by Lin Anderson
The traces of faeces McNab had failed to bleach away had led again to Isabel Kearney. It was her son, Josh, who’d defecated in McNab’s flat.
Bill gave a grim smile at her news.
60
The helicopter had set down just after midnight and a cop car had driven him home. He’d ignored the bed, fearing memories of Iona, and, dosing himself up on paracetamol and whisky, he’d lain down on the couch instead. The scent of bleach still lingered in the room. He couldn’t smell the shit, but imagined he could anyway. Sleep had eluded him, replaced by a desperate need to form a plan of action for tomorrow. He had no intention of revealing the murder attempt. The fact that Kearney believed him dead was to his advantage, but McNab cared less about the attempt on his own life than that Kearney, having used Iona to set him up, had then disposed of her.
And how long had Kearney been planning his death? Had the Stonewarrior game been formulated with that thought in mind? Or was it just serendipity that he turned out to be the officer in charge when the game began?
He’d eventually drifted off into a nightmare of drowning and had woken drenched in sweat. The reek of his body was more than he could stomach, so he’d taken a shower, cold enough to thrust him back into life.
Examining himself in the bathroom mirror, he’d realized that most of the discomfort came from a gash below his left arm. Initially he’d believed all the cuts to be minor, but this one throbbed and was now emitting a bloody pus. McNab had bathed it clean, then checked the cabinet for something to dress it with. A depleted first-aid kit had provided a dressing and tape, but no antiseptic ointment.
By the time he’d finished, the sun had risen and the day of reckoning had begun.
Sutherland had been swift and to the point. Nothing he’d said had caused any surprise. McNab was off the case, and off work pending an investigation into his handling of it. He was also required to provide a formal statement in the case of the unexplained death of Iona Craig, a nineteen-year-old female he’d reportedly been having a relationship with.
McNab’s interruption at this point to say, ‘We had sex. We were not in a relationship,’ didn’t go down well. The vow he’d made in the dark hours of the night to zip his lip had proved impossible to keep.
There was also, Sutherland had revealed, the statement given by Steve Munro regarding McNab removing a holdall of cocaine from a location on Cathkin Braes. That had been news to McNab and he’d referred to the accusation as ‘fucking lies’.
The meeting had ended abruptly at that, with Sutherland ordering him to go to an interview room and provide a statement regarding his relationship with Iona Craig.
McNab had made the statement as brief as possible. In a series of blunt sentences he’d said how they’d met. Given the number of times they’d had sex, and where. Described how he’d asked her to leave. She’d taken it badly and refused. He’d walked out, only to return to a trashed flat, which he’d asked Dr MacLeod to process forensically as he believed a male had helped her do it. He stated he was certain his mobile had been compromised, probably while he’d slept.
He then signed it and left.
Now outside the station and a free agent for the foreseeable future, perhaps forever, McNab felt only a sense of relief. Kearney had done him a favour and he was about to repay it big time.
Ollie had agreed to meet, although with a certain amount of trepidation. Outside his usual high-tech environment, he looked forlorn, like a child who’d just had a toy taken away. They were sitting in one of the numerous Glasgow coffee shops. McNab’s need to visit a bar had diminished from the moment he’d been suspended, caffeine having taken the place of whisky as his drug of choice.
Ollie hadn’t touched the latte he’d ordered and was shifting in his seat. McNab had already drunk his double espresso and was considering what persuasive technique might be used on the man-boy to get what he wanted.
‘As you know, I’m off the case,’ McNab said evenly. His remark seemed to ease Ollie’s trepidation a little, until the one that followed brought his apprehension swiftly back.
‘But I believe,’ McNab said, ‘that you and I can catch the puppetmaster.’
Ollie opened and shut his mouth as McNab continued. ‘You are not a police officer and for the moment neither am I. We are Joe Public and as such are free to engage with Stonewarrior.’
One look at Ollie’s face suggested he might be using the wrong method of persuasion, so McNab played his first reserve card. ‘I have already met with the puppetmaster.’
‘You actually met? But I thought—’
McNab held up his hand to prevent further interruptions. ‘We met at the location he sent me. That’s how I was able to describe the van.’
Ollie was all ears now.
‘He also tried to kill me and almost succeeded.’ McNab gave a grim smile, which he hoped made his gargoyle face look worse, then shifted painfully in his seat to indicate further, not so obvious, injuries.
Ollie’s owl-like eyes grew even bigger. Time for another card.
‘So much so, that he believes I am dead –’ McNab paused – ‘which puts us at a distinct advantage.’
The use of the word us had had some impact. McNab watched as Ollie processed this, then continued.
‘He jeopardized the game and his own safety to kill me, which suggests my demise was high on his to-do list. If he realizes I’m still alive …’
Ollie knew where McNab was headed, so McNab played the final card.
‘And anything we can do to distract him from his fifth victim must be good. Right?’
Ollie didn’t want the girl to die, that much was obvious. If there was a way his knowledge and expertise could prevent this, he would do it.
‘Okay, but we have to work from my place.’
McNab nodded. ‘Let’s go.’
Ollie lived in two rooms, one of which resembled his place of work. A variety of flat screens, numerous keyboards and a continuous hum of power flowing and processors working greeted their entrance, obviously continuing to operate whether he was present or not.
Once inside, Ollie seemed to relax. Like a pilot in a cockpit, he was home.
McNab unpacked Helena’s bag, revealing her laptop and mobile.
‘These belong to Helena Watters. She left them charging at the hotel she was staying in.’
Ollie looked startled. ‘Shouldn’t you have handed them in?’
McNab tried to look contrite. ‘I forgot the bag this morning. Too much on my mind. I’ll hand it in after you take a look.’
61
A deer crossing the road, McNab swerving to avoid it. The car ending up at the foot of a bank. Being picked up by a local hotelier. All sounded plausible, because a good detective knew that the best way to tell a lie was to embed it in the truth.
What he’d told Bill about heading for the location given via the game, seeing the van then losing it again because of the accident, rang true too. Even his reason for leaving the mobile with Sean.
But he was hiding something. His behaviour in the meeting with Bill and Magnus, that shut-down look, wasn’t just because he was awaiting Sutherland’s summons.
There was no webpage for the Old Forge Inn, just the owner’s name, Megan McKellar, and the hotel number. After a few rings, a pleasant female voice answered.
Rhona explained who she was and that she was calling about Detective Inspector McNab.
The tone immediately changed to worry. ‘Is he okay?’
‘Pretty knocked about, but okay,’ Rhona said.
‘I’m glad. Have you found Helena yet?’
‘No, and we may need your help with that.’
‘Of course.’
‘The van that was involved in the accident—’
The woman interrupted her. ‘Detective McNab said the van hit him on purpose. It pushed the car over the bank and into the river. He was trapped inside …’ Her voice indicated how frightening the incident had been.
Rhona listened to the remainder
of Megan’s story. When she’d finished, Rhona thanked her, and urged her to call if she remembered anything else that might help find Helena.
When she rang off, Rhona contemplated the disturbing news that Josh Kearney had tried to murder McNab, and that he’d chosen to keep this information secret. But why?
McNab had screwed up as DI. He knew he would be demoted, and was in the shit over his relationship with Iona. Maybe even in the frame for her death, which he probably blamed himself for. At this moment in time, McNab appeared to have nothing left to lose. And that’s what worried her.
Rhona fetched her mobile and scrolled down through past calls until she found the number he’d used to contact her. It was a mobile, probably pay-as-you-go. He hadn’t gone into the unknown, leaving his phone with Sean, without a back-up.
He answered on the third ring. ‘Dr MacLeod?’
‘Can we meet?’ Rhona said.
He didn’t answer immediately and she strained to hear what was in the background. It didn’t sound like a pub.
‘Better not. We might talk shop and that’s against the rules.’
‘Why did you lie about the accident?’
A momentary pause. ‘I didn’t,’ he said guardedly.
‘I spoke to Megan McKellar.’
Another pause. ‘Playing the detective again, Dr MacLeod?’
‘She said Kearney pushed your car over the bank into the river.’
‘She’s mistaken.’
‘She sounded pretty certain to me.’
A male voice, which Rhona didn’t recognize, called McNab from the background.
‘Sorry, I have to go.’ Without giving her a chance to reply, he rang off.
Rhona threw down the mobile in frustration. McNab was up to something. What, she had no idea.
She settled down to work. Now at the write-up stage, her reports were in depth, and full of the detailed scientific evidence from the forensic samples collected. In many instances, she wasn’t asked to present her evidence in court because her reports were sufficient.
Normally she was juggling a variety of cases. It was less than usual to find herself dealing with multiple murders by the same perpetrator. Serial killings did happen, more often than anyone liked to believe, but they tended to be carried out over a period of years, even over the lifetime of the perpetrator, making it forensically difficult to link them, if the bodies of those missing were ever found.
The Stonewarrior case was unique, in that it had been carried out over a period of some nine days, and was linked to an online game, which meant the country, if not the world, was watching the outcome.
Josh Kearney, known as Stonewarrior, had now reached online celebrity status. He was seen to be outwitting and outmanoeuvring the police, both north and south of the border. If the media ever got hold of the McNab angle to the story, things would only get worse.
Which meant it was even more important for McNab to stay out of it.
62
Aware she might attain consciousness soon, he’d driven off the main road onto a farm track. Under cover of trees, he lifted her from the passenger seat and installed her in the bed in the back of the van. He tied her hands and feet and gagged her. Her eyes flickered open momentarily, but the look was glassy, the pupils large. Nevertheless, he prepared another syringe.
Finding an entry point was easy, the blue-black veins obvious in her slim arms. She moaned a little as the needle pierced the skin, then grew quiet again. He studied her, aware that in her present state he could do anything he wanted. The thought excited him and he contemplated rolling her over onto her front, but it would involve untying her again, then removing her jeans. The thought evaporated as swiftly as it had come.
As he exited and locked the door, his glance fell on the black holdall. He unzipped it and took a quick look inside. It had been pure luck that he’d been back checking to see if the body had been found when the bloke discovered the stash, then the body.
It had been Iona’s idea to seek him out and get him to help them frame the policeman. How she’d love playing him along. Josh stopped his thoughts there, not wanting to think any more about Iona. He re-zipped the bag. Once the game was over, he would head to London, sell the cocaine. Start afresh.
Checking there was no one about to take note of him, he turned the van and made his way back to the main road. Glancing at his watch, he worked out that at this rate he would be home in a couple of hours, longer if he chose to dispose of her and take photographs to upload later.
He tested his wishes on this, one more time.
He would have to kill her eventually, but found himself unable to contemplate it quite yet. Once she was dead, it was over. The planning, the excitement, the pleasure of outwitting his opponents. But most important of all, while the game had been foremost in his mind, other thoughts and memories had retreated.
Once the game was over, would they come back? He forced himself not to think about that.
As he prepared to draw out of the side road, an incoming message sounded on his mobile. Startled, he released the clutch and the van jerked and stalled. Josh stared, mesmerized, at the mobile. The only people who had that number were Stonewarrior players and they were all dead, apart from the female in the back of the van.
He pulled on the handbrake and stared at the name on the mobile screen. Caylum.
How had the bitch sent a message when she was tied up? The answer was, she couldn’t.
Irritation seized him as he tried to make sense of it. Irritation and a niggling thought that he’d fucked up in some way. He should have checked her pockets for the mobile. He should have killed her at the stone circle, then posted the photograph. He should have played by the rules of the game.
He tried to calm himself. It was more than likely that her mobile, having finally picked up a signal, had sent him a late text from her.
Josh opened the message.
Steve tried to open his eyes, but they appeared to be glued shut. He didn’t want to see who was in the room with him, but just hearing them was worse. There was a great deal of cursing and he was sure he’d heard someone pissing.
Much laughter followed this, together with the suggestion that they shit on the keyboard, or maybe even in the bastard’s lap. Footsteps approached. He heard the sound of a zip being pulled down and suddenly an arse was shoved in his face.
Steve struggled desperately to break free of his bonds but only succeeded in rubbing his face further against the backside.
The guy straddling him moaned as though in pleasure.
Steve threw himself backwards and the chair tipped. He landed with a grunt, the air knocked out of his lungs.
‘Last chance. Tell us where it is or I take a dump on your face.’
Steve said again that he didn’t know.
The guy squatted in preparation.
Steve felt his own bowels begin to move in horror.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you.’
The guy farted in his face, then stood up.
‘The policeman dug it up. I saw him. I thought he’d handed it in, but I found out he hadn’t,’ he said.
He watched them assess his answer. They looked at one another as though his pronouncement made some sort of sense.
‘What does this policeman look like?’
Steve described McNab. The expression on all three faces suggested they knew exactly who he was talking about.
63
McNab waited, his blood pressure mounting. The bastard must have got the message by now. Why didn’t he answer?
Ollie threw him an anxious glance. ‘He may be out of range.’
‘Send it again,’ McNab said.
‘It’s better if we wait.’
McNab was about to issue a sarcastic reply, asking who the fucking detective in the room was, when Helena’s mobile pinged.
Both men drew a breath together.
‘That’s it,’ Ollie said.
‘It better fucking well be,’ McNab said, relief in h
is voice.
Ollie had attached the mobile to a tracking device. McNab stared at the map on the screen with the small blinking dot.
‘Where is he?’
‘Near Loch Katrine, an hour north of here.’
Ollie brought up the text message on the big screen.
Entity
DO NOT ATTEMPT TO CONTACT THE STONEWARRIOR CORE.
Ignore communications from anyone seeking information about the Game.
Tune in, turn on, play hard, Live or Die by the Game.
‘It’s the same fucking nonsense as last time,’ McNab said, exasperated.
‘He’s testing to see who sent the message.’
‘I fucking sent it.’
‘But he thinks you’re dead.’
McNab indicated the mobile. ‘Then let’s show him I’m very much alive.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
‘Do it,’ McNab ordered.
Ollie took the picture and McNab added his message.
Moments later, the dot on the screen disappeared.
‘The mobile’s been switched off,’ Ollie said. It was obvious by his expression that he thought they’d messed up.
McNab wasn’t so sure. His meeting with Kearney had shown him that his death had become a major goal in the game. McNab still being alive would be more than just an irritant. Kearney would see it as defeat, and that’s what McNab was counting on.
‘We wait,’ he said.
‘Maybe we should alert DI Wilson that he’s somewhere in the Trossachs,’ Ollie tried.
McNab shook his head. When they’d sent the photograph, he’d made clear that the fight was now between himself and Kearney. One on one, on the understanding that Helena wasn’t harmed.
McNab abandoned Ollie and lay down on the couch. Closing his eyes, he tried to think. Instinct and intuition told him that this was the way to deal with Kearney. He could be wrong and the girl already dead, but nothing had been posted online yet to suggest that. If she was dead, he could still catch Kearney if he got him to play along with his game this time.