by Lin Anderson
‘DI Cleverly?’ McNab held out his hand.
Cleverly eyed him as he might a suspect. ‘My God, it is you. The guy from the safe house.’ His face grew puzzled. ‘But I heard you’d been promoted to DI? I assumed when they said DS, it was another McNab. Let’s face it, there’s a lot of Mics and Macs up here,’ he said with a laugh.
McNab gritted his teeth, and remote-opened the car.
As Cleverly slid in alongside him, he reminded himself that orders were to wring as much information out of Cleverly as he could, rather than wring his neck.
‘So what’s with the Met’s interest in a lassie burned to death in Glasgow? Not enough to be going on with in the capital?’ he said as they headed into the city centre.
Cleverly kept his eyes firmly ahead. ‘If there’s a London connection, we want to know.’
‘So the visit’s nothing to do with the fact that the victim might work for a company called Go Wild?’ McNab said.
The twitch to the right of Cleverly’s mouth suggested Go Wild were two words he was definitely familiar with, but didn’t want to acknowledge.
‘I’m here solely for the PM,’ he said, confirming this.
McNab nodded. ‘Fair enough. However, we now have an address for a Go Wild premises in Glasgow. So I’ll be heading there on our way to the mortuary. Of course, you’re free to stay in the car while I take a look.’
Five minutes later, McNab drew up on a yellow line and, hopping out of the vehicle, went to check the semi-boarded-up shopfront. A quick glance through the letterbox found the usual pile of junk mail.
He immediately headed round the back, if only to get out of Cleverly’s view and express his irritation with a string of Glasgow expletives. There he found a small paved area with a shed for refuse bins and a party space as evidenced by the assortment of empties.
A quick examination of the back entrance suggested it could be easily forced if he wanted a look inside. Through a dirty window he caught a glimpse of an open inner door to what was an office, with a poster on the wall featuring the words ‘Go Wild’.
The place was definitely worth a closer look.
Trouble was, if he took the time to do that, Cleverly would no doubt come to see what he was up to. And McNab didn’t want that. Maybe later tonight when he’d rid himself of Cleverly, he decided, before heading back to the car.
Just in time, it seemed.
As he turned onto the main street, Cleverly was in the act of getting out of the car.
‘Something interesting?’ he said as McNab approached.
McNab shook his head. ‘Just a hang-out for kids. If Go Wild ever operated from there, they’re long gone.’ He checked his watch. ‘Time to head for the post-mortem. Your sole reason for visiting Glasgow.’
20
‘Self-immolation in the open air has access to huge amounts of oxygen,’ Dr Sissons was saying. ‘Which means you die from ferocious heat and burns, and not carbon monoxide. To put it bluntly, you incinerate.’
The scent of burnt flesh hung in the air. Rhona had grown used to it again, her memories of the fresh air of Orkney sadly dissipated.
Sissons turned to Rhona. ‘Am I to understand someone tried to put her out?’
‘An elderly neighbour saw her and ran out with a blanket,’ Rhona told him.
He nodded. ‘Without that, two-thirds of the body would have been cremated, with perhaps only the feet and lower legs spared. In that case, we would have expected to see a more pugilistic attitude as the muscles contracted with perhaps the skull splitting. As it is, both the blanket and the natural fibres of the clothing have helped protect the body.’
Evidence of Sissons’s words were obvious, now that the clothes had been removed. Rhona met McNab’s eyes across the table. He was never at ease at a PM, and they were nearing the point in the proceedings he was least comfortable with . . . the dissection.
The Met detective Rhona had never encountered before. She assumed he was here to hopefully identify the victim as the owner of the credit cards, Londoner Olivia Newton Richardson.
In no way was that going to be possible visually because of the fire damage to her face. When a disappointed Cleverly had mentioned the possibility of digital reconstruction, Sissons had immediately declared that that was for others to discuss and not here in his mortuary.
‘One assumes the Met can use her dental report to help establish her identity,’ he’d finished, his voice slick with sarcasm.
Rhona had noted a twinkle in McNab’s eyes at that point, plus she was certain he wore a smile behind his mask. So whatever the reason for the Met officer being there didn’t sit well with McNab.
Undaunted by Sissons’s sharp response, Cleverly had then tried to establish whether she’d been set alight or had committed suicide, whereupon the pathologist had told him to speak to Dr MacLeod about that as she had collected the scene-of-crime evidence.
As the pathologist declared them ready to open up the body, Cleverly indicated he would like to speak to Dr MacLeod and DS McNab outside.
So here they were.
His suit now discarded, Rhona could get a proper look at the man who was likely McNab’s current nemesis. A native Londoner by his voice, he wore the air of someone here on sufferance. He also asked a great many questions, while not obviously keen to answer any that were directed at him.
Rhona explained that for the moment the crime-scene evidence suggested a third party was involved. Plus the victim had been kept in the top flat prior to her death.
‘She had been bound to the bed and the bed had been doused in petrol. So when she escaped or was taken downstairs, she was already covered in accelerant.’
McNab shot Rhona a look that suggested she curtail the details. So it wasn’t all about sharing. At least not at this point.
‘Why were the cards undamaged?’
‘A leather handbag was found under the body. The wallet and cards were inside. As you’re probably aware, leather doesn’t burn.’
‘And the mobile?’ Cleverly said as though he knew of one’s existence already.
‘There was a mobile, which I switched off and put in a Faraday bag as protocol dictates,’ Rhona said, growing increasingly wary of Cleverly’s tone.
McNab came in at that point as though intent on taking the heat off her. ‘We’re examining the mobile, along with the connection between Ms Richardson and the company we think she’s linked to, Go Wild.’
Rhona’s ears pricked up at this. ‘You think the victim definitely had something to do with Go Wild?’
McNab nodded. ‘Why?’
‘I’m just back from a crime scene on board an abandoned cruise ship that ran aground off Orkney in the storm. The MV Orlova is apparently owned by a company with that name.’
McNab looked surprised by this development, Cleverly not so much – or else, Rhona thought, he was pretending not to be. His next request suggested that might be the case.
‘I’d like to take a look at the fire scene now. Speak to the old man.’
‘Okay,’ McNab said. ‘We’re not far from there.’
He threw Rhona a wide-eyed look as Cleverly quickly stuffed his forensic suit in the bin provided and prepared to leave.
When it was obvious that Cleverly was ready, McNab said, ‘Thank you, Dr MacLeod. I’ll maybe see you later?’
Cleverly, jolted into action by this, reiterated his own curt thanks.
‘No problem,’ Rhona said, thinking, as the two men left, that there was definitely a problem, she just wasn’t quite sure what it was yet. She stepped back into the post-mortem room.
Noting her re-entry, Sissons stopped what he was doing to remark, ‘The Met seem very interested in our fire case, do they not, Dr MacLeod?’
Aware, from long experience, that this was not a question to which she was required to give an answer, Rhona waited.
‘So much so that they sent DI Cleverly on a flying visit to Glasgow.’
The pathologist started up the drill and shouted abo
ve the whine.
‘Next thing we know, there will be a request, or perhaps even a demand, that the victim’s remains, plus the scene-of-crime evidence, be transported south.’
The scream of the drill almost buried his final remark, but not quite.
‘You mark my words, Dr MacLeod. You mark my words.’
21
‘How far?’ Cleverly said as they exited the hospital grounds.
‘Ten minutes from the Death Star to the locus,’ McNab said.
‘The Death Star.’ Cleverly pretended a smile. ‘Is that what’s known as Glasgow humour?’
‘We were told to call it the Queen Elizabeth,’ McNab said. ‘That was the joke. So Glasgow folk took it into their own hands.’
Cleverly looked as though he might come back on that, then changed his mind. ‘Tell me about the eye witness.’
‘In his seventies. Lives . . . alone.’ McNab had been about to mention the cat, then realized that Lucifer might prove a nice surprise. He could only hope so.
He expected a few more barbed comments about Glasgow as they made their way across Govan, and found himself slightly disappointed when they didn’t materialize. Maybe he was reading Cleverly wrong, he thought. Holding his past misdemeanours against him. After all, he’d screwed up plenty himself over the years.
Drawing up outside the flats, McNab imagined he could still smell the residue of the fire, maybe even the female victim, before he reminded himself he’d just left her company fifteen or so minutes ago.
Leading Cleverly to Jimmy’s door, he gave a couple of knocks.
Jimmy was either there in a flash or he’d spied their arrival via the street-facing window of the flat. As the door opened, there he was, a big smile on his face. ‘Sergeant McNab,’ he said, the smile widening at a double helping of police officers.
‘This is DI Cleverly from the Metropolitan Police,’ McNab told him.
Jimmy looked suitably impressed. ‘You’re very welcome here, sir. Come away in, both of you.’
McNab followed Jimmy through to the rear room expecting to find the big black cat in his usual spot at the window.
‘Where’s Lucifer?’ he said when he saw the place was empty.
‘Out on the prowl,’ Jimmy said. ‘He’ll be back soon, I expect. Tea or coffee, gents?’
McNab returned Cleverly’s questioning look with a little nod. ‘Coffee for me, Jimmy. Strong.’
‘And you, sir?’
‘Same as DS McNab, thanks.’
When Jimmy headed for the kitchen, Cleverly said, under his breath, ‘You two are very pally. Sure he’s not got you coming back just for company?’
‘It was you who asked to speak to him,’ McNab reminded him.
‘So I’ll ask the questions,’ Cleverly said.
‘Here we go.’ Jimmy set a tray down with the three mugs. ‘Celtic for Sergeant McNab, Rangers for me. No idea who you support, Inspector, so I’ve given you my Scotland mug,’ he announced with a twinkle in his eye.
Cleverly was still wearing his serious look, which didn’t budge at Jimmy’s wee joke.
‘Okay, Jimmy. Give me your story.’
Jimmy set off. ‘Well, it was the night of the big storm. Me and Lucifer were in here at the window waiting for the roof to take off. That’s when I saw the flames and—’
‘Nothing before?’ Cleverly interrupted. ‘She must have arrived out there before the fire started,’ he insisted in a voice that suggested he didn’t believe Jimmy. ‘And you have a clear view of the back exit from here if you were, as you say, seated at that window.’
‘I wasn’t actually at the window,’ Jimmy said. ‘I was sitting on the couch.’
‘So you weren’t at the window?’
‘I went to the window when I saw the flames.’ Jimmy looked confused. ‘It all happened so fast.’
‘How did you know it was a person on fire?’
Jimmy’s face crumpled. ‘The screaming. It was terrible. That’s when I took out the blanket.’
‘So you saw no one out there along with the victim?’
McNab watched as Jimmy struggled with the question.
‘I might have seen someone in the light from the close.’
‘You never mentioned that before, Jimmy,’ McNab said.
‘I’m sorry. The police lassie was here. I didn’t want to frighten her. I didn’t mention the sex games thing either.’
‘Mention it now,’ Cleverly said.
McNab listened while Jimmy retold the tale of the top flat in which the words ‘sexual shenanigans’ weren’t uttered. After that Cleverly seemed to have had enough and so, too, did Jimmy.
At that moment Lucifer arrived to claw at the window, his eyes staring malevolently in at them.
‘I told you he’d be back soon,’ Jimmy said, sounding relieved to get backup.
On entry, Lucifer took a moment to study both detectives before focusing all his spitting hate and arched back at Cleverly.
‘I’m very sorry, Inspector. Lucifer’s my guard dog. He knows when I’m upset about something.’ He scooped up the cat and tried to placate him. It worked with the spitting, but didn’t put an end to the malicious look.
‘Thank you for your help, Mr Donaldson,’ Cleverly said, making for the door. ‘We can let ourselves out.’
McNab lingered to say goodbye, now that he knew Lucifer’s wrath was not directed at him.
‘Thanks, Jimmy.’
‘I’m sorry I never mentioned the figure at the door, Sergeant. I wasn’t even sure I saw it. What with the wind and rain that night and my eyes on the lassie and the ball of fire. If I remember anything else . . .’
‘Just give me a call,’ McNab said, patting him on the shoulder.
‘An unreliable witness,’ Cleverly said as McNab unlocked the car. ‘There’s no way from his statement we get to know that it wasn’t a suicide.’
‘A young woman is bound to a bed, someone had sex with her, according to the swab taken at post-mortem, the bed is doused with petrol, then she gets free and runs outside to set herself alight? Does that sound the right finale to you?’
Cleverly’s mobile rang as they departed Govan. He listened to some instructions, gave monosyllabic replies and rang off.
‘Change of plan. I’m staying here overnight and flying down first thing tomorrow.’
‘Why?’ McNab said.
Cleverly threw him a look. ‘So that we can get to chat more, Sergeant. And to that end I suggest we ditch the car and go get a drink. It’s knock-off time anyway.’
‘So you’re all nine-to-five in the metropolis?’
‘Or five at night to nine in the morning,’ Cleverly said.
McNab was about to say he had other plans, then thought what the hell, maybe he could get a better take on why the Met were so interested in Glasgow’s burn victim.
‘So where are you taking me?’ Cleverly said.
McNab had already dismissed the jazz club, even though he’d planned to go there to meet with Rhona and hear more about Go Wild and her ghost ship crime scene. Instead, he proposed a place in the centre of town, where he and Ellie had been a few times.
‘We can eat there too,’ he said. ‘If you’re hungry, that is?’
‘Copy that. I’m booked into an airport hotel. I’ll catch a taxi there later.’
McNab wondered when all this had been decided, seeing as he’d been with Cleverly since he’d picked him up at the airport. Maybe he’d never intended flying back tonight?
The last person he wanted to spend time with this evening was Cleverly, but maybe, just maybe, if they had a drink together he might glean a little more information from him. Or vice versa, a wee voice reminded him.
The area around George Square was busy with folk coming back from work or heading out on the town.
‘The place hasn’t changed much,’ Cleverly said as they walked through the square, having ditched the car.
‘You’ve been to Glasgow before?’ McNab said, surprised.
�
��Had a Scottish girlfriend for a while. She had a flat in the West End, near the university. I liked coming here. Then she decided she didn’t like me any more.’
‘It happens,’ McNab offered in solidarity.
As McNab led him up the stairs and into the chosen bar, Cleverly took an appreciative look around. ‘Very nice. Hope it’s not just fancy cocktails they serve?’
‘Also good beer and fine whisky,’ McNab assured him.
‘So, we start with a beer, eat, then move on to your whisky recommendation?’ Cleverly suggested.
‘Okay by me,’ McNab said.
After a pizza each with the beer, they did move on to whisky. They hadn’t talked shop during the meal, Cleverly just reminiscing about his trips to Glasgow.
‘Sadly,’ McNab said, ‘I don’t have fond memories of my last time in London.’
They eyed one another.
It had to be said, McNab thought.
‘How’s the bullet wound?’ Cleverly said.
‘I got it tattooed,’ McNab told him.
‘Really?’
‘Covered it with a skull.’
Cleverly raised an eyebrow. ‘Impressive. Plus you made the Kalinin trial alive.’
The Russian, Kalinin, who’d ordered him shot in front of a pregnant Chrissy, had believed him dead. As had Chrissy and Rhona. Jesus, they’d even buried what they thought was him. McNab wasn’t proud of that part of the story, although he hadn’t had any choice in the matter. Eventually he’d risen from his fake death to become the prime witness in the Russian’s trial.
As for Cleverly’s poorly played role as his minder . . .
‘Only because I bailed out of the not-so-safe house and came home,’ he reminded him.
Cleverly nodded. ‘Fair comment.’
The semi-admission of guilt, although he’d been looking for it, still surprised McNab.
‘All in the past,’ he heard himself say. ‘So what’s the real story about your visit?’
Cleverly thought for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Just trying to establish if the victim’s a Londoner or not.’
McNab didn’t believe him, and said so. ‘You and the Met are fucking us around. What’s this really about?’