by Lin Anderson
‘Her injuries are the result of being trampled on. Just as well they weren’t wearing boots or high heels for that matter.’ The doctor paused long enough to check his notes. ‘Dislocated right shoulder, three broken ribs, extensive bruising to the face and neck, and –’ he looked up – ‘severe bruising and some lacerations to the vagina and anus.’ The doctor shook his head. ‘She’s been very roughly treated sexually over a period of time.’
‘How did you communicate with her?’
‘By signs. She doesn’t speak English.’
‘I think she’s Syrian, but my constable thought he heard her say something in Norwegian.’
‘Really? That might be useful.’
‘Why?’
‘We have a junior doctor on A&E here who has connections to Norway. She might be able to help.’
‘Is she available?’
‘Being Hogmanay, we have a depleted staff. I’ll check. If she’s around, I’ll send her to you.’
McNab thanked the doctor and made for the waiting room, which had calmed down since his own arrival. He found himself a quiet corner, then gave Chrissy a ring.
‘Remind me to kill you when I see you,’ she told him.
‘It was you who packed me off to A&E, remember?’
‘Only to prevent further blood loss inflicted by me. Are you still high?’
‘Sadly no, but I have the hangover. How are things there?’
Chrissy told him that all six male participants had been taken to the station, along with three females. None of whom seemed to speak English. ‘They’re all in their teens by the look of it.’
‘Anyone of any note among the men?’
‘No idea.’
‘What’s the haul?’
Chrissy’s response, ‘Possibly bigger than Aberdeen,’ made McNab smile.
‘Worth missing a Hogmanay party for,’ he said.
The sound he got in return suggested Chrissy remained to be convinced. McNab rang off as a young woman in hospital garb approached.
‘Detective Sergeant McNab?’
He nodded.
‘Sylvia Reynold. I’m a junior doctor here. I spent a year in Norway as an au pair and can speak a little Norwegian.’
McNab thanked her for her help in advance and explained that he believed the girl was Syrian, but she appeared to speak some Norwegian. Back in the cubicle, Dr Reynold took a seat beside the bed and in a low and calm voice introduced herself and explained what McNab had just told her. By the expression on the girl’s face she understood the rather halting Norwegian. Minutes later, the doctor gestured to McNab that they should go outside.
‘Her name is Amena Tamar. She understands a little Norwegian because the man who brought her to this country was from there.’
‘Do we have a name for the trafficker?’
‘Stefan. That’s all.’
‘And the other women she was with?’
Dr Reynolds shook her head. ‘We didn’t get past “he will kill me” and her country of origin.’
McNab thanked her as her buzzer sounded and she was called away. The girl seemed to be asleep. Either that or she’d had enough questioning for the moment. McNab looked down on the child’s battered face, trying not to think about the other injuries. He had no kids, or none he knew of. But if he had, wouldn’t he try to get them out of a war zone?
Europe, the UK. The promised land. Like fuck it was.
He checked on Munro before he left. ‘It could be worse, you could be on duty on Hogmanay in Glasgow city centre,’ he told him.
‘Perish the thought, sir.’
‘Look after her.’
‘I will, sir.’
9
Macdui’s, Aviemore, Hogmanay
Rhona wondered how many more people they could squash in here. Standing four deep at the bar, with all the tables filled, she was lucky to have a corner next to the stage, although how she would ever reach the Ladies if required was another matter. Now and again the front door would open and a few more snow-covered figures would arrive along with a blast of cold air. The snowstorm hadn’t appeared to frighten folk away from their desire to party on Hogmanay.
At that moment Sean came back with their drinks. Having already played his first set, he was now relaxed and obviously enjoying himself. Other musicians had turned up, including an Irish guitarist whom he knew, and the second half promised to be a jamming session which he was clearly looking forward to. At midnight a piper had brought in the New Year with ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and Rhona had found herself crossing arms with a couple from London. After that the crowd settled down to enjoy the New Year with enthusiasm.
‘I like a wee quiet night,’ Sean said with a grin.
‘When does this place close?’
‘Who knows? Officially I finish at one. If you’ve had enough by then, we have only to cross the road and we’re home.’
Just as well, Rhona thought, judging by the build-up of snow outside. She felt the vibration of her mobile in her pocket as a text arrived, which proved to be from an irate Chrissy who, having wished her Happy New Year, then indicated that she wasn’t having the Hogmanay she’d hoped for, due to McNab. Rhona couldn’t resist replying what a great time she was having and illustrating it with suitable party emojis. She then added that due to a blizzard she was likely to be stuck here for days. As she was about to press the send button, she took pity on her forensic assistant and removed the threat that she might be marooned in Aviemore.
As Sean made his way back on stage, Rhona found herself staring up at the piper, who introduced himself as Kyle Dunn, then told her he was a member of the Cairngorm Mountain Rescue team along with a former colleague of hers, Charlie Robertson.
‘Professor Robertson, the pathologist?’ Rhona said, surprised.
‘That’s him, the Prof. He gets ribbed about that a lot.’
Rhona glanced around the room. ‘Is Charlie here?’
‘No. He’s in Inverness but has a cottage here in Aviemore. He comes down most weekends. If there’s a call-out, he joins us.’
Rhona remembered Charlie from a number of cases she’d dealt with in the north. Ebullient and entertaining, he’d once addressed the annual weekend conference of AAPT members – anatomical pathology technologists, or mortuary people, to the uninitiated. The conference itself was unremarkable; not so the riotous after-party, which she and Charlie had eventually escaped by climbing over a five-bar gate.
‘How did you know who I was?’ she said, mystified.
‘I told the Prof that Sean Maguire, the saxophonist, was playing here on Hogmanay. He said to look out for Dr Rhona MacLeod in case she came with him.’
‘It’s a small world,’ Rhona said.
‘It is that,’ Kyle agreed. ‘We also have a DI previously from Govan Major Investigation Team. Ruth Abernethy?’
‘I know Ruth. She was a keen hillwalker.’
‘She’s based in Inverness MIT now.’
‘So how many are in the rescue team?’
‘Forty-four, but they’re well spread out and, of course, most have jobs – doctors, police, teachers – so aren’t always available. For a big rescue we can muster maybe twenty or so.’
‘So no call-outs tonight?’ As Rhona spoke the door blew open and another snow-dusted figure entered.
‘Not yet, anyway,’ Kyle said, ‘although who knows what the night might bring.’
‘You wouldn’t go out in weather like this?’ Rhona said, surprised.
‘If we have a location we usually try, providing the wind speed’s under 100mph. Over that and we’d be crawling, which makes for very slow progress,’ he laughed.
‘What about air support?’
‘No chance of that in high winds or poor visibility. Most times we either walk folk out if they’re able, or stretcher them out if they’re hurt.’
‘And the dead?’
‘Bristow don’t bring out dead bodies, unless our team would be putting themselves in danger by retrieving them.’
&n
bsp; Rhona apologized for the ghoulish turn in the conversation. ‘I’m always on the job,’ she explained.
‘As am I,’ Kyle assured her. ‘How long are you here for?’
‘A couple of days.’
‘If you fancy seeing the set-up, give me a call.’ They exchanged cards. ‘We’re out on the ski road at Inverdruie.’
They parted company then as the band struck up, drowning any possibility of further conversation. Rhona put Kyle’s number in her mobile, then took a selfie in the midst of the party and sent a copy to both Chrissy and McNab to prove she was definitely off-duty.
She abandoned the jamming session an hour later, assuring Sean she could find her way across the road to the hotel unaided. The powder snow was knee high, but it had stopped falling from the sky. The wind had dropped, although evidence of its former strength was all about her. Snowdrifts hid the lower windows of the pub and the vehicles in the hotel car park were indistinguishable one from the other in their white mantles.
The thick cloud formation of earlier had dispersed and a watery partial moon now outlined the glistening summit of Cairngorm against an inky sky. Rhona stopped for a moment to admire the view, before trudging across to the shining beacon which was her hotel. Music came from here too, indicating yet another party was in full swing.
She threaded her way through the crowd that had spilled from the bar, and made her way upstairs. Shutting the bedroom door on the sounds of the party, she undressed and got into bed. Minutes later she was asleep.
10
12 hours earlier
She opened her eyes to a thin beam of light coming from a hole high above her. The light reflected off the myriad icicles that hung from the underside of the roof of the snow cave. For a moment, she was pain free, then she was swamped again by its arrival. Gritting her teeth, she decided it was bearable, just, and probably because she had lost so much feeling in her frozen limbs.
It’s stopped blowing. And snowing. They’ll come looking for me now.
Gavin would waken and find her missing from the sleeping bag. At first he would assume she had gone outside to the toilet. Then when she didn’t return, he would get concerned and come in search of her.
But how will he find me, here?
Snow had ceased to fall through the opening sometime during the night. The pile it had formed was gradually being dissolved by the hill burn that flowed alongside her. Once again she reminded herself how lucky she had been. The impact of her assailant’s blows had sent her flying backwards down the rocky slope. Yet she’d avoided hitting her head against the numerous hidden boulders and landed in here.
I should be dead. But I’m not, she reminded herself. Not yet anyway.
Her mind went back to Gavin. He was persistent, too persistent she’d thought at times. He would not give up on her. She was sure of that. And now that the blizzard had ceased, he would get word out that she was missing. There was no mobile signal at the Shelter Stone. Lucy and Malcolm would make for the car park and sound the alarm, while Gavin continued to search for her. She would be rescued. And she would point the finger at her attacker.
In that terrible moment when she’d registered that the stranger on the mountain wasn’t her saviour but the exact opposite, she’d determined to commit his face to memory. At least what she could see of it. And his voice. His distinctive voice. She replayed it again in her head. His English had been perfect, but he had no accent. It was as though the English had been stripped clean of any intonation that might place his origins. In the light from her head torch the stubble on his chin had been sandy. The eyes not covered by glasses, a pale blue. Dressed all in white, he’d reminded her of a skier in an old war movie set in the Alps.
Iceman.
Whether from fear or cold, a shiver suddenly shot through her body like a live current. Then came a thought. One she dared not contemplate. One which halted her desire to shout Gavin’s name at the top of her lungs.
If her attacker wanted her dead, would he not check that he’d accomplished his aim?
Then a second thought. As terrifying as the first.
He’d asked if she had companions, and she’d told him.
At the Shelter Stone.
11
Sean was sound asleep beside her and in no danger of being wakened by the noise of an incoming text. Rhona considered ignoring it, but once her sleep had been broken she rarely fell back into slumber. Glancing at the screen, she expected to find Chrissy’s name after her provocative selfie of the previous night.
It wasn’t from Chrissy, but Kyle Dunn, her Hogmanay acquaintance.
Team called out if want to observe the proceedings. Prof on his way with SAR helicopter.
Rhona checked on Sean, who was dead to the world and would be for a few hours yet. She decided in that moment that she would go, assuming she could make it as far as Inverdruie, by foot if necessary. She texted back her acceptance, then rising, headed for the shower. When she emerged, she found a second text from Kyle offering her a lift in the Rescue Land Rover.
Outside Macdui’s, if you’re ready to go?
Rhona texted him back in the affirmative.
Minutes later she emerged from the hotel to find a winter wonderland. Cars parked on either side of the road were buried in banks of snow, only their roofs on view. A snowplough had been by earlier, clearing the main road through the village. The Rescue Centre’s Land Rover stood opposite, Kyle at the wheel.
‘I think we may be the only folk awake in Aviemore,’ he said as she tossed her backpack into the passenger seat. ‘Apart from the snowplough drivers.’
‘And Cairngorm Mountain Rescue.’
‘Of which you’ve become an honorary member. For today anyway.’
As Kyle guided the Land Rover between the banks of snow, he brought Rhona up to date.
‘Four climbers set off to climb Hell’s Lum three days ago. Their plan was to bivouac nearby for the night before the climb. All are said to be experienced, but that can often be a loose term. We know they didn’t make it back last night to Glenmore Lodge, but there is a chance they might have chosen to sit out the storm at the Shelter Stone before walking out today. Also,’ Kyle continued, ‘A climber reported a downed plane on frozen Loch A’an this morning. That’s not official as yet. We’ve had no radar report of a missing plane, so he may have been mistaken.’
‘What’s the forecast?’ Rhona asked as they passed the Italian restaurant of yesterday and headed up the Coylumbridge road.
‘Mostly clear skies. Light wind. Intermittent snow showers up top,’ Kyle told her. ‘Good conditions for a search, although the avalanche warning from SAIS, the Scottish Avalanche Information Service, for the northern Cairngorms is orange.’
‘And that’s bad?’
‘Not as bad as red.’
Turning left into the Rescue Centre, they found a Bristow helicopter already landed.
‘That’ll be the Prof’s ride,’ Kyle told her.
The area around the former church had been cleared of snow and was a hive of activity between the helicopter and the two mountain rescue Land Rovers that matched the one she’d arrived in. Kyle led her inside, through a busy assembly area and into the control room.
‘Rhona. Kyle said you might be coming along. It’s good to see you.’ Charlie Robertson, already kitted up in his CMR yellow jacket, came to greet her with a Happy New Year hug.
‘So this is how you spend your free time,’ Rhona said.
‘Now you know why I was so adept at climbing that five-bar gate, the last time we met.’ Charlie turned to Kyle and the other man in the room at this point. ‘Dr MacLeod helped me escape fifty drunken mortuary assistants intent on making me sing karaoke and dance on tables.’
The other man introduced himself as Owen Drummond and shook her hand. ‘I’m delighted you want to watch us in action.’
‘You could stay in the control room with Owen,’ Kyle said. ‘Then again, if you’d like to, you could join me and the Prof on the helicopter?’
Rhona was surprised and delighted by the suggestion. ‘I wouldn’t be in the way?’
‘Charlie says you’re an ideal woman to have in an emergency. So no, you won’t be in the way. You’ve flown in one before?’
‘A few times.’ Rhona decided not to own up to her general dislike of flying.
‘We’ll be checking out the possible crash site. If it turns out to be true, we’ll land. Any accidents on Cairngorm are regarded by the police as crime scenes. And you’re an expert at dealing with those.’
That was true enough.
‘Okay. It only remains to get you kitted up and we can be off.’
As the helicopter rose, the three rescue vehicles headed out, sirens blasting, lights flashing. Rhona felt a surge of excitement that drowned out her discomfort at being in the air again. The noise was deafening but the view was spectacular. Under blue skies she was staring across miles of sparkling snow.
The helicopter would get them to their destination speedily. The remainder of the team would, according to Kyle, take at least three hours to reach the Shelter Stone if all went well. Their route would take them to the Cairngorm car park, followed by a climb to the height of 1,141 feet, then downwards via Coire Raibert, and from there to the western end of Loch A’an.
‘So the call-outs are in the same area?’ Rhona had asked.
‘Yes. Although Loch A’an is almost three miles in length and the Shelter Stone lies at its western end.’
Loch Morlich now stretched out below them, backed by the deep green of the Rothiemurchus forest of pines. Rhona spotted the route she’d taken with Sean only yesterday, the tops of the camper vans among the trees, and the winding stream that met the south end of the loch. Then they were up and over the line of the funicular and the Day Lodge. Rhona momentarily forgot her fear of flying, or at least her disbelief in the physics of flying, although it seemed to her that the whirling blades holding her up were more believable than aircraft wings.
Kyle touched her arm and indicated below. The ground had fallen away to the south, meeting the outline of what she presumed was a flat, frozen, snow-covered Loch A’an. Rhona scanned it, seeing nothing that suggested debris. The helicopter dipped lower and began to follow the line of the loch from north-east to south-west.