by Lin Anderson
Yeah, that would work, he thought grimly.
McNab tried to recall if this was one of the days Ellie had a shift in the Harley shop during the day and worked here in the evening. Surely he should know that at least?
He was suddenly shocked to realize he couldn’t recall Ellie’s regular shift pattern at all. Had he ever really committed it to memory?
At the beginning, Ellie was always at the forefront of his mind, even when he was on a job, but gradually, McNab realized, she had become merely background as the work had taken over again.
Even finding time for sex had become an issue, particularly during the last major investigation. God, no wonder she wanted to have an open relationship. She certainly wasn’t getting what she needed from him.
At that moment in his deliberations, he saw the lights go out, followed by the front door opening and a figure emerging. It was Ellie. His joy at seeing her almost resulted in him calling out her name. Until he saw the bloke. Tall, head shaven, he came out right behind her, and they were chatting and laughing together as she locked up.
He’s just a customer, McNab told himself.
He realized that if Ellie turned, he would be right in her line of sight, so he pretended an interest in his phone.
They were at the bike now. McNab silently urged the bastard to get on the damn thing and ride off into the sunset. Then he would shout over to Ellie, make out he’d come to meet her and ask her to come for a drink with him.
The guy had pulled out a helmet, but instead of putting it on himself, he was handing it to Ellie. From then on things just got worse because he bent over and kissed her.
Ever since Ellie had told him she wanted their relationship to be open, McNab had imagined a number of images of her with some random bloke. They were all bad, but at least they’d been a figment of his imagination. Until now.
McNab turned just enough to get the fucker in view and clicked. Now he had a picture, he could check him out.
First port of call would be Ollie in IT. If the bastard was anywhere on the system, he would find him.
Even as he decided this, he knew he was behaving like an arse, but that didn’t change his mind. What if the guy was bad news? Wasn’t it better to know, so he could warn Ellie? After all, he wanted her to be safe, didn’t he?
As the two roared off together, Ellie’s arms about the guy’s waist, McNab realized that not only had he been dumped, he’d also become a sad bastard stalker.
12
The trip north had been verging on pleasant. Little to no wind. Great views. Rhona had almost relaxed. Despite her frequent helicopter rides, her attitude to flying never changed. She understood the physics of flight, but she still didn’t really believe it, despite being a scientist.
Chrissy, on the other hand, was in her element. Chatting to the co-pilot, exclaiming at the scenery. Whooping as they crossed the swiftly moving Pentland Firth. Pointing out the Old Man of Hoy. The list of her joys was endless.
In contrast, Rhona was keenly awaiting the first mention of Kirkwall airport, which meant they would soon be on terra firma again.
Her wish finally granted, she and Chrissy headed across the tarmac and into the terminal to find PC Ivan Tulloch waiting for them, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Chrissy. She had been a favourite of his when they’d worked on the excavation case on his home island of Sanday.
Chrissy seemed equally delighted to see the young constable again and chatted to him enthusiastically on their way to the vehicle.
‘Inspector Flett is waiting for you at Houton Bay,’ he told them as he put their bags in the boot. ‘The police launch will take you out to the Orlova.’
Ivan was keen to give them the full story of the storm and how it had brought the ghost ship ashore at Yesnaby. How Geordie Findlater had gone out to check on his stock, and had spotted the MV Orlova and called the coastguard.
‘The weather was too coarse to get anywhere near it until later in the day. Divers took a look below the waterline, but thank God there was no leakage from the fuel tanks. The coastguard helicopter managed to drop two guys on board. That’s when they found the bodies. After that, Erling . . . Inspector Flett went on board.’
Rhona didn’t interrupt him, although she already knew the story after Erling had sent her through his report first thing this morning. Following that, they’d had a brief face-to-face chat, where he’d suggested that rather than have her brought to Kirkwall police station, she should come straight to the jetty at Houton and be taken out to the ship. Rhona had immediately agreed. The sooner she was at the locus, the better.
Heading south out of Kirkwall, they were soon within sight of Scapa Flow, which, as Ivan had promised, was fairly calm. Rhona noted in passing the lush green of the fields and the roadside verges bright yellow with primroses, known here as mayflowers, according to Magnus.
Despite the circumstances, Rhona was pleased to be back in Orkney.
Approaching Houton Bay, she had her first clear view of the Orlova anchored offshore. Approximately 80 metres in length, a rusted red, she resembled a supply vessel for an oil installation, with a flat cargo area at the rear. Although, according to Erling, the interior crew quarters had been substantially upgraded. If it was as luxurious as he’d suggested, there was no evidence of that on the outside. Word was that its origins were Russian and that it may have been abandoned in the Atlantic before being upgraded to become some sort of cruising ship.
As they pulled up in the ferry car park, Rhona spotted Magnus and Erling outside Magnus’s house, next to the jetty, where the police launch was tied up.
Chrissy leaped out of the car and swiftly took off towards Magnus, Rhona and Ivan following.
‘He’s another of Chrissy’s favourites,’ Rhona told Ivan with a smile. ‘She loves the Orcadian accent.’
Ivan gave a half-smile, as though thinking he was already outmatched by the tall professor Chrissy was currently embracing with gusto.
‘You’ll both stay with me,’ Magnus said after greeting Rhona warmly.
Rhona looked to Erling.
‘Makes it easier to come and go to the ship. Plus Magnus, as you know, is an excellent cook.’ He paused for a moment before saying, ‘Considering the strangeness of the crime scene, I suggest Magnus accompanies us. As a behavioural psychologist he might be able to interpret what’s been happening out there.’
That agreed, they donned life jackets and boarded the launch. Within moments they were cutting through the waters of the Flow towards the red hulk that was the Orlova.
‘How do we get aboard?’ Chrissy said.
‘By ladder,’ Erling told her. ‘Think you can manage the climb?’
‘Nothing to me,’ Chrissy said, her eye drawn upwards as the launch approached to nudge the ship’s side. ‘After Kilt Rock.’
Rhona enlightened Erling. ‘It’s a cliff face on Skye. We abseiled down.’
In fact, it did turn out to be trickier.
On Skye she’d been attached to Jamie McColl as they’d dropped down the steep cliff face. Jamie was a pal from her teenage years when she’d spent her summers with her family on the island. He was also a member of the local mountain rescue team, so the descent had demanded little effort on her behalf, except controlling her fear.
This was different. Here she would have to climb a steep ladder on her own volition, while trying not to look down at the swirling sea below.
Erling indicated he would go first, followed by Rhona then Chrissy, with Magnus bringing up the rear.
‘I’ll be there to catch you if you fall,’ Magnus assured them.
Of the actual climb, Rhona registered nothing except the image of Erling’s boots a rung or two ahead, and her delight at being helped over the railing at the top to find her feet on solid ground again.
‘Okay?’ Erling said.
‘Fine,’ Rhona assured him. ‘Glad I didn’t have to carry my gear though,’ she added, seeing it carefully stacked on the deck, having been brought up in advance
of their ascent.
Chrissy appeared next, doing her best to look unfazed, although Rhona had heard her forensic assistant give voice to a few well-known Glasgow oaths on her way up.
‘Nae bother,’ Chrissy announced. ‘Right, let’s get the kit on.’
The act of donning their forensic suits changed the mood. By all accounts so far, they had now entered a crime scene, where three people had died in suspicious circumstances.
Once they were ready, Erling led them across the cargo deck, which housed three Portakabins.
‘Dorms for the crew and catering staff, we believe,’ he told them. ‘The original indoor accommodation had been significantly upgraded. There’s a helicopter pad on the bow, too badly damaged to use at present, although that looks like the original method for bringing folk aboard.’
After circling the dorms, they came across what looked like a boxing ring tucked in behind, the base a similar size, but constructed with rough wooden planks, a single thick rope serving as a barrier.
‘Some sort of fighting ring,’ Erling said. ‘The base is pretty badly stained with blood.’
Entering the main structure, he showed them the guest accommodation. ‘Four suites but possibly only one in use. We found clothes in here belonging to a male and a female.’
The king-size bed was made up. The room was tidy, as though housekeeping had been in. An open wardrobe revealed a row of clothes hanging up, both male and female.
‘The victims’ clothes?’ Rhona said.
‘We’re assuming so.’
‘Anything to identify them?’
Erling indicated there wasn’t. ‘Only the clothes and toiletries. Which is odd. But then everything about this ship is odd.’
They moved then through the staterooms, which had the same air of sudden abandonment. The long mahogany dining table had a centrepiece of two candelabras, and it looked as though two people had eaten there.
‘We found the remains of prepared food in the galley. I won’t open the door because it doesn’t smell too good.’
From there they headed down another set of stairs. This time Rhona had a sense that she was entering the bowels of the Orlova, perhaps already below the waterline.
Ever since they’d come aboard, she’d been aware of the constant shifting of the ship at anchor as the tide continued to turn. Down here, the movement was accompanied by creaking and groaning sounds, and the scraping of metal on metal.
It was as though the dead bones of the ship were rattling.
‘We’re coming to the first locus,’ Erling warned them.
They turned a corner in the metal staircase to see a door that led into a box-type room just above the lower deck. And it was there the smell they’d been living with recently hit Rhona again. Chrissy caught it too because she muttered as much from behind her mask.
Erling pushed the door wider, so that they might view the interior.
The man was seated on a swivel chair facing a wall of screens. The fire had damaged both him and the computer equipment he’d been operating. The scent of an accelerant hung in the air, mingling with that of burnt flesh. There was the mild buzz of flies disturbed at their sudden appearance. Rhona could see that the fire had consumed his left arm and hand, and the left side of his head. His left leg and lower body weren’t visible from where they stood. The equipment nearest that side appeared to be the most damaged.
At first glance, you could have imagined that an electrical fault had caused the fire, but the presence of an accelerant suggested otherwise.
‘Someone trying to cover their tracks?’ Chrissy said.
‘That’s what we thought. He hasn’t been disturbed. This is exactly how we found him,’ Erling told Rhona. ‘We’ll head for the second locus now.’
They continued down the staircase. The vast open space they were about to enter was obviously the gaming area. From where they stood on the stairs, they could see what looked like a maze, built of fake walls, the central portion opening out to become an arena.
‘It’s like the Night of the Undead at the Arches,’ Chrissy said.
Rhona gave Erling a quick explanation. ‘It’s an underground space beneath Central Station in Glasgow.’
‘Where they held an overnight combat game killing zombies,’ Chrissy finished for her. ‘It was ace.’
‘So you’ll be able to find your way through this maze?’ Erling joked.
‘Of course. Since it looks as though you’ve already laid down the treads.’
As they stepped via the metal treads towards the entrance, they were suddenly blinded by light, while above, a virtual audience began to scream down encouragement at them from an animated balcony.
‘Sorry,’ Erling tried to shout above the noise. ‘I should have warned you. This happens intermittently and we’re not sure how it’s controlled. We didn’t want to remove any of the equipment from the computer room until you’d had the opportunity to process the body. It’ll cut out again shortly,’ he promised.
‘The second locus,’ Erling said as they reached the main arena in sudden and blessed silence. ‘A warning, though. Someone’s vomited just inside.’
Under the arc lights, already set up, the image presented was garish and disturbing. The victim nearest them was female, dressed in a leather, Viking-like tunic, her long blonde hair, which was threaded with braids, partially covering her face. She lay on her back, exposing a long open gash that ran from her neck to her stomach. The tunic was short and pleated, exposing her legs, which were pitted with smaller surface wounds.
Rhona registered all of this, then switched her attention to the male.
He was similarly dressed, his head shaved at the sides and spiked on top, so that his face was in full view. He too had a gaping neck and chest wound. Plus his left leg had been severed below the knee.
Between them was a metre of bloodied floor and two discarded swords.
‘Jeez,’ Chrissy said. ‘This was no virtual game. This was definitely for real.’
Their arrival had caused a small cloud of spring flies to rise in frustration at being disturbed.
‘I have my net and some fly-papers,’ Chrissy said. ‘Plus these little beauties may help us determine the time of death.’
Magnus had remained silent throughout their path through the ship, although Rhona had been conscious of his benign and thoughtful presence. She was here to analyse death. Magnus, as a professor of psychology and a criminal profiler, was focused on what the locus might tell them about any perpetrator.
‘Could they have killed one another?’ Chrissy ventured what was an obvious question.
‘Or it’s been staged to look like it,’ Rhona said. ‘Okay, we’ll begin here and tackle the computer room victim after that.’
13
Janice was already at her desk when McNab strode into the office. She looked him up and down.
‘So you’re back on the Harley then?’
McNab didn’t respond, since it was perfectly obvious by his outfit that was how he’d come into work today.
He hadn’t been on the Harley since he and Ellie had parted company. Janice was quietly aware of that, of course, so she would interpret this move as a sign he was either over Ellie or, alternatively, that he wasn’t.
McNab had the fleeting idea that he should ask her which it was, because he didn’t have a clue himself.
‘Strategy meeting on the fire victim in ten minutes,’ she informed him. ‘You look like you need a coffee.’
She was right. He’d managed to sleep through Storm Birka, but hadn’t been able to sleep after seeing Ellie climb on the back of that bike and ride off with Baldy.
His solution in the early hours had been to send the photograph he’d taken to Ollie in IT and ask him to check if they had the guy on file. That small mean gesture had resulted in a couple of hours of tortured sleep before he’d had to rise again and come to work.
The gang was moving into the meeting room when he got back from the coffee machine, and McNab join
ed Janice there.
‘Have you heard the news?’ she said as he came alongside her.
‘What news?’
‘Rhona and Chrissy headed off to Orkney early this morning. An abandoned ship was driven onto the cliffs at Yesnaby and three bodies were discovered aboard.’
‘They get all the fun jobs,’ McNab said, although he didn’t mean it. The emptier parts of Scotland held no appeal for him, and his memories of being blown about on the island of Sanday were only now thankfully beginning to fade.
The place fell silent as their boss, DI Bill Wilson, appeared. Having drawn their attention to the photos of the scene on the board, together with the names of key witnesses who’d been interviewed, he now addressed the team.
‘We’ve spoken to everyone who was in the surrounding buildings that night. Most folk reported that they were in bed asleep, or lying worrying whether their roofs were coming off.
‘No one,’ he continued, ‘except Jimmy Donaldson, an elderly man in the ground-floor flat, claims to have seen the girl alone out there immediately before the fire. The first thing mentioned was the sudden roar of the flames that had drawn folk to the window.’
DI Wilson confirmed that a handbag containing identification had been found at the locus, and that they now had an address for an Olivia Newton Richardson in North London.
Despite the boss’s correct rendering of the victim’s possible name, McNab was still hearing Newton Mearns in his head. A sideways glance at Janice indicated she did not want him to voice it.
The boss continued. ‘We have passed the information to the Met and asked them to make enquiries regarding this person. They have designated an officer to be our liaison on the enquiry.’ He looked into the audience. ‘DS McNab.’
McNab didn’t register that he was the one being called until Janice nudged him.
‘Yes, sir?’ He stood to attention.
‘You will be our contact here for that, so confirm with IT what they have on Ms Richardson, then give DI Cleverly a call and get him up to date on where we are.’