Final Cut (34 page)

Bill threw her a concerned look, knowing that Chrissy wasn’t the only person she was missing.

Rhona had promised she wouldn’t ask Bill outright. It wasn’t her business. She had no right to attempt to persuade him, yet at the same time she would never forgive herself if she didn’t try.

‘Don’t go, Bill. Don’t leave.’

He didn’t answer. His face was shadowed by sorrow. He was in as dark a place as she was herself.

‘We can’t let him down. We have to make it right.’

‘It can never be made right.’ He shook his head.

‘We can try.’

His eyes swept the room. The bar was lined with regulars, mostly groups of middle-aged men talking. A gaggle of young women sat at a nearby table nursing vase-size glasses of white wine, their loud laughter indicating how much they’d drunk already. A couple of young guys with carefully constructed hair stood in conversation near the door. In the blink of an eye, Rhona spotted something change hands between them.

‘I’ve been coming in here for thirty years,’ Bill said. ‘Now when I come I sit with my back to the wall. I drink my pint and I make a point of not noticing what goes on around me.’ He looked at her. ‘There comes a day when you give up the fight and start to live.’

‘But not today.’

He gave her a half-smile. ‘You sound like Margaret.’

Rhona lifted her glass. ‘I’ll drink to Margaret.’

‘You women ganging up on me?’

‘Don’t we always?’

Bill was silent for a few moments, then asked about Swanson.

‘He’s denying everything. Says he didn’t know about the remains in the garden. Insists they must have been there before his family bought the bungalow. Nonsense, of course, and easily disproved. He also maintains he had nothing to do with Mollie’s death. On our side, we can prove the red glass in the grave matches the type he buys. We also have a couple of fibres from Mollie’s grave soil that match a rug in his house. Swanson doesn’t know about that.’ She paused. ‘It was a good idea of yours to have Magnus talk to McCarthy. It seems Swanson has been feeding McCarthy false memories, constantly reinforcing his supposed guilt.’

Everyone knew Swanson was guilty of all five murders, but proving it wouldn’t be so easy. They would have to concentrate on the ones they could prove, like the body he’d taken from the loch.

‘What about the wee girl?’

Rhona shook her head. ‘She’s taking the business with Michael very much to heart.’

The business with Michael
. Why could she not say the words?

In the mess after the shooting, Nikolai Kalinin had simply disappeared, as had Solonik. The police suspected they had gone south, been hidden by Prokhorov, then been smuggled back to Mother Russia or to supervise other operations. There were plenty to choose from. The Riviera, South Africa, the United States. Kalinin would fit in anywhere. McNab had almost nailed him. Almost but not quite.

The door opened and a man walked in. Tall, auburn haired, broad shouldered. He glanced towards them and for a moment Rhona believed it was him. She imagined Michael looking over, giving them a wave, miming to ask whether they wanted a drink. He would approach the table and bestow his smile on her. This time she would return it. This time she would acknowledge the man who had loved her.

Having searched the room, the auburn-haired man turned on his heel and let the door bang shut behind him.

Lin Anderson began writing whilst working as a teacher, and now writes full time. FINAL CUT is her sixth novel.