by Lin Anderson
The clientele had changed a bit since their misspent youth and there was no fug of smoke any more. Now it was more likely to be the white stuff puffing up your nostrils. No background music, thank God, and no giant flat-screen TV pumping out a mix of sport and inane drivel. McNab always said a prayer on entry that it would stay this way.
He found Davey in the snug, the area that had in the past been kept for any women brave enough to venture inside a pub. In this new era, and at this time of the day, a few had. There was a group of four round a table with a couple of bottles of wine. Dressed up, they were definitely planning a night out. The sight of them in all their finery suddenly reminded McNab that he’d promised to go by the Ink Parlour about now. As he pulled out his mobile to text Ellie that he’d be a bit later than planned, Davey looked up and spotted him.
‘Mikey!’ He waved him over and stood up, asking him what he was having. ‘The usual?’
McNab would have loved to say yes, but didn’t. ‘Black coffee. I’m still on duty and I’ve got the car.’ Even as he said this, he made up his mind to ditch the vehicle before he met Ellie. If they were going for a drink together, he intended alcohol to be involved.
Davey threw him an understanding look and indicated his own glass, which was filled with what looked like water, ice and lemon.
‘I had to buy the bottled stuff to keep them happy. Cost almost as much as a real bloody drink.’
When Davey headed to the bar, McNab checked his phone to find no further message from Ellie. He quickly texted:
See you in half an hour?
Then laid the mobile where he could watch for a reply.
They settled into a familiar silence as McNab tasted his concoction. Lacking a kick of any sort, he wondered if there was caffeine involved at all.
‘So,’ Davey said. ‘You took another bullet?’
‘A graze,’ McNab said in surprise. ‘How the hell did you know about that?’
Davey made a bemused face. ‘The nurse that treated you in A&E works out at my gym. She’s a boxer. I bet you didn’t know that.’
McNab shook his head in wonderment at the reach of Davey’s empire.
‘She said you were covered in cocaine and high as a kite.’
When McNab didn’t respond, Davey continued, ‘The wee lassie you brought in disappeared from the hospital.’
‘You’re the one should be the detective,’ McNab told him.
A shadow crossed Davey’s face. ‘My places are clean, at least as clean as I can make them. I don’t want scum like Brodie anywhere in my vicinity.’
‘He’s been trying?’
‘Someone’s always trying.’ Davey met McNab’s eye. ‘And not all officers of the law are free from blame for that. Coppers are like spoons. The cheaper they are, the easier they bend.’
‘You have names?’
‘If they piss me off enough, I’ll let you know.’ Davey took a sip of his expensive water and, lowering his voice, said, ‘I heard tell Brodie is on his way to Aberdeen.’
‘With the girl?’
‘Sorry, mate, don’t know that.’
‘She was thirteen. Thirteen,’ McNab repeated.
Davey threw him a sympathetic glance. ‘You don’t have to be a refugee to be pimped out at thirteen in Glasgow,’ he reminded him.
Which McNab knew was true. Child exploitation wasn’t necessarily a foreign affair.
Davey grued as he took another sip of his water. ‘What have we come to? Drinking bloody coffee and water in a pub?’
McNab was inclined to agree. Now he came to the real reason for his visit. ‘The name James McVitie mean anything to you?’
A rain cloud took up residence on Davey’s brow. ‘That fucker,’ he hissed.
‘So, not a pal then?’
‘He tried to get in on the gym. Had boxing matches in mind. I told him to take a running fuck. But not before he’d set up a couple of the youngsters to fight underground. He preferred the lassies over the boys. Fancied pairing them, boy against girl. Seeing girls get hit appeared to turn him on.’
‘You frightened him away?’
‘I spoke sternly to him. Like our teacher in Primary 7. Remember Miss McGonigle?’
Davey was easing away from the subject, suggesting he had no wish to discuss McVitie any further at this juncture. McNab glanced round, wondering if someone, recently entered, was showing an interest in their conversation.
Just then, his mobile lit up with an incoming message. A glance at the screen told him it was from Ellie. A short, but sweet,
See you soon.
Bingo.
‘I’ll have to get going,’ he said, draining the remainder of the coffee. ‘Thanks for the tip-off on Brodie. And give my regards to Mary.’
Davey threw him a look that suggested he hadn’t forgotten the history between the three of them.
‘Maybe you could come eat with us one night? Mary would like that.’
McNab’s first instinct was to make an excuse. ‘Could do,’ he offered as a holding plan.
‘Mary’s a great cook,’ Davey said encouragingly.
From memory, Mary was great at everything, were the words McNab didn’t say.
Eyeing McNab’s mobile, Davey added, ‘You could bring a date.’
McNab had a swift image of Ellie and him arriving at Davey’s and rather liked it.
‘Okay,’ he said with a smile. ‘Dinner it is. Text me some dates, and I’ll try and fit you in.’
22
Kyle was on the radio. Rhona couldn’t hear what was being said, but understood by his expression that it wasn’t good news. They had begun their walk back to the lochside, in anticipation of the helicopter’s arrival. The journey which had taken fifteen minutes earlier in the day had proved more challenging now. Mainly because of a rising wind, which, if this strong at ground level, would no doubt be causing problems in the air.
Rhona already knew before Kyle told her that a helicopter ride home was currently not a possibility. Which meant they either walked out or waited. Rhona was glad that she wouldn’t be the one to decide which.
Kyle pulled a face as he gave her the bad news on her now non-existent ride.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘What do we do?’
‘We take shelter and wait for things to calm down, or we start walking out now.’
‘Which will it be?’
‘I take it you’re not an avid hill climber?’ Kyle said.
‘Digging up bodies is more my thing.’
‘Then we sit it out. Owen thinks it might blow out overnight.’
‘We’ll sleep at the Shelter Stone?’
‘That’s one possibility. Or we might head for a snow hole along Feith Buidhe. The search team reported a vacant one we could use. The route there’s steep to begin with, but soon levels out.’ He paused, awaiting her response.
‘Let’s go for the snow hole.’ Rhona tried to cover her relief that there was an alternative to the Shelter Stone. She wasn’t superstitious, but the thought of bedding down in what she still considered a crime scene locus did not appeal.
The light was fading fast, aided by a swift-moving grey blanket of snow clouds. Although the fall wasn’t heavy as yet, its persistent light swirling motion made it difficult to see much past a yard in front of them, rendering progress slow although Kyle seemed certain of the way. For the first time that day, Rhona’s thoughts went to Sean in Aviemore.
He’ll be wondering where the hell I am.
She had left a note, explaining about the rescue, but Sean would surely be worried that he hadn’t heard from her by now. She resolved to ask Kyle to contact the base and have Owen let Sean know she wouldn’t be back tonight.
So much for his hopes of a romantic getaway.
Kyle had halted and was checking in with an update on their location, so Rhona took the opportunity to sit down on a nearby boulder. The snow here seemed softer than the knee-high crisp version she’d grown used to, suggesting the possibility that a nearby stream or boggy
ground rather than rock lay beneath the snow cover.
The crackling sound of the radio came to an end and, through the moment’s silence that followed, Rhona heard what sounded like a human voice calling. Her senses immediately on high alert, she strained to listen … and heard it again. Faint and high-pitched, but definitely there.
Kyle had put the radio away and was gesturing her to follow.
‘Wait,’ she said, not rising from her boulder.
He came swiftly towards her, concern in his voice. ‘Are you feeling okay?’
‘I heard something.’
Kyle immediately fell silent, listening as intently as Rhona. The wind, she knew, could mimic many sounds, human ones included. And yet …
‘There,’ she said, catching the sound again. ‘Did you hear it?’
Kyle didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘I did.’
He immediately cupped his hands and called out. ‘Keep shouting. We’ll find you.’
They stood, waiting, Rhona trying to convince herself that Kyle must have done this a hundred times when searching for those lost or hurt on Cairngorm. Surely he would be good at pinpointing direction, and definitely better than she would be?
Minutes later, Rhona began to think it must have been the wind after all. She said so.
But Kyle wasn’t ready to give up. ‘I definitely heard a voice. And I think it came from that direction.’ He set off in the direction he’d indicated, urging Rhona to follow. The light had all but gone, rendering Kyle’s figure a dark shadow before her, apart from the bouncing movement of his head torch.
In those moments, Rhona felt a flicker of fear as she imagined what it might feel like to be alone and hurt here, in what was an Arctic wilderness.
Kyle halted so suddenly, she almost collided with him. ‘Listen,’ he said.
And there it was. A high-pitched call of ‘Help’.
It’s a female. Maybe the missing member from the Shelter Stone.
The arc of Rhona’s head lamp showed nothing but flat, pristine snow. Not even a boulder in sight.
‘Where?’ Rhona said, puzzled.
‘It’s coming from below us,’ Kyle said.
Her immediate thought was that they were trekking through snow deposited by an avalanche, but Kyle swiftly put her straight.
‘Look.’ He guided her eyes to where a dark hole broke the snow cover. ‘Follow me, exactly.’
Rhona had no desire to do anything else.
Kyle began to circle east of the dark patch, testing the snow carefully at each step. Then she heard it. Not the female voice again, but the sound of rushing water.
There’s a stream under the snow.
As they approached the hole, Rhona noted that they were also nearing a sharp drop towards the valley floor. The sound of water was coming from a hill burn as it escaped its snow tunnel and cascaded into the corrie far below.
Her heart in her throat, Rhona watched Kyle lie flat and ease his way towards the narrow opening. Suddenly a light appeared from below, illuminating his face, followed by a cry of relief and delight.
‘I’m with Cairngorm Mountain Rescue. How are you doing down there?’
23
As he walked to the car, McNab put in a call to the station to tell them Brodie was rumoured to be on his way to Aberdeen. The A90 was well patrolled, mainly because of the drugs traffic that was known to make its way up and down the main route between Edinburgh and the oil capital, but spotting Brodie wouldn’t be easy, especially now he was aware he was being looked for. And if he did have the girl, she certainly wouldn’t be in plain view.
Up to this point McNab had been pretty certain Brodie wasn’t connected to the Aberdeen set-up. The Turkish tug carrying 3.2 tons of cocaine off Aberdeen had been the biggest haul in Scotland to date, but that area of coast could be patrolled, if you had the manpower. The myriad sea lochs and islands of the west coast were another matter. Much like Norway.
Maybe he and Inspector Olsen had something in common after all.
He ditched the car as soon as possible and jumped on the underground, which was busy. Offering the last available seat in the carriage to a young woman, he accepted her thanks and took up a stance next to the door, imagining how Ellie might be impressed by that.
Sad bastard that I am.
Fifteen minutes later he stood outside the Ink Parlour, perturbed that the door was shut and apparently locked. Pulling out his mobile again, he called Ellie’s number and she answered immediately.
‘Wait there,’ she told him.
McNab, relieved, did as instructed. Moments later the door was opened and Ellie ushered him inside.
‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ he began.
‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve just finished anyway. The last one was tricky and took longer than expected.’
‘Not another set of balls?’
She smiled. ‘No, but it did feature the groin area.’
McNab flinched, despite himself.
‘So,’ she said, indicating a booth. ‘Let’s take a look at you.’
McNab wondered if he should warn her of what was to come. He had no wish to admit to having been shot again, but if she asked what had happened to his arm, he would need an answer.
Facing his back, she didn’t appear to register the arm dressing at first.
‘Can I unwrap you?’
‘Feel free.’
He flinched a little as her movements to do so collided with his more recent injury, alerting her to it.
‘What happened to your arm?’
In that split second, McNab had to decide between the truth or a lie. As it was, he avoided both.
‘It’s nothing.’ He changed the subject. ‘How’s the tattoo looking?’
A pregnant pause, then, ‘Okay, but you need to be more careful with the wrapping.’
Suddenly McNab realized he desperately wanted to make a move. Whether it would be rejected or accepted, he had no idea.
‘I’ll rewrap you, if you want?’
He did want.
He expected her to move away, to fetch the film. She didn’t. There was a moment’s stillness, then came the light tracing of a fingertip, as though she was exploring the outline of the skull she’d painted on his back.
The feeling was electric. He wondered if she knew just how much. Her next move confirmed that she did. The tongue’s touch was lighter, and both warm and moist. She might as well have applied a vibrator to his balls. McNab reacted accordingly.
Her hands circled his waist now and met in his crotch. If he’d had any doubt as to what she was intimating, he had them no longer. Reluctant to interrupt her decided movements, McNab waited as she deftly unzipped his trousers and lifted him free.
Then she was round and facing him, a teasing smile on her face. ‘You did say I could unwrap you?’
From past experience, the drink usually came first, followed by the sex. It seemed, for Ellie, it was the other way round. Stone-cold sober without even a recent caffeine hit, McNab hoped he’d made a decent job of it. Surreptitiously viewing Ellie as she dressed, he decided she looked cheerful enough. Having examined her naked body in some detail, he now knew where the tattoos were. It was a memory journey he suspected he would replay in her absence.
‘So,’ she said. ‘One more thing to know about me, before we get that drink together.’
‘And that is?’ McNab said, suddenly worried she was about to announce herself to be the daughter of a felon, or even worse, a felon herself. He should have had her checked out. The truth was he hadn’t expected to get lucky quite so quickly.
‘Don’t look so worried. I told you the police know nothing about me. Except for you, of course.’
McNab tried to relax. Being suspicious about everyone was a feature of the job. Unfortunately it didn’t help with relationships.
Ellie was heading for the door. ‘You didn’t bring your car, did you?’
McNab shook his head. ‘Good,’ she said, lifting a jacket from a peg near the do
or, and putting it on.
What the fuck? McNab almost said out loud. It seemed skulls were to Ellie’s liking. And that included on leather jackets. A notion began to form in McNab’s mind. One that both worried and enticed him.
‘Good,’ she said, holding open the door. ‘Then I’ll give you a ride.’
In his sudden nervousness, McNab almost said, You just did. Then they were outside and advancing on her mode of transport.
Ellie was regarding him. ‘So, what d’you think?’
I’ve pulled a bloody biker chick.
McNab attempted to quell the words that would display what he really thought about the magnificent machine that stood before him, most of which were expletives of a decidedly sexual nature.
‘My father was a speedway rider. I inherited his love of bikes, but women don’t ride speedway, so …’ She regarded the bike with a look more lustful than his own. ‘Have you ridden bikes in the job?’
McNab had. In fact he’d loved it, as did many of his fellow officers. Even their last chief constable had been a bike man, who’d been known to turn up unannounced on his very powerful motorbike, to check on the workings of the lower orders. Something which had not been appreciated. You know that saying, if you need a big throbbing engine between your legs, you probably haven’t got one of your own. McNab checked himself before uttering that thought.
‘I have ridden a bike before, but not for a while.’
‘Are you willing to sit behind me?’ she asked with wide-eyed innocence.
‘I could do.’
Now the helmets were produced. Ellie climbed aboard, an action that in itself brought him a frisson of pleasure.
‘Now you,’ she ordered.
McNab did as told.
‘You can hold on to me if you like,’ she offered.
Okay, this was way beyond pleasure now.
The roar when it came brought back a rush of memories. His brief internal question as to why the hell he’d chosen to be a detective and forsaken the bike was soon drowned in the excitement of being back on two wheels again.