her place in the world had shifted. She wasn’t the woman scorned any more. She knew she’d been an object of pity and of ridicule when Mitja had disappeared. Both reactions had been equally insulting. Now she would have the upper hand over those who had enjoyed her misery and their idea of her as the abandoned partner, but she’d be prey to a whole new kind of pity for her bereavement. The pain was bad enough; the reactions of others would only make it worse. Just the thought of it made her want to go back to bed and pull the covers over her head.

  She wondered how long it would be before the official identification of Mitja would seep out into the public domain. She’d checked online and seen that the discovery of the mysterious skeleton had made headlines in the Scottish media but barely a mention in the national news outlets. Once the media realised whose remains they were, it would be a different story. The dramatic murder of a Croatian general on British soil would provoke news stories and features. Some enterprising journalist might even venture into Mitja’s past and uncover the dark secrets Maggie and Karen had learned. The very thought of that made her feel physically sick. Not because she had a vested interest in whitewashing his past but because she knew he was more than that single appalling incident and deserved not to be defined by it.