The Innocent Dead - Rhona MacLeod Series 15 (2020)

by Anderson, Lin

  Magnus sounded relieved by this. ‘Thanks. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘You do that,’ McNab muttered as he rang off.

  At this point McNab recalled how hard Magnus Pirie had worked on the sin-eater case, and how much the professor’s insight had played a part in its solution, and was momentarily sorry he’d been so sharp with him. There was just something about that calm, knowledgeable voice that got right up his nose. And it was nothing to do with the Orkney accent.

  Despite the fact Chrissy loved it so much.

  As he was about to depart the building, his mobile sounded again.

  ‘What now?’ he growled at the screen. But this time it was Janice. ‘I’m just on my way out,’ he told her.

  She ignored his exasperated tone. ‘Alec McLaughlin,’ she said. ‘The former inmate you asked to have checked out?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It turns out McLaughlin was a teenager living two doors up from Mary McIntyre when she went missing. Plus he was serving fifteen years in Barlinnie for raping his partner’s kids.’

  23

  Karen checked the time and decided she had at least an hour before darkness fell. Enough time for a short walk to clear her head.

  Obsessing about what she’d written in the diary all those years ago was growing into an addiction. Just like her reliance on alcohol, when Jack was ill. One page, like one drink, was no longer enough. Even worse, the more she read, the more jumbled her memories became.

  It was like a jigsaw, with each day’s entry a piece of that terrible time in her life. But she couldn’t fit them all together to form a complete picture.

  ‘We’ll help you do that when you bring it in,’ Marge had said, when Karen had called her in her distress. ‘Leave it for now. Take a walk. Go to one of Jack’s favourite places, where you can feel close to him.’

  Heeding Marge’s advice, Karen now donned her jacket and, locking the front door, set off down the garden path.

  She would tackle a walk she and Jack had often taken together of an evening, before the onset of his illness. Even after the dementia had been diagnosed, they’d kept to their routines, until Jack eventually forgot what any of those routines were.

  Music from around the time they’d met had helped for a while, bringing him out of his stupor, putting life back into his eyes. They said that music awakened areas of the brain seemingly lost to the illness. Karen believed that because she’d seen it happen.

  I should start listening to music again, she mused.

  But the sudden thought of listening to their songs without Jack brought such a swift rush of horror, she immediately dismissed the idea.

  She would try a familiar walk first, just as Marge had suggested. She would, she decided, head across to King’s Knot. Charlie, their dog, had always loved being taken to the former king’s gardens at the foot of Castle Hill.

  As she entered the large grassy space, a man appeared with a little brown dog. He nodded a hello, but Karen didn’t recognize him, so didn’t respond. Seemingly unperturbed by this, both man and eager dog walked on. The image of the two of them on their, probably regular, evening walk made Karen wonder whether she should get a dog again.

  Charlie had died shortly after Jack got noticeably ill. In truth, Karen had been relieved. She could no longer walk the old black lab because she couldn’t leave Jack alone in the house, even for a minute.

  Now she could leave the house, she no longer had a companion to go with her.

  Trying not to think along those lines, Karen chose the path that hugged the steep wall of imposing grey rock, spotting the man just ahead of her. The dog had been let off the lead and was tearing after a ball. Its owner had stopped, no doubt waiting for the dog to bring the ball back to him.

  As Karen drew near, the man turned and, realizing who it was, looked as though he might speak to her.

  Dealing with people was still a problem for Karen. All those months shut in with Jack, wondering who was going mad the quickest, she’d lost the knack of casual conversation.

  Of any conversation.

  True, the recovery cafe had helped, but even that had taken time and a great deal of effort on the part of the other women before Karen had been able to join in the conversation at all.

  ‘Mrs Johnston?’

  Heart thumping, her eyes fixed on the ground, Karen willed herself not to look as though she’d heard him.

  Maybe he would think her hard of hearing. Lots of folk her age were.

  But he didn’t give up.

  ‘Mrs Johnston,’ he said again.

  At this point the dog came hurtling towards her and, stopping in front of her, deposited the ball at her feet.

  She might manage to ignore the owner, but not the wee dog, who gazed up at her now, tail wagging in anticipation of her throwing the ball again.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Benji’s a bit demanding. He and Charlie got on well together.’

  Charlie’s name disarmed her. She couldn’t walk on now. It would be more than rude to do so. Karen stood helpless, unsure what to do next. To cover her confusion, she lifted the ball and threw it, focusing as it bounced across the grass with the wee terrier scurrying after it.

  ‘I was terribly sorry to hear about Jack.’

  There, the dreaded words had been said.

  ‘We used to meet him occasionally with Charlie.’

  Karen still hadn’t looked at the man’s face. She forced herself to do so now.

  He was tallish, older than her, probably closer to Jack’s age, with thick grey hair and blue eyes. For a moment he reminded Karen of someone, then the memory melted away. She nodded her thanks, then willed her wobbly legs to move on.

  See, Jack’s imagined voice told her. You can do it.

  ‘Who was he?’ she muttered out loud.

  Karen thought Jack laughed in response. No idea. Never seen him or the dog before.

  Jack’s imagined remark prompted Karen to stop and look back, only to find neither man nor dog were now anywhere to be seen. In fact, King’s Knot was deserted apart from her.

  Where had the man gone, and so swiftly?

  Karen checked the various tracks, certain that there hadn’t been sufficient time for him to head up the back path that wound its way through the tree-lined slope below the castle walls.

  Yet, apparently, he had.

  Perhaps you imagined him, Jack offered quietly. Like the crow and the dead cat.

  ‘The crow was in the sitting room,’ Karen said out loud. ‘And I did see Toby.’

  Jack had always managed to find a logical explanation for what he called ‘her intuition’, and most of the time Karen had accepted his take on it.

  Not this time.

  ‘I saw him,’ she muttered as she set off for home. ‘I most definitely did not imagine him.’

  Despite the odd encounter, Karen found herself buoyed up by her walk and the fact that she’d engaged with someone, however briefly, besides the women of the recovery cafe. She also found herself looking forward to the meeting tomorrow, where they would all get a chance to read her diary and help her remember everything she could about Mary’s disappearance.

  Even as she thought this, a memory of what Jack had always said sprang to mind.

  No use digging up the past, Karen. None of us are perfect and bad things happen. Better to forget it.

  A sliver of fear crept in. The problem was, she wasn’t entirely sure whether she had actually chosen to forget some things, and questions from the women in the recovery cafe might reveal those she didn’t want to remember. Was she making a mistake discussing the past with Marge and the others?

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. She wanted to be prepared for when the police came calling. She wanted to be clear what had happened, so she could tell them.

  But what if you did something wrong? a small voice said. What if you were responsible in some way for what happened to Mary?

  Back at the house now, fear engulfed Karen as she shakily tried to put her key in the
lock, desperate to get inside and away from the encroaching darkness. When the hall light snapped on, she stood for a moment, breathing in, waiting for her heart to slow in the safety of familiar surroundings.

  ‘I’m back, Jack,’ she called, attempting to sound cheery. ‘Safe and sound.’

  In the silence that followed, Karen imagined she heard his grunt of approval.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ she announced. ‘We could both do with a cup of tea.’

  Hanging up her coat, she spotted something lying on the mat. At first, she thought it might be a slip from the window cleaner, saying he’d done the windows for her while she was out.

  As she retrieved it, she immediately knew she was wrong. The note wasn’t from the window cleaner, but from someone else entirely.

  There was a single line which read:

  I know who you are.

  24

  ‘Word is another girl went missing in her confirmation dress, from York, in 1974,’ Chrissy told Rhona.

  ‘When did you hear that?’ Rhona said.

  ‘I have my sources.’ Chrissy’s left eyebrow rose to reflect that fact.

  ‘Bona fide?’

  ‘Of course.’ Her forensic assistant sounded peeved that Rhona might think otherwise. ‘There’s a list of possibles being produced at the strategy meeting. Only one was abducted wearing a white dress.’

  They were seated at the bar of the jazz club, awaiting their wine. It arrived just as Chrissy made her announcement. Rhona lifted the cold glass and took a sip, giving herself time to contemplate Chrissy’s latest piece of news.

  ‘Well?’ Chrissy was looking for a response to this interesting update.

  ‘At the moment we have one victim and we haven’t yet established who that victim is. But hopefully we’ll know soon,’ Rhona said. She was saved from Chrissy’s reply because her assistant had just spotted the figure of McNab coming down the stairs.

  ‘Plus,’ Chrissy said in a loud whisper, ‘I know why McNab wants to speak to you.’ She smiled her success.

  Before Rhona could react to this, McNab joined them and, hailing the barmaid, ordered a beer.

  ‘Dr MacLeod.’ He suddenly took note of Rhona’s evening outfit. ‘You look very nice.’

  ‘She’s going on a date with Dr Walker,’ Chrissy immediately told him.

  ‘It is not a date,’ Rhona said. ‘It’s work.’

  ‘Nice work if you can get it,’ Chrissy said, before turning to McNab. ‘And I know why you’re here.’

  ‘The spy network you have in the station is legendary,’ McNab admitted. ‘So does your boss know?’ He indicated Rhona.

  Chrissy shook her head. ‘I preferred to wait and watch you tell her.’

  ‘Tell me what?’ Rhona now demanded.

  ‘Emma Watson,’ McNab said, ‘came with her mother, Claire, to the station today.’

  At the mention of Emma’s name, a flurry of memories swept over Rhona. The first of which was the image of a little girl in a winter wood, frightened, yet determined to help them in their search for the body of a missing child.

  ‘How is she?’ was her first response. ‘She must be . . .’

  ‘Almost a teenager,’ McNab said. ‘Taller, but just as intense.’ He halted, perhaps looking for the right words to explain the visit.

  Rhona was already ahead of him. ‘She came to speak to you about the body on the moors?’

  McNab nodded. ‘She wants—’

  ‘To check that there isn’t another body buried there,’ Rhona finished for him.

  ‘How weird is that?’ Chrissy, big-eyed, came in. ‘It’s just what we were thinking.’

  ‘You have a reason to suspect there might be—’ McNab began.

  ‘Emma was right once before, remember?’ Rhona said.

  McNab’s sudden attention to his pint suggested he didn’t want to acknowledge that fact.

  ‘Cool,’ Chrissy said. ‘Rhona can take her up there. That’s what you wanted to ask, wasn’t it?’ She looked pointedly at McNab.

  ‘The boss thinks it’s okay,’ he offered cautiously.

  ‘Then we’ll take her there before the strategy meeting.’ Rhona finished her wine and stood up.

  ‘So that’s you off on your date?’ Chrissy said.

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ Rhona said, lifting her bag and making for the stairs, but not before she’d caught McNab’s voice saying, ‘Does Sean Maguire know about this?’

  Rhona didn’t hang around long enough to hear Chrissy’s reply, just said a silent thank you that she hadn’t agreed to meet Richie in the jazz club, even though he’d suggested it.

  The bustle of Ashton Lane enveloped her. Puddles from an earlier shower, patchworked by the strings of coloured lights, glistened between the cobbles. She headed up University Avenue towards the towers of the university. The sky above the city was a metallic blue broken by bloodied streaks. She felt a sudden surge of pleasure to be back at work and back in Glasgow.

  And Skye will always be there when I need it, she told herself.

  She’d reached the main gate where Stan, who Rhona was well acquainted with, was manning the entry post.

  ‘Evening, Dr MacLeod,’ he said with a smile. ‘Looking forward to a nice dinner and some speeches?’

  Rhona was about to answer Stan’s query, although in what manner she wasn’t sure, when a tall figure stepped out of the shadows behind him.

  ‘Stan told me you weren’t here yet, so I decided to wait for you,’ Richie said, almost apologetically.

  ‘I told him these events definitely require a partner in crime,’ Stan said with a conspiratorial smile.

  ‘And you should know, Stan. Come on, Dr Walker,’ Rhona said, ‘it’s time to face the fray. For a man who dissects dead people,’ she continued as they walked together towards the main building, ‘functions like this one should be a walk in the park.’

  ‘I prefer dealing with the dead rather than the living. They don’t expect small talk.’

  ‘I’m inclined to agree with you on that,’ Rhona said.

  The entrance hall was buzzing, the echo of a myriad voices like a wall they had to penetrate. Rhona felt Dr Walker flinch and realized that crowded places such as this were anathema to the pathologist. Hence his desire for moral support.

  Released from the idea that this might be construed as a date, Rhona urged him on. ‘Think of the crowd as a thick layer of blubber you have to cut through before you get to the interesting part.’ She pointed ahead at a clear space next to the door leading to the dining area. ‘Plus there’s a tray of drinks over there waiting for us.’

  Rhona led the way, nodding at those she knew, but not stopping for the usual small talk. Eventually they reached the waiter and lifted their glasses.

  ‘I’d rather have a dram,’ Dr Walker said, sipping the usual fizzy offering.

  ‘Me too,’ Rhona assured him. ‘Whisky will be on offer after dinner. We’ll have to wait until then.’

  ‘I take it you’ve been to a lot of these events?’ Dr Walker offered.

  ‘I try to avoid them.’ Rhona told him the truth. ‘But I’m glad I came to this one.’

  ‘I should have warned you about my reaction to crowds, although it’s not always as bad as tonight,’ Richie said.

  Agoraphobia was known to present itself after a bad experience. Rhona wondered if Richie might tell her when or why the feeling had begun, but he didn’t.

  Rhona shrugged. ‘I can’t face closely packed trees, never mind humans. I discovered that on Skye. Shall we find our seats?’ She didn’t say that they were unlikely to be sitting together, because that could be easily remedied. She had it in mind that they would simply switch place cards.

  However, before she could put her plan into action, a voice hailed her from across the room. Rhona recognized the voice immediately and felt her stomach turn over.

  Please God it isn’t him.

  But it most definitely was.

  ‘Fuck,’ Rhona said, loud enough for Richie to
hear.

  ‘Who is it?’ he whispered.

  ‘Just an arsehole I once had a child with,’ Rhona told him.

  Edward Stewart was heading towards them, blue eyes twinkling, a wide smile on his handsomely tanned face. Rhona wondered if Fiona, his wife, was with him, but couldn’t spot her blonde coiffured presence among the melee.

  ‘I apologize in advance,’ Rhona warned Richie. ‘This won’t be pretty.’

  And then Edward was there. Offering a hug which Rhona declined.

  ‘Rhona, it’s so good to see you.’

  ‘Why are you here?’ Rhona responded. ‘At a university forensic event?’

  Edward’s white smile grew wider. ‘We’re about to become a sponsor for the Diploma in Forensic Medical Science programme. Isn’t that fabulous?’

  Rhona could think of many words to describe such a link, but fabulous wasn’t one of them, so she remained silent.

  Edward’s studied look moved from Rhona to Richie and back again. He held out his hand. ‘Edward Stewart. Rhona and I go way back.’

  Richie gave Edward the ghost of a smile. ‘Dr Walker, forensic pathologist.’

  At this point the gong sounded for dinner, which Rhona immediately saw as an escape route.

  ‘We’d better go in before the rush,’ she suggested, keen now to escape Edward.

  ‘No rush,’ Edward informed her. ‘I spotted earlier that we’re on the same table.’

  Rhona swore silently at this, utilizing an internal string of expletives Chrissy would have been proud of. Their own seating plan scotched, she turned to give Richie an apologetic look, only to discover he’d already headed through the archway and into the dining hall.

  ‘Shall we?’ Edward offered Rhona his arm, which she pointedly ignored. With that symbol of ownership denied him, Edward made an attempt to usher her onward by placing his hand on the small of her back. Rhona quickly sidestepped this and indicated he should go first.

  On arrival at their table, they discovered Richie already there.

  ‘Isn’t this good?’ he said. ‘I’m next to you both.’

  He might have said ‘between you both’, which would have been the truth. Edward, Rhona noted, was definitely nonplussed by this sudden demolition of his plans (no doubt he’d already been riffling with the seat placements). However, he quickly regained his composure and, being Edward, immediately said, ‘There was something I wanted to chat to Rhona about, so perhaps I might sit next to her for a bit?’