by Lin Anderson
‘Yes . . . sir,’ McNab managed to say in return.
Janice gave him one of her piercing looks as the boss began doling out other tasks.
‘What?’ McNab said, obviously failing to temper the emotion he’d experienced at the name of his contact in the Met.
‘What’s wrong with DI Cleverly?’ she said.
McNab considered how much of the story he should give her. Eventually he said, ‘One, he’s a wee shite. Two, he’s not clever.’
‘You know him, then?’
McNab sucked air between his teeth. ‘He almost got me killed when I was in a supposed safe house in London, after I was shot.’
‘You’ve never mentioned him before?’
‘If I listed every arsehole that’s pissed me off, you would have demanded not to be my partner.’
‘I’ve thought about it for less,’ Janice conceded. ‘Does the boss know you’re sworn enemies?’
McNab didn’t know, since he’d never reported on Cleverly’s actions. He’d just abandoned the safe house and gone into hiding on his own volition, until it was time to give evidence in court.
‘It wouldn’t stop him giving me the job, even if he did,’ McNab said. ‘The boss doesn’t do vendettas.’
Janice didn’t say ‘unlike you’. What she did say was, ‘So time to let bygones be bygones?’
McNab smiled in reply. ‘I’m off to speak to Ollie. See what else we’ve learned about Ms Newton Richardson, in preparation for my phone call to DI Cleverly.’
That wouldn’t be the only question he planned to pose, McNab thought, as he headed in the direction of the IT department.
He was in the cafeteria stocking up on goodies for Ollie when his mobile rang. The screen gave him nothing but a London number, but McNab guessed who it would be.
He left the goodies on the counter, motioned he had to answer this call before he could pay for them, then took himself off into a corner.
‘DS McNab here,’ he said.
The pause that followed was long enough for him to wonder whether Cleverly had actually been given his name as the contact in Glasgow. And if so, had he recognized it?
Eventually the response came. ‘DI Cleverly here from the Met.’
The tone suggested he either didn’t recall McNab’s name or he was being studiously neutral on the subject. McNab remained silent.
‘It’s about the possible self-immolation case . . .’
McNab continued to wait. If information was to be given out, it would not be by him. Besides, he hadn’t yet seen Ollie to be brought up to date.
‘And the possibility that the victim might be one Olivia Newton Richardson of—’ Cleverly quoted an address.
‘So what have you got?’ McNab said.
‘Nothing as yet. We’ve just begun enquiries.’
This time the intervening silence lasted even longer, before Cleverly finally said, ‘We’ll be in touch, Detective Sergeant.’
And that was it.
Grasping a can of sugar-free Irn-Bru and a packet of mixed nuts, McNab found himself pining for the days of sugared ring doughnuts, now apparently banned by Ollie’s recently acquired girlfriend, Maria.
Still, you were the one that introduced them, he reminded himself. So you only have yourself to blame.
Now outside the IT suite, McNab took a deep breath before entering. He was as averse to rooms full of tech as he was to the countryside. Fortunately for him, he wasn’t often required to spend time outside his home city of Glasgow. Avoiding this place was less easy.
He stood for a moment to locate Ollie, then headed over there.
Plonking his offerings on the desk, he gave Ollie a grin, while also noting that the new diet imposed by Maria seemed to be working. Either that or Ollie had increased his physical activity levels since he’d met her. Or maybe both, McNab thought.
Ollie caught the grin, and looked mildly embarrassed, which he often did.
‘Nuts and sugar-free Irn-Bru,’ McNab pointed out. ‘Just what Maria ordered. Things still good between you two?’
Ollie’s eyes behind the glasses took on a shine. Something McNab had only seen previously when Ollie had located some excellent and enlightening piece of information online.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Maria says to say hi.’
So I continue to be in the good books, McNab thought. That bodes well for getting info on Baldy.
‘You’re here about the credit cards from the fire?’ Ollie said.
‘I am sent from the boss on precisely that mission.’
‘Well,’ Ollie began, ‘Ms Richardson, owner of the cards, lives at—’
McNab repeated the address given him by Cleverly.
Ollie shot him a look of surprise. ‘Yes . . . how did you know?’
‘Go on,’ McNab urged him.
‘The address is in a very desirable area. She leases the flat. Her bank accounts are healthy. She earns a lot and spends a lot. She also works for, or has a company called, Go Wild, which as far as I can gather, provides extreme adventure holidays.’
‘How extreme?’ McNab said, ears pricking up.
‘Still checking this out, but it definitely involves travelling to difficult locations. Taking part in extreme sports. That sort of thing.’
‘Not cheap, I take it?’
‘Definitely not cheap.’ Ollie’s head bobbed in his enthusiasm.
‘So a short stay in a tenement flat in Govan is unlikely to be included in the itinerary?’
Ollie gave a little laugh. ‘Exactly.’
‘So why was our girl there? Have you found any links to Glasgow?’
‘Not so far,’ Ollie said, sounding apologetic. ‘But I’ve only just started.’
‘Any word on her mobile?’ McNab tried.
‘Trickier . . .’
When Ollie started out on the reasons why this was so, McNab cut him off. ‘Just let me know when you do.’ He sat back in the chair. ‘Now, the photo I sent?’
‘Is he a suspect in the fire case?’ Ollie said.
McNab considered a lie, albeit briefly, then shook his head. ‘I just want to know if he’s been anywhere on our radar.’
‘Okay, but I take it the Go Wild thing has higher priority for now?’
Ollie had done favours for him in the past, and McNab didn’t want to jeopardize their arrangement. ‘No hurry,’ he said, ‘just when you can fit it in.’ He tried to look easy about it, even as he thought the opposite. If the guy was a felon, he wanted evidence to present to Ellie, and fast.
Then another outcome presented itself. Ellie might not care. Might think he was the creepy one in this scenario.
‘Okay, send me everything you find on this Go Wild thing, and any evidence to suggest that Ms Richardson is still alive.’
‘You think the cards didn’t belong to the victim?’
‘There’s always that chance.’ McNab hesitated. ‘We’re liaising with the Met on this one, in case the victim is one of theirs, and I’m the contact on that. If a DI Cleverly gets in touch directly, can you refer him back to me, please?’
‘Sure thing,’ Ollie said.
McNab left then to head to his next port of call, which was Jimmy. The old man hadn’t given them much. Maybe he was just too upset. Then again, if he had seen a perpetrator, he might not have been keen to make that known.
If some guy was up for setting a woman on fire, an old man who was witness to that might be his next victim.
14
The flies hadn’t been the only visitors to the crime scene. That became obvious as Rhona and Chrissy quietly went about their work.
‘You hearing them too?’ Chrissy said, her whisper muffled further by the mask. ‘They’re getting braver.’
‘We stole their future dinner once they’d finished with the kitchen,’ Rhona said. ‘Do you have your mobile with you?’
‘Never without it,’ Chrissy assured her.
‘Then let’s have some music. That might keep them away.’
‘
Good idea. Any requests?’
‘Something rats won’t like,’ Rhona said, well aware that she might not like Chrissy’s choice of music either. Whatever it was, it would be better than listening to the squeaking.
Rhona wasn’t against rats per se. In fact, there was much to be admired about them. Still, she didn’t want them scuttling around her when she was on a job.
They’d erected a tent over their workspace, and brought the arc lights inside. The strange virtual world that surrounded them had exploded into life roughly every forty-five minutes. Shielded in part by the brightness of the spotlights, they’d gradually come to ignore the sudden screaming of their virtual audience, knowing they were stuck with it anyway until the body in the computer room had been processed.
She had chosen to leave the arena victims clothed, but had gone through the usual meticulous routine of photographing, examining and taping them.
Their position and that of the swords seemed to Rhona’s judgement to suggest neither sword had been used to inflict the major blows. Added to that, the angle and depth of the chest wounds implied that both blows had been struck by someone taller, and possibly left-handed.
The swords themselves had been bagged for further examination, but in her minimal handling of them, neither blade had appeared sharp enough to result in such penetrating wounds. Added to that, the male’s lower leg had been sliced cleanly off, and she couldn’t see the slightly built female being able to do that.
If she was right, then a third person had been present, and that person had been taller, more muscular and had had a weapon capable of bringing about this carnage.
When this had happened depended on multiple factors. A body exposed to the air decomposed more quickly than a buried body. The virtual game might be still playing, but any heating that had been on was no longer in operation. In fact, the area was cool, verging on cold. That, and the fact it wasn’t yet summer, had meant the flies weren’t numerous.
The bodies had gone through rigor mortis, which broadly happened between twenty-four and thirty-six hours after death. Post-mortem decomposition usually began immediately after death, often not visible at first until greening of the skin began in the right flank of the abdomen at around two to three days, gradually extending to cover the whole abdominal area.
In this instance, decomposition had progressed further, showing swelling in the face, genitals and abdomen, but hadn’t yet progressed to marbling of the skin, where the vein patterns are visible. At a broad estimate, the two fighters had died three to five days ago.
Chrissy had been concentrating on the small wounds on the legs. Their initial interpretation, that they might have been caused by the points of the swords, had been tempered by the presence of the rats, which was also feeding into their interpretation of the overall state of the bodies.
It was a slow and laborious process, but just as in the Glasgow fire, they had to retrieve as much as possible before the bodies were removed.
Kneeling back, Rhona signalled that the music should be turned off. Chrissy did so. The sudden silence, from both the rats and their virtual audience, seemed deafening, until they gradually registered again the metallic creaks and clangs as the ship circled its mooring with the shifting tide.
‘I used to fancy going on a cruise,’ Chrissy said. ‘The Norwegian fjords, or maybe the Mediterranean for the sunshine. Don’t fancy it so much now.’
‘Did you get the vomit?’ Rhona said.
‘I can confirm I have taken possession of the pavement pizza,’ Chrissy said, using a favourite Glasgow expression.
Not for the first time did Rhona say a silent thank you for Chrissy’s take on the world in general.
‘How’s your own stomach?’ she said, returning Chrissy’s smile.
‘The rats have retreated because it was growling so loudly.’
Rhona checked the time only to discover just how late it was.
‘Can you finish up here while I photograph the first locus? After that, we’ll head back. Eat and get some sleep, then come back at first light,’ she said.
‘Which, as it’s Orkney, will be very early,’ Chrissy warned her.
Erling had left them a radio to keep in touch. Rhona called him now, saying they were ready to transport the evidence and the two bodies ashore from the arena, and that they would return at first light tomorrow.
‘I’ll send Ivan out with the launch. The guys will see you safely down the ladder and back to shore, where Magnus is ready with the food.’
At the promise of food, Chrissy’s eyes lit up, the bannocks and cheese which Magnus had packed for their lunch having been consumed long since.
Rhona glanced back at the rusty ship as the launch powered its way to shore. The decision had been made to land the coastguard helicopter on the cargo deck, now possible after the Portakabins had been moved. The bodies of the two Vikings would be transported to the Glasgow mortuary in the morning. After that it would be the forensic pathologist’s job to discover their secrets.
‘When we were shown the fancy quarters,’ Chrissy said suddenly, ‘I noticed something.’
‘What?’ Rhona said.
‘The bedding all had an embroidered symbol on it. I took a photo out of curiosity. Then I noticed the same symbol was on the handles of the swords. So I presume it was a company mark. You’ll no doubt have captured it in your photographs.’
She handed Rhona her phone. It was an insignia. The swirling adjoining letters looked like a G and a W intertwined.
‘I wonder if Erling’s picked up on that,’ Rhona said.
Chrissy grew ever more excited as the image of Magnus’s house got closer.
‘I’ve always wanted to stay there,’ she announced to Ivan, who looked a little put out by that.
‘The sea comes up and round the foundations, you know,’ he warned. ‘Two fishermen built it below the high-water mark because that land was free.’
‘How romantic,’ Chrissy said, much to Ivan’s chagrin.
Rhona now suspected her assistant was definitely having the poor man on, and kicked her to register that. Chrissy, however, when rapturous about something, wasn’t likely to be dissuaded.
Chrissy was out of the launch first, and heading straight for Magnus’s front door. Rhona thanked Ivan and reiterated that they’d like to go back out at dawn the next day.
‘Sun’s up just after five tomorrow,’ he checked. ‘Shall we say six o’clock for our trip out?’ He looked worried that she might suggest even earlier, so Rhona complied.
‘We’ll be ready,’ she promised.
Opening the front door, Rhona caught the scent of something delicious. The relief at having her feet back on dry land was now further enhanced by the anticipation of a hot shower and a meal.
Magnus appeared from the kitchen to greet her. ‘I’ve put you in the room you had last time. Towels are on the bed. Take as much time and hot water as you need.’
Entering the room, Rhona went straight to the window, remembering how much she’d loved this view the first time she’d stayed with Magnus.
Luckily, the hulk of the MV Orlova had shifted out of sight, and she still had a clear line to the hills of Hoy. Magnus had joked on her first visit that if you could see Hoy then the rain was on its way. If you couldn’t see Hoy, then the rain was already here.
Rhona undressed and moved swiftly to the shower. As the water beat down on her head, the image and smell of the locus began to fade and she could focus on the forthcoming dinner.
According to Magnus, they would be joined tonight by investigative journalist Ava Clouston. It seemed Ava was reporting on the ghost ship for The Orcadian, plus various national and international outlets, since she was back home for a while, after the death of her parents. Rhona was intrigued to meet her and perhaps get her take on the mysterious MV Orlova, although, of course, there couldn’t be a discussion of what had happened on board today.
Heading downstairs, she found Chrissy and Magnus outside on the stone jetty admir
ing the view. Sunset had now turned the sky blood red against the dark hills of Hoy. It was stunningly beautiful and also devoid of wind, as though a Norse god was holding his breath at the splendour.
Chrissy was staring transfixed at the wonder before her. She might be a city girl but, unlike McNab, she could appreciate a world outside its boundaries. She had definitely taken a liking to the remote cottage they’d occupied during the Sanday case, once she was sure that the larder and fridge were well stocked.
‘A dram?’ Magnus offered, indicating the bottle of Highland Park and glasses set out on the outer wall of his own little harbour.
As Rhona smiled a yes, they heard a woman’s voice call his name.
‘That’ll be Ava,’ Magnus said, going to answer.
‘D’you know this Ava woman?’ Chrissy asked. ‘Apparently she’s an investigative journalist.’
‘I’ve read some of her reports, but never met her,’ Rhona admitted.
Chrissy lowered her voice. ‘Her parents died in a car accident, and she has to decide what to do with the farm. It’s over there.’ She pointed westwards. ‘Apparently there’s a teenage brother who wants to keep it on.’
As Chrissy finished, the woman they’d been discussing appeared. Tall and dark-haired, she observed them with a cool, clear, interested gaze.
‘It’s good to meet you, Dr MacLeod, and you must be Chrissy. I’ve heard all about you both from Magnus.’
She accepted her dram and they all toasted their meeting and the stunning sunset.
‘I forget when I’m in London just how long the spring and summer days are in Orkney,’ she said. ‘It’s always a revelation when I return. As is the wind,’ she added, laughing.
‘What wind?’ Magnus indicated the flat calm of the water gently lapping against the stone jetty.
They spoke mainly of Ava’s work during the meal and Rhona discovered a mutual connection between them. Ava had been working on the disappearance of immigrant children in London, which had links with the torso of a young Nigerian boy found in Glasgow’s River Kelvin. Rhona had been involved in the case, and the subsequent search for another little Nigerian boy snatched from a garden in Glasgow.
‘Michael’s father, Sam, helped us with that,’ Chrissy told Ava. ‘Rhona and DS McNab eventually travelled to Nigeria to help find and rescue little Stephen.’