Time for the Dead

by Lin Anderson

  ‘The boss’s idea, but I’m happy to take the credit.’

  She knew by the change of expression that McNab had just spied the man behind her. Plus, he’d probably registered the fact that she was in a bedroom.

  ‘I’m in Alvis’s room at the Isles,’ Rhona said. ‘The bar’s too noisy to talk.’

  McNab’s face showed his disquiet at that information. ‘So what’s wrong with the cottage?’ he demanded.

  ‘It’s an hour away, and since we need to be back sharp in the morning, I’ve decided to stay here tonight,’ Rhona told him.

  By his expression McNab was factoring in the possibility that she actually meant she was staying at the Isles, maybe even in this particular room.

  Rhona read the look, which clearly said, with him? and smothered a laugh. Winding McNab up was normally Chrissy’s job, but she found she was rather enjoying it.

  She decided to put him right, knowing that the truth might annoy him just as much. ‘I’m staying at Jamie’s again.’

  She watched as McNab considered the implications of that, before he came fighting back.

  ‘I spoke to Sean last night,’ he said, a penetrating look on his face. ‘He said you hadn’t been in touch with him. At all,’ he added for emphasis.

  She hadn’t and felt bad about it, but that didn’t mean it was any of McNab’s damn business.

  Whatever fun she’d had ribbing McNab was now over.

  ‘I’d like you to attend the PM,’ Rhona said. ‘There’s an earlier wound on the back of the head. Find out if it’s got traces of birch tree in it. It might just be the injured party from the woods. His face is unrecognizable, pulp mostly, and his body’s pretty mangled too,’ she added, ‘so it won’t be pretty.’

  This was her revenge for the Sean jibe. McNab wasn’t squeamish in the field but he had no love of the mortuary and the sound of electric drills and saws.

  He forced a smile. ‘No problem, Dr MacLeod. I’ll report back on that.’

  ‘Also, the rocks he hit are basalt, but there might be an earlier wound in the face that the fall obliterated. Have the pathologist check for metal residue.’

  ‘From what?’ McNab sounded interested now.

  ‘A knife, an axe.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake. It’s the Wild West out there. Puts Glasgow to shame.’

  ‘Also, he’d been handling cocaine, and with no ID on him, and the big haul they took here recently . . .’

  ‘You and Sergeant MacDonald wondered if there might be a Sandman connection?’

  ‘You can read my mind,’ Rhona said briskly.

  ‘And that, Dr MacLeod, is not always pleasant.’

  Rhona ignored the snide remark.

  ‘One other thing: there were some soldiers, medics, from Glasgow at the Isles hotel for a night. They’ve gone off-grid, camping supposedly. The card they booked under was Pete Galbraith.’ She spelled out the email address Alvis handed her. ‘Could Ollie check him out?’

  ‘Glad to be of service, Dr MacLeod,’ McNab said, somewhat sarcastically.

  The boing sounded as Rhona broke the connection first. ‘Prick,’ she said under her breath.

  Alvis, standing by the window, turned and waited silently without comment.

  ‘Detective Sergeant McNab and I go back a long way, but he still gets on my tits sometimes,’ Rhona said, exasperated.

  Alvis laughed. A deep, infectious sound. Rhona found her anger dissipating as she joined in.

  Alvis produced a whisky bottle from the cupboard and waved it at her.

  ‘Shall we discuss these medics and take a look at the map?’

  ‘One thing before we do,’ she said, accepting the drink he’d poured for her. ‘I retrieved Sitka spruce needles both from the victim’s clothing and the area Blaze identified on the clifftop.’

  ‘There’s no Sitka spruce cover near Kilt Rock?’

  ‘Nor in the woods behind A.C.E, which is native birch.’

  ‘So the victim had likely been in a Sitka plantation, of which I fear there are many hectares on Skye.’

  ‘I suggest we try and identify them,’ Rhona said. ‘Since that may have been the last place the victim was alive.’

  29

  Rolling over in the bed, Rhona reached out to douse her phone alarm. Above her the skylight window offered a vision of a red-and-blue-streaked dawn complete with scurrying grey clouds.

  The night before had gone on longer than she’d anticipated, but the detailed discussion with Alvis had proved useful. They’d spent some time identifying the tracts of land laid down with Sitka spruce, which turned out to be fewer acres than they’d imagined.

  Skye’s landmass according to Google Earth was 639 square miles. Looking at the forest cover, they’d identified four plantations, covering roughly 5 per cent of the total acreage.

  ‘Tightly packed, with little to no wildlife to be heard or seen, and no undergrowth,’ Alvis had said. ‘Most likely planted between the sixties and eighties for commercial reasons. They’re not managed woodland for walking in.’

  ‘What about this one?’ Rhona had indicated the green block further along the B885. ‘I think the party exited the woods just beyond Matt’s place. If they headed away from Portree, that’s the closest plantation to their route.’

  ‘We could take a look that way tomorrow?’ Alvis had suggested. ‘Unless you’re heading back to Kilt Rock.’

  It was at that point Rhona had decided to leave the remainder of the work on the clifftop to Chrissy, but when she and Alvis went back to the bar, Chrissy was no longer there to tell her so.

  ‘She’s gone off somewhere with Donald,’ Jamie had informed her. ‘Last I heard he was describing his favourite excursions round the island, all of which seemed to include the word fairy in the title . . . the Fairy Glen, Fairy Pools and a few even I haven’t heard of. Chrissy said to tell you she’d see us later at my place.’

  ‘Which I think I’d like to head for shortly,’ Rhona said.

  The next morning, showered and dressed, Rhona headed downstairs to give Chrissy her instructions for the day, only to discover the bed settee, which Jamie had made up in preparation for her forensic assistant’s late return, lay unmarked by evidence that anyone had slept there.

  ‘Coffee?’ Jamie called from the kitchen.

  ‘Please,’ Rhona said. ‘And some of that bacon I can smell.’

  When Jamie brought through her bacon roll and coffee, she raised an eyebrow and said, ‘I take it Chrissy never came home?’

  ‘Looks like it.’ He gave her a knowing smile in return.

  As if on cue, the front door opened and in walked Rhona’s wandering assistant.

  ‘That smells good. Anything left for me?’ She gave them a wide grin.

  ‘Of course,’ Jamie said.

  When Jamie had disappeared into the kitchen, Chrissy threw Rhona an I’ve got stuff to tell you look. ‘I learned a lot about Skye last night. Even managed some Gaelic.’

  Rhona decided not to ask any questions. The likelihood was, the less she asked, the keener Chrissy would be to tell her.

  ‘I thought you could cover the clifftop this morning,’ Rhona said, ignoring the gesture from Chrissy suggesting they go somewhere out of earshot. ‘Jamie will go with you.’

  Chrissy’s expressions were getting wilder, so Rhona gave in and motioned that they should go upstairs.

  Once inside Rhona’s room, Chrissy closed the door.

  ‘I stayed with Donald last night out at A.C.E Target Sports.’

  Rhona’s expression suggested she’d guessed that already.

  ‘We talked about the group of medics who were game-playing up there. The ones that stayed at the Isles for a night?’

  Rhona nodded. ‘And?’

  ‘Donald said one of them, the girl, was an excellent axe thrower. Also very good with a knife. He said one guy was complaining about the games being child’s play for them, because they’d seen the real thing in Afghanistan. And he preferred throwing full-sized axes, rather
than the tomahawk version.’

  Rhona listened in silence, before reminding Chrissy that Donald had also said the group had left without a scratch on them.

  Chrissy nodded. ‘I know, but Donald said that later in the pub they were all drinking shots and whooping when they heard the coastguard helicopter go over. It was as though they were back in the field. In retrospect, Donald wondered if they were planning something.’

  ‘Their camping trip, perhaps?’ Rhona tried, although following Chrissy’s story, it might as easily have been a return trip to the woods, to play a more realistic game.

  ‘And,’ by Chrissy’s expression, she was coming to the main point of her story, ‘Donald said he walked in on one of the males in the toilet. He says he was pretty sure the guy was high.’

  ‘Has he told Lee about this?’

  ‘He said if he told the police every time he thought a visitor to Skye was high . . .’

  ‘Can Donald provide a good description of them?’

  ‘I’d say so. He’s an observer, likes watching people.’

  ‘Does Donald have any thoughts on where the group might have gone?’

  ‘He says it depends if they want to be found or not.’ Chrissy paused. ‘Is McNab going to the PM?’

  Rhona nodded.

  ‘Then we’ll maybe know more about our beach victim after that.’

  A shout from below indicated Jamie was ready to depart.

  They split forces outside Jamie’s place, Chrissy and Jamie taking his jeep, while Rhona asked Donald, who’d arrived in the interim, if Blaze might go with her and Alvis, instead of accompanying Chrissy.

  ‘Sure,’ Donald said, a little puzzled by this new development. ‘D’you need me along?’

  ‘Alvis and I can manage, if you’re okay about being separated from Blaze. I can drop him back at A.C.E Target Sports?’

  ‘I’ll be at the Isles until mid-afternoon.’ Donald hesitated. ‘Did Chrissy mention the bloke in the loo?’

  ‘She did. I think you should run that past Lee. He’ll want to know.’

  Donald looked perturbed by her suggestion. ‘I don’t want to drop anyone in it. I didn’t find any evidence that he was using. Even if he was, it wouldn’t be the first time a visitor had enhanced their visit to Skye.’

  ‘It’s still important to tell Sergeant MacDonald,’ Rhona said.

  However much she might personally trust Jamie or Donald, she couldn’t reveal the evidence of cocaine deposits in the woods behind A.C.E, and on the victim’s clothing on the beach, so she would have to rely on encouragement only.

  Donald was eyeing her keenly. ‘Okay, I’ll check in with Lee now.’ He called Blaze and told him to go with Rhona. ‘Same commands as before,’ he reminded her, before heading in the direction of the police station.

  Rhona had gained the impression that Donald would have liked to ask where she was going with the dog, probably also offer his help. The rules of engagement didn’t quite work here on Skye, she realized, because local knowledge and help were essential. However, explaining why they were interested in visiting a Sitka spruce plantation would mean revealing the Sitka evidence, and she wasn’t prepared to do that as yet.

  McNab’s mantra came to mind: Everyone is guilty until proven innocent.

  ‘Apart from you,’ Rhona said quietly as she ruffled Blaze’s ears.

  30

  The boss asked about Rhona the moment McNab walked into his office.

  ‘She’s back on the job, sir,’ McNab answered, hoping that was true.

  DI Wilson absorbed McNab’s news. ‘So, she’s coming for the PM on the cliff victim?’

  ‘No, sir.’ McNab tried to look unconcerned by this. ‘She asked me to attend. Gave me some things to look out for,’ he added for good measure.

  ‘So, she’s not actually back at work. This is more of a holiday job?’

  ‘It’s better than nothing, sir,’ McNab suggested.

  The boss gave a grunt that may have been positive or negative, McNab wasn’t sure.

  ‘Rhona also asked me to check out a serving army medic, name of Pete Galbraith. There were five of them staying in the Isles hotel for a night. They went survival camping after that. You’ll get a request in from Sergeant MacDonald at Portree too.’

  ‘What’s the interest in these men?’

  ‘Four men and one woman, sir, but we only have one name.’ McNab paused. ‘Rhona didn’t say exactly, but I suspect she thinks they may have been involved in the probable crime scene behind A.C.E Target Sports.’

  ‘Okay, Sergeant. See what you can find out about this medic.’

  As McNab made for the door, another question followed him.

  ‘How’s your patient?’

  The question caught McNab off guard, because he wasn’t sure how much the boss knew regarding the incident in the alley, and he also had plans of his own regarding Prince Harry. Plans he didn’t want to reveal as yet.

  ‘He’ll live, sir,’ McNab offered cautiously.

  ‘Has he given us anything on his attacker?’

  ‘Claims he stabbed himself and dropped the knife down a drain.’

  ‘Does that sound plausible to you?’

  McNab couldn’t lie. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Could it be a turf war?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Keep me informed, Sergeant,’ DI Wilson ordered, before answering the phone ringing insistently on his desk.

  McNab allowed himself a small sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him. He hadn’t formulated how he planned to play Prince Harry, and he didn’t want any possible moves forbidden in advance.

  Next visit was to Ollie, but never without offerings. McNab made a quick trip to the canteen, settling on two sugar-coated ring doughnuts for his bespectacled accomplice and two black coffees. He’d never worked out Ollie’s schedule, because he always seemed to be at work in front of his screens.

  As he was again today.

  Catching sight of McNab, Ollie pointedly checked out the contents of the paper bag he was handed.

  ‘How did you know?’ he said with a grin.

  ‘I have my spies,’ McNab said, recalling Maria behind the counter’s advice.

  ‘The girl with the red hair?’ Ollie said shyly.

  ‘She’s got a definite soft spot for you.’

  Ollie blinked behind his glasses, a small flush finding his cheeks.

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Ollie, you’ve done nothing about it?’

  ‘I help her with her social media, Instagram, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Ask her round to your place next time, so she can see your big screen set-up,’ McNab advised. ‘But tidy the place up first. I remember the night I slept on your couch. Once I found it,’ he added, thinking he was one to talk about a tidy flat.

  Since Ellie had moved back to her own place, he’d let things slide. Slide? The place was a pigsty.

  ‘So what can I do you for, Detective Sergeant?’

  ‘Pete Galbraith. Here’s his email address. He’s supposedly an army medic on leave, currently somewhere on Skye, we think. He used his credit card to book rooms for himself and four others at the Isles Inn, Portree.’

  Ollie gave a small nod. ‘Has this got anything to do with Dr MacLeod?’

  ‘It does,’ McNab said.

  ‘Then I’ll start on it right away. How’s Dr MacLeod doing?’

  ‘Better, I think,’ McNab said, hoping it was true.

  Ollie looked pleased by that. ‘She coming back soon, then?’

  ‘I’m working on it,’ McNab promised.

  Back in the office, he located Detective Sergeant Clark and brought her up to date, specifically on Rhona, while strategically avoiding mention of Prince Harry. Unfortunately for McNab, his partner could, it seemed, read him like a book.

  ‘What about your stab victim?’

  ‘Recovering.’

  ‘What happens when they discharge him?’ Janice demanded.

  McNab shook his head as though he hadn’t given it
a moment’s thought.

  ‘How long do you think the poor bugger will last on the streets?’ Janice challenged him.

  ‘Not long,’ McNab admitted, wondering where exactly Janice was going with this.

  ‘So what’s your plan?’

  ‘I haven’t got one,’ he tried.

  Janice snorted. ‘You always have a plan. Screwed-up or otherwise. As your partner, I demand to know what it is.’

  McNab decided to oblige her. ‘I find him a safe place to recuperate.’

  ‘A hostel is the first place they’d look, if he does know something.’ She halted. ‘Or maybe our Harry was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?’

  ‘Then we don’t have to worry about him.’ McNab quickly changed the subject to avoid telling Janice what he really intended doing. ‘I’m off to the post-mortem on the Skye body. The boss knows,’ he added, to make everything legitimate.

  ‘You’ll miss the strategy meeting,’ she warned.

  ‘Then you can tell me about it later.’

  ‘Enjoy your post-mortem,’ Janice called to McNab’s retreating figure.

  31

  Afghanistan

  The stones of my prison tell my story. A vertical scratch for each sunrise, a cross for each visitation. One scratched heart only, for Sugarboy.

  He said something to me the night of the sandstorm. Couldn’t remember where he’d heard or read it, but it had stuck with him, just as it does with me.

  All the Gods, the Heavens and the Hells are within us.

  They came for him as soon as the sand settled. By then he’d left my blue prison and sat shivering in the cold desert air against the far wall. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of thinking he might have done what they’d demanded.

  The two who came in for him were unnerved by something, jabbering wildly and seemingly uninterested in either of us. Except that as they dragged Sugarboy away, the younger one looked directly at me and said a word in Pashto I understood. Nurse.

  I have seen the women walk by my prison. Indistinguishable one from another, the age and shape made one, under the blue robe. Sometimes they are together in a group, on their way to fetch water.

  I know that at the water source, free from male eyes, they will gossip and laugh together. I know this because in one of the villages we’d visited earlier, our commander had repaired their well, only to discover it had been the women who’d damaged it, because they enjoyed their walks together to the river where they could speak freely without the men.