HUBRIS Page 11

  ‘Easier said than done. You know what it’s like.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Munro. ‘So, have you had yourself a date with Dr McLeod, yet?’

  ‘You what?’ said West, choking on her dessert.

  ‘Well, he’s been champing at your heels for months, has he not?’

  ‘Are you for real?’ said West. ‘Can’t we play Monopoly, instead?’

  ‘What are you so scared of, Charlie?’

  Shocked by the honesty of his question, West, reeling as though the nerve he’d touched was the one normally found in the root canal, stared blankly back across the table.

  ‘Dunno,’ she said, softly. ‘Once bitten, and all that.’

  ‘Well, see here,’ said Munro, ‘you listen to me. Andy McLeod’s not like your ex, lassie. He’s not a thief, or a druggie, and he’s not a philanderer. He’s a decent chap.’

  ‘Yeah, alright,’ said West. ‘Blimey, it’s like being on the flipping couch. Look, Jimbo, I get what you’re saying, and I appreciate your concern, but the bottom line is, I just don’t know if I fancy him.’

  ‘Well, excuse me for being blunt, Charlie, but let’s face it, you’re not getting any younger.’

  ‘God, you’re a real bag of laughs, you are!’

  ‘All I’m saying is, looks aren’t everything.’

  ‘That’s what I tell myself every time I look in the mirror.’

  ‘Wheesht! You’re a fine-looking woman!’ said Munro. ‘There’s plenty of fellows who’d snap you up if you’d give them a chance, Dr McLeod being one, and God knows, the man could do with warming up.’

  ‘You say all the right things.’

  ‘I do,’ said Munro, ‘just not at the right time. Okay, lecture over, it’s time wee Murdo was in his bed, and I’m inclined to do the same.’

  * * *

  Left to ruminate on the sofa, West conceded that, though no Steve McQueen, the lofty Andy McLeod, with his wrinkled, pallid complexion, unruly, russet hair, and a chin like a ski slope, did possess a certain rugged, Celtic charm and, as someone used to wielding a scalpel with the utmost precision, was probably good with his hands but any thought of succumbing to his offer of a drink was rudely interrupted by the appearance of an unknown number on her phone.

  ‘West,’ she said, wary of disturbing Munro.

  ‘Inspector. It’s PC Villiers. I thought you should know we’ve found the Baxter girl.’

  ‘Oh, thank God for that. Nice one, constable. Where was she? In the boozer with her mates?’

  ‘No, miss. She was in the burn. And she was on her own.’

  West scribbled a note for Munro, left it on the dining table, and slipped silently from the flat.

  Chapter 13

  As a direct result of her parents’ relentless pursuit of a vegetarian lifestyle, West – having survived her formative years on a diet of Puy lentils and carrot cake – soon developed the sensory perception of a broody barn owl, a talent which in later years enabled her to pluck a brace of steak bakes from the bottom of a bag of groceries in total darkness. However, trying to locate Balcreuchan Burn on an unlit A77 with nothing but shadowy grassland to the left and the murky waters of the Firth of Clyde to the right, was proving something of a nightmare.

  Slowing to a crawl, she pulled her phone from her hip, switched it to speaker, and stabbed recall.

  ‘Inspector,’ said PC Villiers. ‘Are you on the way?’

  ‘I’m approaching Lendalfoot,’ said West. ‘Just how far up this bleeding road are you?’

  ‘Aim for Ballantrae, miss. You’re looking for Balcreuchan Burn, the road runs over it.’

  ‘Okay, cheers. Shouldn’t be too hard to spot a river, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not a river,’ said Villiers, ‘it’s a tiny, wee stream.’

  ‘What? Well, how the hell am I supposed to find that? It’s pitch black out here!’

  ‘Just look for the floodlights and the roadblock, Inspector. You’ll not miss it.’

  * * *

  Without a SOCO to document the scene and a pressing urgency to recover the cadaver as soon as possible, Dr Andy McLeod, working by the glare of an arc light, set about photographing the victim who, despite the weather, was wearing nothing more than a pair of jeans, scuffed trainers, and a crew neck sweater.

  Squatting beside the body, he returned the camera to his pocket and gave the voice recorder a running commentary of his observations.

  ‘IC1, female,’ he said, ‘approximately thirty to thirty-five years of age, lying prostrate in an easterly direction towards the flow of the burn with the left side of her head just above the water level. The victim’s sustained a trauma between the temple and the left ear. Injury consists of superficial grazing and a wee cut roughly two centimetres in length. There is evidence of some blood loss but nothing major. There are subcutaneous contusions present on the back of the neck which I am now examining…’

  McLeod cradled the head in both hands and gently rotated it, first from side to side, then back and forth, before carefully laying her down again.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, matter-of-factly, ‘suspected fracture to the C2 which, despite the victim’s proximity to the road, is not commensurate with a fall. Note to self: MRI as soon as. The deceased is also exhibiting some discolouration to the cheeks, lips, and extremities indicative of a lack of oxygen, probably the result of asphyxiation caused by the abnormal presence of fluid in the lungs–’

  ‘Is this a private party?’ said West. ‘Or can anyone join in?’

  ‘Charlie, it’s yourself! We can’t go on meeting like this.’

  ‘You should’ve brought a hip flask, we could’ve made a night of it.’

  ‘Is that an invitation?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said West. ‘So, how long have you been here?’

  ‘Long enough. Forty, forty-five minutes, or thereabouts.’

  ‘How come you always get here before me?’

  ‘Because,’ said McLeod, ‘nine times out of ten, Charlie, I’m not having my supper or enjoying a glass of wine when the call comes in. In fact, most nights the only red I get to see is O-positive.’

  ‘Very funny. Okay, first question, how do we know for sure that this is Rhona Baxter?’

  McLeod stood and clambered to the road.

  ‘She was carrying a photo ID in her back pocket,’ he said, removing his mask. ‘Constable Villiers has it, he’s waiting for you in the car.’

  ‘Well, he can wait a bit longer,’ said West. ‘What’s the ID for?’

  ‘A hotel. The North West something or other.’

  ‘That’s good enough for me,’ said West, ‘that’s where she worked. Anything else?’

  ‘Some loose change and a set of house keys.’

  West paused for a moment, folded her arms and stood staring at Baxter’s lifeless body.

  ‘Not exactly dressed for a yomp in the woods, is she?’

  ‘She most certainly is not,’ said McLeod. ‘And I don’t believe for a moment that she was. Yomping, that is.’

  ‘So, what do you reckon?’

  ‘Well, first of all, she’s a nasty, wee gash to the side of her head. I’d say she got that when she tumbled from the road to the burn.’

  ‘So, you think she fell?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said McLeod. ‘I think she was pushed.’

  ‘Go on.’

  McLeod took West by the arm and guided her towards the burn.

  ‘See here, Charlie,’ he said, pointing at the body, ‘for a start, she’s too far from the road. If she’d tripped and fallen, she’d be right here below us, not a few feet away.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And it feels as though she has a hangman’s fracture.’

  ‘I like the sound of that,’ said West, grinning. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a break in the second vertebra just below the skull, so called for obvious reasons.’

  ‘So, a broken neck, then?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘I didn’t think they were altogethe
r fatal.’

  ‘They’re not,’ said McLeod. ‘It’s a common enough injury, especially amongst sportsmen and victims of whiplash.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But assuming she wasn’t involved in an RTC, or playing rugby at the time of the accident, I’d say somebody broke it for her–’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘–either the result of a choke hold, or a hand placed directly beneath the chin, then forcibly snapping it back.’

  West, shielding her eyes from the blinding light of the lamp, glanced up and down the deserted road before confronting McLeod with an inquisitive frown.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘if your theory’s right, if she was with someone, someone who broke her neck, then what the hell were they doing wandering round here in the dead of night?’

  ‘No-one in their right mind would be out here on foot, Charlie, and certainly not at night. This is pure hypothesis, of course, but I’m inclined to believe that was she was probably dragged from a car then pushed into the burn.’

  ‘So, she was dead when she hit the water?’

  ‘Dear God, I doubt it,’ said McLeod, shaking his head. ‘No, no, chances are she was still very much alive.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Aye, two reasons, Charlie. First of all, the bruising to her neck. For a contusion to appear the body would have to be functioning near enough as normal, it’s a part of the healing process. If she was dead, there’d be no bruises.’

  ‘And the second reason?’

  ‘Naturally, I’ll have to wait for the results of a scan,’ said McLeod, ‘but I’m guessing if it’s not just the C2 with a fracture but the C3 as well, then that could have damaged the spinal cord which would have rendered her immobile from the waist up, and possibly speechless, too. If she didn’t pass out when she bashed her head on the rock, then it was just a matter of time before she succumbed to the cold. Unfortunately for her, when she hit the water, she ended up facing the wrong way. She’s probably got half the burn in her lungs.’

  ‘Poor cow,’ said West, ‘so, not only was she in pain, but she drowned to death?’

  ‘Right enough. Not a pleasant way to go, being paralysed and unable to do anything about it.’

  ‘And how long do you reckon she’s been here?’

  McLeod glanced at West and scratched the back of his head.

  ‘That’s not an easy one, Charlie,’ he said. ‘Going by the colour of the bruises on her neck, the bluish tinge to her lips, and then factoring in the weather conditions, I could hazard a guess at anywhere between eighteen and thirty-six hours.’

  ‘Well, that sort of coincides with when she went missing,’ said West. ‘So, the question is, if she didn’t get here on foot, then who the hell brought her here?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said McLeod, ‘I can give you the how and when, Charlie, but the whys and wherefores are your department.’

  West took a step forward, slipped her hands into her pockets, and stared blankly at the back of Baxter’s sodden head.

  ‘Just thinking out loud,’ she said, softly. ‘You say she had her ID on her, but no cash and no cards, just some loose change?’

  ‘Aye, that’s it.’

  ‘So, chances are it wasn’t a taxi because she wouldn’t have been able to pay for it, so it must have been someone she knew.’

  ‘Makes sense to me.’

  ‘And if she was carrying her pass, and they were travelling in this direction, then maybe she was on her way back to Stranraer. Either back home, or to the hotel.’

  ‘There you go,’ said McLeod, ‘you’re halfway there already. Now, I don’t want to sound rude, Charlie, but I need to fish this young lady out of the water and get her into the wagon.’

  ‘No worries,’ said West. ‘Thanks Andy, let me know if you find anything and do me a favour, get her profile on the system as soon as you can. I’ll leave you in peace, I need to give the hotel a tinkle.’

  * * *

  Ignoring a surly-looking Villiers and his arm-waving request to join him in the car, West hid behind the Defender and dialled.

  ‘North West Castle, Moira Lewis speaking, how can I help?’

  ‘Hello,’ said West, ‘I don’t suppose one of your managers is about, is he? Vince Campbell?’

  ‘No, no. Not at this time of night. He’ll be here at ten, if you’d like to call back then.’

  ‘No, it’s alright, you’ll do. I’m Detective Inspector West, I was chatting with him earlier. It’s about Rhona Baxter.’

  ‘Oh aye, Rhona. What is it you’re wanting?’

  ‘You must know about work rosters and the like, was Rhona due back at some point today? Or yesterday, perhaps?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Lewis, ‘as far as I know, she’s on her holidays.’

  ‘So she’s still not called in?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

  ‘Okay, listen,’ said West, ‘you might have more of an insight into this than your Mr Campbell. Is Rhona friendly with anyone in particular at the hotel?’

  ‘No, she has a wee gas with everyone.’

  ‘So, no best mates? No-one she might hang around with after work?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Lewis. ‘Oh, just a minute, there’s Alex, maybe. Aye, she definitely gets on well with Alex.’

  ‘Alex who?’

  ‘Alex Dunbar. He’s a young lad, mid-twenties.’

  ‘And what does he do?’

  ‘Kitchen porter.’

  ‘And they’re good mates, are they?’

  ‘Aye, that’s one way of putting it.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Between you and me,’ said Lewis, ‘I think they’re at it.’

  ‘Really? What makes you say that?’

  ‘I’ve seen the way they look at each other and…’

  ‘And what?’ said West.

  ‘I don’t know if I should say.’

  ‘Oh, I think you should.’

  ‘I’ve seen them together, once or twice, in the town.’

  ‘And does he drive?’

  ‘Oh aye,’ said Lewis. ‘Nothing fancy, but it goes.’

  ‘And when’s he due in?’

  ‘He’s on nights just now, so let me see, he’ll be starting at four and finishing at one.’

  ‘Nice one,’ said West. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  * * *

  Accepting enforced overtime, sleep deprivation, or a lack of sustenance as credible reasons for any display of apathy, West, rolling her eyes as Villiers lethargically waved a sealed, plastic bag from the window of his patrol car, was less forgiving when it came to a blatant disregard for rank or gender.

  ‘Don’t get up,’ she said as she snatched the pouch from his hand, ‘you might do yourself an injury. Is this everything?’

  ‘Aye, miss,’ said Villiers with a yawn. ‘That’s your lot.’

  ‘Have you searched the surrounding area?’

  ‘We’re not badgers, miss. We’ll have to wait until morning.’

  ‘Well, come first light,’ said West, impatiently, ‘I want a sweep of this road, at least a mile in each direction.’

  ‘A mile?’

  ‘And I want a SOCO to carry out a detailed search of the area by the burn, got that?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Villiers, ‘loud and clear, but is that not your responsibility? I mean, no offence, miss, but I’m just–’

  West bent forward and leaned into Villiers, causing him to retreat from the window.

  ‘Listen, sunshine,’ she said with snarl, ‘I’ve got two dead bodies, a drug smuggler, and a bereft family to deal with, so make the call and get it sorted before I lose my rag, got it?’

  Pondering the penalty for insubordination, and deeming death by firing squad perhaps a little too severe, West, sitting in the draughty Defender, helped herself to the last of the toffees, checked her watch, and groaned as the phone rang again.

  ‘Dougal!’ she snapped. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Sorry, miss. I’ve been calling but you’re not pickin
g up. Did I wake you?’

  ‘What? No! I’m with McLeod!’

  ‘Sorry, I never realised you were on a date.’

  ‘I’m not on a date!’ said West, clenching her teeth. ‘We’ve found the Baxter girl!’

  ‘Jeez-oh!’ said Dougal. ‘At this time of night? That doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘It isn’t. She’s brown bread.’

  ‘Oh, dear. So, what’s the plan?’

  ‘I’m heading up to Baxter’s gaff in a bit to break the good news.’

  ‘Rather you than me.’

  ‘Thanks for that. Okay, listen, here’s what I need. The North West Castle Hotel–’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘–there’s a geezer there called Alex Dunbar, he’s a kitchen porter. I need D&G to either have a word with him or send him over to us.’

  ‘Right you are.’

  ‘He won’t be there until four this afternoon. Tell them we need to know his whereabouts over the last forty-eight hours.’

  ‘Is he in the frame, then?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘And if he’s not talking?’

  ‘Then have a word with The Bear, I know it’s pushing the boundaries but tell him we have reasonable grounds to arrest him on suspicion of abduction and murder, and ask him to sort it.’

  ‘No bother,’ said Dougal, ‘I’ll take care of it now.’

  ‘Oh, and tell them they’ll need a SOCO, too. He’s got a motor. We’re looking for beige-coloured fibres off a woollen sweater and any footprints in the footwell, and while they’re at it, Rhona Baxter’s flat, they need to go over it with a fine-tooth comb.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘One more thing,’ said West, ‘while you’re on the blower, ask them where they are with Callum McClusky, they should have found that bugger by now. Right, that’s me done, how are you? You must be knackered.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Dougal. ‘I’m fine, miss. Really.’

  ‘Well, you don’t sound very happy. I take it that means you’ve not heard from Kay, yet?’

  ‘On the contrary, miss. That’s why I was calling. We’ve a result.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ said West. ‘Why didn’t you say so instead of letting me waffle on! Come on, then! What is it?’

  ‘The DNA sample taken from Boyd’s boot, it’s a perfect match for Aron Jónsson.’