by Lin Anderson
‘Can I get you a coffee?’ he offered.
She nodded an okay, and he felt his anxiety lessen a little. When he arrived back she had settled herself at the table.
‘How’s Harry?’ she immediately asked.
Glad to be on positive ground, McNab told her as much as he was allowed. ‘He asked to stay overnight at the station.’
‘I told him to come back to my place,’ Ellie said sharply.
‘It’s too dangerous for that now, Ellie. We’ll put him in a safe house until we break this thing open.’
She thought about that for a moment, then accepted his reasoning with a quick nod. When the silence extended a little too long, she broke it with the question he’d been anticipating.
‘Are you planning to say anything about why you didn’t come back that night?’
‘I am,’ McNab said, sitting back in the chair and meeting her questioning gaze head-on. ‘I didn’t come back because I’m an arse, and having lost Harry, I couldn’t face you. Of course, had I come home as promised, I would have discovered that I hadn’t lost Harry.’
His honesty appeared to be working because he thought he saw a relieved smile twitch at the corner of her mouth.
‘I wasn’t sure you would bring Harry to my place,’ she said, with the hint of an apology. ‘You’d made it plain that you didn’t want him there. I was worried that . . .’
Any anger he’d nursed about being tricked had dissipated. ‘I’ve let you down before. So I can see why you might think that.’ McNab reached out and covered her hand with his own, and was pleased when she allowed it to stay there.
‘So?’ he said. ‘We’re okay?’
She gave an almost imperceptible nod, which allowed McNab to finally relax.
‘And they can’t get at Harry when you have him in custody?’
‘He’s safer with us than anywhere else,’ McNab said, hoping that was true, yet suspicious that the Sandman’s influence was a spider’s web, seemingly invisible but remarkably far-reaching.
When Ellie appeared to accept his assurances and now took time to drink her own coffee, McNab decided it was time to carry out the boss’s orders.
‘DI Wilson was very pleased that you managed to persuade Harry to come in and give a statement. He sends his thanks. He also gave me advice on appreciating my partner better, which I will try to follow.’
That gained him an actual smile.
‘He asked me to chat to you about the time Harry spent at your place and what you talked about.’
When Ellie looked a little perturbed by this, McNab added, ‘Just in case Harry said anything else which might turn out to be important.’
‘Like what?’ Ellie demanded.
‘His time in Afghanistan,’ McNab prompted. ‘There was a guy there who saved his life. He called him Sugarboy.’
He watched as she considered this. ‘He told me he wanted to be back there with his mates.’
McNab nodded. ‘He told me that too.’
Her face darkened. ‘He has nightmares. I heard him in the night. It sounded . . .’ She stumbled as though what was in her head couldn’t be repeated. ‘He was trying to get out of somewhere. I think it was a tank on fire.’
McNab didn’t respond, because what could he say, except that he was sorry she’d had to hear that.
‘I would take drugs if I was haunted by something like that,’ Ellie challenged him.
‘I probably would too,’ McNab agreed.
It didn’t seem the right moment to ask another question, so McNab didn’t, not immediately. Eventually when Ellie went back to her coffee, and her shoulders relaxed again, he carried on.
‘The guy we’re really searching for is known, we think, as the Sandman. Did Harry mention that name at all?’
Ellie looked puzzled. ‘Didn’t you ask him that at the interview?’
‘Yes, he acted as though he didn’t recognize the name.’
‘He never mentioned that name to me,’ Ellie said.
Names sometimes emerged during an investigation, often coined because they had no idea who was at the centre of it all. Perhaps there was no single boss of the operation, and the Sandman was merely their creation.
Ellie came back in, breaking McNab’s train of thought.
‘Harry wants to get clean. Get his life back. He’s got skills. The army should help get him into work again. They owe him that at least,’ she said in a determined manner.
They did and they ought to, but judging by what was about to blow up in their faces, McNab didn’t think saving an ex-soldier and drug addict would be high on their list of priorities. More likely as much of this as was possible would be swept under the carpet, with MOD law prevailing and no leakage to the press.
‘We’ll get him help,’ McNab heard himself say. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’
The look Ellie gave him was worth the grief such an offer would bring.
‘When do you finish here?’ McNab said, his mind already on what might come after.
‘Six,’ she said.
‘I have a job to do now, but what if we ditch the bikes after work and I’ll meet you at the Rock Cafe for a drink and some food?’
She made a face. ‘Yes to meeting up, but could we eat somewhere else?’
‘What about Italian?’ McNab suggested.
‘Better.’ Her face lit up in a smile.
Having settled things with Ellie, McNab now turned his attention to the second and arguably less pleasant job he’d been given by the boss.
Since his sharp exchange in the Isles bar with the ladies’ favourite, Jamie McColl, the idea that Private Galbraith had died somewhere other than the mountain had been growing.
At the time, he’d come out with it just to be thrawn, but ever since then, the suspicion that it might not have been a fall that had massacred the soldier’s face hadn’t gone away. One unrecognizable victim was possible; two, who were more than likely linked, McNab didn’t buy.
And neither did Rhona.
Parking the bike as close to the morgue as possible, McNab steeled himself to enter. A post-mortem could take up to five hours, during which time many smells, none of them pleasant, were known to accumulate. And a mask, as far as McNab was concerned, offered little protection from the stench.
He did hope, however, that arriving late might mean he’d missed most of the messy bits.
The viewing room was vacant, and glancing through the glass, McNab established they were indeed nearing the end of the proceedings. There was no sign of Dr Sissons, who’d apparently departed, leaving his second-in-command to finish up.
That suited McNab fine. Entering, he raised a friendly eyebrow to the SOCOs in attendance and winked at the mortuary assistant, whom he recognized. The blue eyes of Dr Walker acknowledged his arrival.
‘We’re almost done here, Detective Sergeant,’ he said.
‘Apologies for that, had a lead to follow on this guy first.’
‘And that took long enough to avoid some of your favourite parts of this procedure?’
‘Luckily, yes.’
‘So what do you want to know?’ Dr Walker said, coming straight to the point.
‘Was he moved after death and how did his face get in such a state?’ McNab said.
McNab extracted himself from the suit and tossed it in the bin.
Dr Walker, of a different nature to his superior, Dr Sissons, had been happy to discuss their findings. It appeared that the body had indeed been moved after death. The victim had been subjected to blunt-force trauma about the face, which may have come from falling down the scree.
‘But the deep wound in the right eye was made earlier.’
‘The weapon?’ McNab had immediately asked.
‘A blade of some description, maybe that tomahawk Dr MacLeod asked us to look out for. We found fragments of wood in the wound, together with traces of vegetation.’
‘So, he didn’t die from a fall on the mountain?’
‘In our opinion he died from the e
arlier head injury. Location was woodland rather than hillside. The other facial injuries came later, when he was likely beaten about the face with rocks, giving the impression he’d died on the scree.’
69
Chrissy heard the message come in and, surprised that she suddenly had a signal, quickly opened and read it.
Taking her chance, she called and waited impatiently for McNab to answer. Eventually he did.
‘Chrissy. You got the text?’
‘Any evidence of where he died?’ she immediately asked.
‘The wound contained wood fragments possibly from the handle of the weapon used. Plus—’ He waited a second for impact.
‘Fuck it, McNab. What?’
‘There was vegetation. Doc said he’d been lying in woodland.’
‘Rhona was right,’ Chrissy said.
‘If the DNA’s a match.’
They both fell silent, before McNab came back in. ‘Is Rhona about?’
Chrissy told him about the search party for Seven. ‘And, McNab, a jeep went off the Uig road last night and caught fire. Two fatalities. Rhona said the guy looking for Seven was driving a dark-coloured jeep. Thing is, the bodies I’m looking at don’t belong to fit guys like soldiers. Too much blubber.’
‘Have you run the number plate?’
‘Lee’s tracing it now.’
Chrissy could almost hear McNab’s brain turning over this new information. Eventually she couldn’t wait any longer and demanded he tell her his thoughts.
‘When I told Harry that Galbraith had been found dead on Skye, he said “the fucking war’s started”.’
When McNab rang off, Chrissy tried Rhona again, without success.
During her call with McNab, the team had sectioned off the area around the burnt-out jeep, and she could make out a search team going over the ground between the wreck and the road.
It wasn’t the first time a vehicle had come off the road at this spot, Lee had told her. Visitors to the island often drove too fast on the steep and winding roads, never anticipating what lay beyond the next bend. Add to that the sudden drop in temperature after the rain, turning road surfaces into a skating rink, and it was easy to see why the jeep had left the road.
What wasn’t so obvious was why it had caught fire, seemingly trapping both occupants inside. Contrary to popular opinion, due mostly to watching Hollywood movies, cars did not suddenly burst into flames, even when they plunged down a hillside.
Chrissy, having stepped back from the remains of the vehicle, now re-entered its radius.
She’d already collected DNA samples from the bodies. They would be checked against the DNA database of known criminals, and also with the MOD, to be sure the victims weren’t in fact the serving soldiers.
Approaching the burnt-out vehicle again, Chrissy raised her mask. She had been at numerous scenes of crime, but the overpowering smell of burnt human flesh was very particular. She was reminded of a scene she and Rhona had dealt with in a skip on the outskirts of Glasgow. The body they’d examined there had burned above the waistline, the intensity of the fire in the metal container exploding the brain. The lower half had been left unmarked, protected from the flames by the compression of the closely packed cardboard that had served as a blanket for the former soldier, gone AWOL and living rough.
As Chrissy stood, such thoughts playing out in her head, she spotted Donald waving to her from outside the perimeter tape. He was concerned, she knew, that having allowed Rhona to take his dog, he couldn’t now make contact with them.
Chrissy went over, to at least reassure him.
‘Rhona told me she would be off-grid. We don’t have to worry yet,’ she said.
Donald didn’t look convinced. ‘Have you any idea where on the peninsula she’s heading?’
‘No. Why?’ Chrissy said.
‘I know this sounds weird, but I’ve lost Blaze in my head. That’s not a good thing.’
When Chrissy didn’t immediately respond, he added, ‘You’ve got a kid. You would know when he was in danger, yes?’
Chrissy thought about wee Michael. How he was always in the back of her mind, until she thought something was wrong, and immediately he consumed all of her thoughts.
‘What do you think’s wrong?’ she said.
‘I think my dog’s injured. Or dead,’ Donald said, his face too pale for comfort.
‘Don’t,’ Chrissy said, thinking of Rhona, rather than the dog.
Donald gestured to the burnt-out vehicle. ‘This isn’t normal on Skye. It’s like we’re in a war and not of our making. I’m going to head out to Duirinish and make sure they’re all right.’
‘Okay,’ Chrissy said cautiously. ‘You’ll keep in touch?’
Donald shrugged, indicating how likely that would be.
In that moment, Chrissy longed to be back on the mainland. Preferably in Glasgow where shit happened, but at least they knew where and when it had.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as though it was all her fault.
‘I’ll see you when I get back?’ It sounded almost like a plea.
Chrissy nodded.
She watched as he climbed the hill towards the road, no Blaze at his heels. It was difficult not to assume that they had brought as many problems to the island as those they were intent on resolving.
Lee’s approach, his expression grim, did nothing to allay Chrissy’s concerns.
‘No response from Rhona?’ he said.
Chrissy shook her head.
‘I think we should bring in Search and Rescue. We need Dr MacLeod here, and it’s the quickest way to locate her. Although with the failing light, we’re running out of time.’
With fewer than eight hours of daylight, wherever Rhona was, she would already be considering making camp for the night, assuming of course that she, Alvis and Blaze were okay.
‘Donald’s worried about Blaze, which makes me concerned for Rhona,’ Chrissy said.
‘And you have no idea where she might be?’ Lee tried.
‘Rhona thought that Seven would most likely head for the coast,’ Chrissy told him. ‘She thought she was avoiding civilization.’
‘That’s easy enough in Duirinish.’
‘But it all depends on where Blaze leads them.’
‘Okay. We’ll send the chopper to check the coastline, although in truth we have a limited time before the weather sets in again. For this too.’ He gestured at the burnt-out jeep. ‘There’s heavy rain and sleet forecast.’
‘Can’t we raise a tent?’
‘No tent will stay put in what’s coming our way. I’d advise you to get as much evidence as you can in the next two hours.’
As Lee walked away, Chrissy, raising her mask, turned her attention back to the wreck and what it contained. There were two bodies in the jeep, a driver and one in the front passenger seat. From observation, both were male, both of medium height. Both overweight, which suggested it was unlikely to be two of the medics. Lee’s search on the partial from the number plate would hopefully produce a result as to who owned the vehicle.
The worst of the fire had apparently occurred at the front of the jeep, and by the concentration of intense localized burning and trail lines, Chrissy suspected the fire hadn’t happened spontaneously.
The wind had picked up since she’d arrived, and despite the protection of the forensic suit, Chrissy was beginning to register the cold. She stood for a moment, running mentally through all the tasks Rhona would have set her had she been here, while at the same time wishing she was.
‘Okay. This time it’s up to me,’ Chrissy mouthed. ‘But please come back soon, Rhona.’
She’d completed two-thirds of what she thought necessary by the time Lee’s predictions began to be realized. The wind she was experiencing when not in the shelter of the vehicle was now strong enough to remove a forensic tent, and the occasional flake of snow had become a thick flurry.
‘Chrissy?’ Lee’s voice brought her out of the vehicle. ‘Start making your way up t
o the road and a patrol car will take you back to Portree. We’ll cover the vehicle with a tarpaulin and try and lift it out tomorrow, depending on the weather.’
‘You’ll remove the bodies first?’
‘We’ll bag them and send them to Glasgow. The car we’ll try to lift out whole. Heavy equipment is on its way from Fort Augustus. And we’ll have more SOCOs here by tomorrow.’
Chrissy nodded. It was obvious this wasn’t the first time Lee and his team had had to deal with a difficult road accident recovery on Skye.
‘What about the chopper?’
‘It’ll have to wait until tomorrow when conditions should improve. Rhona and Alvis were prepared for an overnight stay,’ he assured her. ‘They’ll be okay. Plus Donald and Jamie and two more of the MRT are already headed into Duirinish.’
Chrissy nodded, hoping Lee’s words weren’t just said to make her feel better.
70
McNab, having drawn into the side of the road to answer Chrissy’s call, now re-entered the line of traffic and began weaving his way to the front.
What he’d just learned had necessitated a return visit to the station, and hopefully a full report from Janice, who was, as far as he could gather, still at Portree police headquarters, focusing on the Kilt Rock victim. A death that now appeared to be linked in some way to the medics’ trip to Skye.
On the way McNab went over again all that Chrissy had said, and married it to what he currently knew himself, then made a mental note to call in on Ollie and see if he’d gleaned anything further about the group and Afghanistan in particular.
On entry, however, he was informed that everyone had been called to the incident room, and he was required to join them there, so it looked like either DS MacDonald or DS Clark had already been in touch with the boss regarding the latest developments on Skye.
McNab felt the frisson of excitement that often accompanied a breakthrough in a case as convoluted as this one, and only wished that Rhona had been here to experience it. That took his thoughts west again to whatever godforsaken location Rhona had found herself in. With that thought came a stab of fear. If the medic group were part of this, then so too was Seven. And it was Seven whom Rhona sought on Duirinish.