by Lin Anderson
She was propped up on pillows, her head still swathed in bandages. Her eyes, which opened on his entry, were surrounded by bruising, but the swelling, he was pleased to see, had subsided.
She registered it was him, and not Davey. An emotion crossed those eyes, but McNab wasn’t sure if it was disappointment or relief.
‘Hi, Mary,’ he said. ‘You look better.’
‘I look like shite,’ she retorted. ‘As do you.’
Her voice, he noted, was strong, the accent he loved still evident.
‘Where is he?’ Mary demanded.
‘At the station, for at least another twelve hours.’
She looked at him askance. ‘What …’ she said, her face clouding over.
‘Davey gave himself up. He came clean, Mary,’ McNab explained. ‘About Brodie, the blackmail.’ He decided to omit the child pornography for the moment, something he was sure she didn’t know about. ‘And he saved my skin,’ McNab found himself adding.
Her startled eyes fastened on him, almost in disbelief. McNab pulled up a chair and, taking Mary’s hand in his, he told her the whole sorry story, or at least the part he wanted her to know.
90
The strategy meeting had been short, at least the bit Rhona was party to. Conducted in English for her benefit, it had referred primarily to the continuing forensic examination of the Solstice, followed by Olsen’s report of their visit to the Mariusud. The latter being the part that had provoked the biggest reaction.
‘Was it wise to speak with Hagen alone?’ Harald had immediately responded.
‘No, it wasn’t,’ Olsen had conceded. ‘But we now know the name of the man we seek, and something more about him.’ Here he’d glanced at Rhona. ‘We also have forensic material which might prove Hagen is lying about the last time he saw Nilsen.’
‘And which may prove Nilsen’s connections to the Cairngorm deaths,’ Rhona had added.
‘The evidence from the Mariusud was obtained without his consent,’ Harald had said.
At that point in the proceedings, Olsen had apologized to Rhona and indicated that he would prefer to talk to his officers alone. As Rhona had exited, she’d heard the discussion move into Norwegian.
Accepting Birgitt’s offer of coffee, Rhona took a seat in the reception area. She was booked to fly to Aberdeen shortly, and would be back home in Glasgow by tonight. Chrissy she’d already been in touch with. Plus McNab and she’d had a brief conversation when Olsen had contacted him with the news about Nilsen.
McNab had sounded upbeat, although from what little she’d heard, his trauma on the tug boat had been as great as theirs on the Solstice.
Except that McNab had prevented the children’s deaths.
The one person she hadn’t updated was Sean. Something she should rectify, she decided. Rhona listened as the number rang out, aware that Sean wasn’t one to cherish his mobile, often leaving it behind or simply ignoring it, if he was practising. Fully expecting it to go to voicemail, Rhona was surprised when he suddenly answered.
‘Rhona? Is that you?’ he said as a female voice in the background called out his name in what Rhona thought was a friendly manner.
‘Sorry, is this a bad time?’ Rhona said.
‘Not at all.’
In the brief pause that followed, Rhona imagined she could hear that voice again, before Sean said, ‘When are you back?’
‘Later today, probably,’ Rhona found herself saying as though it might not happen.
‘Do you want me to bring Tom round?’ He sounded tentative, or disinterested.
‘Can you keep him another couple of days,’ Rhona said as the door to the conference room opened and the team trooped out. ‘Just in case?’
His response of ‘Sure thing’ sounded, Rhona thought, mightily relieved. Either he doesn’t want to lose the cat or he’s not keen on seeing me.
Realizing Rhona was about to leave, each of the men came across to bid her farewell. By their mood, she judged the meeting had been less than satisfactory, despite their lead on Einer Nilsen.
Olsen signalled that they should make their way to the airport. Rhona said her goodbyes and followed Olsen down the stairs.
‘They didn’t look too happy,’ Rhona offered as Olsen ushered her through the security doors and across the entrance hall.
‘He who sups with the devil …’ Olsen quoted. ‘That was the message from the men.’
A blast of cold air met them as they exited. The few flakes of snow that drifted down were melting in the puddles. Rhona pulled up her hood and followed the tall figure of Olsen towards his car.
‘They think you’ll be influenced by Hagen?’
‘They know he has power and will use it against me, and anyone else who crosses him,’ Olsen told her.
‘That was why Hagen wanted to see you?’
Olsen opened the door for her, and Rhona slipped inside. Before he started the engine, Olsen gave her his answer.
‘Tor was very keen to learn what we knew, although he was trying hard to conceal that. I gave him a story, which I think he believed,’ Olsen said. ‘We’ll know soon enough.’
Olsen abandoned his car at the Commissariat, choosing instead to walk home via Lagård Gravlund. It was, he registered, his first visit since that morning when he’d promised Marita to save the children.
And I failed.
As he approached the rear of the graveyard, Olsen caught the stifled sounds of male voices and female laughter. The graveyard, he knew, was a favoured spot for teenagers to drink and smoke together, away from the public eye, and the police.
No one, they figured, would come strolling here in the pitch black, like him.
Olsen was neither angry nor censorious about their presence. He didn’t regard their antics as defiling this space. Marita, he knew, would have welcomed them dancing on her grave, because they’re so alive and full of desire.
He felt a stirring in his own loins, a memory of his continued longing for the woman he’d lost, but still loved.
A sudden silence and a trio of mobile phone lights suggested Olsen’s arrival had occasioned the group’s departure. Olsen watched as the small entourage of two girls and three boys gave him a wide berth, departing through the gate to run laughing down the main road.
Locating his seat, Olsen settled himself down. Wet snowflakes, drifting down among the cypress trees, stroked his face like soft fingers. It seemed to him that, like the snow, he too was dissolving, his resolve and his reason for being.
Alvis. Her voice was clear and loving. Olsen let it wash over him, wondering why he ever thought he might live without this, without her.
You’re nearly there, she said.
Why would she say this when he’d failed so dramatically?
Whoever said it would be easy? Olsen could almost see that look on her face.
‘Eleven children died,’ he said aloud to the darkness.
And two lived.
It was almost as if he was convincing himself.
You can save more.
‘How?’ he found himself saying.
By accepting what Tor was back then, and what he is now.
A frost glittered the walkway as Olsen made his way round the lake towards home. The sky, having cleared of snow clouds, now sparkled with icy stars. His communication with Marita had been, he acknowledged, as much about his own thinking process as reconnecting with hers.
91
‘I come bearing gifts.’ McNab plonked the large coffee and steaming paper bag on Ollie’s desk.
Ollie sniffed his appreciation. ‘What’s in there?’
‘A hard-top roll with a double helping of tattie scones and black pudding. The perfect all-day breakfast.’
‘Which I can eat now?’
McNab shook his head. ‘It’s an enticement, not a reward … yet.’
It was as though Ollie had suddenly registered the bruised state of McNab’s face.
‘That looks bad,’ he offered with a slight grimace.
‘You should see the bits that are not on view, like my balls.’
The grimace strengthened.
‘But you’re not going to,’ McNab promised.
Ollie, with a further wistful glance at his waiting reward, said, ‘I found him, although it wasn’t easy.’
‘It never is,’ said McNab with a smile.
McNab left Ollie munching on his crispy roll, and went looking for a replenishment for his own coffee, long since consumed. Ollie was right when he said it hadn’t been easy to trail the man currently called Einer Nilsen. If not for Ollie’s super-recognizer status, and his fortitude when asked to watch the unwatchable …
‘You should join Interpol,’ McNab had suggested. ‘Or MI5 at least.’
‘You want rid of me?’
‘No way. I’d never venture in here if you weren’t around.’ McNab had indicated his distaste for the digital environment in which he stood.
‘Anything else I find, I’ll call you,’ Ollie had promised, turning his attention to his reward.
McNab located the nearest hot drinks machine, and pressed for a double espresso. If Ollie was right and Hagen was aware of Einer Nilsen’s history and proclivities when he’d employed him, that suggested Hagen was at least sympathetic to those beliefs.
‘The FSK, Forsvarets Spesialkommando, or Armed Forces Special Command,’ Ollie had told him, ‘is pretty secretive. It was initially formed to protect oil platforms against terrorism. Nilsen left the service abruptly. Not sure why, but I suspect he formed a neo-Nazi subgroup, known as Uten Frykt. Their major interest being no more immigrants in Norway, especially from the Syrian conflict.’
McNab had gone a little cold at this point, recalling the stupid argument he’d had with Ellie over the tattoo. He’d even gone as far as questioning Ollie about the Uten Frykt tatts.
‘A Fearless tatt doesn’t mean you’re a Nazi sympathizer, just as a skull doesn’t mean you’re a Son of Anarchy,’ Ollie had told him, slightly puzzled by the reference.
McNab pressed for a refill, knowing he should call Ellie, but unable to do so, yet. Swallowing down his second double shot, he dispensed with the cup, then headed out, avoiding meeting any of his colleagues, especially Janice.
When this was all over he would deal with what the boss had told him.
He’d warned Cheryl that he was on his way to the safe house. Her reply to his tentative text had been brief but positive, so it looked as though he may have been granted a reprieve at least.
When he was ushered into the room set aside for visitors, Amena was already there, with someone McNab hadn’t expected to see. Ursula watched as Amena ran towards NcNab and hugged him. McNab, not sure what he should do with his own arms, chose to pat the girl lightly on the head.
Now that they’d greeted one another, McNab wasn’t sure where to go from here, until Ursula stepped in to help. It seemed she could converse a little with Amena, or at least they’d worked out what Amena wanted to say. McNab listened to the translated ‘thank you’. The reassurance that Amena was well, and that the baby was too.
McNab was taken aback at this point. He’d assumed that she would have agreed to have the pregnancy terminated, but this appeared not to be the case. His worried glance at Ursula saw her explain further.
‘Amena lost her entire family in Syria. With the baby she doesn’t feel alone any more.’
McNab wanted to protest, state that she was only a child herself. Noting the look Ursula gave him, he decided not to.
With a final hug and a ‘Thank you, Michael’, Amena indicated she would leave them now.
McNab waited for the door to close behind her, then asked Ursula why she’d returned to the safe house herself.
‘You made that possible when you arrested Brodie, and Amena’s handler. They told me they would kill her if I went.’
‘You’ll testify then?’ McNab asked the million-dollar question.
She gave a little nod. ‘About the club and the drugs, and the kids on that ship.’
‘You knew about that?’ McNab said, surprised.
‘We were threatened with the death ship if we gave them any trouble. Only one girl came back from there, with a scar and missing a kidney.’
‘Did you ever meet a head guy, name of Einer Nilsen?’ McNab gave as good a description as he could manage. ‘He had a tattoo on his wrist, maybe elsewhere too. It said Uten Frykt.’
A shadow crossed her face. ‘He was at one of the Delta Club sessions,’ she confirmed. ‘A vicious bastard.’
She regarded McNab. ‘Brodie nearly killed you that night when he picked me up in the four-by-four.’
‘I bet he wishes he had.’
As he departed the safe house, McNab heard someone rap at the window and, looking up, spotted Amena. Returning her wave, McNab pondered why, after what she’d been subjected to, Amena should choose to give birth at all.
The call from Ragnar Lodbrok arrived as he walked to the car. McNab listened in silence to the full story regarding what had happened on Hagen’s yacht, including Rhona’s clandestine forensic examination, and what now concerned Olsen.
‘You were mates with this guy?’ McNab said.
‘I hear you’ve experienced a similar childhood relationship?’ Olsen’s tone was dry but understanding.
The fucking Viking warrior isn’t that different from me, McNab reluctantly admitted to himself as he accepted that word of Davey’s association with Brodie had crossed the North Sea.
‘Okay. What do you need me to do?’
92
The flat felt empty and abandoned. It was cold too, the windows covered by a filigree of frost. She’d remembered to set the timer on the central heating, but had obviously got the required hours wrong. Rhona switched the system on full blast, saying a silent thank you to Sean for removing Tom, otherwise the poor cat may have frozen to death.
Standing under the shower, Rhona reflected on everything that had happened since Hogmanay. McNab, she concluded, had used up another of his nine lives. For someone who disliked cats, it seemed he possessed some feline qualities, in particular the act of falling on his feet.
She’d turned then to Olsen and their conversation in the car on the way to the airport. Enigmatic as ever, Rhona had no idea what Politiinspektør Alvis Olsen’s next move might be.
She’d kept the third and worst memory until the end. Chrissy’s call had arrived as she’d emerged from the plane in Aberdeen. Of everything that had happened, the news of Margaret’s death had hit Rhona the hardest, even though she was aware of its inevitability.
It had been the absence of hope she’d viewed in that hospital room. And nothing she could have done, or said, would have changed that.
As she departed the bathroom, she heard her mobile play one of Sean’s jazz tunes, and remembered she’d set it up late last night at Olsen’s. In a definite moment of weakness. Searching for the phone, Rhona vowed to change the ringtone back to normal as soon as possible.
Expecting Chrissy again, or maybe even Sean, she was surprised to find Isla’s name on the screen.
Rhona’s opening of ‘Isla, how are you’, was cut short by a breathless, ‘I need to see you.’
Perturbed by the edge of fear in the girl’s voice, Rhona immediately told her, yes, of course. ‘D’you want to come over here?’ she offered. ‘Or would it be better if I came to you?’
‘No, don’t do that,’ Isla said swiftly. ‘What’s your address?’
Rhona told her, then suggested Isla take a cab. ‘There’s a pepperoni pizza on its way, but I can supplement the order, if you’re hungry,’ she offered, only to discover that the line had gone dead.
Puzzled by this turn of events, Rhona discarded her bathrobe and got dressed again. In truth, the last thing she’d expected, or wanted tonight, was a visitor. Her dream had been to devour the pizza and immediately head for bed.
Yet, whatever was worrying Isla didn’t sound as though it could be put off until tomorrow.
The pizza arrived
first, promptly followed by her buzzer being played like a nuclear warning, which Rhona knew could only be announcing the arrival of Chrissy or more probably McNab. Unlatching the door, she retreated to the kitchen to begin eating, aware that her share of the said pizza was rapidly diminishing.
Moments later, McNab’s vividly bruised face appeared round the door.
‘All alone, I see.’ He looked, or feigned, surprise at this. ‘And with pizza.’ McNab extracted a bottle of white wine from his pocket and plonked it on the table. ‘It’s cold,’ he promised.
Rhona observed him go in search of glasses. ‘So, not on the whisky?’
‘No. Despite the fact that I’ve just escaped from the fucking tug boat from hell.’
‘Your face …’ she began.
‘Bad, but not the most colourful part of my anatomy,’ he told her. ‘Although I assure you I’m still in perfect working order.’
The joke over, a silence fell between them.
‘The boss,’ Rhona ventured at last.
‘We’ve talked,’ McNab said swiftly. ‘The funeral’s on Friday.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Olsen called. There’s been a possible sighting of Nilsen in the Spey Valley. He thinks, if it’s true, Nilsen may have come back to retrieve any cargo that was on the plane. With the tug in custody, and his place with Hagen gone …’ He tailed off when he spotted the look on Rhona’s face.
‘Was it the Polish girl, Annieska, that reported a sighting?’ Rhona said.
‘I’m not sure who reported it, but the Aviemore police are checking it out.’
‘Annieska will need protection. He knows she can recognize him.’
‘Why would he go near her? With all the media attention, that would be suicide,’ McNab protested.
‘I don’t need a degree in forensic psychology to know, given half a chance, Nilsen will seek revenge on anyone who’s thwarted him. That’s why he abducted Isla in the first place.’
Saying Isla’s name reminded Rhona how long it had been since the girl had called her. Glancing at the kitchen clock, she registered it had been almost an hour ago. She abandoned the pizza and went in search of her mobile.
‘What’s up?’ McNab called after her.
Locating the phone in her bedroom, Rhona called Isla’s number as she walked back through. It rang out half a dozen times then switched to voicemail.