The Innocent Dead - Rhona MacLeod Series 15 (2020)

by Anderson, Lin

  McNab cut him off there, mainly because the last image he’d conjured up was just too powerful. Plus he was already wondering, when or if they found Karen Marshall, whether she could be regarded as a reliable witness.

  ‘What about the blood splattering?’

  ‘Only in the scullery. I wondered if she might have cut herself with the kitchen knife that lay in the sink. When the police arrived they checked for a 999 call, in case she’d been taken to A&E, but no. Plus her car’s still there.’

  So Karen Marshall had walked out of that house of her own free will or she’d been removed by someone.

  ‘Did she take anything with her, a bag, the diary?’

  ‘I only noted that her mobile had been left behind.’

  ‘And no signs of a break-in?’

  Magnus looked distressed, as though he hadn’t taken sufficient care in recording the scene. ‘The front door was locked, the back door open.’

  ‘So, what do you think’s happened to her, Professor?’

  ‘Karen hasn’t got over the loss of her husband. Added to that, a horror in her past has resurfaced, which she feels in some way responsible for. I think Karen is in a great deal of danger. Most likely from herself.’

  41

  Janice had been circumspect when McNab had called her with the news.

  ‘I assume you have plenty to occupy yourself and don’t want another trip to Stirling?’ McNab had added.

  There’d been a brief interruption as someone had demanded DS Clark’s attention, then she’d come back on.

  ‘I’ve made arrangements to interview Karen Marshall’s sister. Will you be back in time for that?’

  ‘Is she coming into the station?’

  ‘I thought we would go to her. She lives in Strathaven.’

  McNab had taken note of when he was required.

  ‘Okay,’ he told Janice, ‘if I’m not back at the station by then, you go ahead and I’ll meet you there.’

  It was just as well Janice hadn’t wanted to accompany him, McNab thought, since he was only fifteen minutes from Stirling when he’d made the call and taking great pleasure in being alone in the car.

  Not being a fan of the countryside, scenery wasn’t something McNab usually noticed, although the trip to Skye with Rhona after the sin-eater case had altered his thoughts on that a little. However, back then he’d been riding his Harley with Rhona on pillion, which had made it special, despite the circumstances.

  McNab now acknowledged the approaching view of the city of Stirling, with its castle and the distant pinnacle that was the Wallace Monument. On their previous visit Janice had suggested it was a large phallic symbol, like most of the monuments dedicated to men.

  McNab had never thought of it like that until Janice’s declaration. Checking the monument again, he now suspected his partner might be right.

  The satnav, set to direct him to Karen’s address, was taking the same route as it had on their visit to McCreadie’s house, which suggested the former detective and Karen Marshall lived on the same side of the city.

  After circling the same roundabouts and bypassing the sign to Raploch as before, McNab now found himself leaving the main road that ran alongside the castle rock just short of McCreadie’s street, and taking what appeared to be a farm track, just as Pirie had described.

  Despite the Prof’s warning, he almost missed the dilapidated sign for Rowan Cottage, partly hidden as it was by gorse bushes. The gorse continued to shield his view until the track turned abruptly left and he saw the police vehicles lined up outside what he assumed was Rowan Cottage.

  It was obvious his arrival had been spotted, because an officer approached as soon as McNab stepped out of the vehicle, introducing himself as the DS Jones who’d made the morning phone call. They shook hands and Jones said, ‘If you want a look inside, there are suits in the van.’

  ‘Any sign of Mrs Johnston?’ McNab asked as he kitted up.

  ‘None. We’ve done a house-to-house in the vicinity and are currently scouring open land up to and including Castle Hill, although that’s a bit of a problem.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I take it you’ve never walked in the woods that surround the castle?’

  ‘You guess right.’

  ‘Heavy undergrowth, jumbles of huge fallen rocks, really steep and rough ground. Almost impenetrable in parts.’

  Glancing across, McNab could imagine what he was talking about.

  ‘Police dogs?’ he said.

  DS Jones nodded. ‘Even they can’t get to some of the steeper spots.’

  Dressed now, McNab indicated he was ready to go inside. The front door lay open, but he chose instead to walk the path taken by Pirie. Metal treads had been laid throughout, the SOCO team still moving around the interior. The local police were obviously treating this as a probable crime scene, rather than a straightforward disappearance.

  When he entered the scullery, McNab could see why. Something had happened here, whether accidental or otherwise. McNab tried to imagine a scenario that fitted the blood spill.

  He’d once caught his hand in the front door as a child, the snib practically removing the tip of his left forefinger. His mother had pressed it down, bound his hand up and taken him to A&E, where they’d swiftly sewn it back on.

  When they’d returned home, the young McNab had been pretty impressed by the bloody mess he’d made. The place had definitely looked like a crime scene.

  In this case, the abandoned knife in the sink could be the culprit. Whatever had happened here hadn’t been carried through to the kitchen, where two SOCOs were still at work. McNab introduced himself, took a good look round, in particular at the dressed chair Pirie had mentioned, then went to check out the remainder of the house.

  First came the sitting room, surprisingly cold after the warmth of the kitchen, and obviously abandoned. The hearth had some ash in it, plus scattered soot on the fireplace and nearby carpet. McNab took a closer look and found the markings of birds in the sooty deposits. It looked like Karen had had an intruder . . . one of the winged variety.

  He saved the bedroom until last. The door was open and from the doorway he could see the stuffed pyjamas lying on one side of the bed, the duvet on the floor where Magnus had pulled it off.

  The reality was even more powerful than he’d imagined. Karen Marshall, as Magnus had indicated, was most likely not of sound mind. The Prof’s concern that she may have been trying to harm herself was beginning to look more likely. Add in the blood in the scullery . . .

  McNab had been involved with many lost-and-found scenarios. When a young woman disappeared on a night out, you just knew the likelihood was she was lying dead somewhere. With elderly mispers, they were usually suffering from dementia and had just wandered off. But, thankfully, they were highly noticeable, so usually safely retrieved, only to wander off again at some later date.

  Karen, as far as he was aware, wasn’t suffering from dementia, but had been looking after someone who was, and this had clearly taken its toll.

  As he re-entered the kitchen, a thought occurred. He’d seen two small skylights on the roof, which indicated a loft. He checked with one of the SOCOs.

  ‘Has anyone been in the loft?’

  She nodded an affirmative. ‘All clear.’

  ‘So how’d they get up?’

  ‘There’s a pull-down ladder in the cupboard in the back corridor,’ she told him.

  Feeling foolish that he hadn’t checked the cupboard, McNab went back for a look. The ladder was still down, so he climbed up to emerge into a low-ceilinged, floored loft.

  McNab didn’t have a loft himself, but he knew if he did, it would bear no resemblance to this one, which was neater than his living room. Shafts of sunlight from the two windows lit the carefully stacked boxes with labels attached. Checking a couple of these, he realized the loft space was split in two. On one side, the labels were inscribed with a description of contents and Karen’s name. The other, Jack’s.

  He ma
de his way across to Karen’s side where a box marked KAREN MISCELLANEOUS, and dated five years after Mary’s disappearance, lay open, with some of its contents, mainly books, scattered outside.

  Magnus had said Karen had found her old diary and been reading it again. So maybe that’s what she’d come up here for?

  If he’d hoped to find it back in the box, McNab was to be disappointed. It looked like Karen, whether she’d left Rowan Cottage under her own free will or otherwise, had taken the diary with her.

  Exiting the cottage, McNab hailed the CSM.

  ‘We’ll need the mobile ASAP,’ McNab told him. ‘Plus we’re looking for an old diary of Karen’s, which could be somewhere in the house, or maybe the car. So if you find it . . .’

  ‘We’ll let you know immediately,’ DS Jones said.

  ‘Any sign of her handbag, purse, et cetera?’

  DS Jones confirmed that none had been found.

  As McNab retreated to his own vehicle, his mobile rang. This time the screen revealed the caller’s name, although it wasn’t someone he particularly wanted to talk to.

  ‘It’s Jimmy McCreadie. I hear you’re in Stirling and not too far from me?’

  McNab wondered how he knew that, then admonished himself. Smart McCreadie would have his local contacts, especially in the world of crime detection. After all, he had to keep up to speed on research for his books.

  When McNab admitted he was right, McCreadie said, ‘If you have time, I’d like to speak to you about Karen Marshall, or Karen Johnston as she was known here.’

  McNab considered this for a moment. He didn’t want to give McCreadie more power in this case than he already had. Still . . .

  ‘I can spare half an hour,’ he offered.

  ‘Good,’ McCreadie said briskly. ‘Come over. I’ll get Lucy to put the coffee on.’

  As McNab headed there, he had a simple yet profound thought, which seemed to make ever more sense the nearer he got to McCreadie’s house.

  What if the former DI, now crime writer, had known all along that Karen Marshall lived just along the road from him?

  He was obviously being watched for, as the door of the big stone villa was opened before McNab could even ring for attention.

  Lucy greeted him with a smile, fashioned as though for an old friend. ‘Good morning, Detective Sergeant.’

  ‘Good morning, Lucy,’ McNab reciprocated.

  ‘Mr Smart is in the conservatory. Coffee, strong?’

  McNab nodded his agreement. He might not be fond of McCreadie, but he was definitely partial to his coffee.

  McCreadie greeted him with the same enthusiasm as his housekeeper, which immediately put McNab on guard. He wasn’t at all happy with McCreadie playing a part in the investigation, despite the usefulness of the information he deigned to give them.

  ‘Have a seat, Detective Sergeant. Coffee should be here shortly.’

  McNab took a seat, but said nothing, although he was keen to know how McCreadie had been aware that he was in Stirling.

  As though reading his mind, McCreadie said, ‘I know about Karen Johnston’s disappearance. News travels fast in Stirling, and we don’t live that far from one another. Plus—’ He halted there as Lucy came in with the tray.

  Once she had departed, McCreadie supplied the end of his sentence.

  ‘As I was about to say, I know Karen.’

  McNab almost spilt his coffee at this point.

  ‘You knew Karen Marshall was here in Stirling and you didn’t inform us?’

  McCreadie looked pained by the accusation. ‘I know Karen Johnston, or more correctly, I knew Jack Johnston. He and I used to meet on occasion when he walked their dog on King’s Knot. I don’t have a dog, but Lucy does, and I sometimes take Benji out with me. Walking is good for plotting. It frees the mind.’

  He checked on McNab before continuing. ‘Of course, when Jack got ill, he stopped going on walks. I never saw him again. Then I spotted Karen a few days ago. She was walking alone through King’s Knot. Charlie, their black lab, had died, or so I’d heard. I had Benji with me and of course he went up to her with his ball. She looked a bit uncomfortable about it, but she threw the ball, although she definitely didn’t want to speak to me.’

  ‘Did you recognize her?’

  ‘As Karen Marshall? Definitely not.’

  ‘Did she know you?’

  ‘I’d only met Jack in person, so no to my current persona. If you’re referring to the last time we met officially, that was forty-five years ago, when she was an eleven-year-old traumatized kid and I was a young detective inspector, so I suspect not.’

  He looked concerned. ‘Word is, she’s very troubled, perhaps even suicidal?’

  McNab didn’t respond, mainly because he had no intention of feeding McCreadie any more information, when it should be the other way round.

  At that point, thankfully, his mobile rang. Seeing Janice’s name on the screen, McNab said, ‘Sorry, I have to take this,’ and went out into the hall.

  ‘Are you on your way?’ Janice said briskly.

  ‘Just leaving Stirling now,’ McNab promised.

  ‘Change of plans. Eleanor, Karen’s sister, is coming into the station. You have one hour to get back here.’

  When McNab rang off, he found McCreadie watching him from the conservatory door.

  ‘I have to head off. Thank Lucy for the coffee,’ McNab said.

  ‘If I hear anything more about Karen, I’ll let you know,’ McCreadie promised as McNab let himself out.

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ McNab muttered to himself as he made for the car.

  42

  Rhona was in the shower when she heard the phone ring. Jumping out and grabbing a towel, she went in search of where she’d left her mobile, eventually discovering it under Tom on the sitting-room sofa.

  It was McNab. ‘Morning, Dr MacLeod. Did I get you out of bed?’

  ‘No. What’s up?’

  ‘Some good news and some bad,’ he told her. ‘The Prof located Karen Marshall’s current address in Stirling via the women’s recovery cafe there. Bad news is, when the Prof went to visit her last night with Marge, one of her recovery pals, they found what might be a crime scene.’

  McNab explained about blood in the kitchen and the fact that Karen had seemingly left without her mobile or her car.

  ‘You think she’s just walked out or was abducted?’ Rhona said.

  ‘It could be either. Whichever way, we need to find her.’

  ‘Do you want me up there?’

  ‘The Stirling lot are dealing with it on the ground, but I’ll make sure you get sent whatever forensic evidence is collected.’

  ‘You’re heading there now?’

  ‘I took a look first thing. I’ll text you the CSM’s number there, so you can speak to him yourself if need be.’

  Minutes later Rhona heard the ping of the promised text. Checking it, she found DS Jones’s name and number. Rhona had dealt with the detective sergeant before, and knew him as an excellent Crime Scene Manager, although that didn’t altogether dispel her misgivings about not being there herself. Context was everything at a scene of crime, and this one was at the residence of a key witness in the Mary McIntyre case.

  As she dressed, Rhona contemplated how Karen Marshall might provide the answer to many of their questions regarding the dress, and Mary’s implied pregnancy. Assuming the adult Karen could remember what had happened on that day over forty years ago.

  McCreadie had implied that the eleven-year-old Karen had been severely traumatized, to the extent of not being able to speak at the time. Magnus believed that Karen could have buried the trauma so deep that it might never be recovered. But perhaps simple images, like the reconstructed dress or the bracelet Rhona had retrieved from the lochan, might help jog her memory.

  Of course, none of that was possible if Karen had disappeared again.

  When Rhona reached the lab, Chrissy was waiting for her, freshly brewed coffee at the ready. Sniffing the air, Rho
na thought she also caught the aroma of filled rolls, but didn’t remark on this for fear of jinxing it.

  ‘Good, you’re here,’ Chrissy said. ‘Have you heard the latest?’

  ‘McNab called me first thing,’ Rhona said, assuming Chrissy was discussing Karen’s recent appearance and subsequent disappearance.

  Chrissy looked puzzled. ‘I mean the result on the DNA sample you sent. It was a match for Mary, which means she did wear the dress.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Rhona said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. ‘I saw that last night.’

  ‘So that wasn’t why McNab called?’

  Rhona explained about Magnus locating Karen’s home address and turning up to find her gone in what looked like suspicious circumstances.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Chrissy. ‘Shouldn’t we be there?’

  ‘McNab says the local team is on site. He’s checked it out himself, plus all samples will come here.’

  ‘So what was suspicious about the scene?’ Chrissy said.

  ‘Blood in the kitchen, her mobile left behind and she didn’t take the car. Photos should be through soon. And I intend giving the CSM there a call.’

  ‘If we had a sample of Karen’s DNA . . .’

  ‘We could compare it with the unknown female,’ Rhona finished for her.

  ‘Emma did say there was more than one girl in the grave,’ Chrissy reminded Rhona.

  ‘Well, there wasn’t, not literally.’

  ‘Perhaps she meant the dress had been worn by two girls,’ responded Chrissy, who was a keen proponent of Emma’s powers, having seen them in action before.

  At this point, she produced the filled rolls, which felt like a minor miracle, so Rhona accepted hers without comment, for fear of prompting the return of the porridge pots.

  ‘Any results from the aerial scan?’ Chrissy said once she’d consumed her roll.

  A hyperspectral imaging camera could pick up anomalies not consistent with the general ground terrain, which might in turn indicate the possibility of another grave.

  ‘No anomalies, at least not enough to send in the cadaver dogs or request an excavation,’ Rhona told her. ‘When I was talking to J. D. Smart about that . . .’