The Killing Tide

by Lin Anderson

  Fear crept back to swamp Ava’s relief. She stared at Magnus. ‘Then they could have taken Dougie and the girl and lit the fire to make us think they were in there.’

  Magnus considered this. ‘What about Finn? He wouldn’t have gone with them without a fight. Did you hear him barking?’

  Ava admitted to having fallen asleep. ‘I’d told Dougie not to come back from the boathouse until it was dark. I didn’t want anyone to spot the girl and wonder who she was.’ She paused, thinking. ‘Could we tell if the boat’s gone? If it’s not in the wreckage, then maybe the three of them took off in the Fear Not, despite me telling Dougie not to.’

  Please God, they did, she thought.

  ‘We can’t check that out until the debris cools,’ Magnus said. ‘In the meantime, we should take a look around for Finn.’

  He didn’t say ‘a hurt or dead Finn’, but that was what Magnus was implying, because if the faithful collie was alive, and in the vicinity, he would surely have made his presence known by now.

  For Ava, a picture of a dead Finn had now supplanted the one of a burning Dougie in her mind.

  61

  The vibration of her mobile broke through her dreams as it rattled across the bedside cabinet. Rhona’s first thought was that it must be her alarm, then reaching out, she realized it was barely light outside.

  Grabbing the phone, Rhona rose, taking it through to the kitchen to answer. If Magnus was calling her at this hour, then it had to be important.

  She barely got to greet him before he said, ‘McNab’s okay. He called late last night. He’d been lifted off the street when he went to meet Cleverly and held captive, but got away.’

  The relief was instantaneous. ‘Thank God,’ Rhona said, her heart lifting. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Still in London. He called to warn me that the people who grabbed him have his mobile and he was worried they would use it to locate Ava.’ He hesitated. ‘I think they may already have done that.’

  Rhona listened as he described the fire.

  ‘When I got there it was well ablaze, but from the smell, there was no one inside, although Ava said that Dougie and the girl from the Orlova had gone to the boathouse earlier.’

  ‘Ava told you about Nadia?’

  ‘Yes.’ Magnus didn’t ask how long Rhona had known because he didn’t have to.

  ‘You think Dougie and the girl have been abducted?’ Rhona said.

  ‘The rain’s just come on, so the embers will soon be cool enough to check if Dougie’s boat was in there. If not, there’s a chance they may have got away.’

  ‘Then who set the fire?’

  ‘No idea, but someone did. I could smell the diesel.’ He continued, ‘Erling’s spoken with DI Wilson and there’s a search party out for Dougie and the girl.’

  So Erling knew about Nadia now too, which was a relief. ‘How is Ava?’ Rhona said.

  ‘I asked her to come to my place, but she won’t leave the farm. PC Tulloch’s stationed at the house with her. There’s something else,’ he said. ‘McNab didn’t know that Mark Sylvester was dead.’

  What would McNab do with that news? Probably something rash was Rhona’s immediate thought.

  ‘Can I get in touch with him?’ she said, keen now to hear his voice. And to convince him not to take any more chances.

  ‘He called me from Mark’s landline. I tried calling him back this morning, but it was engaged. When I tried again, it just rang out, so it’s likely McNab’s gone from there.’

  ‘Gone where?’ Rhona said.

  Magnus had no idea.

  ‘Does Bill know all of this?’

  ‘He does now,’ Magnus said.

  There was no telling what McNab would do in such circumstances, except that it probably wouldn’t be what they thought. Stuck in London with no money or mobile phone, and no means of getting home, unless he presented himself at a police station.

  Which he didn’t appear keen to do.

  After Magnus rang off, promising to get back to her were there any further developments, Rhona saved the number he’d given her for Mark’s flat.

  McNab had gone there after his escape from his captors. Why? Because he’d hoped Mark would help him? Do what exactly?

  He’s not ready to come back, she thought. And Mark’s death won’t have changed that. Not one little bit.

  62

  McNab had thought the early call to the landline would be from Magnus, Rhona or the boss. It hadn’t been. When he’d picked up, it was the Kommandant’s voice he’d heard.

  ‘I told you to fuck off back to Glasgow, Jock. They know where you are. So get the fuck out of there. Now.’

  McNab had done exactly that.

  Saying a silent thank you to Mark for what he’d taken from his house, he also made him a solemn promise that he wouldn’t give up until he’d nailed the bastards.

  The pawn shop he’d identified online was in the business of turning a wide variety of everyday items into cash. There had been a few, apparently made famous by some TV programme, that were looking for yuppie stuff like designer handbags, gold, jewellery and artwork.

  In truth, Mark had a few paintings that McNab thought might be worth a bit, but he’d stuck to stuff he could easily carry. After this was over, he would try to replace them, he’d told Mark silently, while aware now that Mark was in no position to complain and most likely was cheering him on in what he was about to do.

  His big fear on entering the pawn shop was that he would be required to show ID. Maybe it was because of his smart appearance in Mark’s clothes, or the beat-up face, but he wasn’t asked for any, just swiftly offered a sum of money for the goods, which though obviously too low, he’d accepted anyway.

  Feeling much the better for having some cash in hand, he headed for a nearby Tesco and bought a burner phone and some credit. Then he sat in a cafe window seat, with a view of Mark’s building, and watched for any visitors, aware that he might well have missed them in the interim.

  His luck was in, however.

  While he was enjoying his first coffee of the day, the black van drew up outside. What looked like the same two guys emerged along with the Kommandant, which suggested they’d swallowed his story of McNab’s escape.

  McNab smiled as he took photographs of all three entering the building, plus, of course, the number plate of the van.

  While he waited for them to come back out, McNab called the station and asked to be put through to Ollie, who sounded verging on the ecstatic to hear his voice.

  ‘Hey,’ McNab reminded him. ‘This isn’t Maria you’re talking to here.’

  ‘What do you need, Detective Sergeant?’ Ollie said, the smile still in his voice.

  McNab fed him an image of the van’s number plate first. ‘It’s connected with Go Wild in some way. Find out how.’

  Next were the twin bruisers. ‘Mutt and Jeff,’ he told Ollie. ‘Jeff’s the one on the right. They’re both heavily tattooed. Mutt likes naked women, probably the only way he gets to touch one. Jeff’s more of a Nazi lover. I would expect both to be somewhere on the system.’

  ‘The third guy, the Kommandant. He’s the one that let me go. He’s the one I’m interested in.’

  None of the images he’d managed to take were face on, but with a super recognizer like Ollie that shouldn’t be a problem.

  ‘Call me back when you have something.’ McNab cut the call as he spotted the Kommandant and the two stooges re-emerge and climb into the van.

  If they’d confirmed he’d been staying there, and it was pretty obvious by the mess, then they’d think there was a chance he would return, unless the Kommandant persuaded them otherwise.

  Nevertheless, it looked like the comfy couch and Mark’s whisky were now out of bounds.

  McNab finished his coffee and requested another. He would stay here until Ollie came up with the goods, which, judging by his enthusiasm, wouldn’t be that long, on the vehicle front at least.

  By the time the call came, he was on his thi
rd espresso.

  Ollie, still on a high – How many sugar-free Irn-Brus had he drunk? – had traced the owner of the vehicle which was, ‘wait for it, a Go Wild subsidiary called Combat,’ he said in obvious delight. ‘I’ll text you the address.’

  He went on. ‘As for the Kommandant, he doesn’t exist on the police crime photo database. However,’ he paused, ‘I did find him on a trawl of social media. It’s not a great image but it’s him all right, although I don’t have a name. It was taken in a nightclub somewhere in London and he was in the background of a group of females. It’s on an Instagram account of one Lily Peony.’

  McNab groaned. ‘Okay, keep trying to find out who the guy is. I suspect he may be a plant in this set-up, but who put him there, I’d like to know.’

  ‘Maybe he’s Met or serious crime squad?’ Ollie said. ‘I have a super-recognizer pal down there. I could ask him to take a look?’

  It was a good idea. ‘Can he keep this under the radar for the moment?’ McNab said.

  ‘I’ve done the same for him in the past,’ Ollie said. ‘So yeah.’

  It was worth a shot, so McNab okayed it. He would have to inform the boss, of course, but maybe not immediately.

  ‘When will you be back?’ Ollie said. ‘You need to see what we’ve been retrieving from the gaming software on the ship,’ he added excitedly.

  McNab wasn’t ready or willing to answer that question . . . yet. ‘Just tell the boss I’ll be in touch.’

  The Afghan cafe was open. McNab caught the rich aroma of their coffee on approach.

  He had no idea how he would be greeted since Mark’s death, but it was unlikely to be good. Glancing down, he suddenly remembered he was also walking about in Mark’s clothes, which might not go down so well either.

  The guy on the counter looked him over, his expression darkening.

  McNab decided to dive in anyway. ‘I’m here to talk about Mark,’ he said in what he hoped was a non-combative tone.

  If looks could kill, McNab realized, he would now be flat on his back, taking his last breath on this earth. But looks couldn’t kill, he reminded himself. Being strung up and beaten might, but luckily it hadn’t.

  ‘I think the same folk that did this to me’ – he raised Mark’s shirt for effect – ‘may well have murdered Mark.’

  ‘You coming here caused his death.’

  McNab didn’t have a response for that, apart from saying he was intent on catching the bastards who did it, and to do that he needed access to Mark’s laptop.

  After a moment’s silence, his sparring partner pointed to a table. McNab, taking that as an instruction to wait, went and sat down.

  His hope of being served coffee in the interim was destined for failure. Watching the minutes tick by, he was on the point of barging through, as before, when he was summoned to enter the world beyond the curtain.

  Reaching the room, he found a man sitting at Mark’s now empty desk. His dark curly hair streaked with grey, he was wearing what McNab presumed was traditional Afghan clothing. Below thick eyebrows, a pair of green eyes silently studied him before he spoke.

  ‘Detective Sergeant McNab of Police Scotland, I believe?’

  Taken aback at being so clearly identified, McNab nodded, then waited for what might come next.

  ‘My name is Abu-Zar. My friend Mark explained about your role in all of this. I see you have had your own battles to fight in this particular war.’ The man paused there, his expression solemn. ‘You, however, unlike my friend, have survived them.’

  At that moment the coffee arrived and McNab was invited to sit down. Eventually the man said, ‘What is it you wish to know?’

  ‘I’d like to know what happened after I left here.’

  The man nodded, then said, ‘Mark received and made a number of phone calls, and worked on his laptop as normal. He then said he was going out to meet someone.’ He paused for a moment. ‘He did not return.’ Collecting himself, he continued. ‘We searched for him, of course. Then we heard that Mark’s body had been pulled from the river. The newspapers have suggested it was suicide, using his time in war zones as a reason.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘Who would believe that a man who spent all those months in Afghanistan in the mountains travelling with the mujahidin would kill himself? I was there with him. Mark was afraid of nothing and no one, intent only on reporting the truth of what he saw.’

  McNab was inclined to agree with such a summary, although he had met the man only once. He indicated the cleared desk. ‘I’d like to take a look at his laptop, phone, notes?’

  The man shook his head in an apparent apology. ‘That won’t be possible, I’m afraid. The police came and took all of that away.’

  McNab swore under his breath. Of course they had. He wondered how long the Met had been watching this place, following everything Mark did. No doubt they’d seen him visit here. Is that why he’d been picked up and interrogated?

  There seemed to be no clear blue line between the Met and the people they were supposed to be investigating.

  McNab, deflated and defeated, decided it was time to leave.

  ‘However,’ the man said as McNab got to his feet, ‘Mark gave strict instructions that if anything did happen to him, then this envelope should be given to the Scottish detective.’

  McNab accepted the small envelope and, opening it, he looked inside.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said with a smile.

  63

  ‘You’re sure?’ Ava said for the second time.

  ‘No one was in the boathouse. No people and no dog. Dougie’s boat wasn’t there either.’

  Ava felt the horror retreat. Dougie hadn’t died in that fire, just as Magnus had said. She thought of how long and hard they’d searched for Finn while they’d waited for the embers to cool. They’d still been searching for the collie when Sandy and the fire team had come rolling down the track to take charge of the site.

  ‘Thanks, Sandy,’ she said, with an attempt at a smile.

  ‘He’s out somewhere in his boat, like always,’ Sandy told her.

  Ava nodded, as though accepting that. Sandy Balfour was, after all, an Orphir man, living on the hill not far from Erling. He’d known Dougie all his life and probably better than she had during the time she’d been away.

  ‘Was it accidental, the fire?’

  ‘I can’t tell you how it started. Not for sure. You’d need a forensic fire investigator for that. We could request one, but since—’

  ‘No one died,’ she finished for him.

  He nodded. ‘The whole of Orkney’s on the lookout now for Dougie, and the girl. We’ll find them soon enough.’

  So all their attempts to keep Nadia hidden from view had failed. In fact, they’d only made her more visible to anyone from Go Wild who might be looking for her.

  Which meant she could delay her decision no longer.

  She walked Sandy out to his vehicle, said her goodbyes, then went swiftly inside to make her phone call.

  David was quick to answer, perhaps because he’d been expecting to hear from her.

  ‘Ava, how are things?’

  ‘I’ve been waiting for you to get back to me,’ she said pointedly.

  ‘I know and I’m sorry.’ David’s tone was conciliatory. ‘Your piece is currently with our lawyers. I have to be sure we’re safe to print it.’

  His voice, she realized, had changed. She’d rarely heard fear from him before, but it was there now.

  ‘What’s going on, David? You’ve never been afraid to print our material before.’

  There was a moment’s silence before he said, ‘The police have been here about Mark’s death. They’re aware he was working on an exposé of Go Wild. They asked if it had been for this paper because Mark’s material can’t be published as it’s now evidence in a suspicious death. This survivor you have . . . you have to tell the police about her.’

  ‘Police Scotland already know,’ Ava told him, not mentioning Nadia’s recent disappearance.

&nbs
p; The voice on the other end went quiet . . . Then, ‘The Met are trying to kill this story. There’s high-up people involved.’

  ‘Which is exactly why it should be printed,’ Ava told him. When silence fell again, she said, ‘I’ll publish it myself,’ and cut the call.

  Shaking with anger, she tried to focus. What she’d said to Dougie and the girl still held true, she reasoned. What they chose to do now would affect the outcome of all their lives.

  Had Dougie decided to flee and hide or had someone else chosen his fate for him? An image of Nadia’s face when they’d discussed their plan came to mind. Had the girl always intended to run? Had she been the one to persuade Dougie to do that?

  Stop and focus, she told herself angrily. Imagine you could call Mark and talk to him. What would he tell you to do?

  She thought of other times and other places, where they’d had to decide . . . to hold back or not. How many times Mark had put himself in the firing line. A soldier of the truth, without the means to protect himself.

  Fuck it, Ava . . . what are you waiting for? his ghost-like presence demanded.

  She smiled. ‘You’re right. What am I waiting for?’ She sat down at her laptop. It would take a while to get it properly out there, and then for people to find it.

  Dougie had told her that when she was ready, the story should be released to the online gaming community first. That way it would spread as swiftly as a virus. He had even set up an automatic link for her to do that. ‘So you don’t need me here when you decide,’ he’d told her.

  The knock at the door broke her concentration.

  ‘Ava, I have some news for you.’ PC Tulloch’s voice sounded too tentative for the news to be good. Or was she just imagining that?

  Ava opened the door and invited Ivan inside.

  ‘What?’ she demanded when she saw his face.

  He hesitated, only making things worse.

  ‘For God’s sake, Ivan,’ she said in distress.