The Reborn

by Lin Anderson

  ‘We have nothing more to say to you.’

  Bill decided to abandon the softly softly approach.

  ‘I believe your daughter made a pregnancy pact with four other students. They called themselves the Daisy Chain. Kira chose the name and encouraged the others to have a daisy tattoo done, as she had.’

  Reese-Brandon glowered. ‘My daughter did not have a tattoo. I would not allow it.’

  ‘The tattoo was at the base of her spine. It was recorded at the post-mortem.’

  The man looked stunned. Bill understood what he was feeling; you can bring them up and love them, but you still don’t know your own children.

  ‘Even if this were true, what has it got to do with her death?’

  ‘We found the words “daisy chain” written on her hands in mirror writing. We believe her assailant wrote them.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Maria Reese-Brandon covered her face.

  ‘This would suggest that whoever killed your daughter knew about this club. Which is why I need to know too.’

  Reese-Brandon’s face sagged. Bill was suddenly aware of the grey half-circles under the man’s eyes.

  ‘We know nothing about a club. Kira had a group of friends who copied what she did. She was a remarkable girl, a leader. But I cannot believe she urged these girls to get pregnant.’

  ‘Only one of the group didn’t get pregnant,’ replied Bill. ‘Alexandra Stewart-Smith.’

  Mrs Reese-Brandon looked up in surprise. ‘Sandie wasn’t really one of the group. Kira stopped bringing her round. She said Sandie flung herself at boys.’

  Bill wondered if that accounted for Sandie’s thinly disguised resentment of Kira.

  ‘The other girls, did they meet here often?’

  Kira’s mother looked concerned at the suggestion that her hospitality had made matters worse. When she answered, her tone was defensive. ‘Kira often brought friends home. They would chat in her room, play music. There’s nothing sinister about that.’

  ‘Did she ever bring David Murdoch here?’

  Her husband answered. ‘We knew nothing about this boy until DI Slater told us.’

  ‘You didn’t know Kira was seeing him?’

  ‘If I had, I would have stopped it.’

  ‘May I ask why?’

  ‘He wasn’t the sort of boy Kira should be seeing,’ he said sharply.

  Bill forbore asking if David wasn’t suitable because he attended a state school. Instead, he said, ‘What if David is the father of Kira’s baby?’

  There was an intake of breath from Mrs Reese-Brandon, who looked pleadingly at Bill. ‘If David is the father, would he have rights over the baby?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Maria. The baby’s clearly dead. How often do I have to tell you that?’

  Maria watched the Detective Inspector leave, pausing for a few moments near the crocuses as though admiring them. In the past she would have done the same, because they meant that spring was on its way. How she loved spring in these northern climes. It wasn’t the same in the Mediterranean where she’d grown up. Until she’d experienced a Scottish winter, she’d never truly understood how your heart lifted when you realised it was almost over.

  She went upstairs and slowly opened Kira’s door, breathing in her lingering presence. How long would that scent last? She hadn’t opened a window in this room since they’d told her. She couldn’t even bring herself to change the bed. She went there now and crept under the duvet, breathing in her daughter from its folds. Would she be doing this years from now, her sanity gone with her daughter’s last breath?

  Not if she had the baby. If she had her grandchild to look after, she could survive. How could she ever have agreed to Ronald’s demands that it should be adopted? To give your own flesh and blood away, whatever the circumstances of its conception, was wrong. Ronald was so adamant that the baby was dead, but the detective wasn’t sure, and neither was she.

  She closed her eyes, imagining what Kira would say if she came home now and found her here. She laughed at the idea. How her daughter would rant at her. Complain that she had no privacy. She clasped the crucifix in her hand and intoned a prayer that the baby would be found alive. She imagined holding the tiny body in her arms, nursing it, changing it, watching it sleep. All the things she had never had the chance to do with Kira.

  Bill was annoyed with himself for letting the interview get personal. If Robbie hadn’t told him that David Murdoch was in his class, it wouldn’t have happened. Ronald Reese-Brandon’s casual dismissal of anyone outside his social sphere had annoyed him. He’d also got the strong impression the man wasn’t as keen on finding the baby as his wife was, and that keeping the baby, rather than going ahead with adoption, seemed to be her idea.

  He’d asked to see Kira’s room before he left. Her father had initially refused, then conceded, but it was Maria who’d accompanied Bill upstairs.

  The bedroom, overlooking the front garden, was bright and warmed by winter sunlight. He had been relieved when Mrs Reese-Brandon had shown him inside, then left him alone; going through a dead teenager’s room with her distraught mother looking on wasn’t an idea he relished.

  The room was large, and he’d immediately thought how Lisa would love to have so much space. It was also incredibly tidy, especially for a teenager. He wondered if her mother had done this recently, or whether it had been the norm when Kira was alive. He’d surveyed the kingsize bed, the brightly coloured duvet, the wall-to-wall wardrobes. Opening one of the mirrored doors had revealed a well-stocked rail, a selection of shoes racked neatly beneath. He’d checked her desk next, under the window. There was a selection of textbooks, mostly Maths and Physics, and an old-style blue school jotter which Bill picked up and flicked through. The complex combination of x’s and y’s suggested algebra or calculus.

  One of the things he would normally look for when a teenager went missing was a diary. According to her mother, Kira hadn’t kept one, but then she hadn’t known her daughter had a tattoo. It occurred to him that if a clever girl like Kira had chosen to keep a diary, it might not be in the usual manner. He decided to take the jotter with him.

  Mrs Reese-Brandon was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘I’d like to take a look at this in more detail, if I may.’

  ‘But that’s just her school-work.’

  ‘I know.’ He didn’t elaborate.

  She made him promise to let her know as soon as they found the baby. Her desperation to have something left of her daughter distressed him, but he knew he would be exactly the same in her shoes.

  Once outside the house, he checked the time. He wasn’t far from the university, and he was keen to see Rhona at the lab before his interview with David Murdoch. He felt he owed her an explanation for his change of heart. And maybe a thank you too.

  He was passing the Reading Room when his mobile rang. It was DS Clark.

  ‘Sir, can you come to the ivy steps on the Kelvin Way. We’ve found something.’

  15

  Roy was in the process of building the body map, a digital representation of the victim on which the wounds photographed at the post-mortem would be shown. The digital body was Kira’s exact shape and build, but the facial features were standardised, like a doll. This body map would be used to indicate to the investigative team the exact details of her injuries. It would also be used in court for the benefit of the jury, provided they caught her killer.

  Rhona had seen many of these body maps, but was still impressed by them. Only recently she had watched as a child’s injuries had been mapped onto a three-dimensional representation of its small body. She had observed as the programme peeled back the skin to expose the skeleton, just as would have been done at the post-mortem. The action had revealed a replica ribcage, showing just how many times each rib had been broken and subsequently rehealed. Behind the ribcage, further injuries to the internal organs had been recorded visually. The jury viewing that body map on the big screen would have had no difficulty in app
reciating the catalogue of abuse the two-year-old victim had suffered since birth.

  Her own contribution to Kira’s body map was already prepared. A series of drawings of the clothing Kira had worn, the areas for forensic investigation identified by shading. These drawings would sit alongside an actual photograph of the item of clothing on the big screen. The jury would then view these as she went through her evidence. Provided, of course, the case ever came to court.

  The results of her tests, including DNA sampling, were already on the body map, the DNA samples currently in red because they weren’t yet identified. They would turn green if or when they had a match. Selecting these markers with a pointer opened up details of the sample and its results. Wounds on the body map could also be selected, opening up the larger photographic version.

  In Kira’s case, there was only one wound.

  There were two ways to perform a Caesarean operation. The most common method involved a horizontal incision in the abdomen, usually just above the pubic hairline, where the wall of the uterus was thinnest, thus involving less blood loss. Had this method been used, Kira might have lived.

  Instead, her assailant had used the classical incision, a vertical cut from the navel. Such an incision provided a larger opening than the low transverse version and was normally used in emergency situations, when the baby’s life was deemed to be in danger. It also caused a lot more bleeding, as had happened in Kira’s case.

  Rhona was struck again by the terrible waste of a young life and how easily it might have been avoided. If David had only gone looking for Kira earlier, or someone else had decided to enter the maze before it closed for the night, she might have been saved.

  ‘What do you think?’

  Roy’s question brought her back to the present.

  He’d selected Kira’s right hand, magnifying it four times to display the indecipherable lettering. He double-clicked on the message which slowly turned to reveal its mirror image. Daisy. He repeated the same action on the left hand to expose the word chain.

  ‘I’ve fed in the traces you found. The fibres under the fingernail and the substance on the fingertip.’

  He demonstrated by selecting the middle digit of the right hand. Immediately a window opened up to show a magnified image of the two red fibres. They were currently marked as ‘animal, type unknown’. The trace evidence found on the fingertip wasn’t fully analysed either, but the record of its existence was there.

  ‘I’m still working on the general crime scene view and the map of the surrounding area.’

  ‘It’s great,’ she said, stifling a yawn.

  He gave her a searching look. ‘Are you OK? You don’t look as though you got much sleep.’

  Rhona felt a flush creep up her neck.

  He grinned. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry, but I’m glad it’s not work that’s exhausted you.’

  Rhona, who had no intention of mentioning Petersson, changed the subject.

  ‘We should have something on the fibres soon. Chrissy’s working on them.’

  ‘Chrissy’s back? I thought she had months left of maternity leave?’

  ‘She’s decided to come in part-time. Her mum’s looking after Michael.’ Rhona faltered a little on McNab’s namesake.

  ‘That’s great news. I’ll send the latest version of this through to DI Wilson.’

  Her first thought was that he’d simply spoken too quickly and Bill’s name had been the first one in his head. After all, he’d worked with him often enough.

  He caught her look of confusion. ‘What?’

  ‘You said DI Wilson.’

  ‘I know, and it sounded good.’

  Her heart took off. She could feel its quickened beat in her throat.

  ‘You don’t know?’ he said.

  ‘I know the case was dismissed.’

  ‘Bill’s back at work as from today.’

  ‘He didn’t resign?’

  Roy shook his head, smiling. ‘And he kept his rank.’

  ‘What about Slater?’

  ‘Sent back from whence he came.’

  Relief and elation flowed through her. ‘Thank God. Is he taking over from Slater on the funfair case?’

  ‘Yes.’ Roy was enjoying being the harbinger of such good tidings. ‘I expect he’ll be in touch to tell you all this himself.’

  ‘Just as long as I know it’s true.’

  ‘He’s called a forensic meeting for tomorrow. That’s why I wanted this up and running.’ Roy scooped up his laptop. ‘You can access the current version from your machine. Send me anything else you come up with before the meeting and I’ll do my best to add it in.’

  She made a mug of coffee when Roy left and sat with it at the window, wishing Chrissy was here to share the news about Bill. Looking down on the park in the winter sunshine, she experienced a sense of déjà vu. They were back at the beginning; Bill, Chrissy and herself, before McNab had come on the scene. Back then, the case they were working on had also featured Kelvingrove Park, and the investigation had put her back in touch with Liam, the son she’d given up for adoption as a baby. She felt a pang of remorse – was she just as swiftly wiping McNab from the canvas of her life?

  Magnus chained his bike to the stand, then stood for a moment to admire the view across the park to the Art Gallery. He hadn’t been here since the Gravedigger case, when he’d visited the lab with Rhona. He remembered how irritated she had been to be saddled with him at Superintendent Sutherland’s request. He winced again at the memory of his first appearance at a strategy meeting, his arrogant questioning of the investigative team, as though a psychologist could know more about the mind of a serial killer than someone with thirty years’ experience of criminals.

  Rhona and Bill had put up with him, at times even given credence to his opinion, which in retrospect hadn’t been a wise move on their part. DS McNab, on the other hand, had thought him a fool, and hadn’t been afraid to show it. And he’d been right.

  After checking in at reception, Magnus took the stairs to the second floor, where Rhona was waiting for him on the landing. He thought she looked tired and not at all well; her eyes were dark and haunted. He tried to hide his shock behind a breezy greeting.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hey, yourself.’ She examined him. ‘You look well.’

  ‘So do you.’

  She acknowledged his lie with a raised eyebrow. He thought about asking what was wrong, then decided against it. If he’d learned anything in his time with Rhona, it was how closely she guarded her personal life. Feelings were not up for discussion, least of all with a psychologist. He followed her into her office.

  ‘Bill’s back.’ Her face lit up in a momentary smile.

  ‘I’m delighted to hear it. What about DI Slater?’

  ‘Gone,’ she said, wrinkling her nose.

  He remembered Slater. Bill had asked Magnus back to help on a second case, but then Slater had taken over and things had got complicated. Magnus had sensed how unhappy the investigating team had been under his leadership, and how much his bullying tactics and arrogance had pissed people off. He hadn’t respected his colleagues or listened to their opinions, and as a result things had gone badly wrong. Magnus suspected Rhona and the others also partly blamed Slater for McNab’s death.

  Despite her obvious pleasure at Bill’s return, there was clearly some underlying tension in Rhona. He wondered if Sean was back on the scene, or whether she was still coming to terms with McNab’s death. Magnus hadn’t attended the funeral – not because he didn’t want to, but because he hadn’t thought it appropriate. McNab had distrusted and disliked him, and Magnus couldn’t blame him for that. He was only sorry he hadn’t had the opportunity to make things right between them.

  ‘I was very sorry to hear about Michael,’ he said inadequately.

  She gave him a swift look that spoke volumes. Now he knew the reason for the pain in her eyes.

  ‘Have they had any success in tracking down Kalinin?’

  ‘Slate
r didn’t even try,’ she said sharply.

  ‘Maybe now Bill’s back . . .’

  She cut him short. ‘Maybe.’

  She offered him a coffee and then began to bring him up to date on the fairground case. Magnus was immediately intrigued.

  ‘There’s never been a foetal theft recorded in the UK before.’

  ‘That’s where you come in.’

  ‘They want a possible profile for the perpetrator?’

  She nodded.

  ‘They could probably get that by studying similar reports from the States.’

  ‘There’s something else.’ Rhona told him about the mirror writing.

  If he was intrigued before, Magnus was doubly so now.

  ‘You’re assuming her assailant wrote the message on her hands?’

  ‘It was fresh and unsmudged, in soft crayon, possibly make-up.’

  ‘Mirror writing as a skill is pretty rare.’

  ‘I know. Plus we found a daisy tattooed on the small of her back.’

  ‘A daisy.’ He paused, thinking. ‘You need more than one daisy to make a chain.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  She fired the overhead projector via a laptop and brought up an image of the crime scene on a screen.

  ‘Roy’s still working on this but there’s enough to give you a sense of what we have.’

  Magnus watched as she went through the 360-degree shots of the mirror maze. Roy had done a great job recording the scene while avoiding the multiple reflections in the mirrors, but it still had all the hallmarks of a teen horror movie. An enclosed space, a girl on her own, a narrative that juxtaposed sex and death.

  ‘Why was she in there?’

  ‘We don’t know. Her friends said she went to buy candyfloss and never came back.’

  ‘Who found her?’

  ‘The boyfriend.’

  ‘The baby’s father?’

  ‘He says not, but when I DNA-test the blood from the umbilical cord, we’ll know for sure.’ She brought up the body map.

  He watched, fascinated, as she magnified the palms of the hands, clicking to spin the writing and reveal what it said.