Torch (15 page)

The door swung
open without a sound and he found himself in a narrow passageway. A
door to the left lay ajar, revealing a set of steps to the
basement. Through the right hand door came the sound of carnal
grunts and moans. Jaz headed down the passageway into a grand
entrance hall with a sweeping staircase.

Behind him
Tommy and his partner were reaching their climax. The girl must
like living dangerously. On the last long drawn out groan a set of
double doors on the opposite wall were pulled open. Jaz hid in the
shadows as a man in a suit headed for the kitchen.

Tommy appeared
minutes later, adjusting his zip, a self-satisfied grin on his
face. There was a shouted greeting, then the double doors shut
behind him. Jaz crept closer to listen.

By the time he
left, Jaz was dry again. The basement steps had led to a boiler, on
at full blast. He cleared himself a place behind it and settled
down to dry out. After that he would check back at the cottage, he
decided, see if Amy was back. Then he would look for Emps.

Judging by the
conversation he’d tuned into, Tommy would soon be heading for the
garage and his next shag. Just as well. With the information he’d
overheard, Moffat had better get all the normal sex he could. Once
Jaz made sure he was banged up inside, sex would take on a
different hue.

Outside the
rain had stopped. Above him the sky was clear and midnight blue.
Now that he had moonlight, Jaz found his way out of the grounds
quickly. Five minutes along the main road, he thought he heard a
motorbike and threw himself into the ditch soaking his feet again,
but it was only a diesel van with a bad exhaust.

The hotel with
the party had quietened down. There were only three vehicles left
outside. Jaz took a chance and went in. Jaz ordered a pint and a
hot pie and found a seat close to the fire. He spotted Amy when she
came out of the toilet behind her mum. Jaz turned away, relieved to
see her unharmed but already thinking about what she would find
when she got back to the cottage.

Jaz drained his
pint and contemplated another. He had a look in his wallet. Not
much chance of a Bed and Breakfast for him. He thought about asking
if he could clear up the bar, wash all the glasses for a chance to
bed down beside the fire, but the barman didn’t look the benevolent
type. Anyway the last thing he wanted was to become an item for
gossip. It would be better if Tommy thought he had left the area.
Jaz shifted in the warm seat. Better hit the cold now before he got
too comfortable.

He went to the
bar and asked for another pie to take away. The barman put it in a
bag for him along with the two remaining sausage rolls. He waved
away payment and went back to the glasses. Jaz nodded his thanks
and made for the door before he changed his mind and asked the
barman to stay.

Outside the
cold hit him like a garage door. Jaz pulled up his hood. Now that
he knew Amy was alright, he would go straight to the barn. With any
luck Emps would head back there looking for him... if he was alive.
Jaz could only pray he was.

By dawn even
the piled hay in the barn couldn’t keep the chill out of his bones.
Jaz walked about, stamping the circulation back into his feet and
throwing his good arm round his body. He would give it an hour,
then try and hitch a lift back into town. He fished the two sausage
rolls out of his pocket and wolfed them down, dreaming of a mug of
hot tea.

Outside the
fields were covered with a layer of frost and an early sun was
sending thin shivering rays across the empty furrows.

Jaz suddenly
remembered the significance of the day. Hogmanay. Tomorrow was a
new year and a new start. Maybe for him, when he sorted things out,
but not for Karen.

He heard the
dog before he saw it; the sound of paws clipping the icy puddles
that covered the churned mud round the barn. There was a strangled
noise of excitement then Emps was on him, knocking Jaz to his
knees.

So there was a
God after all.

Jaz tried to
hug the big hairy body, but Emps yelped and leapt away.

‘Whoa! What’s
up Emps?’

The dog came
back, twisting its back legs from side to side in a mockery of the
missing tail.

Jaz gazed in
horror at the mutilated and bleeding stump, while Emps licked the
salty tears that ran down his face.

‘I’ll get him
Emps. I promise. And when I get him I’ll cut off his fuckin dick
and stick it down his fuckin throat.’

Chapter
25

Bill had been
true to his word. Rhona studied the contents of the forensic bags.
If the body on the moor was that of the paedophile and murderer
they’d been searching for the last six months, it would lay her
fears to rest. She could stop looking for him in the street, stop
imagining she would wake up one night and find him standing at the
foot of her bed.

Chrissy was
watching her. ‘I can deal with these,’ she offered.

‘I’d rather do
it myself.’

Rhona pulled on
her lab coat.

‘But it’s
Hogmanay.’

‘I’ll be away
by eight, I promise.’

Chrissy gave
up. ‘I’ve had a look at the fire video.’

‘And?’

‘The guy you
talked about... ‘

‘In the
drawing?’

‘No. Your fire
investigator.’

‘Severino
MacRae?’ Rhona was puzzled.

‘What does he
look like?’ Chrissy asked.

‘He’s about
five eleven, dark hair, part Italian... ’

‘Does he wear a
black leather jacket?’ Chrissy asked.

‘Yes, why?’

‘Take a look at
this.’ Chrissy handed Rhona the remote.

He was standing
on the edge of the crowd looking up. Rhona paused the video and
stared. The resemblance was uncanny, except the video was of a
Glasgow fire forty-six miles away from MacRae’s territory.

‘It can’t be
him,’ Rhona said to convince herself.

‘It looks like
him then?’

Rhona
nodded.

‘Quite
tasty.’

‘He’s badly
scarred.’ Rhona regretted the words as soon as they were out.

Chrissy looked
interested. ‘Really? Where?’

‘Chrissy,’
Rhona warned.

Chrissy raised
an eyebrow.

‘So. What makes
you think it’s not him?’

‘He would have
said if he’d been at the Glasgow fire.’

‘Especially if
he started it.’

‘Don’t be
ridiculous.’

Chrissy ejected
the video and replaced it with another and pressed rewind. She
waited a moment then froze it. ‘Take a look on the left.’

Rhona’s heart
missed a beat.

‘Would you
believe it?’ Chrissy said. ‘Old leather jacket’s back again.’ The
figure was further away from the camera this time making it more
difficult to make out his features. ‘I spotted him or someone who
looks like him in three out of the last four.’

‘There must be
an explanation.’

‘As to why
MacRae keeps popping up in our fire videos?’

‘It not him,’
Rhona was adamant. ‘It’s someone who looks like him, or,’ she said
with more certainty this time, ‘someone who chooses to look like
him.’

‘Neat idea. A
MacRae look-alike visiting fire scenes.’

‘You didn’t see
anyone who looked like the face in the drawing?’

Chrissy shook
her head. ‘What about the Edinburgh footage?’

Rhona went for
her bag.

‘That’s
funny.’

‘What?’

‘I put the
video in the zipped pocket but now it’s in the main part.’

‘You took it
out, watched it and put it back in a different pouch?’ Chrissy
suggested.

‘I haven’t had
time to watch it.’

Rhona slipped
in the Edinburgh footage. The fire that blazed on the screen was
well established, already consuming the lower levels of the Princes
Street building, spreading rapidly in a horizontal direction. Since
the building had been lying empty with few combustible linings and
interior contents, the use of accelerants looked likely from
observation alone, though the speed and action of the fire was not
what Rhona was looking at. She concentrated on the shots of the
watching crowd. Firemen knew the perpetrator of a fire could often
be standing within yards of the fire-fighters watching them risk
their lives to put out their handiwork.

Rhona ran the
footage four times.

‘He’s not
there,’ Chrissy said at last.

‘No he’s
not.’

The fire had
started in the early hours of the morning when few people were
about the city centre. The crowds were smaller than would be
expected for such a spectacular blaze.

‘The arsonist
must have been disappointed by the turnout,’ Rhona said. ‘No wonder
he threatened the New Year celebrations.’

‘What?’

Rhona explained
about the letters, without mentioning her place in them.

Chrissy looked
puzzled. ‘You think the two spates of fire raising are
connected?’

‘Yes. Though I
have no real proof. I’m going to take a look through the most
recent reports. There might be something I’ve missed.’

‘Now?’ Chrissy
was incredulous. Four o’clock in the afternoon seemed a bad time to
start wading through five detailed forensic reports. ‘I take it
Sean’s not in town?’

‘A gig in
Amsterdam.’

‘You should
have stayed in Edinburgh with your tasty Italian,’ was Chrissy’s
parting shot when she left at five. Rhona hoped that was Chrissy’s
idea of a joke and she hadn’t been reading her mind.

Rhona settled
at her desk, resisting the temptation to try and get a hold of Bill
Wilson and talk things through with him. If Bill had any sense he
would be home with his family for Hogmanay.

Rhona selected
one of the reports thick with the minutiae of death and set to
work.

When her mobile
alarm warned her it was quarter to eight, she had already trawled
through three reports. Reports she had verified and signed some
time in the last six months. The evidence suggested the fires had
been started deliberately or were the result of extreme
carelessness on the part of the victim, who was either a known or
suspected member of the drug scene. There were no suspects for any
of them.

She shelved the
reports and locked up.

Outside her
breath met the air in a vaporised cloud. Rhona bunched herself
against the cold and headed for the gate. The security guard waved
cheerio from the warmth of his box and shouted his good wishes for
Hogmanay.

She decided to
leave the car in the university car park. Hillhead underground
station was only minutes away. To her left, the gothic towers of
the university loomed out of the darkness, the surrounding
shrubbery shrouded in shadow. The click of her footsteps on the
frosty pavement seemed to echo her rapid heartbeat.

She was going
to see her son for the first time in eighteen years. The memory of
the tiny baby she gave up for adoption would be replaced by a young
man. Would he look like her or Edward? What if he was like Edward
in character? Then they might grow to hate one another, like she
and his father had. Rhona found herself slowing down. Maybe this
wasn’t a good idea after all.

Byres Road was
busy, early revellers poring in and out of the most popular
bars.

A tall familiar
figure stood outside the underground station, causing Rhona to stop
in her tracks.

Three drunks
wearing kilts and Scotland tops emerged, singing ‘Flower of
Scotland’ and she momentarily lost sight of the figure. Then he
re-appeared, threw her a half-smile and turned swiftly in at the
underground entrance. A wave of revulsion swept over Rhona. It
couldn’t be him. He was dead. It was only a matter of time before
it was confirmed. It had to be someone who looked like him. It was
that horrible half-smile. That and her own private horror of ever
seeing him again.

She pulled
herself together. You can’t see someone who’s dead, she told
herself. Not unless you believe in ghosts.

Her watch said
ten past eight. The thought crept into her mind that Liam wasn’t
going to show. She waited for another twenty minutes then with a
heavy heart sent a ‘Missed you. Please Call’ text message and went
home.

Back in the
empty flat she contemplated phoning Sean. She lifted the receiver
then replaced it. If she spoke to him now he would know something
was wrong and she couldn’t bear to tell him that Liam hadn’t turned
up.

She wandered
through the flat, talking to herself, hating the solitude she had
once loved. Sharing her flat with Sean had destroyed her ability to
be alone. She had never felt lonely in her home before him. Alone
yes, lonely never.

She heard a
noise and jumped, her nerves on edge, but it was only the cat come
looking for food.

Once she’d fed
it, she listened to the radio while making something for herself.
Both Edinburgh and Glasgow were well into their New Year
celebrations. Everything was going accordingly to plan. She
imagined MacFarlane’s relief... and Sev’s.

‘We make a good
team,’ he’d said.

The buzzer went
at eleven thirty. She had switched on the television and poured a
drink to toast the bells.

‘Can I come
up?’

His voice on
the intercom sounded lonely and cynical at the same time.

Rhona pressed
the door release and let him in, shocked by the pleasure the sound
of his voice had afforded her.

His eyes were
heavily shadowed but there was no smell of alcohol on his breath.
She led him through to the sitting room, saying nothing. He took a
quick look round, appraising the situation.

‘All
alone?’

She nodded.

‘Where’s the
boyfriend?’

‘Amsterdam.’

He was watching
her face, reading the pain.

‘What’s up?’ he
said softly.

When she didn’t
answer, he took her in his arms and held her close.