The Innocent Dead - Rhona MacLeod Series 15 (2020)

by Anderson, Lin

  How the fuck do you talk to the parents of a missing child? They think you’re going to find her because you have to make them believe that. You’re determined to do that, while all the time you know. You just know that some bastard has her and is doing something to her right now, if he’s not already killed her. How do you keep that thought off your face?

  The father, Dave, is the boss. No doubt about that. Evelyn, the mother, hovers round him, expecting to be swatted away like an annoying fly, but determined to be in his vicinity anyway. I suspect it’s a relationship I’ve seen often as a beat policeman. The one you walk past, despite the screaming. A domestic. Not our business. The famous belt is hanging there on the kitchen wall. He glances at it occasionally, as if to assure himself he’s still in charge.

  He said he would kill whoever had taken his wean. I didn’t admonish him for that. I felt the same way at that moment.

  He sounded honest in his answers. Mary went off with her class to confirmation (just as Miss Stevens had told me), dressed in her finery. She never came back. He almost broke down as he said this. I thought in that moment, here’s a guy who thought he was in control of his family, belt and all. Then some unknown fucker blows it all sky high.

  I asked to speak to Mrs McIntyre alone. He didn’t like that, but I insisted. She changed when he left the room. She looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘Whoever took her will kill her, won’t they?’ What could I say to that? I said something stupid like, ‘There’s time yet to find her.’ Her eyes went misty then. I thought she would cry. Then she pulled herself together and that same direct look was back. ‘My boy Robbie doesn’t like Father Feeney. He says he does things to kids. Robbie’s different.’ She indicated the closed door. ‘I know that. His father doesn’t.’ She looked frightened. ‘You mustn’t tell him.’ I asked if she trusted Father Feeney. ‘He’s a priest,’ she said. ‘A man of God. It would be blasphemous not to.’ I asked about Karen. ‘She’s a nice wee girl,’ she said. ‘Quiet. Her dad’s strict with her, being a policeman. The girls get on well together.’ I wanted to ask about what Mrs Marshall had said, but put it a different way. Did Mary have a boyfriend? She gasped at that. ‘She’s only eleven, well, almost twelve,’ then she looked away. So no boys hanging around? ‘Dave would never allow that,’ she said.

  Robbie was next. A fourteen-year-old, he gave me a look that suggested he thought I was a likely enemy. I thought, this boy can go either way, and if his mother’s right about him, whatever road he takes it will be a hard one. He resembled his missing sister, with a wild head of dark curly hair on top, and cut short round the sides. He sat hunched and defensive, giving a swift glance now and again at the belt, which was the only thing on the wall apart from a crucifix. I wondered how soon the boy would reject the beatings and turn on his father. Not long.

  When I asked him what he knew, he told me to check out the priest. ‘He likes altar boys.’ He gave me a look that suggested he did more than just like them. And girls? He laughed then. ‘Not so popular,’ he said. So why ask the priest about Mary? He sat up at that. ‘Father Feeney has friends. Fancy friends.’ When I asked who, he shook his head. ‘That’s for you to find out, detective.’ I asked if Mary had a boyfriend. ‘She’s fucking eleven.’ Nearly twelve, I said. Any boys or men hanging about her? ‘There’s a weirdo at the shops flashes her and Karen,’ he says. ‘And smart Alec up the road talks dirty when the girls play tennis in the street. I told them to ignore him. Plus one of the altar boys, Gerry Ryan, had a notion on Mary. I sorted him out too.’

  When I asked for his version of what had happened to his sister, he said to ask Father Feeney. Could Mary just be hiding, I asked him. He glanced again at the belt. ‘Mary was never afraid to come home, even if she got a belting. My wee sister wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone. But someone’s got her, and I’d start with the priest.’

  McNab thought about McCreadie. How he’d kept in touch with Robbie over the years. A penance for not finding his sister? Or guilt at doing things badly? Bad outcomes usually came from a botched investigation. Maybe McCreadie had got the shove because he simply messed up and his tale of those at the top trying to hide something was a cover-up for his own failings.

  Robbie McIntyre didn’t think so back then, or now.

  McNab remembered the boss’s opinion about the case and about DI McCreadie. If the boss had some questions about those in charge back then, McNab was inclined to believe him.

  His mobile buzzed as he prepared to move on to McCreadie’s piece on Mary’s sister, Jean.

  ‘DS McNab? Can you come see me? Now, if possible.’ Ollie sounded pleased with himself. ‘I believe I’ve located Father Feeney.’

  29

  The bulletins on TV and radio, the acres of coverage in the newspapers, had got it right after all. The remains discovered in the raised peat bog close to Advie Lochan were those of Mary McIntyre, aged eleven, who had disappeared on 1 May 1975.

  Rhona leafed through the accumulated results. It had taken time to get everything they needed to confirm the identity of the remains. Their first problem had been the fact that the body has been in the bog for so long. As she’d tried to explain to Magnus, bogs were acidic and thus tended to strip the base pairs off the DNA, making it difficult to ‘read’. Success had come when they’d had to go for the petrous part of the temporal bone in the skull, which was well protected. Having managed to extract DNA, it was then a simple process to compare the profile from the deceased with a buccal swab taken from the surviving siblings.

  To add to this, they’d located Mary’s dental records and digitally reconstructed her face from the skull of the remains. That image of the girl now sat beside the photograph given to the police by her parents all those years ago. Parents who hadn’t lived long enough to find and bury their small daughter properly.

  ‘At least the brother and sister are still around to give her a proper funeral,’ Chrissy said.

  If the siblings had managed to put what had happened to their sister to the back of their mind, then this discovery would bring it all back with a vengeance, Rhona thought. Add in the resulting re-opening of the case, the trawling over the past, plus the interest from the press and public, and things wouldn’t be easy for them.

  She wondered if the outcome of the discovery might prove worse for Mary’s remaining family than never knowing what had happened to their sister.

  ‘I’d always want to know,’ Chrissy responded when Rhona said as much. ‘If anything like that happened to wee Michael, I’d want him back with me. And I’d want whoever did such a terrible thing to be brought to justice.’

  Rhona felt the same. However, the fallout for the families involved would be great. They would become the focus of much scrutiny. As would all their erstwhile neighbours in that small community.

  ‘Does the press know?’ Chrissy said.

  ‘Bill is holding a press conference shortly with the sister and brother. They’ll no doubt be appealing to anyone who’s still alive from that time who might know anything to come forward for interview.’

  ‘Social media’s going to love this. I’ll bet there’s a true crime podcast already in the making,’ Chrissy said.

  Despite spending her day forensically examining crime scenes, Chrissy’s current favourite pastime was listening to crime podcasts and either finding fault with them or avidly solving the crime.

  ‘There’s still the puzzle of the clothes buried with her,’ Chrissy said.

  The Tech department had digitally restored the dress, veil and shoes. According to Bill, the image had been shown to the sister of the murdered girl, who’d said she couldn’t be sure of the dress, it was so long ago. She did say she thought the shoes were a bit small, but then again they were poor back then, and confirmation outfits were usually passed from one family member to another.

  ‘Well, mine certainly was,’ Chrissy said, ‘and the fancy white shoes pinched.’

  The supposition was that the dress and shoes were on the small size
for Mary, but they had no exact record of her weight and height, just their estimation from the remains. If her mother had still been alive, things would have been different. She would have been able to explain what seemed like a discrepancy.

  If they’d had a photograph of Mary taken wearing the dress, that would have helped, but according to McNab there were none in the little evidence they’d found in the police store.

  ‘My mum sewed me into my borrowed dress, because the buttons kept popping,’ Chrissy recalled. ‘My boobs were the problem. My cousin didn’t have any.’

  As for the bracelet Rhona had retrieved from the loch, there had proved to be no inscription, although McNab said that Robbie, the brother, told him his father had bought Mary one, probably from a pawn shop. However, Jean, the sister, couldn’t recall that event at all. So even siblings a couple of years apart didn’t share the same memories.

  ‘How much do you remember from your childhood?’ Rhona said.

  ‘Mostly the fights with my drunkard of a father.’ Chrissy’s hard gaze suddenly softened. ‘The best memory was when my only sane and gay brother Patrick took me to the pictures.’ She went quiet for a moment. ‘Traumas usually stick the longest, like when I got my first period. Jesus, I thought I was dying.’

  ‘You weren’t warned?’ Rhona said.

  ‘Sex and anything to do with it wasn’t a topic for discussion in our good Catholic house. What about you?’

  ‘I remember when my mum told me I was adopted and who my birth mother and father were.’

  ‘Wow.’ Chrissy made a face. ‘That’s a biggie.’

  ‘It didn’t feel like it at the time,’ Rhona said honestly.

  Her mum had volunteered the information one day while they chopped vegetables for the soup together at the kitchen table. Just in case Rhona wanted to know, she’d said, and couldn’t ask.

  ‘Your mum was my cousin Lily,’ she’d explained. ‘She was a traveller.’

  It had sounded romantic.

  ‘She’s travelled all round the world.’ Her mum had continued grating the carrots as she’d talked. ‘She brought back this nice boyfriend once. That was your dad. He wanted to marry her, but she always said no.’

  ‘Why?’ It was the only question Rhona had ever asked about her real mother.

  ‘Our Lily was her own woman. “Give a man a bit of paper and he’ll think he’s bought you.” That’s what she used to say.’

  ‘So you never met your birth mum or dad?’ Chrissy asked.

  ‘No, although I have their photograph, taken on a trip to Millport. My dad died in Venice. Lily came back, but she only stayed long enough to have me, and then she went. Couldn’t stand the weather here. It was the greyness, Mum said. She died in Istanbul and is buried there.’

  Chrissy looked thoughtful. ‘I like the sound of Lily.’ She gave Rhona a hard look. ‘I think you’ve inherited some of her traits, especially the own woman bit. Your adopted mum did a good job on you, though. Lily probably knew she would.’

  Rhona realized that Chrissy was right about her mother. So why had she hidden Liam’s existence from both her parents? Looking back, it was something she couldn’t explain, even to herself.

  What we chose to forget, it seemed, was more significant than what, through time, we simply couldn’t remember.

  ‘Teenage years. Now I remember them,’ Chrissy was saying with a grin. ‘And the first time I had sex, which was pretty shite by the way.’

  Rhona held up her hand when Chrissy looked as though she might tell her the whole story. ‘Please, I don’t need to know the details.’

  Chrissy looked affronted. ‘I was about to ask you about your first time.’

  ‘Some things,’ Rhona said, ‘are better left unsaid.’

  ‘That bad, eh?’ Chrissy said sympathetically.

  ‘Not at all,’ Rhona said with a suggestive smile. ‘Anyway, I have to head for the strategy meeting. You’ll text me if anything more comes back on the tests?’

  Chrissy said she would. ‘Are you going to mention your visit to the locus with Emma?’

  ‘No. But I will suggest an aerial examination for anomalies.’

  The conference room was filling up, initially to watch the appeal go out on national TV, after which the strategy meeting would go ahead.

  As yet there was no sign of McNab or Magnus, both of whom Rhona had expected to see there, but she did spot DS Clark and headed over to her. They exchanged pleasantries while Rhona reminded herself how lucky McNab was to have such a partner, hoping he appreciated it.

  ‘So where is McNab?’ Rhona eventually asked.

  ‘He got a call from IT just before we headed here,’ Janice said. ‘I believe the remains have been ID’d as Mary McIntyre?’

  Rhona nodded. ‘There are anomalies, which I’ll enlighten everyone on.’ She halted there as Janice’s attention was drawn elsewhere.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ Janice was saying, amazement in her voice. ‘Look who’s here.’

  Rhona turned to see a tall, imposing elderly bloke with grey hair enter the room.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Rhona said, genuinely interested.

  ‘That is bestselling author J. D. Smart, aka former Detective Inspector Jimmy McCreadie, who was in charge of the original abduction case. Until, that is, he was shown the door, the reasons for which are unclear. You want to meet him?’

  ‘You know him?’ Rhona said, interested.

  ‘The boss sent us to interview him when there was a suspicion that the remains might be wee Mary McIntyre. Needless to say, DS McNab wasn’t impressed.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I like his books, so I was interested in meeting him in whatever context.’

  ‘And?’ Rhona urged her on, realizing there was more to come.

  ‘Turns out he kept personal notes about the investigation, which he handed over to us. Since the original police notebooks are missing from the stored evidence, they’re proving very useful, once you decipher the handwriting,’ Janice explained as she and Rhona began to weave their way towards the gentleman in question.

  Spotting Janice and obviously recognizing her, a big smile spread across the former detective’s face.

  ‘DS Clark, I was hoping to see you here.’ He held out his hand. ‘And this is?’ He gestured to Rhona.

  ‘Dr Rhona MacLeod,’ Janice gave the introduction.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, taking Rhona’s hand this time. ‘I am very pleased to meet you, Dr MacLeod. I am an admirer of your work, so much so that I took the forensic course you’re involved in. Very enlightening, especially for a detective from the old school.’

  ‘A lot of things have changed since your time in the force,’ Rhona said.

  ‘They have indeed, and for the better. Hopefully, with your help, this one,’ he gestured at the current evidence on display, ‘will finally be solved.’

  ‘Will you be contributing today?’ Rhona said.

  ‘DI Wilson asked me in to give an overview of the initial investigation. I hope that what I can offer helps. It’s such a long time ago and many of those close to the case are dead and gone.’ He paused, his look darkening. ‘In truth, the story of Mary McIntyre never left me, even after I left the force. Thank God I had the wit to write it all down at the time, so that I would never forget.’

  They said there was always at least one unsolved or unresolved case that haunted every detective. By his tone and expression, the disappearance of Mary McIntyre was the one forever on McCreadie’s mind.

  At that moment the large screen at one end of the room came on and the babble of chat quickly died away. Bill introduced the man and woman on either side of him as the brother and sister of Mary McIntyre, who had been abducted on the first of May 1975.

  ‘The investigation at the time found no trace of Mary after she had, we believe, taken part in her confirmation ceremony in the local chapel. The remains discovered south of Glasgow have now been identified as Mary. We appeal to anyone with any information on the case, howev
er small, to get in touch with Police Scotland.’

  The sister looked more nervous than the brother, and it was he who spoke first.

  ‘The original investigation was flawed,’ Robert McIntyre told the camera, ‘mainly because back then kids like us,’ he nodded at his sister, ‘weren’t listened to. In fact, when DI McCreadie, who was in charge, did take heed of what we were saying, he was hounded out of his job. This cannot happen a second time. Despite the intervening years, the memory of that day and what led up to it has never left me. And this time we will be heard.’ He paused for a moment to collect himself. ‘Anyone with knowledge about what happened back then, please come forward to the police. Mary’s killer could still be out there, and we want to find him and bring him to justice.’

  The married sister, Jean Barclay, spoke next. She asked for the children who walked with Mary to the church that day to come forward. ‘Also,’ she said, ‘the police would like to trace Mary’s pal Karen Marshall. Mary and Karen were very close,’ she said. ‘Back then, Karen was in a state of shock when Mary disappeared and could hardly speak. She moved away with her family shortly afterwards and we lost contact with her. If she’s alive and listening to this, I urge her to make contact with the police. Maybe there’s something she remembers now about what happened on that day.’

  Bill brought the session to an end with a final request for everyone who remembered anything regarding Mary’s disappearance to come forward.

  The chatter in the room started up again as the picture snapped off.

  ‘That was being pre-recorded to go out later today,’ Janice said, ‘so the boss should be here shortly.’

  At that moment Rhona spotted DI Wilson’s entry, along with McNab and Magnus.

  ‘That’s the criminal psychologist who lectures on the diploma course,’ McCreadie remarked. ‘To my recollection, he was given a hard time by the unbelievers in the audience, most of them serving officers.’

  ‘There was a time when forensic science got the same response,’ Rhona said. ‘It still does when something new is developed.’