by Lin Anderson
‘We’ll send a car to check the cottage,’ he said to MacRae. ‘Then we’ll make some enquiries. It’s a rural area. Probably everyone within a twenty mile radius will know where Gillian and Amy are tonight.’
MacRae looked relieved. ‘Thanks.’
The café was half empty. Rhona went to the counter and brought back two mugs of scaldingly hot tea. MacRae was sitting at the same table they’d used at their first meeting.
‘Knew you’d want to be near the Ladies,’ he said.
‘After you drink this, you’ll want to be near the Gents.’
They sat in silence. Rhona could hear the distant music, a fast reel that got faster by the minute. In a few minutes the dance would stop and the concert begin. Maybe MacRae was right all along. Maybe it was a hoax and the Torch never intended to target tonight or any other night in the celebrations. Maybe he just wanted them running around thinking he would.
A different kind of music was signalling the start of the concert. Different from the mad whirl of fiddle and bagpipe, this was a soaring sound. Hauntingly Celtic.
MacRae checked his mobile.
‘MacFarlane will contact us as soon as he has word about Amy,’ Rhona assured him.
‘I think I’ll head up there tomorrow.’
‘Good idea.’
‘Assuming all goes well tonight.’
‘It will.’ Rhona said with a certainty she wasn’t sure she felt. ‘I think you were right,’ she answered the cynical look. ‘I think he wanted to put the wind up us. That’s all.’
‘He succeeded.’
‘So where does that leave Jaz?’
‘Jaz is a punk,’ he said without malice. ‘He might be involved in the drug fires but he isn’t the Torch.’
‘No, he isn’t,’ she agreed.
The ring of the mobile stopped whatever MacRae planned to say next. Rhona watched his relief as he listened to the message. He slipped the mobile back in his pocket.
‘Gillian and Amy are at the hotel with the rest of the village, watching the concert on the big screen. Gillian says she’ll phone in the morning.’
He reached for the half bottle in his pocket and threw some into his tea. ‘On the subject of Jaz. The local policeman says no one fitting his description has been seen in the village.’
‘Where did he go, then?’
‘Maybe he needed to disappear for a while. Maybe he was getting on someone’s nerves,’ MacRae suggested.
‘If there is some connection between him and Robbie Stevens... ’ Rhona didn’t finish. In the last ten minutes Jaz had moved from being the villain to being the hunted in both their minds.
MacRae stood up. ‘Fancy some fresh air?’
They cut up into George Street. The crowd had dispersed, the dance billed as ‘the longest Strip-the-Willow in the world’ was over. The big old-fashioned clock that hung above the door of the bookshop showed eleven o’clock.
‘I could walk you back to Greg’s,’ MacRae offered.
‘Maybe we should hang around a bit longer?’
‘MacFarlane will get in touch if we’re needed.’
They walked in a comfortable silence. The air was sharp, the pavement sparkling with frost. The sound of the concert retreated into the distance as they skirted Charlotte Square and headed along Shandwick Place. Rhona wondered, not for the first time, what Severino MacRae would be like off the job. Then she wondered if he ever was off the job. He put the job before everything, like she did.
By the time they reached the flat, cars were filling the westbound carriageway with families heading home. Rhona could tell by the set of MacRae’s shoulders how relieved he was. She felt the same. Above them Greg’s windows were in darkness. She suddenly didn’t want to walk into an empty flat. MacRae must have guessed what she was thinking.
‘I could do with a coffee,’ he said.
He was sitting with his back to her, watching the fire. Rhona sat the coffee on the table then on an impulse fetched the whisky decanter from the cabinet.
MacRae accepted the glass without comment and moved over so she could sit next to him on the sofa.
‘One down. Two to go.’ He lifted his glass.
‘I don’t think Greg’ll be happy if we finish his whisky.’
‘You know what I mean.’ His voice softened. He moved his face close to hers. ‘We make a good team,’ he said gently.
He watched her reaction, his eyes bright blue in the firelight. Time hung for a moment between them, then he ran his finger gently down her cheek.
‘So what happens now?’ he said.
The sound of the siren woke her. Rhona rolled over searching for the light switch. The ambulance screamed past and the room dropped back into silence. She glanced at the clock. She hadn’t heard Greg come in. For a moment she thought about visiting his room to check, then decided against it in case the boyfriend was curled up in bed beside him.
‘Hey.’ MacRae was standing at the door.
‘Hey.’
‘You couldn’t point me in the direction of the shower?’
‘Three doors down on the left,’ she said.
‘Thanks.’ MacRae smiled wryly. ‘And by the way, the couch was as comfortable as you said it would be.’
Turning Severino MacRae down had been harder than Rhona could ever have imagined. It was a classic scenario; those who get frightened together, end up in bed together.
He’d taken the rejection well. Maybe too well for her ego.
When he re-appeared, she was in the kitchen, coffee at the ready. He sat opposite her and proceeded to take in the designer surroundings.
‘Don’t say a word,’ she warned him.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ he answered sweetly. ‘Where’s the owner?’
‘If he’s not asleep next door then he’s with his latest, who gave me a hell of a fright last night by appearing from nowhere. He’s got a key, so it must be serious.’
They lapsed into silence, Rhona trying to keep her mind off what the morning might have been.
‘So what happens now?’ she said.
‘We’ve had that conversation. You turned me down, remember?’
Rhona changed the subject. ‘You said you were going north.’
MacRae’s face darkened. ‘I’ve decided against it. We’d only argue in front of Amy and I don’t want that. Anyway the Hogmanay celebrations aren’t over yet.’
Two days still to go.
‘I can hang around here if it helps?’
‘Better get back to your own murder. Knowing the mean city there will be plenty of forensic work for you over the next couple of days.’
Glasgow at Hogmanay. A whole year’s Friday and Saturday nights rolled into one. Sentimentality and violence walking hand in hand. A lethal combination.
They parted company at the door. MacRae didn’t look back as he went down the stairs. Rhona waited till she heard the front door slam then went in. MacRae was trouble, in more ways than one.
It took an hour to pack and tidy up. She eventually knocked on Greg’s bedroom door and glanced inside. The bed hadn’t been slept in. He must have spent the night at Justin’s. Rhona wondered if she should call him then decided to leave a ‘thank you’ note instead.
The journey back was uneventful. Clear cold skies clouded over as she neared Harthill bringing thick sleet against the window. A text message came in ten minutes later, making her heart skip a beat.
Hillhead Underground 8?
Liam
Rhona texted back ‘yes’.
Chapter 24
The motorbike wasn’t difficult to trace. The girl in the petrol station at the village was only too glad to talk about it.
Jaz emerged with a can of coke, a sandwich, an invitation to a party and exactly what he wanted to know. The whereabouts of Tommy Moffat.
Tommy had arrived at the petrol station at about nine. Jaz imagined the girl’s paroxysms of delight that someone with a cool motorbike was planning to spend Hogmanay in the village. He’d as
ked for somewhere to stay and she’d suggested her mum’s Bed and Breakfast. Tommy had agreed and then asked her what he really wanted to know, where Skiach Lodge was. The girl had given him directions.
Jaz hadn’t made quite the same impact. No motorbike and no cool gear, but she’d invited him to the party anyway. After all, tomorrow was Hogmanay.
Frost was forming on the road and now and then a slither of frozen rain hit his face. Jaz passed a hotel bar loud with convivial voices. A kid pushed the door open and rushed outside, another kid following. They swung in a cold circle then dashed back in. Jaz almost followed them into the blast of warmth and good humour.
At the end of a string of houses, the road forked. Skiach Lodge was on the left hand fork.
As he passed the last street lamp, the way ahead grew murky. The pavement dwindled to a narrow track between the tar and the bordering trees, forcing Jaz to stumble along in the icy rain. He wondered if it was raining as heavily in Edinburgh. MacRae would like that, he decided. It would put a damper on the whole proceedings. Jaz swung his thoughts away from MacRae and the woman forensic. He had his own job to do.
Skiach Lodge was well hidden by trees, protected from the gaze of the casual passer-by. Ten minutes later, Jaz was over the wall and into the dense, wet undergrowth of wintering rhododendrons. He was soaked through and the bitter wind clawed at his chest. Whatever happened he had to find shelter soon.
He made for the back entrance. A gate led through a high wall into ridges of frozen soil. Ahead, a kitchen window shone a welcome. Jaz kept hard against the wall and risked a look.
He had to admit the bastard looked at home. His feet were up on the fender, a can of lager at his mouth. Jaz wanted to crush the can down Tommy’s fucking throat. He clenched his teeth to smother his anger and listened.
Tommy was talking to somebody. Jaz couldn’t see who it was but he knew it was female. Tommy was on his feet now, thrusting his tight jeaned hips forward to show off the hard dick. The girl came into view. She was getting the message alright. She slipped between Tommy and the kitchen table. Tommy drained the last drop of his can and pulled down his zip.
Tommy’s attention was fully occupied, for the moment. Jaz took the chance to get inside unnoticed.
The door swung open without a sound and he found himself in a narrow passageway. A door to the left lay ajar, revealing a set of steps to the basement. Through the right hand door came the sound of carnal grunts and moans. Jaz headed down the passageway into a grand entrance hall with a sweeping staircase.
Behind him Tommy and his partner were reaching their climax. The girl must like living dangerously. On the last long drawn out groan a set of double doors on the opposite wall were pulled open. Jaz hid in the shadows as a man in a suit headed for the kitchen.
Tommy appeared minutes later, adjusting his zip, a self-satisfied grin on his face. There was a shouted greeting, then the double doors shut behind him. Jaz crept closer to listen.
By the time he left, Jaz was dry again. The basement steps had led to a boiler, on at full blast. He cleared himself a place behind it and settled down to dry out. After that he would check back at the cottage, he decided, see if Amy was back. Then he would look for Emps.
Judging by the conversation he’d tuned into, Tommy would soon be heading for the garage and his next shag. Just as well. With the information he’d overheard, Moffat had better get all the normal sex he could. Once Jaz made sure he was banged up inside, sex would take on a different hue.
Outside the rain had stopped. Above him the sky was clear and midnight blue. Now that he had moonlight, Jaz found his way out of the grounds quickly. Five minutes along the main road, he thought he heard a motorbike and threw himself into the ditch soaking his feet again, but it was only a diesel van with a bad exhaust.
The hotel with the party had quietened down. There were only three vehicles left outside. Jaz took a chance and went in. Jaz ordered a pint and a hot pie and found a seat close to the fire. He spotted Amy when she came out of the toilet behind her mum. Jaz turned away, relieved to see her unharmed but already thinking about what she would find when she got back to the cottage.
Jaz drained his pint and contemplated another. He had a look in his wallet. Not much chance of a Bed and Breakfast for him. He thought about asking if he could clear up the bar, wash all the glasses for a chance to bed down beside the fire, but the barman didn’t look the benevolent type. Anyway the last thing he wanted was to become an item for gossip. It would be better if Tommy thought he had left the area. Jaz shifted in the warm seat. Better hit the cold now before he got too comfortable.
He went to the bar and asked for another pie to take away. The barman put it in a bag for him along with the two remaining sausage rolls. He waved away payment and went back to the glasses. Jaz nodded his thanks and made for the door before he changed his mind and asked the barman to stay.
Outside the cold hit him like a garage door. Jaz pulled up his hood. Now that he knew Amy was alright, he would go straight to the barn. With any luck Emps would head back there looking for him... if he was alive. Jaz could only pray he was.
By dawn even the piled hay in the barn couldn’t keep the chill out of his bones. Jaz walked about, stamping the circulation back into his feet and throwing his good arm round his body. He would give it an hour, then try and hitch a lift back into town. He fished the two sausage rolls out of his pocket and wolfed them down, dreaming of a mug of hot tea.
Outside the fields were covered with a layer of frost and an early sun was sending thin shivering rays across the empty furrows.
Jaz suddenly remembered the significance of the day. Hogmanay. Tomorrow was a new year and a new start. Maybe for him, when he sorted things out, but not for Karen.
He heard the dog before he saw it; the sound of paws clipping the icy puddles that covered the churned mud round the barn. There was a strangled noise of excitement then Emps was on him, knocking Jaz to his knees.
So there was a God after all.
Jaz tried to hug the big hairy body, but Emps yelped and leapt away.
‘Whoa! What’s up Emps?’
The dog came back, twisting its back legs from side to side in a mockery of the missing tail.
Jaz gazed in horror at the mutilated and bleeding stump, while Emps licked the salty tears that ran down his face.
‘I’ll get him Emps. I promise. And when I get him I’ll cut off his fuckin dick and stick it down his fuckin throat.’
Chapter 25
Bill had been true to his word. Rhona studied the contents of the forensic bags. If the body on the moor was that of the paedophile and murderer they’d been searching for the last six months, it would lay her fears to rest. She could stop looking for him in the street, stop imagining she would wake up one night and find him standing at the foot of her bed.
Chrissy was watching her. ‘I can deal with these,’ she offered.
‘I’d rather do it myself.’
Rhona pulled on her lab coat.
‘But it’s Hogmanay.’
‘I’ll be away by eight, I promise.’
Chrissy gave up. ‘I’ve had a look at the fire video.’
‘And?’
‘The guy you talked about... ‘
‘In the drawing?’
‘No. Your fire investigator.’
‘Severino MacRae?’ Rhona was puzzled.
‘What does he look like?’ Chrissy asked.
‘He’s about five eleven, dark hair, part Italian... ’
‘Does he wear a black leather jacket?’ Chrissy asked.
‘Yes, why?’
‘Take a look at this.’ Chrissy handed Rhona the remote.
He was standing on the edge of the crowd looking up. Rhona paused the video and stared. The resemblance was uncanny, except the video was of a Glasgow fire forty-six miles away from MacRae’s territory.
‘It can’t be him,’ Rhona said to convince herself.
‘It looks like him then?’
; Rhona nodded.
‘Quite tasty.’
‘He’s badly scarred.’ Rhona regretted the words as soon as they were out.
Chrissy looked interested. ‘Really? Where?’
‘Chrissy,’ Rhona warned.
Chrissy raised an eyebrow.
‘So. What makes you think it’s not him?’
‘He would have said if he’d been at the Glasgow fire.’
‘Especially if he started it.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
Chrissy ejected the video and replaced it with another and pressed rewind. She waited a moment then froze it. ‘Take a look on the left.’
Rhona’s heart missed a beat.
‘Would you believe it?’ Chrissy said. ‘Old leather jacket’s back again.’ The figure was further away from the camera this time making it more difficult to make out his features. ‘I spotted him or someone who looks like him in three out of the last four.’
‘There must be an explanation.’
‘As to why MacRae keeps popping up in our fire videos?’
‘It not him,’ Rhona was adamant. ‘It’s someone who looks like him, or,’ she said with more certainty this time, ‘someone who chooses to look like him.’
‘Neat idea. A MacRae look-alike visiting fire scenes.’
‘You didn’t see anyone who looked like the face in the drawing?’
Chrissy shook her head. ‘What about the Edinburgh footage?’
Rhona went for her bag.
‘That’s funny.’
‘What?’
‘I put the video in the zipped pocket but now it’s in the main part.’
‘You took it out, watched it and put it back in a different pouch?’ Chrissy suggested.
‘I haven’t had time to watch it.’
Rhona slipped in the Edinburgh footage. The fire that blazed on the screen was well established, already consuming the lower levels of the Princes Street building, spreading rapidly in a horizontal direction. Since the building had been lying empty with few combustible linings and interior contents, the use of accelerants looked likely from observation alone, though the speed and action of the fire was not what Rhona was looking at. She concentrated on the shots of the watching crowd. Firemen knew the perpetrator of a fire could often be standing within yards of the fire-fighters watching them risk their lives to put out their handiwork.