The Reborn (14 page)

‘Slater didn’t even try,’ she said sharply.

‘Maybe now Bill’s back . . .’

She cut him short. ‘Maybe.’

She offered him a coffee and then began to bring him up to date on the fairground case. Magnus was immediately intrigued.

‘There’s never been a foetal theft recorded in the UK before.’

‘That’s where you come in.’

‘They want a possible profile for the perpetrator?’

She nodded.

‘They could probably get that by studying similar reports from the States.’

‘There’s something else.’ Rhona told him about the mirror writing.

If he was intrigued before, Magnus was doubly so now.

‘You’re assuming her assailant wrote the message on her hands?’

‘It was fresh and unsmudged, in soft crayon, possibly make-up.’

‘Mirror writing as a skill is pretty rare.’

‘I know. Plus we found a daisy tattooed on the small of her back.’

‘A daisy.’ He paused, thinking. ‘You need more than one daisy to make a chain.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

She fired the overhead projector via a laptop and brought up an image of the crime scene on a screen.

‘Roy’s still working on this but there’s enough to give you a sense of what we have.’

Magnus watched as she went through the 360-degree shots of the mirror maze. Roy had done a great job recording the scene while avoiding the multiple reflections in the mirrors, but it still had all the hallmarks of a teen horror movie. An enclosed space, a girl on her own, a narrative that juxtaposed sex and death.

‘Why was she in there?’

‘We don’t know. Her friends said she went to buy candyfloss and never came back.’

‘Who found her?’

‘The boyfriend.’

‘The baby’s father?’

‘He says not, but when I DNA-test the blood from the umbilical cord, we’ll know for sure.’ She brought up the body map.

He watched, fascinated, as she magnified the palms of the hands, clicking to spin the writing and reveal what it said.

‘That’s an impressive piece of software,’ he said.

‘You haven’t seen the half of it yet,’ she replied.

‘So this move to independent expert status is working out OK?’

‘I end up with a lot of the cases I’d have been on anyway, but the difference is I get to choose. It suits me much better.’

Magnus wondered how true that was. He knew how much working in the team had meant to her, both professionally and personally. Bill Wilson had been like a father figure as well as a colleague. Chrissy was always willing to state the truth, no matter how uncomfortable it might be. And McNab. Awkward, determined, impetuous to the point of danger . . . and great at his job. And he had seen the way the Detective Sergeant had looked at Rhona, felt the energy that flowed between them. McNab had loved her, and now he was gone.

The random nature of sudden death could stop people in their tracks. Those left behind lapsed into a feeling of futility, often resulting in depression. Others set about constructing an alternative life, one they thought they could control better. He suspected that was what Rhona was doing.

She opened a screen window to display two red fibres.

‘These are the other traces I found. Two hairs. Definitely not human. Dyed. Possibly yak hair.’

‘Yak?’

‘Apparently it’s used in the manufacture of high quality wigs.’

‘So her assailant might have been wearing a wig?’

‘Either that or she picked up the fibres elsewhere before the attack. Yak hair is also used for hair extensions, although bright red is a bit extreme for normal day use. I also found traces of make-up on her finger. We’re trying to identify the origin.’

He let her talk on, absorbing what she was saying with no further interruptions. When she’d finished, he sat in silence for a few moments.

‘There’s a forensic meeting tomorrow,’ she said. ‘You’ll come along?’

‘Of course.’

They lapsed back into what was now a slightly awkward silence. Magnus, suspecting Rhona wanted him to leave, stood up. He had planned to ask her to have a drink with him some time, but now he wasn’t sure if such a suggestion would be welcome.

She led him to the door.

‘You’ll let me know what time tomorrow?’

‘I’ll text you.’

He found himself absurdly grateful that she still had his number in her phone.

16

The narrow wooden steps climbed through a steep ivy-coated bank from the Kelvin Walkway to a mesh fence at the rear of the independent Glasgow Academy.

In the days when schools operated an open-door policy the path would have provided a back entrance, allowing pupils access from the walkway and the park. Now the area was overgrown and the gate padlocked, although some enterprising person had cut a hole in the wire big enough to squeeze through.

The surrounding ground cover of ivy was littered with empty cider bottles and crushed lager cans, suggesting the location provided an occasional drinking den, reasonably secluded, but with a clear view of the walkway below.

From the gate the path proceeded downwards in a zigzag fashion, with steps at the steepest inclines. It was muddy, partially covered with long tendrils of ivy and blocked in part by the fallen branches of overhanging trees, one of which required clambering over.

It was at this spot the two thirteen-year-olds had made their discovery. Lunchtime had brought them here with their sandwiches and cans of Coke to sit on the log. Half-eaten slices of bread and cheese lay discarded beside a fallen yoghurt carton, suggesting lunch had come to an abrupt halt once they’d spotted the bag.

Bill crouched on a metal tread and took a closer look at its contents, the hair on the back of his neck rising. No wonder the boys had been so freaked. Who wouldn’t be?

Soft fronds of dark hair curled damply on the brow. The eyes were closed, the lids a fragile cobweb of blue veins. Tiny white milk bumps freckled the nose above a cupid’s bow mouth, opened to expose the tip of a pink tongue. A newborn, absolutely devoid of life.

How could a doll look so real?

It was so achingly realistic that he felt the need to check for a pulse in the soft folds of the neck, to touch the cheek and hope for warmth. He imagined the eyes opening and the startled mew of a newborn’s cry.

‘Even the paramedics were fooled at first,’ DS Clark told him. ‘It’s a Reborn, a doll modelled to look like a real baby.’

There had been a TV documentary on the subject of Reborns a few months back. He’d watched it with Margaret and had been shocked at the image of grown women cradling the dolls like real babies, and bewildered at the fact that some of them had asked for the dolls to be fashioned to look like their dead children. Margaret had been more circumspect: ‘
I suppose it’s no different from surrounding yourself with photographs, except that this way you can hold the dead child
.’

‘Take a look at what it’s wearing,’ Janice urged him.

The doll was encased in a pink sleep suit, fastened up the front. Bill remembered them from Lisa and Robbie’s own baby days. The shape of the body was the same as a normal infant, fat-bellied, the bottom thickened as though by a nappy. On the right front of the suit was an embroidered flower motif, yellow-centred with white petals.

It was undeniably a daisy.

It could be a coincidence, but he was wary of coincidences, especially in a murder hunt.

He retreated via the metal treads DS Clark had laid and dipped under the ribbon. They weren’t that far from where the murder had occurred. Walk a few hundred yards in an easterly direction and you would be at the funfair. In fact he had practically looked down on this area from Hamilton Drive.

The doll, although in a plastic bag, had not been hidden. Someone wanted it to be found. It looked in perfect condition, and – according to the TV programme he’d watched – they were not cheap to buy. All this, along with its proximity to both the locus of crime and Kira’s home and the presence of a daisy motif on the sleep suit, meant they had to take its appearance seriously.

‘Parcel up the doll and I’ll take it to forensic myself. And get a couple of SOCOs to go over this area,’ he said.

‘They’re on their way, Sir.’

Bill nodded his approbation. Janice was proving an able and astute replacement for McNab.

‘The other girls in the gang. What’s happened about them?’

‘All four of them have had terminations. I went to interview them and their parents – it was a little creepy, actually. The girls all had the same haircut as Kira, all dyed to the same shade of blonde, and I kept forgetting which one I was interviewing.’

Bill wondered if the fact that they were no longer pregnant would be enough to keep them safe, assuming they had had nothing to do with Kira’s death.

As though reading his mind, Janice said, ‘I checked out their alibis for the night Kira was killed. None of them were anywhere near the funfair. In fact, they’ve been on lockdown since the pregnancies. Private tutors and heavy parental supervision until their exams.’

Bill liked the sound of that. If the parents were on the case, he didn’t have to be. ‘Alert the families to our concerns, but make it sound like our normal procedures.’

He headed back to his car and drove to the university, the doll on the back seat. He thought of ringing ahead to warn Rhona of his imminent arrival, but decided against it. He had no idea what he planned to say or how he would explain his change of heart. He was also ashamed of giving her such a hard time when she’d tried to persuade him to stay.

He recalled their meeting in the Beechwood Bar after McNab’s death. The DS had arranged that get-together, no doubt hoping that the presence of both himself and Rhona would change Bill’s mind about taking responsibility for the assault on the Gravedigger.

He remembered how Rhona had sat there, constantly looking across when the door opened, as though expecting McNab to enter. Despite her pleas, he’d left her that night intending to chuck it in, whatever happened with the court case. At the time he’d believed it himself.

What had changed his mind?

If he were honest, it was Rhona’s accusation that he was betraying McNab; that it was up to him, to both of them, to bring his killer to justice. And he couldn’t do that if he was out of the Force.

He signed in and made his way up the stairs to the lab. Through the glass panel he could see that Rhona was on her own. Of course, Chrissy would still be on maternity leave. He stood outside the door, remembering an earlier visit here when he’d realised something was personally amiss with Rhona. At the time they’d been investigating the death of a male university student. Her involvement in that case had made her face up to issues in her own past and had also led her into danger.

She was a consummate professional with one weakness – she took some cases personally. He had the same failing himself. You were constantly warned against it, but you would have to be made of stone not to. It took its toll on you, he could vouch for that.

She glanced up, sensing someone watching her. Above the mask, he saw her eyes light up.

17

‘I’m so glad you’re back.’

‘Thank you for reminding me why I should be.’

‘I was a bit harsh.’

‘You only said what I needed to hear.’

‘And Margaret’s OK with your decision?’

‘I think she’s relieved to get me out from under her feet.’

They savoured each other’s pleasure for a moment.

‘I’ve asked for a further meeting with Superintendent Sutherland to discuss how we progress the Kalinin case,’ Bill said.

‘How did he react?’ Rhona tried to keep her tone neutral.

‘I got the impression he wasn’t keen.’

‘Why?’

Bill shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but I plan to find out.’

Rhona was so heartened by that she almost blurted out about Petersson, but something stopped her. Luckily, at that moment, Chrissy arrived. No subdued reaction to Bill’s reinstatement from her. She flung her arms about him and practically whooped for joy.

While Rhona made coffee, Chrissy regaled Bill with tales of baby Michael and brought him up to date on Sam.

‘You haven’t been to hear him play in ages,’ she said accusingly.

‘When is he next on?’

‘At the weekend.’

‘I’ll be there, if work allows.’

Chrissy turned pointedly to Rhona. ‘Will you come too?’ she challenged.

‘I’ll think about it.’

There was a moment when she thought Chrissy might raise the subject of Petersson, her supposed boyfriend. Rhona didn’t want that, so quickly changed topic.

‘A Reborn’s been found in the park near the funfair. Bill brought it for us to take a look.’

‘You found one of those creepy dolls?’ Chrissy said excitedly. ‘Where is it?’

‘In the lab.’

‘Great!’ Chrissy, all else forgotten, immediately began the process of kitting up.

The doll lay exposed on the table. Even now, in the bright glare of the laboratory lights, small limbs loose, eyes closed, it looked for all the world like a real baby.

‘It’s remarkable.’ Rhona touched the tiny hand, fully expecting it to open and grab tightly onto her finger.

‘It’s so realistic I feel like picking it up and nursing it myself.’ Chrissy looked as bewildered as Rhona felt.

She realised they were talking in hushed tones as though trying not to wake a sleeping infant. Was this why people kept these dolls? So that they could behave as though there was a real baby in the house?

She carefully removed the sleep suit with her gloved hands and laid it to one side. Underneath was a pretty pink vest and what looked like a proper disposable nappy.

‘OK, that’s really weird. Why would anyone put a real nappy on a doll?’ Chrissy said.