Final Cut (20 page)

‘He must have suctioned it free. There’s no broken glass inside or out, as far as I can see. When I drove up, the snow was undisturbed. So the break-in must have occurred some time before midnight when the snow came on in earnest.’ He looked exhausted, as though he’d been running it over again and again in his head. ‘I tried calling Claire’s mobile and found it lying in the sitting room along with her handbag, purse, credit and debit cards.’

‘Hospitals?’

‘Tried all A & E departments within range while I was waiting for you. I also rang the local doctor’s surgery.’ He shook his head. ‘Nobody fitting Claire’s description turned up at any of them.’

‘What about the farm?’

‘The farmer’s name is Jenkins. He says he hasn’t seen Claire for the past three days. He got the impression she wanted to be left alone.’

‘Have you told Slater about this?’

McNab’s jaw hardened. ‘Slater’s orders were to forget the kid.’

‘That was before this happened. Have you heard from the divers?’

‘They didn’t find anything.’

‘So Emma was making it up?’

‘Looks like it.’

Rhona told him about the feeling both she and Magnus had had, that Claire was frightened of something not necessarily connected to Emma’s discovery of the skull.

‘There were only three numbers stored on Claire’s phone,’ he told her. ‘The hospice, her mother’s number and the farmhouse.’

‘Nobody has three numbers on their mobile.’

‘I know,’ he agreed. ‘I checked the log. Just my call and one other, number withheld. I’m beginning to get the feeling Claire came here to hide from something.’

‘She must have friends back in Glasgow,’ said Rhona, puzzled. ‘What about her work?’

‘She never mentioned what she did and I never asked.’

‘Emma’s school?’

‘She told me she was going to the local primary after the holidays. Maybe they’ll know the name of her previous school. I’ll get on to the station while you take a look inside.’

Rhona entered the cottage by the back door. McNab was right, it was very cold in here. Nothing like the day she’d sat by the fire with Magnus. She went to the supposed point of entry first, taking video footage on the way.

The small back room housed a toilet and handbasin. The window above the sink had a deep ledge, indicating the thickness of the old stone walls. It had a brass catch at the bottom and a metal lock that swung between upper and lower sections. A circle of glass in the upper section had been removed, allowing a hand to reach in and free the lock. Pulling up the lower section had provided easy entry.

Rhona took a look at the kitchen next. There were no obvious signs of a struggle and no immediate evidence of blood, although anyone exiting the cottage with a head wound would probably have dripped blood somewhere along the way.

The sitting room was as McNab had described. Rhona couldn’t imagine Claire going off in a car without her mobile and handbag, although it wasn’t unheard of for people to rush to hospital after an accident forgetting such things. But if Claire had been as badly hurt as McNab feared, would she have been able to drive?

After she’d recorded the sitting room, she headed upstairs. The upper landing was narrow, with two doors leading off. Rhona went into Emma’s room first. The cupboard was open, clothes and shoes scattered about. The smashed tumbler lay on a damp patch on the carpet. She picked up a piece of glass and sniffed it, catching a sweet syrupy scent. A pile of jotters, a pencil case and a textbook lay in a heap next to the bed, as though they’d been tipped from a bag. Wondering whether this was evidence of a sudden and rapid packing session, Rhona checked the wardrobe for a backpack or holdall, but couldn’t find one.

McNab joined her outside Claire’s room as she recorded the bloodstains.

‘It looks bad, doesn’t it?’ he said.

‘Head wounds always bleed a lot.’ What she said was true but he still looked worried.

‘I called the lab,’ he said, ‘asked for someone to help you process the scene.’

She nodded. On her own it would take time, and she didn’t want to spend her entire Christmas Eve down here. ‘What about Claire’s car?’

‘The insurance company says she returned the hire car. Apparently she bought a replacement to be delivered after Christmas.’

‘So she had no transport?’

‘Mr Jenkins said he offered her the use of a farm van. Claire told him she planned a quiet Christmas at home with Emma and wouldn’t need it.’

So any hope that Claire had driven away from the scene with Emma was gone.

‘Someone’s taken them,’ said McNab.

‘Or they ran away from the intruder and are lying low.’

‘They would have made for the farm.’

Rhona suspected he was right. If Claire and Emma had been frightened by an intruder, they would have made for the nearest house. She went to the window. The snow was on again, thick flakes drifting down to form a second layer. What if mother and daughter were out in the open with night coming on?

‘The intruder must have come and gone by car,’ she said. McNab had driven down the unsurfaced road. So had she. There was no other route to the cottage.

McNab was reading her mind. ‘Jenkins says he brought fodder to the sheep by tractor early this morning. The gate into the field is about half a mile up from the main road.’

So the drive had been well churned up after the intruder left. With that and a further fall of snow, they had little chance of identifying his tracks.

‘What if Claire came here to hide from a former partner who was . . .’

‘Harassing her?’ McNab said stiffly.

There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence.

‘You didn’t harass me.’

‘Texts, emails, phone calls.’ He shook his head. ‘No wonder you hated me.’

‘I never hated you.’

They fell silent, both wanting to change the subject.

‘Did Emma sound afraid of Nick?’ said Rhona, eventually.

McNab thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘On the contrary, I got the impression she liked him.’

The extra forensic help consisted of Chrissy. Rhona was over the moon to see her auburn head emerge from the van half an hour after McNab’s departure.

‘Wondered where you’d disappeared off to,’ scolded Chrissy.

‘You weren’t at the lab to tell,’ Rhona replied.

Her assistant patted her bulge. ‘Antenatal appointment.’

‘This wouldn’t be a good place to go into labour.’

‘Stop worrying, I’ve got three weeks yet. I predict the ninth of January. D’you want to place a bet?’

‘With a known cheat? No way.’

They began upstairs in Claire’s room. Rhona and McNab had laid treads when they first entered. They were set a little wide apart for Chrissy, who was making a meal of negotiating them. She finally settled to spraying the carpet with luminol, trying to pick up footprints in the blood.

‘Apparently when Slater found out about the underwater search team he went ballistic. I hope for McNab’s sake they found something in that loch.’ She threw Rhona a look, her eyebrows perfectly poised above the mask.

Rhona shook her head.

‘The kid was playing you along?’

‘Looks like it.’

‘God, I hope I don’t have one like that. Or one like any of my brothers.’ Chrissy looked worried.

‘Don’t be daft. You’ll have a boy and he’ll be like Sam.’

‘Sam’s back in Nigeria. Lagos.’

‘How do you know?’

‘He phoned me. I’m going to visit him there after the baby’s born.’

‘That’s good.’ Rhona knew all about the Suleimans and their vendetta against Sam. Since Sam had been instrumental in the African case last year, rescuing a child the Suleiman family had abducted, he had been in hiding from their henchmen and the police force here. Sean had gone with Sam to London. She didn’t ask about Sean, but Chrissy told her anyway.

‘Sean’s back in Glasgow.’

Rhona said nothing, but she could feel her heart begin to race. It had to happen some time. Sean’s life and work were in Glasgow. She knew he wouldn’t stay in London for ever.

‘He’s been sleeping at the Jazz Club the last couple of nights. He didn’t think he’d be welcome at the flat.’

‘He’s right.’

‘Rhona . . .’

‘Leave it, Chrissy.’

Chrissy turned away. Rhona was sorry for her harsh words. The mess between herself and Sean wasn’t Chrissy’s fault. She might have an idea what had prompted the break-up, but Rhona had never discussed it with her. The nearest she’d come to talking to anyone about it was with McNab, and she regretted even that now. Talking about bad things only made you remember them more. She would have to face Sean some time, just not yet.

Despite the weather and the hastening darkness, McNab had made a brief attempt at searching for tracks around the cottage before heading back to the city. He’d found nothing except the criss-crossing of animals, mostly sheep. They would have to take a closer look in daylight.

Rhona checked the snowfall from the window. If the wind got up they might have a problem getting out. She decided to call it a day. Their extensive search of the cottage had revealed little more than they’d gleaned in the first instance – a few spots of blood in the kitchen, a partial imprint in blood in Claire’s room. Chrissy had picked up lots of prints, but none round the access window. They’d bagged everything they could take away that might provide trace evidence of the intruder.

‘A cup of something hot before we set out?’

Chrissy read that as a peace offering. ‘I’m starving.’

‘You’re always starving. You should bring sandwiches.’

‘We could try for a chippy on the way back?’

‘Don’t we always?’

Rhona boiled the kettle and made a pot of tea. The cottage was freezing. A thermometer hanging on the wall near the back door hovered just above zero. If it was that cold in here, God knows what it was like outside. Rhona heard the toilet flush again. Chrissy hadn’t been able to go until they’d processed the room. Now she was making the most of it.

Rhona poured two mugs and checked the fridge for milk. The shelves were well stocked. Now that the groundwork was over, Rhona reminded herself of the real reason they were here. Something bad had happened, by accident or intent. She remembered Emma’s intense little face, her conviction that there was another body. It wasn’t unknown for a young child to hallucinate when dealing with intense stress. Abducted children often imagined scenarios to deal with the situation, often so powerfully that they came to believe them to be real. Perhaps Emma really needed psychological help.

Magnus! She should call Magnus and tell him what had happened. Maybe Emma had revealed something to him that might throw a light on her disappearance.

‘Any sugar?’ Chrissy was back from the toilet.

‘Try the cupboard.’

Chrissy fished about and emerged with a packet of icing sugar.

‘You’re not putting that in your tea?’

‘It’s the same stuff, just ground down a bit.’ She helped herself to two large spoonfuls.

‘We’d better make this quick or we might get snowed in,’ Rhona said.

‘I saw myself with my feet up in front of the telly on Christmas Eve, not stuck in a cottage miles from anywhere.’

‘You could come back with me, make a night of it.’

‘And watch you getting pissed on glasses of fine wine, while I drink orange juice?’

‘Sounds about right.’

‘OK, but don’t expect me to produce a present for you tomorrow morning.’

‘Hey, I’ve got one for you.’

‘Bloody hell.’

‘Only joking, but I have bought something for the baby.’

‘You have?’ Chrissy’s eyes lit up. ‘What is it?’

‘I’m not telling you.’

‘Go on.’

Rhona wished she’d never mentioned it. ‘If you torment me, you won’t get it,’ she warned.

‘You’d deprive my poor baby because I’m a pain in the neck?’

There was no answer to that one.

They drew the bolt on the front door and exited by the back. There was no back-door key but Rhona hoped that the police tape across both doors would dissuade any casual visitors.

The wind had picked up, whipping the snow in their faces. It would be difficult driving in this.

‘You lead, I’ll follow,’ Chrissy said sweetly.

‘Thanks very much.’

34

Rhona turned the heater on full blast. It was the first time she’d felt warm since she’d climbed out of the car at the cottage. She’d tried to act blasé when Chrissy had voiced some concern about getting stuck down here. The truth was she’d had the same thought. If they managed to negotiate the track and reach the main road then all would be well. But if not . . . ?

She considered the alternatives; a trek to the farmhouse or holing up in the cottage. To be truthful, she wasn’t sure in which direction the main farm lay. No doubt there was a sign somewhere on the road.

She switched the wipers to a higher setting. Chrissy had dipped her headlights but each time they went over a bump Rhona was still blinded by their reflection in her rear-view mirror. That, coupled with the whirling snow, meant she was having real difficulty seeing where she was going.

She slowed down even further, causing Chrissy to sound the horn in alarm. Rhona peered out through the windscreen. Snow blown from the right-hand field had built up against the opposite bank, creating a mini-drift. She put her foot down and heard the wheels attempt to get a grip on the powdery surface. The car moved forward three feet then stopped. She revved the engine and re-engaged, this time in first gear. The wheels whirred but got no traction, so she pulled on the brake and climbed out to take a look.

The drift was higher and deeper than she’d first thought. She went back to the car and opened the boot, and Chrissy came to join her.

‘I’ve got a couple of trowels. We can try and dig our way through with them.’ Rhona had to raise her voice against the wind.