Picture Her Dead (Rhona Macleod) Read online

  When he reached the landing, the door to the flat stood open and Rhona was waiting for him. As an adopted child, he still found it unsettling to gaze upon his birth mother. Rhona was essentially a stranger and yet Liam could see himself in her, particularly the quizzical expression she wore at this moment.

  His other features – the height, the hair colour – he attributed to his father, whom he had never met. Rhona had told Liam a bit about him and the circumstances that had led her to give her son up for adoption. He was aware that his real father was married with two grown-up children, and that he didn’t want Liam to know his identity. That had hurt at the time, but he could understand why. His adoptive parents had also been hurt when he’d set his heart on finding Rhona, although they had tried to hide it from him. He would always think of James and Elizabeth Hope as his real parents. So what did that make the woman who stood before him?

  ‘Liam. It’s good to see you.’

  He stuttered a reply. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch before now.’

  She stood to one side. ‘Come on in. We’re in the kitchen.’

  She had visitors. Liam stopped short. ‘I’m sorry, I could come back at another time.’

  ‘Einar and I had some business to discuss, but we’re finished now. You timed your visit well.’

  Liam hesitated at the kitchen door until Rhona urged him inside. The smell of curry hung in the air and the table held the remnants of a meal. The man seated there stood up as Liam came in. He was tall and blond with a well-toned physique. Liam worked out himself and was a member of the Glasgow University judo team, but he didn’t think he could hold his own against Rhona’s visitor.

  ‘Einar Petersson,’ the man held out his hand. The look on his face was friendly but intrigued. He obviously had no idea who Liam was.

  Rhona cleared that up immediately.

  ‘Einar, this is my son, Liam Hope.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Liam.’

  If Einar had been unaware that Rhona had a son, he didn’t show it. Nor did he ask why his name was Hope. After the introduction, Rhona seemed unsure what to do next. It was Einar who saved them. ‘I’m afraid we’ve finished the wine, but there’s still some curry if you’re hungry?’

  Liam was very hungry, having forgotten to eat, but he wasn’t about to say so.

  ‘Seems a shame to waste it. What if I heat a plate up for you?’

  Liam nodded gratefully. It seemed the thing to do.

  Rhona was clearing the table of their debris and setting him a place. Liam sat down at it. He was already imagining the scenario where he would eat in silence. Petersson would leave and Liam would then explain to Rhona why he was here. But what if this Einar was a permanent fixture at the flat, and not a visiting colleague? What if he had replaced the jazz musician? He was certainly moving around the kitchen as though at home there, fetching a plate from the cupboard and opening the right drawer first time to get cutlery.

  ‘How’s Sean?’ Liam blurted out.

  Rhona gave him a cool look. ‘Sean and I aren’t together any more.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he muttered, red with embarrassment. ‘I didn’t know.’ How could he, when he hadn’t been near the place since last summer?

  Luckily at that moment the microwave pinged. Einar retrieved the plate of curry and placed it down in front of him. The sight and smell of it made Liam realise just how ravenous he was. He set about the curry with a will. At least while he was eating he didn’t have to speak.

  Contrary to what Liam had hoped, Einar didn’t look as if he was about to leave. In fact he went to a nearby cupboard and extracted a bottle of whisky. Liam saw Rhona’s eyebrows rise as he poured a couple of drams and added a little water to each.

  ‘I thought you’d have to get back,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not in any hurry.’

  Liam, watching this exchange, tried to work out what it meant. It appeared that Einar didn’t live in the flat, although he seemed to know his way about. The thought crossed Liam’s mind that this may have been a sexual tryst and he’d interrupted their romantic meal. He choked a little on this and covered his confusion by waving his hand in front of his mouth as though the curry was hot. Rhona smiled and poured him a glass of water.

  They sat in silence as he finished eating, although Liam had the impression that Rhona was thinking about something other than his visit.

  His plate cleared and two thirds of the jug of water drunk, Liam decided it was time to say his piece. Einar showed no sign of leaving and perhaps his presence might make things easier. Liam turned to face Rhona.

  ‘I came to ask your advice.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ she said with a smile.

  Liam cleared his throat. ‘A friend of mine, Jude Evans, is a student at the School of Art. She’s doing a photographic project on old Glasgow cinemas.’ He paused. ‘She went to visit the old Rosevale on Dumbarton Road yesterday evening and … disappeared.’

  Rhona had been listening carefully, waiting to hear how this might pertain to her. And now she knew.

  ‘Disappeared?’

  Liam rushed on. ‘She arranged to meet me after the visit but didn’t turn up. I checked the halls of residence but she didn’t go back there either. So I visited the Rosevale today, and the manager of the shop downstairs had let her through to view the old foyer and projection room. She didn’t see her leave.’ He stopped to catch his breath. ‘I asked to go inside, and the projection room was locked. I broke down the door,’ he said sheepishly. ‘Jude’s footprint was there in the dust, and the manager of the shop had no idea who could have locked the door.’

  He stopped and searched her face. Rhona didn’t look disbelieving, just puzzled.

  ‘What happens when you try to call her?’

  ‘There’s no answer. I got a text telling me she was going to be late but it didn’t arrive until the next day, as though she’d been out of range. I went to the police, but they say it’s too soon and she’ll turn up.’

  ‘What about her family?’

  ‘She doesn’t have one. She was brought up in care in Sunderland.’

  ‘Have you tried the hospitals? Accident and Emergency?’

  Liam felt his face flush hotly. ‘I never thought to do that.’

  ‘They didn’t suggest it to you at the police station?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ He’d been so agitated and desperate for them to take him seriously, Liam wasn’t sure he’d really listened to what was being said.

  ‘Well, that’s our first port of call.’ Rhona paused, thoughtfully. ‘She was last seen in Dumbarton Road, you say?’

  ‘She went into the British Heart Foundation shop just before five o’clock.’

  ‘OK, we’ll start with the Western Infirmary.’

  Half an hour later, they’d established that no Jude Evans had been admitted to the hospital. Even though it didn’t help find her, Liam felt they’d achieved something.

  ‘There’s no chance that Jude has a boyfriend she’s staying with?’

  ‘Jude is,’ Liam hesitated, looking for a description that didn’t sound critical, ‘very organised. She likes routine. If she says she’ll do something, she does it.’

  ‘So not turning up is out of character?’

  ‘Very much so.’

  Einar had made a pot of coffee and he set it on the table. His interest awakened by Liam’s story, he was showing no desire to leave.

  Rhona seemed to come to a decision. ‘I think I should take a look at the Rosevale. Particularly the room you say was locked after Jude left it.’ She looked steadily at Liam. ‘You’re sure there was no sign of a struggle? No blood?’

  ‘No, just the footprint.’

  ‘How do you know it was hers?’

  ‘Jude has a thing about her belongings. She doesn’t like anyone to touch them. She carves her initials on the soles of her shoes.’

  Rhona nodded. ‘OK, meet me at the shop tomorrow morning at eleven. If Jude gets in touch before then, text me a
nd let me know.’ She handed him her business card.

  Liam let the outside door close behind him and stood for a moment. It was pouring. He zipped his jacket shut and flipped up his hood before stepping out into the rain. He was glad he’d come and asked for help. Rhona had been great about it and hadn’t offered him the same platitudes he’d been given at the police station, but the respite from the worry and concern that had brought him here was brief.

  He checked his mobile just in case, but there was nothing and it was too late now to call the halls of residence and check in with Charlie. He could only hope that wherever Jude was she was warm and dry, and, more importantly, safe.

  8

  With the arrival of British Summer Time and lighter mornings, Rhona invariably woke before she needed to. She’d got into the habit of getting up anyway, but today she lay on, letting her mind roam over the events of the previous day.

  When she’d believed DS Michael McNab to be dead, she’d begun referring to him as Michael in her mind and her speech. Now that he was alive again, she found herself reverting to his surname. Chrissy had once called McNab our ‘urban warrior’, and it felt wrong to call a resurrected warrior by his first name when that name was as prosaic as Michael.

  Rhona recalled the look on McNab’s face as he’d handed her the envelope and felt her irritation rise again. Did he hide the words just to annoy or thwart her, knowing she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from opening the envelope? Or, more charitably, had he simply not wanted her to know, for fear of what she might do? If so, he’d been right. The moment she’d seen Brogan’s name, she’d wanted to confront him.

  By the time Petersson had left the previous evening, they’d reached a compromise. Rhona would accompany the journalist to the Poker Club, ostensibly as his date. During their time there, Petersson would ask to meet with Brogan. It had taken a fair amount of persuasion to get Petersson to agree to her going with him. He was only swayed by his fear of the alternative; that she would go and speak to Brogan herself.

  ‘As long as you’re sure Brogan won’t recognise you,’ he’d said.

  ‘How could he? I’ve never met him.’

  ‘What about that night?’

  ‘Brogan’s alibi puts him inside the club at the time of the shooting. He knew better than to show his face outside afterwards. He never saw me, and I never saw him.’

  Finally Petersson had given in. They’d parted, agreeing that he would collect her the following night at nine o’clock.

  Rhona threw back the duvet and headed for the shower. Once under the pounding water she allowed herself to recall the pleasure she’d felt when she’d realised who was on the intercom. Her eagerness, mixed with anxiety, as she’d heard Liam climb the stairs. Then the first view of her son’s face in six months.

  He looked so like her. How could she have forgotten?

  Rhona raised her face to the spray, letting it beat against her closed eyes and mouth. Liam had sought her out and asked for her help, and the idea pleased her. She could never hope to be his mother – someone else had done that job too well to be replaced – but she could do this for him.

  From what Liam had said about Jude, it did sound out of character for her not to turn up as arranged. And, in Rhona’s world, people who were ‘unlikely’ to disappear were just as likely to turn up dead. It was a morbid thought, but one that had to be considered.

  Once dried and dressed, she logged in and set about checking that no one matching Jude’s description had turned up dead in Scotland in the last twenty-four hours.

  Liam was waiting for her outside the shop, his face pinched with cold. The switch to British Summer Time had brought a sudden drop in temperature and an inch of snow. It was melting quickly, turning to slush under the constant passing of feet and cars, but a bitter easterly wind had taken its place.

  As she approached, Rhona saw Liam glance down at her forensic bag, before greeting her with a nod.

  ‘I take it there’s been no word from Jude?’ she asked.

  Liam shook his head.

  ‘OK, let’s take a look.’

  A bell tinkled as she pushed open the door, causing the woman behind the counter to look up. She spotted Liam and a worried look crossed her face.

  Rhona approached the woman with a smile and offered her card.

  ‘Forensic services? Is that the same as the police?’

  ‘Not quite.’ Rhona held out her hand. ‘Dr Rhona MacLeod.’

  The woman shook her hand reluctantly. ‘Carol Miller.’

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Carol, but we’re growing increasingly concerned about a missing girl who I understand visited the old cinema a couple of days ago.’

  Carol nodded at Liam. ‘He’s already looked. She’s not in there.’

  ‘I know. I just wanted to check for myself. Could you let me through, please?’

  The other woman gazed uncertainly at Rhona. Her previous experience of letting people visit the remains of the Rosevale hadn’t gone well.

  Finally she shrugged and said, ‘Well, I suppose if it’s police business.’

  Rhona let that small misconception pass. ‘I’m very grateful.’

  Somewhat mollified, Carol indicated they should follow her through. She unlocked the interconnecting door, stepped inside and switched on the light.

  ‘It’s at your own risk, you know that?’

  ‘I understand. Thank you.’

  Carol bustled away fretfully, obviously not fully happy with her decision.

  Rhona stepped inside the illuminated foyer and stood mesmerised for a moment. The immediate smells were of dust and disuse, yet others filtered through, the scent of wood, the plaster of the mouldings, the thick carpet on the stairs. The space was palatial, from the circular ticket booth and parquet floor to the frieze that circled the wall.

  Rhona remembered her parents talking about cinemas such as this one, but by the time she was old enough to go to the pictures – as the Scots said – most of these stunningly designed buildings had been converted into bingo halls.

  ‘This way.’ Liam interrupted her thoughts, urging her towards the stairs.

  Rhona took a last look round the impressive room, then followed him. If this turned out to be the locus of a crime she would have to cover every inch of this space, but for now the projection room was her priority.

  The light dwindled as they climbed. Rhona fished in her bag for her torch, but Liam had one ready and flicked it on. He pointed ahead.

  ‘The balcony and fire exit are up there. The projection room’s this way.’ He swung the beam round to the right, illuminating a narrow set of steps.

  Rhona followed as he pushed open a door and held it back for her to enter. The old carpet odour faded here, replaced by a musty concrete smell. At the end of a narrow corridor was a second door.

  ‘This is the one that was locked.’ Liam indicated the broken catch and splintered wood. He pushed open the heavy door, reached inside and found a light switch.

  Rhona stepped on to the small platform beyond the door and looked down on the projection room.

  Liam pointed. ‘Jude’s footprint is at the bottom of the steps.’

  ‘OK. Can you stay up here for now?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s better if we don’t both walk about disturbing things. Did you touch anything when you were here before?’

  Liam shook his head. ‘Apart from breaking down the door.’ He gave her a brief smile.

  ‘Good.’

  Rhona stepped back into the corridor and pulled on a forensic boiler suit.

  ‘Is that really necessary?’ Liam looked worried.

  Rhona ignored the question, lifted her bag and made her way down the steps. She didn’t glance back but could sense the boy’s intent gaze following her. If Jude was found harmed, then the last place she was known to visit was significant to any investigation; if she turned up safe and well, their visit here didn’t count. Rhona prayed for the latter.

  She located th
e footprint Liam had indicated and crouched for a closer look. He’d been correct about the initials. Rhona could clearly make out JE imprinted in the layer of grime and dust. She took some photographs, then stepped carefully across to continue her examination of the room. Apart from a few fixtures and fittings and scattered lengths of metal, there appeared to be nothing of note.

  She moved on to the side rooms. One wall of the second room had an aperture at the back, and as Rhona went over for a closer look she caught the trace of a scent she knew only too well.

  The smell of a body in the initial stages of decomposition was unforgettable. Whatever was rotting in this building was well past the first stage, which meant it couldn’t be Jude.

  Rhona’s initial concern subsided into curiosity as she squeezed through the hole into a small cloakroom. A quick look round revealed nothing that could be giving off that smell. She closed her eyes and stood for a moment, breathing in, trying to pinpoint its source. When she reopened her eyes she was staring at a brick wall with a hole halfway up. The smell was coming from there.

  The mortar was loose and fell away with ease, as did a large chunk of the brick bordering the hole. Now Rhona had a space big enough to take a proper look through. She aimed her torch directly in.

  The small hope that there might have been a dead animal behind the wall was quashed when the beam hit what looked like a pair of mummified human eyeballs partly covered by scraps of light-coloured hair. Rhona yelped in shock, despite herself.

  ‘What is it?’ Liam called down, his voice high with fright.

  ‘It’s OK. It’s not Jude,’ she shouted back. Jude had disappeared forty-eight hours ago, and this body had been walled up here for a lot longer than that.

  Rhona retraced her path to the stairs where Liam was peering down at her, terrified. ‘What did you find?’

  There was little point in lying.

  ‘There’s a body behind a wall. It’s been there for some time.’

  ‘Jesus!’