by Lin Anderson
Ava checked him out, then held out her hand. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you from Chrissy,’ she said. ‘All of it good.’
‘And I’ve heard all about you from Rhona. So we’re even.’ McNab even managed a smile.
Introductions over, they walked the few yards past the evening crowds to Ashoka.
‘You’re not familiar with Glasgow?’ McNab asked on the way.
‘I did my degree in Aberdeen, then headed to London. And from there to anywhere there was a story worth investigating.’
‘So none in Glasgow?’ McNab said.
‘None until now.’
The first flurry over, they settled down to their meal with little more than chit-chat involved. McNab became the friendly, funny version of himself. The one women in general enjoyed. Telling Ava the story of his time on Sanday, and how an irate group of locals had tossed him over the wall at the Kettletoft Hotel and into the North Sea.
‘That’s terrible,’ Ava said laughingly. ‘I apologize for my fellow islanders.’ She indicated McNab’s injuries. ‘You didn’t get these in Orkney too, I hope?’
‘No. These were inflicted locally,’ McNab said, his voice more serious now.
Rhona waited, knowing this was the moment when the real reason for the stopover was likely to be revealed.
Eventually Ava said, ‘My colleague, Mark Sylvester, who’s working the Go Wild story along with me, turned up at my London flat today looking very much like you do. He didn’t explain what had happened either. Although I’m pretty sure it was linked to the Go Wild investigation.’ She paused, her face serious.
‘That’s why you wanted to meet with me?’ Rhona said.
Ava nodded. ‘Mark asked me to locate a contact at Police Scotland in order to pass on a message.’
‘What message?’ McNab demanded.
‘The Met sent up a detective for the post-mortem on the fire victim—’
‘How d’you know about that?’ McNab interrupted her.
Ava ignored the question. ‘Mark’s message was that DI Cleverly can’t be trusted.’
A moment’s silence followed, before McNab laughed out loud. ‘Jesus. Tell me something I don’t know.’
At the arrival of the waiter with the coffee, they fell silent, although Rhona could almost hear McNab’s brain working. Until now, his distrust of Cleverly could have been construed as personal. If suspicion was being levelled at the police officer from another quarter, albeit an investigative journalist, maybe it improved his argument.
‘What does this Mark have on Cleverly?’ McNab demanded.
‘He didn’t say. Just asked me to warn you.’
‘Not enough,’ McNab said.
Rhona didn’t think so either. ‘If you have information related to this case, you must inform the police.’
‘Mark’s being investigated by the Met, according to my editor. Seems he’s upsetting some important people who don’t want Go Wild exposed for what it is . . . supplying the wealthy with ways to commit murder and get away with it.’
‘Or he’s the one that’s not to be trusted,’ McNab challenged her.
‘There are four people dead who were connected to Go Wild. You look as though you could have been number five.’
Rhona turned to McNab. ‘Are your injuries connected to the investigation?’
She watched as he tried to figure out his response.
‘You can’t accuse Ava of withholding information if you’re doing the same thing.’
‘It’s not the same,’ McNab finally said.
The drill of Ava’s mobile broke the silence that followed. She’d laid it alongside her on the table as though concerned that she might miss a call.
Her face was fraught as she listened. ‘Call Erling. Tell him what’s happened. Then stay inside. D’you hear me, Dougie? I’ll be back first thing tomorrow.’
‘What is it?’ Rhona said as soon as the call ended.
‘One of our cows has been knifed to death in the field.’ She looked stricken. ‘That’s the second in days and I left Dougie there on his own.’
‘Why would anyone do such a thing?’ Rhona said.
Ava shook her head. ‘All I know is that it began when I started investigating what was going on aboard the Orlova.’
27
There was a light on in the second-floor window and a motorbike parked up next to the front door. McNab lifted the cover and recognized the markings.
It looked like Ellie was home and hopefully alone, although he couldn’t be certain of that.
He stood for a while, his eyes fastened on that window, and saw no movement inside. Of course, she could be in the kitchen or the bedroom, both of which were at the back of the building.
He wrestled with his decision, knowing that walking on was the easier thing to do, but maybe not the wisest. That’s the way Rhona had put it. They’d sat for a bit after Ava had left, discussing what had been said.
Rhona had eventually extracted a potted version of what had happened to him at the fight club, but only because he’d planned to come clean to the boss tomorrow anyway. She’d also prised out of him what he and Sean had been talking about when she’d arrived at the club.
‘It’s not another woman,’ he’d told her.
‘So what the hell’s going on?’
He’d contemplated a lie, but there was something in the way she’d looked at him. Their past was fraught enough, with him mostly the cause. So he’d decided to tell her the truth.
‘The club’s in debt.’
‘It’s not anything to do with drugs again?’ she’d immediately asked.
Sean had been closed down once before because of drugs found on the premises. It had been a rough time for all of them.
‘It’s not that,’ he’d told her.
She hadn’t looked totally convinced, so he’d added, ‘I would tell you if it was.’
And she’d believed him. He could see that in her eyes. Not for the first time, he thought that she was with the wrong man. That it should be him.
Until that wee voice of truth reminded him that he’d screwed up once with her and wouldn’t be allowed a retry.
Taking another glance upwards, he made up his mind. He would do as Rhona had suggested. He would try to talk to Ellie. ‘She just might give you the sympathy vote for that face,’ she’d said.
McNab had smiled then, knowing he needed all the help he could get.
When they’d left the Indian restaurant, he’d made for the main road, whereas Rhona had gone back to the jazz club. He’d turned at the corner to watch her re-enter, knowing what she was planning. He’d found himself wishing her luck, at the same time as wishing it were him she was going back to.
The main door to the tenement was unlatched, which meant someone had either lost or forgotten their key again. Ellie was always unfazed by the front door being left open. It was something McNab had often lectured her on, much to her irritation.
Remembering that caused him to recall other warnings he’d dished out, usually citing being a police officer as a valid reason.
No wonder she wanted time off from me, he thought.
Despite being able to enter, he rang the buzzer anyway. A few seconds later, he heard her pick up.
‘Ellie. It’s Michael.’
‘I know. I saw you from the window.’
Silence.
‘Can I come up? I need to speak to you.’
She must have known that the main door was already open. Was it an advantage that he hadn’t appeared unannounced? Or might Ellie think he was just making a point again?
When he hit the landing, she was waiting for him. As soon as he was in full view, her hand jumped to her mouth in shock at his battered face. McNab had had a quick survey of it in the Gents prior to leaving the restaurant, and even he’d been taken aback by the swelling mosaic of colours.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks.’
‘My God. What happened?’ She was about to reach out to him, then didn’t.
/> ‘I tried to stop a fight.’ He shrugged. ‘Which didn’t go down well with the bloke who was winning.’
And with that he was in.
McNab hoped the invite might take him as far as the sitting room, but every door off the hall was firmly shut. On a positive note, he saw no sign of a strange jacket where his had once hung.
He shifted his gaze back to Ellie, who was silently awaiting whatever he’d come there to say. He tried to read her expression but couldn’t.
‘I wanted to tell you . . . I’m okay about sharing you with someone else.’
In the silence that followed, the stupid words echoed in his brain.
‘Fuck it,’ he said. ‘That came out all wrong. What I meant to say was, I really want to see you again – on your own terms, that is.’ He tried his cheeky grin as a finale and was miraculously awarded with the ghost of a smile from Ellie.
‘I’ll think about that,’ she said.
‘Oh and Janice asked if we would like to come to dinner with her and Paula. Seems Paula’s a great cook . . .’ He slowed to a halt.
Ellie’s eyes were fixed on him. He had this notion she was reading his soul and finding it dark and tortured. So no surprise there then.
‘When?’ she said.
‘The date’s still to be decided,’ he rushed on. ‘I’ve to let them know when you’re free.’
‘Will your face be back to normal by then?’
Was that a yes? McNab wasn’t altogether sure. ‘It might get worse before it gets better,’ he offered.
‘Hope you gave as good as you got,’ Ellie said. ‘I’ll text you when I’m free.’
And that was it. McNab found himself swiftly back on the landing with the door shut.
Rhona had warned him not to mention Baldy and the altercation when he was out with Cleverly. He was glad he’d taken her advice.
He found himself whistling as he descended the stairs. He was in again. Maybe just a little, but it was a start.
Emerging onto the street, he found the rain had come on. He didn’t care. A wee drop of rain never hurt anyone, his mother used to say. He paused for a moment to look up at Ellie’s window, hoping she might be there again, waiting for him to appear. She might even look down, see him and wave.
His hopes in that direction didn’t last long.
There was a figure at the window, but it wasn’t Ellie. It was Baldy and he was giving him the finger.
28
They’d begun with the computer room victim.
Sissons had recorded the state of the body into the overhead mike, establishing the burn patterns on the left arm and hand. He’d quickly dismissed the possibility of electrocution, and determined that the victim had likely been dead before the fire had started.
The lingering scent of an accelerant on his clothing had been obvious as they’d taped and undressed him, and the tracking of the burns showed where most of it had been poured.
‘If this was an attempt at disguising the method of his death, it wasn’t successful,’ Sissons had remarked in a laconic voice.
At this point Campbell and McNab had walked in. Luckily for McNab, the suit hood and mask covered the worst of his injuries, so the pathologist didn’t get to view the increasingly colourful damage.
Dr Sissons acknowledged their entrance, then carried on relating his thoughts to the overhead microphone, as though in conversation with God on the demise of one of his creations.
‘It is now obvious that the fire did not kill the subject, who, by the state of his bloodshot eyes and bruising round the nose and mouth, was most likely suffocated before the fire was set. High levels of carbon dioxide in his blood and no evidence of soot in his lungs will confirm this.’
He turned to Rhona. ‘Was any evidence found of a pad or a plastic bag at the scene?’
Rhona explained about collecting fibres from the nose and mouth. ‘The cloth used wasn’t in the room, or it was destroyed in the fire.’
‘Do we know anything more about the victim apart from the fact he’s male and likely in his twenties?’ Sissons said.
It was Campbell who responded. ‘There was no record of the crew or passengers. Neither did the search find any personal belongings that might help identify them.’
‘What happened to the other people on board?’
‘We suspect some will have been lifted off. Alternatively, some may have gone overboard.’
It was a scenario Rhona had imagined herself. What had happened after the killings? Where had the crew gone? The kitchen and waiting personnel? Those who’d been sleeping in the units set up on deck.
The Orlova had been a ghost ship before, and it was a ghost ship again.
Having finished noting all aspects of the body, Sissons now indicated he was ready to open it up. This was the cue for McNab to withdraw. Campbell didn’t look that keen to stay either.
‘There are two more bodies after this,’ Sissons reminded them as they left.
Rhona assured him she would be back, before following in the wake of the two detectives.
Once in the changing room, Campbell said, ‘You’ll keep us informed about the results on the other two autopsies, Dr MacLeod? DS McNab and I are better occupied with investigating how the fire death is linked to the Orlova, via this Go Wild company.’
So McNab and Campbell were allies on this, which boded well, Rhona thought.
‘Has there been any more news from DI Flett?’ she said.
‘He wanted to know when we’ve finished with the ship, then they’ll arrange for it to be taken south for scrap.’
‘When would that happen normally?’ Rhona said.
‘Not immediately,’ Campbell assured her. ‘You think you’ll need to get back on board?’
There was always the chance a forensic team might want to go back for another look. She said so.
‘Then I’ll tell DI Flett to wait to hear from you, before any arrangements are made.’
McNab had been hanging on, obviously wanting to speak to her. Once Campbell had closed the door, he said, ‘Can we get a coffee before you go back in?’
‘Sissons won’t be starting on the other two for a while yet.’
They walked through the hospital to the nearest cafe, attracting curious glances on the way. Even in a place full of sick or injured folk, it seemed McNab’s face was still a draw.
‘So what happened with Ellie?’ Rhona said as they settled at a table.
‘I followed your instructions,’ he said. ‘She let me in. We talked. She’ll think about it.’
Rhona knew by the guarded look that wasn’t all that had happened. ‘And?’
He shook his head. ‘The skinhead was in there. He gave me the finger from the window.’
‘Before or after you were inside?’
‘What does it matter, she’s still seeing him?’ He shrugged. ‘How about you?’
‘Sean and I talked.’
They’d done more than just talk in the back office, but she wasn’t going to tell McNab that.
His blue eyes fastened on her and he smiled. ‘Good for you, Dr MacLeod. At least one of us had fun last night.’ He finished his coffee. ‘Another?’
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
She watched as his tall figure headed to the counter. Whatever he said to the barista made the girl laugh. Rhona wondered how many tales he’d told to explain his battered face and if even she’d been told the truth.
The pretty barista didn’t want him to leave, delaying him with responses to his banter. The queue that had built up behind had also joined in. Eventually McNab sauntered back, a smile on his face.
‘So some people don’t want to punch your lights out?’ Rhona said.
‘Just the ones who don’t know me,’ he quipped in return. ‘Let’s talk Ava Clouston.’
McNab’s reaction to Ava and her involvement had changed when the name Einar Petersson had been dropped late in the conversation the previous night. There was a good reason for that. Petersson, apparently a colleague
of Ava’s, had played a vital role in McNab’s survival during the Kalinin case. ‘No thanks to DI Cleverly,’ he’d told her.
After that, McNab had become more inclined to listen to the reporter. It had struck Rhona, as they’d discussed Mark’s run-in with the Met, that there were definite similarities between the way he and McNab went about their jobs.
‘So you’re determined to go to London?’ she said to McNab.
‘If the boss okays it. And I think he will after I talk to him this afternoon.’
‘When you explain how you got that face?’ A sudden thought occurred. ‘You have told Janice?’
‘So you tell Chrissy everything?’ he came back at her.
She didn’t. Hadn’t. In fact, McNab had been her confidant more often than Chrissy. And he knew that, even though it remained unspoken.
Rhona changed the subject. ‘When you speak to Bill, can you stress we need a DNA sample from Olivia Newton . . .’
‘Richardson,’ he completed for her.
It was ridiculous that the Met hadn’t supplied that as yet. Either the real Ms Richardson was alive or the fire victim had died accompanied by her handbag and wallet.
‘I’m also planning a visit to IT,’ McNab said. ‘Seems like we have a digital reconstruction of the fire victim and a photograph of the elusive Ms Richardson to compare.’ He rose.
Rhona glanced at her watch. ‘And I’m heading for a double autopsy on the two Viking warriors.’
‘I’d rather get beaten up in a fight club,’ McNab said.
Stripped now of what little they’d worn and laid out side by side, the difference in height and weight between the two victims was obvious. Dr Sissons registered the male as five foot ten inches, the female as five foot five. They would have made an unequal match whatever game they’d been playing.
Medically, injuries were divided into blunt force trauma and those due to sharp cutting instruments. Stabbing injuries usually killed by penetrating a vital organ or major blood vessels, massive haemorrhage or bleeding out being the most common cause of death.
In both victims, there was some evidence of gnawing from the resident rats, which could be distinguished from the puncture wounds, which were located mostly on the legs and arms, more on the male than the female, and probably inflicted by the points of the short swords found next to the bodies.