by Lin Anderson
She stepped out of the shower. She would go to the jazz club. She would talk to Chrissy and she would re-engage with Sean.
That was life. That was reality. That was what McNab, wherever he was, would tell her to do . . . Dr MacLeod.
The mist still lingered, softening the hum of traffic on Byres Road. Stepping into Ashton Lane was like stepping into a ghost story. Free of vehicles, the only sound was of footsteps on the cobbles, their owners looming out of the mist to do a quick sidestep when they saw her.
No one sat at the outside tables because the mist was really a smirr, a Scottish rain that could not make up its mind to fall but hung on every droplet of air, just waiting.
The light and sound of the jazz club beckoned her down the stairs. She recalled the last time she’d been here, going to meet Ava, with McNab following on behind. A short time ago, in which too much had happened.
On the way here, she had made up her mind about one thing, at least. Depriving her forensic assistant of information regarding her recent examination of the stowaway’s room had to stop. It wasn’t professional, nor was it fair.
Chrissy could keep a secret, probably better than she could. Plus Chrissy’s advice at times such as these had in the past proved invaluable. Bill hadn’t ordered her not to tell Chrissy about Nadia, just stressed that they should keep it between themselves. And Chrissy was, without doubt, one of them.
Relieved at her decision, Rhona entered the room with a lighter heart, which was quickly noted by Chrissy.
‘Here to spill the beans?’ she said, a twinkle in her eye. ‘Good.’ She indicated the large glass of chilled white wine awaiting Rhona. ‘I thought I was going to have to ply you with drink first.’
She laughed when Rhona got to the bit about the dog hairs. ‘I knew they were dog hairs, even from the photos. So how’d a dog come to be aboard?’
The rest of the story came out then, to include Ava’s new house guest, which brought a low whistle from Chrissy.
‘And you’ve read Ava’s interview with the girl?’
Rhona nodded. ‘So has Bill.’
‘None of which was mentioned at the strategy meeting?’
Rhona shook her head.
Chrissy fell silent, her face clouding over again. She was, Rhona thought, considering what part McNab had played in all of this.
‘Think I’ll head home now,’ Chrissy said. ‘Give McNab’s namesake a hug.’
She gave Rhona one too before she left. ‘You’ll be all right here on your own?’
‘Sean’s here. We’re off out to eat shortly,’ Rhona told her.
‘Good.’ Chrissy approved of that.
Sean had obviously been watching for Chrissy’s departure, because he arrived on cue.
‘You ready now?’ he asked.
Rhona nodded. ‘Ready and hungry.’
They walked down Byres Road and into Partick, still accompanied by the mist. As Sean slipped his arm around her shoulders, in that easy way of his, Rhona sensed something might have changed since their last meal together, when he’d revealed the situation at the club. Either the worries regarding the club’s finances had been fixed or Sean, in his inimitable way of looking at the world, had decided not to let them weigh on him any more.
Rhona silently wished she might be capable of doing the same.
Waiting for their order to arrive, he asked her about Orkney.
‘A washed-up body from the MV Orlova,’ she said.
‘God, are there likely to be more?’
‘Erling Flett suspects so, yes. When and where they might appear is anyone’s guess.’
They were avoiding talking about McNab, but could only do that for so long. Sean suddenly reminded her that when McNab was last in trouble, he’d hidden out at the jazz club.
‘If he asks to do that again,’ Rhona said with a half-smile, ‘I want you to tell me, right away. Promise?’
Her mobile rang before Sean could respond. Checking the screen, hoping as ever that it might be McNab, she saw Ellie’s name.
With a quick glance at Sean, she answered.
‘Rhona?’
‘Hi, Ellie.’ Rhona waited.
‘I’ve been trying to get hold of Michael,’ Ellie said. ‘We’d arranged to go to dinner with Janice and Paula, and I can’t reach him to confirm . . .’ Her voice faltered. ‘His mobile seems to be dead?’
‘He’s maybe out of power,’ Rhona said. ‘He’s had to go to London on a case.’
Sean caught her eye, urging her to be truthful with Ellie.
‘He’s been out of touch for a while,’ Rhona admitted. ‘That sometimes happens when he’s on a job. I’ll make sure he gets in touch with you the moment we hear from him.’
‘If you would, please,’ Ellie said, her voice breaking a little.
Ringing off, Rhona looked to Sean, saying nothing. She didn’t have to. Her worried silence said it all.
59
Looking up at a pristine white ceiling, he registered that he no longer smelt of anything but mild antiseptic. McNab breathed it in and allowed himself the ghost of a smile before reality hit.
Dragging himself upright, he checked his visible wounds, to find all were stitched or bandaged. He loosened the ties on the hospital gown and eased it off his shoulders to get a better view.
His body was colourful and definitely not pretty. But hey, he was semi-upright and warm, which meant he was alive. It also meant he had to get out of there.
A beating such as this would have to be reported to the police. And while he was out of the box, he was pretty certain that would have happened. He glanced at the clock above the door, noting the late hour, plus the fact he’d been here since early morning. A uniform would no doubt appear tonight or early tomorrow.
How soon would it be before Cleverly was made aware of his whereabouts?
He’d replayed the scene of his capture endless times in his head since he was hanging up in that warehouse. The one and only thing he knew for certain was that he still did not trust Cleverly. And what of the Kommandant? How did he play out in all of this?
The door opened and a nurse looked in. Seeing him sitting up, she gave him a big smile. She was, he registered, small and dark, and very easy on the eye. Especially to someone who’d been viewing nothing but big male bastards for too long.
‘You’re awake. Good.’ She came up close to take a swift look at his dressings.
‘Was it you who cleaned me up?’ McNab said.
She nodded.
‘Then I’m sorry for the mess and the smell.’
She dismissed his apology with a small shake of her head. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Great,’ McNab said, throwing back the cover and swinging his legs out of the bed. ‘Good to go, in fact.’
She looked a little taken aback by this. ‘You haven’t been discharged yet.’
McNab gave her a big smile. ‘I’m discharging myself. So if you could give me my clothes?’
‘I don’t advise it,’ she said pointedly.
McNab observed her determined expression. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought.
‘The guys who beat me up are likely to come looking for me,’ he said. ‘Even in here.’
Her face clouded over at that.
‘Which is why I need to go.’
She was mulling it over. McNab couldn’t imagine she hadn’t faced a similar scenario before now, working as she did in the Accident and Emergency department of an innercity hospital. She certainly would have in Glasgow.
‘My clothes?’ he tried again.
With a shrug, she pointed to the bedside cabinet. ‘They’re in there.’ A pause, then, ‘Is there someone you could call to pick you up?’
‘Sadly, the bastards stole my mobile and wallet,’ McNab said.
‘You could use my mobile,’ she offered.
McNab considered this, but only briefly, since he already knew where he was going and only required the means to get there. He said as much.
&nb
sp; ‘If you could just lend me enough money for a taxi to my safe place?’ He checked her name badge. ‘I’ll pay you back, Nurse Jenny, I promise.’ He gave her what he hoped was a winning smile.
He watched as she sized him up, wondering if she would ever see the money again.
Eventually she nodded. ‘I’ll call you an Uber. You’ll need to tell me where you’re headed.’ She checked his expression. ‘Which I won’t repeat to anyone.’
McNab smiled a thank you.
He’d had a small hope that Mark might have returned to his flat since they’d last met, but that didn’t turn out to be true. It didn’t stop him getting in, of course, and when he did, McNab found the place exactly as he’d left it.
His main reason for going there was to get a change of clothing. And hopefully to get some cash or a card he might use in the interim. The clothes were easy. Mark was taller than him, but not a lot, and in build they were similar.
McNab selected an outfit, then disposed of his own stained clothing. After which he headed for the drinks cabinet and poured himself a glass of whisky before entering the kitchen to look for something to eat.
He was rewarded in his search with a large pepperoni pizza he found in the freezer, which he popped in the microwave as per the instructions. After that, he took a seat in the living room to sip his whisky and await the ping telling him his first meal – for how long? – was ready.
The pizza, he decided, almost tasted better than the whisky, but not by much. In fact, the combination was pretty perfect. Having assuaged both types of hunger, he now noted that whatever pain relief he’d been dosed up with in the hospital was wearing off.
A search in the bathroom cabinet produced some paracetamol, two of which he swallowed along with another whisky. A quick glance at his face in the mirror was a stark reminder of what had happened to him since last he’d been here.
Sinking on to the couch, he accepted he now felt sufficiently human to make a decision about staying in London to find out more or trying to get back to Glasgow. Neither would be easy without access to cash.
But if he could make contact with Mark . . .
Rising again, he went in search of the house phone and located it in Mark’s study. A call to Directory Enquiries got him a helpful operator who was happy to give him the number for the Afghan cafe or, alternatively, to put him straight through without the need to dial.
McNab chose the latter, listening to it ring out unanswered before registering just how late it must be. Of course, the cafe would be shut by now, with Mark no doubt asleep in his own little room.
Resigning himself to waiting until tomorrow, he decided he would turn up at the cafe in person.
He tried to work out exactly how long he’d been out of action for, but the time-lapse between the moment of his kidnapping and now was too hazy. More than likely long enough for concern to be raised back home in Glasgow.
Then another thought struck him, even more forcefully. His captors had his mobile and wallet. They therefore knew who and what he was. They’d demanded to know why he was here in London. What he knew about Go Wild. They would have examined his mobile. Discovered everyone he’d messaged or spoken to in the run-up to his abduction.
And Ava Clouston, investigative reporter and one-time co-worker with Mark Sylvester, was on that list.
McNab had a sudden flashback to having his head yanked back by his hair and various names shouted at him.
Had Ava’s been among them?
Fear that it might have been roused him still further. How the hell could he warn Ava that they might in fact be looking for her? Even as far away as Orkney.
He had no memory of her mobile number. He didn’t even know her address up there.
But he knew someone who did.
60
Ava came to and was shocked to discover she was lying on the couch in the semi-darkness. When had she fallen asleep?
She remembered working at her laptop, redrafting her material to fully include Nadia’s description of how Go Wild recruited people for locations in Ibiza, for the luxury yacht Hibiscus off the coast of North Africa and, of course, for the recently discovered ghost ship, the MV Orlova.
Everything was there in as much detail as possible. To that she’d added what had been found on the Orlova by the police and what her source believed had happened on board the virtual gaming ship.
The biggest revelation, and one she hadn’t yet shared with Rhona, was Mark’s belief that the male victim was Damian Charles Lloyd, son of Lord Alfred Lloyd, a serving cabinet minister. The girl, Mark had said, was likely Damian’s current girlfriend, Penny Addington.
It appeared Damian Lloyd had a chequered history and had skirted police involvement in his activities on numerous occasions, mainly through the intervention of his family. Penny was one of the county set, with little on record, except for the fact she was a keen fencer, something Damian had also taken part in.
If Mark was right, then a cover-up was already in action, and in his opinion the Met were involved.
Ava dragged herself to her feet and went to shout upstairs. She’d told Dougie to stay at the boathouse until dark and, judging by the silence, they’d followed her instructions. Just to be sure, she went up to check their rooms, to find them both empty.
Aware that they certainly should have appeared home by now, Ava opened the kitchen door to discover a blood-red sun setting the horizon aflame, the image of which suddenly filled her with foreboding.
She’d ordered Dougie not to take the boat out. He’d agreed to that easily enough, but had he stuck to it? He’d been pretty strong in his argument that he should take Nadia across to Hoy and he always kept his camping gear on board the Fear Not.
To see the boathouse clearly, she would have to walk as far as the barn. Ava reached for her coat, then remembered that she’d given it to Nadia, so headed out without one.
The May evening was chilly, the sky clear with the promise of stars and a moon. She would forgo a torch and trust to luck she could get down there and back without one. After all, she knew the route well enough, even in poor light.
Upping her speed, she decided to check the byre first. There was always a chance they’d gone in there. Ava had come to realize there was a strong bond between her brother and the rescued girl. Whether sexual or not, she had no idea, but the barn would be a warmer place to hang out than the boathouse.
Throwing open the door, Ava called into the shadows, hoping Dougie’s voice would answer and dismiss her fears. With only the hens still in residence, there was none of the soft breathing and movement of the kye . . . and no answering human shout.
As she emerged, she picked up the scent of something burning. What? And from where?
Her first thought was for the cattle. Might whoever had killed the calf and his mother have lit a fire in their field? Horrified at the thought, she scanned nearby and saw that her fears were unfounded, the herd apparently grazing unperturbed.
So where was the smoke coming from? She stood for a moment. It wasn’t close, but it wasn’t far away either.
Then she saw the first flames to the west. With horror, Ava registered it had to be in the area of the boathouse. Or even the boathouse itself.
Terrified she might be right, she ran in that direction, screaming Dougie’s name, running down the rough track.
Well caught now, the flames were leaping sky high, their colours dancing against the orange and red sunset.
Within yards of the building, her screams were swallowed by the cracking and spitting as the fire took control of the wooden structure.
Hearing someone crunch over the foreshore behind her, Ava turned, praying it might be Dougie. The figure emerging from the smoke was tall and male, which gave her hope, but only briefly, as Magnus took form and came towards her, his face horrified.
‘Is Dougie in there?’ he shouted over the mounting roar.
Ava shook her head, tears running down her blackened face. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’<
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‘Stay here,’ Magnus ordered.
She watched as he steadfastly approached the blaze.
‘No, Magnus,’ she called. ‘Don’t.’
Whether he heard her plea or not, he didn’t stop, even though he must have known that if there was anyone in the boathouse, they didn’t stand a chance.
Eventually he retreated, although obviously loath to do so.
‘Might he have taken the boat out?’ he asked her.
‘I don’t know. Maybe,’ she said, in hope now.
‘I need to get closer,’ he said. ‘If someone is still in there . . .’
Ava knew what Magnus was trying to say. She remembered the trouble he’d had at school because of his hyperosmia. They’d all tormented him mercilessly about his ability to smell things so powerfully. Made him the butt of so many stupid teenage jokes. She felt sorry for that now, as she saw him try again, his expression determined.
He was concentrating, allowing his sense of smell to take over. She watched as the power of it seemed to almost overwhelm him, as she’d seen happen in the past. She imagined what it must be like . . . the smell of scorched wood, tar, a mishmash of hot metal and seared stones and, worst of all . . .
He turned to face her, and in that instant she knew. Nowhere among it all had he caught the smell of burning flesh or the scent of singed animal hair.
‘Dougie isn’t in there,’ he told her. ‘And neither is Finn.’
‘You’re sure?’ she said, her relief obvious.
Magnus nodded. ‘I’m sure.’
‘Then where are they?’
‘They?’ Magnus said, his voice wary.
Ava thought of saying Dougie and Finn, but she could tell by Magnus’s expression that that wouldn’t wash. Only the truth would work here.
‘Dougie has the girl from the Orlova with him, Nadia,’ she said.
He nodded, as though he had suspected that all along.
A thought suddenly struck Ava. ‘Why did you come over? Was it because you saw the flames?’
‘I had a call from DS McNab in London. Go Wild thugs have been holding him. He escaped but they still have his mobile. He wanted to warn you that they could have traced your number and there’s every reason to believe they have someone already on Orkney.’