by Lin Anderson
When Chrissy next spoke, there was a catch in her throat. ‘You’ve spoken to the boss? They can’t find McNab and I know something’s wrong. I just know it.’
Rhona repeated Bill’s words. ‘If Bill holds out hope for that,’ she said, ‘then so will we.’
53
‘Here, snort this.’
McNab watched in disbelief as a double line of coke was shaken across his hand. When he just stared at it, the voice said urgently, ‘It’ll take the edge off the pain. Hurry.’
‘Who the fuck are you?’ McNab said.
‘You don’t need to know.’
To McNab’s astonishment, his erstwhile tormentor angled the knife to score a bloody line across his own neck, followed by a couple more across his bare chest and arm, then handed him the knife and his jacket.
‘Through that door and turn left. There’s an emergency exit. Once outside, head for the gates. They’re padlocked, but there’s a loose bit of fence to the right of them. After that, it’s up to you. Now hit me and fuck off, Jock, back to Glasgow.’
His head singing with joy via the coke he’d just snorted, McNab happily obliged with the fist. Harder maybe than required. Certainly enough to see the guy fall with a painful grunt.
Pocketing the knife, McNab made for the door and quietly opened it. The concrete passage was empty and he could see the fire exit ahead. He made for there, his legs screaming out from lack of use, and pushed it open to darkness and a blast of fresh air.
A quick look round and he spotted the gates as promised, lit by a street light. He forced his battered body in that direction, running like someone drunk or demented.
Scrabbling for the fence opening, he squeezed through, tearing another gash along his cheek. Then he was outside the perimeter fence.
The cocaine racing through his veins, he took a swift look left, then right, choosing the route leading to a busy road junction, knowing the sooner he hid among people, the better. At this time of night most of the shops he passed were shut, but the pubs were still open, with groups of smokers outside. McNab chose what looked like a crowded bar and, registering BrewDog Clerkenwell as the pub name, slipped inside and made straight for the Gents, getting a few odd looks on his way.
The mirror over the sink told the truth. He looked terrible and no doubt smelt worse. He splashed his battered face with cold water and headed into a cubicle. His trousers, he decided, were second in line after his face. Taking them off, he flushed the crotch in the hope it would lessen the scent of urine, while thanking God he hadn’t shat himself.
His head suddenly swimming, he sank onto the toilet seat and put his head between his knees. The cocaine rush was on the way out, he realized, and the real state of both his mind and his body was not superhuman after all.
He struggled to process what had just happened.
The Kommandant had let him go, but why? Was he really free or was he supposed to lead them somewhere or to someone? Or had they got everything they’d needed from him?
The Jock that told all.
McNab tried revisiting the scene at Leicester Square. Cleverly had definitely been nearby. He must have seen it happen. Had he told the boss? Had he even reported it to his own superiors? Or had the whole thing been prearranged?
Another thought wove its way into the puzzle. He’d arranged to meet Cleverly in the morning, but the Met detective hadn’t turned up – or had he? If he had, yet didn’t show himself, Cleverly could have followed him to the Afghan coffee shop, thus revealing where Mark Sylvester was hiding.
Christ. McNab didn’t like that particular train of thought, nor where it might lead.
Retrieving his trousers from the floor, he did his best to wring the excess water from the crotch before putting them back on. Meanwhile, he thought of all the drunks he’d picked up over the years, smelling of piss, their faces a mess, just like his. He hadn’t been strong on sympathy then.
So now the shoe was on the other foot.
Exiting the toilets, he passed a female who looked at him in horror, her nose wrinkling in disgust. Figuring he had about sixty seconds to get what he could before being thrown out, McNab took ownership of an unwatched pint and a packet of crisps. The crisps went swiftly in his pocket, the pint he downed in a oner.
The owner, arriving just as the last mouthful disappeared, saw fit to throw a punch at him, which McNab miraculously managed to sidestep.
Then, together with his accompanying smell, he made swiftly for the door.
Outside again, he had a quick look round for his captors, who surely by now would be out looking for him. And let’s face it, he wasn’t difficult to spot among the clean, well-dressed male throng.
So where to now?
Having staggered sufficiently far away from the bar, he ducked into a doorway both to hide and to try to think. His brain, he realized, was attempting to formulate a plan, but the dregs of hallucinatory drugs, combined with the snorted cocaine, kept fleetingly reasserting themselves.
Truth was, he was a fucking mess. Plus his legs no longer worked.
He contemplated sitting down where he was, but if anyone came looking for him around here, he was in full view. He needed somewhere off the main street and preferably in the dark.
Dragging himself to his feet, he staggered off towards what looked like the opening of an alleyway. He made it in and stumbled as far as a wheelie bin, then slid in slow motion down the wall, only to meet with the current incumbent of that particular piece of London real estate.
McNab decided the face that stared out at him from under the blanket looked in better shape than he did.
‘You okay, mate?’ a gruff voice said.
‘Where am I exactly?’ McNab answered in a slur.
‘In shit alley, mate. You’re down and out in shit alley.’
54
As luck would have it, Ava was outside with Finn when she spotted the police car turning onto the farm track. Running back inside, she shouted up to Dougie that Erling was on his way, and neither he nor Nadia should make a sound.
Once she’d heard a grunt in return, Ava tried to regain her composure by pulling the kettle onto the hotplate and instructing Finn to go to his basket and stay there.
Erling surprised her by knocking, which wasn’t his usual method of entry. This alone should have alerted her to the possibility that he might be the harbinger of bad news.
When she opened the door, she knew that had to be the case. Had Dougie still been missing, she would have imagined the worst by the look currently on Erling’s face.
‘Can I come in?’ he said, his voice both serious and formal.
‘What is it?’ Ava immediately said.
‘Let’s go into the kitchen,’ he suggested, leading the way.
Inside now, he took off his hat and suggested she sit down.
Ava wasn’t one for swearing. Brought up by parents who simply never cursed, it was a habit she had never acquired. Yet, at this moment, in her head was running a stream of invective that would have made both her parents blush.
‘Tell me,’ she demanded.
‘I’m so sorry, Ava. Mark’s dead.’
The words ‘Mark’ and ‘dead’ chimed together in her brain, ringing as loudly and incessantly as a church bell. Her legs no longer willing to hold her up, Ava slid onto the seat she’d scorned only moments before.
‘That can’t be true,’ she heard herself say. ‘DS McNab was going to check on him when he was in London. Who told you this?’ She stared accusingly at Erling.
‘It came via the Met. I checked it out first thing. His body was pulled out of the Thames last night. Your editor, David Morris, identified him.’
If David identified him, it must be true.
Now this vocalized thought became her internal mantra, replacing the string of curses. ‘It must be true,’ she uttered out loud. Then, ‘How did he . . . Mark die?’
‘Still to be confirmed by post-mortem.’
‘They killed him. The bastards killed Ma
rk to stop him telling their story,’ she muttered under her breath.
‘That’s part of the reason I’m here, Ava. As someone working with Mark on Go Wild, you could be in danger.’
‘But this is Orkney,’ she said stupidly.
‘Nevertheless, I think I should put an officer here with you, for the next few days anyway.’
God, she couldn’t let that happen. Not with Nadia here.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘That’s not necessary.’
‘What’s going on?’ Dougie appeared in the doorway. ‘Why is he here?’ He threw Erling a look of distaste.
Ava pasted a smile on her face. ‘Remember I mentioned Erling’s dad was keen to help us with the farm? Well, Erling’s suggesting we all get together sometime soon to discuss it.’
By the look on Dougie’s face, he wasn’t buying her explanation. Thankfully, however, he didn’t pursue it.
Erling said, ‘You’ll think about it, then?’ to Ava, and she nodded, then indicated she would show him out.
‘You need to be careful, Ava,’ Erling said at the front door. ‘Orkney’s not as far off the beaten track as some folk think. We have over a thousand visitors currently on mainland Orkney. Many have been down to Houton Bay just to view the Orlova.’
‘Then the quicker you arrange to have it towed south, the better,’ Ava snapped at him. ‘Has Dr MacLeod left yet?’
‘I’m about to take her to Kirkwall to meet the police helicopter.’
Ava tried not to show her disappointment. It seemed that talking to Rhona about the recent developments would have to wait.
Re-entering the kitchen, she found Dougie had been joined by Nadia. Both threw her an accusatory look.
‘You told him about Nadia,’ Dougie said. ‘That’s what brought him here.’
‘I didn’t,’ Ava said. ‘And it wasn’t.’
‘Well, it was nothing to do with the farm. That much I do know.’
Unable to say the words ‘Mark is dead’, Ava went over to her laptop and fired it up.
Her hands shook as she entered Mark’s name, and immediately watched a long string of news clips rolling up the screen. She chose one, clicked on it and turned the screen towards Dougie. ‘That’s why Erling was here.’
Dougie approached the table, Nadia standing hesitantly behind him.
Ava watched his eyes run over the headline, then drop to read the text below, something she was dreading doing herself.
‘Oh no.’ His eyes met hers. ‘I’m sorry, Ava. So sorry.’
Nadia had no idea what was going on, but it was obvious it was bad. She pulled up a chair next to Dougie and turned the laptop screen towards her.
‘This journalist, you know him?’ she said, her voice strangely staccato, revealing her Polish accent clearly for the first time.
Ava nodded. ‘We worked together for years.’ Her voice stumbled a little. ‘Mark and I were both investigating the Go Wild story.’
‘They killed him,’ Nadia said, raising her chin in defiance. ‘I told you what they would do, didn’t I? They’ll kill anyone who might expose them.’
Dougie glanced from Nadia to Ava. ‘That means you’re in danger too now,’ he said, his voice hushed with fear. ‘That’s what Erling was here to tell you, wasn’t it?’
Ava gave a weary nod.
‘What does he want you to do?’ he demanded.
‘He wants to put a guard on the house, an officer from Kirkwall.’
‘But we can’t have a policeman hanging about . . . not with Nadia here.’
‘I told him no,’ Ava said.
Dougie was pacing now. ‘I can take Nadia away. We’ll camp on one of the islands.’
‘No,’ Ava said. ‘Someone will spot you. Locals make a point of finding out who’s on an island. Anyway, no one knows that Nadia exists. That she came ashore. That she’s here.’
It wasn’t true, of course, but she hoped she sounded convincing. ‘No,’ she said again, thinking. ‘You don’t go anywhere. I do.’
Dougie looked perplexed. ‘I don’t understand. Where would you go?’
‘Glasgow,’ Ava said. ‘I’ll announce that I’m going there to help Police Scotland with their enquiries into Go Wild.’ She thought about the memory stick Mark had given her. Maybe it was time to hand it over to McNab . . . She cut that thought, remembering that McNab was missing too. Might he also be dead? Had she, by sending him to Mark, sealed his fate as well?
‘What?’ Dougie said, seeing her troubled expression.
‘You and Nadia will stay here. Nadia out of sight at all times. I’ll announce my intention to go to Glasgow. That way, the focus moves there. I’ll speak to Rhona about—’ She came to an abrupt halt, realizing too late that this was too much information.
‘Rhona?’ Dougie latched onto the name. ‘The forensic woman who came back to check on the ship for a stowaway? Why would you speak to her?’
Nadia was regarding her with those big dark eyes. ‘You told her about me. Didn’t you?’
55
Time had been short. She’d had to leave with Erling almost immediately to get to Kirkwall and her flight south. Rhona had said her swift goodbyes to Magnus, knowing the likelihood would be that he would visit Ava to talk the situation over with her.
My God, she could hardly believe what Erling had told them about Mark. Yet another death associated with Go Wild. An assumption at this point, she knew, and yet . . .
Erling had been adamant about his desire to have a constable stationed at the Clouston farm, despite the fact Ava had refused his offer.
And Rhona knew exactly why she had.
Heading east out of Orphir, they met a bank of haar that blanketed the vehicle and blotted out the surrounding landscape. Glancing seawards, she could no longer make out the red hump of the cargo ship, something she’d been keen to happen, yet strangely felt no pleasure in now.
‘The haar’s due to clear by nine at the latest, or so the Met Office promised,’ Erling told her. ‘Although there may be a slight delay with your chopper coming in.’
At least she would be on her own in the airport, Rhona thought, and could call Ava from there.
Ava wasn’t the only one she should call to talk about the latest and terrible event, but Bill would know what to do. Of that she was sure. Anyway, the plan to keep Ava and the girl Nadia hidden in Orkney no longer seemed safe nor feasible.
Her biggest fear when Erling had told her about Mark was that McNab might have suffered a similar fate. Ava had told them she’d asked McNab to check on Mark and he’d agreed.
Might they have been together when Mark was killed?
Erling’s information was that Mark had been found in the river, and it was being trailed as a possible suicide. Something he hadn’t told Ava. Whether he’d been dead before he’d gone in or drowned would no doubt be established at post-mortem.
Erling broke into her thoughts to tell her that the evidence bags and the body from the beach were already at the airport. ‘With any luck, you’ll be back in your lab before lunchtime.’
‘That would be good,’ Rhona said.
They’d navigated Kirkwall by now and were heading out on the airport road. True enough, the mist was thinner here, as Erling had said it would be. Glimpses of sky suggested an elusive sun would hopefully burn it off.
‘I’ll have to get back to the station, so I’ll drop you at the door, if that’s okay?’ Erling said. ‘I’ve instructed Officer Tulloch to make sure you and the body get away all right.’
As they drew up outside the terminal building, Rhona thanked Erling for his help.
‘No bother,’ he said. ‘You’ll hear from me direct if your missing stowaway turns up. And we’ll look after Ava, I promise.’
Now, she had to find somewhere private to try to contact Ava. The airport was a size that befitted the islands’ population. Glasgow it was not. Open-plan, with a small cafe, a few tables, the rest of the area taken up by seating for the waiting passengers.
Rhona
had a quick glance around and spotted Ivan Tulloch right away, even as he noted her own entrance. There would be no hope of talking privately to Ava with Ivan by her side.
She gave the police officer a little wave of acknowledgement, then indicated she was heading for the Ladies. Once inside, she chose a cubicle, went in and locked the door.
Ava’s mobile rang out, but went unanswered. Rhona stopped the call, waited a few moments then tried again. If Ava wouldn’t answer her, what could she do?
Her frustration was eventually curtailed when the call was picked up.
‘Yes?’ an Orcadian male voice said, who she presumed must be Dougie.
‘It’s Rhona MacLeod here,’ she said. ‘May I speak to Ava, please?’
‘Ava’s not here,’ came the terse reply.
That seemed odd, Rhona thought. Where would she have gone without her mobile?
‘When will she be back?’ she tried.
‘No idea,’ he said rudely, and hung up.
Emerging from the toilets, Rhona saw PC Tulloch waving her over.
‘The helicopter’s here and loaded. Would you like me to walk you out, Dr MacLeod?’
Rhona gave him a smile. ‘That won’t be necessary, Officer Tulloch. Walking across the tarmac’s the easy part. It’s the flying bit that’s the problem.’
Glasgow was overcast as they came in to land, much like Rhona’s mood. Even the co-pilot hadn’t been as chatty as usual, Chrissy’s name not mentioned once on the flight back.
A thick drizzle accompanied her through the city centre, so that she might have been back in Kirkwall in the haar. Entering Kelvingrove Park via Kelvin Way, the cloud cover broke for an instant, the light catching the spires of the university and lifting her spirits.
Her hope now was that Chrissy would have food available, since she hadn’t been able to eat any of Magnus’s carefully prepared breakfast. Arriving at the lab, she wondered why she had ever doubted that to be the case.