“I’m going to take control of my family’s investments and various charities,” she said, nodding firmly. “Screw what my mother and brother think. They’ve clearly shown that they can’t be trusted with it. I’ll make sure our money and influence are used to actually help the city and everyone who lives here, not just those that my father thinks belong. I’ll have to cancel the deal with New Wave Industries and make sure Hamish’s article gets published, of course.” She winked. “I’ll invest the money somewhere it can actually do some good.”
“I know two women who might be able to help you with that,” I said, thinking of Alana and Rayla. “They’re Jacob Greene’s friends.”
A smile lit up Bee’s face. She still looked tired and a little wan, but her new purpose bolstered her up, gave her a way to move past everything that had happened. “I would like that.”
So I gave her Alana and Rayla’s contact information, and then we escorted her towards the station door. A constable was walking past with her father at the same time. She froze in her tracks, staring at him, and MacPherson pulled against the constable’s hold so that he could stare right back at her. Tears welled in Bee’s eyes. There was a man whom she had loved until he had made it impossible to do so, a man whom she didn’t know how to feel about anymore, a man who had changed so drastically before her eyes, all while bearing the very same face he had always worn. MacPherson’s blank mask was back, and there was nothing to read in his expression. No anger, no love, no hate, no apology. He was simply blank and so showed his true face for the very first time.
I put my hand on Bee’s shoulder and urged her along as the constable gave MacPherson a light push, and then we were headed in opposite directions, MacPherson disappearing into the dark of the holding cell while Bee stepped out into the sunlight.
The press was lying in wait for us. Of course, they were. You couldn’t arrest three-fourths of Inverness’s oldest and most powerful family without someone catching wind of it. As soon as we stepped out the door, they began to shout questions at us, microphones and pens in hand. Bee baulked for a moment, but then she steeled herself and gave me a nod to say that I should talk to them.
So I raised a hand for silence. It took a long time for the assembled crowd to quiet, but when they finally realized I wasn’t going to speak until they shut up, they quickly brought the hubbub down.
“My name is Detective Inspector Callum MacBain,” I began, raising my voice so that even those at the back could hear me. “I am the Senior Investigating Officer in the case against Raymond MacPherson. I will give a brief statement, and there will be no questions.”
The reporters certainly didn’t seem happy about that, but no one protested.
“We have arrested Mr MacPherson on three counts of Conspiracy to commit murder and one count of attempted murder. Mr MacPherson has signed a full confession. Beatrice MacPherson will be releasing the full account when she is ready to. No questions, please.”
As soon as I stopped speaking, the crowd of reporters erupted into a babble of shouted inquiries. I grimaced and prepared to shove my way past them, but one specific question rose above the others and caught my ear.
“What about the investigation into Sergeant Townsend?”
I glanced over at Fletcher. That was her case, after all, and it was up to her to decide if she wanted to give a statement about it to the press. She nodded, and I stepped behind her so that she could have the full stage.
“I’ve been looking into DS Townsend’s past conduct,” she announced, “and have discovered a pattern of corruption and accepting bribes. Six months ago, he accepted a bribe from Ariel Arktell to frame a man named John Santan for the heroin bust he had made. Further investigation has revealed that he falsified evidence in order to make it fit his version of events. Given all this, we believe we’ll be able to properly discredit him as a witness when he goes to trial for the murder of Cameron Houser. He won’t be able to worm his way out of a guilty sentence with his self-defence plea.” Fletcher’s professional demeanour slipped away the more she talked, revealing her anger towards Townsend and what he had done, but the reporters gobbled that up, nodding their heads eagerly as they scribbled notes on their little pads of paper.
“That will be all,” I said, and we ducked out of there before they could finish digesting the information and bombard us with any more questions. Since the reporters were there, Fletcher and I walked Bee to her car, not wanting to leave her to fend for herself.
“Well, I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but that wouldn’t exactly be true,” Bee said with a little laugh, a hand on the car door.
“You take care of yourself,” I told her, and she stepped forward to give me a quick hug.
“You don’t have to worry about me. I always land on my feet. Thanks for saving me. And for busting my father.” She winced, confusion flashing in her eyes for just a moment. “That’s a weird thing to say. Anyways, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to let me know. I don’t think I can ever repay you for your help.”
“My pleasure,” I said with a smile.
Fletcher and I watched as she drove off, just to make sure that she got out of the car park safely and because we wanted to put off starting our paperwork for an extra few seconds.
“Hey,” a familiar voice said from behind us, and I turned to find Alana and Rayla standing there, grinning at us. The two of them looked better than they had earlier in the investigation, as if the discovery of Jacob’s murderer had finally lifted a huge weight off their shoulders. Alana’s eyes seemed softer, her stance a little easier as she shifted in place, and Rayla gave me a wink, saying hello after the night we had spent together.
“Hi,” I replied.
“We caught your press release,” Alana said. “Thank you, on both accounts.”
“I know it doesn’t bring Jacob or Cameron back, but at least no one will get away with it.” I snapped my fingers, struck by a thought. “You should have said something sooner. Bee MacPherson just left--she wants to put her family’s money to better use, and I gave her your info, since she was looking for help and you probably have your ear to the ground on that sort of thing.”
Alana’s face lit up. “Really? That would be amazing. I--we--would love that.” She gestured at Rayla to include her.
“We could start something in Jacob’s name,” Rayla agreed. “He would like that.”
Alana didn’t say, “He would have liked being alive more,” like she might have right after his death, and I took that as a good sign that she was slowly coming to terms with what had happened.
“How’s Em?” I asked. The last I heard, they had gone AWOL, worrying Rayla and Alana to no end.
“A little bit better,” Alana answered, and some of the excitement at Bee’s proposal drained away. “I tracked them down at their parents’ house. They’ll probably never be the same, but they’re not shutting us out anymore.”
“That’s something at least,” Fletcher said.
Rayla glanced over the two of us and raised an eyebrow. “You two look like you’ve been through the wringer.”
I huffed a sigh of agreement. “You could say that.”
“If you ever need a safe place to crash again, you know where to go,” Rayla said. She stepped closer and cupped my face in her hands and kissed me while both Alana and Fletcher wolf-whistled in the background. I grinned against her lips, the world feeling just a little bit lighter than it had before.
Nineteen
Two days later, I let myself into the station, even though it was my day off. I was supposed to pick up Fletcher so we could drive down to Loch Ness together, but there was something I needed to do first.
“Is Owens in?” I asked the front desk clerk, and she nodded.
“Great.” I slapped my hand against the counter before I made my way towards Owens’ desk, an odd combination of nerves and apprehension crawling in my stomach. “Owens,” I said as I approached, and he looked up from his paperwork, smiling in greeting. I sat,
perched on the edge of the chair with my elbows resting on my knees so my right leg wouldn’t begin to bounce. “What did you find on that houseboat arson case?” I jumped right into it. I’d never been much good at beating around the bush.
“Not much,” Owens answered, a hint of annoyance darkening his brow. “An accelerant was definitely used, but it was just petrol, no way to track it back to a source. The inside of the houseboat was utterly toasted, so to speak, though there was a whole lot of tech inside. Martin couldn’t get anything off it.” He shook his head and sighed. “And the area’s pretty much abandoned, so no one saw anything. No witnesses, no cameras, nothing. Why do you ask?”
So the shooter had cleaned up after themself--Owens hadn’t found any bullets or shell casings. “Anything on who the houseboat belonged to?” I asked, instead of answering his question.
Owens snapped and stuck a finger in the air. “Yes, actually.” He spun towards his desk so he could fish around in the case file. “It belongs to a woman named Rita St. Clair, but we haven’t been able to get a hold of her.”
My heart leapt at the thought of a solid lead on who the Kraken really was, but Rita St. Clair was not the old woman I’d met in the houseboat. Rita was in her early fifties, her hair still mostly black, shot through with grey, and she had a much softer, rounder face than the Kraken, her smile soft and open and her teeth unstained by cigarette smoke.
Some of my disappointment must have shown on my face because Owens squinted at me as he set the photo down. “Why do you want to know?”
“No reason,” I said, forcing myself to smile. “Just curious. And I wanted to check in with you, make sure you didn’t need any help, but it sounds like you did great.” A little flattery never hurt. Owens beamed at me as I stood. “I should go. Plans and all that.”
I didn’t know why I was still so reluctant to mention my involvement with the fire. Owens was basically a puppy dog. Of course, I could trust him, but what the Kraken had said about someone following me from the station had stuck deep in my bones. There had already been one corrupt officer amongst us. Who was to say there weren’t more? I wanted to believe the best of my colleagues, but paranoia had sunk its claws deep into me and wouldn’t let go.
I hurried from the station and back to the car, turning the radio up until it started to hurt my ears as I drove to Fletcher’s flat. I texted her when I arrived, and she appeared in the doorway only seconds later. She’d ditched the crutch, but she still walked with a slight limp, her ankle bandaged beneath her boot and trouser leg.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said as she strapped in. “Had to take care of something.”
“Are you ready for this? Truly?” Fletcher asked. “Because it can wait.”
“It can’t.” I hadn’t been able to sleep much these past two days, thinking about those long, dark tunnels beneath the loch, wondering what could possibly be down there.
Dunnel had blocked the broken trap door off with not only police tape but with a temporary storm door as well, just to make sure no one from the public stumbled down there out of curiosity, so the whole system was waiting for us, utterly undisturbed. What ghosts had we let out into the night when Kingston and I crashed through the ceiling? What skeletons, real or otherwise, were left to find?
Half an hour later, I parked in the small gravel and grass car park at the base of the path leading down to Urquhart Castle. The day was gloomy, threatening more rain, and there were two other cars there, awaiting their owners’ return. I was surprised there weren’t more, given that it was the very start of tourist season, but technically, the castle was still closed after the incident, and only the very oblivious or the morbidly curious had dared slip past the mesh fence encircling the property.
I pulled one section of the fence back so Fletcher could ease through, and then I flipped up the collar of my coat as we made our slow way down the hill towards the castle. The place looked very different in the light of day. The tumbled stone walls seemed less harsh, less confining than they had in the dark with a killer darting amongst them, and the tower’s entrance felt inviting, like a doorway into the past.
Fletcher and I made a beeline towards the roofless enclosure and the trapdoor in its back corner. There were a couple of university age kids clustered around the blue and white tape blocking off the back third of the structure, nudging each other and pointing towards the hastily erected storm doors.
“I dare you to go see what it is,” I heard one of them say as I approached. He had an American accent, and one of his friends shook her head.
“The castle’s closed right now,” I said loudly, and the three of them jumped as they turned around, panic in their eyes. I held up my warrant card to really hammer the point home. “Police investigation and all that. Why don’t you head home?”
Two of their faces lit up with excitement while the third looked ready to bolt, and I jerked my head towards the hill.
“What happened?” the girl asked.
I just gestured again towards the exit.
The trio moved away from the tape line, but they walked slowly, as if through syrup, wanting to watch what we were going to do. Fletcher gave them a glare that lit a fire under their feet.
I had a key to the padlock holding the storm doors in place, and in a second, I was pulling the chain off and heaving the shutters open. The dark maw of the tunnel yawned up at me, a breath of escaping wind calling my name. I went down the rungs first and clicked on the heavy-duty torch I’d brought along while Fletcher made her careful way down after me.
Kingston’s body was gone, obviously, though I still saw a flash of it lying there like an afterimage as my light swept across that patch of stone. The rough floor was already dark, and so it was hard to tell if his pooled blood had stained it even darker, but I kind of thought it had, and I shivered.
“Where to first?” Fletcher asked. Our powerful torches penetrated the blackness much better than our phone lights, but it still wasn’t enough to make out any sort of end to the tunnels.
I moved my torch beam around until it landed on the sign pointing towards the lab. “Better to have a destination, than wander around aimlessly.”
Fletcher nodded and took out her phone. “And I’ll put a pin on the map for our location. Just in case we get lost.”
I certainly hoped we wouldn’t get lost. I wasn’t sure my nerves would be able to handle that.
So we set off down the tunnel that sloped downwards, leading under the loch. The air grew colder and colder the further we descended, and condensation licked along the stone walls. I could feel the weight of the water above us, practically begging for a support to give way so it could crush us. We walked for quite some time, swallowed up by the darkness but for the two blazing beams of our torches, and we also walked in silence. The heavy hand of the dark and the water above made it too difficult to talk. It would have been easy enough to check my watch for exactly how long we had been down there, but I was almost afraid to, convinced that I would find that time had stopped completely. Smaller tunnels branched off our main one, though they remained hidden until we were right on top of them, revealed only when the steady sweep of light changed shape. Most of them were unmarked. Metal plaques for the lab kept pointing us down the main tunnel, and just a few of the smaller corridors bore signs like ‘Eastern Entrance’ or ‘Observation Room.’
And then the shape of the darkness at the other end of the torchlight shifted. For one harrowing moment, I thought there was someone down here with us. Kingston’s ghost, maybe, or some lost soul with yellowed teeth and too long a beard, but it was just a metal door blocking our way. The light had reflected off the dirty glass window, making it seem like something had moved.
“Woah,” Fletcher said and moved in for a better look.
It was a heavy-duty sort of door. There was a long handle to slide the whole thing open rather than swing it, and the metal looked thick and dark, the screws holding the panelling in place huge and round and wedged securely into place.
Rust flaked the length of the door, deep and red and running in streaks from the top of the frame where water had dripped down from the ceiling.
For a few seconds, Fletcher and I just stared at it. I’d thought the tunnel would go on forever, and its abrupt end had taken me aback. “Well, are we going to open it?” Fletcher asked, and her voice echoed unnaturally back up the way we’d come.
“Yes,” I said, shaking myself from my stupor.
I passed her my torch so I would have both hands free, and I approached the door like I might a cornered animal. I wrapped my fingers around the cold metal handle and yanked sharply to the side. The door fought me, caught by years of rust, but it still lurched within its frame, and I pulled again, turning my shoulders so I could plant one foot against the side wall for more leverage.
The metal squealed but gave way, and I stumbled back, bumping into the other side of the tunnel. The door had only opened halfway before it got stuck again, but there was just enough space for us to squeeze through.
Fletcher returned my torch to me, and we stood right in front of the door as we tried to get a sense of where we were. It was a large, wide-open space, that much was certain. Our lights found only floor as we swept them around, and a short set of thick mesh stairs led down from the door to the main level. I found a light switch on the wall beside me, and I flipped it, not expecting anything to happen.
But a series of dim lights crackled to life all around the room, revealing an old, cramped, and dusty lab. The technology looked like it was from the nineties, the computers large and square and the scientific equipment clunkier versions of what Martin had in his lab. There was a large window at the far end of the room, though metal shutters had been drawn across it. The shadows between the tables and counters were deep, untouched by the pale and flickering lights overhead, and there was a thick layer of dust across everything.
Everything except the footsteps leading away from the metal stairs.
“Callum, look.” Fletcher had spotted the prints at the same time I had and pointed them out. A shiver crawled along my spine. They seemed fresh.
The Hidden Eye Page 30