by Lin Anderson
‘He likes women even less.’
Threatening letters were notoriously difficult to trace. It could take weeks, months of police time. In most cases the threat never materialised anyway. Frightening the recipient was usually enough for the letter writer.
Rhona held the paper up to the light. Something had been spilt on it. She sniffed.
‘Semen?’
‘I would say so.’
Leaving good evidence lying in a glove compartment with a half drunk bottle of whisky wasn’t a good idea. She told him so. ‘You should have given this to Forensic.’
‘I just have.’
Rhona held her tongue. She was beginning to learn confrontation didn’t work with MacRae.
‘I’ll have it DNA sampled. We might get a match.’
He shook his head. ‘If he was on file, he wouldn’t have sent it.’
He might be right. DNA fingerprinting had become common knowledge, thanks to television. Criminals knew not to leave anything of themselves behind.
She thought for a moment. ‘The person who sent this may not be the one lighting the fires.’
His face was stubborn. ‘He is.’
‘Just once, you might be wrong.’
He was adamant. ‘Not this time.’
They drove to his office in silence. At first glance, Rhona thought, there was no evidence to suggest the fires in the two cities were connected. Here, prominent buildings had been set on fire, not run-down council housing. If the fire-raiser had written that letter, then there was both a sexual element to his crimes and a desire to persecute and outwit the fire investigation team i.e. MacRae. She glanced sideways. MacRae looked like a man under a lot of pressure and not just from the job. He was edgy, irritable and judging from the bottle in the glove compartment, drinking too much. He also had years of experience of fire investigation. She might be skilled in forensics, but he, like all fire investigators, had worked his way up from the ranks. He had fought numerous fires. He knew how they behaved.
MacRae’s office was on the third floor of the red sandstone building that housed the headquarters of Lothian and Borders Fire Brigade. The receptionist smiled at MacRae on entry and gave Rhona the once over.
‘Any calls?’
‘DI MacFarlane. Half an hour ago,’ she told him.
They passed a display of old fire equipment and climbed the stairs. MacRae’s office was small, with a desk, a filing cabinet and two easy chairs, both piled with papers. MacRae lifted a pile and motioned Rhona to sit down, then disappeared into the back room. On the desk, alongside three empty coffee cups, stood a photograph of a pretty dark haired woman and a girl of about six. She was smiling at the camera, her mother’s hand on her shoulder. Rhona wondered what had caused the separation and whether MacRae’s drinking and chauvinistic attitude were the result or the cause.
MacRae called from the back room.
‘Take a look in the top drawer of the filing cabinet, under miscellaneous.’
She pulled open the drawer. There were at a guess, a dozen other letters. If these had anything to do with this investigation, then MacRae had been withholding evidence.
He was standing at the door, bare-chested, with a package in his hand. He tore the plastic wrapper off the new shirt and shook it loose.
‘Does Gallagher know about these?’ she asked annoyed.
‘I didn’t want to be the one responsible for another heart attack.’
‘That’s not funny.’
‘Who’s laughing?’
MacRae turned away and Rhona’s breath caught in her throat. She had never seen such a badly burned body before, at least not one that had survived. Even the deep tan couldn’t disguise the mass of mottled tissue that stretched from shoulder to shoulder.
Rhona forced herself to speak.
‘You should have given these letters to Forensic,’ she said.
MacRae was buttoning up the shirt. If he had sensed her reaction to his back, he chose to ignore it.
‘We had that conversation, remember? Anyway, they’re not all from the same bloke.’ He shrugged. ‘People don’t like me prying into their fires. I might worry the insurance company enough not to pay out. So they write me letters.’
‘They threaten you.’
‘Some do. Others claim to have started the fire or think the fire was a symbol of God’s wrath.’ He reached for a tie from the back of the chair. ‘Take the letters with you if you like. They make good bed-time reading. See if you can pick out the ones from our friend, the wanker.’
He was putting on his jacket. ‘MacFarlane said you were staying over. Can I ask where?’
‘With a friend.’
‘Male?
‘I don’t see...’
‘Easy You can stay with a transvestite poodle for all I care. Provided it has a loud bark.’
He had come right up to her. She could smell the pressed cotton of the new shirt.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The arsonist sees us as the enemy. For the moment he’s outwitting us. If he thinks we’re getting too close...’
She interrupted him. ‘I’ve only been here a day.’
‘Long enough.’
He headed for the door. ‘If you want a lift, we have to go now. I have a date and I’m late already.’
The traffic was heavy in the city centre and MacRae dodged through it oblivious to the angry shouts and blasting horns. Rhona began to wish she had refused the lift and taken a taxi. She suggested MacRae could drop her at the west end of Princes Street and she would find her own way to Greg’s flat.
‘I’ll take you right to the door after I pick up my date,’ was the curt reply.
Whoever the woman was, MacRae didn’t want to be late for her. And she felt sorry for him because he was separated from his wife and family!
They reached the house ten minutes later. MacRae sounded the horn and Rhona caught sight of a figure at the window and then the door opened and the wee girl in the photograph came running down the path.
The child waited until MacRae rolled down the window then gave him a good telling off.
‘You’re late and mum’s angry.’
MacRae’s wife was following her daughter.
‘Amy’s been ready for half an hour,’ she said sharply.
‘It’s okay Gillian, we’ve got plenty of time. The film doesn’t start till five thirty.’ He turned to Amy who was settling herself happily in the back seat. ‘Amy, this is Dr MacLeod. She’s helping me while Mr Gallagher’s in hospital.’
‘Hello Dr MacLeod.’
‘Hello Amy.’
‘You didn’t say anyone else was going.’
The suggestion was all too obvious and Rhona jumped in. ‘I’m not going to the film, Mrs MacRae.’ Rhona hoped she didn’t sound as embarrassed as she felt. ‘Mr MacRae just offered me a lift back to my flat.’
‘Did he?’
MacRae was rolling up the window. ‘I’ll have Amy back by eight.’
‘You’d better.’
The only one who talked on the way to Greg’s was Amy. She chatted on about school, her best friend Katie and her pet hamster.
Rhona sat in seething silence. MacRae had deliberately misled her into thinking he was meeting a woman when he was collecting his child. Then he deliberately embarrassed her by making his wife think he was going out with her. The fact that she knew she was exaggerating the situation didn’t make any difference. One thing was sure. MacRae was completely oblivious to other people’s feelings.
The journey took too long for Rhona and when they got there she had to endure the expression on MacRae’s face as he looked up at the luxury block of renovated west end flats.
‘Isn’t this the street where a flat went for half a million recently?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Quite a catch.’
‘Greg is gay,’ Rhona said and instantly regretted it.
She got out and shut the door.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
She turned to go.
‘Are you eating out?’ The cynical tone had gone.
‘Why?’
‘Stay clear of the Italian on the corner. It’s overpriced and the food’s crap. And take your gay friend with you. For safety sake.’
Chapter 7
The flat was empty but Greg had left the hall light on and there was a note from him beside the phone.
Make yourself at home. There’s food in the fridge but if you can’t be bothered cooking, there’s an Italian on the corner.
Rhona went into the spare room. She emptied her bag on the bed, grabbed her dressing gown and shampoo and headed for the shower.
She didn’t hear the phone at first. When she did, she assumed Greg’s ansaphone would click on, but it didn’t and the phone went on ringing. She climbed out of the shower and grabbed a towel.
The line clicked dead as soon as she said hello. Rhona tried 1471 but the number had been withheld.
She thought for a moment, then threw the bolt on the front door and unbolted it again seconds later. She would not let Severino MacRae unnerve her.
She was halfway through drying her hair when the phone rang again. She was there on the third ring.
‘Who is it?’ she shouted.
‘Hey. Take it easy.’ It was Chrissy.
‘Sorry. I had the hairdryer on. It deafens me.’
‘You sound more like pissed off. Bad day?’
‘I’ve had better.’
‘The samples arrived. I sent most of them to Chemistry,’ Chrissy said accusingly.
‘I’m sending through a letter...’
‘Not handwriting analysis?’
Chrissy’s voice was a mixture of disappointment and cynicism. Handwriting specialists came a little lower than forensic chemists in Chrissy’s scheme of things.
‘I want you to look at it first,’ Rhona said. ‘It’s impregnated with something.’
Chrissy was interested now. ‘Blood? Perfume?’
‘Possibly semen. Can you check it on the DNA database?’
‘Sure. Bit of a long shot though.’
‘I know. MacRae had other letters in his filing cabinet that Forensic haven’t seen. Some of them may be from the same man. I want to read them, before I send them through. Anything on the Glasgow fire?’
‘Are you familiar with thallium poisoning?’
‘I’ve seen it once before. Why?’
‘The victim was at the doctor’s last week with a crop of symptoms that might have been caused by thallium poisoning. We’re running some tests. I’ll have more when you get back. When is that likely to be?’
‘As soon as possible.’
The restaurant was too upmarket for Rhona, but once in the door it had been difficult to retreat. The young man at the desk gave her the once over, then asked pointedly if there would be one or two persons eating. When she said one, he raised his eyebrows and escorted her to a dark corner with a table inches from the kitchen entrance. The other diners, mostly couples, glanced briefly in her direction then went back to their conversation.
Rhona wondered whether reading the forensic magazine she’d brought with her would make her more conspicuous, then decided it was better than staring into space. When the waiter arrived she ordered a pasta dish and a half bottle of house white. She was on her second glass and absorbed in an article about cocaine residue on American bank notes when she noticed everyone was staring at the window where MacRae’s face was pressed against the glass.
Rhona buried her face in her magazine, praying he hadn’t spotted her.
No such luck.
MacRae removed a chair from a nearby table and sat down opposite. ‘I thought I told you not to eat here.’
Rhona avoided catching his eye. ‘I don’t think it’s part of the job of the Fire Investigator to tell the forensic where to eat.’
‘So you don’t accept advice? Even from a expert?’
The waiter was offering MacRae a menu. He ignored it. Rhona shook her head and the waiter gave her a knowing look. Lovers’ tiff, it said.
‘So what’s so important you came looking for me?’ she was trying to be reasonable.
MacRae stood up. ‘I’ll explain on the way.’
‘I can’t leave.’ She looked up at him in amazement. This was ridiculous. Did he think he just had to call and she would follow him about like a pet dog?
‘Why not?’
‘I’m half way through a bottle of wine.’
He reached for the bottle. ‘We’ll take it with us.’
‘No.’ She grabbed it back. ‘I haven’t paid for it yet. Anyway,’ she topped up her glass, ‘I’ve already ordered.’
‘You’ve what?’
‘Keep your voice down.’
‘If you don’t leave,’ he whispered dramatically, ‘I’ll be forced to tell all these people about the aubergines.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
He shrugged and stood up. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry to interrupt your meal but being from the Department of Public Health I feel it only fair to warn you about the sexual predilections of the current chef of this establishment, which involve aubergines...’
Rhona lifted her jacket from the back of the chair, left money on the table for the astonished waiter and headed for the door.
When MacRae opened the car, the music was on full blast. He turned it down before she got in. The chip pokes had gone.
‘My daughter doesn’t like an untidy car. Takes after her mother in that respect.’
Rhona ignored his attempts at conversation and looked pointedly out of the window. They left the city centre and headed for the Forth. She refused to ask MacRae where he was taking her, but whatever he wanted her to see, it had better be good.
Chapter 8
It took ten minutes to get to the important place that had spoiled her dinner. On her right hand side was a small harbour, half a dozen boats beached on the mud. On her left, a long low white building with bright red signs. Rhona stared out of the window in disbelief.
‘What’s this?’
‘A real restaurant. Best battered fish and chips in Edinburgh.’ MacRae was actually grinning at her. ‘It’s impossible to get a table here on a Friday night. Ian promised to hold one for fifteen minutes, no more.’
‘This is why you embarrassed me and dragged me from my meal?’
MacRae shrugged his shoulders. ‘It got you here, didn’t it?’
He was already out of the car.
‘Come on. I’ve removed you from hell and taken you to heaven. What more do you want?’
The smile MacRae got from the waitress was verging on a come on. She twinkled and bobbed and escorted them to their table with a swing of her hips.
‘Amy likes it here,’ MacRae handed her the menu. ‘They make a fuss of her.’
‘They make a fuss of her father too.’
For the first time MacRae looked embarrassed, but the look disappeared so quickly Rhona wondered if she’d imagined it.
‘Okay what is it you wanted to show me?’ she insisted.
‘After you sample some real fish and chips.’
Rhona refilled her cup from the large teapot and sat back in the chair. MacRae had been in the kitchen for the past five minutes. When he disappeared through the doors she heard the calls of welcome. It made her think. MacRae was different tonight. Seeing his daughter had done him good. This morning he had been a coiled and tense. Tonight he was relaxed.
He emerged, laughing. Behind him a handsome male face grinned out.
‘Jamie sends his love.’ MacRae sat down. ‘I told him you’re not interested.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘No time,’ he smiled, ‘or was it, no inclination?’
He held her eyes until she looked away.
‘Why did you bring me here?’
His face grew serious.
‘This was on my windscreen when I came out of the cinema.’ He handed her a typed
note.
She read out the words.
‘I hope you’ll be at the party?’
MacRae’s face confirmed her suspicions.
‘He means the Hogmanay street party, doesn’t he?’
‘The arsonist profiles as power-assertive. He achieves a sense of superiority through expressing exploitative control, dominance and intrusive violations of the law. In laymen’s terms he gets his kicks from mayhem. With the crowds that’ll turn out over New Year, he’ll have his biggest audience to date.’
‘You’re certain the fires weren’t insurance or fraud jobs?’
‘If a building is set on fire for insurance purposes, no one lets us know, before or after the event.’
If the person responsible for the fires had no more reason for lighting them than pleasure, it would make him almost impossible to catch.
He was reading her mind. ‘The worst kind to find.’
The ring of the mobile broke the silence that followed. MacRae listened, his expression switching from anger to worry.
‘I’m on my way.’
He was on his feet.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Someone threw a petrol bomb in Amy’s bedroom window.’
MacRae ignored the No Waiting sign and the double yellow lines and swept into an ambulance space outside Casualty. It had taken twenty minutes to get to the hospital. MacRae had ignored every red light and kept his horn on full blast most of the way. Rhona had expected a police car to stop them at any time. When she offered to park the car, MacRae threw the keys in her lap without speaking.
Rhona sat for a while in the car park trying to decide whether to go in to the hospital or not. She desperately wanted to know if Amy was okay, but if Gillian was there it would look bad. She didn’t want to cause any trouble between MacRae and his wife, especially now.
When she entered reception, MacRae was standing alone, but almost immediately the lift door opened and Gillian emerged. Rhona waited at the entrance but MacRae caught sight of her and motioned her over.
The words were tumbling out of Gillian.
‘Amy was in bed. She was tired after the cinema. I heard a crash then Amy screaming. By the time I got to her the room was full of smoke. I got her downstairs and outside. Mr Fraser next door phoned the Fire Brigade.’