The Special Dead Read online

  Danny quashed his desire to shout abuse back.

  ‘Have you seen Freya this morning?’

  ‘No. And she’s not in now.’

  As Danny had one more go at the door, the guy started down the stairs. Tall and muscled like a rugby player, Danny got the impression he intended tipping him over the banisters if he didn’t leave of his own free will.

  Danny stepped back from the door.

  ‘Okay. Okay. I’m going.’

  Muscleman stood three steps up and waited, a determined look on his face.

  Danny had no alternative but to leave.

  Back out on the street, he considered his options. Having tried once again to call Freya, with no response, he decided to head back to the library. Maybe Freya had remained there after all. Maybe the books she needed to decipher the runes couldn’t be signed out.

  Calmed by this thought, Danny set a course for the university.

  Why don’t you answer?

  McNab flung the mobile on the table. He’d thought Freya had forgiven him, but it seemed he’d screwed up again. He should have been round to her place by now. Or should at least have spoken to her.

  But that wasn’t going to happen. Not for some time yet.

  He lifted the espresso cup and drained the contents.

  He and the boss were about to interview Jeff Barclay, who’d just presented himself at the front desk. But before that he needed some time alone with the boss. There was the little matter of the video clips to discuss.

  McNab headed to the Gents first. The shower and decent breakfast had perked him up earlier, and he wanted to keep that wide awake feeling. Hence the double espresso. He made use of the urinal first, the result no doubt of too much caffeine, then spent a few minutes splashing his face with cold water. Examining himself in the mirror above the sink, he acknowledged the bloodshot eyes and the rather too bristled chin, something he should have taken account of earlier.

  It was always better to look smart and awake when about to go into the confessional.

  The confessional had been a big feature of his Catholic upbringing. That and the implicit belief that as a Catholic he had a guardian angel. Something McNab was pretty sure wasn’t available to Protestants. But back then, let’s face it, there was a lot of pish talked. Most of which he’d now discarded, except the guardian angel, who’d saved his life more than once. McNab hoped he was still on side.

  Refreshed, McNab approached the boss’s office and knocked.

  The voice that told him to come in sounded upbeat, which heartened McNab.

  On entry, things continued to look good as he was told to take a seat.

  McNab did so.

  Now they were face to face across the desk, DI Wilson appeared to be waiting for McNab to begin the proceedings. Not sure how this meeting would pan out, McNab was keener that he not serve first. So he waited.

  Eventually DI Wilson said, ‘I believe you’ve been withholding information, Detective Sergeant.’

  Rather taken aback by this announcement, McNab came in quickly with his denial. ‘Not exactly, sir. I asked to see you so that I might present information.’

  The boss sat back in his chair.

  ‘Present away.’

  McNab began with a brief résumé of how Mark Howitt had appeared on his radar and how he’d asked Tech to check the mobile number.

  He was interrupted at this point, ‘When were you aware that Mark Howitt was the son of a High Court judge?’

  ‘Not immediately, sir.’ McNab crossed his fingers. ‘I contacted the girlfriend and she told me about Mark and Jeff’s night out in Glasgow. She also mentioned the scratches on his shoulder.’

  ‘So you thought you had your man?’

  ‘Not right away, sir,’ McNab said. ‘I then checked Mark’s home address and was granted access by his concierge.’

  The boss’s left eyebrow was raised at this point which flustered McNab a little. He raced on to counteract this. ‘It looked as though he’d left in a hurry, taking some clothes with him. His work said he’d been signed off sick, so I thought I’d check the mate’s place in Glasgow.’

  The boss was listening intently now, so McNab carried on.

  ‘Jeff Barclay denied Mark was there, but when he let me enter there were two glasses on the kitchen surface with a bottle of vodka nearby.’ McNab explained about his search of the roof and how he’d taken the two shot glasses for fingerprint and DNA analysis.

  ‘And that led to Jeff Barclay presenting himself here?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ McNab relaxed a little.

  Maybe things were going okay after all.

  ‘What about the tapes you’ve been viewing?’

  How the fuck did he know about that?

  ‘I was just about to mention them, sir. Danny Hardy brought the tapes and they were viewed by myself, Danny and someone from Tech,’ he said, trying to keep Ollie’s name out of it.

  ‘And?’

  ‘There are only partial views of three men. A set of hands. A right ear. And the upper part of a face to include the hairline, eyebrows and eyes.’

  ‘So not distinguishable without comparisons?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  McNab thought he was through the worst, until the next question arrived.

  ‘I take it Daniel Hardy is now in custody?’

  The boss would be fully aware he wasn’t in custody, so it was crunch time.

  ‘I asked him to get back in touch in twenty-four hours and he agreed at that point to hand himself in,’ McNab was swift to answer.

  ‘And you believed him?’

  McNab decided to come out fighting this time. ‘Danny didn’t kill his sister or Shannon or Barry Fraser, sir. In fact, he’s probably the one most in danger now.’

  ‘Which is all the more reason why he should be in custody, Sergeant.’

  McNab had no good answer to that.

  58

  ‘He looks worse than me,’ McNab thought, not without some pleasure.

  Jeff Barclay was definitely outside his comfort zone. That much was obvious. Where McNab had been the intruder in Jeff’s upmarket Merchant City apartment, now he was on McNab’s home turf. One, McNab surmised, Jeff had not visited before. He suspected the man in front of him was about to see a slice of life he wasn’t familiar with, and wouldn’t enjoy very much.

  As DI Wilson went through the usual routine of setting up the recording and advising Jeff of his rights, McNab kept a beady eye on his opponent, who kept a close eye on the tabletop.

  ‘When was the last time you saw Mark Howitt?’ Bill said.

  ‘He stayed at my place on Thursday night.’

  ‘What about yesterday?’ McNab intervened. ‘When I arrived.’

  ‘I told you he wasn’t there and he wasn’t.’

  ‘You called his mobile while you were in the toilet.’

  Jeff looked as though he might deny this then thought the better of it.

  ‘Okay, I did call Mark, but it was to tell him to hand himself in to the police.’

  ‘Which he did,’ Bill said.

  Jeff looked taken aback at this. ‘Mark’s here? I didn’t know that.’

  ‘So you haven’t been in touch?’

  ‘No. He never answered his phone.’ Jeff was observing their faces. ‘He’s handed himself in. That’s good, isn’t it?’

  Bill answered swiftly. ‘I’m sorry to have to inform you that Mark Howitt took his own life last night.’

  ‘What?’ Jeff shook his head. ‘No. No way. Mark would never do that.’ As he rose from his seat, Bill commanded him to sit down.

  A brief silence fell as Jeff took to examining his hands as though they might explain what he had just been told.

  Eventually Bill spoke, his voice low but firm.

  ‘Mr Barclay. You have already admitted lying to a policeman in pursuit of a suspect. As a lawyer, you must be aware how serious that is?’

  Jeff nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Let’s get back to the night in
question. The night Leila Hardy died.’

  It took an hour to extract the whole story.

  According to Jeff, he had departed the pub after Mark and the girl, using the excuse that he was going to the toilet. When questioned as to why, his reason had been that he’d felt sick through too much drink and decided to go home.

  ‘I left by the fire exit.’

  ‘When was that exactly?’ McNab said.

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I have no idea. I was very drunk by then.’

  ‘You must have crawled out, because you’re nowhere to be seen on CCTV in the back lane and, believe me, I’ve watched it all,’ McNab said. He looked to the boss, who nodded.

  ‘Please put both your hands palms down on the table,’ McNab said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just do what Detective Sergeant McNab says,’ Bill urged.

  When Jeff laid his hands as requested, McNab took a photograph of them.

  ‘Hey, what’s that for?’ Jeff protested.

  ‘To eliminate you from our enquiries. We will also require a mouth swab.’

  59

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘At Leila’s flat,’ she admitted. ‘I thought it might help to be in the place she died.’

  ‘Oh, Freya. I’m so sorry.’

  There was a moment’s silence during which she thought Grant might let her down, but he wasn’t about to.

  ‘I can’t help you decipher over the phone. You’ll have to come back to the library.’

  When Freya didn’t respond, Grant continued. ‘I think I know the volume you need. Leila expressed an interest in it a while back. It contains a variety of the less common runic scripts. Maybe that’s the one she used.’

  Grant was right. She would have to go back.

  ‘Okay,’ Freya conceded. ‘I’ll be half an hour.’

  ‘I’ll look it out and have it ready,’ Grant said.

  Freya repacked her bag, taking particular care of the Book of Shadows. She’d been so certain if she came here, the place where Leila died, that she would be able to decipher what was written there. She’d been wrong.

  Rhona hadn’t arrived back with the coffee yet.

  Rather than wait, Freya decided to leave a note instead.

  Rhona can’t help me with this anyway.

  Freya stood for a moment in the ever-darkening room, wishing she could hear Leila’s voice again. Watch her bright figure in the library. Hear her laugh with Shannon, the blonde and auburn heads close together.

  She recalled the intensity of Leila’s expression as she’d spoken of sexual magick and the power of the spells it generated. She’d been intoxicated by it. Had she in casting those spells forgotten the Wiccan Rede? Had she been courting the darker side of magic?

  As she moved to close the window, opened earlier to aid her concentration, Freya heard a movement behind her and turned to discover a pair of green eyes observing her from the doorway.

  The big black cat held her in its gaze for a moment, before opening its mouth and emitting a high keening sound that cut Freya like a knife. In that moment she was back in the room Rhona had so vividly described with the twenty-seven dolls clicking and clacking against one another in the draught from the open window, all eyes focused on her as they swayed like the pendulum of a clock. Telling Freya that time was running out and that she must hurry.

  60

  ‘You left her in that flat on her own?’ McNab couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  ‘I went out to buy us coffee and something to eat,’ Rhona said. ‘She was having difficulty translating the runes, she thought being there would help.’

  ‘That wee bastard Danny said he wasn’t withholding any more evidence. Now I find both you and Freya were keeping this book a secret too.’

  ‘Keeping secrets is something we’re both good at. Remember?’ Her retort was below the belt, but Rhona still enjoyed saying it.

  The silence on the other end was deafening.

  ‘This Book of Shadows will be full of pish, Dr MacLeod. Wiccan pish. What the hell were you thinking, exposing Freya to it?’

  ‘In case you’ve forgotten, Freya believes in the pish, as you call it. And maybe if you’d treated her better, she would have asked you for help instead of me.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, as if you always do things right. You fuck me in extremity, you fuck Sean Maguire when you fancy a decent dinner. Who are you to give relationship advice?’

  The stand-off between them came to an end when McNab said, ‘Where is Freya now?’

  ‘She said she was going back to the library.’

  Returning to Leila’s flat with coffee and sandwiches only to find Freya’s note had frankly worried Rhona. Freya was fragile and frightened, yet determined, something Rhona admired. She didn’t believe in ‘the pish’ either, as McNab had called it, but locations created strong emotions. She was well aware of that. For her, standing in this room again conjured up all the images she’d encountered the first time she’d been here.

  Not just images, but smells: incense and death and the sound of the cat wailing for the dead. Even now, standing in this room devoid of swaying dolls, Rhona could hear that cry.

  After their spat on the phone, McNab had indicated he was at the station, having just completed an interview with Jeff Barclay.

  ‘I don’t trust the bastard,’ had been his interpretation. ‘He said he left the pub by the fire exit, but we have no evidence to confirm this.’

  ‘You have a DNA sample from him?’

  ‘Yes, and a photo of his hands.’

  At that point McNab had explained about the videos.

  ‘We’re getting closer,’ Rhona had said.

  ‘Too close,’ McNab retorted.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That serving policeman on the list? Turns out he’s not as low level as we thought. In fact, much higher.’

  ‘Do we have a name?’ Rhona said.

  ‘No. We don’t, but I suspect the boss does.’

  ‘So what happens now?’

  ‘We find out which of the Nine did the three murders and the remaining establishment figures will be protected.’

  ‘That’s the plan?’

  ‘You’ve been here before, Dr MacLeod. You know how the world works.’

  Rhona took a last look round before locking up. She’d left the table and chair in the dolls’ room. There seemed little point in moving them back. She had no idea what would happen to Leila’s flat once the enquiry was completed. She didn’t know whether Leila owned it or whether it was rented. Either way, eventually Danny might remove some of his sister’s things and let it go.

  Re-entering the hallway, she was struck by a sudden and strong smell of cat urine.

  Rhona stood for a moment, perplexed. The smell hadn’t been there when she’d entered the first time with Freya. Had a stray cat found this place and taken up residence here?

  She recalled Leila’s cat and its determination to protect the body of its mistress. But it had been taken away by the SSPCA. No doubt it was still with them, if it hadn’t already found a home elsewhere.

  An image of the cat’s angry spitting face returned, making Rhona wonder if it could ever find a new home. If it had been deemed unmanageable, then the only recourse the charity had was to put it down, simply a more oblique way of saying ‘kill it’. Not an outcome Rhona liked to consider.

  She decided to go back through the flat and check the windows, just in case a stray had found its way inside.

  The window in the dolls’ room was the only one left open a little. Rhona was about to shut it, then changed her mind.

  At least you can get out again, she thought as she locked the front door.

  61

  Freya caught the subway at Buchanan Street. She’d felt bad at not waiting for Rhona’s return, but the vision of the dolls and the cat had persuaded her not to hang around any longer.

  Seated next to the door, Freya hugged the backpack close to her. Even now in
the crowded carriage, she could hear the terrible sound of the cat crying. Her upset that Leila hadn’t visited her in the flat had dissipated. Leila had been with her, was still with her. Freya was convinced of that now. The Book of Shadows was the answer to all of this. And she would decipher it, because Leila wanted her to.

  Exiting Hillhead station onto Byres Road, she cut up through Ashton Lane. Passing the jazz club where she’d met with Michael, she had an urge to call him, but quashed it. She should talk to no one, not Michael, not Danny, until she’d accomplished her task. She didn’t want to have to explain her actions or her reasons. No matter what they said, neither men understood what it meant to be a Wiccan. Michael had joked about it. Danny had tolerated his sister’s beliefs, but they didn’t understand how deeply and profoundly they were held.

  On the final stretch to the library a text arrived. Glancing at the screen, Freya saw that it was from Grant, so she opened it.

  Have taken the book to the old Ferguson room for privacy – not strictly off campus! You’ll have peace there to work on it. Grant.

  ‘Thank you,’ Freya said quietly.

  Entering by the main entrance to the old university, Freya registered what sat astride the gates. A unicorn on the left, a lion on the right. She recalled what Dr Charles had told her when they’d walked the surroundings together and viewed the magnificent stone figures on the ancient staircase next to the memorial chapel on the west side of the old building.

  ‘The unicorn symbolizes Scotland, the Lion England. This staircase comes from the old College building on the High Street. It was transported to Gilmorehill in 1870 when the University of Glasgow moved to its new West End site.’

  The image of the unicorn seemed portentous to Freya, and positive.

  Freya was pleased to be back amid the empty cloisters. Glad of her thoughts as she moved through them.

  Every sound seemed magnified as she climbed the stone steps to the old Ferguson library. She was approaching the place where it had all begun. Her interest in Wicca had been sparked by the lecture by Professor Roy at Newcastle University. His own interest as a young physics lecturer had been awakened by finding this place.