The Hangman's Song (Inspector Mclean 3) (47 page)

Duguid stared at him with piggy eyes, his brow furrowing
as he considered McLean’s words. It made sense, that was the problem. Duguid knew it, and hated that McLean was right.

‘Dammit, man, we don’t have the budget to go investigating every incident in the city.’

So it was the money, as always.

‘At least have someone speak to the driver, sir. He was in shock when Constable Orton saw him. He’ll be able to give us a fuller picture of what happened. It shouldn’t take more than an hour. I’d ask DC MacBride, but I can’t head this up. Not on paper at least.’ He left it there, hanging, in the hope that Duguid would take the bait.

‘You’re a menace, you know that, McLean?’ The acting superintendent pushed his chair back from the desk and stood up, obviously finding it hard to make a decision whilst sat on his arse. ‘Very well. Have MacBride interview the driver, draw up a report and submit it to me directly. You are not, repeat not, to sit in on that interview. Understood?’

‘Thank you, sir. Yes.’ McLean nodded his appreciation at the same time as it occurred to him it might be worthwhile seeing if there was any CCTV coverage. For a moment, he even considered asking before he realized what a stupid idea that was.

‘Thank you,’ he said once more, and fled from the room.

It was far later than five when McLean finally drove through the gates and parked his new car outside the house. Lights shone from the kitchen window and lit up the lawn around the back, which suggested that someone
was home. There had been no calls on his mobile either, so he had to hope everything was all right.

Except that he was going to have to explain to Emma that Jenny was near death and wouldn’t be coming back.

Staring out through the windscreen, hands still resting on the leather steering wheel, he realized that Emma already knew. Emma had been the first to know. That was why she had crawled into his bed so early in the morning. That was what she had said when he’d found Jenny missing. He didn’t want to know how Emma had known. He didn’t want to think about the things Madame Rose had said either, and yet he’d gone to the transvestite medium for help. More than ever, he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep until it all went away. When had it all started getting so hard? So confusing? So overwhelming?

Taking a deep breath, he climbed out of the car and headed into the house.

Emma was sitting at the table as he entered the kitchen. As she saw him, a huge grin spread across her face and she leapt up, embraced him in a warm hug. It was a child’s welcome, and somehow that just made him feel even more tired.

‘We’ve been sorting out the books all day. I like Rose. She’s funny.’ Emma leaned close to his ear and whispered. ‘And she’s really a man.’

She let out a bark of laughter as if this was the funniest thing she’d ever come across. The noise brought the object of her mirth through to the kitchen. Madame Rose had a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of her nose. His nose. Whatever. The medium peered over them at McLean.

‘You’re back.’

McLean looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall. ‘Sorry, it’s a lot later than I realized. I found out what happened to Jenny.’

Madame Rose sank into one of the kitchen chairs as McLean told them the story. Emma fidgeted, as if she already knew it all. In the silence that fell after he’d finished, Mrs McCutcheon’s cat came wandering in, leapt onto the table and walked across the middle until it could nuzzle at his hand with its nose.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Madame Rose said after a while. ‘Is there any hope she might recover?’

McLean shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘I told you she’d gone and wasn’t coming back. She said she was sorry.’ Emma reached out and stroked the cat’s back, making it arch.

‘I’ll have to sort out all the stuff in her room. Not really sure who should have it, mind you.’ McLean stifled a yawn, turning to Madame Rose. ‘Can I give you a lift home?’

‘I think a cab might be a better idea.’

‘You sure?’ McLean pulled out his phone and thumbed the screen, looking for the number of the nearest taxi firm. Emma announced out of nowhere that she was bored and was going to watch some telly, flounced out of the kitchen as if the news of Jenny’s terrible fate meant nothing to her. Cab booked, McLean pulled out a chair and sat down, the weight of the day finally catching up with him.

‘She’s a strange one, your Miss Baird. I thought I knew what was wrong with her, but now I think I might have got it all wrong.’

‘Oh yes?’ McLean wasn’t really listening. He could still
see Jenny Nairn’s face wrapped in bandages and sunken into a pillow.

‘I need to do a bit of research, but I’d like to try something that I think will help. I assume you’ll be wanting me to come round again tomorrow?’

That got a bit more of his attention. ‘Can you? I’m going to have to find another carer, but that’ll take time. Em seems to like you.’

‘I like her too. She’s interesting. Anyway, we’ve barely made a dent on the library yet.’

‘So what do you reckon you can do to help?’ McLean rubbed at his eyes, hoping it might make them easier to keep open. ‘Don’t say hypnotism, because we’ve tried that. Electric shocks too.’

Madame Rose laughed. ‘Nothing so spooky. I’d just like to take her to a particular place. See what happens.’

‘What does Emma think about it.’

‘What do I think about what?’

McLean looked up as Emma came back in and walked across the kitchen to the Aga. She put the kettle on before explaining. ‘There’s nothing on the telly. Thought I’d have a cup of tea.’

‘I was telling the inspector about my theory. About the people you see. The ones who come and visit you in the night.’

‘Jenny was with them last night.’ Emma frowned, the first expression of sadness McLean had seen in her in a while. It didn’t last long. ‘Rose thinks he knows where the people come from.’

McLean looked at the medium, raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

‘It’s a theory, but if I’m right it might help.’

‘And if you’re wrong?’

‘Then we’ll have gone for a little walk outside. Nothing more.’

That surprised him. ‘Outside?’ he asked Emma. ‘I thought you didn’t like going out.’

Lights outside and the scrunching of tyres on gravel stopped Emma’s reply. Madame Rose stood up. ‘That’ll be my cab. They always come quickly when they know it’s me.’

50

‘If you could just go over it one more time. In your own words.’

McLean stood in the observation booth looking through the one-way glass into interview room three. Detective Constable MacBride was conducting an interview with the driver of the bus that had hit Jenny Nairn. Robert Gurney didn’t look anything special. Mid-forties, bald on top, chubbing up as so often happened to people who sat down for a living. He looked pale, like a man who’d not slept well. McLean could sympathize with that; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an uninterrupted sleep. Even last night when Emma had been so positive, bubbly even after a day spent with Madame Rose, she had still crawled into his bed at half four, shivering and sobbing.

Shaking his head, he focused his attention back on the driver. MacBride was being very patient, giving the man space and time to gather his thoughts. Even PC Gregg, hovering by the door, was keeping her mouth shut. Well, there was a first time for everything.

‘Been driving the late bus a couple months now.’ Robert Gurney’s voice was high-pitched for such a thick-set man. Not helped by the wavering tone. ‘Usually that route. Sometimes south to Roslin and Penicuik. There’s no’ usually that many on the bus by Broughton Street. Tend to pick them up further down.’

‘What about pedestrians? Many about at that time? It wasn’t all that late, really.’ MacBride spotted the digression and gently herded the driver back on course. Like a well-trained sheepdog.

‘There’s usually one or two spilling out the pubs then. Don’t really remember, to be honest.’ Gurney had been studying his hands, but now looked straight up at MacBride. ‘I saw her, though. She was walking up the hill at quite a pace, that bag slung over her shoulder. She had her eyes set straight ahead, not looking over to see when she could cross. You drive the buses long as I have, you get to read people, you know?’ He shook his head. ‘Least, I thought so. Till last night.’

Gurney fell silent, and MacBride let the quiet grow as he carefully took down some notes. The interview was being taped and filmed, but there was no reason not to be thorough. Only when he had finished did he speak again.

‘I know this must be very difficult, reliving what happened. But if you could just take me through it, step by step. You say Miss Nairn was walking up the hill?’

First mistake. Behind the glass, McLean winced as he saw the driver stiffen. For all they knew he hadn’t heard the name before. Speaking it only made it more personal.

‘Is she … ? Did she … You know?’

‘She’s in intensive care. The doctors are doing everything they can for her. Don’t worry about that, Mr Gurney.’ MacBride’s voice was soft, reassuring. ‘You said you saw her walking up the hill. What happened next?’

Gurney’s shoulders shook as he sobbed. ‘It all happened so quickly. One moment she was coming towards me, not looking at the bus, not even close to the edge of
the pavement, really. Then there was just this terrible bang. I never even saw her step off. By the time I’d slammed on the brakes it was too late.’

‘Poor bastard. It’ll be a while before he drives a bus again.’

Grumpy Bob leaned against the one-way glass in the observation booth as PC Gregg led Robert Gurney away. MacBride disappeared from the interview room too, reappearing moments later through the door.

‘Sorry about that, sir’ were his first words.

‘No need to apologize, Constable. That was fine.’ McLean still stared through the glass, even though the interview room was empty. He wasn’t really all that sure why he’d insisted on the interview now. It was obviously not Gurney’s fault he’d hit Jenny; probably not Jenny’s either. Sometimes shit just happened. A loose flagstone, discarded Coke can, mistimed step, anything. A lurch to the side, just the wrong moment and splat, you were under a bus. But he needed to know. To be sure. That was his problem, really. He couldn’t leave it alone. Wasn’t that what everyone always said?

‘You know if there’s any CCTV coverage of that area?’ McLean turned to face MacBride.

‘Sure you want to be digging around like that, sir?’ Grumpy Bob asked.

‘I’m fairly sure I’m not involved in this investigation at all. Certainly not here in this room. That not right, Constable?’

MacBride’s eyes flicked between his two superior officers, a look of confusion on his face slowly fading as his brain caught up.

‘It occurs to me that following on from that interview, I really should check whether there’s any CCTV footage of the area. What do you think, Sergeant?’

Grumpy Bob let out a snort of laughter and slapped MacBride on the shoulder. ‘You’ll go far, lad. More’s the pity.’

The interview room looked very different from the other side of the glass. It was half an hour later and McLean was sitting in the chair previously warmed by the backside of DC MacBride. Taking PC Gregg’s part, though less likely to talk out of turn, DS Ritchie sat beside him. Across the small table, Doctor Eleanor Austin seemed calm and relaxed. She stared at him with those wide, grey eyes of hers, very occasionally taking a little break to look at Ritchie or gaze over the room. There was nobody in the observation booth, as far as McLean was aware. Somehow he got the feeling that Doctor Austin would have known if there were.

‘You run a course on parapsychology at Fulcholme College. How long have you been doing that?’

‘It’s not really a course as such. More a module. You can’t get a degree in parapsychology, despite what you might have seen on the television.’

‘OK. So how long have you been running this module?’

‘Four years this August. No, I tell a lie, five years. Time flies, doesn’t it, Inspector?’

McLean ignored the question. ‘Professor Bain tells me it’s very popular.’

‘David can be such a salesman. We get a lot of students sign up, that’s true. But not many of them stay after the
first couple of sessions. They all think it’s going to be ghost hunting and mind reading, but the field of parapsychology is more about debunking the myths than anything else. Understanding the state of mind that makes people believe they’ve seen ghosts. Figuring out the many ways the human brain can be fooled.’

‘What about hypnosis?’

‘Hypnosis?’ The question seemed to throw Doctor Austin for a while. ‘Oh, I see. You’re thinking about stage shows and the like. No, there’s nothing paranormal about hypnosis. It’s a well-researched tool and a useful therapy. As I think you’re aware, Inspector.’

‘But you teach it to your students.’

‘Heavens no. I teach them about it, of course. As part of the general psychology course. I don’t teach them how to do it. Wherever did you get that idea from?’

‘Never mind, it’s not important.’ McLean shook his head, unsure how he’d strayed from the subject of the interview. ‘You taught Caroline Sellars and Grigori Mikhailevic, I understand.’