Picture Her Dead (Rhona Macleod)

by Lin Anderson

  Rhona ignored the buzzer and headed upstairs, passing a young man on his way down carrying a large box. He gave her a long-suffering look.

  ‘Coming or going?’ she said.

  ‘Wish I knew.’

  Rhona pulled the old-fashioned brass bell and waited, hearing its loud jangle echo through the flat. Nobody could miss that, she thought, even if they have earphones on.

  After the second pull she decided to take a look through the letterbox. The hall was in semi-darkness. What little light there was filtered through to the hall from the south-facing bay window of the sitting room. At first Rhona could see nothing, then as her eyes became accustomed to the dimness, she thought she saw a movement near the kitchen door.

  ‘Petersson,’ she called out. ‘Are you in there? It’s me, Rhona.’

  The shadow flickered then steadied.

  ‘Petersson. Open this door,’ she shouted, convinced now that someone was definitely in the flat.

  A tall figure slowly emerged from the shadows and approached the door. Rhona stepped back, letting the letterbox snap shut. She watched as the door opened, at least as far as the door chain would allow.

  ‘For God’s sake, Petersson, it’s me, Rhona,’ she said exasperated.

  ‘Dr Rhona MacLeod?’ a clear female voice asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  The chain was disengaged and the door opened wide. In the doorway stood a young blond woman with very blue eyes. Her voice when she spoke had a distinctively Icelandic accent.

  ‘I’m sorry. I had to be sure. Einar made me promise not to open the door to anyone but you.’

  33

  Everything came with a time frame. It was understandable, but enough to drive Bill mad.

  ‘How soon?’

  ‘It depends how damaged the mobile is.’

  ‘What if I said someone’s life depended on it?’

  Sandy looked him in the eye. ‘Is this anything to do with DS McNab?’

  ‘It could be,’ Bill lowered his voice, ‘but it’s not common knowledge.’

  ‘I can make it first in the queue, although DI Slater won’t be pleased. But then I trust you to find McNab more than I trust him.’

  ‘You’ll get back to me?’

  ‘As soon as,’ Sandy assured him. ‘You got my message about the two voices on the recorder found in the cinema?’

  ‘I did. Thanks.’

  ‘Weird. I always knew twins sounded alike. I just never guessed how much. There’s other stuff too. I found the Facebook page your private investigators set up. It looks like they made contact with someone who’d seen the girl at the Govanhill Picture House.’

  ‘I know. They broke in and found a coat which might be the missing girl’s.’

  ‘Hey, they’re way ahead of you. And me!’

  ‘They’ve been told to stop.’

  ‘And give the professionals a chance?’ Sandy laughed. ‘Maybe we should recruit them into the Force.’

  Bill headed for his office. The incident room was quiet but the occupants looked as though they were working hard, or else they’d got the word that he was on his way. A sea of faces looked up on his entry. Bill knew they wanted to know if there was anything new on their missing colleague. He shook his head.

  ‘Coffee, Sir?’

  ‘I thought it wasn’t your job to bring me coffee, Janice.’

  ‘You look as though you could do with one, Sir.’

  ‘Bring one for yourself. We need to talk.’

  They sat down together, Bill leaving the coffee to one side to cool to its optimum temperature.

  ‘A woman called,’ DS Clark told him. ‘Moira Cochrane?’

  Bill slapped his forehead. ‘I was supposed to meet her. I forgot all about it. I’ll call her back.’

  ‘And Jason Donald is in interview room six. I ran a check on him as requested.’ She handed Bill a folder.

  ‘Give me a quick précis, Detective Sergeant.’

  ‘He was accused of sexual assault on a sixteen-year-old girl a year ago. The girl withdrew the charges before it reached court.’

  Assuming Angus knew the boy’s history, and he’d given the impression that he had, it wasn’t surprising he didn’t want Jason’s name in the same sentence as Jude’s. But if he was aware that there might be CCTV footage, why mention the girl’s appearance outside the pub at all?

  ‘Anything else I should know before I see him?’

  ‘He appeared in front of the children’s panel half a dozen times before he was sixteen.’

  ‘Anything in the last year?’

  ‘No. Clean as a whistle. His probation worker thinks he’s turned a corner.’

  ‘He turned a corner all right, walking right alongside our missing girl. How are the cinema searches going?’

  ‘We have SOCO teams in the Olympia Bridgeton and the Govanhill Picture House.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Three more tomorrow, Sir.’

  ‘And what do we have on Dominic McGeehan?’

  ‘He was an only child. Father’s dead. His mother lives in Partick, not far from where he was found. Someone’s been round there already to tell her. Mrs McGeehan suffers from Alzheimer’s and has a daily carer. We’re not sure if she understood the news.’

  ‘But there definitely isn’t a brother?’

  ‘According to a neighbour who’s known the family for years, Dominic was an only child. And a difficult one. He lived at home sporadically and gave his mother a lot of grief when he did.’

  ‘We need to build up a picture of what Dominic was up to before he disappeared. His friends, work …’ He was telling her things she already knew, so he changed tack. ‘Was there anything in this man’s flat that related to his real identity?’

  ‘Everything was in Dominic McGeehan’s name.’

  ‘What about work?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘What did the neighbours have to say?’

  ‘Only knew him to nod to on the stairs.’

  ‘Whatever happened to the old Glasgow, where the entire stair knew your business and was willing to talk about it?’

  Janice couldn’t answer that one.

  ‘Women? Girlfriends?’

  ‘Female visitors. Often and varied, apparently.’ Janice raised an eyebrow. ‘According to Ms Webster on the floor below.’

  ‘Thank God for one nosy parker. Check out the city escort services. High class only.’ Bill tried his coffee and found it cool enough to drink. ‘He isn’t a man who likes to rough it. He’ll be spending, wherever he is. So we follow his cards, and hopefully his phone. Also he has a laptop, he took it with him when he went. So he’s logging on from somewhere. What about prints?’

  ‘They picked up some in the flat.’

  ‘Let’s hope he’s on file, then.’

  Jason looked younger than the last time Bill had seen him. Fear and worry usually aged people, but in some cases it made a suspect appear younger and more vulnerable.

  When DS Clark set the tape running, Bill sat in silence. Jason’s head was down, but with no Irn Bru can to fiddle with his hands were lost for something to do. Eventually he folded his arms.

  ‘Tell me about Jude.’

  ‘I never met her. I told you that already.’

  ‘We both know that’s not true, Jason.’

  Perhaps it was the certainty in Bill’s voice that caused Jason’s head to rise a fraction. He peered at Bill through the hair.

  ‘I never met her.’

  Bill sighed and waited as though Jason would change his mind. When he didn’t, Bill said, ‘So how come you were caught on CCTV walking side by side from the back of the cinema?’

  The head shot all the way up this time. ‘Angus said—’ Jason began, then stopped himself.

  ‘Angus said what? To keep your mouth shut about that?’ When Jason didn’t answer, Bill continued, ‘I take it Angus knows about Helen Craig?’

  Jason blanched.

  ‘I didn’t do that,’ he said, his voice choked.
<
br />   ‘Do what?’

  ‘What she said.’

  ‘And what was that exactly?’

  ‘I didn’t rape her. She lied. She was drunk. She told the police later she’d made a mistake.’

  ‘But you did have sex with her?’

  ‘She wanted to. I didn’t force her.’

  Jason had retreated as far back in the seat as was possible.

  ‘What about Jude?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘What did you do to her?’

  ‘Nothing! I met her coming down the fire escape and asked her how she got on. She said she had some good photos. That’s it.’

  ‘That’s not what it sounded like on CCTV.’

  Jason looked stunned. ‘There’s no sound on those things.’

  ‘Who says?’ Bill watched his words sink in. The interchange between Jason and Jude had looked more than just casual, that much had been clear on the tape.

  Jason seemed to be wrestling with something.

  ‘OK,’ he conceded. ‘It was me that told her about the Rosevale. That’s why she came.’

  This was a bombshell Bill hadn’t expected, although he tried not to let it show.

  ‘So how did you two meet?’

  ‘She contacted a website about old Glasgow cinemas. I answered her. Most people don’t know about the Rosevale because it’s got no frontage. I told her she should contact Carol and get in to see it.’

  ‘You’ve been inside?’

  ‘Lots of times, but don’t tell Carol. I’ll lose my job.’

  ‘What about the body?’

  Jason shook his head. ‘I never knew about that.’

  ‘Did Jude see it?’

  ‘She said there was a bad smell in the projection room. She thought there might be a dead animal behind the wall.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  Jason nodded.

  ‘How come you have a key?’

  ‘I made a copy of Carol’s. Look, I wasn’t doing anything bad. I just went up there sometimes.’

  ‘Alone.’

  Jason thought for a bit before he answered. ‘Not always.’

  ‘Who with?’

  ‘A couple of girls. I showed them the foyer. Scared them a bit with ghost stories. We sat in the balcony in those—’

  ‘Loveseats?’

  ‘Yeah. Loveseats.’

  ‘Did you take Jude to the loveseats?’

  He shook his head. ‘No way. She was weird.’

  ‘Because she turned you down?’

  ‘I never asked,’ Jason protested.

  ‘You spoke to her when she was in the projection room?’

  ‘No, I waited for her round the side.’

  ‘Where was she going when she left you?’

  ‘A text came in when we were talking. She said she had to meet someone.’

  ‘Did she say who?’

  ‘Something to do with an old film. She seemed pretty excited about it.’

  ‘Did she mention any other cinemas she’d visited?’

  Jason shrugged. ‘She’d photographed a few by the time she came here. She said this was her first back-court one.’

  Bill let him go after that. He had nothing to hold him on, as in the last sighting of Jude she’d been walking away from Jason.

  Bill took himself back to his office to mull over the interview. On paper Jason could be a prime suspect in Jude’s disappearance. He’d already been accused of sexual assault and he had a key to the Rosevale. He’d taken girls there, and not to watch films. He’d parted company with Jude outside the pub, but that’s not to say he hadn’t met up with her later.

  Then again, Jason had been the one to bring up the subject of reel-to-reel films, which weren’t common knowledge. Maybe Jason was telling the truth and Jude had been going to meet a collector.

  Bill realised he was going round in circles, and not just with Jude. Finding a live Dominic McGeehan had seemed like a breakthrough until he’d been stupid enough to let him walk away. And no matter which way he looked at it, Bill couldn’t shake off the feeling that the real Dominic’s death and Jude’s disappearance were somehow linked.

  He checked his mobile and found Rhona’s voicemail, the message she’d left coming as no great surprise. As soon as Rhona had mentioned the drill mark on Sinclair’s skull, Bill had suspected Johnny Lang was mixed up in the night porter’s death. Maybe in the Brogan killing too. Dispensing with irritants was the way Lang earned his money.

  The post mortem would be over by now and no word yet from Petersson, which probably meant the Icelander had nothing to offer. He gave the number one last try. When it rang unanswered, Bill picked up the internal phone.

  ‘I want Johnny Lang located and brought in, as quietly as possible.’

  34

  They’d left him alone for what seemed like hours. How many, he had no idea. In the constant dark and muffled silence all his attempts at measuring the passing of time had failed.

  When he’d been picked up there had been just over a week to go to the court case. He’d been on the point of heading south before his crazy decision to visit Brogan to try to persuade the bastard to come onside.

  What a fucking disaster that had turned out to be.

  McNab shifted in the seat in an effort to ease the griping cramp in his legs and arms.

  Maybe it was already too late. But then why was he still alive? To prolong the agony? To wring every last drop of pleasure from his torture, before he finally gave up the ghost? Or did it simply please Kalinin to know he was holding the chief prosecution witness, when he took to the stand himself?

  McNab’s ears picked up a sound and magnified it in the stillness. A mouse or a rat? He’d grown used to the skittering movements of their constant search for food. No doubt he would provide their main course soon enough.

  For all he knew there might have been a dim light, but the swelling round his eyes following Solonik’s last attack had rendered him almost blind.

  I ought to be grateful to the bastard, he thought. At least he didn’t scoop out my eyeballs and shove them down my throat, like he threatened to.

  McNab shifted again, this time sending a searing pain up his spine to clamp his head. Fatigue had lessened the flow of adrenaline through his veins, which made the pain more intense. He drew himself upright and tried to focus on his anger. When Lang was in the room it was easy, as he had someone to direct his hatred at. When he was left alone for hours, despite his best efforts, the fire died down and despair began to creep in.

  Even his loathing of Petersson had diminished, replaced by a need to work out why and when the journalist had betrayed him.

  McNab was sure it had been from the very beginning. The moment the bullet had been pumped into his chest, Kalinin had wanted to know for sure that he was dead. Maybe Petersson had had no idea who he was working for when he set out to find out the truth. Or maybe he’d known all along.

  And I made it easy for them.

  He remembered Brogan that night, wanting so badly to come onside but so fearful of doing so. ‘You don’t fucking mess with the Russians,’ Paddy had said, forgetting it was he who’d started that ball rolling. Poor Paddy had thought he was safe in Kalinin’s arms. How wrong he was.

  And so was Petersson.

  An investigative journalist in the pay of a Russian magnate. Ingenious. He would take a bet that the authorities would need to take a very close look at Petersson’s work before they discovered it all benefited Kalinin one way or another.

  And what about Slater? Where did he fit in? Was he the mole that fed Petersson his inside information, or was he in direct contact with the Russian? If Slater hadn’t released Kalinin that night, if he’d even called to warn McNab …

  I would never have been at the Poker Club. I would never have been shot. None of this would have happened.

  Suddenly the rodents skittered away, denied their meal, scared off by the clang of a door and the clip of footsteps on the concrete floor.

  ‘Hello,
DS McNab,’ said a voice he recognised.

  Petersson.

  35

  ‘OK, I’ve checked and re-checked her Facebook page. No sign of a reel-to-reel contact there so he must have got in touch some other way, probably by email. Jude has a Hotmail account, but I need to know her password to access it.’ Ben looked expectantly at Liam.

  ‘I don’t know. It could be anything.’

  ‘True, but we might be able to figure it out.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Most people use a word they’ll remember easily. I bet yours is something to do with physics.’

  Liam’s mouth fell open.

  ‘Knew it,’ Ben said triumphantly. ‘Einstein?’

  Unnerved, Liam shook his head.

  ‘But close?’

  He couldn’t deny it.

  ‘Right. Jude likes films, photography, sci-fi. What d’you think?’ Ben said.

  ‘You’re her sci-fi friend.’

  His accusing tone was lost on Ben. ‘Her favourite sci-fi movie is Blade Runner. She might have used one of the main character names.’ Ben tried typing in a few one after the other – Deckard, Pris, Rachael, Tyrell, Kowalski, Zhora – with no luck. ‘I would have chosen …’ He typed in Skin-job. It didn’t work either.

  ‘This is hopeless,’ Liam said.

  Ben ignored him. ‘You’re advised to stick a number in there somewhere. Most people tag it on at the end. The simplest is a one.’

  The small sound of surprise from Liam brought his head round. ‘Einstein 1, is it?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘If I get it will you buy me a pint?’

  ‘We’re supposed to be finding Jude’s password.’

  ‘If I find hers will you buy me a pint?’

  ‘I’ll buy you two.’

  ‘You’re on.’ Ben gave him a pointed look. ‘I’ll give you a shout when I have something.’

  Dismissed, Liam retreated to his room. Ben was better left alone to get on with it. When he was about, Ben spent half his time explaining what he was doing.