by Lin Anderson
Smiling prettily, she said that the detective had left a message to say he would meet Dr MacLeod in the first coffee shop he came to. ‘He’ll send you a text when he gets there,’ she added.
By the young woman’s star-struck expression, Rhona had to assume that McNab had played the charm card during their exchange. Once outside, Rhona checked her mobile to find McNab was just down the road in Cafe Sia.
By his expression on entry, McNab’s earlier mood had definitely brightened.
‘Good news?’ Rhona said.
‘Ellie hasn’t dumped me.’
‘And she was planning to?’
‘It’s a long story,’ McNab told her, ‘and not a pretty one.’
Rhona listened in silence. She’d been aware that Ellie had been with McNab when Harry McArthur had been stabbed. What she hadn’t known about was Ellie’s determination to give Harry house room for his recovery.
‘That was very good of her,’ she told McNab at this point. ‘But, I take it, not what you wanted?’
‘Don’t mix business with pleasure,’ McNab said wryly. ‘The plan did have its positives, however, since it meant Ellie staying with me for a while.’
‘But not once you lost Harry?’
McNab nodded.
‘So, what’s changed?’
‘I don’t know,’ McNab said, ‘but at least we’re in contact.’
‘So, any word from Portree?’ Rhona went on.
‘Not on the whereabouts of the soldiers, but they’ve started questioning locals who were involved with Watson before.’ He hesitated. ‘You do realize that all five medics may already have departed the island?’
Rhona had contemplated that. ‘I did ask Seven to inform the station before they left. Whether she will or not . . . But if they’re a unit and due to be posted back to Afghanistan, I assume the MOD will tell us when or if they return to the fold.’
As they discussed this, McNab’s mobile indicated an incoming email.
‘It’s from Ollie,’ he said, checking the screen. ‘He has some info on what happened to Private Galbraith in Afghanistan.’
56
She wondered as she walked whether the others would leave the island without her. If they did, and duly reported for duty, she would be classed as going AWOL.
The alternative would be that he would alert the authorities on Skye that she hadn’t turned up at the meeting point. Then they would begin a search for her.
But he wouldn’t want to do that because of Sugarboy.
Better for those remaining to leave the island without involving the police at all. And to do that, he needed to find her.
Seven imagined him arriving at her campsite in the plantation. She thought of the bag hanging from the roof of the tent, and, as she imagined him going inside, an overwhelming feeling of invasion almost swamped her and she had to turn and spit her nausea into the heather.
She pictured him emptying out its contents and finding the fragment from her blue prison, the black scorpion and Rex’s name tag. He would know why she’d kept them and he would see them as possible evidence of her intention to tell the true story of their imprisonment. Something he did not want.
So, he wouldn’t wait around but come looking for her.
She had left the flat-topped hills of Healabhal Mhor and Healabhal Bheag behind, and now, turning towards the sea, she passed An Dubh Loch. Following the stream that exited its dark waters, she soon left the heather-covered slopes to find herself in a green valley where the stream joined a faster-flowing burn as it made its way to the sea.
She had arrived, it seemed, at the south-western end of the peninsula.
At first view, this hidden valley felt like the end of the world. Yet people had lived here once, as evidenced by the broken-down walls of crofts and holdings. Counting the mounds of fallen houses, she realized that the valley must have held up to ten families at one time. The occupants, she’d learned from a book on Skye, had been burned out of their homes and forcibly sent to Nova Scotia. It was either that or imprisonment.
What had been done here wasn’t that different from Afghanistan, she thought. The powerful in both lands, whether warlords or landowners, were always the ones to decide who should live and who should die. She thought of the wrecked Afghan villages the team had visited, of the broken walls and shattered lives, never sure which side had done such damage. They’d duly set up their field clinic among the ruins and waited for the survivors to bring out their crying children and injured.
He’d been dismissive about the wounded men, insisting they were helping them only to have to fight them again. But even he was moved by the traumatized and broken children. It was hard to reconcile that version of him with the man that he’d ultimately become.
Did war change him or had he always been like that and being in a war zone had simply given him the opportunity to be his true self?
The truth of everything that had happened had become opaque since her return, mainly due to his voice constantly retelling the tale, altering her perception of it. The others had accepted his version, or been happier with it. A story that now cast her as their saviour, and not a victim.
She’d wondered at times whether she’d imagined it all – her prison, the visits – until Sugarboy would remind her, whispering the truth in her ear.
But Sugarboy couldn’t remind her of the truth any more in Afghanistan, or here on Skye.
She sank to her knees, her eyes closed, desperately trying to discover his voice in her head, to smell again his presence in the darkness and hear his laughter. But couldn’t.
Eventually opening her eyes again, she caught the distant sound of waves as they met the jagged edge of the peninsula.
What would Sugarboy urge her to do now?
A decision would soon have to be made whether she went west or east along the deserted coastline. Both routes were exposed and, she knew, would prove trickier than climbing either of the two hills that now lay behind her.
But she didn’t care how difficult the path she chose might be. What was required was to find a place to hide among the cliffs, inlets and caves that lined the coast.
And await his arrival.
57
On their return journey to Portree, Rhona showed McNab the images she’d taken in Seven’s tent.
‘What’s the blue cloth?’
‘Chrissy and I thought it might be from a burka,’ Rhona told him.
‘And you think the disc is from a dog collar?’
When Rhona nodded, he said, ‘I’ll send these photos to Ollie. See if he can find out if there is, or was, a sniffer dog called Rex out there. Folk bring back weird mementos from war zones. I have a pal that brought back a bit of the IED that killed his mate in front of his eyes. I swear he would have brought back a piece of his mate if there had been anything left of him.’
Ollie’s email had indicated that Peter Galbraith had been involved in a hostile incident involving an attack on the medical centre, when two of the team he’d been working with had died.
‘That must have been why he was off-duty for a month,’ Rhona said. ‘I wonder why they didn’t just send him home? Was he serving with the same group he came here with?’
‘I have no idea. Getting information out of the MOD is literally like getting blood out of a stone,’ McNab said. ‘And a junkie giving me a service number doesn’t constitute a criminal investigation. Until we have a reason to accuse Private Galbraith of breaking the law in some way, the barriers will stay up and we will learn only what they want us to know.’
‘What about the Sandman enquiry?’ Rhona said. ‘Can’t you use that as a way in?’
‘The MOD don’t want that to come anywhere near them. In fact they’ll fight to keep it away.’
‘So you have to establish a link between Private Galbraith and the Sandman before they’ll release the whole story?’ Rhona said.
‘Or discover a link between him and Paul Watson.’
The weather had stayed reasonably brig
ht for the trip south, but by the time they set off back to Portree, a further front had swept in, bringing heavy rain with gusts of wind that hit the jeep from the west.
‘How can anyone live here with this weather?’ McNab declared as the windscreen wipers fought to keep up with the onslaught.
‘And it never rains in Glasgow?’ Rhona said with a laugh.
‘Yeah, but you can escape it by stepping into a building. Out here, though?’ McNab gestured at the emptiness caught in the headlights.
‘A drop of rain never hurt anyone,’ Rhona said, quoting her mother.
At that, McNab flung her a look that would have curdled milk. Another one of her late mum’s favourite expressions.
The rain passed them on the way to Portree, and was there to greet them on arrival. By then it was coming down in sheets and demanded a quick sprint to the front door of the police station, where they found they weren’t the only ones shaking themselves off.
‘Sergeant MacDonald is upstairs with members of the MRT,’ they were told on entry.
The conference room was a hive of activity, reminding Rhona of the many incident rooms she’d been in, in Glasgow. A coffee machine had been installed and McNab, spotting its presence, immediately headed there.
‘How’d it go?’ Lee asked Rhona.
‘I’ve taken a DNA sample, which I’ll transfer to the production room fridge. We can check it against Peter Galbraith’s, which we hope is being held by the MOD,’ Rhona said. ‘There are soil samples from his boots, and I taped his clothes.’
‘The MOD aren’t inclined to co-operate unless they have to.’
‘When it’s a case of identification of remains, they can hardly refuse,’ Rhona said. ‘I think we should run the photo of Private Galbraith past Donald. See if he thinks it might be the guy he met in the Gents.’
‘Do that,’ Lee said.
‘Where’s DS Clark?’ McNab interrupted their exchange.
‘We gave her an interview room. She’s working her way through the list of folk that knew Watson from before. Chrissy’s in the production room with all the swabs she’s been taking.’
As McNab headed off, Rhona reminded him that he should talk to Jamie, then excused herself and went in search of her assistant.
The production room turned out to be the only quiet place in the station, ‘apart from the cells’, Chrissy told her.
They exchanged stories as they labelled and stored Rhona’s evidence samples.
‘So there have been no sightings yet of the soldiers?’ Rhona said.
‘The word is definitely out there, but any walkers and climbers that have been spotted have been accounted for. If your medics were on survival training, their aim, I assume, was not to be seen.’
‘What about the Duirinish peninsula?’ Rhona said. ‘That’s where Seven might be headed.’
‘Jamie says no sightings there, but they rely on folk being spotted by sight or drone, and that’s a pretty inaccessible spot and not the most popular this time of year.’ She paused as a gust of rain hit the window. ‘You said they were all due to head back to Glasgow shortly?’
‘So Seven said, and she promised to check in with the station before they left.’
‘You’ll have to hope they do,’ Chrissy said. ‘Archie wants to talk to you. He’s over at the Isles. I’ll be across shortly, or so my stomach informs me.’
Raising her hood, Rhona made the short but wet journey across Somerled Square to the Isles where she found Archie seated next to the fire with Blaze at his feet. When the big collie spotted her, he immediately came over.
Rhona, as pleased to see Blaze as he was to see her, took some time telling him so.
Archie made room for Rhona beside him on the window seat. ‘You’ve got a friend for life there.’
‘Best canine assistant I’ve ever worked with. Can I get you a drink, Archie?’ Rhona offered.
‘I’ll get you one, lass. You’ve had a harder day than me. What will you have?’
Rhona delighted him by ordering a whisky.
‘Thought you’d go for that fizzy wine that’s all the rage and tastes like water.’
‘You’ve tried prosecco then?’ Rhona laughed.
‘My granddaughter persuaded me. It won’t happen again.’
Archie headed for the bar, returning shortly afterwards with two nips of Talisker.
‘So,’ Rhona said, once he was settled, ‘I heard you wanted to speak to me?’
‘Aye, lass.’ He eyed her intently. ‘You can decide if you want to pass this on, mind. Or if it doesn’t matter.’
‘What is it?’ Rhona said, unnerved by the seriousness of his voice.
‘After you asked about the lassie, a big bloke with a backpack appeared and asked the same question.’
‘Really?’ Rhona said. ‘And you didn’t know or recognize him?’
Archie shook his head. ‘He told me he was a pal and keen to catch up with her. I said the lassie had caught the bus to Glendale and would likely be back later, for she was camped up in the plantation. I figured he’d hang around and wait for her so I directed him to the pub. Turns out I was wrong, because I saw him head off in a jeep, a Wrangler, I think, a wee while after that, heading out on the Dunvegan road.’
‘Did you tell Lee about this?’
Archie shook his head. ‘You can tell him if you think it’s important. I’m a suspect in another crime,’ he said with a wry smile.
‘I can’t believe that.’
‘You’d better believe it. That detective lassie from Glasgow had us in one by one, asking questions about the death of that bastard on the beach. I had plenty to say about him. Probably enough to get myself jailed.’
‘Archie, no,’ Rhona said.
‘I told her I’d wished him dead plenty of times. Prayed for it even. Probably better that I didn’t know he was back here. If I had, who’s to say what I might have done?’
58
McNab peered in the window to find Janice alone in the interview room. Taking his chance, he headed in with two coffees.
‘So you’re back,’ Janice said. ‘How did it go at the mortuary?’
‘We couldn’t identify the victim from the handsome Private Galbraith’s photograph. However, Dr MacLeod processed him and plans to check his DNA against army records.’
Janice looked askance at that. ‘I’ve never had much luck with the MOD. They prefer to keep everything in-house and under wraps for serving personnel.’
‘I know,’ McNab said. ‘What about your interviews with the locals?’
‘The ones Lee asked along showed up. According to him they’re keen to help. However, they all said the same thing. They didn’t know Watson was out of prison or that he was back on the island.’
‘Well, he didn’t come here for the scenery,’ McNab said.
‘Chrissy has part moulds, she reckons, of three sets of matching footprints found on the clifftop where we think he went over, bearing in mind the area is open to the public so there’s no guarantee that any prints we find there have something to do with the fall. However, we could use them to check the locals’ footwear if required. The dog also led them to this.’ Janice offered McNab a photo of a blue-green stone set in a metal casing, which he immediately recognized.
‘I know these. They’re semi-precious stones from Afghanistan. The squaddies bring them back. Have them made into rings and necklaces for their girlfriends.’ He fell silent for a moment. ‘Is there anyone local who’s served in Afghanistan recently, apart from our visiting vets?’
‘Archie McKinnon’s nephew Alistair was out there,’ Janice said. ‘He apparently came back in a bad way with PTSD and that’s when he started buying from Watson.’
‘Can we bring in Alistair?’
Janice shook her head. ‘Ali McKinnon was found dead on the Cuillin from exposure a year ago.’
From the way she said it, McNab knew it had to be suicide. It looked like the conflict in Afghanistan had left a trail of disaster behind it, and
not just out there.
‘You’ve spoken to this Archie?’
‘Yes. And he didn’t mince his words. He hated Watson, but didn’t know that he was back on the island. And he’d wished him dead on several occasions. Which is, incidentally, the same story they all gave, almost word for word.’
‘I am Spartacus,’ McNab said. ‘They’re bandying together. Forming a united front.’ Like the locals did on Sanday, he thought.
‘Which the MOD will also do,’ Janice reminded him. ‘So what’s next for you?’
‘Rhona wants me to talk to Jamie McColl from the MRT about where they found the second body.’
Janice gave him a wide-eyed look. ‘The handsome Jamie? I’ve heard all about him from Chrissy.’
McNab ignored that and asked, ‘Have you checked in at the hotel yet?’
Janice nodded. ‘And I have a room with a four-poster bed.’
‘But no one to share it with,’ McNab reminded her.
‘Maybe Jamie could be persuaded to help me with that,’ Janice said with a dreamy smile. ‘If he can only drag himself away from Dr MacLeod.’
Fuck’s sake, McNab thought as he headed for the main entrance. Have all my female colleagues lost the plot on Jamie McColl?
Just as he was about to exit, a male voice called out his name. Turning, McNab was met by, he suspected, the man of the moment. McNab gave him the once over, immediately deciding he didn’t like what he saw.
‘Rhona said you wanted a word regarding where we found the climber?’
Nor did he like his voice.
‘I’m on my way to the hotel to drop off my luggage,’ McNab said curtly.
‘May I walk across with you?’
McNab figured he couldn’t prevent that, so didn’t try.
The rain had eased and it was definitely getting colder. As they crossed the square, McNab felt the crunch of ice underfoot.
‘The forecast’s for a big drop in temperature later,’ Jamie told him. ‘Down to minus five.’
McNab didn’t respond, but secretly wondered if he had in fact packed enough warm clothes.
‘Rhona spoke of you often,’ McColl was saying. ‘You’ve worked together a lot, I understand? In particular on the case prior to her coming to Skye?’