The Innocent Dead - Rhona MacLeod Series 15 (2020)

by Anderson, Lin

  McNab had spotted them. At first it looked as though he would head over, then he noted who they were standing next to and seemingly changed his mind.

  Janice made an exasperated sound which expressed her thoughts perfectly. ‘Excuse me, folks, but I need to speak to my partner.’ She turned to McCreadie. ‘Just to say, your notebooks are making very interesting reading for both of us. So thank you.’

  Deserting them, she threaded her way towards a disgruntled-looking McNab.

  McCreadie smiled at her retreating figure. ‘I suspect DS McNab and I have much in common,’ he told Rhona.

  ‘In what way?’ Rhona said, thinking she already knew the answer.

  ‘He trusts his guts and, until proved otherwise, he suspects my part in this case is a publicity stunt.’

  ‘And is it?’ Rhona asked.

  ‘It won’t do the sale of my books any harm, that’s for sure,’ McCreadie said. ‘But I would also like the ghost of Mary McIntyre to be finally laid to rest.’

  30

  Marge had accepted the job of looking after the diary, while playing down Karen’s feelings towards it.

  ‘Have the police been to see you yet?’ she’d asked when Karen was buttering the scones in the wee kitchen that led off the room they all met in.

  ‘No,’ Karen had said.

  ‘Have you contacted them?’

  ‘They’re not even sure it is Mary. This might all be for nothing. Anyway, I was just her pal. It’s her family they should be talking to.’

  Part of Karen wanted it not to be Mary. They were already talking on TV about other wee girls who’d gone missing around the same time in England.

  Marge had looked at her kindly at that point. ‘We don’t need to talk about it, you know?’

  ‘I know,’ Karen had told her. ‘But the others are keen and it gives them something to think about other than their own worries.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Marge nodded. ‘So you don’t mind the questions?’

  ‘No,’ Karen had assured her.

  In fact it was going better than Karen had expected. The women, excited by what they thought of as a mystery, had begun by getting Marge to draw a map of the street under Karen’s instructions, with the two schools and the open ground between them. Karen was surprised to find she could remember who lived where and could match the names she’d talked of in the earlier meeting to their appropriate houses.

  ‘And it was against the lamp post there,’ Karen pointed to a spot next to her own house, ‘that we used to play kick the can.’ Even as she said it, she could remember the excitement of hiding in the rough ground opposite only to run out as fast as possible to kick the can before the pursuer could reach you.

  ‘And what came after the open ground between the schools?’ Marge was saying. ‘More houses?’

  ‘No,’ Karen said slowly. ‘There was a wood.’ Even as she said this, she could see the wood in her mind’s eye and the path they’d forged through the long grass to enter it. For kids who’d come from tenement flats with only the street and back courts to play in, the open ground and surrounding woods had been a revelation. ‘It was in there that me and Mary built our den.’

  It was while watching Marge add the stick-like trees to the map that something broke in Karen. She could almost hear the splintering of the door inside her mind, beyond which, she knew, were the feelings and memories she’d worked so hard to lock up.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Marge said, shushing the women’s excited chatter.

  ‘We were in the woods,’ Karen said, suddenly remembering. ‘Before she went to the chapel.’ She remembered the moment precisely, plus what Mary had told her that day.

  How could she ever have forgotten?

  ‘What is it, Karen?’

  To Karen’s ears, Marge’s voice sounded strange and faraway.

  ‘Karen. Are you okay?’ Marge’s hand was on her shoulder. ‘You’re as white as a sheet.’

  ‘I remember,’ Karen said. ‘I remember what she said.’

  ‘What did she say?’ one of the women prompted.

  There was a pause before Karen answered.

  ‘Mary said she shouldn’t be wearing a white dress at all.’ Karen looked round the circle of faces, some eager, some excited, some fearful, some already shocked. ‘She asked me if God would forgive her.’

  There was an explosion of sound as the women worked out what that might mean.

  Karen suddenly understood what Mary had been trying to tell her, although back then she hadn’t. She’d thought that Mary had committed a sin like not saying the right number of Hail Marys. She didn’t even know what being a virgin meant.

  She rose, not wishing to have any more questions asked of her. Talking about Mary like this, even after all these years, seemed like a betrayal of her promise to her friend.

  She had to leave, and now.

  Karen went through to the kitchen to fetch her jacket. Spotting the diary next to Marge’s things, she put it back in her own bag.

  She was out of the church and getting into her car when Marge appeared.

  ‘Karen, wait! I’m sorry. Don’t go. We won’t ask any more questions. I promise.’

  Karen said, ‘There’s something I have to do.’

  ‘You’ll come back?’

  Karen nodded, although she wasn’t sure she would. Maybe it was up to her now. The door in her mind had opened, just a crack, but if she tried hard enough, she might manage to push it open further. Then she might recall all that had happened on that day forty-five years ago.

  The drive home passed in a blur. Nothing more came back to her regarding Mary; instead, fleeting memories of other things around that time did. Her father telling her they were flitting. That they could no longer stay in this house. That her mother would always worry that the man who took Mary might come back for her.

  The moment when her sister, Eleanor, told her she was getting married and that Karen would be her bridesmaid. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’ll get to wear a white frilly dress after all,’ Eleanor had said.

  Just like Mary’s.

  Karen remembered screaming at her sister that she didn’t want to wear a white dress like Mary. That she couldn’t, because God would never forgive her either.

  31

  He makes an impressive figure up there. Rhona could think of very few police officers who might captivate an audience such as former Detective Inspector McCreadie was doing at this moment.

  Mary McIntyre was coming to life again as McCreadie told her story. He painted a picture of a little girl living in a different era from the one they were experiencing now.

  ‘Where children’s stories were not treated as truth. Where the rights of the child were not protected. Where domestic abuse was considered the norm rather than a deviation from it. Where the sectarian divide was wider and deeper, and the control of the Churches more significant in people’s minds.

  ‘Despite all of this, Mary McIntyre appeared to have been a lively, happy child, whose best friend, Karen Marshall, was from across the sectarian divide.’

  McCreadie described the two families in some detail. Mary’s father, who controlled his family via a leather belt. Karen’s father, a detective constable, who couldn’t conceive of hitting his children. However, in his opinion, Mary’s father loved his daughter and was destroyed by her abduction. The power he thought he wielded in the protection of his family proved to be worth nothing after all.

  ‘Mary was in effect in the hands of the Church when she disappeared. She had joined her classmates to walk to the chapel for confirmation. However, there were around eighty children that day, more girls than boys, all of whom wore white dresses, and many who were wearing veils, covering their faces.

  ‘Mary’s teacher believed Mary was among them, although Miss Stevens couldn’t say she had spoken directly to Mary. The children had amassed in the school playground. They’d had a roll call, then walked in lines to the chapel.

  ‘The priest, Father Feeney, sa
id he could not say for definite that Mary had been one of those who had been confirmed.

  ‘There were no sightings of Mary after the service. Her best friend, Karen, being Protestant, wasn’t with Mary . . . an unusual occurrence. It was said during the investigation that they were joined at the hip outside school hours. Karen was in a state of shock and withdrew into herself, not speaking at all. The child was severely traumatized, we can recognize that now, but back then there was little to be done about it.

  ‘During my time with her, she was literally terrified. I always believed that Karen knew something that frightened or horrified her so much she had shut down because of it. Nowadays Karen would have had the psychological care and attention she required, much like officers affected by frontline duties. Back then, that wasn’t an option.

  ‘I understand that the historical evidence taken, i.e. the police notebooks and interviews, have been destroyed or lost over the intervening years. However, I kept personal notes on the interviews I conducted, including my suspicions and questions regarding the disappearance of Mary McIntyre, which I have now handed over to DS McNab and DS Clark. I believe my illegible script has been transcribed and they are to be made available to those involved in the case.

  ‘I thank DI Wilson for responding to my offer to relate what I know. I am, of course, open to any questions and am happy to help in any way I can.

  ‘However, I should also say my own involvement in the case was cut short as I left the force, or was asked to leave. The Chief Constable, Peter White – Sir Peter White, as he later became – did not agree with the direction I was taking with the investigation, his prime concern being that I paid heed to the fears of Mary’s fourteen-year-old brother, who had accused their local priest of sexually abusing young boys. We are, of course, talking of a different era. One in which homosexuality was a crime and the Church held much sway in public life and institutions. Those in power in Scotland were not yet ready to face what was to eventually become by the eighties a worldwide scandal of biblical proportions.

  ‘The argument from on high was that even if Robbie McIntyre’s accusations were true, and my superior officer had basically dismissed them as lies, they did not offer any enlightenment in the Mary McIntyre case. For my own part, I believed a cover-up was happening, of what exactly I don’t know, but it did involve people in power who had to be protected, even if that meant Mary McIntyre’s killer would never be found and brought to justice.’

  McCreadie halted there, the anger present in his voice echoed by his expression.

  ‘What about Father Feeney?’ a voice asked from the gathered officers. ‘Did you pursue him on the question of a cover-up by the Church?’

  ‘I did and not surprisingly he denied it. However, he was moved to another parish shortly afterwards, which was the norm then if complaints were made against a priest.’

  McNab now indicated he had a question and McCreadie nodded at him to go ahead.

  ‘Alec McLaughlin, who was a teenager living a few doors up from the deceased at the time of her disappearance, has recently been released from Barlinnie after fifteen years for raping his partner’s three children. McLaughlin volunteered some information recently, believing that the remains were those of Mary McIntyre. He maintains that the girl was pregnant at the time of her disappearance and this in fact led to her having to disappear.’

  Rhona watched McCreadie’s face as he digested that information.

  ‘Was there any suggestion that that might be the case during the investigation?’ McNab said.

  ‘No. None,’ McCreadie stated. ‘As for McLaughlin’s word on this, it’s not to be trusted. McLaughlin was a suspect but had an alibi for the time during which Mary disappeared.’

  McNab came back in then. ‘McLaughlin also said he followed Karen after he heard that Mary was missing. She was going to the den and stopped when she saw Robbie McIntyre leaving there with a white bundle.’

  McCreadie assumed a bemused expression. ‘McLaughlin was and I suspect still is an inveterate liar, who took great delight in being in the midst of the investigation then and wishes to be the star turn again.’

  ‘So he didn’t tell you any of this at the time?’ McNab persisted.

  ‘If he had, then it would be in the diaries,’ McCreadie said firmly. ‘However, it is clear from the diary entries that, without stating it categorically, both Karen’s mother and Mary’s mother intimated that Mary had started menstruating and thus she would have been capable of becoming pregnant.’

  McCreadie searched the audience in case there were any other questions.

  When there didn’t appear to be, he said, ‘Sadly, our forensic knowledge was minimal. Plus we had no sightings and no body, despite a large-scale search and an appeal to the public. Mary McIntyre had simply disappeared without trace.’ He paused. ‘But she is no longer lost, and you have the forensic knowledge we could only dream about back then to discover what happened to her, and hopefully bring her killer to justice.’

  At this point, DI Wilson came to the front to thank former DI McCreadie for his input, then asked that Dr MacLeod bring them up to date with the forensic results.

  Rhona had managed a few words with Bill before McCreadie’s talk, so he was aware where they were with regard to the forensic evidence. She hadn’t intended mentioning the pregnancy story, but now that it was out in the open, she decided as she approached the front to explain their subsequent findings.

  Rhona began by outlining their difficulties in extracting recognizable DNA because of the acidic nature of the burial site, and the length of time the body had been there. Then she described how it had been achieved via the petrous part of the temporal bone in the skull, and their eventual match with the buccal swabs from Robert and Jean, Mary’s siblings.

  ‘So this is Mary McIntyre’s body we are dealing with. As to a possible and discernible pregnancy,’ Rhona said, ‘the acidic nature of the bog means that bones tend to be leached away and, of course, the very fragile nature of any foetal remains would be challenging to find should they actually survive.

  ‘The first bone to form is the clavicle, or collar bone, and by week eleven of pregnancy it has become tiny but recognizable. We found no evidence of a foetal clavicle at the post-mortem examination.’

  McNab came in then. ‘But she could have been less than eleven weeks pregnant, and we would never know that from the remains?’

  ‘We have no definitive proof of an early-stage pregnancy, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one,’ she confirmed. ‘However, it can’t be proved either way.’

  Rhona now moved on to the clothing.

  ‘First of all, the dress has not yet been identified as the one worn by Mary. Neither of her siblings could confirm this. Also, the dress buried with the victim was of a smaller size than would have comfortably fitted Mary.

  ‘We are still working with the clothing. However,’ Rhona indicated the screen display, ‘as of now we have isolated one source of DNA from the dress, identified as an unknown female. So not the victim. An explanation for this could be that at the time of Mary’s disappearance, money was scarce, and confirmation outfits were often shared between friends and family. Again, Mary’s siblings could not confirm whether the dress she wore on that day had been bought new or borrowed.

  ‘We retrieved a cigarette butt from the grave, the DNA of which was compared to the database and found no match. Neither did the fingerprint retrieved from the plastic bag, suggesting whoever was involved hasn’t been arrested since the database was up and running.

  ‘I can confirm that Dr Jen Mackie is working with soil deposits found on the shoes, which may help pinpoint where the girl whose outfit it was last walked. Finally, we believe Mary wasn’t killed at the locus, and was already naked when transported to the moor.’

  McNab came back in. ‘Are there any more bodies up there, Dr MacLeod?’

  ‘I’ve requested an aerial search to look for any anomalies in ground cover. If there are any in the vicinity, w
e’ll decide then whether we investigate further.’

  32

  Magnus had slipped out part-way through Rhona’s contribution. In normal circumstances he would have ignored the vibrating mobile, but when he saw the name on the screen he decided he should take it. His instinct had proved right. From Pat Robertson’s voice when he’d answered, it was obvious this wasn’t just a friendly call, but something more urgent.

  ‘Magnus. Thanks for picking up. It’s with regard to the appeal that was broadcast earlier about the body they found on the moor. The little girl. Are you involved in any way with the case?’

  ‘Why?’ Magnus asked cautiously.

  ‘It’s just that the recovery group you spoke to in Stirling . . .’ Pat hesitated at this point. ‘Marge there – remember Marge? Big, loud . . .’

  ‘And very friendly. I remember,’ Magnus said.

  ‘Marge says that Karen Johnston, who’s part of their group, is Karen Marshall, the dead girl’s best friend. Marge says she was convinced the body the police found was Mary, but was too scared to go to them about it.’

  ‘That’s good news,’ Magnus said. ‘Can you convince her to come in? The police are very keen to talk to her.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ Pat said. ‘Marge says she was at the recovery cafe today before the TV appeal. The women were trying to help Karen remember what happened on the day Mary disappeared, because it worries her so much that she can’t. Marge says she suddenly freaked out and left in a weird state. Marge doesn’t know if Karen has seen the TV appeal confirming the body was Mary McIntyre and asking folk – in particular Karen – to come forward. They’ve tried calling her mobile, but it just goes to voicemail. So Marge got in touch with me.’

  ‘Was Karen the woman whose husband had died of dementia?’ Magnus said, recalling the lively exchange among the women at the table. All except one.

  ‘Karen was sitting almost directly opposite you,’ Pat said. ‘Small, fairish hair. She listened but didn’t ask any questions.’