Easy Kill

by Lin Anderson

  ‘Sean picking you up?’

  Rhona hesitated, a fraction too long. ‘He’s gone south.’ She didn’t add ‘with Sam’. As far as she was aware, no one but Chrissy, Sean and herself knew that Sam had been in Glasgow.

  McNab raised an eyebrow. ‘So you require a chauffeur?’

  It seemed churlish to refuse.

  They settled into talking about work, much safer ground. McNab told her the bodies of Terri and Leanne had been recovered from the culvert. There was to be an internal enquiry into Magnus’s role in the case. And he, McNab, was not going to let the DI take the rap for assaulting Henderson. He’d confessed to his role, of which he was proud.

  Rhona already knew McNab had kicked the killer in the balls. The grapevine stretched as far as the Royal Infirmary, especially with Chrissy on one end.

  McNab’s final revelation was that Chrissy had told him she was pregnant.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She told me when we went to Rhu Marina together, while you were in the underworld. I thought pregnancy was mellowing her, but I’m not so sure.’

  ‘She rebuffed your advances?’

  ‘I didn’t advance.’ McNab looked affronted.

  ‘I bet you didn’t get the chance.’

  They laughed together. Laughing was good. Rhona realised she hadn’t laughed for some time.

  Rhona returned to more serious things. ‘Does Nora Docherty know about Terri?’

  ‘Bill went down to see her. He didn’t let on to the Super he was taking Magnus with him. Seems Nora knew already. Had written down the time she says her daughter died.’ McNab looked spooked. ‘She wants to bury the two girls together, if we can’t find any family for Leanne.’

  They were discussing it as though it was all over. Maybe the killing spree was, but the repercussions had only just begun.

  ‘We took room eleven at the Great Eastern apart. The partition walls were packed with Henderson’s souvenirs. Pants, bras. Photos. There was blood on the wall under the window.’

  ‘I thought I heard Terri in that room, but when I opened the door, it was empty.’

  ‘Henderson had rented a flat near Magnus under the name of Mark Gordon.’ McNab’s face darkened. ‘He had trophies from all the women he killed. The creep had them in his bed.’

  Rhona remembered the feeling she’d had in Magnus’s car park. The sense that someone was watching her.

  McNab waited outside, while the doctor checked her over and gave her the okay to leave. Rhona was surprised to note that she was glad it was McNab taking her home and not Sean.

  Chrissy had been the one to tell her Sean had driven Sam to London. Rhona suspected Sean’s silence meant he’d confronted Magnus despite her wishes. Anger and hurt had stopped her calling him. The longer the silence between them, the more difficult it would become, but she needed and wanted the space. It wasn’t the first time they’d parted after an argument, but, deep inside, Rhona sensed it might be the last.

  McNab helped her into a wheelchair and whisked her out of the door.

  ‘No racing. I’m not a police car.’

  ‘As if.’

  In fact, McNab turned out to be a model porter, providing Rhona didn’t mind him eyeing up the nurses and making them blush with cheesy compliments.

  Settled in the car, she told him she wanted to go to the lab. McNab didn’t seem surprised. Chrissy greeted her arrival with sarcastic comments about slackers, and a wheelchair she’d commandeered from somewhere. She and McNab bantered as usual, but Rhona sensed there was no antagonism. McNab bid her farewell at the door, after informing Chrissy how sexy she looked pregnant. Chrissy couldn’t think up a suitable reply.

  ‘It’s not like you to be at a loss for words.’

  ‘Well, that’s pregnancy for you.’

  It was good to be back in the lab, even if she was immobile. Sitting in the flat all day, albeit with Tom for company, would have been unbearable. The hospital had discharged her with strict instructions to put no weight on her leg. It sounded easy, but in practice was more difficult. Chrissy made a joke of it, moving her around in the wheelchair or bringing work to where she was sitting.

  Normality was what Rhona needed. In the isolation of the hospital room, she’d had too much time to think.

  The rape tests had found no evidence of semen in her body, but every time Rhona closed her eyes, the fractured memories of her time below ground returned. Eventually she hoped she might piece them together and know the truth.

  The doctor had told her the methamphetamine in her system had probably been administered by injection and she was lucky with the amount. First-time users had been known to die if given an addict’s dose. Occasionally, in her worst moments, Rhona wanted to be back in its grip, feeling nothing but pleasure.

  She’d been right about Magnus. He hadn’t raped Terri. None of his DNA had been found inside her body. He was innocent, but he wouldn’t see it that way.

  Chrissy had been working on material recovered from Lisa, the tape used to gag her, her bonds and clothing. Microscopic details that put Henderson firmly in the frame, even without his gloating admission in Bill’s interview. McNab had saved Lisa’s life. If he hadn’t challenged Henderson, they would have lost Lisa, and the killer would have escaped. Procedure, attention to detail, gut feeling and a little luck had caught him.

  Rhona contemplated, not for the first time, phoning Magnus. But she sensed it wasn’t time yet for them to talk. Both had their demons to confront first. They were like soldiers after a battle, unsure how to treat their comrades.

  Rhona settled to the task of sifting through her email correspondence. One in particular caught her eye. Her idea to look for non-perfect matches between the killer’s DNA and samples stored in NDNAD, had resulted in eighty candidates, one of whom might be significant. A Joseph Henderson had a number of convictions for petty crime, including burglary. But of more interest was his Bradford address. He shared enough of Henderson’s DNA to be a relative. Rhona gave Bill a call.

  He listened to her findings. ‘Send a list to McNab. He’ll let Bradford know.’

  There was a moment’s silence before she brought herself to ask.

  ‘How’s Lisa?’

  ‘Okay.’

  Rhona knew he was lying. ‘I’ll come and see her once I’m mobile.’

  ‘She’d like that.’ Bill changed the subject. ‘Terri and Leanne’s bodies have been released for burial. The funeral’s on Monday. Magnus is going down with McNab and me. Are you fit to go?’

  The thought of meeting Magnus again, perhaps reliving what had happened, stopped Rhona from immediately saying yes. Bill must have read her mind.

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘I don’t think I can.’

  After the phone call, Rhona was morose. Chrissy must have sensed it from afar. Maybe sorrow moved through the air like scent. Not for the first time Rhona thought Chrissy a capable, even ideal, disciple for Magnus.

  ‘Enough for one day. You need a drink. I can’t join you, but I can watch and dream.’

  The club was quiet. Too early for the after-work regulars. No music and no Sean. The stairs had been an obstacle Chrissy refused to let bother her. Rhona had ended up in a fireman’s hold between the barman and the pianist. The young musician seemed unfazed by the experience.

  Propped on a bar stool, Rhona sipped chilled wine while Chrissy watched like a child deprived of chocolate.

  ‘Sam and Sean are in London,’ she told Rhona. ‘I had a text.’

  Rhona said nothing. London was the end of the universe as far as she was concerned.

  Chrissy regarded her with concerned eyes. ‘What happened between you and Sean?’

  ‘Ask me again in a month’s time.’ Rhona found her voice breaking.

  Chrissy put her arm around Rhona’s shoulders. ‘That bastard Henderson will get what’s coming to him. I feel it in my waters, which have become a dominant force in my life.’

  Rhona laughed. Thank God for friends. Thank God f
or Chrissy.

  McNab arrived an hour later. ‘Your carriage awaits.’

  A glance at both faces revealed what Rhona feared. She’d been ganged up on. Chrissy, at least, had the grace to look sheepish.

  ‘You didn’t fancy staying with me.’

  An understatement. Chrissy’s mess could not be lived in, even though Rhona loved her for offering.

  ‘I thought you might not manage the stairs, and McNab’s stronger than me.’

  From Chrissy, that was an amazing admission. Rhona knew she was beaten. McNab looked awkward, fearing a rebuff. Rhona felt mean and useless at the same time. She managed a thank you.

  McNab turned the journey and subsequent stair climbing into a joke. No easy feat. By the time they reached her level, Rhona could have kissed him for his efforts, but didn’t.

  ‘What about food?’

  ‘I’ll phone out for pizza.’

  ‘Eight thirty tomorrow morning okay?’

  Rhona wanted to hug Michael McNab, to thank him for saving Lisa and for helping her now.

  ‘That’ll do fine.’

  He waited as she moved inside with her crutches. The relief as she shut the door was overwhelming.

  Tom was inordinately pleased to see her, immediately forgetting his abandonment. The kitchen was as it had always been. It was this room that had made her buy the flat, before Sean, before Tom, before Magnus, before what the Gravedigger had tried to do to her in the cellar. It was both her refuge and her strength.

  Rhona listened to the sound of silence and welcomed it, like a long-lost friend. She didn’t venture through to the bedroom to check the wardrobe, knowing instinctively that Sean had removed his things. He’d done what she’d asked him not to do. He’d made that choice knowing her well enough to understand what it would mean.

  Rhona sat in the gathering darkness, relishing each quiet moment.

  78

  Two months later

  RHONA TOOK THE plane, a journey lasting an hour from Glasgow to Kirkwall. The aerial view of Caithness and Sutherland reminded her she’d been too long away from the wild places of Scotland. The further she travelled from the central belt, the more Rhona’s spirits lifted. She had no idea what she would say to Magnus when they met, but she knew it was time to see him.

  The taxi ride from Kirkwall Airport enveloped her in a landscape she’d often imagined. The fertile fields of the mainland, and across the deep harbour of Scapa Flow, the purple-black island of Hoy.

  Rhona knew Magnus lived west of Kirkwall, in a house surrounded on three sides by the incoming tide. She believed someone like Magnus would be well known to the locals. She was right. The taxi driver, hearing Magnus’s name, set an immediate course for Howden Bay.

  The house was just as he’d described it. Built by fishermen on free land below the high-water mark, the afternoon tide was already lapping a trio of its walls.

  Now she was there, Rhona stood outside, incapable of knocking on the door. Instead she took to the nearby beach, and walked the golden sand, seabirds wheeling overhead and a wonderful view across to Ward Hill on Hoy.

  On the western side of the house, two black smoking sheds stood on stilts in the water, fronted by a small jetty. A small boat bobbed alongside. Rhona thought of Magnus’s flat in Glasgow, the balcony jutting out over the river, and understood why being close to water had meant so much to him.

  She spotted a figure emerge from the house and look in her direction. Rhona stayed where she was, like a child caught in some misdemeanour, hoping Magnus would come to her. And he did.

  As he strode towards her, Rhona was struck by how much he looked a part of the landscape. A Norse God come home. Magnus’s face lit up in recognition, his broad smile quelling Rhona’s fears that she wouldn’t be welcome. He opened his arms to her, wrapping her so tightly, he lifted her off her feet.

  ‘Rhona, I can’t believe you’re here.’

  She couldn’t believe it herself.

  He released her and looked her full in the face.

  ‘You came to see if I’d regained my sanity?’

  Rhona examined his eyes and saw, with relief, there was humour in them again.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’

  ‘You’re the psychologist. You tell me.’

  Magnus turned to the water, and a shadow briefly darkened his face. ‘I can sleep again. A good sign.’ He put his arm about her shoulders. ‘Come and meet Olaf.’

  Olaf turned out to be a big grey cat that looked more wild than domestic. Sitting on the jetty, he pricked up his ears at their approach.

  ‘Olaf catches his own fish, so is an easy house guest when he chooses to stay.’

  ‘He’s yours?’ Rhona reached out and Olaf disdainfully allowed her to stroke him.

  ‘Olaf belongs only to himself.’

  Magnus briefly showed her the house. Sturdily built of grey granite, with walls two feet thick against the weather and the sea.

  ‘You can hear the salt spray hit the seaward windows during the winter.’

  ‘Like being in a ship?’

  Magnus smiled. ‘Exactly.’

  Each deep window ledge was cluttered with spoils from the beach, sea urchin shells, dried starfish, and bleached, knotted driftwood. Scattered here and there were pieces fashioned further by carving. In the sitting room a chess game sat centre stage.

  After her tour, Magnus served up home-brewed beer on the jetty. It was sweet and cloudy and tasted delicious.

  ‘I decided it was better to do, than to think. Hence the carvings and home-brew – and I spend a lot of time out on the water.’

  Rhona was surprised at how easy it was to be with Magnus. All her misgivings about awkwardness between them seemed ludicrous in that place.

  ‘You’ll stay a couple of days at least.’

  Of course she would.

  Magnus cooked fresh fish for their evening meal – ‘only five hours since it was swimming in Scapa’ – and they drank more home-brew. Its light sweetness was unlike anything Rhona had tasted before, except perhaps in Africa.

  It was Magnus who brought up the subject of Sean.

  ‘He came to see me. He was very hurt and angry. He had every right to be.’

  ‘Sean cared more about punishing you than about how I felt.’

  It was the first time Rhona had voiced what she had felt since that night. ‘He’s in London.’ She didn’t add that he might never come back, or that she might not want him to.

  There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘Sean was very angry at himself for not protecting you.’

  ‘That isn’t his job,’ Rhona said firmly.

  ‘What is his job, if not to protect the woman he loves?’

  He seemed agitated. She put her hand on his arm.

  ‘Magnus, this isn’t just about Sean, is it?’

  He sighed and shook his head. She waited. Eventually he spoke.

  ‘Anna was the love of my life, and I killed her through my arrogance and thoughtlessness.’ Magnus looked at Rhona. ‘I thought I’d learned my lesson, but I hadn’t, had I?’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘We were rock climbing. The weather was poor, she was frightened and didn’t want to go on. I persuaded her. Told her there was no problem. I didn’t want to be beaten, by the weather, by her fear.’ He looked down. ‘If she’d been on her own, or climbing with someone else, she would be alive today.’

  Just before midnight, Magnus took her out in the boat. Gliding through the silky water, Rhona felt herself in a different universe, made up of only sky and sea and the soft swish of bow through water. A waxing moon lit their way, although it wasn’t dark enough to need it. Magnus saw her glance upwards.

  ‘According to legend, the waxing moon is a time for spells, for good luck, and for love.’

  Rhona knew Magnus wanted her to forget, or at least replace any memories the sight of a full moon might bring.

  She was seized by a moment of happiness. She’d thought meeting Magnus would make
her remember, that she could never look on his face without recalling the face of her tormentor. She’d been wrong.

  ‘Victims are not only those who die,’ Magnus said.

  For once, Rhona didn’t care that he could read her thoughts.

  Later, he showed her to her room, overlooking the water and the distant hills of Hoy. Left alone, Rhona, like Magnus, slept soundly and well.

  About the Author

  Lin Anderson began writing while working as a teacher. Easy Kill is her fifth novel, and the fifth to feature forensic scientist Rhona MacLeod.