The Presence (14 page)

“You should have stayed with the force, Bruce,” Robert told him, shaking his head. “You were good. We'd have never gotten the Highland Hills killers without you, you know. It was uncanny, the way you could read the fellow's mind.”

“Behavioral science,” Bruce said, waving a hand in the air. He didn't like remembering the massive hunt they'd had a little more than ten years ago, seeking out a man who was kidnapping teenaged girls, raping them and leaving their mutilated bodies strewn across Edinburgh and its outskirts. Four girls had died in all; it had been a heartbreaking assignment. “We were able to get something from friends back then. I'd have never realized that there were two people involved if one of the witnesses hadn't mentioned that the last time she'd seen her friend alive, she'd been giving directions to a lady on the passenger's side of the car. Even then, I doubted myself at first.”

He hadn't; he was lying. It had been frightening, how much of a connection he'd had with the killers. There was a point, on a day when they had stood on a hillside just outside of the city, when he had suddenly known that the killer couldn't be acting alone, known that there
had to be a woman involved, as well. How else could the killer have managed to lure girls who knew to be on the lookout for any strange
man.
From then on, little clues fell into place. Tire tracks had indicated a return to the city. The area around one of the schools had provided one pub, and he had taken to spending his time there, watching. A handsome young couple who held hands across the table and whispered constantly like foolish, snickering lovers had garnered his attention. He was never sure if he heard their conversation, imagined it or recreated what it might have been in his own mind. But suddenly he'd been certain, so he'd followed them.

One afternoon he tried to imagine the route they'd take if they had, indeed, been stalking the girls together. Getting his car, cruising the area of the school, he put himself into the man's mind, made himself think and feel as the killer had done. There had been the thrill of the chase and, aye, some brutal treatment to his wife.

Eventually he was certain he knew just how and when the couple had moved. How the wife, claiming to be lost, would lure the girls, ask directions, come back once the girl was on her way home, alone, and coax her into the car. There she was drugged. Traces of morphine had been found in the body, so he didn't consider that any great divining work on his own. Then she was taken to their flat, a ground-floor apartment in a working man's area where the husband wouldn't be noted taking in a roll of bedding or carpet. Inside, the woman had held the girl at the man's command. And after he abused the terrified child, he'd have sex with his wife, as well, the girl still alive but unconscious. Then the poor wee lass would be taken into the bath room and killed in the tub, so that the blood could be washed away.

He gave the scenario to his superiors, who thought that he was daft. And even if he wasn't, they couldn't arrest a couple because he'd seen them in a pub and followed them to their flat.

But after a storm, he'd gotten a friend to take a cast of the tire marks left by the couple's car near the pub. They matched those found at the site where the girl had been found. It was not enough for a conviction, or even a trial, but enough to get them what they really needed through the court system—a DNA sample. The case had taken months, eating into his soul—and into his last precious moments with Meg.

Her illness had been the reason he had given for resigning. His proximity to the mind of the killer had been the reason he had never gone back.

“Aye, who would have figured that such a man would have a wife just as eager to perform that kind of cruelty on another.” Robert shook his head with disgust. “They had a case like that in Canada, not long ago. The wife got ridiculous leniency. Her defense attorneys claimed she was a victim herself. Looks like no one is accountable for his or her actions anymore. Even in the Highland Hills case, the husband was locked up for good but his wife may be out in as little as ten years! But the point is,
you
made the difference in that case.”

Bruce felt a moment's severe discomfort. “Back then, the authorities were on it with a passion. Robert, you know as well as I do that if these were prominent lasses, the press would be having a stink and Jonathan wouldn't be halfheartedly sending a few men out to look around in the forest.”

“That's sad, and always the case,” Robert agreed, drumming his fingers on the table. “Aye, for a small
country, we've had our share of loonies.” He lifted his hand, indicating the town. “Edinburgh. It's where Burke and Hare practiced their ghastly trade, killing when they found out just how profitable it could be. Five years ago a fellow on the outskirts of town was killing one immigrant a month, in honor of social justice, so he claimed! He didn't like the fact that we weren't so ‘pure' anymore. Tillingham, though…there's not been much violence there in centuries, as you are well aware. And what tragedies took place there always had to do with war, or feuding clans. This is definitely not clan retribution. Although…Jonathan does seem to have his share of troubles when it comes to that forest. At least a dozen teens, intent on some hanky-panky, have come out of it screaming their fool heads off, convinced there's someone, something, there. The superstitions grow. The local forces don't like going in there, so they only halfheartedly look for anything. Look, I'll see that the central office gets a crew out to search the forest. Will that give you any reassurance?”

“Aye, it will,” Bruce told him.

“Now, as to the other…your American invasion?” Robert asked.

“They have rental forms and permits that look as legal as an international peace accord,” Bruce told him, grinning. “I'm wondering if they're still not halfway convinced that I've been deprived of my land through some nonpayment of taxes and can't accept the fact that it's no longer mine.”

“No!” Robert said, laughing.

“Yes, actually. Just such a scenario was suggested by one lass.”

“They don't know what you do, or who you are?” Robert queried.

“No, not even the Scotsman among them. Frankly, I found that rather suspicious.”

Robert shrugged. “In this day and age? Maybe. And maybe not. In Glasgow, folks tend to get into being…well, from Glasgow.”

Bruce arched a brow at him.

“Now, Bruce, you know my own hometown by the Loch—'tis nothing there! Longing to be a police officer, there was nothing for me to do but come to the city. You know that's true. But don't worry on that front. If he's a Scotsman, I can trace his past for you by tomorrow. Actually, I can run traces on your entire group, though it might take a wee bit longer with the Americans. And once I've gotten copies of their documents, we can set the boys in the white-collar crime units on the trail of whoever is renting properties and taking euro-checks for them. Euro-checks, eh?”

He shrugged. “That's what she said.”

“Not pounds sterling?”

“I didn't pursue that yet. My hearing is quite good, though, and she did say euro-check. This agency has probably purported itself to be something of a European finding facility, so I doubt that the use of a euro-check—even for a property in Scotland—would have seemed that strange.”

“And you didn't send them packing immediately?” Robert said.

Bruce shook his head. “It was late Friday night when I found the folks putting on their show.”

“Actually, it's a rather clever idea,” Robert mused. “They're making a mint on graveyard tours and the like
here, you know. People are ghoulish, that's a fact. They like a nice little chill, with the safety of knowing that the evil fellows practiced their wicked deeds centuries ago.”

“I believe they were in Edinburgh when they got the idea,” Bruce said.

“And how long ago was that?” Robert inquired.

“I don't really know.”

“So these folks have been to Scotland before?”

“Aye, so they have. Why? Is that important?”

Robert shook his head. “Just a point of interest. I suppose there's no reason to think that they'd know much about the wee hamlets and villages, even if they'd been several times before. And from what you say, they've done well. Your castle was in need of serious repair.”

“Aye, I've let it go. But every time before…well, it had been Meg's dream to go with all guns blazing and make it a showplace. When she was gone…”

“That's been more than a decade.”

“I know, and I don't need any speeches. I've gone on with my life. I function well. I travel the globe. I do my best to steal from the rich and give to the poor. It was just the castle where I fell short.”

“So your guests—for want of a better description—don't know what you do, who you are or that the castle isn't really what you call home?” Robert said.

“No.”

“Are you keeping these things a secret for some reason?”

“Not really. No one has asked. I don't know. Maybe,” Bruce said, correcting himself. “We might all be a bit wary of one another. They certainly appear to be exactly what they say. Still…let me tell you, it was strange to
come home and hear what they were up to, then to have Toni Fraser tell me that she had made up her story, but even the name of Bruce MacNiall's wife was exact.”

Robert waved a dismissive hand in the air. “That happens all the time. People hear things, forget them and then think that they're original thoughts.”

“Well, that's what one would assume,” Bruce agreed. “But I've talked to her, rather extensively. She's convinced that she made it up. And something more.”

“What?”

“She's scared by it. She's having nightmares about my ancestor standing at the foot of her bed with a dripping sword.”

Again Robert was unimpressed. “That's easy enough. She's in the old laird's castle.”

“Easy enough—unless you've been there and seen the way she looks when she wakens from such a dream.”

Robert arched a brow at him. “She's an actress, right?”

“Aye.”

“Do you think that maybe, just maybe, a scam is being played on you?”

“Not unless it's the best one in history.”

“Granted, you're not the kind to be taken,” Robert mused. “A lot of this is outside my jurisdiction but, naturally, I'll get on it.”

“Thanks.”

Robert's phone went off, and he excused himself to answer the summons. Bruce watched his friend's face go from surprise to concern.

He clicked off, staring at Bruce.

“I'll head back with you right now,” he said.

“What's happened?” Bruce asked, an uneasy feeling already seeping into his bloodstream.

“They've found a body.”

Bruce's blood chilled. And yet, he wasn't surprised!

“Is it—Annie O'Hara?”

“I don't know. One of my sergeants saw the alert and called me right away. Jonathan and the medical examiner are heading out to the scene now. Even if the body is not at a severe stage of decomposition, I doubt they can be certain until they've brought it out and performed an autopsy.”

“Oh, God. They've found her in the forest?”

“Aye. More than that.” He was looking at Bruce strangely.

“What?”

Robert shook his head, rising. “I'll tell you on the way. I want to get out there before they botch anything up.”

“Dammit, Robert, what is the ‘more'?” Bruce demanded.

“She was found by your guest. Miss Fraser.”

A
strange calm had descended over Toni. By the time she'd reached the village and a lazy deputy had accepted the fact that she wasn't hysterical and had contacted Jonathan Tavish, she was already ruing her actions in regard to Eban. There was no reason to suspect the fellow. Away from the green darkness of the forest—and the sight of the pathetic remains—she felt stronger.

When Jonathan arrived, she gave him a description of walking into the woods, seeing the branch and moving it. They sat in his office. He was just feet from her, looking almost like the boy next door in his casual Sunday attire.

“Toni, lass, what were you doing walkin' so deep into the woods on your own? I explained this morning why you shouldna be doing so.”

“I saw Bruce,” she said.

Jonathan shook his head. “I don't think so. After I left you earlier, I saw him in the coffee shop. Said he was taking the drive to Edinburgh to have lunch with a friend.”

His comment chilled her, but it didn't create the panic it might have just hours before.

“Well,” she murmured, letting her lashes fall over her eyes. “I thought I saw him.”

He sighed. “I hate to ask this of you, but you'll have to come back into the forest with me. I need you to guide us to the site.”

“Certainly.”

So she wound up not in the minivan, but in the constable's car with him and one of his deputies. Another car following behind them was filled with police tape and other paraphernalia needed to protect the integrity of the site.

At the scene, photos were taken before anyone touched the remains. The medical examiner—an almost absurdly kind and jovial-looking little fellow named Daniel Darrow—carried a small recorder and made comments into it as he made a preliminary inspection of the site and the skeletal corpse.

Toni stood some distance away, glad that the area was teeming with people. Even then, she felt as if she were being watched, and she kept herself from looking into the trees, somewhat afraid that she would see eyes observing her. Watching. Waiting.
For what?

She heard Dr. Darrow speaking with Jonathan. “Well, it's not the missing Annie O'Hara. That's for certain.”

“No?” Jonathan said.

“Definitely not.”

“Aye?” Jonathan said. “How can you be certain?”

Darrow nodded. “This lass, if I'm not mistaken, has been here for centuries.”

“Centuries!” Toni heard herself say.

“So I believe.”

“And you know it's the body of a woman? If it's been here centuries, how do you know?”

Darrow smiled dryly. “Well, there are remnants of clothing left, even now. Don't think we had too many drag queens back then, eh? Then there are the medical reasons, as well, Jonathan, the pelvic bones of a woman being entirely different from those of a man, the delicate nature of the facial bones, stature, breadth of the ribs… Don't worry, we'll do all the proper procedures back at the morgue, but I think I'm safe in referring to our poor corpse as a lass! I'm going to try to excavate a bit here, rather than just remove the corpse. And we'll have to have a forensic anthropologist in. This is really most remarkable. She must have been buried deep in the muck to be as preserved as she is. Oddly enough, the lass's means of death is rather apparent.”

Toni and Jonathan both stared at him blankly.

Darrow nodded, using a stick to point to the corpse.

“See there? It's a scarf, ascot, handkerchief…something of the like, used as a ligature. Poor wee thing was strangled.”

Toni wasn't sure that she saw, but then, Darrow certainly knew this business better than she did.

Jonathan sighed. “At least it's not Annie O'Hara, though I don't know whether that's good or bad.”

Darrow looked at him sharply. “I thought you'd searched the woods for Annie O'Hara? You might have discovered this old grave site.”

“We did search for Annie O'Hara,” Jonathan said flatly. “As you'll note, this is a dark area. And I'm certain that only the recent rains could have caused this—these remains—to suddenly rise to a point of discovery.
And Miss Fraser reported that she only discovered the bones when the branch was moved. Hell, Daniel, I'd need more men than I have here to move every branch in this forest!”

Toni was impressed with Daniel Darrow. Details had gone into his recording, and, despite the fact that it seemed she had found an ancient corpse, he made a point of keeping everyone else out of the immediate area.

She had no idea how long they had been at the site when Bruce MacNiall came striding to it with a grave fellow in a suit that identified him immediately as a professional lawman of some variety.

The men stopped at the yellow tape stretched around the immediate area. Bruce looked as imposing in the forest as ever, and yet somewhat haggard. His eyes pinned first on the cordoned area where the remains lay, then on Jonathan. Then he looked around until his gaze fell on where she stood by the trees.

“Toni!” His voice was harsh, yet there was an underlying emotion to it that she found gratifying. His long strides brought him to her in seconds. His hands fell on her shoulders; steel-gray eyes assessed her with pointed concern. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, glad of him there, wishing that his presence didn't make her feel a sense of tremulous weak ness again. “Of course,” she told him.

“I'll get you out of here,” Bruce told Toni. “Can you give me another minute?”

“Bruce, I'm fine,” she said. “I'm the one who came upon the remains, and I've seen quite a bit already, as you can imagine. And Bruce, this isn't a recent victim of a serial killer. Dr. Darrow says that she's been here for centuries.”

His brow furrowed and the muscles in his face tightened in confusion.

She nodded. “Centuries,” she repeated.

He turned away from her, striding toward the others.

“Bruce,” Jonathan said, his tone wary. “I'm here. Daniel is here. And now Robert is here, as well. You don't need to be.”

“Aye, I do,” Bruce said harshly. “The castle is the closest location to this forest. This corpse is ancient?” he asked, looking at Darrow, both incredulous and relieved.

“I believe. I'm not an expert, but I'd wager she was put here hundreds of years ago,” Darrow told him. “I told Jonathan, what we really need is an excavation.” He glanced at Toni, and she wondered if she had been staring at him with horror or dismay, because he quickly added, “We'll not be leaving her here. No, we'll see that she is brought out intact—as intact as possible—with the muck, as well, so that the experts will have all this to help them determine just what happened.” He offered Toni a smile. “Miss Fraser, you've given a hand to history here today. This lass was strangled, that's a fact.”

“Annalise!” Jonathan said suddenly, staring at Bruce. He seemed almost pleased. “Looks like the hero of many a Royalist battle might have strangled his wife after all!”

“Maybe, and maybe not,” Bruce said evenly.

“Centuries old, so Dr. Darrow says,” Jonathan persisted.

“Aye, but that doesn't mean the laird did her in, even if it's possible to prove that this is Annalise. The autopsy will take place in Edinburgh,” Robert said.

“This is my jurisdiction,” Jonathan replied testily.

“And it's a national situation,” Robert reminded him.

“You're not the one to make that call,” Jonathan said.

“Now, Jonathan, it's the right call, and we all know it,” Daniel Darrow said evenly. “This really is a piece of old history we've found here. Naturally, with what's been happening…well, we all thought that Miss Fraser had stumbled upon someone else. And even though this pathetic wee one isn't who we thought, it's pretty evident that we have something very serious on our hands.” Darrow's voice made it clear that no one could fault Jonathan for being frustrated—or for a lack of investigative technique. Everyone involved had been tense, certain that the discovery would be a recent victim of violence. But Jonathan apparently felt under the gun, nevertheless.

“For now,” Darrow continued, “I'll get the boys to help me dig her out and get her to the morgue. Perhaps, Jonathan, Robert, y'll both give me a hand. We need to see to it that an expert is brought here.”

Toni didn't know much about the laws regarding jurisdiction over a corpse—especially a centuries-old corpse, or the remains of one—but Darrow's solution seemed to satisfy everyone. In fact his calm approach somewhat soothed all tempers—if only as far as professional and outward appearances went.

Bruce didn't go past the tape, but he hunkered down at a distance again, looking at the remains.

Toni's own gaze was drawn to it then, and her stomach catapulted.

Death was never kind. The angle of the skull made
it appear as if the neck had been broken, as if she had been left in pieces, as if the violence done to her had continued—even after death.

She couldn't help but look, though empty eye sockets stared back at her.

“How is that she is in pieces, and yet there are bits of flesh and bone?” Bruce asked.

Darrow hunkered down next to him. “I'd say that she was buried deep. The muck preserved her.”

“'Tis a pity it didn't do so for our more recent victims,” Jonathan said.

Darrow looked around. “The air is what often causes decay. If the recent rains shifted an old grave, she's not been exposed long. Aye, poor lass! Certainly looks as if she met her end by strangulation. The marks and—” He produced a small flashlight. “There! Y'can see how this was tied about her.” He flicked off the light. “Pity! I can tell more on this lass already than we've gleaned at autopsy on the girls killed within a year or so!”

Bruce stood. Whatever he had seen, it had been enough. “I'm getting Toni out of here,” he said, looking around to adamantly defy anyone who might protest. No one did.

“Aye, good,” Jonathan said simply. Toni wondered if he really thought it was such a good idea that she be taken from the area, or if taking her out meant that Bruce would be out of his way, as well.

Robert turned to Toni then, offering her a hand. “Robert Chamberlain. Detective Inspector Robert Chamberlain. Strange circumstances here, but it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Fraser.”

“Toni,” she murmured, taking his hand. “Please. And yes, it's a pleasure, Detective Inspector.”

He offered her a wry smile. “Robert, if you will.”

“Robert,” she murmured.

“I'll come to the castle before I leave,” Robert told Bruce.

“Aye, and thanks,” Bruce said, slipping an arm around her shoulder and leading her from the site.

They walked in silence along the brook, exiting to the road area where there were now at least a half-dozen cars parked, along with the medical examiner's hearse.

It wasn't until they were out of the woods that Bruce said suddenly and angrily, “What in God's name were you doing in there—that deep, especially!—in the first place? I told you to stay out of the forest.”

She stared at him, startled, feeling a tinge of anger herself, ready to tell him that she had followed him. But he'd call her a liar, or worse, say she was mad. And she was feeling somewhat insane herself. If he'd headed straight for Edinburgh that morning, he couldn't have been on his horse, in the woods, beckoning her to come.

But what if he had purported to be making the drive to Edinburgh, then doubled back, taken the horse out, lured her into the forest, left her there and driven on to Edinburgh? Was the timing possible? Maybe. Just maybe.

And far more probable than seeing a phantom on horseback!

“I thought I saw you,” she said simply.

“Me?” he demanded.

She shrugged. “I must have been mistaken.”

“Why would I lure you into the forest when I keep
telling you to stay out of the damned place?” he demanded angrily.

“Hey! I thought I saw you. I was mistaken,” she said, shaking off his touch.

Evidently he caught hold of his temper. “I'm sorry. You've been through a lot.”

“I haven't really been through anything,” she said softly. “It's not as if I found… Please, don't treat me like a frightened child. I'm all right.” She felt a twinge of anger, as well. “And you might have explained to us that the bodies had been found in Tillingham Forest—and that you were the one to discover a victim.”

“I had thought it would suffice to make your group understand that there were murders taking place. I had also assumed that, since it's my castle and I'm allowing you to stay, my directive to keep out of the forest would be respectfully observed,” he said.

“Bruce, honestly, I thought you were there and that you were calling me in.”

“Don't follow anyone, even me, into that forest.”

A strange surge of unease filled her, teased along her spine, then disappeared. She couldn't believe that he in tended any ill to her.

“You're trembling,” he said.

“I'm fine.”

“Are you? Perhaps you didn't come upon Annie O'Hara, but such remains are still…disturbing. And I assure you, I wasn't so ‘all right' the day I found the first body in the woods,” he said.

“That was different.”

“This was pleasant?”

Her lashes fell over her eyes. “No! Of course not! Okay, I'm shaken. But I'm all right.”

“Let's get back to the castle,” he murmured, indicating his car. “How on earth could you have thought that you saw
me?
”

“I was mistaken!”

She felt stiff, even awkward as she walked the few feet to his car and got in.
So…she was lying now. Well, not really. She had followed someone she thought to be him into the woods. Maybe she should have told the constable that. Maybe there was someone who looked like Bruce MacNiall, who was playing games, luring people into the woods, for a psychotic reason all his own. Or maybe it had been Bruce!