by Lin Anderson
‘Ready, Detective Sergeant?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
He spread the mortuary photographs out in front of Sandie. First Kira’s mutilated body, then Melanie, pale and unmarked, her body swollen by pregnancy. Finally David, a gaping wound in his chest. Sandie kept her gaze averted.
‘Look at them!’ he shouted.
She jumped, startled, and threw the photos a cursory glance.
‘Look at them properly.’ He spoke slowly this time, his voice low and harsh.
She turned her angry gaze on him, her eyes small and hard, then picked up David’s photograph and studied it for a moment, her expression never changing.
‘He thought she liked him. I told him the truth.’
‘What truth?’
‘That she despised him. That she made fun of him all the time in the common room. “My cocksucking disciple”. That’s what she called him.’ Her voice was shrill and bitter, the words clipped and precise.
‘When did you tell him that?’
‘The night he killed himself. He was drunk, mooning around the Hall of Mirrors. He started on about her, how he missed her. It was sickening. So I told him everything.’
‘What exactly?’
‘That she was fucking her tutor. That she was fucking her own father. I bet you didn’t know that, Detective Inspector? David was the only one she wasn’t fucking – that little fag!’
‘What happened?’
‘He started wailing. Said he couldn’t go on. Then I saw the knife and I knew. He was gone forty minutes before he found Kira that night. Plenty of time. He cut out the baby. He killed his precious Kira.’
‘Why would he do that?’
She looked at him disdainfully. ‘You’re all so stupid, I don’t know how you ever solve any crimes.’
‘You solve it for me then.’
‘He killed her because she was leaving him. Then he killed himself because he’s an idiot.’
‘And how did Geri Taylor get the baby?’
‘Have you asked her?’
‘She says God gave it to her.’
She laughed. ‘There you go, the silly cow’s off her head. She went wandering in Kelvingrove Park and found a baby. The baby David left there.’ She looked quite pleased with herself.
‘Let’s have my version now. You bought the costume because you knew Kira was terrified of clowns and you wanted to scare her. You hoped you could force her to leave the funfair. Once she was alone in the park you could do what you planned. But she ran into the mirror maze. You took your chance and followed her in. Then you knocked her out with chloroform that you’d stolen from the chemistry lab at school. You cut her open and removed the baby. You weren’t much good at Chemistry, but Biology was your strong point and you knew where to make the incision. You put the baby in Kira’s bag and took it to Geri Taylor, then you disposed of the clown costume by putting it in the backpack and throwing it in the river.’ He stopped, waiting for a reaction.
She sat back in the chair and folded her arms. Her expression reminded him of Coulter – mocking, arrogant and superior.
‘Unfortunately for you the backpack was found by kids, who handed it in. We know the clown costume was bought in Razzle in Sauchiehall Street, and an assistant there remembers you. Your DNA is all over the suit and all over the knife that killed Kira and David. We also found traces from its shark skin handle in Melanie’s room. You hated Kira enough to kill her, but why kill Melanie?’
She answered in a bored tone. ‘David told Melanie he’d fucked her at the party wearing the mask. She was disgusted. She went mad, screaming at him. He told me he just wanted to shut her up.’
She was good, he had to admit it. What she said made sense. David, mad with jealousy, kills Kira and disposes of the baby in the woods. When he admits to Melanie that he had sex with her, she mocks him like Kira. He puts his hand over her mouth to shut her up and smothers her instead. Without the forensic evidence to say otherwise, a jury might believe her.
‘OK. Again, here’s my version. You went to see Melanie. You had already killed once and found it easy, and she was the last of the gang still pregnant. You were out of chloroform and you couldn’t take any more from the chemistry lab, not after Kira; so you covered her face with a pillow. You had the knife with you, but something happened to stop you using it. I think David turned up and disturbed you.’ He saw a flicker of surprise that suggested he might be on the right track. ‘You knew David had been at Melanie’s and you knew we were looking for him, possibly in connection with her death. That gave you a great idea. Pin both murders on David and get rid of him too. You arranged to meet him that night, and he was so drunk it was easy. You stabbed him, then arranged his hands to make it look like suicide. The note was clever, but he didn’t write it – you did.’
Sandie half-smiled. ‘You’re making this all up. You haven’t a clue.’
‘What did they do to make you hate them so much? Didn’t invite you to their parties? Made fun of you? Wouldn’t let you into their gang?’
‘I didn’t want to be in their fucking gang.’
‘I bet Kira boasted about being able to do mirror writing. Another thing that pissed you off. That’s why you wrote on her hands like that. That’s why you drew a daisy on Melanie.’
They had been round the block with this. Even presented with the DNA evidence refuting her version of events, Sandie still sat there in defiance.
‘Is that what you told Jeff Coulter? That they were mean to you and wouldn’t let you play? What did he say? Screw them? Or kill them?’
She stared pointedly over his shoulder, lips pursed.
‘Jeff Coulter. Remember him?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. I told you already, I don’t know him.’
‘You met him when you were fifteen. He screwed you. He likes screwing silly wee girls like you. I bet he said you were beautiful and clever. How much he loved you. Then he got fed up listening to his own baby crying and snapped its spine. He was locked up in the State Mental Hospital, and you wrote to him in there, told him your troubles. He gave you the solution. Get the bitch’s baby and give it to Geri, because he was sorry for what he’d done to her kid. He was a changed man. If you did that, he would know that you truly loved him.’ He paused.
She looked back at him, stony-faced.
‘Do you still have those letters, Sandie? I hope you do. Then your lawyer can show how Coulter manipulated you. How he persuaded you to do what you did.’
He watched as the mask slipped to reveal the face of a killer. The cold hatred she directed at him froze the blood in his veins.
‘Kira thought she could control everyone. She was wrong,’ she spat. ‘In the end, I controlled her, and the others. And where are they now?’
‘Good work, Bill. Congratulate the team from me.’
In the old days Sutherland would have produced a bottle of whisky and poured them both a glass. Not any more. Changed times, and not always for the better.
‘I will, but that’s not why I’m here.’
‘There’s a problem?’
‘DS Michael McNab,’ Bill said.
Sutherland eyed him cautiously. ‘We have discussed this already. SOCA are handling the case.’
‘He isn’t dead, is he?’
There was a moment when he knew Sutherland was poised between downright denial and yet another lie, then he went to the door and checked it was properly closed. ‘Sit down, Detective Inspector.’
‘I prefer to stand.’
‘Sit down. That’s an order.’
Bill sat. His legs were like water anyway.
‘Tell me what you know.’
Bill was surprised he still had a voice. ‘Fergus Morrison was shot in a London safe house. Someone had been in there with him. Someone wanted by Kalinin.’
‘And that someone is a potential witness against Kalinin and therefore must be protected,’ Sutherland said sharply.
A cold fury swept through Bill. ‘Basta
rds! They let us believe he was dead. They made us bloody bury him.’
‘The dead are safer than the living.’
They eyeballed one another.
‘Has he been in touch?’ Sutherland said.
Bill shook his head.
‘If he is, I want to know. You will tell me immediately.’
Bill suddenly understood. ‘They’ve lost him, haven’t they?’
Sutherland looked peeved. ‘He walked out of the safe house.’
‘Maybe because it wasn’t bloody safe.’
‘The new safe house. McNab’s reckless. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t gone to the Poker Club that night.’
‘Slater let Kalinin out. He did not inform McNab of that fact.’
They locked eyes once again.
‘You will tell no one, I repeat, no one about this conversation, Detective Inspector. And I hope I don’t need to remind you that your recent reinstatement is still under review.’
Bill kept his mouth tightly shut, not trusting himself to speak.
‘That is all.’ Sutherland rose and opened the door. ‘As I said, please give your team my congratulations on a job well done.’ He pitched the last remark loud enough for anyone within a mile radius to hear, even though there was no one else around.
Bill entered the pub quietly, not wanting to draw attention to himself. The drink had been flowing freely, the talk was loud, the laughter even louder. DC Campbell was doing an impression of the Super. It wasn’t half bad. Bill went round the back of the bar and caught the barman’s eye, but his offer of money was waved away.
‘They set up a kitty. There’s plenty in it for you.’
He pushed over a whisky. Bill took it and made his way through the crowd, pausing now and again as someone spotted him and took the drunken liberty of slapping their boss on the back. He found Rhona sitting in an alcove, a glass of white wine on the table in front of her. She slid over to make room for him.
‘How’d it go with Sandie?’ she said.
‘She won’t discuss Coulter.’
‘She will, when she realises what it means.’
‘He’s untouchable. He was never coming out anyway. I can’t help but think he’s the only winner in all of this.’
Rhona put her hand on his arm. They sat in silence for a moment as fun and laughter flowed around them.
‘I have something to tell you.’ Bill spoke quietly. ‘It’s about Michael.’
She was appraising him, those cool eyes plumbing the depths of his soul. He had made up his mind to do this the minute he’d known for certain, regardless of the consequences. He was ignoring a direct order from his superior officer, but he didn’t care. She deserved to know.
She spoke before he could. ‘Michael’s alive, isn’t he?’
He nodded, wondering how much to say. ‘SOCA had him under wraps. He was going to testify against Kalinin.’ He wondered how on earth she knew, or could even have guessed, that McNab was alive.
‘When did you find out?’ she said.
‘I had a set-to with the Super before I came here. He told me my job’s on the line if I say anything.’
‘I won’t breathe a word.’
DC Campbell, rosy from his comedic exertions and the number of pints he’d downed, spotted them in the corner. He bellowed above the general hubbub. ‘Hey, boys! Let’s hear it for the boss!’
A circle of happy faces and raised glasses turned towards them. Bill felt Rhona’s hand squeeze his arm.
‘To the boss,’ they shouted.
‘To the boss,’ Rhona repeated quietly beside him.
57
Bill parked in the same place as before and walked along Hamilton Drive, pausing to look over the wall at the Kelvin below. He wondered if the upside-down ironing board was still in place. He’d been angry about it before, now he felt an affection for the item that had stopped the backpack on its way downstream.
Below, two dogs met on the path and had a friendly sniff while their owners exchanged pleasantries. Soon the banks of the river would be green and luscious again, most of the litter covered by foliage. He made a mental note to bring Margaret and the kids here. They could walk as far as Kelvingrove, maybe visit the Dr Who exhibition for Robbie’s sake.
He thought briefly of Jeff Coulter. Without the co-operation of Sandie or Geri, they had nothing to charge him with. It was the one fly in the ointment, but there was time yet. Maybe Geri would eventually turn her anger against him instead of blaming herself. Maybe Sandie’s parents would make her see sense. Maybe.
He paused at the gate for a moment. The Volkswagen was there so she must be at home. The grass was no longer a carpet of crocuses, but daffodils were nodding in their place. He hesitated at the front door before ringing the bell. Through the glass he saw the outline of a baby buggy in the hall next to the flower-decked table.
When she opened the door she was holding a bottle of milk, just as Geri Taylor had been. Her face lit up when she saw him. From somewhere nearby came the wail of a hungry baby.
‘Come in, Detective Inspector,’ she said in delight.
He followed her through to the sitting room. The baby had been laid in a Moses basket while she answered the door. Maria scooped the infant up, took a seat on the couch and reinserted the teat in the child’s open mouth. Silence quickly descended.
Now that he saw Maria with the baby, Bill could barely register the enormity of what this woman had gone through. She had lost her daughter, first to her husband, then to a killer. The tenacity of the human spirit never failed to amaze him.
Maria planted a kiss on the baby’s forehead. ‘I decided to keep the name Daisy. It’s what Kira wanted.’
Bill wanted to ask about her husband, and as though anticipating this, she said, ‘Ronald and I are no longer together. I have custody of Daisy, but he has access to her. He’s taken up a new job in London, so he won’t be here that often.’ She sounded relieved.
He looked up from his study of the baby to find her observing him keenly.
‘Kira was extraordinarily gifted, Detective Inspector, but she always needed to control those around her. Maybe it was because she’d been abandoned as a child. She was in a terrible state when social services found her. Perhaps by controlling and manipulating others, she was trying to make sure she would never be abandoned again.’
Bill nodded but didn’t comment. If it helped her to believe that, he had no business suggesting otherwise.
A tiny hand found and caught hold of Maria’s finger. The expression on her face told Bill that Daisy would be loved whatever happened in the future.
When he took his leave, Maria caught both his hands in hers.
‘Thank you for finding Daisy for me. Having her has made my life worth living again.’
58
Rhona glanced at her watch. It was almost time. She left the coffee stand and walked towards the exit of the Buchanan Galleries. Adrenalin was pumping through her body and urging her to run down the incline as a child might, in a surge of joy and anticipation. She forced herself to walk even more slowly than usual, as though approaching her execution.
Most of the shoppers were coming in through the double doors from Sauchiehall Street. At eleven o’clock on a Saturday morning, Glaswegians were intent on their favourite pastime. As she slipped out past a mother and teenage girl, both dressed expensively in designer labels, she thought momentarily of Kira. Bill had told her that Daisy had been placed with Kira’s mother, Maria, and both were doing well. It was the only good thing to come out of the whole terrible business.
Cold air met her as she emerged. She joined a crowd gathered at the foot of the steps leading to the concert hall, where a man dressed in a tuxedo was performing ‘I Did It My Way’ in Italian. At first she barely noticed the light touch on her shoulder, assuming it was just someone pressing close in the enthusiastic audience. Then a hand found hers and clasped it tightly.
‘Let’s walk.’
He steered her away from the c
rowd and along Sauchiehall Street. Her heart was beating so loudly and rapidly she could hear nothing but its pounding in her ears. She stole a glance at the man taking long strides beside her. She would never have recognised him.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Wait and see.’
He led her towards Bath Street. Halfway up the hill he turned in at the entrance to a hotel. The foyer was small and lined in dark paper. He made for a double door on the left. Even out of the view of others he didn’t break his silence. They entered a tiny lift and he pressed the button for the eighth floor. Her hand still clasped in his, she could sense his tension. He turned right out of the lift, led her to the far end of the corridor and opened the door to room 803.
He closed it behind them, checked the lock and slipped the card into the slot. When the lights came on, she saw that the outer wall was glass. It rose through two levels and she realised the bedroom was above. The view from the window over Glasgow was extraordinary. Every landmark on this side of the city was identifiable. She could even see as far as the Cathkin Braes to the south.
There was a moment’s silence as she registered all of this, realising that he was hiding up here, that seeing the city laid out before him probably made him feel safer. He came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms about her. It didn’t matter what he looked like; she could smell the familiar scent of his skin as he placed his cheek against her head. They stood like that for a long time, drinking one another in.
‘I cried at your funeral.’
‘I knew you would,’ he said.
‘Chrissy was heartbroken.’
She could hear the pain in his voice as he said, ‘I’m sorry about that. I was out of it. I had no idea what the hell they were doing.’
‘She organised a funeral mass. We sang hymns.’
He laughed. A glorious sound. ‘Good old Chrissy, hedging my bets. I love that lassie.’
‘She called the baby Michael after you.’
‘No way!’
She wanted to stay like this forever. Not seeing him, she could remember the old McNab. The dark auburn hair, the blue eyes, the scruffy stubble. If she turned round, she would be looking at a stranger.