Blood Red Roses

BLOOD RED ROSES

Lin Anderson

A Prequel to
Driftnet
with Forensic Scientist Dr Rhona MacLeod

When does desire become obsession?

A hen night in Glasgow leaves the bride-to-be dead on a toilet floor. Her body is twisted, her face a mask of terror. Who would kill a girl just before her wedding? Dr Rhona MacLeod and her team are called in to find out. As they go through the evidence, they find themselves in a world where sex is bought and sold, and more violent death is lying in wait.

Lin Anderson is a crime novelist and screenwriter. Her first novel,
Driftnet
, became a Scottish bestseller in August 2003 and has since sold to Germany, France and Russia.
Blood Red Roses
is a prequel to
Driftnet
. Lin lives in Edinburgh, with her husband, John. She has two sons and one daughter.

 

 

 

 

By the same author

 

Fiction

Driftnet
Torch

 

Lin Anderson

 

 

 

 

 

 

SANDSTONE PRESS

TITLE

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

 

The Sandstone Vista Series

 

Blood Red Roses
First published 2005 in Great Britain by Sandstone Press Ltd
PO Box 5725, Dingwall, Ross-shire, IV15 9WJ, Scotland

 

The publisher acknowledges the financial support of both the Highland Council, through the Education, Culture and Sport Service, and the Literacies Initiative of the Highland Community Learning and Development Strategy Partnership. Sandstone Press Ltd acknowledges the financial support of HI~Arts in the promotion of this ebook.

Copyright © 2005 Lin Anderson
2nd impression: 2006

 

The moral right of the author has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

ISBN-epub: 978-1-905207-40-4

The Sandstone Vista Series of books has been written and skilfully edited for the enjoyment of readers with differing levels of reading skills, from the emergent to the accomplished.

 

Designed and typeset by Edward Garden Graphic Design,
Dingwall, Ross-shire, Scotland.

www.sandstonepress.com

 

 

Dedicated to Detective Inspector Bill Mitchell

 

She smiled and he wanted the smile to be for him.

In his mind he licked the blood red lips, tasting sugary alcopops and lip gloss.

Then the others joined in, cackling and crowing. His face flushed with anger.

‘Hey – we're here – come on!'

The doors opened and the hen party spilled onto the underground platform, waving plastic pitchforks, spiked tails swaying, devil horns blinking red. Hanging back, he waited for the five bobbing heads to reach the escalator before he followed.

Three clubs later she was drunk and needing the toilet. He was waiting on the other side of the saloon doors. She turned a glassy surprised eye on him.

‘What are you doing here?'

He smiled and handed her a drink.

‘Taking a last look before you become a married woman.'

She believed him. They chinked bottles.

‘To a long and happy marriage.'

She met his smile. ‘To a long and happy marriage.'

He watched her swallow three quarters of the bottle.

‘Wow,' she said. ‘Now I do need a piss.'

She pushed open the toilet door, her knees already buckling, then fell, hard. The bottle smashed against a sink, exploding in a shower of rainbow glass.

Her heels began to drum the floor; her hands clawed the air. Foamy spittle bubbled out of her lips as they turned blue. Her eyes widened in terror. She tried desperately to draw air into her lungs, her chest heaving.

Now his smile was genuine. Served her right, the bitch.

 

Dr Rhona MacLeod looked up as the waiter sat a bottle of chilled white wine and two glasses on the table.

‘I didn't order ...' she began.

‘Compliments of the band.'

It was after midnight and the crowds were thinning. DI Bill Wilson was still there, arms locked round Margaret his wife of thirty years, swaying to the haunting sounds of the saxophone. He was enjoying the remnants of his fiftieth birthday party. The police could throw a hell of a do when required. Even Bill's boss had managed a five-minute appearance, to drink a glass of champagne, before he went off to dinner with someone more important.

Rhona poured herself a glass of wine. The saxophone drew to the end of its piece, sending
shivers down her spine. She wasn't a jazz fan. But tonight had almost changed her mind.

‘Hey.' Chrissy, her forensic assistant, appeared at her side, a young man by the hand. ‘We're off.' She raised an eyebrow at the wine and glasses.

‘From the band,' Rhona told her.

Chrissy ran a practised eye over the men on stage.

‘Hope it's the saxophone player.'

It was, but Rhona didn't say.

‘See you tomorrow then.'

Rhona smiled back. ‘See you.'

Chrissy pranced off, dazed young constable in tow. Rhona secretly wished him luck.

The saxophonist thanked his audience in an Irish accent as though he meant it. He sat the saxophone on its stand, jumped from the stage and came towards her.

‘Hi.' His eyes were very blue. ‘I'm Sean. Can we talk?'

They talked while the rest of the band packed up. Bill came to say goodbye. He looked happy, his arm round Margaret. Rhona was pleased he'd had a good time. Bill deserved the respect his
colleagues paid him. He was a good guy and a good policeman. He complimented Sean on his performance and winked at Rhona.

‘Come on,' Margaret pulled him away. ‘It's time I took you home, birthday boy.'

Then they were alone apart from the barman, who handed Sean the keys.

‘You lock up. I'm off.'

‘I own a part share in the club,' Sean explained as the door shut and silence fell.

Rhona wondered how much of this was planned. How many women Sean had seduced with his blue eyes, Irish voice and saxophone. At this moment she didn't care.

‘There's a tune I'd like you to hear.'

He stood on stage, eyes closed, caressing the golden instrument. The sound was dark and sensual. Mood music.

‘That was great,' she said when he finished. ‘What's it called?'

‘
For You
.'

She laughed at his cheeky grin. Irish charm. Who could beat it?

They walked towards her flat, side by side, not
touching.

Being alone had always been her choice. She loved her work, her flat, her life. If or when men came it was good but never permanent. She wondered if she would invite him up, already knowing she would. Between them was something inevitable, although probably short-lived.

They didn't speak as they climbed the stairs. She unlocked the door and they stepped inside. He undressed her in the hallway, so slowly she wanted to scream at him to hurry. His tongue flicked her lips until she opened her mouth to him.

Her mobile rang, pulling her from sleep. She reached down, searching for her handbag, suddenly remembering. Sean was stretched out beside her, easy in sleep. She checked herself for regret and found none.

She slipped out of bed and found her bag ringing in the hall.

‘Rhona?'

‘Bill.'

‘Sorry to wake you.'

‘What's wrong?'

‘I'm at the
Excalibur
pub near the Arches. Female body in the toilets.'

‘I'll be there in fifteen minutes.'

She shook Sean awake.

As she pulled on clothes, he told her he would wait for her to come back.

She looked at him, puzzled.

‘I make good coffee,' he explained.

She nodded, already thinking about death.

She pulled the front door behind her, knowing he wouldn't be there when she got back. Making love to a forensic scientist might be exciting. Waiting for her to come back from a murder scene was not.

Excalibur
had a big sword above the door. Long and hard. Frequented mainly by singles, the symbol promised more than it could deliver.

Bill was waiting in the corridor beyond the saloon doors. He looked at her, bleary eyed.

‘Happy birthday,' she said.

He pointed her towards the toilets.

The twisted body was sprawled half in, half out of a cubicle, devil horns blinking red. She wore
black lycra, stretched over full breasts. A forked tail lay motionless on the tiles among the broken glass of an alcopop bottle.

‘A hen night,' Bill said. ‘Her mate found her. They called 999. The paramedic that tried mouth to mouth reported a strange tingling in his lips. He called us.'

Rhona ran a latex-gloved finger over the blue lips then touched her own. The spot she touched tingled then went numb. She picked up a piece of glass and sniffed it.

‘What's up?' Bill said.

‘Not sure. Could be poison.'

Bill looked surprised. ‘I thought it was drugs.'

Rhona took a sample of the small sticky pool of browny-purple liquid.

‘I'll collect the glass. If she was poisoned, the bottle was the murder weapon.'

Rhona cleared the face of hair and caught a faint scent of something other than booze and makeup.

‘Did she have asthma?'

‘Her mates are next door. We'll ask.'

Four devils sat side by side, smeared mascara,
eyes clouded by drink. Three seemed unable to speak. Rhona spoke to the fourth, who said her name was Tracey.

‘We were pissed,' she muttered. ‘Donna went to the toilet and never came back. I went looking for her. She was jerking and moaning. It was horrible. I got scared and called 999 on my mobile.' She looked at Rhona. ‘She's dead, isn't she?'

Rhona nodded.

‘We drank the same amount. How come she's dead?' Tears ran black down her cheeks. ‘She was getting married tomorrow.'

‘We'll need to inform her family.'

‘She didn't have one. Only her mates... and Jonny.'

‘Jonny?' Rhona said.

‘Her fiance.' She spat out the word.

‘You didn't like him?' Bill said.