The Hangman's Song (Inspector Mclean 3) (52 page)

Her hand was cold, but not unpleasantly so as it reached through the cover for his chest. She snuggled up against him, stealing his warmth, and that was when he realized she wasn’t wearing her thick fleece pyjamas. Wasn’t wearing anything at all.

‘Em–’ A single finger stifled the word before it could escape from his lips. She leaned over, kissed him, her long black hair flowing over his head like a drowning tide.

56

It wouldn’t have been a proper day back at work without a summons to Dagwood’s office. Still on crutches, McLean had to shuffle his way through the door, but at least standing on the wrong side of the desk wasn’t a problem. The acting superintendent hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to redecorate Jayne McIntyre’s office, but he couldn’t help noticing the cardboard boxes piled along one wall, those few personal items that had made their way up to this floor now being packed away again.

‘I hear they’ve finally appointed someone.’ He didn’t need to point out who hadn’t got the job.

‘Not for another week yet, so don’t push your luck.’

‘Actually, sir, it’ll be good to have you back in CID. We’re always short-staffed and this’ – McLean tapped at the cast on his leg – ‘well, it doesn’t really help. Looks like I’m going to be off active duty at least another six weeks.’

‘Way I hear it, you probably ought to be off for good.’ Duguid leaned back in his seat. It was always good to hit him with a compliment, put him off guard. ‘You wouldn’t be the first detective self-destructed under the pressure.’

McLean didn’t point out that most of the pressure was due to one particular senior officer. So far the interview wasn’t going too badly, no need to jeopardize that.

‘I didn’t try to hang myself, sir.’

‘Well that’s not what I heard.’

McLean let slip a sigh. Sometimes it was just easier not to try and hide it. ‘I’ve no doubt you heard all manner of lurid speculation. You probably heard I was screwing that prostitute who ended up having her face cut open. Turns out that was actually your old chum Pete Buchanan.’

Duguid glared, back to his usual self.

‘I always wondered why poor old Pete never got promoted past detective sergeant. I mean, he ought to have made inspector at the very least, just for having been around for so long.’ Just as McLean had suggested, Ritchie had done some digging into Buchanan’s past. It looked like her time in the evidence store and archives had served her well, and no doubt Grumpy Bob had filled in any gaps. The unofficial report that had been sitting on his desk that morning waiting for him had been very revealing indeed. He was glad he’d taken the time to read it through.

‘What’s your point, McLean?’

‘Well, it seems Buchanan was a bit free with his fists as a younger officer. Too many suspects falling down the stairs, stuff like that. “Old School Policing” I think they call it?’

‘I’m not going to apologize for anything to you, McLean. Say what you like about Pete Buchanan, he got results.’

‘So everyone tells me, sir. The ends justify the means. Evil deeds for evil times and every other fucking homily you care to come up with. It still boils down to the fact that Pete Buchanan was a violent bully who got off on hurting people, screwed the prostitutes he was supposed to be arresting and ended up putting one of them in hospital with injuries she’ll never fully recover from.’

‘I’m supposed to care what happens to some prostitute?’

‘Her name’s Magda Evans, sir. And for you information, she was trying to get out of there and take a whole load of other women with her. Can’t say I approve of her methods, but props to her for trying something. God knows we’d failed her down the years.’

‘And that depresses you. The shit we see every day, the shit we have to wade through just to do our jobs?’

McLean leaned heavily onto his crutches. ‘Save the cod psychoanalysis for Professor Hilton, sir. I presume that’s why you wanted to see me, anyway. Counselling sessions?’

Duguid had the decency to look embarrassed. ‘Waste of bloody time and money, but there’s procedure. You’d be seeing him after your involvement in DS Buchanan’s death, anyway, but after the … incident at your house, I’ve no option but to suspend you until the shrink gives you the OK. If we can make that match up with your sick leave then it saves a shit load of paperwork, so give him a call. He’s expecting you. Quicker you can persuade him to let you come back to work, the better.’

A veiled compliment from Duguid. Wonders never ceased.

‘Was that all, sir?’ McLean asked.

Duguid stared at him with those piggy little eyes of his narrowed in concentration. ‘The hanging cases. Your suicide pact. What’s happening with those?’

‘I’ve no idea, sir. I’ve been off two weeks.’

‘But you were following up a lead the day …’ Duguid nodded in the direction of McLean’s leg.

‘Yes, sir. I was.’ McLean paused. He’d had plenty of time to consider the cases, but there was still no easy way
of putting it all together. Not without either making himself look like a lunatic or, worse, someone who had harboured a mass murderer for several months.

‘And?’ Duguid wouldn’t let it go. Damn him.

‘They all knew each other. All five of them. They’d all had therapy at one time or another from Doctor Austin, so it’s safe to say they all had mental health issues.’

‘So it’s looking like a suicide pact after all.’

‘Yes, sir. It does.’

‘This Doctor Austin. She was the one round your place the day …’ He nodded at McLean’s leg again.

‘Yes. She was working with Emma. Trying to help her get her memory back.’

For a moment McLean thought Duguid was going to ask him who Emma was. The no-longer acting superintendent certainly looked puzzled.

‘So that’s why she was at your house?’

Tell the truth? Or lie and keep his job? It wasn’t hard, really. ‘Yes, sir.’

Duguid made a noise that suggested he didn’t really believe it but was willing to let it slide. ‘Have you interviewed her about the suicides?’

‘Like I said, sir. I’ve been off for two weeks. I’m sure Grumpy Bob will have talked to her though.’

Duguid snorted. ‘Not if he wasn’t told to, I don’t doubt. Get on it, McLean. I want this investigation wound up by the end of the week.’

McLean opened his mouth to protest, then thought the better of it.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said, and clumped wearily out of the room.

‘Good to see you back, sir. How’s the leg?’

DS Ritchie sat at her desk in the CID room tapping away at a smart new laptop computer. She was all alone save for the five images still taped to the whiteboard. Lines spidered between them, questions now answered, more or less. One name was conspicuous by its absence. He hoped he could keep it that way.

‘Sore.’ McLean tapped the plaster cast, leaned into his crutches. ‘Awkward. Where is everyone?’

‘Brooks has got them upstairs chasing actions on his latest investigation. I’m only down here because I’ve been away at Tulliallan all day.’

‘So no one’s been working on this.’ McLean pointed at the whiteboards.

‘Nothing really to work on. We found Mikhailevic where you said he was. PM was pretty clear. He hanged himself like all the others. No sign of foul play. Only difference was he had hemp fibres under his nails.’

Almost as if he could have been the last in the line, were it not for the fact he’d died first.

‘It’s all written up then?’

‘Stuart left it on your desk. The other four as well. Brooks wants it signed off soon as.’

‘Him and Dagwood both. They’re probably right, too. The last thing the PF wants is a complicated case with no end to it.’ McLean shuffled uncomfortably with his crutches, turning himself around so he could leave the room. ‘Anyone speak to Doctor Austin? Her name’s not up there.’

‘Wanted to, but there’s a bit of a problem there.’

‘There is?’

‘Aye. We tried to get in touch with her, but she wouldn’t answer her phone. I went to that college she teaches at, and they’ve not seen her in over week. She’s missed a couple of lectures and half a dozen tutorials according to Professor Bain.’

‘What about her practice?’

‘Stuart went along. Met a nice young man called Dave who’s been putting off clients for days and hasn’t seen the good doctor since you … Well, since then.’ Ritchie looked away from him, fascinated by whatever was on her laptop screen.

‘You’ve been to her home, I take it.’

‘Us and Dave both. He has a key. She’s not there.’

‘It’s an odd one, I’ll grant you. But then nothing about Emma’s case has made much sense from the start.’

Doctor Wheeler sat at her desk and stared at him over a mountain of paperwork. It was something McLean had noticed about hospitals, how enormous fat files of papers followed patients around like badly trained pets. Nothing as simple as calling up a record from a central database.

‘But she’s getting better. You’d agree with me about that?’

The subject of their conversation was sitting out in the waiting room. They had both suggested she be part of the conversation, but Emma had declined. She knew what her problem was, she’d said. Knew what she needed to do to fix it now. If they wanted to discuss alternatives they could do it on their own.

‘Oh, she’s vastly improved. Yes. I’ve no doubt she’s got the bulk of her memory back. But the story she’s con
cocted for herself?’ Doctor Wheeler shrugged her shoulders, raised both hands towards the ceiling, palms upwards in the universal signal of ignorance.

‘Is it harmful though? This belief?’ McLean couldn’t help hearing the desperation in his voice. It filled his every waking moment. He wanted Emma to be better, but knew that as soon as she was given the OK by her doctor she’d be leaving. Off on her mad jaunt around Europe and who knew where else. Who knew how long, either?

‘On a scale of one to ten, where one’s kind to kittens and ten likes to pull the wings off flies, I’d say she’s a three.’ Doctor Wheeler flicked through one of the folders, not really reading what was in it. ‘Look, I know you want me to stop her going, Tony, but she’s an adult, she’s healed. I can’t stop her doing what she wants to do.’

‘That obvious, am I?’ McLean shook his head. ‘You’re right. I’m just being selfish.’

‘No, you’re not. You’re just showing that you care. Let her go. She won’t be gone long, I’m sure of that. This is just a part of her brain sorting itself out after the attack. She has to come to terms with what Sergeant Needham did to her. Can’t say I’m too happy with the ideas your medium friend planted in her mind, but they’ve done the job.’ Doctor Wheeler paused a moment. ‘Started the job, I should say.’

‘I just don’t want to lose her.’

‘You won’t.’ Doctor Wheeler stared past him, out through the window to the waiting room beyond. ‘If there’s any sense in her at all, she’ll come back. You just need to let her work this out for herself.’

He hadn’t really expected it to be so soon. Part of him had hoped that it wasn’t true anyway, that it would never happen. This wasn’t how things were meant to work out. But then life had a habit of dumping on him from a great height.

‘You’re sure you have to do this, Em?’

It wasn’t the right thing to say. There was no right thing to say. They were both standing in the sunlight outside the front door, and McLean couldn’t help but notice the dead leaves strewn about the gravel, the green of the trees turning brown and dull at winter’s approach.

‘We’ve been over this before, Tony. You know I have to.’ Emma reached out and took his hand in hers. Behind them, the little blue and rust Peugeot was packed and ready to go. He’d offered to buy her a new car, but she’d refused. Turned down all his help. This really was something she had to do on her own, apparently. That didn’t make it any easier for him to accept.

‘At least let me come with you some of the way. I can take a break from work. No one’s going to kick up a fuss.’

That at least was true. The first in what looked like it would be an interminable series of counselling sessions with Professor Hilton had not gone well. He’d even had an uncomfortable conversation with Jayne McIntyre in which a year’s sabbatical had been mentioned. It was tempting, and the thought of spending twelve months touring Europe with Emma as she worked out her strange therapy had almost clinched it for him. Except that he still had to find Doctor Austin; no way he could let her get away with what she had done.

And Emma had said no. She needed to go alone.

‘We’ve been through this before, Tony.’ The tone in
Emma’s voice told him he’d pushed just too far. Again. He still didn’t know whether to believe Madame Rose’s explanation or Doctor Wheeler’s. Both were equally far-fetched as far as he was concerned. In some ways it was easier to accept that Emma was somehow carrying the souls of countless victims of an ancient, cursed book. That helped account for the change in her personality as much as her outward appearance, but it brought other, more uncomfortable thoughts to bear. Opened up old wounds long since scarred over if never truly healed.

‘Just promise me one thing. OK?’

Emma frowned at him, a half-quizzical expression that sent a shiver up his back. Too similar by far to the way someone else had looked at him when she thought him a fool. ‘What?’