Time for the Dead Read online

  ‘Check out “The Portree Kid” on YouTube,’ Sissons surprised McNab by saying.

  McNab thought he might just do that. Anything that made the sour-faced bugger laugh should be investigated.

  Calm began to descend as Dr Sissons’s voice returned to its normal steely sarcasm.

  ‘So we’re looking for plant and tree residue, possibly birch, plus metal and basalt deposits. Okay, let’s take a closer look at the wounds.’

  McNab exited before any drills or saws made an appearance and, discarding his suit, headed out of the mortuary, intent now on checking on his patient.

  En route he used Mr Google to answer his query as to what the hell ‘The Portree Kid’ was, and found it to be a song, written by Bill Hill and made famous by the Corries, a folk duo he remembered his mother listening to. Moving through the usual crowds in the Death Star, he stuck in his earplugs and played it, suddenly recalling his mother’s smiles when watching the Corries perform on the TV.

  The shock of the recall from the music was profound. He hadn’t thought about his mother for a long time, and now here she was again through the words of a song. The lyrics were wry and humorous, poking fun at Scots folk in general, and Skye and Portree in particular. It was parody at its best and even made McNab smile.

  And it was all thanks to Sissons. A sobering thought.

  Emerging from the lift, he pocketed the mobile and brought his thoughts back to his next predicament. A decision would have to be made soon about where Harry McArthur went when he was discharged. McNab had tried a couple of hostels, but knew Janice had been right when she’d pointed out how easy it would be to find him there, were Malky intent on doing so.

  ‘We could lock him up?’ had been her final response.

  ‘It might come to that,’ McNab had confessed.

  It wasn’t until he recalled his haranguing of Ellie about giving Prince Harry money that the idea came to him. An idea he hadn’t yet broached with Ellie.

  Emerging from the lift, he headed into the ward. The safest place would be here, McNab thought, seeing the bored officer still sitting outside Harry’s room, but they couldn’t keep him in hospital forever.

  ‘How’s he doing?’ McNab asked at the desk.

  ‘Okay,’ the nurse said cautiously. ‘The methadone’s helping. He has a visitor, by the way.’

  ‘A visitor?’ McNab said, instantly on the alert.

  Noting his alarmed expression, the nurse added somewhat defensively, ‘The officer okayed it. Says you know her.’

  Who the fuck?

  ‘He was pleased to see her,’ the nurse embellished some more. ‘I heard them laughing.’

  Desperate to find out the identity of the woman who could make Harry laugh, McNab walked swiftly along the corridor. Without speaking to the officer, he peered through the glass. The visitor had her back to him but he knew instantly who it was.

  The officer was on his feet. ‘Sorry, Sarge, I know you said no visitors but . . .’ He tailed off, noting McNab’s expression.

  Without giving a response either way, McNab stepped into the room, where Harry caught sight of him and went even paler than usual.

  Ellie, on the other hand, turned to greet McNab with a smile.

  ‘Michael, you’ll be glad to hear Harry’s feeling much better.’

  ‘Can I speak to you?’ McNab gave a jerk of his head. ‘Outside.’

  Ellie’s expression didn’t change, seemingly unintimidated by McNab’s thundering look.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, rising. ‘Will I bring you back a coffee?’ she offered Harry.

  McNab swore under his breath.

  Once outside the room, he marched down the corridor, past the nurse, who he thought might be wearing a half-smile, and out onto the landing beside the lifts.

  ‘What the fuck, Ellie?’ he said, his tone shifting from belligerent to utter amazement.

  ‘I told you I knew him.’

  ‘He’s a suspect, under police protection,’ McNab tried.

  ‘That doesn’t mean he can’t have a visitor,’ Ellie said firmly.

  Something McNab couldn’t disagree with, although he really wanted to.

  Perhaps noting McNab’s momentary loss for words, Ellie quickly added, ‘I think Harry should stay with me when he’s discharged, at least until you’re sure he’s not in any danger.’

  McNab was aware his mouth was hanging open, and that he had no idea how to react to such a suggestion, apart from with a string of expletives.

  ‘It’ll be temporary of course, just while we look for somewhere more permanent, because I don’t want him back on the streets.’

  McNab bit his tongue before he said something caustic along the lines of playing Mother Teresa, which he knew wouldn’t go down well. He also knew that his own dodgy plan had involved him asking to stay with Ellie, so that he might stash Prince Harry at his own flat in the interim.

  ‘Well?’ Ellie demanded.

  ‘It’s too dangerous,’ McNab said.

  ‘Who would know he was there?’ she immediately countered. ‘And if you’re worried about me being there, I can come stay at yours.’

  When he still hesitated, she added, ‘I don’t need your permission to give him a place to stay.’

  She didn’t, but McNab had still hoped she might seek it.

  A heavy silence descended before McNab eventually said, ‘You don’t want to get mixed up with a drug addict.’

  There was another heavy moment of silence, before Ellie said, in a scarily quiet voice, ‘Like my dead brother, you mean?’

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He’d forgotten about her brother.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ McNab tried to put his hand on her arm, but she quickly shook him off.

  When she answered, McNab could hear the tremor in her voice.

  ‘Harry was an okay guy, until they sent him out there. It screwed with him and this is the result.’

  ‘You can’t save him, Ellie,’ he tried.

  ‘Maybe not, but I can try.’

  34

  So often she’d watched as the dunes, aided by the wind, had advanced, seemingly intent on smothering their camp.

  But just sometimes, when the sky was clear and the sand slumbering, she’d caught a view of the distant tree-covered mountains and imagined she could smell pine in the air.

  She was surrounded by that scent, sweet and sharp. She’d longed for this, and yet now it tasted like the red dust of the desert.

  She’d pushed her way further into the trees, to think. She knew there had to be a group post-mortem after the woman’s visit and she knew who would be in charge of it.

  ‘Seven! Come. Here. Now.’

  She wanted to tell him to fuck off. She wasn’t his to order about. Not any more. Not here. Not in Afghanistan. But after what had happened? Her throat closed in horror as she relived the moment it had all gone wrong.

  Composing herself, she stood up, the closely packed Sitka spruce leaving barely enough room to manoeuvre around and through its interlocking branches.

  From one prison to another.

  They were waiting for her, standing together, brothers in arms. Ignoring him, she studied the other two, their expressions serious and concerned.

  They think they’re saving me, when nothing can save me now.

  She brushed at her eyes, fearful that there might be evidence there of her turmoil.

  ‘Okay, this is where we’re at,’ he was saying. ‘They’ve got a body, but they have no idea who it is yet. They’ll have detected the coke. The forensic suits were down there with him for long enough. But he’s unrecognizable after the fall.’

  ‘What the fuck, Seven?’ Ben shook his head as though the enormity of their dilemma was only now presenting itself.

  He interrupted before she’d even formulated a thought, never mind an answer. ‘Shut up, Mountain. None of what’s happened is Seven’s fault.’ He paused. ‘We’ll separate as planned. Stay off-grid. Then leave the island and report for duty.’

  ‘And wh
en Sugarboy doesn’t turn up?’ Charlie said.

  ‘The army’ll think he’s gone AWOL and, when they do a little digging, they’ll find out why. They believe we’re all still okay?’ The question was directed at her.

  ‘The woman told me when the body was spotted. I said you were here until after that.’

  ‘You were convincing?’

  She thought back to her portrayal of relief, which had been real enough. ‘Yes,’ she said. That part she had got right. Still, the way the woman had looked at her, as though she was reading her mind. And the dog . . . she had covered the dog’s protective behaviour by explaining that they’d met when she’d tried out the axe throwing and again in the bar at the Isles. But it was really the scent of her fear that had worried the dog.

  ‘Why were they here in the bloody plantation in the first place?’ Charlie demanded. ‘Unless they were looking for us.’

  ‘Well, they found us,’ he said. ‘And Seven made sure we were all accounted for.’

  He gave her an appraising look that made her shrink inside.

  ‘And don’t forget it was Seven who got us out of that hellhole in Afghanistan.’

  His words satisfied Ben and Charlie, but then they always had. How much of the truth were they really aware of? How much did they care?

  If she ever told the real story, they would be in the shit too. For what happened here and in Afghanistan. But her only witness to what had really gone on out there was Sugarboy.

  His face reared up at her again, the darkness, the frantic fight, the blood, the smell.

  She forced herself to focus instead on that day in the hospital tent when they’d brought in the soldier and his dog. Remembered how hard Sugarboy had fought to save the dog’s life.

  Seeing Blaze in the bar that night when the helicopter had gone over had brought it all back. Not for the others, but for her and Sugarboy. He’d made a big fuss of the collie, staring over at her to remind her of what they had planned and why.

  Sugarboy had been high that night. High and drunk, like the rest of them. Perhaps if he hadn’t been, things would have turned out the way they’d planned.

  The three of them were huddled together now, discussing where on Skye each of them would go, while assuming she would stay here in the plantation.

  After this, they would return to Afghanistan. Escape this horror for another one.

  But what about her? If she went back with them, he would be there and her fear of him was worse than her fear of dying. And this time there would be no Sugarboy to protect her.

  Maybe she could have a relapse, convince the psych doctor that she wasn’t ready for active duty yet? But he wouldn’t leave her at home.

  What if she presented herself at a police station, told them the truth about Sugarboy’s death and what had happened in Afghanistan?

  She was, she knew, a loose end that needed tying off, just like the wayward Sugarboy.

  He called out that they were ready to go.

  ‘You okay staying here, Seven?’

  That’s what he wanted, for her to stay put.

  She wondered how long it would be before he came for her.

  35

  Back now in the square in Portree, Rhona opened the door for Blaze, who jumped out and immediately headed for the Isles hotel.

  ‘I guess Donald’s back,’ Rhona said.

  Blaze gave an excited bark at the door, which was swiftly opened, and they watched as the big collie and his owner were reunited. Donald waved his thanks and the two disappeared inside.

  Ushered into Lee’s office, Rhona and Alvis were presented with a welcome mug of tea each.

  ‘How’d it go?’

  ‘We found one of the medics, the girl, camped in the Sitka plantation just north-west of A.C.E Target Sports,’ Rhona told him.

  ‘In a plantation?’ Lee’s face was a picture. ‘Okay, she’d be out of the wind, but?’

  ‘Blaze led us to the camp,’ Rhona said. ‘The girl told us the others had all gone solo and off-grid. Apparently they split up yesterday.’

  ‘Which would eliminate them from our enquiries on the body?’

  ‘If she’s telling the truth,’ Rhona said.

  ‘And you’re not sure about that?’ Lee prompted.

  Rhona didn’t know what to say. The girl’s shock seemed genuine, but if she already knew what had happened, but didn’t know when the body had been found, the timing in her answer would be crucial. Hence her obvious relief.

  ‘I told her when it was found, which gave her the chance to give the right answer.’

  She hadn’t been thinking straight when she’d entered that clearing. McNab would never have made such an error. Neither would Alvis. She should have left it up to him.

  Alvis, sensing her annoyance, took up the story. ‘She did look genuinely shocked by the news of the body and our concern that it might have been one of them. And she promised they would call in at the station before they left the island.’

  ‘Can we contact them now?’ Lee said.

  ‘Apparently they switch off their mobiles unless there’s an emergency, although she said she would try,’ Rhona said.

  Lee rose. ‘Okay. We’ll use Twitter to alert the locals. See if anyone’s spotted the other four. We’ll check with the MRT, ask them to put out the word too. If they’re all alive and well, we can eliminate them from our enquiries.’ He focused on Rhona. ‘Did you ask if they’d gone back to the woods that night?’

  ‘No,’ Rhona told him. She began to say why, then found herself tailing off, as though she couldn’t explain her decision, even to herself.

  At this, Lee and Alvis exchanged swift glances. Rhona had seen that look before. It was the PTSD question look.

  She quickly changed the subject. ‘How did Chrissy get on?’

  ‘See for yourself. She’s in the production room,’ Lee told her.

  Rhona got up and left the room. As she closed the door behind her, she stood for a moment, waiting for the conversation that would undoubtedly follow her departure. Lee had noted her bloodied hands, although he hadn’t commented on them. Now she learned through the door that Alvis had seen at least a portion of her meltdown in the forest.

  Rhona swore under her breath.

  This was the reason she’d refused to go to Castlebrae. She wanted to deal with what had happened in her own way, in her own time. Not have endless discussions about it.

  Seeing Chrissy’s multi-coloured head bent over the table on which a collection of evidence bags lay brought a rush of relief. Since their first conversation on the beach, Rhona had known that Chrissy believed her to be back in the game. Maybe not fully, but definitely on the way.

  Alvis, she’d hoped, thought that too, although there was still a gentle reticence about how he dealt with her. Lee had met her when she’d first arrived in Skye, traumatized and reclusive. And he’d been in touch with McNab ever since, so he was to be forgiven for any doubts he might still have.

  Whatever they all thought, she could do nothing about it.

  As the door opened, Chrissy looked up, her brows knitted.

  ‘Oh, hi. You’re back.’

  ‘Any luck?’ Rhona said.

  ‘It’s never luck,’ Chrissy informed her, ‘it’s forensic genius.’

  ‘So you did find something?’

  ‘Every locus tells a story. Someone taught me that.’

  Rhona met Chrissy’s smile with one of her own.

  ‘I’ve identified three matching sets of prints in the area near where we found the necklace. I’ve taken casts. The prints were deep and the pattern and depth could suggest they may have been carrying a weight between them, although Jen Mackie would be the one to decide that.’

  Rhona listened quietly as Chrissy explained in more detail, using the images she’d taken.

  ‘It was more difficult to trace where the footprints originated, although the A855 passes pretty close by.’

  ‘What about the car park at the lookout point?’ Rhona said.
/>   Chrissy shook her head. ‘I checked back that way, but lots of folk walk up from there. MRT had the barrier up quickly but with all the tourists and the wet weather . . .’ She tailed off.

  ‘Well done,’ Rhona said.

  ‘What about you and Blaze?’

  Rhona described in detail their encounter with the girl in the plantation.

  ‘She actually referred to herself as Seven?’ Chrissy said in disbelief. ‘You do know what that means in army terms?’

  ‘Maybe there were seven in the group at one time?’ Rhona tried Alvis’s explanation.

  ‘Aye, right.’ Chrissy wasn’t convinced. ‘Well, if the gang left when she said they did, the guy on the beach isn’t one of them,’ Chrissy went on. ‘Which means we’ve been wrong about all of this.’

  ‘I’ve been wrong about all of this,’ Rhona corrected her.

  ‘Let’s see what the PM produces,’ Chrissy said. ‘If there’s any link between the evidence you collected in the woods and the body on the beach, that changes everything.’

  36

  McNab had done his best to smooth things over with Ellie. Even conceded against his better judgement that he couldn’t stop her if she wanted to offer Prince Harry a room. But, if she did, he wanted her to stay at his place.

  ‘You’ll have to clean up first,’ had been Ellie’s final riposte before she’d departed.

  McNab disliked the idea of that job, even more than the reason for it. He resolved to finally take DS Clark’s advice when he’d mumped on about it earlier, and hire a one-day deep clean, whatever that was.

  ‘It’ll take four hours at least to make your flat safe for human habitation,’ she’d assured him.

  ‘How would you know?’ he’d countered.

  She’d raised an eyebrow at that point and indicated his cubicle, which McNab had had to admit was rivalling Ollie’s workstation.

  Balancing the two coffees he’d fetched from downstairs, McNab pressed the lift button taking him back up to Harry’s room. The coffee was a sweetener offered by Ellie but brought by him. It would be the opener to the news that there would be a price to pay for safety and a bed at Ellie’s.

  The same nurse was still at the desk. No doubt the drama that had enfolded in front of her was no more or less than she encountered every day. McNab gave her a sweet smile and breezed on past.