The Special Dead Read online

  Freya emerged on the landing. Ahead of her was the set of double doors that led into the Ferguson room.

  She pushed open the right-hand door and entered.

  ‘She doesn’t answer my calls.’

  ‘She’s okay,’ McNab said. ‘Dr MacLeod is in touch with her. She went back to the library to consult another book.’

  Danny’s reaction to this wasn’t what McNab expected.

  ‘I don’t fucking trust that guy.’

  ‘What guy?’ McNab said.

  ‘He creeps about, popping up when we’re examining the Book of Shadows. Definitely wants a look. He was like a man smelling a sexed-up pussy. Believe me, Freya should not trust that guy.’

  The image was ripe, but one McNab appreciated and understood.

  ‘Okay. I take your point, but they’re at the library. Freya’s safe enough there. I’ve been inside. It’s like a police station in its security.’

  ‘People die in police stations,’ Danny reminded him.

  ‘Where are you?’ McNab said.

  ‘Headed to the library.’

  ‘I’ll be with you shortly.’

  Life sometimes moved in slow motion. It had happened to McNab on numerous occasions, usually when things got tough. Maybe it was life’s way of reminding you what was important. What was memorable.

  Danny’s call had unnerved him.

  He had met Grant, the library guy. Nothing about him had made McNab wary. But he had been wrong before. And he would no doubt be wrong again. People hid themselves, often in the trappings of their professions. Jeff had tried that, on occasion quoting them lawyer speak, but his actions had belied his weasel words.

  What about Grant?

  McNab realized he didn’t even know the librarian’s second name. His fault. He should have asked. He should have interviewed him. After all, he had known both deceased women. Had known about their Wiccan beliefs.

  He should have asked.

  He should have asked the entire fucking world.

  McNab wanted a drink now more than he had wanted anything in his life before.

  He was in Ashton Lane again. Location of his initial meeting with Freya and, he reminded himself, his subsequent meeting with Rhona. Neither had gone that well and both relationships, if he was honest with himself, were on the rocks.

  Sooner or later, I always rub people up the wrong way.

  McNab did a quick left turn on that thought and entered the jazz club. Heading downstairs, he found himself in a busy space. Early Saturday evening jazz was proving popular in the West End of Glasgow. McNab almost turned away and headed back up the steps. Would have done had a voice not called his name.

  McNab turned, knowing the voice and welcoming it.

  They had been rivals more often than friends, but Sean Maguire had proved his worth on more than one occasion. McNab hated the Irishman at times, as much for his knack of enticing Dr Rhona MacLeod into his bed as his ability to play sexy music on his saxophone.

  ‘What’s up?’ Sean said, his tone suggesting his concern.

  McNab didn’t answer.

  ‘Fancy a drink?’ Sean asked. ‘We could use my office.’

  McNab had used that office as a bedroom once. That room and a camp bed had provided him with a place of safety and sanity.

  When McNab nodded, Sean led him through the crowd, who were listening to a female singer McNab had never heard before. She was tidy too, oozing sex from the way she handled the microphone as much as through her voice and the words she sang.

  ‘She’s only here another week,’ Sean said when McNab expressed his opinion. ‘Heading to Europe after that.’

  ‘More’s the pity,’ McNab ventured.

  ‘Rhona doesn’t think so.’

  ‘Jealous?’ McNab ventured.

  ‘Distrust. Rhona thinks I’m liable to stick it in any woman who looks and sounds like that.’

  ‘Is she right?’

  ‘She’s not totally wrong,’ Sean admitted.

  There was a bottle of Irish whiskey on the desk and a couple of glasses. McNab almost salivated when he saw it.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ Sean said. ‘I can give you something soft.’

  McNab laughed. ‘When people say that, I always imagine a soft prick. Which is strange since mine’s never been harder since I eased up on the booze.’

  Sean poured a couple of shots. ‘Like everything in life. Whiskey should be enjoyed in moderation. Are you able to do that?’

  McNab eyed the glass as Sean handed it over. ‘Let’s hope so.’ He examined the golden liquid. ‘I was very rude to Rhona on the phone. Told her not to give me advice on relationships. Said some rough things.’

  Sean gave him a wry smile. ‘You screw up. I screw up. Rhona screws up. The important thing is we care enough to face up to that.’

  ‘The wise old man of Ireland talking.’

  ‘We Irish can talk the talk right enough.’

  McNab set the untouched whiskey firmly on the table. ‘Thanks for the chat. And good luck with Rhona.’

  ‘I fear I need more than luck.’

  McNab finally crested the hill and made his way up to the library. His sojourn with Sean had made him even more resolute about progressing things with Freya. He had no idea what Leila’s book of spells might reveal. Based on what had happened up to now, he didn’t think it would be much, but if Freya believed in it, he would try his best to support her on that.

  In McNab’s opinion, they needed to expose the Nine and what the boss was doing was perhaps more likely to achieve that than studying spells.

  At the front desk, he showed his badge and asked to speak to Freya. A couple of phone calls ensued, before he was informed that she wasn’t in the building. A subsequent enquiry after Grant revealed his surname as Buchanan and that he wasn’t in the building either.

  ‘Do you know where they are?’ McNab demanded.

  ‘It’s Saturday evening. I assume they’re at home,’ the woman said, as though she too wished to be there.

  ‘But I understood that Freya was coming here.’

  The woman behind the desk shrugged. ‘She checked in first thing, then left. Grant was in earlier too, but checked out about an hour ago.’

  McNab emerged to find Danny approaching.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded.

  ‘Freya isn’t here,’ McNab told him.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  McNab’s sentiments exactly.

  ‘And the Grant guy?’

  ‘He’s not here either.’

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Danny said.

  McNab could not have agreed more.

  ‘You’re the detective. What do we do now?’ Danny demanded.

  62

  Freya set the Book of Shadows out on the table beside the book of runic alphabets Grant had signed out of the library for her. He’d also supplied coffee and biscuits, just as he used to do for Leila and Shannon.

  ‘Thank you. I really appreciate this.’

  Grant nodded. ‘What else do you want me to do?’

  Freya observed his worried face and decided to come clean.

  ‘Danny thinks Leila’s Book of Shadows contains information about the nine men she was performing sexual magick with. He wanted me to try and identify them.’

  ‘Has he shown the book to the police?’ Grant asked.

  ‘Not yet, but he will once I’ve deciphered it. Danny believes one or more of these men may have been responsible for Leila’s death, and Shannon’s, and even the death of the barman who served them that night.’

  Grant looked perturbed. ‘But I heard the guy Leila left the pub with has confessed to all three murders.’

  Freya was taken aback. ‘When did you hear that?’

  Grant shook his head. ‘I’m not sure. I think it was on the rolling news this morning.’

  ‘So they’ve got the guy?’ Freya said, relieved.

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘Oh, Grant, that’s wonderful, if it’s true.’
r />   ‘So maybe you don’t need to translate after all. Maybe Leila’s Book of Shadows can be laid to rest.’

  Freya thought about that. ‘I’m not so sure. When I was in her flat something happened.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Her cat was there crying to me and I saw an image of the hanging dolls in the room where they found Leila.’

  Grant looked askance at this.

  ‘I know you’re not a believer, Grant, but it was very real. It seemed Leila was asking me to do this.’

  Grant nodded. ‘Okay. Let’s find out the truth.’

  It was as Grant had suggested. The writing Leila had used was obscure, mainly because it was a mixture of alphabets, each symbol intricately drawn as though Leila had intended that anyone striving to interpret it shouldn’t find it easy.

  But before she tackled the translation, Freya spent some time on the drawings. There was one in particular she kept returning to, because there was something familiar about the figure of the man. He was naked but with no obvious discerning features on his trunk. Slimly built, he appeared tall in comparison to some of the others. He also had hair which Leila had shaded in as grey. The eyes were blue.

  None of his features struck a chord with Freya, except perhaps the hands – on the left one of which was a pinkie ring. Using the magnifying glass Grant had brought her from the library, Freya examined the ring more closely and eventually decided that the engraving on the gold was of a tiny unicorn.

  The last time she’d seen a ring like that, it had been worn by the man who’d visited her here. Dr Peter Charles. Freya thought back to his kindly face, his interest in her work, his fascination with the unicorn statue in the west quadrangle of the university.

  Grant had indicated Dr Charles was a benefactor of the university library, in particular the Ferguson collection, which was why he’d been keen to talk to her, and was probably the reason for the signet ring.

  Freya moved to look more closely at the details beside the drawn figure.

  What she’d assumed to be the date of birth was given as 7/7/1949, which made his sign Cancer, his birth colour green, indicating finance, fertility and luck. His birth number involved adding all the digits together to reduce them to a single digit, in this case coming eventually to 1. A single runic word followed this, which might be his magic name, usually chosen to match the birth number.

  There were numerous alphabets used in writings on Witchcraft. Seax-Wica alone had many variations in the runes used – Germanic, Danish, Swedish-Norse, Anglo-Saxon. Added to that there was the Theban script, popular among Gardnerian Witches, referred to incorrectly as the Witches’ Runes, as it wasn’t runic at all.

  Some covens used Egyptian hieroglyphics, others the Passing the River alphabet. Then there was the Angelic alphabet and the Malachim, the language of the Magi. The PectiWita, in the Scottish tradition, had two interesting forms of magickal writing. One was a variation on runes, the other based on the old and very decorative Pictish script.

  In the past Magicians often worked alone and jealously guarded their methods of operation, not from the Christian Church, but from other Magicians. Contemporary Witches continued this practice for the same reason of secrecy, but also for another motive.

  One way to put power into an object is to write appropriate words on it whilst directing your energies into the writing.

  Writing in everyday English didn’t require the same amount of intense concentration. Creating runic script directed your energies, your power, into what you were working on.

  Freya understood this, because it demanded the same energy, concentration and power to decipher the words Leila had written. It appeared that she’d chosen to mix alphabets, dropping from Anglo-runes to Angelic script with a sprinkling of Pictish thrown in. As solitary Witches, Leila, Shannon and herself could manage their faith as they chose. There were no rules, no requirement to ascend through the rankings of an Order or coven. They were as free as the first Witch. Leila had chosen to be as varied and free in her writings, choosing what suited her best.

  She’d also divided her Book of Shadows into three sections, the final one being the pages concerning the Nine. The preceding page to this section consisted of a sketch of the Goddess in the form of a Warrior Queen with a shield and spear. Unlike the version on the leather cover, this Goddess bore a strong resemblance to Leila herself, the hair being short and auburn, the face bearing the same small tattoo as Leila had worn.

  As Freya began the laborious task of identifying each symbol and transposing them, a strange thing happened.

  Grant had gone to fetch fresh coffee, promising to be back soon.

  He had shut the door behind him, but at this moment it chose to blow open. The swirling draught that entered caught Freya by surprise, almost whipping the paper she was writing on from under her pen. She rose and, fighting the sucking draught blown up from the windy cloisters below, she reshut the door.

  When she returned to her seat to resume her task, she discovered that the pages of the Book of Shadows had flipped back, returning to the page featuring the Goddess.

  Now Freya noted a continuous line of runic text running round the circular shield of the Warrior Queen. Intrigued, she wrote down the symbols and began to translate them.

  This time the pattern came easily, each rune swiftly finding its English equivalent.

  I’ve finally cracked the code, Freya thought.

  She regarded the long string of letters, beginning at the top of the circle and moving to the right. It took only moments for her brain to break up the string into nine words that brought a chill to Freya’s heart.

  If you are reading this then I am dead.

  63

  McNab and Danny had adjourned to the nearby student cafeteria.

  McNab’s impression that Danny, in his quest to nail his sister’s killers, hadn’t been able to work and therefore had no money for food, was proved right. When McNab came back with two coffees plus two of the largest burgers on offer, Danny attacked his with a vengeance.

  McNab was hungry too, but for inspiration rather than food.

  He was more studied in his eating while he tried to work out what to do next. The most obvious move was to inform the boss about this latest development, although that in itself would not produce a lead on where to look for Freya. He could ask DI Wilson to send a uniform round to her flat and to force entry if necessary.

  Something ice cold attacked the pit of his stomach at this thought. He quashed it, because he already knew she hadn’t been there when Danny visited as she’d been with Rhona in Leila’s flat.

  His next and better move would be to eat humble pie and contact Rhona. She’d been the last person to see Freya and would know her state of mind. She might also have an idea where Freya would go if not to the library.

  Both moves were required. One would be easier than the other.

  McNab chose the easy one first.

  The boss listened quietly, then agreed to have someone sent round to Freya’s flat.

  ‘You believe this book Leila left is important?’

  ‘Who knows? It’s Wiccan stuff, but Danny says it holds information on the men involved with Leila. I’ll have to take his word for that because I haven’t seen it.’ McNab wanted to make sure the boss knew he hadn’t been withholding information this time round.

  The boss rang off then, with strict instructions to McNab that he was to be kept informed on the search for Freya.

  McNab couldn’t stomach the rest of his burger. When Danny realized this he asked if he could have it.

  ‘Go ahead. Take the chips too.’ McNab pushed the plate across. ‘I’m going outside to make a call.’ The last thing he wanted was for Danny to be party to his next conversation.

  She had come here as though it were a place of refuge. Maybe it was. Her reason for coming was more complicated than a way to spend leisure time or even a love of jazz, which she didn’t possess.

  She fully understood McNab’s anger and vexati
on, and why he’d voiced it, some would say truthfully, over the phone. She too was concerned about Freya’s well-being, which was why she’d agreed to take her to Leila’s flat.

  It hadn’t worked, but it had been worth a try.

  Now, Rhona decided, she would await news and have a drink.

  She ordered white wine and took a seat at the bar. Sam was doing a stint serving, having played earlier. Chrissy, he informed Rhona, was staying over at her mother’s with young Michael. He sounded sorry about that and Rhona sensed an end in sight for that relationship, despite their mutual love for McNab’s namesake.

  At that moment the end of any relationship seemed almost inevitable.

  She hadn’t sought Sean but he found her anyway, news of her arrival having travelled swiftly to the boss of the establishment.

  ‘It’s quieter in the office,’ he offered.

  Rhona wasn’t in the mood for a get-together, a dark impenetrable cloud having descended on her thoughts, but rather than argue, she followed him through. Sean ushered her inside, closed the door behind them and turned the key.

  ‘We need to talk,’ was his explanation for that.

  Rhona spied the two glasses and bottle of whiskey on the desk, and interpreted Sean’s remark and the evidence of a drinking buddy in the same scenario.

  ‘McNab’s been here?’ she said.

  ‘Briefly.’

  ‘How brief?’

  ‘One drink’s worth,’ Sean said. ‘He told me you fell out.’

  ‘That’s an understatement.’

  ‘He said some bad things?’

  ‘Bad, but truthful. As did I,’ Rhona admitted.

  ‘He seemed very worried about Freya.’

  ‘She was with me earlier at Leila’s flat, which he didn’t like. I went out to get us some coffee. When I got back, she’d disappeared. The message said she’d gone back to the library.’

  ‘Where he was heading when I saw him.’

  ‘If he was in a hurry, why stop for a drink?’ Rhona said.

  ‘You’re worried, and you came here for one.’

  ‘Piss off.’

  ‘If you want me to.’