The locksmith and a local PC were waiting outside the front door as McKenzie and Brown climbed the small flight of steps from the main street up to the front of the house.
The local PC had already made a few door-to-door enquiries to see if anyone had been given a key to the house to look after, as good neighbours sometimes do, but had found none.
Armed with a digital copy of the warrant that had already been issued that morning, McKenzie nodded at the locksmith, and he went to work.
It only took a few seconds, and the door was opened without any damage to the lock.
McKenzie thanked the locksmith who promptly disappeared, and the detectives and the PC stepped inside, wearing protective gloves and covers over their shoes.
The house smelt fresh, was clean, and showed no sign of any disturbance. From first impressions, it seemed unlikely that McRae would have been picked up from the house. The questions concerning how the victims were physically abducted, where from, and at what time, would all need to be given greater focus. If they could find some answers, then perhaps Dean could work his magic on local CCTV cameras to identify the killer in action. McKenzie made the mental note for the next Operation’s Meeting.
Brown took the upstairs rooms, and McKenzie walked the lower floor, checking for mail, bills, and an answering machine. Finding a mobile phone bill with McRae’s number in it in the kitchen, McKenzie called Anderson and passed him the number. The Sergeant knew what to do with it.
The kitchen was bright and airy, with a view onto to a small garden with some beautiful flowers and a vegetable patch.
Just from looking around the walls, the décor and the photographs on the window ledge, it was obvious that the house lacked a female touch. The kitchen was practical, but lacked the interior design that made ‘a house a home’. McKenzie guessed that McRae probably spent the majority of his time outside, and only used the house as a base from which he conducted the rest of his life. Had conducted.
Moving through to the lounge at the front of the house, McKenzie’s eyes immediately found a landline phone on a side table.
There was a light flashing on it.
Waiting messages.
Bingo!
Moving swiftly across to it, he picked the phone up and dialled 1571.
Two messages.
He played the first.
It was a message from a dentist’s surgery reminding McRae of an appointment last Friday.
The second message caught McKenzie completely by surprise, and upon hearing it, the recording sent shivers down McKenzie’s spine.
It was the sound of a man laughing.
An evil laugh.
Mad, but not hysterical.
Then a voice.
A man’s voice. Deep. Cold. Twisted. Evil.
A simple sentence. Six words that McKenzie would never forget.
“You’ve found three, now expect four!”
-------------------------
Monday
Mark McRae’s house
11.46
Brown, the local PC and McKenzie stood around the phone, listening to the message again several times.
Every time he heard it, the voice had the same effect on him. It chilled McKenzie to the bone.
It was the sound of the killer. Taunting them. Playing with them.
By pressing 1471 they found the call was made at 11.00 that morning, but the number of the calling party had been withheld.
“The killer called McRae’s phone while we were on the way over to the house. It’s almost as if he knew we were coming.” Brown said.
“I think he did know we were coming. That’s the whole point. He’s making a statement. He’s always one step ahead of us.” McKenzie replied, moving to the window and looking down at their car on the road below. There were no notes on the window, but McKenzie couldn’t help but feel that the killer was out there somewhere. Watching them.
“How does he know what we’re doing?”
“I don’t know. He might not. But he might. The big question is does he actually know what our movements are?”
“How could he do that?” Brown asked.
McKenzie thought for a second, then spoke.
“It’s just a thought, but can you find out what Gary Bruce was doing this morning? Where was he? And can you pay a visit to his office when we get back and see if you can hear us talking in the room above? If someone downstairs can hear what we’re saying or planning, it might explain a few things.”
Brown nodded.
McKenzie dialled Anderson and told him what they had.
“Contact the telephone operator, get a copy of this message and get them to do everything they can to track down where the caller made the call from, and from what number. Even though the number was held from the phone at this end, the network still has all the details about the source and destination of every call. And Sergeant, also call Fettes and contact the Electronic Surveillance experts… I can’t remember what they’re called, but speak to the front desk, explain what the problem is, and they’ll direct you. I want you to expedite the analysis of this voice message and get us everything you can on it. I’m guessing he’s speaking through a voice digitiser of some sort to disguise his voice. And that’s probably not his real laugh.”
Anderson took the actions and agreed to get right on it.
“Okay, we listen to this one more time, then we get back to work. We don’t let this detract us from our work. It sound’s scary. That’s the point. But the person behind that message is deliberately trying to play with our minds and we mustn’t let him.”
Brown and the PC both nodded.
They then listened to the message another three times.
Each time, the message generated the same result.
It sent a chill down every spine in the room.
-------------------------
“Enough.” McKenzie finally said. “Back to work.”
Brown disappeared upstairs and McKenzie returned to examining the rest of the front room.
He started with the bookcases built into the walls on either side of the chimney piece opposite the large sofa in the room.
Scanning along the books he quite quickly picked up that McRae had been an avid hill walker and rambler.
There were numerous books on the Munroes in Scotland, and travel books of Switzerland, the Alps and mountains in Spain, France and South America.
Around the house McKenzie had also spotted numerous photographs taken during walking trips. All stunning photographs.
McRae had obviously been a very active person.
It was notable that there were few photographs of any women. McKenzie knew that McRae wasn’t married, but they would have to establish if there was a partner somewhere. Female or male.
There were also several travel books for Petra, Egypt and Syria, which correlated with a couple of photographs that he’d seen on the wall in the kitchen.
Stepping around the fireplace wall, which now proudly boasted a wood-burner inset into the chimney, with a large flat screen TV on the wall above it, McKenzie began to scan the books on the shelves nearest the window. From the lowest to the highest.
Looking up to the top shelf he scanned the books there but was unable to read all the titles.
He was just about to move away from the book shelves altogether when something began to niggle him at the back of his brain.
A thought. A feeling. A nascent question…
Walking through to the kitchen he retrieved a chair from the table and carried it back through to the front room and placed it before the shelves nearest the window.
Stepping up onto the chair, he steadied himself by reaching out and holding onto the top shelf, then began to scan along the shelf again.
Something was bugging him.
He went along each book one by one, touching the edge of each book in turn.
He closed his eyes.
“What?” he asked himself.
And then it was there.
> An image.
Another book.
On the book shelf in Ronald Blake’s house.
A blue book with a blue spine.
McKenzie opened his eyes.
Almost immediately McKenzie’s eyes landed on the same book.
Ten books from the left of the shelf. A blue book. A blue spine.
Reaching out, he slowly edged it out from the other books on the top shelf and brought it down.
Turning it on his side, he read the title on the front cover.
Two words.
“Remember Me?”
Chapter 31
Monday
Ronald Blake’s House
13.00
McKenzie and Brown stood on the doorstep, waiting for Mrs Blake to come to the door.
They hadn’t called ahead, and there was a possibility that she wouldn’t be at home, but from the state she was in a few days ago, McKenzie thought it would probably be a few days before she started leaving the house again.
He was right.
The door opened slowly in front of them, revealing Mrs Blake, looking tired, still dressed in her pyjamas and with a red face. She’d been crying.
“Oh,” she exclaimed upon seeing McKenzie. “Detective Chief Inspector? You’re back. Is everything okay?”
“Actually no. May we come in?”
Mrs Blake looked down at herself and for a moment she hesitated to reply.
“You like fine, Mrs Blake.” Brown consoled her. “Shall I make us all a cup of tea?”
Mrs Blake smiled back and ushered them in.
“Would it be okay if I visit your husband’s office again? There’s something I need to check.”
“Help yourself.” Mrs Blake agreed.
Stepping into Ronald Blake’s office, McKenzie crossed the room and went straight to the shelves. The second shelf. Somewhere in the middle… Bingo.
Another blue book, exactly as he’d remembered it in his mind’s eye.
He pulled it off the shelf and checked the title.
“Remember Me.”
Turning the book over, just like the others, there was no blurb on the cover.
And no author name.
It seemed that the book had been written anonymously.
Impatiently, McKenzie returned to the lounge where Brown had only just had the time to sit down.
“I’m sorry, Mrs Blake, but we won’t be able to stay for that cup of tea after all. I need to visit David Weir’s flat as soon as possible. We’ll have to go immediately.”
He held up the blue coloured book to Mrs Blake.
“This was in your husband’s office. Have you seen it before? Do you know if it meant anything of significance to your husband?”
Mrs Blake stared at the book.
“I haven’t seen that book for a while, but I recognise it. Ronnie used to read it quite a lot, over and over again, a number of years ago. I think it quite upset him. Then he put it away, and I never saw it again, until now.” She coughed. “Why? Is it important?”
“It could be. Do you happen to know where he got it from?” McKenzie asked.
“Sorry, no. Ronnie used to read a lot. He had lots of books. I think he must have bought it somewhere?”
Listening to what she had just said, McKenzie turned the book over and scanned the back for the name of the publisher and the RRP. There wasn’t any.
Opening up the front cover, the first page was blank, but turning to the next it said, “Remember Me?” The next few lines were blank, then the words, ‘Published by Createspace 2015’. There was no author name.
Flicking through the pages, and feeling the quality of the print, McKenzie immediately realised that this was not a normal book that you would buy in the shops. Probably more likely a self-published book. He didn’t recognise the publisher’s name.
“Unfortunately, I have some bad news for you Mrs Blake. I’d appreciate it if you would not tell anyone else for a while, but after you told us about your husband’s friend Mark McRae, we discovered his body yesterday afternoon. It looks like he was also murdered, but we’re awaiting the Procurator Fiscal’s report to confirm the cause of death.”
“Oh… ” Mrs Blake gripped the sides of her chair with both hands. “How terrible.” She began to cry. “Poor man. Ronald would be… ” then her voice trailed off.
“I feel guilty leaving you, but we have to go. Would you like us to call anyone for you?” McKenzie offered.
She declined, explaining that her neighbour would be popping round for a cup of tea later that afternoon. She’d be fine till then.
On the drive down to Leith to visit David Weir’s flat, McKenzie flicked through the pages of the book, scanning the text. Without his reading classes he couldn’t read anything, but his instinct was screaming at him that the book held the clues to what was going on.
The title of the book was the same two words which were scrawled over the bodies of both Blake and McRae. And two of the three victims had copies of the books on their shelves.
The big question was, did David Weir also have a copy?
Arriving in Leith, they had to wait another thirty minutes before the appropriate warrant was issued and another locksmith turned up and let them into David Weir’s flat. Whilst he was waiting McKenzie called DCS Wilkinson and updated her as to the message left on the answering machine at McRae’s house.
McKenzie didn’t tell her about the book yet. That could wait till later, until he knew a little more about its significance and what it contained.
Instead he laid into his boss, demanding to know where his assistant was. She promised him an office manager yesterday afternoon whilst standing over the body of Mark McRae, but so far none had turned up.
“We’re all drowning in actions here. We’re detectives, not secretaries. If we don’t get a proper process in place, we’ll drop the ball somewhere, forget to chase an action, and possibly miss out on something that could mean success or failure in finding the bloody sick killer behind all of this.”
“I’ve already assigned you PC Dania Jordon. She should be there now. I’ll chase her up for you.” His boss promised.
“Thanks Ma’am. But can you do it soon please? And please ask the Queen to go home now. I need my team back, now, not later this week.”
“No problem. I’ll just call her on her mobile as soon as you hang up. Now, is there anything else DCI McKenzie?”
McKenzie noted the fact that she wasn’t using his first name any more.
But he didn’t care.
He was just about to call Anderson and get him to chase PC Dania Jordon up, when the locksmith arrived.
Three minutes later they were inside Weir’s flat.
McKenzie went straight to the shelves in the lounge whilst Brown searched the other rooms.
Unlike in McRae and Blake’s houses, the book was not to be found on display.
Tramping through to the bedroom, McKenzie started to look inside all the drawers. Finding nothing, the cupboard was next.
It took twenty minutes, but he eventually found it in a shoe box underneath some porn magazines at the back of the top shelf in the wardrobe.
It was the exact same book.
“Remember Me?”
McKenzie popped the book into a see-through plastic bag they had found in the kitchen, had another quick look around the flat, then left, McKenzie kicking himself for having not noticed the book during his initial search of the flat a few days before.
They had just climbed back into McKenzie’s car when his phone went.
It was Wishart.
“Guv, I’ve found something. Can you drop everything and get back to the Incident Room now? It’s really important.”
“Why? What have you found?”
“I’ve got an original architect’s map of the school. I’m not sure… but I think I’ve found the way the killer got into the school without being seen! It’s been under our noses the whole time!”
-------------------------
M
onday
Operation BlueBuilding
Incident Room
Portacabin
14.45
McKenzie and Brown took the stairs up to the Incident Room in the portacabin two at a time.
They were just passing the cabin on the first level when Gary Bruce stepped out.
He was fuming.
“DCI McKenzie? What the bloody hell is going on? When were you going to tell me you had another body in the school? And why was I dragged into your Incident Room – MY OFFICE – for questioning? Since when did I become a bloody suspect?”
“Not now, Mr Bruce. Not now.” McKenzie stepped passed him and started to continue up the stairs but then turned to face him again. “Please, can you wait inside your office? We may need to speak to you urgently in the next few minutes… . Don’t go anywhere!”
It was more of a command, than a request.
McKenzie didn’t stop to see if he’d heard or not. He turned and bolted up the remaining stairs.
Bursting into the office, he found the rest of the team all huddled around a big table against the wall. There were several large maps spread out before them.
They all looked up and stepped aside to let their Boss into see the contents of the table.
“What do you have?” McKenzie asked, inviting a full report.
“You tasked me with trying to track down the original architect plans of the school, or of any other structure that may have existed here beforehand. The original architects don’t exist anymore. They closed about ten years ago. But I found someone who used to work there and who told me that the practice had been sold to another firm, EdinStudios. I approached them, and they spent the past few hours digging these out. They’re the originals. I promised to get them back to them unscathed.” Wishart explained, almost breathlessly.
“Guv, this is the one we were looking at before which showed us the schematics of the ground level workings… I mean, the pipes and underground structures.” She pointed at the plan attached to the wall just above the table
“And this is the new one. What do you notice?”
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