Authors: Val McDermid
Was there anything about 1994 that might lead somewhere? The only loose end she could think of was the experiment that had won Will Abbott a school prize. If that had anything to do with the mechanism of the bomb that had blown up the Cessna, it was another piece of circumstantial evidence that would add to the pile. Sometimes circumstantial could be enough to convict, if you could only amass enough of it.
As
she neared home, Karen stopped to buy milk and ibuprofen at the supermarket. Her shoulder had started to ache again. It was distracting her from her surroundings, making her concentrate all her attention inwards. She popped a couple of pills on the final walk back to the flat, but they seemed to have no effect. She stood under the shower for what felt like ages, but the nagging throb didn’t ease up.
Wrapped in a towel, she sat with a cup of tea staring out at the night. Low cloud, no moon, the sea a dark shapeless presence in the gap between her and the lights of Fife. There was a low point in every investigation, a place where all roads seemed to lead nowhere. Tonight she was in that nowhere zone. Once she could have counted on Phil to dig her out of her depression, to remind her that it was like this every time and she always got past it in the end, even if every case didn’t end with a conviction. But now she was on her own to face the bleakness.
Angry with herself, knowing sleep was a million miles away, Karen decided to go out again. Without even thinking about it, she headed straight for the Restalrig Railway Path. As usual, it was deserted at this time of night. Even the dog walkers seemed to give it a miss for that last turn of the night. Karen turned up her collar against a sudden sharp wind and kept walking, trying to ease her pain and get her thoughts off their repetitive treadmill.
And then everything changed. Some instinctive apprehension kicked in. Animal instinct told her she was under threat. She heard heavy breathing, felt the heat of another body close at hand. Karen half-turned, needing to know what the adrenaline was telling her to flee. The movement deflected something hard and heavy that had been heading straight for her head. Instead, it landed full force on her already bruised shoulder. Karen screamed in pain, a terrible rending sound that cut a ragged slice through the night. She had a
confused awareness of another body crashing into hers, the momentum carrying her to the ground, a knee in her ribs. Karen tried to wriggle away, but her left arm was a useless drag holding her back.
She squirmed her right arm free and clawed at the shadowy face of her assailant. She was rewarded with a yelp as her nails made contact with flesh. He jerked his head back before she could find his eyes, grabbing her jacket and pulling her towards him before slamming her into the ground again.
Karen found her breath and yelled at the top of her voice. Noise was her friend right now. The louder the better, the more chance of rescue. She smashed her right fist into his ribs and felt his weight shift off her chest. As she prepared to punch again, he went on the attack, grunting with effort. She saw an arm and something else cutting across the light. Then darkness and silence.
T
he
first thing she knew was that she felt sick. A deep, heavy weight of impending nausea that filled her senses. Her whole body was swaying. Karen opened one eye a crack. A swim of blue light against white. It hurt her head so she closed her eye again. She heard a groan and wondered who was in pain.
‘Can you hear me, Karen?’
That was her name, right? But she didn’t recognise the voice. Not Phil. Not one of her pals. No need to answer.
‘You’re going to be all right, Karen.’
She knew that was risible. Wanted to laugh but couldn’t be bothered. That groan again, and this time she recognised the sound. It was her. She tried to speak, but all that came out was another unformed groan.
‘Take it easy, Karen. Can you hear me?’
What would it take to make this stranger shut up? ‘Aye,’ she managed to force out.
She felt a hand patting her shoulder. The good one. The one that didn’t feel like a red-hot burn. ‘We’re on our way to the hospital,’ the voice said.
She
turned her head and threw up. Then everything went black and quiet again.
The next time she opened her eyes, Jason was standing next to the bed, his expression stricken. The nausea had passed and the pain had been replaced by a distant feeling of vague discomfort. ‘Take that look off your face, Jason. I’m not going to die,’ Karen croaked.
A huge grin spread across his face. ‘You’re awake. Brilliant.’
‘What time is it? What happened?’ Karen tried to move but there was something obstructing her. She looked down to see her left arm strapped in a sling across her body.
‘You broke your collarbone. Well, probably Will Abbott broke your collarbone, but either way, it’s broken. It’s nearly four o’clock. In the morning. You were knocked out cold.’
‘I don’t remember. The last thing I know is that I went for a walk down the Restalrig Path.’
‘Well, we’ve got Will Abbott in a cell at Gayfield Square. When the uniforms arrive, he said he saved you from being mugged by three Arab-looking guys. He’s not said a word since then. We’ve also got three Syrian refugees in custody who are claiming they weighed in to save you getting a beating from Will Abbott. I know who I believe, but the bosses are dancing on hot bricks, waiting to hear from you.’
Karen closed her eyes momentarily, trying to focus. ‘All I can say is that I know the Syrians and I have a good relationship with them. And I believe Will Abbott tried to run me down earlier this week. So that’s got to be enough to interview him on, if not to charge him. Oh, and I think I scratched his face, so you should probably take scrapings from under my nails. Did they find what he hit me with?’
Jason shook his head. He clearly hadn’t paused long enough to comb his hair, which stuck up in five different directions. ‘One of the Syrians says he saw Abbott throwing
something up the embankment, but there’s no point in looking till it’s daylight.’
‘So we’ve got Abbott in custody right now? With a strong probability he’s going to be charged with assaulting me?’
‘Maybe even attempted murder,’ Jason said. ‘He must have hit you really hard.’
‘Has anybody told the Macaroon?’
Jason nodded. ‘The duty sergeant called the chief super and he called the ACC. He hasn’t shown up yet, though.’
‘Where’s my clothes? My phone? For fuck’s sake, help me up, Jason.’
‘I’ll get a nurse,’ he said, leaving her lying fuming and impotent.
It took half an hour and a lot of forcefulness before Karen managed to get out of bed and into her fleece. Two nurses and a junior doctor kept telling her they wouldn’t be held responsible, that she might have a concussion, that she was taking risks with her health. ‘There’s no point arguing with her,’ Jason had said glumly as he took scrapings from under her fingernails.
Karen limped out to the car with Jason, wincing as she sat in the passenger seat. ‘I’m not putting the seat belt on,’ she said. ‘Get over it.’ Then she slid her phone out of her pocket and keyed in the Macaroon’s number. ‘Head for Fife,’ she told Jason.
Her boss answered the phone eventually, sounding extremely unhappy about it. ‘Do you know what time it is, DCI Pirie?’
‘I do, as it happens. I’ve just got out of the hospital with a broken collarbone and a head injury. We have my attacker in custody. And I want permission to access DI Noble’s files on the murder of Gabriel Abbott because I believe my attacker may be his killer.’
‘What?’ Lees shouted. ‘You’re making no sense. Obviously, that blow to the head—’
‘Will
Abbott attacked me. I think because I’m the only person investigating his connection to the murders of his brother and his mother twenty-two years ago.’
‘You’re raving. I understood that Abbott rescued you from a mugging?’
‘That’s the opposite of what happened. The Syrian refugees are my friends.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Pirie, keep your politics out of this.’
‘It’s nothing to do with politics. I know these men. I’ve spoken to them several times. I’ve arranged for them to meet with Craig Grassie, the local MP. They’re the last people in Edinburgh who would mug me. Will Abbott, concentrate on him. I need access to those files while we’ve still got him in custody.’
‘On what basis?’ Lees was sounding less angry now, more cautious.
‘On the basis that he’s tried to derail any investigation into his actions. First by complaining to DI Noble about me, and now by trying to kill me. For the second time this week, actually.’
‘The second time?’
‘He tried to run me down on Tuesday night.’
‘Why am I only hearing this now?’
‘Because I only had circumstantial evidence. But the circumstantial evidence is growing into quite a pile now. All I’m asking is a look at the case files. How can that be a problem?’
The Macaroon said nothing.
‘I know Abbott is the kind of high-profile businessman that the government loves. But that doesn’t mean he should get away with murder,’ Karen said. ‘You’ve got to let me do my job.’
Lees sighed. ‘Fine. A look at the case files. That’s all. You’ve got no operational authority here.’
‘Thank you.’ She ended the call before he could change his
mind. As they headed round the ring road towards the Forth Bridge, Karen leaned against the headrest. Whatever lovely drugs they’d pumped into her were still working very nicely. It would be easy to drift into sleep, but she knew that wasn’t a good idea. Not with a head injury. ‘Where’s DI Noble based? With the Gabriel Abbott investigation?’
‘Glenrothes, I think.’
‘That’s where we’re going, then. It’s time Gabriel Abbott got some proper police attention.’
I
t
would have been fair to say that DI Alan Noble was less than thrilled to be rousted out of bed at half past five in the morning by a nervous duty sergeant who claimed he was under orders from DCI Pirie. Who claimed to be under orders from ACC Lees – a claim Noble wasn’t about to contest, since that would involve waking his commanding officer. That would have to wait till later. As it was, he took his time showering, dressing and drinking two cups of coffee before he ambled into the station just over an hour later.
‘You’re an embarrassment to your rank, Inspector,’ was the greeting he got from Karen. ‘This is a murder inquiry, not a community policing assignment. When a superior officer gives you an order, you don’t dawdle. You carry it out.’
‘Aw, come on, it’s the middle of the night. And it’s not a murder. Nothing’s that urgent in a case that’s been sitting for a couple of weeks already.’
‘It is when there’s a suspect in custody with the clock ticking for a different offence.’
Noble looked shocked. ‘A suspect? In my case? I already
told you, it’s not a murder. It’s a suicide. You can’t be a suspect in a suicide.’
‘Just because you’ve written it up as a suicide doesn’t make it one. It’s murder now, all right? Now let me see the case files.’
‘But I—’
‘Do you really want me to wake ACC Lees again? Because he was really pissed off when I called him earlier. I don’t fancy your chances of getting a civil word out of him.’
Noble looked like he’d bitten into a chocolate and found a scorpion. ‘This isn’t your case.’
‘Stop being so bloody pathetic and give us access,’ Karen snapped, brandishing her phone. ‘I’m going to count to ten, then I’m calling the ACC to report your insubordination.’
Noble flushed. ‘They’re in the incident room.’ He wheeled round and marched down the hallway. He unlocked an office and waved them inside. It was small; a cluster of chairs around four tables pushed together, five computers at the ready. Archive boxes piled in one corner. Crime scene pictures pinned to a corkboard wall. ‘Our so-called incident room. One step up from a broom cupboard.’ Then he looked at Karen as if seeing her for the first time. ‘What happened to you?’
‘The killer you didn’t catch took a pop at the boss,’ Jason said, a mutinous set to his jaw.
‘Don’t you speak to me like that, Constable.’
‘Don’t give him cause, then,’ Karen hit back. ‘Now, if you’ll just give us access to the case files, you can get away back to your bed.’
‘No way. If you’re looking at my team’s product, I’m going to be in the room.’
Karen liked him a little better at that moment. ‘Fair enough. Maybe you could organise some coffee and bacon sandwiches?’
‘I’m not the tea boy. I’m the SIO on this case.’
‘I’ve not seen much evidence of that so far,’ Karen snorted.
Noble flushed. ‘You don’t get to come in here throwing your weight around. You cold case cops, you swank around the place getting results because the lab can finally make sense of the evidence samples that mugs like me on the front line have been collecting for years. You think you’re better than us. Well, you try running a case in real time, with the bosses and the press and the families breathing down your neck twenty-four seven and see how well you do then.’ He stopped abruptly, his neck redder than a turkey’s wattle.
Karen eyed him up and down. Buried under his indignation was a valid point, though she didn’t recognise herself in his characterisation. ‘I’ve run plenty of cases in real time,’ she said calmly. ‘And never with anything less than one hundred per cent. But this is not about your wounded pride. It’s about practicality and hospitality. If we were in our office, Jason would be rustling up the coffee and sandwiches because he knows where to find them. You can either speed the plough or you can fuck off, Alan. It’s all one to me.’
Rage seethed off Noble, but he had more sense than to fight with a senior officer, especially one with Karen’s record in direct combat. He bit his lip but he set them up with file access, then reluctantly left to rustle up supplies. He returned in moments, grumbling that there would be something to eat and drink soon. Karen, already deep in the pathologist’s report, barely acknowledged him. Jason, who was normally more interested in food and drink than any satisfaction work could provide, didn’t even look up.