Easy Kill (33 page)

‘You fucking bastard,’ McNab hissed.

‘Got in there before you, did I?’ Henderson met McNab eye to eye, goading him. When he didn’t respond, Henderson carried on. ‘Pity about the flat shoes. Still, I used my own stiletto.’ He held up two fingers and mimicked a fucking motion through the circle of thumb and forefinger. ‘Daddy’s little girl will never forget
me
.’

There was a second’s silence, then the table lifted off the floor as McNab’s boot caught Henderson hard between the legs. His face twisted in agony at the force of the impact. He grunted and slumped forward, gasping for breath, scrabbling to shield his crotch from further blows.

Bill grabbed McNab by the arm and addressed the tape. ‘This interview is suspended at 7.15, on the request of the interviewee to visit the toilet.’

When Henderson got his breath back, he started doling out all kinds of threats. Ignoring him, Bill righted the table and motioned McNab outside. The commotion had brought a constable to see what was wrong. Bill sent him away with an angry wave.

‘I’ll kill that bastard.’ McNab’s body shook with fury.

Bill’s voice was sharp. ‘Neither of us is going back in there. Someone else takes over from here.’

McNab opened his mouth to protest, then saw the determination on Bill’s face.

‘If I can let it go,’ Bill said quietly, ‘so can you.’

McNab looked close to weeping. Whether he was upset for Bill, himself, or Lisa, Bill didn’t know.

Throughout the day, they began to put the pieces of the jigsaw together. Bill watched as McNab channelled his anger into work. He owed his sergeant a debt he could never repay. But one thing he could do. If there was a problem over the incident in the interview room, it would be Bill and not McNab who would take the rap.

McNab had established Henderson’s stay at the Great Eastern.

‘The hostel began rehousing residents from 1994 and shut its doors finally in 2001,’ he told Bill. ‘Williams, then called Peter Henderson, lived there for a time in the late nineties before he went south. That’s when he must have got to know Cathy.’

‘And got to know the building,’ Bill surmised. ‘Any family?’

‘He was fostered with an older brother when he was two and the brother three. They both went to live with a family in Bridgeton. No father’s name on the birth certificate and Henderson and his brother apparently never saw their mother again. In some trouble as a juvenile, the social service record mentioned a caution for exposing himself. Was a gang member at one point, and had a reputation for using a knife. He cleaned up his act and got a job in a boat yard. It looked good for a
while, or at least we don’t know what he was up to, but we think he moved around a lot. Never married as far as we’re aware. Then back here to the men’s hostel.’

‘When?’

‘1997. Not sure how long he stayed, before he went to Bradford.’

‘What about contacts in Bradford? Maybe there’s more we can get him on.’

‘We’re checking.’

And it took time. Time they hadn’t had when they were looking for Terri and Lisa.

‘The hostel records gave his room number as eleven, in the basement. We’re taking a closer look.’

Forensics had come a long way in a decade. If the Gravedigger had left traces of himself in room eleven, they would find them.

‘CCU retrieved an address for a Mark Gordon from the commodore’s computer. Six Riverside Gardens.’

‘That’s near Magnus’s flat,’ Bill said.

And a far cry from room eleven in the Great Eastern.

WHEN THEY REACHED
the riverside apartment, Magnus was waiting for them.

‘Thanks for calling me.’

‘You deserve to know who your neighbour was,’ Bill said. ‘Whatever the boss says.’

Gordon’s name was on the entry phone list at the front door.

McNab leaned on successive buzzers until someone answered and let them in. When they reached Gordon’s door, Bill gave a cursory knock, then forced it.

The apartment was what you’d expect an up-market rental to be. Minimalist and functional. Magnus had said the killer would move between lair and hunting ground. This place looked like the respectable face of Dr Jekyll.

‘Some smart stuff in the wardrobe,’ McNab called from the bedroom. ‘Bed’s made. Room’s tidy.’

Magnus stood in silence, expression intent. Bill had seen the same look at the scenes of crime, and in the graveyard when they were searching for Lisa.

‘I can smell him. I can smell others too.’ Magnus cast his eyes around the room, then followed McNab into the bedroom. Bill could detect nothing, but Magnus strode confidently to the bed and pulled back the cover.

The trophies were laid out, side by side, row on row, like a patchwork quilt. More than five, so it seemed more had been killed than they were aware of. Something had been removed from each victim. Mostly underwear, smeared with blood, urine, faeces. Now even Bill could smell it.

‘He wanted them close,’ Magnus said. ‘When he lay among them, he could relive each precious moment of every kill.’

‘Sir.’ A shocked McNab pointed out what Bill had already seen. A small charm, shaped like a half-moon, had been attached to every item.

‘He would never have left these behind through choice,’ Magnus said.

They’d forced him to run. To abandon his trophies. His pride had been dented. What better way to restore it than to abduct Bill’s daughter? Magnus had succumbed to temptation. Rhona’s curiosity had been a bonus. But the ultimate prize would have been Lisa. Bill could hardly bear to admit to himself that if it hadn’t been for his daughter’s violation, they wouldn’t have caught their killer.

On their way to the Great Eastern, Bill’s concern for Magnus’s physical state increased. In the close confines of the car, he could see fresh evidence of cuts and bruising. Had Magnus been in a fight since they last met?

Number eleven was at the far end of the lower corridor, next to the stairs, close to the room Bill had taken refuge in when he’d learned Lisa was missing.

At first glance the cubicle looked the same as all the others. Little more than an empty cell, containing a metal bed frame and broken chair. A torn curtain shivered in a faint breeze from a broken window. A SOCO knelt close by, examining spotting on the wall below. The outermost wooden partition had already been removed, exposing the gap between it and the concrete retaining wall behind. The SOCO working there indicated some of the items already extracted from this hiding place. Souvenirs of Henderson’s earlier days. His training for what was to follow. Grimy bras and pants, stiffened by old blood and semen, evidence of the Gravedigger’s past.

Bill sat in his swivel chair, knowing it might be the last time he did. He was struck by how little that bothered him. Maybe it was time to go and live in a cottage somewhere in the west. Or the Orkney Isles. Where there were no crackheads like Minty, no monsters like Henderson. If any such place existed.

‘Beattie’s waiting in room two, sir.’

Bill thanked Janice and lifted the forensic report on the third body they’d found. He gave the chair a spin before he left the room. His way of saying goodbye.

Bill could tell by Beattie’s smug look that news had reached him of Henderson’s arrest. Beattie, or Atticus, was in the clear.

‘Thank you for coming in, Mr Beattie.’

Bill laid the brown envelope between them on the table.

‘It was inconvenient but . . .’

Bill drew out a photograph. ‘Do you recognise this girl?’

Beattie gave the image of a fresh-faced schoolgirl a cursory glance. ‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t.’

Bill studied Beattie’s complacent expression for a moment.

‘That’s strange. Angela Sweeney was in the care of your local authority. She attended your school for a period of time, before she ran away. According to records, Angela was assigned to you for guidance purposes.’

‘I see many children . . .’

‘But you don’t fuck them all.’

Beattie flushed scarlet. ‘How dare you. I will complain to your superior . . .’

Bill shoved a second picture in Beattie’s face. This one was of Angela’s body.

‘She was fifteen years of age when he did this to her. She was also four months pregnant.’

Bill saw Beattie flinch.

‘When you fucked your former pupil, you left a little something of yourself behind,
Atticus
.’

There was a moment’s horrified silence.

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘We ran some tests on the foetus. Guess who the father was?’

‘That’s nonsense . . .’

‘You were having illegal relations with a minor, Mr Beattie.’

Fury suffused Beattie’s face. ‘I had sex with a prostitute, so what?’

‘You had sex with a fifteen-year-old girl.’

Bill sipped his congealing coffee, pondering how life could change in a split second. Magnus, with his bid in the online auction. Rhona choosing to go into the Great Eastern. McNab’s decision to look inside that van.

Bill wondered whether he could have done something differently and perhaps saved Terri and Leanne, and spared Lisa. He was seized by a terrible feeling of powerlessness. Even with the full weight and might of the law behind him, he hadn’t been able to protect his own daughter. He’d brought evil into Lisa’s life. Evil that would stay with her for ever.

From the window, the Glasgow skyline looked as big, brash and uncompromising as ever. A city that bred good people. A city that bred monsters.

It was DC Clark who delivered the message. His team watched in silence as he crossed the incident room en route to the Super’s office. DI Bill Wilson had captured a killer, but those who upheld the law were not permitted to break it.

‘
HEY
.’

‘Hey, yourself.’

McNab looked rough. Two days’ growth, which couldn’t be described as designer stubble, and dark shadows under his eyes.

‘You’re looking good.’ He gave her the once-over. ‘Not too sure about the hospital gown though.’ He admired her plaster. ‘Dr MacLeod, in bed and immobile. Just the job.’

‘Stop it.’

‘Stop what?’

‘Stop flirting with me.’

‘Okay. You look terrible. The gown’s a fright and I don’t fancy you at all. How’s that?’

Rhona pulled a face.

‘All of which you know is untrue.’

Rhona changed the subject. ‘Tell me what’s happening.’

‘How long have you got?’

‘I get out after the doctor’s round, in an hour’s time.’

‘Sean picking you up?’

Rhona hesitated, a fraction too long. ‘He’s gone south.’ She didn’t add ‘with Sam’. As far as she was
aware, no one but Chrissy, Sean and herself knew that Sam had been in Glasgow.

McNab raised an eyebrow. ‘So you require a chauffeur?’

It seemed churlish to refuse.

They settled into talking about work, much safer ground. McNab told her the bodies of Terri and Leanne had been recovered from the culvert. There was to be an internal enquiry into Magnus’s role in the case. And he, McNab, was not going to let the DI take the rap for assaulting Henderson. He’d confessed to his role, of which he was proud.

Rhona already knew McNab had kicked the killer in the balls. The grapevine stretched as far as the Royal Infirmary, especially with Chrissy on one end.

McNab’s final revelation was that Chrissy had told him she was pregnant.

‘What?’

‘She told me when we went to Rhu Marina together, while you were in the underworld. I thought pregnancy was mellowing her, but I’m not so sure.’

‘She rebuffed your advances?’

‘I didn’t advance.’ McNab looked affronted.

‘I bet you didn’t get the chance.’

They laughed together. Laughing was good. Rhona realised she hadn’t laughed for some time.

Rhona returned to more serious things. ‘Does Nora Docherty know about Terri?’

‘Bill went down to see her. He didn’t let on to the Super he was taking Magnus with him. Seems Nora knew already. Had written down the time she says her
daughter died.’ McNab looked spooked. ‘She wants to bury the two girls together, if we can’t find any family for Leanne.’

They were discussing it as though it was all over. Maybe the killing spree was, but the repercussions had only just begun.

‘We took room eleven at the Great Eastern apart. The partition walls were packed with Henderson’s souvenirs. Pants, bras. Photos. There was blood on the wall under the window.’

‘I thought I heard Terri in that room, but when I opened the door, it was empty.’

‘Henderson had rented a flat near Magnus under the name of Mark Gordon.’ McNab’s face darkened. ‘He had trophies from all the women he killed. The creep had them in his bed.’

Rhona remembered the feeling she’d had in Magnus’s car park. The sense that someone was watching her.

McNab waited outside, while the doctor checked her over and gave her the okay to leave. Rhona was surprised to note that she was glad it was McNab taking her home and not Sean.

Chrissy had been the one to tell her Sean had driven Sam to London. Rhona suspected Sean’s silence meant he’d confronted Magnus despite her wishes. Anger and hurt had stopped her calling him. The longer the silence between them, the more difficult it would become, but she needed and wanted the space. It wasn’t the first time they’d parted after an argument, but, deep inside, Rhona sensed it might be the last.

McNab helped her into a wheelchair and whisked her out of the door.

‘No racing. I’m not a police car.’

‘As if.’

In fact, McNab turned out to be a model porter, providing Rhona didn’t mind him eyeing up the nurses and making them blush with cheesy compliments.

Settled in the car, she told him she wanted to go to the lab. McNab didn’t seem surprised. Chrissy greeted her arrival with sarcastic comments about slackers, and a wheelchair she’d commandeered from somewhere. She and McNab bantered as usual, but Rhona sensed there was no antagonism. McNab bid her farewell at the door, after informing Chrissy how sexy she looked pregnant. Chrissy couldn’t think up a suitable reply.

‘It’s not like you to be at a loss for words.’

‘Well, that’s pregnancy for you.’

It was good to be back in the lab, even if she was immobile. Sitting in the flat all day, albeit with Tom for company, would have been unbearable. The hospital had discharged her with strict instructions to put no weight on her leg. It sounded easy, but in practice was more difficult. Chrissy made a joke of it, moving her around in the wheelchair or bringing work to where she was sitting.