Final Cut (7 page)

‘It looks like there was only one body hidden beneath the brushwood, Emma.’ He did his best to sound certain.

She picked up another stone and threw it. It bounced on the thicker ice and plopped into the water.

McNab carried on. ‘We found a wind harp in a nearby tree. It makes a sort of music when the wind blows. I expect that’s what you heard that night.’

The child’s face was impassive.

‘I think you should try and forget what happened. Look forward to Christmas.’

She turned and gave him a searching look. ‘Then why can I still hear his voice?’

He was beginning to feel out of his depth. If the kid was hearing voices she should be talking to a psychologist, not a detective.

‘When something frightening happens, it can make you imagine things.’ It sounded like something his own mother would have said to him. Something he wouldn’t have believed.

‘I’ve asked him to tell me where he is, but he won’t.’

McNab examined her small, pinched face. Jesus, no wonder Claire was so concerned.

‘Mum doesn’t believe me. I thought you would.’ Emma looked sad. ‘I want to go home now.’

Claire must have been watching for them, because the door opened as they approached. She looked enquiringly at him.

‘We went to the river and threw some stones. Emma was very good at it.’

‘I’m going upstairs, Mum.’ Emma had already discarded her coat and boots.

‘OK, I’ll call you when lunch is ready.’

McNab waited until the child had disappeared before he spoke.

‘I told her about the wind harp, and that there’s only one body.’

‘She didn’t believe you, did she?’

He cleared his throat. ‘Shock does strange things to people. Give it a few more days. Let her keep writing to me, if it helps. I think Christmas will soon take over.’ He hoped he was right.

On the return journey, he pondered the relationship between Claire and her daughter. It reminded him of his own childhood. Brought up by his mother, he had never known his father. He’d been born illegitimate, back when it had mattered. He’d been ashamed. Hid the fact by telling tall tales of his soldier father, always away on duty. He’d cut a photograph of a soldier from a magazine, a young man with dark auburn hair like his own. He was handsome and smiling, the dad McNab wanted. For a while he’d believed him to be real, and the soldier’s imagined bravery had made him brave. Brave enough to face the bullies and their taunts.

The discovery of the skull had made Emma the centre of attention. Maybe she didn’t want that to end.

11

DI Lane of the Complaints and Discipline Department didn’t like the job he’d been given, and McNab didn’t blame him. A complaint against a senior officer was a serious matter, especially when it was scum like Henderson who had made it.

Lane laid out the photographs of Henderson’s injuries, taken by the duty officer that fateful morning when McNab and DI Wilson had confronted Henderson in the interview room.

Looking at a photo of the man’s bruised balls made McNab wish he’d kicked him even harder. If he’d had a knife in his hand when the bastard had talked filth about Bill’s daughter, McNab would have sliced them off.

‘I kicked him under the table.’

‘That’s not what DI Wilson says. He says he pulled rank on you to interview Henderson after he’d been ordered by Superintendent Sutherland not to do so. When Henderson bad-mouthed his daughter, he lost his temper and attacked him.’

‘That’s not the way I remember it.’

DI Lane shuffled the photos together and put them back in the folder. If a criminal assault had occurred, then the case would have to go before the Procurator Fiscal. It would be the Fiscal who would decide whether the case should go on to the Sheriff Court. If the DCS decided it was a breakdown in procedure rather than assault, it would go down the police disciplinary route. McNab was well aware DI Wilson was trying to protect him from the fallout of their interview with Henderson, but he wouldn’t let his boss take the blame for what he’d done in that room. Given the opportunity, he would do it again.

‘What does Henderson say?’

‘He says DI Wilson kicked him.’

‘The bastard!’ Anger darkened McNab’s face. ‘He knows it was me. He’s just trying to get at the DI. Christ, the guy sexually assaulted Bill’s daughter.’

Lane frowned sympathetically.

McNab got himself under control. Surely if he stuck to his story they couldn’t prosecute the DI? ‘So where do we go from here?’

Lane was already on his feet. ‘I pass everything to the DCS and he decides.’ This was Lane’s get-out clause. He carried out the investigation, but he didn’t have to make the final decision.

‘How long?’ McNab was already thinking about going directly to the super to give his version of events.

Lane shrugged, indicating that he had no idea.

‘You realise Henderson’s trying to stitch the boss up?’

Lane didn’t respond.

‘I kicked the bastard and would do it again if I had the chance. You can tell the DCS I said that.’

McNab thought frantically that it didn’t matter what he said. It didn’t matter that he was the one telling the truth. The fact that Henderson backed up DI Wilson’s version of events meant that his boss would pay the price for McNab’s anger. As though he hadn’t paid enough already.

When he emerged from the room, Clark was waiting for him. She read his expression and gave him a compassionate look.

‘The strategy meeting’s just started. The boss said to go in.’

Rhona paused in her delivery to allow McNab and DC Clark to take their seats at the back. McNab didn’t look happy. Bill had picked up on it too. The two men exchanged glances before Bill indicated that Rhona should continue.

They were tackling the cold case first. On the screen was the video footage of the deposition site. Rhona explained how the various levels of decomposing wood had been removed and a child’s skeleton located.

‘It’s not possible to tell the sex of the skeleton, but I can say that it is a child and that there is only one. If I was to hazard a guess, I would advise looking for minors who disappeared around ten years ago, but I hope to be more exact once I’ve studied the material in detail.’

After confirming that the remains had been sent to a forensic anthropologist for study and digital facial reconstruction, Rhona handed over to McNab to give his version of events.

He repeated the story of a young girl going missing from a car crash and the dogs locating her unhurt in the nearby woods. The fact that she’d been found sitting under a tree, nursing a human skull. The story had been circulating in the office, but this was the first time most of the team had heard it in its entirety.

‘She found the skull on the ground?’ Bill asked.

McNab shook his head. ‘She says she took it from beneath the brushwood Dr MacLeod spoke about.’

‘How did she know it was there?’

‘She says she heard it calling to her.’ McNab paused as disbelieving murmurs broke out. A stern look from Bill resulted in quiet, allowing him to continue.

‘She was quite adamant about that, sir. She said the sound led her there. Dr MacLeod later pointed out that a construction in a nearby tree, called a wind harp, may have produced the noise the girl heard.’

Bill digested this. ‘We’re in contact with the girl’s family?’

‘I visited Emma this morning at the request of the mother, Claire. The child is showing signs of distress since the event. She claims she can hear the voice of another victim. A boy. But she doesn’t know where he’s buried.’

The murmurs grew louder. Bill called for silence.

‘OK, I want as much background as you can find on the Watson family. If the kid comes up with anything else, I want to know about it. It’s pretty unorthodox, but it’s all we’ve got.’

‘There’s one more thing, sir.’

‘Yes?’

‘Claire Watson says she swerved off the road that night because a man appeared in front of her.’

‘There was another car in the area?’

McNab shook his head. ‘Not when we got there, apart from the van driver who stopped to help.’

‘And he is?’

McNab checked his PDA. ‘His name is Keith Walker, fifty-six, works for the gas board. He was on his way to a broken-down boiler. Walker says Mrs Watson stepped out in front of him. She was confused, knew she had been in an accident, but didn’t know who she was, then she remembered her daughter was in the back of the car. Except she wasn’t.’

‘OK, our first priority is to try and identify missing minors that might fall into the frame. Let’s keep the press release low key. Just “human remains found in wood”. Nothing about it being a child. Nothing about how they were discovered. We don’t want to raise hopes that we’ve found someone’s missing child until we know more. And we don’t want the Watsons hounded by the tabloids.’

‘Sir? Maybe we should bring in someone professional to talk to Emma. There might be stuff she hasn’t told us.’

‘You think her mother would agree?’

‘She believes her daughter’s been traumatised by what’s happened. I think she might.’

‘OK, get in touch with Professor Pirie. Ask him if he’s willing to get involved. If he is, run it past the mother. Let’s get the coffees in, then we’ll take a look at the skip fire case.’

Rhona saw McNab’s horrified expression. Magnus Pirie wasn’t a name he’d wanted or expected to hear, despite his request for professional help with the girl.

He told Rhona as much when they met at the coffee machine.

‘Magnus was cleared of any wrongdoing in the Gravedigger case,’ she reminded him.

‘Unlike the boss.’

‘That’s not Magnus’s fault.’

McNab threw her a look that spoke volumes. ‘The boss is lying to the inquiry.’

‘What?’

‘I found out that he gave a statement saying he had been the one to assault the suspect.’

‘But you’ve told them the truth?’

‘Of course, but Lane doesn’t believe me. And guess who also says it was him? Christ, the Gravedigger is stitching him up and I can’t stop it.’

Now she understood the suppressed fury on McNab’s face when he’d entered the strategy meeting.

‘What the fuck do I do? It’s two against one.’

Rhona was running the worrying scenario over in her mind. ‘They’ll have to take into account the mitigating circumstances.’

‘It’ll still mean a disciplinary charge, even if it doesn’t go to court. You have to talk to the boss. Get him to tell the truth.’

‘I’ll try after the meeting,’ Rhona promised.

She never got the chance. She was halfway through her contribution on the skip investigation when Bill was called from the room. There was an uncomfortable silence as the door closed behind him. The entire team knew the DI was likely to be up on a charge.

McNab indicated that she should continue. If the DI walked back in and they were discussing him rather than the case, then there’d be hell to pay.

‘As Dr Sissons reported, photographs taken at the scene and the subsequent post-mortem identified a break in the hyoid bone, suggesting that the victim could have been garrotted before the fire occurred.’

She brought up the collage of photographs she’d taken at the scene and flicked through them. Crime photographs always looked worse away from the locus. When you were there, you were surrounded by the horror. Here in the normality of the meeting room, the individual images had an obscene quality.

‘Blood tests on the body indicate the victim was not Fergus Morrison as stated on the dog tag. So this guy is not our missing soldier. We’re still testing the debris for accelerant.’ Rhona handed over to McNab, who seemed distracted.

‘The boss thinks a car on CCTV around the time of the fire could prove significant. The dog tag could indicate we were expected to assume the victim was the soldier. If that’s the case, Fergus Morrison could be involved, so priority number one is to find him.’ McNab brought up the squaddie’s picture. In the photograph he looked about fifteen, though his details said he’d passed his nineteenth birthday.

‘OK, let’s get on with it.’

McNab came over to Rhona as the team filed from the room. ‘What about the deposition site?’

‘I’ve got a mountain of mulch and soil to sift through. Unless anything else turns up out there, I won’t go back. Any luck with possible missing minors?’

‘Nothing yet. DC Clark’s working on it.’

She put her hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get an opportunity to talk to Bill.’

‘I’ve a feeling we’re too late, anyway.’

12

It was on the lunchtime news. Human remains had been discovered in woods south of Glasgow. He realised he had been anticipating this moment for a decade. He wasn’t afraid. He was angry. And not with himself.

He sat on the sofa, his body rigid, his eyes fixed on the screen. Details were scarce. Nothing about who had found them. Nothing about what exactly they had found.

He felt violated. Choking anger prevented him from breathing. He imagined their graves being defiled. Their remains being removed, examined. Bile rose to his mouth.
How dare they
.

He channelled his rage into cold, calculating anger. He would find out how they had been discovered. It wouldn’t be difficult with his connections.

He took out his mobile and began going through the list of names. He paused, knowing that any call, no matter how casual, might be questioned later.

He put the phone down and went out into the garden.

The trimmed grass and ordered wintering flower beds calmed him. He took the path that led to the wooded area. The starkness of the bare birch trees reminded him of the other wood. He should have laid them to rest here, like the others.

He would have needed no markers, no wind harp to guide him. He knew every inch of this garden, every plant, every tree, every secret thing. He sat down on the wooden bench he’d placed in his favoured spot and closed his eyes, feeling the weak warmth of the sun on his face.