The Special Dead Page 24

He smiled an understanding. ‘Could you spare a few minutes then for a visitor?’

  ‘Who?’ For a moment she hoped it might be Michael, however improbable that might be.

  ‘A benefactor of the library, who’s interested in the Ferguson collection and your work on it.’

  Freya’s heart sank, but how could she refuse?

  ‘Sure, Grant. I’d be happy to speak to them.’

  ‘He’s waiting for you over at the old building where the collection was previously housed.’

  She looked at him, puzzled. ‘What about the workmen?’

  ‘They’ve gone until Monday. It’ll be nice and quiet there to chat. Use the back room. You’ll find a key for it in Shannon’s desk.’

  Freya opened her mouth to say she already had the key, then shut it again.

  ‘Okay. Who am I looking for exactly?’

  ‘Dr Peter Charles,’ Grant said. ‘Don’t worry about the books. I’ll put them back for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Grant.’ Freya slipped her laptop into her bag and lifted her coat from the back of the chair. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then?’

  ‘See you tomorrow.’

  Freya took the lift down to the ground floor and said a goodnight to the guard on the door. Buttoning her coat against the evening chill, she set off across the road and through the main gates. Anything happening in the main building would already be over, but there were still a few students wandering the echoing cloisters on their way to the exit.

  Freya headed for the tower that had housed the old library.

  As she did so, a text arrived. She stopped to read it, hoping it might be from Michael, but it was Danny’s name on the screen. Did she really want to make contact with Danny again? Maybe if she ignored his calls and texts, she could extract herself from this entire mess? Good sense told her that, but she still didn’t heed it.

  The text was brief.

  Barry’s dead. Be careful.

  ‘Barry’s dead,’ she repeated, stunned.

  She had never met Barry, but she was aware he was somehow involved in all of this. And now he was dead? Like Shannon and Leila? And why did she have to be careful?

  With trembling hand Freya pressed the call button. It rang out, shrill and insistent.

  ‘Why don’t you answer?’ she pleaded.

  At that point a figure appeared from the shadows. Tall, distinguished, suited, with grey hair and a kind face, he quickly approached her.

  ‘Freya Devine?’ He held out his hand. ‘Peter Charles. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.’

  Freya slipped the mobile in her pocket and grasped his proffered hand.

  ‘Grant said there’s somewhere we can chat about your thesis on Witchcraft?’

  Freya pulled herself together. ‘He suggested the old library where the Ferguson collection used to be housed.’

  ‘Excellent idea,’ he said with a smile.

  As she led her visitor up the winding stone staircase, Freya made up her mind to contact Rhona immediately after Dr Charles left. Her first thought had, of course, been Michael, but that was no longer possible.

  As she opened the door to the inner room, she recalled Michael’s promise that night in her bed: ‘No one will frighten or hurt you while I’m here.’

  But you’re not here, Michael. Not any more.

  She turned and invited Dr Charles to follow her inside.

  45

  The question, ‘Is she a danger to us?’ hung in the air, awaiting its answer.

  Dinner had been served and enjoyed and the brandy and whisky glasses recently filled. The waiter, having completed his duties, had exited, closing the double doors on the private dining room behind him. No one else would enter until called.

  The meal had been eaten by candlelight as it always was, no man’s face exposed to the glare of electric light. The faces flickered in the shadow, indistinguishable, but the voices they could recognize.

  Over the years, they’d indulged in a variety of entertainments since the group had been formed. None of which had quite grabbed their attention as much as that which had been put before them the last time they had met.

  No one believed in magic, but one of their group had a great deal of knowledge of its practice in both medieval and modern times. At this point in the proceedings he’d handed round a number of images of sexual magick being performed. Some came from ancient tomes he and they were trading in, some were present day.

  The images had provoked what could only have been described as a frisson of excitement, even more powerful than making money had. They’d questioned him avidly, particularly about the photograph featuring the red-headed Witch, Leila Hardy.

  ‘She would be my choice,’ the promoter of sexual magick had said, satisfied at their response. ‘It would of course be up to each of you to decide which spell you would demand of her.’

  ‘And she’s willing?’ The voice came from the far end of the table.

  He’d confirmed she was. ‘On condition that the spells you choose fit the Wiccan Rede.

  ‘Which is?’ a rich baritone had asked.

  ‘“An’ Ye Harm None, Do What Ye Will.”’

  An explosion of laughter had followed the quotation.

  And so the fun had begun and the spells cast.

  Back then it had been exciting; now it had become problematic. It was time to deal with the fallout from their forage into magick.

  He looked round the circle of faces. These men were not friends, but they were bound together and, provided they kept faith, they would both survive this and continue to prosper.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he began. ‘It is time to put our affairs in order.’

  46

  As she approached the steps to her front door, Danny Hardy appeared from the shadows and smiled at her. The smile held a promise of something . . . but what exactly? Rhona had encountered that smile in the interview room, when she’d taken the swabs from him and Barry. During the interchange, Daniel Hardy had indicated that they would meet again, somewhere at sometime.

  It seemed that time and place was here and now outside her flat.

  ‘Can we talk?’ he said, then added a ‘please’.

  Daniel Hardy was effectively on the run, with a warrant out now for his arrest. She suspected he’d probably been the last person to visit Leila’s temple. The one who had broken the Goddess statue and maybe removed the Book of Shadows and the knife. He was also a man in mourning for his sister, with possible revenge on his mind. For his sake, and McNab’s, she should accept his offer. She should also endeavour to keep him talking until the police might be called.

  If she could persuade him to go to a cafe nearby, the encounter would be in full view of the clientele, thus guaranteeing her safety. There might also be the opportunity to visit the toilet and, once out of sight, contact McNab.

  ‘Where?’ Rhona said, realizing if she was too firm about the location of their discussion, he might anticipate why.

  Danny hesitated, her immediate agreement having surprised him.

  ‘Your place?’ He looked up at her window, indicating that he knew exactly where she lived.

  Rhona suddenly realized something. ‘It was you,’ she said. ‘You posted that stick figure through my letter box.’

  Danny looked as though he might dispute the accusation, then nodded.

  ‘Why?’ Rhona prompted.

  ‘You lot needed to get your act together,’ he said angrily. ‘If you had, Barry wouldn’t be dead.’

  ‘You think the body in the lane is Barry?’

  ‘You don’t fucking know?’

  ‘There was no ID on the body and his face had been mutilated. We’re awaiting the DNA results.’

  It was obvious from his shocked expression that Danny knew none of the gory details but had simply assumed it had been Barry.

  He shook his head. ‘If it isn’t Barry, where the fuck is he?’ he demanded.

  Rhona ignored the rhetorical question. ‘Come on. There’s a coffee shop round the corner
.’

  At close quarters, Danny’s eyes suggested sleep had evaded him for some time, and access to washing and shaving had been minimal. Rhona was aware McNab had put a watch on Danny’s flat and wondered where he’d been sleeping, then remembered the couch in Leila’s temple.

  If that had been his place of refuge, it was no longer available.

  Danny quickly drank half the contents of the large cup of strong black coffee he’d ordered, making Rhona think she should have offered to buy him food as well. While standing at the counter, waiting for them to make her latte, she’d considered trying to text, but the table Danny had chosen had been picked for a reason. That reason being its clear view of the queue at the counter.

  Rhona sipped her coffee and waited. Eventually Danny spoke.

  ‘Have they got the guy who went home with Leila?’ His voice broke a little on his sister’s name.

  Rhona shook her head. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I don’t think he killed her,’ Danny said.

  ‘Then who did?’

  ‘One of the Nine.’

  ‘You have proof of that?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  It was what she wanted to hear. ‘Then give it to the police.’

  ‘No way. They won’t touch the bastards.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  Danny gave her a withering look. ‘All are establishment figures. One’s something to do with the law. They killed my sister to cover their tracks. Just like they killed Shannon and Barry. No doubt I’m next.’

  ‘Then hand yourself in. Give the police everything you have on them.’

  ‘And watch it disappear?’

  Rhona thought back to the DNA sample to which access had been denied. There was no way Danny could have known about that.

  ‘Then what do you propose to do?’ she said.

  The look he gave her was penetrating. ‘Can I trust you?’

  ‘You must have thought so, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, it’s Freya who trusts you.’

  Rhona felt compelled to ask. ‘How long have you known Freya?’

  ‘A while. Why?’

  ‘Were you ever an item?’ If she was going to divulge any of this to McNab, she would have to be sure.

  Danny was weighing up her question before responding. ‘The detective saw me that night at her flat and got pissed off?’

  ‘You could say that,’ Rhona said.

  ‘We never fucked. That night or any other. Will that do?’

  It would.

  McNab stood undecided. What next? Mark Howitt was proving as elusive as the truth. He checked his watch and realized he hadn’t eaten since early morning. The thought of heading home to an empty flat didn’t appeal, although entering the off-licence en route did.

  He decided instead to seek out one of the many eateries Glasgow city centre had to offer. The Merchant City dwellers had already finished work and were duly at play. He didn’t feel like staying in this quarter. He’d had enough of mixing with Glasgow’s wealthier citizens.

  So he headed west, then up towards Sauchiehall Street and the Italian restaurant Shannon had identified as the location of her last meal with Leila. This wasn’t his first visit to the restaurant and he was duly noted in the queue that was beginning to form in the doorway and waved inside. One of the perks of being a police officer.

  Guiliano ushered him to a tiny cubicle next to the kitchen door.

  ‘You look like a policeman,’ he told McNab. ‘I don’t want to put off my diners’ appetites.’

  McNab took this in good spirits. He was happy to be incognito and out of sight.

  He ordered a pizza, a small carafe of red wine and a jug of water. Guiliano brought him the wine, water and some bread and olives.

  ‘On the house,’ he said. ‘You look hungry.’

  He was right. McNab fell on the bread and olives with gusto. By the time the pizza came, he’d ordered a refill on the wine and was beginning to feel mellow. Something he hadn’t experienced for some time.

  Before eating, he’d set his mobile on the table beside him. Halfway through the three-cheese pizza, it came to life. McNab checked the name on the screen before abandoning his knife and fork and answering.

  ‘Dr MacLeod?’

  ‘Where are you?’ she said, the note of suspicion in her voice suggesting she thought the noisy location might be a pub.

  McNab told her.

  ‘I’ll come to you,’ she said, and rang off.

  McNab returned to his pizza. Rhona was either coming here to lecture him about Freya or to tell him something she didn’t want to say over the phone. When she hadn’t arrived by the time he ordered coffee, McNab toyed with the idea of having a single malt to go with the espresso. He would have to down it and get rid of the glass before Rhona appeared, to avoid that look of hers.

  He realized, with a pang, how furtive that would be. He told himself that he was in control of his drinking and should he want a whisky, he saw no reason not to have one. Waving Guiliano over, he ordered a double out of defiance, then purposefully left it there untouched for Rhona to see.

  From his location, his line of sight to the main entrance was constantly interrupted by the opening of the kitchen saloon doors as the waiters exited with piled-high plates. The buzz of the place and the lively chatter was the first semblance of normal life McNab had experienced since he’d sat across the kitchen table from Freya in what seemed a lifetime ago, but was actually only that morning.

  He was eyeing the whisky glass, eager to taste its contents, but still testing his resolution, when Rhona appeared and slipped into the seat opposite.

  ‘Daniel Hardy did not have sex with Freya, either last night or previously,’ she immediately told him. ‘They were never an item.’

  ‘He told you that?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  McNab eased himself back in the chair and met her look head on, then lifted his whisky glass. ‘I’ll drink to that,’ he said.

  When the spirit hit the back of his throat, it tasted even better than he remembered.

  ‘And that’s what you came here to tell me?’ His voice, he knew, dripped with cynicism, yet inside his head a small flame of hope had been ignited.

  ‘In part.’ She paused. ‘Danny says Leila let slip that one of the Nine is something to do with the law, and that he – Danny – has short video clips which feature three of them.’

  McNab took that in. ‘The boss said he believed the denied DNA match was a serving officer.’

  He watched as the implications of that hit home.

  A small smile played at the corner of Rhona’s mouth. McNab had seen that smile before and welcomed it at that moment.

  ‘If that’s true, then whoever it is must be on the database because they’re involved in a current case. Once the case comes to court, their details will be removed.’

  McNab nodded. ‘So we identify and locate everyone currently in that situation. That’s a tall order.’

  ‘But not impossible,’ Rhona said.

  ‘I believe the boss would be up for that, but we can’t broadcast what we’re doing or Sutherland will be on to it like a shot. Would Danny be willing to surrender the video clips?’

  ‘He doesn’t trust the police to expose one of their own.’

  ‘With good reason.’ McNab thought about an alternative. ‘Could you tell him what we plan to do and get him to meet with Ollie in the Tech department? A fair exchange, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘He didn’t give me a way of contacting him and won’t hand himself in anyway,’ Rhona stressed.

  ‘We could meet at Ollie’s place.’

  ‘That might work if we can figure out a way of getting a message to Danny,’ Rhona said.

  McNab felt the flame of hope leap a little higher. ‘Would you be able to check for any officer who’s been entered on the DNA database recently because of a current case?’
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  When Rhona indicated she would, McNab could have hugged her.

  He took out his mobile and showed Rhona the video he’d received. Her response after watching it a couple more times was, ‘The hand at the end looks different.’

  ‘Ollie agrees. The person who sent it gave us what he claims was the first guy’s mobile number. His name is Mark Howitt. His girlfriend confirms he was in Glasgow on the night Leila died.’ McNab told her about his meeting with Emilie Cochrane.

  ‘What is it?’ he said, reading Rhona’s expression.

  ‘You said Mark Howitt?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Could he be related to Mark Howitt QC?’

  ‘His son,’ McNab admitted.

  ‘Jesus, McNab, does the boss know?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘And when were you planning to tell him?’

  ‘When I bring Howitt in.’ Seeing Rhona’s doubtful look, McNab rushed on. ‘If Sutherland finds out you know, what will happen?’

  ‘Your career or what’s left of it will be dead in the water,’ Rhona said.

  ‘But if I bring him in and charge him, it can’t be hushed up.’

  Rhona looked troubled. ‘That video isn’t proof he killed Leila. Danny doesn’t think he did. He maintains it was one of the Nine. And he blames himself for his sister’s death, because of the videos.’ Then she told him Danny’s suspicions about the identity of the body in the lane, something McNab didn’t need to be convinced of.

  ‘Is that everything?’ McNab said, sincerely hoping it was.

  By the look in Rhona’s eye, it wasn’t. Then she told him about Danny’s fears for Freya’s safety.

  47

  ‘Michael?’ Freya said in disbelief.

  When his name had appeared on her mobile screen she’d thought she was imagining it. Then she’d hesitated, worried he might still be angry with her, still unforgiving. The words that followed convinced her that neither was true.

  ‘Are you okay?’ His voice, although not as warm as it had been prior to their argument, gave her hope.

  ‘I am,’ she said, feeling that she now was, because of his phone call.

  ‘Rhona spoke to Danny,’ he began.

  Freya interrupted him. ‘He texted me to be careful. He said that Barry was dead.’ Fear suddenly swept over her again, all consuming.