by Lin Anderson
‘Jesus, Tommy.’ The words escaped in a hiss of pain. ‘Give us a chance.’
Tommy was looking at him, head on one side, enjoying himself.
‘I’ll tell you, right?’
Tommy pulled a bale of hay nearer to Jaz. ‘A wee warning pal,’ he said as he made himself comfortable. ‘Make it good. I’m not here to listen to Jackanory.’
Jaz twisted his head round to look at his one good hand. Tommy was getting careless. Concentrating too much on his sadistic pleasures. The wire was looser now. Jaz worked on the wrist turning it backwards and forwards. Every turn brought a stab of fire to his other hand. A dozen twists and his hand slid out. Letting his arm fall to his side was almost worse than holding it at ninety degrees to his body. Jaz muffled the scream, burying his mouth in the collar of his parka. Now he had to pull the nail out of his other hand.
Jaz sank to the ground and curled in a ball, the damaged hand clutched to his chest. After a while the pain was bearable and he could stand up. He dropped the parka on the floor and pulled off his top. It was clean at least. He wrapped his bad hand in it and pulled the parka back on.
By rights he should go, hit the road, jump on the train and disappear until things had cooled. But he wasn’t going to. Jaz had never thought of himself as brave. Sticking a needle in his arm was as brave as he had ever got. And Robbie. Jaz tried not to play back the scene in his head that Tommy had described so vividly. Robbie had got in the way and Tommy had removed him. Jaz was getting in the way and Tommy was warning him. Jaz was the lucky one but to convince Tommy he wasn’t up north to spy on him, he’d had to say something about Amy.
The moon was a sliver of cream in a starred sky. Jaz tucked his bleeding hand under his right arm and headed for the cottage. The wind felt like ice against his face. He used his teeth and his good hand to pull in the cord at the neck of the parka as he circled the garden. If Tommy jumped him now, he wouldn’t stand a chance. A hammer wasn’t Tommy’s usual weapon. He preferred to pierce with something other than a nail.
The cottage sat in silence, the curtains drawn. Now he was here, Jaz had no idea what to do. If only Emps was with him. Tears sprung to his eyes. He didn’t want to think what might have happened to the dog.
He made for the garage. Keeping low crossing the back garden, eyes on the light from the windows, he literally fell over the dog’s dead body.
Bess lay on her side, eyes open, teeth bared in a death-like grimace. Her head was pulled up and back, the red mark of Tommy’s handiwork dividing her neck in two. Jaz slumped beside the warm body, knowing Tommy must have been here only minutes before. Then he noticed that the back door of the cottage stood open, light spilling onto the grass.
Chapter 21
‘Where the fuck is she?’
‘We talked about the paint then she left,’ MacFarlane shouted back. ‘She said she’d be here in an hour.’
Sev knew shouting at MacFarlane wasn’t going to produce Rhona, but it made him feel better.
‘Have you tried the friend’s flat? Her mobile?’
‘Yes and yes. The mobile’s switched to the answering service.’ MacFarlane shrugged his shoulders. ‘Give her time. If she’s having something to eat...’
Sev forced his attention back to the plan. ‘She thinks there might be propane down there?’
‘But where?’ MacFarlane said. ‘We’ve searched the length of the sewer. How could we miss gas canisters?’
‘The channels that link the Princes Street sewer with the Nor Loch sewer, have they all been checked?’
‘We can’t check every drain in a couple of hours.’ MacFarlane’s voice was weary.
‘This one meets the Princes Street sewer near where Rhona found the paint samples,’ Sev stabbed at the paper, ‘I’m going to take a look.’
The number of people swarming around the city centre made Sev nervous. There were too many children. How can you arrange a family event, MacFarlane had said, then tell them not to bring the kids?
Sev looked up at the sky. Clear as a bell with a thin moon. The Scottish weather had perversely decided to go dry. There were police about, some in uniform, some not. MacFarlane had got an agreement to up the police presence. That was all. If there had been a bomb alert, they would have taken notice.
Sev headed for Mary’s former squat. The punk with the dog had been right about that connection. Come to think of it he hadn’t seen Jaz since their meeting in the pub. He made up his mind to ask MacFarlane if he was still hanging round.
Mary Queen of Scots’ palace had been cleared but it still smelt bad. MacFarlane had organised a man from Scottish Water to go down with Sev. He introduced himself as Stuart and indicated a pile of gear for Sev to put on; overalls, thigh waders, miner’s head lamps and breathing apparatus.
‘Enough air for 40 minutes,’ he told Sev.
‘I don’t think...’
‘Health and Safety,’ the guy insisted.
Sev shut up and pulled on the gear. He’d trained down here with the Brigade and knew the score.
The man from the Water Board went first.
Sev waited until he reached the bottom rung of the ladder then set off along the sewer. The sewer had been checked by sniffer dogs but the variety of pungent smells that lingered here would have put anyone or anything off the scent.
Fifty metres further on, Sev spotted the first of the connecting drains on the opposite wall. He waited for his companion to catch up, then jumped across.
He was exiting the last of these when a series of bangs went off. Stuart threw himself against the wall.
MacFarlane buzzed his mobile.
‘Sorry about the noise. A couple of silly buggers throwing bangers on the brazier outside the first aid tent.’
‘It’s good to know you’re in control, MacFarlane.’
MacFarlane ignored the sarcastic remark. ‘Any luck?’
‘Nothing.’
‘It’s heaving up here, though why anyone wants to dance a Strip the Willow up and down George Street in the middle of winter defeats me.’
‘I can hear a siren.’
‘Not headed here,’ MacFarlane assured him. ‘There’s a concert due to start in half an hour on the Ross bandstand. You coming up for the show?’
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Any sign of Rhona?’
‘Nope. I’ve sent a car round to check out the flat where she’s staying.’
‘And find out the home number of that assistant she’s so pally with. Maybe she’s spoken to her recently.’
Sev signalled to a relieved Stuart that they should head back up. There was nothing more they could do down here. The immediate vicinity of the Gardens was clear. MacFarlane had arranged a high police presence. There were men on the roofs and the Brigade was on full alert.
When he reached the surface, Sev headed for a pub on Rose Street, where the bartender poured his usual without asking, while keeping one eye on the big screen in the corner.
Sev downed the double whisky in a oner, enjoying the kick. The one good thing about cutting down on the drink, he decided, was enjoying its effect again. He ordered another and had a look at what the rest of the pub was watching.
The crowds for the Afore Fiesta event exceeded even his expectations. A helicopter view was panning across the Gardens and the length of Princes Street. The events this year were designed to attract whole families. MacRae was glad Gillian had deserted him and gone north with Amy. If she hadn’t, Amy might have been out there now.
Sev pulled out his mobile and called his mother-in-law. It rang four times then the ansaphone kicked in. He resisted the temptation to curse into the mouthpiece. Gillian would love that on her mother’s voicemail. Instead he left a message for Amy and rang off. Wherever they were they’d have to be back by Amy’s bedtime. He would call again later.
He concentrated on the big screen, watching the crowd, looking for the face on the drawing. Every policeman out there had a copy of the drawing Jaz had done. Sev ordered another drink.
He went to throw it back then decided to make it last. He had a long night ahead. When the mobile drilled ten minutes later he thought it was Amy answering his message. It wasn’t.
‘Where the hell are you?’ MacFarlane’s voice was tense.
‘Rose Street. Watching the telly.’
‘I think you should get over here.’
Chapter 22
The well-dressed blond man looked embarrassed. Rhona told herself that intruders don’t generally wear expensive Italian suits and stand in the hall looking mortified. The guy held out his hand.
‘I’m sorry I startled you. Greg gave me a key.’ He paused self-consciously. ‘We’re seeing one another. He didn’t tell you about me?’
‘Of course he did.’ Rhona assured him. ‘You must be Justin.’
He looked relieved. ‘Yes I am.’
‘Would you like to wait for Greg?’
He gave her a wide smile.
‘Can I get you a coffee?’
‘That would be great. Greg said he would be back about nine.’
When she came back with the coffee he’d settled himself on the settee.
‘When Greg said you were staying, I must admit I was rather jealous.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about me,’ she assured him. ‘If there’s one thing Greg’s sure of it’s his sexuality.’
He smiled. ‘I hear you’re a forensic scientist?’
‘Yes.’
‘Working on a case?’
‘Always.’
Rhona wondered what age he was. Greg could certainly give him ten years. It was none of her business. Greg didn’t mess in her sex life and she didn’t mess in his. The secret of a long and happy friendship.
MacFarlane was in full flow when she reached the operations tent set up in the Gardens. It had taken half an hour to travel the short distance between Greg’s flat and the end of Princes Street.
‘Rhona!’ MacRae grabbed her arm and led her in. ‘We’ve been phoning everywhere for you.’
‘Sorry.’ Rhona was taken aback by MacRae’s worried look. ‘I diverted my mobile while I was in the shower and Greg’s ansaphone was on. So what have I missed?’
MacFarlane pushed a piece of paper across the desk at her. MacRae was trying hard not to give her his own resumé as she read it. She could see why by the second paragraph. Right at the beginning MacRae had planted the seed of doubt about Jaz. Everything on the paper suggested there were grounds for suspecting him.
‘Well?’
She looked at MacRae. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Why not?’
She hesitated, ‘It doesn’t feel right.’
‘So speaks the true scientist,’ MacRae pronounced.
MacFarlane took her side. ‘Rhona’s right. It’s circumstantial.’
MacRae wasn’t going to give up. ‘He’s been hanging about since the fire, sticking his nose in. He took the girl’s dog for God’s sake. Psychological profiling of the arsonist suggests he will attempt to interject himself in the investigation because he feels safe enough to do so.’ MacRae took a breath before launching the next attack. ‘Then you come up with the glad tidings that he served time with Robbie Stevens, the drug addict burned to death in the housing scheme arson attack. In fact they were cosier than that. They ended up inside together because they’d been running a nice little thieving business to feed their habit.’
‘As far as we know he’s been clean since he got out,’ MacFarlane said.
‘Oh yeah? Then try this scenario for size. Jaz fancies the girl but she doesn’t fancy him. He finds out where she’s sleeping, rapes her then fires the place.’
‘Okay.’ MacFarlane was back. ‘But you said the four fires in commercial property were lit by the same person.’
‘It looks like it, but you can never be sure.’ MacRae admitted grudgingly.
‘You were sure,’ Rhona said. ‘And why link Jaz with Robbie Steven’s death? The arsonist is a professional. Why would he bother firing some poxy little flat in a housing scheme to get rid of a drug addict?’
MacRae glared at her. ‘Maybe Jaz and Robbie were still working together. Maybe Robbie was messing him about. Maybe Jaz was working for someone else who wanted rid of Robbie. Who the fuck knows?’
Rhona was thinking back to her conversation with Jaz in the flat. The way he had sought her out, wanting her to put pressure on MacRae to get back on the case; wanting to find those responsible for Karen’s death. Why would he do that if he’d started the fire? Rhona didn’t like thinking about the answer. Jaz could have given her a drawing of anyone, or someone he didn’t like. He could be diverting them from the real culprit... himself. But she had liked him.
‘There’s one way to find out if Jaz was involved,’ she said.
‘What?’ MacRae came in.
‘Bring him in, ask him to give a DNA sample. We can check it against the girl and the letter.’
They both looked at MacFarlane.
‘There’s one problem,’ he said. ‘Jaz and the dog have disappeared.’
‘Since when?’ MacRae asked.
‘He was last seen on his pitch at Waverley Station yesterday morning,’ MacFarlane said. ‘The folk at the coffee bar and WH Smith’s say he’s regular as clockwork. He wasn’t on his pitch today although a guard said he spotted him on the platform of a northbound train. We haven’t been able to confirm that.’
‘I saw Gillian and Amy off this morning,’ MacRae said looking worried.
The bits were beginning to fit together whether Rhona liked it or not. Jaz’s preoccupation with getting MacRae back on the case. He’d been watching Gillian’s house. He knew about the petrol bomb. It seemed so obvious. Jaz had tried to find out if she knew where Gillian and Amy were going. She had told him they were headed north to stay with Amy’s gran. They were going by train because Amy liked that.
She’d spelt it out for him.
They were waiting for her to finish, MacRae’s face already showing his worst fears confirmed.
‘He’s followed Gillian and Amy north,’ she said.
Chapter 23
The back door of the cottage swung open exposing Jaz in a long streak of electric light. He pressed himself against the wall, his heart pounding behind his eyes. The cottage was mocking in its silence. No long howl from Tommy, no sudden flash of steel at his face.
When he finally had the courage to go in, the hall was strangely welcoming, as if someone might emerge at any moment and say ‘hi’. In the kitchen, three cups sat on the table, the teapot nearby. Beside the old-fashioned range Bess’s basket lay waiting for her return.
Jaz trailed from room to room. They were all the same. Lived in. Everything was as it should be, except for the open front door and the blood-soaked body of the dead dog on the grass outside. Jaz walked round the downstairs one more time then headed for the kitchen, lifted the blanket from Bess’s basket and went outside.
He threw the blanket over Bess’s warm body, mouthing obscenities at Tommy Moffat. The Labrador was far too old to be a threat to anyone. She could bark but that was about all. Which is probably why she died.
Jaz had to stop himself picturing Emps lying somewhere between the cottage and the barn in exactly the same state. Tommy Moffat was a heid-banger, a nasty, twisted, creepy bastard. He would get him for this.
Jaz tucked his bandaged hand inside his coat and set off to check the drive and the garage for the car. Both were filled with nothing but shadows. Where the fuck were they? Where was Tommy? Jaz didn’t have an answer. He decided that standing outside freezing wasn’t making him think any better.
Back in the cottage, he filled the kettle and pulled it over the hot ring on the Aga to boil, then looked for the coffee. While he nursed his cup and thawed out, he thought about phoning the police. If they came and found the dead dog and the open front door, they would look for the occupants. But if the police got involved they’d find his fingerprints all over the house. They would come looking for him. If Tommy had done something to the
kid or the women, suspicion would be bound to fall on him.
With any luck, Amy and her mum had gone out before Tommy arrived. Tommy might have found the place empty, got pissed off and killed the dog. Jaz was warming to this version of events. Maybe Tommy never came to the cottage in the first place. Maybe someone else killed the dog. Jaz rinsed his cup at the sink and put it back where he got it, his mind made up.
The phone in the hall had the call light flashing. He pulled his cuff down to cover his finger and pressed the play button. MacRae’s voice was gruff and Jaz could have sworn he heard a muffled curse before the message. MacRae wasn’t pleased to find no one home and said he would call back later. Jaz dialled 1471, wrote the number on the telephone pad, tore it off and stuck it in his pocket.
He would look for Tommy first, then contact MacRae. Jaz wasn’t sure who he was more frightened of, Tommy Moffat, or MacRae when he found out his kid was missing.
Outside, the moon was filling the back garden with washed out light. Avoiding the blanketed figure of the dog, Jaz struggled over the fence and headed into the wood.
MacRae flung the phone on the desk. ‘If that punk’s gone anywhere near Amy I’ll kill him.’
‘Hold on, Sev,’ Rhona tried. ‘Is there any reason why Amy and Gillian wouldn’t be at the cottage? Could they have gone out somewhere?’
‘Where, for Chrissake?’
‘Visiting a neighbour?’
MacRae was making a concentrated effort not to shout at her. ‘Amy talked about watching the Hogmanay celebrations.’
Rhona looked at him. ‘Sky!’
‘Gillian’s mother doesn’t have Sky.’
‘So maybe they went somewhere that did?’
MacRae looked stricken. ‘I don’t know anyone up there. I don’t know where to phone and find out.’
Rhona looked at MacFarlane and he nodded imperceptibly.