by Lin Anderson
‘She couldn’t do it,’ McNab said, only wishing she had, then she would have been back in Glasgow by now, and safe.
In the next section she was limping towards the cafe and soon disappeared from view. Disappointment flooded McNab. ‘Is that it?’
‘No,’ Ollie told him. ‘Let’s go back a bit.’
The figure this time was male and tall. He wasn’t dressed for skiing either and didn’t sport the required gait, although his walk was distinctive. He approached the blue van in the first instance, then after a few moments walked towards the cafe, which he entered.
McNab felt his hackles rise. Was that the bastard? The Iceman who’d thrown her from the hill?
‘Wait,’ Ollie, ever the patient one, urged him.
Moving forward in time, he saw Isla re-emerge, to limp towards a Cairngorm Mountain Rescue Land Rover as it drew up. Out climbed the man McNab took to be the Kyle Rhona had spoken about. He helped the girl to the blue van and supported her into the passenger seat. As the van reversed, a figure came into view. The same man as before. He moved swiftly towards a car with a hire sign on the side and drove quickly off.
‘He’s following them,’ McNab said.
‘I contacted the hire firm and gave them the number plate. They sent me this.’ Ollie handed McNab a copy of the hire agreement, with a name and address.
‘Let me guess, it doesn’t exist?’ McNab said.
‘The Aberdeen address is a pub near the docks.’
‘What?’
‘The CCTV footage I found Lund in? It was taken just round the corner from there.’
45
Sergeant McNab is pursuing his own agenda … off the record.
Olsen smiled at this thought, because it was exactly what he wanted. It had been difficult to keep McNab on the leash during the Lund interview, but he had succeeded, just. And it had played out as he’d suspected.
Of course the finale had been the attempt to exempt Lund from any charges based on the fact that his father, an occasional diplomatic visitor to Scotland, had immunity. That had nearly caused McNab to have apoplexy. The detective might be very useful in a showdown, Olsen decided, when your life was on the line, but he definitely didn’t do diplomacy.
After their exchange with Lund and his lawyer, McNab had disappeared. Going somewhere he didn’t want to divulge to Olsen. Fair enough. He hadn’t told the sergeant everything either. It was, Olsen thought, something to do with the girl rescued from the ice cave, close to the downed plane. The only one to survive that night.
And the plane was his department, now that it had been established where it had originated from. So he’d questioned DS Clark and discovered that the girl had been discharged from hospital, and had been expected back in Glasgow at midday, but hadn’t arrived.
Olsen had taken himself outside then to think. He missed his morning walk between Kirkegata and the Commissariat de Polis on Lagårdsveien, but most of all he missed his visits to Lagård Gravlund.
Despite the fact that he and Marita had visited Scotland on numerous occasions, they’d come to Glasgow only occasionally and briefly, mainly because Marita’s Highland family had had to move here for work, and there were some surviving relatives whom they’d dutifully visited. Those stays in the city had been short, eager as they had always been to get to the real object of their desire, the Highlands.
Outside, the snowy downfalls had retreated, and the weather was now delivering what Glasgow, like Stavanger, knew best … rain. Olsen didn’t mind the smirr, as Marita had called this version of it – a damp cold droplet mist like a blanket that softly cocooned you, while penetrating all outer layers of clothing. Norway, experiencing the same version of rain, had its own name for it, yr.
Scottish weather was for the most part a replica of Norway’s. In fact the weather in Aberdeen was usually the same as Stavanger’s. Taking off from one airport you arrived at your destination under exactly, it seemed, the same sky, which wasn’t surprising, considering the shared latitude and the short distance between the two countries.
Had the earth’s continents moved in another way, we may have had a land border.
As it was, Norway, despite the reservations of its inhabitants, was connected physically to Europe. And Scotland, despite its desire, would always be part of an island that merely lingered off Europe’s shores.
You’re thinking too much, Marita’s sudden clear tones reminded him. And not about what’s important. Where are the children? she demanded.
As if on cue, a young woman, wearing a headscarf, exited a cafe, struggling with a pram that held a toddler. Olsen helped her negotiate the step down to the pavement by guiding the pram’s wheels. When he looked up, he discovered an older child who studied him with intense dark eyes.
The woman thanked him in a language he recognized as Arabic. His answer in the same tongue caused the woman a start of surprise, and the older child’s liquid eyes to open wide in astonishment. Believing they deserved an explanation, Olsen said he was from Stavanger in Norway. He knew a little of their language, because he was a chess partner of a Syrian refugee translator, who now lived in his home town. To say that the woman was pleased by this was an understatement.
Olsen finally withdrew from her profuse thanks and entered the cafe. No one else in there sported refugee status, of that he was certain, judging by the voices he heard and the clothes that they wore.
The cafe was filled with the smell of fry-ups, brewed tea and strong coffee. Olsen liked it immediately. Approaching the counter, he ordered a mug of tea, and pointing to a selection of iced buns, asked for one.
Settling himself at a table, he considered his next move. DI Wilson’s current absence with his terminally ill wife had seemed a blow at first, particularly after he’d met the man and liked him. But since those further up hadn’t yet chosen to fill DI Wilson’s shoes with a replacement, it had left Olsen free to make his own arrangements, which included Detective Sergeant McNab.
As he sampled the strong dark brew and sweet bun, he felt the vibration of his mobile in his inside pocket.
‘Where are you?’ McNab’s voice asked in a somewhat indignant manner.
‘A hundred yards down the street in a cafe called—’ Olsen didn’t get a chance to finish.
‘Stay there,’ and having issued this order, the sergeant rang off.
Olsen took another bite of his bun and a mouthful of tea. So McNab’s visit wherever it was had been fruitful.
‘Do you know who he is?’ McNab said again.
Olsen wasn’t about to be rushed and therefore didn’t respond, merely replaying the clip yet another time. The male figure captured on CCTV was tall by Scottish standards, but not by Norwegian. The winter jacket disguised his build, although Olsen sensed by the swaying manner of his walk that he was fit. The face was more problematic, concealed as it was firstly by the collar of the jacket, secondly by the ski hat pulled down low on his forehead.
When he ran the clip again, he heard an exasperated sound behind him, which he ignored, concentrating only on the screen. Finally he managed to halt the clip at exactly the point he wanted.
‘There,’ he said in satisfaction.
‘What?’ McNab demanded, glaring at the screen as though it was a drunk defying him on a Friday night.
‘Look closely,’ Olsen said.
‘I’ve fucking seen this a million times.’
‘Which makes it too familiar,’ Olsen stated. ‘Look at the face.’
‘There is no fucking face or at least there’s only half of one.’
‘It’s enough,’ Olsen said, satisfied now he was right.
McNab peered like a man hoping to discover his lottery ticket number was the winner.
Olsen didn’t recognize the words uttered, the idiom and accent defeating him this time, but there was no doubt the detective had spotted the scratch.
McNab turned to him. ‘It’s the fucker that pushed her off the hill, isn’t it?’
‘I think it’s a distin
ct possibility,’ Olsen said.
‘The address he gave the hire-car company was an Aberdeen pub,’ McNab conceded. ‘And our resident super-recognizer spotted Lund on a nearby camera.’
‘So we head for Aberdeen.’
46
McNab was happy. It was a strange and unfamiliar feeling which he seldom experienced. It happened briefly during sex, and it had happened on his recent motorbike ride with Ellie, the adrenaline rush of which he hoped to revisit … tonight in fact.
Standing in the shower, he even found himself humming a tune. As the hot water hit his back, he registered no tingling or discomfort. So no more cling film. He’d not yet had the other shoulder inked, but found himself looking forward to a second session with something almost approaching pleasure.
Would getting inked be his next obsession?
McNab stepped out of the shower, not wishing to contemplate this line of thought any further. The reason for his buoyant mood was a mixture of anticipation for tonight’s event, plus the minor success he’d had with Olsen. The Norwegian inspector was proving more to his liking than he’d thought possible.
Up to now McNab’s knowledge of Norway had been scanty, little more than images of fjords, and bizarrely something about a king penguin at Edinburgh Zoo, plus the fact that every Norwegian citizen was now a millionaire, because that small country had harnessed its oil reserves, unlike his one.
But Olsen had proved valuable. They hadn’t got the van yet or its possible driver, but they suspected they knew where he was headed.
Dressed now, he checked his mobile. Ellie, having accepted his invitation, had indicated she would pick him up shortly. McNab smiled at the thought of their arrival at Davey’s place. Davey, like McNab, had had a hankering after a Harley in his teens. McNab had gloated a bit when he’d run with the motorbike cops, but by then, Davey had made enough money to fund the real thing.
Then during a boozy session after Davey and Mary had got it together (which had pissed McNab off big time), Davey had revealed that Mary had put her foot down about his bike riding, some motorbike death in her family on a Highland road having poisoned her against them.
And wasn’t I the sad bastard who was pleased about that.
So who was he trying to impress tonight, with both his mode of transport and his date?
When he’d invited Ellie to dinner with ‘his old school pal’, Davey Stevenson and his wife, Ellie had immediately recognized the name. It seemed Nurse Debby wasn’t the only one who used Davey’s gym for a workout.
‘You’ve met Davey?’ McNab had asked, somewhat taken aback at this, although Ellie’s reply of, ‘No, not in person,’ had dispelled his unease somewhat.
Hearing the roar of the Harley’s approach, McNab headed out and down the stairs.
‘So why the bike?’ Ellie asked as he donned his helmet. ‘It sort of restricted my choice of outfit for a dinner party and stops me drinking.’
McNab pulled a sorry face. ‘Davey and I had a thing about Harleys back in the day.’
The look Ellie bestowed on him spoke volumes. She knows that’s not the reason, he thought, but what the hell?
If Ellie’s flat wasn’t in the most salubrious district of Glasgow, his was only marginally better. So a trip to the leafy stone villa district of the city was an eye-opener. Though for McNab all this open space, parks, trees and big expensive houses was the opposite of desirable.
Turning into Davey’s impressive drive, he had a moment’s disquiet. What the hell was he doing here, and dragging Ellie with him? Then he remembered how long it had been since he’d seen Mary, and felt the desire to know what she looked like now.
Her Highland accent, when she’d arrived at school in Glasgow, had been the butt of numerous jokes, usually featuring the term teuchter. Her reaction to this hadn’t been to alter her voice to fit in, but to maintain it, out of defiance. McNab had liked that about her … among many other things.
He now registered that Ellie had produced a bag. ‘My outfit for tonight,’ she said, glancing up at the pillared entrance as the door opened to produce a smiling Davey.
McNab adopted what he hoped was a matching smile, and led Ellie up the steps.
The dining room was impressive too, McNab had to admit that. The room and the house, at least what they’d seen of it. And he’d been dismayed (or pleased) to discover that the Mary he recalled had only improved with time. It seemed a Glaswegian’s requirement for places to bet, drink and have their hair and nails done had paid off for Davey.
And Mary.
She’d greeted him warmly in that familiar voice, planting a scented kiss on his cheek. Then she’d taken Ellie off to the ladies’ room, as requested, to let her change into her party outfit.
If McNab had thought Ellie arriving in her biker’s leather gear was to be a talking point, her transformation from biker to chic was a revelation. The dress revealed much of the inking on her upper body, which, under the candlelight, resembled to McNab’s mind a work of art.
More beautiful than any painting that hung on Davey’s walls.
McNab felt a mixture of admiration for Ellie for rising to the occasion and irritation at himself for using her as a pawn in the continuing competitive game he and Davey were wont to indulge in. Then again, how could he stop if Davey didn’t? And why else had he been invited here with a date?
Ellie and Davey were now deep in conversation about Harleys. If Davey had stopped riding them, he obviously hadn’t stopped loving them.
McNab felt a hand on his arm.
‘Fancy helping me with the coffee?’ Mary asked.
McNab nodded and followed her into the kitchen, which was as sumptuous as all the other rooms he’d been party to.
‘The meal was delicious,’ he offered. ‘Davey boasted you were a good cook …’
He tailed off as she regarded him critically.
‘What?’ he said.
‘Don’t give me that innocent look,’ Mary demanded. ‘I know it too well.’
‘Okay,’ McNab tried to oblige. ‘But what’s wrong?’
‘You’ve got Davey involved in something, and it’s not bikes.’
McNab remembered that stance, those flashing eyes and that voice, sweetly musical when happy, and like this, when not.
‘We talked about a couple of people he knew, that’s all,’ he defended himself. ‘And it was Davey suggested we meet, not the other way round.’
Mary had a way of examining him which was more of a brain scan than a look.
‘And he’s in trouble because of it.’
Her head went down, but not before he saw fear flit through her eyes. McNab came swiftly to her side.
‘Mary, who was it?’ he demanded, lifting her face to his.
It was an unlucky moment for Ellie to enter. Or maybe she’d been in the doorway a while, watching the interchange. McNab dropped his hand, and they both turned to look at Ellie.
Mary mustered herself more quickly than he did, saying, ‘I bet Davey’s out admiring your bike.’
Ellie gave a half-smile and nodded. ‘He is.’
‘Allow him five minutes. No more,’ Mary told McNab. ‘I’ll manage the coffee. You get the wannabe biker back inside.’
Avoiding meeting Ellie’s eye, McNab headed out, where he found Davey astride the bike, a keen look of hunger on his face.
‘Fucking hell. I have to get one of these, even if I keep it in the garage and creep out at night and pretend to ride it.’
‘What’s going on, Davey?’ McNab demanded.
There was a moment’s silence as Davey attempted to interpret McNab’s voice and expression. ‘I wondered why Mary had cornered you with the coffee request.’ He got off the bike. ‘I assumed she still had the hots for you.’
His attempt at a joke failing, he shrugged dismissively. ‘I’ve had some threats. Not for the first time, of course. You don’t run businesses like mine in the locations I’m in without meeting with some aggro.’
‘These threats have
anything to do with our meeting?’
‘Hard to say.’
‘Brodie or McVitie?’
‘They frequent the same cesspool,’ Davey said noncommittally.
‘Fuck’s sake, Davey. If Mary’s worried enough to speak to me …’ When Davey didn’t respond, McNab added, ‘At least tell me how the threats were delivered.’
‘Someone daubed the walls of the gym, and one of Mary’s salons. And a wee lassie, one of her trainees, was cornered.’
‘They tried to abduct her?’
‘They stuck a hand up her skirt. Said things.’
‘This needs to be reported.’
‘I just did, to Detective Sergeant Michael McNab. Now can we go have our coffee?’
The end of the meal had been strained. Had he consumed alcohol, McNab might have weathered it better, but having asked Ellie to drive them there, it had seemed wrong to have a drink when she couldn’t. Catching her expression as he climbed on the bike for their earlier than anticipated homeward journey suggested that his concession hadn’t been enough to countermand whatever suspicions she was nursing about Mary.
This was proved true when she made for his place rather than hers, confirming that he’d blown it in some fashion. He made an attempt at reconciliation as he removed his helmet.
‘We both had the hots for Mary as teenagers. I had my chance and blew it. Davey did much better. They married. That’s it.’
‘That’s it,’ she said in disbelief. ‘That was what was going on in the kitchen?’
McNab, seeing her expression, came to the swift decision that the truth, or at least a portion of it, was his best option now. ‘No. What was going on in the kitchen was her telling me that Davey’s getting threatened, because of some information he gave me.’
‘About what?’ she said cautiously.
‘A guy who runs drugs and sells refugee kids for sex.’
‘Here, in Glasgow?’ she said, open-eyed.
‘Here, there, everywhere.’ McNab didn’t want to pursue this topic of conversation any further. ‘Do you want to come up?’
Give Ellie her due, she thought about it for about three seconds.
‘No. Give me a ring tomorrow.’