Torch (17 page)

‘How’s he
doing?’ Amy’s gran was standing at the door in her dressing
gown.

‘Okay, I
think.’

‘Let’s have a
look.’

She lifted the
heavy eyelids. ‘The sedative should wear off soon. He’ll be up and
about by morning.’

‘I want to
thank you.’

‘No need. It’s
my job.’

‘But you
usually get paid.’

‘I’m retired. I
just like to keep my hand in.’ She fetched two mugs from the
cupboard. ‘Emperor is very fond of you. Have you had him since he
was a puppy?’

Jaz decided on
the truth. ‘He belonged to a friend who died.’

‘I’m
sorry.’

She lifted the
boiling kettle and made a pot of tea.

‘My daughter
doesn’t trust you.’ She took a seat at the table. ‘She wanted to
phone the police after you went to bed.’

‘What?’ Jaz was
on his feet.

The old woman
waved him back to his seat. ‘I told her not to,’ she smiled. ‘She
still listens to me now and again.’ She sipped her tea. ‘I told her
anyone who cared about their dog as much as you do couldn’t be all
bad.’

‘Thanks. I’ll
be out of your way in the morning.’

She glanced at
the window.

‘You might be
stuck with us a little longer than that. Snow has a habit of
slowing the world down, sometimes for the better.’

Sitting in that
kitchen drinking tea, watching the snow fall outside, was like
being in a different universe. If the old woman wanted him to tell
her his life story; the truth about Karen, why he was here, she was
going the right way about it.

‘I know who
killed your dog.’

She nodded as
if she had known that all along, then waited for him to go on.

‘A bloke called
Tommy Moffat. He’s a... well he’s a nutcase.’

‘Why did he
kill Bess?’

‘Because he
wanted to. Because he felt like it,’ he said angrily. ‘Who knows?
Maybe she just barked and annoyed him.’

‘Where is this
Tommy Moffat now?’

‘He’s gone,’
Jaz said, hoping that was true.

‘Did he have
anything to do with Emperor’s wound... and your hand?’

Jaz nodded.

‘Can I take a
look at it?’

He held it
out.

‘It’s deep and
quite inflamed. Would you let me dress it for you and give you a
shot of antibiotics?’

Jaz hesitated
then nodded.

She poured hot
water into a basin and carefully cleaned and dressed the wound then
pulled up his sleeve exposing the old needle tracks.

She said
nothing as she slid the needle into his arm.

‘This might
make you feel sleepy.’

‘What if the
police... ?’

‘There will be
no police here tonight.’

Jaz went back
to his room and got into bed. The world outside was dark and
silent, wrapped in a white cocoon. For the first time in
forty-eight hours, Jaz felt safe.

Chapter
29

Wee Archie was
a one-syllable man. Talking to him was a case of twenty questions.
Bill Wilson was conscious he had reached nineteen and didn’t have
his answer yet. One more question and Archie had had enough. He
might be a drinker but he always went home for his midday meal. A
long term married man, Charlie wasn’t going to miss his New Year
lunch.

When they got
outside, he threw his parting shot as Bill got in the car.

‘After our boy
died from an overdose, Marge was all for joining them. Somebody has
to clean up this place,’ he said angrily. ‘Your lot aren’t doing
anything about it.’

If Archie’s
veiled suggestions were to be believed, clearing out drug pushers
from the estate was a joint effort. Big business working with a
local enterprise group. It was what the government would call a
private public partnership. The clean residents get rid of the
junkies while big business made a killing on the building and land
deals. Bill wondered if the local vigilantes realised they would be
the next to go.

On the way
home, Bill phoned the hospital to check on Chrissy. The ward Sister
said Chrissy was asleep and sounded pleased about that. She would
be discharged in the morning. The Sister didn’t say Thank God, but
Bill could hear it in the tone of her voice. Chrissy was not in the
model patients’ league.

He called
Rhona’s home number.

A sleepy Irish
voice answered.

‘Sean?’

‘Hi Bill.
Sorry, I’m half asleep.’

‘Is Rhona
there?’

‘No. She
doesn’t even know I’m back. There was a cancellation so I jumped a
plane. She’s been here recently though. Looks like the remains of
last night’s celebrations.’

Bill filled him
in about the car fire.

‘God. I had no
idea this was all going on.’ He scrabbled about in the background.
‘An urgent fax arrived half an hour ago, something about coffee
cups. Do you want me to read it?’

The fax was two
pages long. One was technical gibberish to both of them. The second
stated a match between DNA residue on one of the cups submitted and
the semen residue on the letter.

‘Have you tried
her mobile?’ Bill said.

‘It’s sitting
in the recharger. I’m going to try Mrs Harper downstairs. She might
have spoken to Rhona or seen her leave.’

When Sean rang
off, Bill sat in his car trying to figure out what the hell coffee
cups had to do with anything. It took five minutes for Sean to call
back.

‘Mrs Harper saw
her leave with a dark haired man in a leather jacket about
lunchtime,’ Sean told him. ‘She doesn’t know if there was a
car.’

‘I’ll go round
by the hospital and check with Chrissy. See if she knows anything
about the cups or this guy.’

Bill headed for
the Infirmary. One thing was certain, if anyone knew the whole
story it would be Chrissy. How much she would be prepared to reveal
was a different matter. Chrissy took loyalty very seriously.

The ward sister
threw him a look of relief when he arrived.

‘She’s up and
about,’ she said. ‘Try the television room.’

Chrissy was in
there trying to organise a game of cards with the other residents
who just wanted to watch an hour long episode of Eastenders.

‘DI Wilson.
You’ve come to rescue me.’

She took him to
the quiet room.

‘The cup came
from Greg’s flat. Rhona took it from there after the boy with the
dog turned up. MacRae put the wind up her about him,’ she said.
‘It’s funny though, she told me the cup tested clean.’

‘She had more
than one cup tested.’

‘Didn’t know
about that,’ Chrissy looked puzzled. ‘Why don’t you ask Rhona?’

‘We don’t know
where she is,’ Bill told her. ‘Her neighbour saw her go off with a
dark haired guy in a leather jacket about lunchtime.’

‘What?’ Chrissy
sounded alarmed. ‘There was a guy like that in the videos hanging
about every fire. No clear facial image. Just the dark hair and the
leather jacket. I told her it looked like MacRae.’

‘I’ll contact
MacFarlane,’ Bill reassured her. ‘Chances are Rhona’s in Edinburgh
with them.’

‘If the cup
tested positive... then the boy with the dog must have sent the
letter.’

‘Yes,’ said
Bill, rising to leave.

Chrissy got up
too. ‘I’m coming with you.’

‘You’re not
allowed out until tomorrow,’ Bill tried.

‘They’ll be
glad to see me go.’

Chapter
30

‘Jaz didn’t
have anything to do with Karen’s death.’

MacRae didn’t
turn his head from the snowy windscreen. He was waiting for her to
prove what she said was true.

‘When he came
to the flat, I kept his coffee cup.’

He took his
eyes off the road. ‘What?’

‘Careful!’

The stretch of
road at Harthill was renowned for its bad weather accidents. The
highest point between Glasgow and Edinburgh wasn’t the place to
come off the road in a snowstorm.

MacRae slowed
down. ‘Why?’

‘I was worried
he might have stolen something, so when he left I bagged the cup.
When nothing was missing I forgot about it. Then you got suspicious
about him so I analysed it. The DNA pattern didn’t match either the
letter or the semen in Karen.’

‘I still don’t
trust him.’

‘You don’t
trust anyone.’

MacRae grunted
and swung left into Harthill Service Station.

‘I want to
phone Amy.’

Rhona nursed a
coffee while she waited for MacRae to return. She hadn’t been
completely honest with him. She’d removed three cups from Greg’s
flat. After Jaz left, she’d sat his cup by the sink. When MacRae
threw suspicion on Jaz, she decided to test the cup. But there were
three beside the sink by then and they all looked the same. She
bagged the lot. One had been tested already. The results on the
other two were still to come.

‘The line’s
down.’ MacRae looked worried. ‘Heavy snow.’

‘Mobile?’

‘No chance.
They’re surrounded by hills.’

‘Amy’ll be
pleased.’

‘What?’

‘The snow.’

They looked out
at the thickening cover.

‘We’d better
get moving,’ she suggested. Rhona was back in the car when she
remembered. ‘Shit!’

‘What’s
up?’

‘I’ve left my
mobile and Greg’s keys behind.’

MacRae didn’t
look round. ‘No problem. I can get you in anywhere.’

Mary Queen of
Scots’ squat was littered with a fresh covering of empty lager
cans. Either the Queen had taken up residence again or someone else
had.

When they got
to the manhole it was back in place. The water board had taken
their job seriously. ‘It’s padlocked,’ MacRae looked at her in
frustration.

‘What about a
car jack?’

‘Clever,
lady.’

The sewer, when
they finally got inside, was warm and damp. Rhona wondered out loud
why Mary and her entourage hadn’t made their home down here, away
from the police and the cold.

‘Most people
don’t know this place exists.’ MacRae used the torch to check the
map. ‘I marked each of the side tunnels I checked out.’ He pointed
at the opposite wall. ‘I think we’re about level with the toilets
at the western end of the Gardens.’

While they were
walking, their footsteps had played back at them, jumping across
the tunnel walls, making them sound like an advancing army. Now
they were standing still the echo that rang behind did not belong
to them. Rhona was sure of it. She looked at MacRae and mouthed
‘keep talking’.

‘I vote we head
back,’ she suggested loudly. ’We shouldn’t be down here without the
proper equipment anyway.’

The footsteps
had stopped. If someone from the Water Board was down there they
would have made their presence known by now.

‘Good idea,’
MacRae shouted, as Rhona took off.

The cobbled
ledge rang beneath her feet. MacRae’s rapid breathing rasped as he
pounded along behind her. A distant thump was followed by the sound
of splashing water. Disturbed silt propelled poisonous gases into
the air. Rhona coughed as they hit the back of her throat and
flooded her eyes with water.

She upped her
pace, praying she wouldn’t miss her footing in the darkness and
fall off the ledge. She swerved instinctively as the tunnel curved
right but MacRae didn’t react so quickly. There was a crunch then a
stream of curses as he collided with the side wall.

Rhona’s beam of
light caught a foot as it slipped into a right hand tunnel. She
jumped across the channel and looked down the side sewer. Nothing.
It sounded as though her quarry had gone to ground or else found a
way out. Rhona, head well down, entered the side tunnel, hearing
MacRae gasping for breath, cross the stream behind her.

Ahead, a dark
shape blocked the tunnel, the recognisable smell of death hitting
her with force, despite the surrounding scent of the sewer. Rhona
moved forward until she could see the object more clearly.

Somewhere in
the distance, she heard feet clamber up metal steps. A gush of
noise and fresh air signalled an escape into the Gardens.

MacRae was
behind her, bent double. ‘Christ, something smells bad.’ He peered
past her. ‘Anyone we know?’

‘I’d say the
guy in the drawing. Hair colour and clothes are the same and he’s
wearing a nose ring.’

‘No wonder the
police couldn’t find him. Did you see who we were chasing?’

‘I saw a man’s
shoe in the torchlight. Brown, black, I’m not sure.’

‘You’re
shivering.’

‘I’m fine,’ she
lied.

‘Let’s get out
of here. There’s an exit fifty yards further along the main
sewer.’

Rhona took a
gulp of hot coffee, but it did little to bring warmth back to her
chilled bones. She’d insisted on going back down the sewer with Dr
Mackenzie for the in-situ examination. For once MacKenzie hadn’t
argued. Maybe being the one to find a body had its
compensations.

She then spent
half an hour with MacRae viewing the surveillance tapes of Princes
Street on the night of the fire. Three men were caught on camera
passing the building.

‘The one on the
left could be our decomposing body,’ MacRae suggested.

‘Maybe. But it
would need computer enhancement to prove it. What about the other
two?’

‘Never seen
them before in my life. They’re there, then they disappear,’ MacRae
said. ‘But that doesn’t mean they went into the building. They
might have turned up into George Street.’

‘We can check a
DNA sample from the sewer body against the semen in Karen’s
body.’

‘He’s dead,
she’s dead,’ MacRae said. ‘What’s the point?’

‘Then we’ll
check it against the letter.’

MacRae
shrugged. They were no nearer the fire raiser now than they’d ever
been. They’d found a body in a sewer. Even if he was the rapist it
didn’t mean he had anything to do with the fire. Whoever had run
from them in the sewer might have.