The Reborn

by Lin Anderson

  The video showed a teenage boy kissing a girl before they both laughed towards the mobile in his outstretched hand. Behind them a pregnant female in a fringed jacket crossed the screen, face intent, walking quickly. It was Kira, looking very much alive.

  ‘Five minutes later a photo taken near the line of female toilets finds this.’

  He tapped the screen and a second image became enlarged. It was poorer quality than the video, but it was clear enough to see what the excitement in the room was about. Behind a kid with a candyfloss was a row of toilet cubicles. Emerging from one was a clown. There was an explosion of noise from those watching.

  ‘We pick up the clown again a few minutes later.’ Roy brought up another image. ‘Next to the candyfloss van, in a direct line to the entrance to the mirror maze.’

  ‘Anything that suggests the clown got in there with her?’ Bill asked.

  Roy shrugged. ‘We can’t tell. It would have to have happened via the exit or under the canvas at the rear, and no one was round there to take photos.’

  ‘Let’s see the shot near the candyfloss van again. Can we estimate the clown’s height?’

  Roy brought up a scale on the screen. The clown was approximately two thirds the height of the van.

  ‘We estimate it at 1.67 metres,’ he said. ‘Around five feet five.’

  ‘Any sightings of the clown before that time?’

  ‘None.’

  Bill turned from the screen to address the group.

  ‘OK, the clown emerged from a female cubicle, where we can assume they may have gone to put on the costume. So we have an average height female or a shorter male, in a red-haired clown wig, the colour of the fibres retrieved by forensic from under Kira’s fingernail.’ He turned back to Roy. ‘Anyone else recorded in the vicinity of the maze around the time the victim went inside?’

  Roy brought up three images. ‘These were taken within a ten minute period.’

  As Bill studied the photographs, his stomach flipped. ‘Can you enlarge that one further?’ He pointed at the third.

  The image was slightly blurred, but unmistakeable. Tall and thin, dark-haired and hook-nosed. A raven, he’d thought when he first saw him at Morvern. Dr Frank Delaney, Kira’s tutor, had been at the funfair the night she died.

  As soon as the commotion died down, Bill gave orders that Delaney be brought in for questioning. Then he headed for his office and closed the door. The coffee he’d fetched before the meeting sat cooling on his desk. He sat down on the swivel chair and took a swig. He didn’t like hot coffee anyway. As he anticipated the caffeine hit, he allowed a sense of satisfaction to flow through him.

  He was reminded of the knitting his mother used to do when he was small. Fair Isle patterns, a weave of complex colour. But when things went wrong and she slid the knitting off the needles to rip it back, the pattern unravelled to reveal a set of single identifiable strands.

  Kira – clever, manipulative, sexually promiscuous. A siren who influenced both men and women. In the video her expression had been intent. Was she heading somewhere in particular, to meet someone? Had Delaney also succumbed to her power and gone to meet her that night?

  The last time her mobile had been used was to record the image of the doll for them to find, so it was logical to assume that whoever killed Kira took her phone and used it. The tech team had detailed all the calls and checked the numbers. The Daisy Chain gang had featured, David, home, a Twitter account she had set up. They were going through that account now. Bill had been shown some of the messages she’d posted online, direct messages received and sent, the people she’d been following and who had been following her. It had all looked like gobbledegook to him but it had to be studied, every last piece of empty-headed nonsense.

  Bill glanced at his watch. They would have had to pull Delaney from school. Maybe even out of the classroom. No doubt the Principal of Morvern would comply with the police summons using her normal discretion, but he wouldn’t like to be in her shoes if Delaney turned out to be a prime suspect in a murder case and the parents found out.

  He fired up his laptop and logged on to the crime scene software. He wanted another look at Delaney. This time he studied the expression on Delaney’s face and decided the man was scanning the crowds. With his height it was easy. Was he looking for Kira? Had she been on her way to meet him when she went into the maze?

  While he waited for news of Delaney’s arrival, he picked up the phone and dialled Sutherland’s office.

  The DSI listened in silence while Bill outlined the developments in the case.

  ‘Very well. Keep me informed.’

  Bill caught him before he rang off. ‘There’s something else.’

  ‘Can it wait?’

  Bill decided to plough on regardless. ‘It’s about Fergus Morrison.’

  ‘Who?’ Sutherland knew full well who Bill was referring to.

  ‘I heard he was dead, shot by an assassin. Is it true?’

  ‘Where did you hear this?’ Sutherland snapped.

  ‘The rumour mill,’ lied Bill.

  ‘Canteen gossip.’

  ‘It’s not true then?’

  ‘As I said, canteen gossip.’

  The DSI was lying, and was aware that Bill knew it. He brought the discussion to an end. ‘As I said, keep me informed about the current case.’

  It was the signal to lay off, and Bill took it. He knew Fergus Morrison was dead, which meant the Kalinin case was dead in the water. If SOCA had something else up its sleeve, he wouldn’t hear about it; the Super had made it clear that it was none of his business.

  Bill knew he would have to tell Rhona that the rumour about Morrison’s death was true, and regretted now that he had ever mentioned it to her. He feared he had only made matters worse.

  He tried to refocus his thoughts on the fairground case and the man he was shortly to interview. Delaney had been plausible, pleasant even. Maybe he had been honest, for the most part. Good liars always stuck close to the truth; maybe Delaney had simply omitted the part where he was sleeping with his student.

  There was a knock at the door and DS Clark stuck her head round.

  ‘Delaney’s here, Sir. Room five.’

  Dr Delaney had exuded intelligence and confidence when seated in the Principal’s study at Morvern. He looked considerably less confident now.

  Police interview rooms tended to have an unpleasant smell. A lot of sweating went on in them, not to mention the actual bodily fluids left behind by some previous occupants. Bill was used to the odour, in the same way that the doctors and nurses who walked hospital corridors daily no longer smelt illness, disinfectant and death.

  Frank Delaney looked deathly. When Bill entered, he rose from his seat and Bill noted again his spindly frame, shorn of its presence and authority without the black gown. He seemed to have shrunk in his twill trousers and tweed jacket.

  Bill indicated that he should sit back down, then took his own place opposite. The eyes that met his drooped into dark shadows, and the hollows under Delaney’s sharp cheekbones reminded Bill of a skull. Only the voice, when Delaney spoke, retained strength and confidence.

  ‘Why am I here?’

  ‘Because you were at the funfair the night Kira Reese-Brandon died.’

  There was a moment’s silence during which Bill thought Dr Delaney would deny this, then he shrugged.

  ‘I came out of the tube station and the lights attracted me. I went for a look.’

  ‘You went to meet Kira.’

  The man looked puzzled. ‘What? Of course not. I had no idea Kira was there. How could I have known?’

  ‘And you didn’t see her?’

  ‘No, I did not. I was only there a few minutes. As I said, I took a look out of curiosity, then left.’

  ‘Why didn’t you mention this before?’

  He shrugged. ‘It didn’t seem important. As I said, I was there only briefly.’

  ‘Is Kelvin Bridge your local tube station?’

  There w
as a moment’s hesitation. ‘No, but there were a couple of yobs on the train making a nuisance of themselves. I decided to avoid trouble, get off and walk the rest.’

  Bill sat back in his chair. A few beads of perspiration had appeared on Frank Delaney’s broad brow.

  ‘What was the nature of your relationship with Kira Reese-Brandon?’

  ‘I was her tutor. You know that.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  He bridled. ‘Of course that’s all.’

  Bill shook his head.

  ‘I think you were infatuated with your star pupil. I think you arranged to meet her that night at the funfair.’

  ‘That is both ridiculous and offensive.’ Delaney made to rise.

  ‘Sit down,’ Bill said brusquely.

  He reluctantly retook his seat.

  ‘Were you having a sexual relationship with Kira?’

  The man’s jaw clenched. ‘No.’

  ‘Then why were you meeting her at the funfair?’

  ‘I wasn’t. I told you . . .’

  ‘We have evidence that places you near the mirror maze close to the time of Kira’s death.’

  Now a rivulet of sweat trickled down the doctor’s gaunt cheek, and he brought out an old-fashioned handkerchief and dabbed at it.

  ‘I had no idea Kira was at the funfair. I told you, I got off the train because there was trouble.’

  ‘And were drawn to the lights of the funfair?’

  ‘Yes. I took a quick look and left.’

  ‘The mirror maze was at the far side. It would have taken more than a few minutes to walk there.’

  Dr Delaney shifted uncomfortably in his seat and said nothing.

  Bill leaned forward. ‘If you only wanted a quick look, why walk so far and in that particular direction?’

  ‘I was looking for the toilets.’

  Bill was sure he was lying.

  ‘Did you find them?’

  ‘There was a queue. I decided not to wait.’ He seemed pleased with his quick answer.

  ‘I’d like you to provide us with a swab for DNA purposes.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s necessary,’ said Delaney, affronted.

  ‘You refuse?’

  ‘I decline, because it’s unnecessary.’

  ‘If you had no contact with Kira that night, a swab will prove this.’

  Delaney wanted out of there and a swab could provide him with an exit. But if he had had direct contact with Kira that night, it would put him in the frame for her murder. His decision would be very telling.

  ‘I’ll give you a few minutes to think this through,’ said Bill.

  The other man winced as Bill scraped back his chair and left the room. Bill closed the door behind him and took up a place at the observation window.

  Dr Delaney sat very still, his eyes directed at the opposite wall. Bill wondered if he was aware he was being watched and didn’t want to give his feelings away. Then something happened that shocked him; Delaney started to cry: deep, silent sobs that convulsed his body. Bill stood for a few minutes watching what appeared to be genuine grief. But were Delaney’s tears for himself or the dead Kira?

  Bill reentered the room and sat opposite again.

  Eventually Delaney lifted his head and spoke. ‘Kira wouldn’t get rid of the baby in case it was mine. She said if it was, think what a mathematician it would be. I wanted her to have a termination, go to Cambridge, become what I knew she was capable of.’ He met Bill’s eye, his face anguished. ‘I loved her. She was . . . extraordinary.’

  ‘She’d been sleeping with someone else?’

  He shook his head. ‘Once. A drunken teenage party. A mistake. She was adamant she wouldn’t shirk her responsibilities. She wouldn’t kill our baby.’

  The same story she’d fed Ronald Reese-Brandon. Bill wondered how many more she’d spun that lie to.

  ‘I think it’s time you gave that DNA sample.’

  ‘You’ll be able to tell if I am the baby’s father?’

  ‘Yes.’ Bill could have told him then that he wasn’t, but he didn’t.

  ‘You went to the funfair to meet Kira that night?’

  ‘She texted and asked me to.’

  ‘Did the text come from her BlackBerry?’

  He shook his head. ‘She used pay-as-you-go phones for privacy. She was always changing them.’

  ‘When did she text?’

  ‘Half eleven.’

  ‘Do you still have that text on your phone?’

  ‘I planned to delete it, but after Kira died I couldn’t bring myself to.’

  Bill asked him for his mobile, and Delaney took it from his pocket and pushed it across the table.

  ‘What did the message say?’

  ‘To meet her near the mirror maze at eleven thirty.’

  ‘Did she mention why she wanted to see you?’

  ‘No. I don’t understand. Why is the text so important?’

  ‘Because I suspect Kira didn’t send it.’

  43

  Even as she’d dismantled the latest Reborn, Rhona had to acknowledge how beautifully made it was. Coulter had been right when he’d told them his dolls were special.

  Inside the head, Rhona had found the inscription Melanie JC. There was nothing else besides stuffing, tie tags, paint, varnish and glaze. Coulter hadn’t objected strongly when Dr Shan told him that Dr MacLeod wanted to remove the doll for further examination. In Magnus’s opinion, Coulter was revelling in the attention their visit had brought, even if it involved the removal of the doll. Rhona suspected he also knew she would find nothing in it.

  Her systematic search of the workroom had identified few places available for concealment, and the doll had been the last possibility. If Coulter had access to a mobile, he wasn’t keeping it in his room or where he worked. Nor, it appeared, was he keeping it inside this doll. So they had no physical link between Coulter and the case, apart from the fact he seemed to know all about it.

  Rhona fetched a cup of coffee from the machine and sat down with it to think. Forensic work wasn’t about testing, she reminded herself. It was about asking the right questions.

  Coulter knew what was going on, which meant that someone close to the case was telling him – either someone involved in examining the case, or a witness.

  She ran through possible contacts. Perhaps Maria Reese-Brandon? She was a vulnerable woman and they knew she had purchased a doll from him, and Coulter was good at manipulating women.

  Was their contact sufficient for him to have influenced her? How had she first found out about Coulter and his Reborns? Could Kira’s mother be ‘Caroline’? Most importantly, if she knew about the baby’s parentage, was she capable of killing her daughter? Rhona reminded herself that Kira’s death may not have been intentional if removal of the baby had been the primary act. But would any mother leave her daughter to die?

  The second possibility was Dr Shan. She continually defended Coulter. If she seriously believed he had been an ill man and through her care and medication had turned his life around, her defence of him was understandable. But what if Magnus were to prove that her diagnosis of Coulter had been wrong, and Coulter had been manipulating her? How damaging would that be for Dr Shan, both personally and professionally?

  A startling yet totally plausible thought occurred.

  Rhona left the lab, discarded her forensic suit and fetched her mobile.

  Magnus answered on the third ring.

  ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Nothing in the doll,’ she said.

  ‘Oh.’ Magnus sounded disappointed.

  ‘But there is something.’ She paused. ‘Conan Doyle had Sherlock Holmes say: “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”’

  There was a moment’s silence. ‘And what remains here?’

  ‘Dr Shan must have allowed Coulter to use her mobile.’

  When Rhona had hung up, Magnus sat down slowly, shaking his head in disbelief. If that was
the answer, he was astonished by its simplicity. He began to recall each encounter he’d had with the doctor, placing each of her behaviours and responses within this new context: there was her irritation at his initial visit – perhaps she had been the real reason why it had taken so long for him to receive permission to visit Coulter; her annoyance when Coulter had given him permission to study his diary; the dismissive tone she had used when he’d raised the subject of the diary with her. Until he arrived on the scene, Dr Shan must have believed herself to be the sole recipient of Coulter’s confidences.

  Then there was her reaction to the revelation that Coulter might be in clandestine contact with the outside world. Dr Shan had had no fear of a hidden mobile being found, because she knew there wasn’t one.

  How would Coulter have persuaded her to allow such a breach of protocol? Perhaps Dr Shan so badly wanted to believe Coulter was better, that he was remorseful for what he had done, that she had been susceptible to his persuasive powers.

  The first time Dr Shan’s defences had slipped had been on their last visit. She had seemed truly shocked by the revelation that another girl had died and that her name had matched that of Coulter’s doll.

  That would have been the moment to confess her involvement. Yet still she’d said nothing, and Magnus thought he knew why. Dr Shan may have had some idea about whom Coulter had been in touch with, and believed that contact had no connection to the case.

  When he called the station, DS Clark told him the boss was in the interview room with Dr Delaney.

  That surprised Magnus. ‘Is Delaney a suspect?’

  ‘The boss spotted him in one of the mobile shots taken near the Hall of Mirrors.’

  ‘When he’s free, could you tell him I’m on my way down and I need to talk to him?’

  ‘Will do.’

  A burst of adrenalin spurred him into action. Locking the front door, he took the stairs to the ground floor three at a time as he pulled his coat on. His bike stood chained against the railing that fronted the river, and as he fumbled with the padlock he realised he was buzzing with energy just like Coulter had been the first time they’d met. The memory of that meeting released a strong olfactory recollection of the man: his astringent aftershave, the light sweat brought on by adrenalin as Coulter had squared up to his opponent. Coulter had thought he would play with Magnus and ultimately fool him.