break in the hyoid bone, suggesting that the victim could have been garrotted before the fire occurred.’
She brought up the collage of photographs she’d taken at the scene and flicked through them. Crime photographs always looked worse away from the locus. When you were there, you were surrounded by the horror. Here in the normality of the meeting room, the individual images had an obscene quality.
‘Blood tests on the body indicate the victim was not Fergus Morrison as stated on the dog tag. So this guy is not our missing soldier. We’re still testing the debris for accelerant.’ Rhona handed over to McNab, who seemed distracted.
‘The boss thinks a car on CCTV around the time of the fire could prove significant. The dog tag could indicate we were expected to assume the victim was the soldier. If that’s the case, Fergus Morrison could be involved, so priority number one is to find him.’ McNab brought up the squaddie’s picture. In the photograph he looked about fifteen, though his details said he’d passed his nineteenth birthday.
‘OK, let’s get on with it.’
McNab came over to Rhona as the team filed from the room. ‘What about the deposition site?’
‘I’ve got a mountain of mulch and soil to sift through. Unless anything else turns up out there, I won’t go back. Any luck with possible missing minors?’
‘Nothing yet. DC Clark’s working on it.’
She put her hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get an opportunity to talk to Bill.’
‘I’ve a feeling we’re too late, anyway.’
12
It was on the lunchtime news. Human remains had been discovered in woods south of Glasgow. He realised he had been anticipating this moment for a decade. He wasn’t afraid. He was angry. And not with himself.
He sat on the sofa, his body rigid, his eyes fixed on the screen. Details were scarce. Nothing about who had found them. Nothing about what exactly they had found.
He felt violated. Choking anger prevented him from breathing. He imagined their graves being defiled. Their remains being removed, examined. Bile rose to his mouth. How dare they .
He channelled his rage into cold, calculating anger. He would find out how they had been discovered. It wouldn’t be difficult with his connections.
He took out his mobile and began going through the list of names. He paused, knowing that any call, no matter how casual, might be questioned later.
He put the phone down and went out into the garden.
The trimmed grass and ordered wintering flower beds calmed him. He took the path that led to the wooded area. The starkness of the bare birch trees reminded him of the other wood. He should have laid them to rest here, like the others.
He would have needed no markers, no wind harp to guide him. He knew every inch of this garden, every plant, every tree, every secret thing. He sat down on the wooden bench he’d placed in his favoured spot and closed his eyes, feeling the weak warmth of the sun on his face.
It could not be coincidence that the remains had been discovered shortly after that woman had swerved off the road and crashed her car.
He pondered this. Through closed eyes, he relived the moment when the blue Peugeot had appeared from nowhere – the startled face at the windscreen, the mouth open in a scream.
He channelled his anger towards that face.
If she’d died in the crash, he had nothing to worry about. There was nothing else to link him to that wood.
If the bitch had survived, then the sooner he found her the better.
13
McNab sat down at his cluttered desk. The double shot of coffee he’d fetched from the machine was doing its job, but not fast enough. He surreptitiously added a nip of whisky from the half-bottle in his drawer. Everything was going arse up and he couldn’t stop it. He knew the boss was in with the super. It had to be about the assault case.
He swallowed the whisky-laced coffee quickly then got himself online. There were twenty emails waiting. He skimmed through
She brought up the collage of photographs she’d taken at the scene and flicked through them. Crime photographs always looked worse away from the locus. When you were there, you were surrounded by the horror. Here in the normality of the meeting room, the individual images had an obscene quality.
‘Blood tests on the body indicate the victim was not Fergus Morrison as stated on the dog tag. So this guy is not our missing soldier. We’re still testing the debris for accelerant.’ Rhona handed over to McNab, who seemed distracted.
‘The boss thinks a car on CCTV around the time of the fire could prove significant. The dog tag could indicate we were expected to assume the victim was the soldier. If that’s the case, Fergus Morrison could be involved, so priority number one is to find him.’ McNab brought up the squaddie’s picture. In the photograph he looked about fifteen, though his details said he’d passed his nineteenth birthday.
‘OK, let’s get on with it.’
McNab came over to Rhona as the team filed from the room. ‘What about the deposition site?’
‘I’ve got a mountain of mulch and soil to sift through. Unless anything else turns up out there, I won’t go back. Any luck with possible missing minors?’
‘Nothing yet. DC Clark’s working on it.’
She put her hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get an opportunity to talk to Bill.’
‘I’ve a feeling we’re too late, anyway.’
12
It was on the lunchtime news. Human remains had been discovered in woods south of Glasgow. He realised he had been anticipating this moment for a decade. He wasn’t afraid. He was angry. And not with himself.
He sat on the sofa, his body rigid, his eyes fixed on the screen. Details were scarce. Nothing about who had found them. Nothing about what exactly they had found.
He felt violated. Choking anger prevented him from breathing. He imagined their graves being defiled. Their remains being removed, examined. Bile rose to his mouth. How dare they .
He channelled his rage into cold, calculating anger. He would find out how they had been discovered. It wouldn’t be difficult with his connections.
He took out his mobile and began going through the list of names. He paused, knowing that any call, no matter how casual, might be questioned later.
He put the phone down and went out into the garden.
The trimmed grass and ordered wintering flower beds calmed him. He took the path that led to the wooded area. The starkness of the bare birch trees reminded him of the other wood. He should have laid them to rest here, like the others.
He would have needed no markers, no wind harp to guide him. He knew every inch of this garden, every plant, every tree, every secret thing. He sat down on the wooden bench he’d placed in his favoured spot and closed his eyes, feeling the weak warmth of the sun on his face.
It could not be coincidence that the remains had been discovered shortly after that woman had swerved off the road and crashed her car.
He pondered this. Through closed eyes, he relived the moment when the blue Peugeot had appeared from nowhere – the startled face at the windscreen, the mouth open in a scream.
He channelled his anger towards that face.
If she’d died in the crash, he had nothing to worry about. There was nothing else to link him to that wood.
If the bitch had survived, then the sooner he found her the better.
13
McNab sat down at his cluttered desk. The double shot of coffee he’d fetched from the machine was doing its job, but not fast enough. He surreptitiously added a nip of whisky from the half-bottle in his drawer. Everything was going arse up and he couldn’t stop it. He knew the boss was in with the super. It had to be about the assault case.
He swallowed the whisky-laced coffee quickly then got himself online. There were twenty emails waiting. He skimmed through
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