by Lin Anderson
Rhona dropped to her knees for a closer look.
Rhona reached up and caught MacRae’s helping hand out of the manhole. MacFarlane looked relieved at their reappearance.
‘You shouldn’t have gone down there without breathing apparatus,’ Sev told her.
‘You did,’ she told him.
He shrugged. ‘Find anything interesting?’
‘Something was dragged along one of the side sewers that run down to the Nor loch,’ she told him. ‘I found fresh paint scrapings on the wall.’
MacRae looked thoughtful.
‘Scottish Water don’t know about this opening. It’s not on their plan,’ MacFarlane said.
‘I think we should find out what’s been dragged along the benching,’ Rhona insisted.
MacFarlane looked puzzled. ‘What’s so special about a scrape of paint?’.
Rhona looked at MacRae to see if he was thinking the same as her.
‘It’s not the paint,’ she told MacFarlane. ‘It’s where it came from.’
Chapter 18
The train wasn’t busy. Jaz would normally have hidden in the toilet and saved himself the fare, but you couldn’t hide an Alsatian in a train toilet. Anyway, it felt good to travel legally for once. He could sit and watch the countryside go by instead of keeping an eye out for an inspector.
Funding the train fare wasn’t his only problem. He would have to work overtime next week to pay the rent. Finding Karen’s killer was proving expensive, what with feeding the dog and the time he was spending off the job. But he didn’t care. Karen should never have died.
Outside, Scotland threw itself past the window in a flurry of rain and the odd beautiful moment when the clouds parted and the sun shone through. They had passed the Highland boundary fault line and the hills rose steeply wooded, on either side of the track.
Going north had been a split second decision. He’d seen MacRae saying goodbye to his wife and kid in the station and jumped the train. He’d been thinking of bailing out of Edinburgh for a while anyway. Poking his nose into the attack on Mary had brought him too much interest from some quarters.
Jaz pressed his face to the glass. The warmer air in the compartment had steamed up the window. He wiped a patch and stared through, following the skyline. Mist hung in tendrils among the sharp pine trees. Jaz found himself remembering some of his favourite landscape paintings, the images that had set him on course to Art College in the first place. Soon, he promised himself, he would paint again.
He’d got on the train two carriages back from MacRae’s wife and kid, then walked through. As he passed them, the wee girl had reached out to pat the dog, but her mother pulled her back, telling her sharply that not all dogs were friendly.
‘Your mum’s right,’ Jaz said. ‘But this one is. Look.’ He made Emps offer a paw and the girl had shaken it in delight. MacRae’s wife had softened then and let her stroke the big head.
‘My gran’s got a dog called Bess,’ the girl had confided in him. ‘We’re going to see her.’
‘That’s nice,’ he smiled back.
He’d considered sitting down next to them then thought better of it.
‘I’d better keep going,’ he said. ‘Say goodbye, Emps.’
‘Emps. That’s a good name.’
He told her it was short for Emperor, then with an attempt at a smile at her mother he moved on.
Settled in the next carriage, he went over the other occupants of the train in his head. Most of the voices were Scottish although he’d spotted an American couple near the back of his carriage. There was no one suspicious-looking. No one except himself.
When he spotted Mrs MacRae gathering her luggage, Jaz got up and headed for the door. The American couple were already there, bags piled up in front of them. They all alighted together.
Jaz accepted the American couple’s offer of a ride to the village, in the hope that both the car that picked Amy up and the taxi would head in the same direction. They did. He was only minutes into a conversation about the beauties of Scotland, rain and all, when the car in front took a left turn. Jaz asked his hosts to let him off fifty yards further along.
‘But there’s nothing here,’ the woman said looking round.
Jaz gestured in the direction of a distant barn.
‘I can take a shortcut across the fields,’ he explained. ‘Give Emperor some exercise.’
It had been too easy finding them, Jaz told himself as he eased into position in the wet undergrowth within sight of the cottage. If he could find them, anyone could.
MacRae’s missus appeared at the door of the cottage an hour later followed by another woman, obviously her mother. They had a short conversation which Jaz strained to catch, but whatever they were saying they didn’t want the wee girl to hear. Then the two of them headed for the car parked in the drive and Jaz caught their last exchange.
‘You’ll have to go back some time you know.’
MacRae’s wife didn’t look convinced.
‘You can’t keep them apart. Whatever Sev is, he loves his daughter.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ came the sharp reply. ‘Can we change the subject?’
‘I’ll be back by teatime. You’ll be alright here on your own?’
The response was short and tinged with suppressed fear. ‘Of course.’
The old woman patted her daughter’s arm. ‘Keep Bess in the garden if Amy’s out. She’ll look after her.’
MacRae’s wife tried a laugh. ‘You’re beginning to sound as paranoid as me,’ she said.
Jaz shifted himself, easing the cramp that threatened his right calf. The sodden shoulders of his parka were clamped to his skin like a neck brace. The rain was off for the moment and watery sunshine broke the pattern of grey. If Emps had been here he wouldn’t have been so cold. Karen was right. Emps kept you warm.
The door opened and the wee girl came running out onto the grass. Behind her padded a big golden Labrador. Jaz was glad he’d had the sense to leave Emps in the barn. All he needed was two dogs sniffing one another out.
The Labrador paced the lawn. If it caught his scent, it made no move to come towards him, choosing instead to stay close to the girl. She was scuffling around under a big pine tree, at last securing what she was looking for. She threw the stick and it whizzed towards Jaz, landing three feet in front of his hiding place. He held his breath and lay perfectly still, planning what he would say when the dog discovered him.
The rheumy eyes found the stick and the greying muzzle sniffed at it. After what seemed a lifetime the dog lifted the stick and headed back. Jaz hoped that would be the end of it, but no. The stick came whizzing back. It flew over the fence to his left. Bess was making a valiant effort this time, running as fast as her fat stomach would allow. She stuck her nose through the fence and whined at the irretrievable stick.
‘Bess!’
The white socks with the pink trim were on their way. He would give her another metre then stand up. Better to pretend he was looking for his dog than be caught lying in the undergrowth.
‘Amy! Where are you?’
The socks stopped. The child reached down. Jaz caught a glimpse of dark hair as she selected a different stick. He could have sworn their eyes met, then she was up.
‘I’m coming.’
‘I told you not to leave the garden.’
Amy was indignant. ‘I didn’t leave the garden. I threw the stick as far as the fence. Bess couldn’t find it. I had to get another one.’
The woman made an effort to sound normal.
‘Granny’ll be home soon. Come in and help me set the table for tea.’
Jaz watched as the door shut behind them.
Darkness was gathering. From the kitchen window, his shadow would be only one of many. Jaz eased himself up and stood for a minute, letting the blood run into his cramped limbs. The smell of wood smoke from the cottage was making him think of food. He ignored the empty feeling in his stomach and tried to work out what to do.
; The occupants of the cottage weren’t planning on going anywhere tonight. He could take a chance and go and get Emps from the barn.
The barn was silent as he approached but as soon as he drew close, he heard a low growl, which soon transformed into a welcoming whine. When he opened the barn door, Emps nearly knocked him over in his delight.
Inside was warm and dry. Bales of hay, stacked at the back, emitted the smell of summer. Emps pranced about, pieces of straw flying from his coat.
‘Good sleep, eh Emps?’
The dog licked his hand. It would be hard to leave the barn, but he had no choice. He’d already decided on their resting place for the night. The garage at the cottage might not have the warmth of the barn, but it would do.
Emperor bounded out the door ahead of him.
‘Wait, Emps.’
There was a yelp, then silence. Jaz ran outside. The dog was nowhere to be seen.
‘Emps! Come here boy.’
There was a sudden movement behind him. Jaz swung round just as a giant weight smashed his head. He screamed out, pain filling his brain.
‘Fuck!’
His legs gave way and he dropped to his knees.
He swung round to look at his assailant and the second blow struck him. With a soft grunt, Jaz slipped unconscious to the ground.
Chapter 19
They had adjourned to MacRae’s office. Rhona was surprised by its relative cleanliness, then remembered MacRae had spent the last twenty-four hours holed up at home.
‘With a bit of luck the rain will keep the punters away tonight,’ MacRae suggested hopefully.
MacFarlane shook his head. ‘The Met says to expect a clear night for the Night Afore Fiesta.’
‘Just our luck.’
The sewer plan was spread on the desk; detailed entrances and underground walkways for sewer maintenance, a city beneath a city.
‘‘We need to get a list of all those who have access to this information,’ Rhona suggested.
MacFarlane nodded. ‘We’re doing that.’
Rhona looked at them both. ‘It’s a lot of time and man hours for a vague threat and a gut feeling.’
‘The message from above is to take reasonable precautions. Nothing else,’ MacFarlane looked apologetic.
Rhona could imagine the City Fathers’ response to all this. Edinburgh was set to make a lot of money from the next few days. The last thing in the world they would want is the threat of arson keeping the crowds away. Rhona felt sorry for MacFarlane. A hunch wasn’t currency in this regime of balance sheets.
‘The traffic stops at five thirty,’ MacFarlane went on. ‘We can do a full security check of the street before we let the crowds in.’
‘And the sewer?’ Rhona asked.
‘Scottish Water’s responsibility.’
‘It would be difficult for an arsonist to get something set up while the shops are still trading,’ MacRae said.
‘Unless he has access to a basement,’ Rhona reminded him.
MacFarlane was looking more worried by the minute. Clearing and searching Princes Street would be a major exercise, requiring time and manpower, both of which he didn’t have. It would also attract interest. He voiced what they were all thinking.
‘Maybe you were right.’ He looked at MacRae. ‘Maybe he wants us to concentrate on the Hogmanay celebrations while he goes elsewhere.’
MacRae looked grim. ‘Well, we’re about to find out.’
Rhona pressed the lab number.
She would have to head back to Glasgow soon. It didn’t take numerous messages on her voicemail from Chrissy to remind her where her real job was. Besides Edinburgh didn’t officially want her services. Bill Wilson had made that clear. She was here by her own choice.
‘Dr MacLeod. I thought you were dead. In fact we are about to appoint a new Head of Department,’ Chrissy went on.
‘I get the point.’
‘No you don’t,’ Chrissy’s voice was serious. ‘There’s a murder case here you’re supposed to be working on.’
‘They’ve decided it was murder?’
‘There were sufficient traces of thallium in the victim’s body to cause death.’
‘I take it you’re to be the new Head of Department?’ Rhona said laughing.
‘Of course. Seriously though, when are you coming back?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Rhona said. ‘Whatever happens.’
‘Sounds ominous.’
‘Tell Bill I asked Dr MacKenzie to look for thallium in the latest Edinburgh body. Find out if any traces were found.’
Rhona rang off, promising to be back as soon as possible. Chrissy replied with a cynical ‘yeah’.
Neither man looked round when Rhona re-entered the room.
‘There’s nothing down there, Sev,’ MacFarlane was saying. ‘You checked the sewer yourself.’
‘If you’re going back down I want to go with you,’ Rhona interrupted MacRae’s glare.
‘There’s no need,’ MacFarlane was firm. ‘Scottish Water are checking.’ He concentrated on MacRae. ‘Go home for a while. Phone your kid.’
MacRae glanced at Rhona.
She pulled a face. ‘We could both do with a shower.’
‘Okay,’ he seemed resigned. ‘I’ll see you back here in an hour.’
The call came through on MacFarlane’s mobile as she was about to leave. Rhona watched MacFarlane’s face register puzzlement then concern as he listened. He waved her back from the door.
‘That was Chemistry. They think the paint flakes were...’
She interrupted him. ‘From a canister.’
His face sagged. ‘Of the type normally used for propane.’
Rhona tried to sound positive. ‘Maybe it belonged to the Water Board.’
MacFarlane wanted to believe her. ‘I’ll check.’
‘Assuming nothing happens tonight, I’ll have to show face in Glasgow tomorrow,’ she told him.
‘I understand.’
Traffic was thick round the sealed off city centre. It took Rhona twenty minutes to get to Greg’s flat. It was empty although there were signs that Greg had come and gone. He’d opened a bottle of red wine and drunk half of it with a quick meal. Rhona had no qualms about pouring a glass and heading for the shower.
She stripped off and dropped her clothes in a heap in the corner, stepped under the cascading water and began going over the list of events in her head.
Thallium poisoning in the Glasgow victim coupled with the fact that he had been tortured before the fire suggested a drugs war of some kind. If she was right and the Edinburgh victim had been crucified, then set alight, they only needed thallium to be detected in his system to link the two deaths. At first examination, neither death could be linked to the torched commercial property in Edinburgh, but instinct told her they were. She just didn’t know how... yet. As for the threats to herself and MacRae?
Rhona turned off the shower and stepped out, the jigsaw incomplete. Dressed again in fresh clothes, she headed for the kitchen.
When the front door opened she thought it was Greg coming back. She called ‘Hi’ and finished stuffing the dirty clothes into his washer dryer. When she emerged from the utility room, someone else stood in the hall.
Chapter 20
Jaz opened his eyes. His head was throbbing so hard he couldn’t think and his hands were pinioned at a ninety degree angle to the wall. The wire wound round his wrists was threatening to slice through his flesh like a cheese cutter. Jaz adjusted his stance to ease the weight on his arms and tried to remember what had happened.
They’d been leaving the barn. He’d heard Emps yelp and he’d run outside, but the dog wasn’t there. Then some bastard had hit him over the head.
He caught the smell of cigarette smoke as a figure emerged from the shadows; a man with blond hair, cropped to the skull.
‘Tommy!’
‘Long time no see.’
Jaz couldn’t believe his eyes. He hadn’t seen Tommy since prison. ‘What the fuck are you
doing here?’ Jaz said and meant it.
‘Could say the same to you.’ Tommy came closer as if to inspect his handiwork.
‘Gonna untie me?’ Tommy wasn’t renowned for a soft heart but it was worth a try. ‘My shoulders are killing me.’
Tommy’s slow smile would have curdled milk. ‘Can’t do that, Jaz, mate. Not before you tell me what you’re doing here. Orders, you know.’
Tommy Moffat had been thrown out of the army for not obeying orders. Doing what someone else told him was an anathema to Tommy. Jaz had spent two years with people like Tommy. It frightened him now to remember it. Even when his own brain was scrambled, the way Tommy treated folk scared the hell out of him.
‘You’ve been pissing off a few folk Jaz.’
Tommy was sauntering round him, wearing the same sardonic look Jaz remembered.
‘Look Tommy... ’
‘I heard you were working your passage back to Art College.’
‘I am.’
Tommy was pulling something from his hip pocket. Jaz instinctively pressed himself against the wall but it wasn’t a knife that emerged. It was a hammer.
‘That’s a pity,’ Tommy fished in the other pocket. ‘I haven’t heard of a painter with no hands.’
Jaz didn’t have time to scream. The three inch nail was through his right hand and into the barn wall with one hard blow. The second blow brought the vomit to his mouth. Tommy lightly side stepped the projectile.
‘Now a man with one good hand might still be able to paint.’ Tommy kicked some straw over the offending mess. ‘So Jaz. Want to keep one good hand?’
Jaz would have lifted his head if he could. As it was all his strength was in his body, lifting its weight off his arm and the crucified hand.
Tommy was selecting another nail. ‘Now’s the time to tell me why you’re here, Jazzy boy.’ Tommy sighed. ‘Otherwise it’s bye-zz-bye to your painting career.’