Final Cut (24 page)

McNab repeated the only word he’d gleaned from his visit to the restaurant. ‘
Spasibo
.’

They looked puzzled, then one smiled as he deciphered McNab’s strangled Russian for
thank you
. He reached out a hand and McNab grabbed a hold of it as if it were a lifeline. As his body was pulled free, feeling flooded his lower half, quickly followed by pain. But his legs worked. He crawled across the debris that had formed his prison.

The two men helped him up and over the container wall. In the poor light McNab could make out part of a demolition site. Half a dozen men gaped at him through a mesh fence. His rescuers urged him towards the fence, obviously anxious to be out of the yard before anyone in authority appeared. With their help he climbed over, his drop on the other side met by welcoming hands. A gaggle of voices greeted his rescuers, obviously demanding to know what the hell had happened.

When McNab pulled out his ID card the men drew back, frightened. He smiled, shook his head. He wasn’t planning to cause any trouble, even if they were illegals. He repeated
thank you
in any and every language he knew; English, Russian, French and Italian.

When he was out of sight of the yard, he tried to work out exactly where he was by the skyline and decided he wasn’t that far from Polmadie, the site of the skip fire. His limbs, driven by adrenalin, suddenly gave out and he slid down a nearby wall to sit trembling at its foot. He guided a shaking hand to his pocket, looking for his mobile. Solonik must have been so confident of his demise that he hadn’t bothered to remove it. The screen was scratched and dirty, but the phone appeared operational. McNab rang Rhona’s number.

39

The wind scouring the hill had stacked snow in deep drifts around the summit. The last section saw Rhona buried up to her waist. When she finally managed to scramble to the top, she was met by a score of puzzled eyes, but the sheep didn’t scatter.

The farm lay due west, tucked in a valley. She could see the smoke curling from its chimney. She could also make out a red tractor and trailer moving laboriously through the snow, distributing hay to other stranded sheep.

Any shouting she did from here would be unlikely to be heard by the driver. She could either wave her arms and hope he spotted her, or else make her way towards him. She decided on the latter.

She took a bearing and set off back down the hill. Trudging through the undisturbed snow was laborious and tricky, a bit like negotiating deep heather. She had no idea how far her foot would descend before it met firm ground, and the ground was pockmarked with rabbit holes.

The tractor had finished its current delivery and was heading for the next cluster of sheep when she entered the field. Rhona’s shout was rewarded by the engine spluttering to a halt. A man climbed down and came towards her.

She introduced herself and asked whether he had seen or heard anything of Claire and Emma.

Mr Jenkins shook his head.

‘I phoned round everyone I could think of as soon as your detective sergeant called me. No one’s seen them. I wondered why the cat had turned up here when it had taken such a liking to Emma.’

‘Is there any mobile reception at the farm, or is your landline working?’

‘Afraid not. The radio says the whole of Scotland and the North of England got hit by the blizzard, so we’re not the only ones cut off.’

He promised Rhona he would be over to try to pull her car out as soon as he’d tended to his sheep.

‘If you want to wait at the farm, Ellen will keep you company.’

Rhona thanked him for the offer but declined, thinking of Chrissy, back at the cottage. She decided to take the opportunity to ask the farmer about the man in the snow hole.

‘Alan MacNiven? Can’t say I know the name.’

Thanking him, she headed back as swiftly as the snow would allow. Although her feet were reasonably dry, the wellington boots were a little too large and had begun to rub at her heels. She would be glad to kick them off. As she came in sight of the cottage she was pleased to see plumes of smoke coming from the chimney. Chrissy certainly wasn’t skimping on the fire.

She left the boots at the front door, delighted by the wave of warmth that greeted her entrance. Chrissy was sitting on the sofa by a blazing hearth, checking her mobile, no doubt for the hundredth time.

‘Any luck?’

‘Mr Jenkins will come and pull us out as soon as he deals with his livestock.’ Rhona realised Chrissy looked perturbed. ‘What’s wrong? You’re not getting contractions?’

Chrissy shook her head. ‘I found something.’

‘What?’

‘The kid left a message.’

‘A message? Where?’

‘The broken tumbler on her bedroom carpet? I tasted the liquid that had been inside – it was just sugary water. Not lemonade or Coke. I kept wondering why Emma would drink sugar and water, then I remembered.’

‘Remembered what?’

‘There was a notebook on the desk. Emma had written a poem in it. There was a pen and a
toothpick
near by.’

‘What’s special about a toothpick?’

‘Did you never make invisible ink when you were a kid?’

Rhona shook her head.

‘You use a toothpick to write the secret message in sugar water, usually between normal writing. If you heat the paper you find the message.’ Chrissy handed her the notebook. ‘Look between the first and second line of the poem.’

The area Chrissy indicated was pale brown in colour in contrast to the white page. She was right. There was something scrawled there. Rhona read out the chilling words.

He’s here. I think he wants to take us away
.

Rhona felt terrible. The message had been left for her and she’d missed it. Thank God for Chrissy’s keen eye.

‘When we were in the wood, Emma asked what I did. I told her I looked for evidence that was invisible to the human eye, and she asked if it was like invisible ink.’

‘Smart kid,’ said Chrissy.

Rhona studied the message. ‘She says
he
. Who does she mean?’

‘It sounds like she didn’t know him.’

‘Or she thought we would know who she meant? The only person we’re aware of from Claire’s former life is someone called Nick, and according to McNab, Emma liked him. We have to speak to McNab about this.’

She tried her mobile again, swearing at the
no signal
message still showing.

‘I’m going to walk down and start digging out a car.’

‘I’m coming with you.’

40

He was pleased with his work so far, very pleased. The underwater team had searched the loch in the woods and found nothing, because what they sought was here.

One end of the workbench had been cleared and was now serving as a mortuary slab. The freezing air in here was as good as an icebox. Really the weather had been a godsend. A Christmas blessing. He smiled at his own little joke.

The remains had shrunk inside their plastic covering, leaving the binding loose. Maybe he should have brought it back here sooner, but he hadn’t wanted to desecrate either of the graves.

Anger bubbled up inside him. Desecration, that’s what it was. The girl had lain in peace for all those years. He would have buried the boy beside her, but at the time foresters had been working near by and he couldn’t risk it. He’d settled for the loch.

They should both have been allowed to rest in peace.

It was the woman’s fault. Her reckless driving had started all of this. Had it not been for her, both of them would have remained undiscovered for ever.

He looked out at the snow-covered garden. Pretty as it was, it would make a burial service difficult. He had already chosen a suitable place among the trees, but would have to wait for the weather to change. He was only sorry that he couldn’t bury them together.

He locked the workshop door and went inside the house. The sudden warmth quickly brought colour to his cheeks. He entered the kitchen and switched on the radio. He wanted to listen to the service of carols and readings as he prepared lunch.

He set about scraping the surface of the parboiled potatoes with a fork, sprinkled them with salt and slipped them in below the sizzling turkey. He had already opened the red wine and left it to take the air. Touching the bottle, he was pleased to find the temperature about right.

He hummed along with the carols as he set the small table in the dining alcove, laying out two places. The young prison guard had called and had been invited round for Christmas day lunch, an invitation he had eagerly accepted.

He laid out the holly-patterned napkins and chose the balloon glasses for the wine. Now it only remained for him to prepare the remaining vegetables. He washed and peeled the Brussels sprouts, slicing a diagonal cross in the stem, then prepared the parsnips. He was very fond of roast parsnips. He poured a glass of wine and opened a second bottle with a smile.

As he sipped, he contemplated the forthcoming activities. He had planned to show Daniel his workshop, but that wasn’t possible now. Instead he had brought in some pieces of finished glass for him to admire. The panel depicting the child was the centrepiece, of course. He was particularly pleased with the milkiness of the hair and the ruby-red glass he’d used for the blood droplets. He wondered momentarily whether Daniel would discern the true picture hidden in the swirls of colour and shape. The idea excited him.

He glanced at the clock. Daniel had agreed to work Christmas morning. Allowing for transport difficulties in the snow, his arrival was likely to be mid-afternoon. Everything would be ready and waiting. There was just one more thing to do.

41

Chrissy had insisted on digging out the forensic van, despite Rhona’s attempts to stop her. Rhona had found a shovel in the garden shed, rusted, its handle thinned by wear. She’d used that one, leaving Chrissy with the pristine model that formed part of her ‘emergency’ collection of utensils.

The snow, although deep, was light and easy to shift. Once all four wheels were free, she tried the engine. It fired on the third attempt. Behind her Chrissy was doing the same with the van. Rhona let the engine run for a while, then switched off and went to check on Chrissy.

‘I’m going to take a look farther on,’ she said.

‘I’ll go with you.’

The next section of track was impassable by car. After that things began to look better for a while, the snow shallow. Unfortunately a few yards later they encountered a waist-high drift of some length. Walking the road in daylight only served to reinforce the danger they’d been in the previous night.

One thing was certain, they were going nowhere without the farmer’s help.

‘Maybe I should walk to the main road.’

‘And leave me here?’ Chrissy sounded incredulous.

‘There’s more of a chance of a signal once I’m out of the glen, and I might get a lift.’

Chrissy wasn’t convinced.

‘We have to let McNab know what we’ve found.’

‘Then we’ll both go to the main road.’

‘What if the landline’s restored more quickly than the mobile? If I’m still at the road end by the time you’re dug out, we’ll go together.’

A two-pronged attack made sense.

‘OK,’ Chrissy conceded.

They parted company. Rhona walked on a few yards, then turned to watch the small bundled figure trudging back towards the cottage. Chrissy wouldn’t be alone for long, she consoled herself. Mr Jenkins was bound to appear soon.

By car, the track had seemed a fair distance. On foot it was endless. Even with the help of a tractor, getting a vehicle to the road would take some time. Climbing out of the valley, she was rewarded by a buzz from her mobile, indicating the arrival of a message. McNab’s voice sounded terrible. He asked her to phone him right away.

His phone rang five times. Rhona was anticipating a switch to voicemail when McNab came on the line.

‘Where are you?’

‘Trying to get away from the cottage. We got snowed in last night.’

‘Shit!’

‘Emma left us a message.’ She gave him a quick summary of their findings, including the fact that Emma didn’t seem to know her abductor.

‘You and I both know the odds are against it being a stranger,’ he said.

‘Then who?’

McNab was at as much of a loss as Rhona. ‘We’ve nothing on Claire’s life before she left Glasgow. We’re still trying to find out which primary school Emma went to before they moved.’

Claire had covered her tracks well, which did suggest she’d been hiding from someone.

‘If someone was looking for Claire and they knew about her mother’s death, they could have turned up at the funeral,’ suggested McNab.

‘And followed Emma to the wood?’ Rhona suddenly wished she’d brought this possibility up with Claire. Maybe then Claire would have told them whether someone was harassing her.

There was a baffled silence.

‘I’ve been checking the Mollie Curtis file,’ said McNab eventually. ‘Guess who did the groundwork on that?’

‘Who?’

‘Slater. That’s what led to his promotion.’ His tone was loaded.

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘Nothing, but I’m working on it. Can you hitch a lift back to Glasgow?’

‘I’m trying to.’

‘Call me when you get here. I’m going to visit Mollie’s killer.’

‘But it’s Christmas Day.’

‘So I’ll take him a present.’

‘Maybe you should take Magnus with you.’

There was a grunt of disapproval.

‘He’s good at reading people. He could just observe.’

‘It’s Christmas Day. He’ll have plans.’

McNab hung up before Rhona could respond. His obvious agitation worried her. Something bad had happened, something he hadn’t told her about.

Ten minutes later she was in sight of the main road. Snow piled up by a plough blocked the end of the drive. She climbed up the hard-packed mound. There were no vehicles in sight, but she could tell by the tyre tracks that someone had travelled along the cleared road recently. She had to wait twenty minutes before a car came into view. She waved it down.