Absolution (38 page)

Costello climbed up on the second-highest spar of the fence, hitching her leg round it to steady herself, and pulled out her binoculars. She could see a fair way along the waterline from here, not much of the beach, but she could
see as far as the cliffs and then up to the castle. She scanned the binoculars back and forth; she could not see any other buildings anywhere.

To her, it was the obvious answer. This place had a hold on Sean McTiernan. So if the old biddy had one cottage, who had the other? Was that what the estate agent had
not
said?
Keeper’s…
What secrets was it keeping?

That shiver ran through her again, as though someone had walked over her grave.

She dropped her binoculars. Looking again without them, she saw a movement at the water’s edge. Blond, the colour of driftwood, it seemed to roll and undulate in the water, a piece of wood caught in a riptide. Then it moved quickly. Costello put the glasses up again: a dog, wolf-like, was playing with the breaking waves, wet legs comically scrawny compared to the huge fluffy body. Costello always said the only thing she knew about dogs was that the end with the teeth was dangerous, but she knew a husky when she saw one. Gelert. Who had never been dumped.

She reached upward on her wooden perch but could see no further.

She clicked her tongue in irritation. She couldn’t walk down there and risk coming face to face with Sean. She checked the map again. It clearly showed the other cottage, almost on the beach, further along, but she couldn’t see it. She tried to get her bearings, turning the map so it matched the orientation of the land. She faced inland, with Ailsa Craig behind her, the castle on her right. The other cottage was closer to the sea, almost underneath the castle. She sighed. She had found the old biddy, and she had found Gelert. She would get back and tell Anderson, force him to listen.

She took one last look, scanning the beach through her
binoculars, envious of whoever had the peace and beauty of this place to enjoy.

What do you think? It’s starting to get dark,’ said Mulholland.

‘Don’t know, I’m still thinking. Wait to see what forensics say about that knife. They’ll make it a priority. Burns should be here any minute with the stuff from O’Hare about the knife that was used on Arlene. Somewhere we should get a match. How long has it been since I phoned Costello?’

‘About ten minutes. She’ll be all right, she’s not daft. Is it just the pictures Burns is bringing over?’

‘A blueprint for the blade and some dimensions.’ He pursed his lips. ‘As for Costello not being daft, I’ll reserve judgement on that.’

Anderson opened the shutters at the window, but the dank mustiness of the place persisted. Darkness was falling fast. It was the end of the seventh day. He wished somebody would open a window in this place every now and again. He put his fingertip against the window, drawing in the grime.

Leeza came in. ‘Are you going to go, or hang around, or what?’ She dangled a key in her hand. ‘I’ll need to lock the door.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll wait. We’ll make sure nothing goes missing.’

Not the answer she wanted.

Mulholland found he could not stop looking at her face. After clearing up from tea, she had applied some lipstick, but must have been interrupted because the colour had missed her mouth at one corner, giving the appearance of a permanent leer. The ring that dangled from her eyebrow had infected the skin underneath it. With that, and her damp
dungarees, she looked like a perverted rag doll. However, she was trying to be nice. Somehow Mulholland found that even more unnerving.

‘Do you want another coffee, tea, anything?’

‘No, thanks, we’re fine. We would prefer it if you hung around, though, just in case.’

She looked troubled. ‘In case of what?’

‘Just in case.’

‘Not much choice, have I?’

‘Not really. We’ll try not to be long.’

She considered for a minute. ‘I’ll take some of those magazines through to the kitchen. There’s loads of them there, if you’re bored,’ she said sarcastically to Mulholland. ‘No
Playboy,
I’m afraid.’

Costello walked back up the lane, thoughts rattling through her head. She turned on to the road at the top of the lane, her eyes down as she put her binoculars into their little plastic case. She put the case back into her jacket pocket. Her fingers were numb; she hadn’t realized how cold she was. Eventually she felt the key fob in the deep recesses of her pocket.

She was walking quickly to the car now, anxious to get back to the Phoenix to find out what the boys, particularly Anderson, knew about McTiernan. So near and yet so far.

She walked into the lay-by, pulling her chin deep behind the cowl of her fleece, breathing through the warmth of the material. It was much windier up here. She didn’t look up till she saw the feet, the white trainers. Standing there, leaning casually against the door of the white Toyota, hands in pockets, face raised towards the cool autumn sun, was Sean McTiernan.

∗

Anderson looked at his watch. ‘How’s the search going?’ he asked Mulholland anxiously.

‘Carefully. We’ve no idea what drugs may be stashed in this place. The team’s called for full HIV protection, and you know how slow that makes things. Wyngate’s in charge. He’s taken the kitchen knives for testing. And he said, to give them their due, that Leask, O’Keefe and Leeza have given us carte blanche.’

‘Which means we could have nothing to find.’

‘Or, if we do, they don’t know about it.’

Anderson walked over to the wall, looking at the photographs, listening to the footsteps of the search team outside. ‘It’s McTiernan; I can taste it. Costello could get sucked in, just like Elizabeth and Lynzi.’

‘It wasn’t you who sent her. It was McAlpine,’ pointed out Mulholland. ‘And she’s not some stupid bint, she’s a serving police officer.’

‘I could have stopped her, though. And I didn’t.’ The door opened tentatively.

‘Do you mind if I just pick up some stuff? We seem to be under siege.’ Leeza came in, followed by a female officer who retreated to wait outside when she saw Anderson there. Mulholland thought Leeza’s hair looked less spiky than it had previously. In fact, Leeza herself seemed less spiky, and he saw vulnerability in the way her eyes flickered from side to side. She was uneasy at the police invading a space she clearly thought of as hers. Or maybe she was glad of their presence with the shadows of Leask and O’Keefe hanging in the air. He smiled at her offering reassurance and got a tight-lipped smile back.

She settled down at her desk and began to rifle through the same papers that Leask had, muttering nervously,
‘We
paid this; we’ve definitely paid
this,
so why are they sending
us a reminder?’ She looked at the calendar, which was stuck at September, and walked across the room to change it. ‘Are you any closer to finding anything?’ she asked, her voice catching a little.

‘Not yet. These things move slowly.’ Anderson sat casually on the two-drawer filing cabinet, emphasizing that he was in control. ‘How well do you know Sean McTiernan?’

‘McTiernan? I know he’s done time. And I know what for,’ Leeza replied, carefully folding over the next page of the calendar, a Canadian seal popping its head through an ice hole.

‘Has he ever mentioned any family? Anybody he was close to?’

‘You mean, he’s disappeared and do I know where he is?’

‘Top of the class.’

‘No, I don’t know. And I don’t know him well.’ She added, with some bitterness, ‘You could talk to him all day and not know him any better. He only tells you what he wants to. And I suppose, in his circumstances, I would be the same.’

‘Do you like him?’

‘What kind of question is that? If you’re asking do I ever feel threatened by him, the answer is no.’ She tilted her head, biting her lower lip, and for a brief moment she almost looked attractive. ‘He’s self-assured, easy in the company of women. Like a happily married man.’ She stood up. ‘Believe me, I know a happily married man when I see one.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, they’re a rare species.’ She made a point of looking at Anderson’s wedding ring on her way out. ‘McTiernan wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

‘Sounds like our man, then,’ Mulholland muttered to himself.

∗

Well, hello, DS Costello.’

‘Hello, Mr McTiernan.’ She kept her voice calm.

‘What brings you down here? It’s a bit off your patch.’

‘They’re going to start looking for you.’ She looked him straight in the eyes, eyes she remembered as being blue, kind and friendly, and felt a tightness in her stomach when she realized they were now neither so kind nor so friendly. Her fingers crawling round the phone in her pocket, she cursed herself for not calling for back-up.

Sean folded his arms over his chest, letting the good arm take the weight of the sore one. The white bandage was already filthy. Costello wondered if the accident had been a pretext to hide teethmarks or scratches, or some other injury. It wouldn’t be the first time he had damaged himself with a tool for a good reason. McTiernan didn’t move from the car. He was looking at his feet, as if thinking deeply about something.

Costello’s fingers closed round the key fob, her thumb finding the button. She could unlock the car from here, but then what? She tried to read his body language, his facial expression, any threat in his eyes. There was something there, but she couldn’t identify what.

‘Anything you wanted to know, you could have asked me yesterday. Saved yourself a long drive. How did you find me?’ His words were curt.

‘Power of deduction.’ She shrugged her shoulders, attempting a smile. ‘And an estate agent who was a sucker for a warrant card and a nice smile.’

He turned slightly to face her, leaning on the driver’s door. There was no way she could get past him to get in. She felt her stomach sink. He wasn’t stupid; he knew what he was doing.

Costello moved from foot to foot as though her feet
were cold, even as she felt the sweat pouring down her back. Key fob in right hand, mobile phone in left hand, neither of any use. She had gone past shock; she knew that. It was him or her.

She tried to take deep breaths so as not to let him see her tension, but she could feel her heart thumping against her rib cage. She had been trained for this sort of situation, but her mind had gone blank.

‘You left your bedsit. What about the conditions of your parole? You have to go back, you know that,’ she said, her voice steadier than she’d thought it would be. ‘I was the one who knew where you were. As you notice, I’m here on my own.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve got to radio in soon, though.’

‘So you say.’

‘Sean. Look, you served your time, don’t mess it up now.’ She took a step nearer to him, trying to draw him away from the car door, some courage coming from adrenalin. She stared at his feet, innocent-looking in white trainers, and saw images of Malkie Steele, kicked to death, lying in a puddle of his own blood, pale shards of fractured cheekbone serrating the skin. She lifted her hand to her face, feeling the soft flesh of her own cheek.

McTiernan’s body tensed as though he was going to move away from the car, but he took a packet of Silk Cut from the back pocket of his jeans with his good hand and drew out a cigarette. She watched his long, strong fingers caress its length and place it delicately between his lips. His eyes never left her face. He lit it, waving the match in the air until the flame was extinguished. He settled back against the car door, his eyes steely cold.

Suddenly he moved, firing his cigarette to the ground and moving away from the car. Costello instinctively moved
back, her finger through the loop of her key fob, keys in the palm of her hand. She could jab at his eye and then…

He paused, giving her a strange look, as though he thought her not quite sane. ‘I’ll be in touch with my parole officer, and I’ll be back up in Glasgow to get my stitches out.’ He waved the bandaged hand at her. ‘OK? Nice of you to be so concerned.’

He was some yards away from the car now. Or was he letting her think she was free to go?

She stepped closer to the car, McTiernan watching her all the while. She pressed the button on the key fob. Nothing happened. She tried again, nothing happened. The lock had jammed again. She cursed the AA man under her breath, feeling sick with tension, expecting a blow on the head or the cold grip of chloroform at her throat at any moment.

Keeping her voice light, she asked, ‘That dog down there – is it called Gelert?’ McTiernan smiled but did not answer.

She clicked the key fob and heard the central locking spring open.

Then lock again.

The sound made him turn. She pulled her left hand into a flattened claw, fingers drawn back to her palm, knuckles ready for the windpipe, while angling the sharp end of her ignition key in her right hand, ready to go for the centre of his eye.

If she could bring him down, get to the car and slam the central locking shut, she might have a chance.

Lynzi, Elizabeth Jane and Arlene had probably thought they had a chance as well. Or had the chloroform blocked everything out before they even had a moment to realize they were doomed?

∗

Anderson checked the clock on the wall, comparing it with his own watch. Apart from the fact that it said Thursday rather than Friday, the time was right – five fifteen.

Would you sit in a bathful of cold porridge for charity?’ asked Mulholland.

‘Would I bollocks.’

Mulholland stopped picking imaginary fluff from his jacket sleeve and picked up another birdwatching magazine. He was not a man who could hide his boredom; he could hear the search team ripping the Phoenix apart, and for a brief moment he wished he was back in uniform. Exciting things were going on in the building, and here he was babysitting his boss in case two phones rang at the same time. ‘There’s a picture here of O’Keefe doing exactly that.’

‘He’s Irish – what do you expect?’ Anderson turned to the wall, studying the photographs with faint interest. The one of O’Keefe looking slightly foolish in the bath of porridge was labelled
Priest Gets His Oats.
There was a group of six men, none of whom he recognized, in trainers and running tops, false breasts dangling precariously, miniskirts rucked up over their shorts, hanging round each other’s necks in exhaustion.