The Reborn (42 page)

‘Good work, Bill. Congratulate the team from me.’

In the old days Sutherland would have produced a bottle of whisky and poured them both a glass. Not any more. Changed times, and not always for the better.

‘I will, but that’s not why I’m here.’

‘There’s a problem?’

‘DS Michael McNab,’ Bill said.

Sutherland eyed him cautiously. ‘We have discussed this already. SOCA are handling the case.’

‘He isn’t dead, is he?’

There was a moment when he knew Sutherland was poised between downright denial and yet another lie, then he went to the door and checked it was properly closed. ‘Sit down, Detective Inspector.’

‘I prefer to stand.’

‘Sit down. That’s an order.’

Bill sat. His legs were like water anyway.

‘Tell me what you know.’

Bill was surprised he still had a voice. ‘Fergus Morrison was shot in a London safe house. Someone had been in there with him. Someone wanted by Kalinin.’

‘And that someone is a potential witness against Kalinin and therefore must be protected,’ Sutherland said sharply.

A cold fury swept through Bill. ‘Bastards! They let us believe he was dead. They made us bloody bury him.’

‘The dead are safer than the living.’

They eyeballed one another.

‘Has he been in touch?’ Sutherland said.

Bill shook his head.

‘If he is, I want to know. You will tell me immediately.’

Bill suddenly understood. ‘They’ve lost him, haven’t they?’

Sutherland looked peeved. ‘He walked out of the safe house.’

‘Maybe because it wasn’t bloody safe.’

‘The
new
safe house. McNab’s reckless. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t gone to the Poker Club that night.’

‘Slater let Kalinin out. He did not inform McNab of that fact.’

They locked eyes once again.

‘You will tell no one, I repeat, no one about this conversation, Detective Inspector. And I hope I don’t need to remind you that your recent reinstatement is still under review.’

Bill kept his mouth tightly shut, not trusting himself to speak.

‘That is all.’ Sutherland rose and opened the door. ‘As I said, please give your team my congratulations on a job well done.’ He pitched the last remark loud enough for anyone within a mile radius to hear, even though there was no one else around.

Bill entered the pub quietly, not wanting to draw attention to himself. The drink had been flowing freely, the talk was loud, the laughter even louder. DC Campbell was doing an impression of the Super. It wasn’t half bad. Bill went round the back of the bar and caught the barman’s eye, but his offer of money was waved away.

‘They set up a kitty. There’s plenty in it for you.’

He pushed over a whisky. Bill took it and made his way through the crowd, pausing now and again as someone spotted him and took the drunken liberty of slapping their boss on the back. He found Rhona sitting in an alcove, a glass of white wine on the table in front of her. She slid over to make room for him.

‘How’d it go with Sandie?’ she said.

‘She won’t discuss Coulter.’

‘She will, when she realises what it means.’

‘He’s untouchable. He was never coming out anyway. I can’t help but think he’s the only winner in all of this.’

Rhona put her hand on his arm. They sat in silence for a moment as fun and laughter flowed around them.

‘I have something to tell you.’ Bill spoke quietly. ‘It’s about Michael.’

She was appraising him, those cool eyes plumbing the depths of his soul. He had made up his mind to do this the minute he’d known for certain, regardless of the consequences. He was ignoring a direct order from his superior officer, but he didn’t care. She deserved to know.

She spoke before he could. ‘Michael’s alive, isn’t he?’

He nodded, wondering how much to say. ‘SOCA had him under wraps. He was going to testify against Kalinin.’ He wondered how on earth she knew, or could even have guessed, that McNab was alive.

‘When did you find out?’ she said.

‘I had a set-to with the Super before I came here. He told me my job’s on the line if I say anything.’

‘I won’t breathe a word.’

DC Campbell, rosy from his comedic exertions and the number of pints he’d downed, spotted them in the corner. He bellowed above the general hubbub. ‘Hey, boys! Let’s hear it for the boss!’

A circle of happy faces and raised glasses turned towards them. Bill felt Rhona’s hand squeeze his arm.

‘To the boss,’ they shouted.

‘To the boss,’ Rhona repeated quietly beside him.

57

Bill parked in the same place as before and walked along Hamilton Drive, pausing to look over the wall at the Kelvin below. He wondered if the upside-down ironing board was still in place. He’d been angry about it before, now he felt an affection for the item that had stopped the backpack on its way downstream.

Below, two dogs met on the path and had a friendly sniff while their owners exchanged pleasantries. Soon the banks of the river would be green and luscious again, most of the litter covered by foliage. He made a mental note to bring Margaret and the kids here. They could walk as far as Kelvingrove, maybe visit the Dr Who exhibition for Robbie’s sake.

He thought briefly of Jeff Coulter. Without the co-operation of Sandie or Geri, they had nothing to charge him with. It was the one fly in the ointment, but there was time yet. Maybe Geri would eventually turn her anger against him instead of blaming herself. Maybe Sandie’s parents would make her see sense. Maybe.

He paused at the gate for a moment. The Volkswagen was there so she must be at home. The grass was no longer a carpet of crocuses, but daffodils were nodding in their place. He hesitated at the front door before ringing the bell. Through the glass he saw the outline of a baby buggy in the hall next to the flower-decked table.

When she opened the door she was holding a bottle of milk, just as Geri Taylor had been. Her face lit up when she saw him. From somewhere nearby came the wail of a hungry baby.

‘Come in, Detective Inspector,’ she said in delight.

He followed her through to the sitting room. The baby had been laid in a Moses basket while she answered the door. Maria scooped the infant up, took a seat on the couch and reinserted the teat in the child’s open mouth. Silence quickly descended.

Now that he saw Maria with the baby, Bill could barely register the enormity of what this woman had gone through. She had lost her daughter, first to her husband, then to a killer. The tenacity of the human spirit never failed to amaze him.

Maria planted a kiss on the baby’s forehead. ‘I decided to keep the name Daisy. It’s what Kira wanted.’

Bill wanted to ask about her husband, and as though anticipating this, she said, ‘Ronald and I are no longer together. I have custody of Daisy, but he has access to her. He’s taken up a new job in London, so he won’t be here that often.’ She sounded relieved.

He looked up from his study of the baby to find her observing him keenly.

‘Kira was extraordinarily gifted, Detective Inspector, but she always needed to control those around her. Maybe it was because she’d been abandoned as a child. She was in a terrible state when social services found her. Perhaps by controlling and manipulating others, she was trying to make sure she would never be abandoned again.’

Bill nodded but didn’t comment. If it helped her to believe that, he had no business suggesting otherwise.

A tiny hand found and caught hold of Maria’s finger. The expression on her face told Bill that Daisy would be loved whatever happened in the future.

When he took his leave, Maria caught both his hands in hers.

‘Thank you for finding Daisy for me. Having her has made my life worth living again.’

58

Rhona glanced at her watch. It was almost time. She left the coffee stand and walked towards the exit of the Buchanan Galleries. Adrenalin was pumping through her body and urging her to run down the incline as a child might, in a surge of joy and anticipation. She forced herself to walk even more slowly than usual, as though approaching her execution.

Most of the shoppers were coming in through the double doors from Sauchiehall Street. At eleven o’clock on a Saturday morning, Glaswegians were intent on their favourite pastime. As she slipped out past a mother and teenage girl, both dressed expensively in designer labels, she thought momentarily of Kira. Bill had told her that Daisy had been placed with Kira’s mother, Maria, and both were doing well. It was the only good thing to come out of the whole terrible business.

Cold air met her as she emerged. She joined a crowd gathered at the foot of the steps leading to the concert hall, where a man dressed in a tuxedo was performing ‘I Did It My Way’ in Italian. At first she barely noticed the light touch on her shoulder, assuming it was just someone pressing close in the enthusiastic audience. Then a hand found hers and clasped it tightly.

‘Let’s walk.’

He steered her away from the crowd and along Sauchiehall Street. Her heart was beating so loudly and rapidly she could hear nothing but its pounding in her ears. She stole a glance at the man taking long strides beside her. She would never have recognised him.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Wait and see.’

He led her towards Bath Street. Halfway up the hill he turned in at the entrance to a hotel. The foyer was small and lined in dark paper. He made for a double door on the left. Even out of the view of others he didn’t break his silence. They entered a tiny lift and he pressed the button for the eighth floor. Her hand still clasped in his, she could sense his tension. He turned right out of the lift, led her to the far end of the corridor and opened the door to room 803.

He closed it behind them, checked the lock and slipped the card into the slot. When the lights came on, she saw that the outer wall was glass. It rose through two levels and she realised the bedroom was above. The view from the window over Glasgow was extraordinary. Every landmark on this side of the city was identifiable. She could even see as far as the Cathkin Braes to the south.

There was a moment’s silence as she registered all of this, realising that he was hiding up here, that seeing the city laid out before him probably made him feel safer. He came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms about her. It didn’t matter what he looked like; she could smell the familiar scent of his skin as he placed his cheek against her head. They stood like that for a long time, drinking one another in.

‘I cried at your funeral.’

‘I knew you would,’ he said.

‘Chrissy was heartbroken.’

She could hear the pain in his voice as he said, ‘I’m sorry about that. I was out of it. I had no idea what the hell they were doing.’

‘She organised a funeral mass. We sang hymns.’

He laughed. A glorious sound. ‘Good old Chrissy, hedging my bets. I love that lassie.’

‘She called the baby Michael after you.’

‘No way!’

She wanted to stay like this forever. Not seeing him, she could remember the old McNab. The dark auburn hair, the blue eyes, the scruffy stubble. If she turned round, she would be looking at a stranger.

‘What happened?’

‘I died. They revived me. When I eventually surfaced, I was in a private room in a hospital in London with SOCA in charge. I was moved to a safe house, which turned out not to be so safe after all.’

‘Fergus Morrison?’

‘Poor bastard.’ He tensed, his arms squeezing her even tighter. ‘They moved me to another house, but I decided I was better on my own.’

‘What about SOCA?’

‘They don’t know where I am now. I prefer it that way.’

She wanted to ask what he was going to do, but didn’t dare because she feared hearing the answer.

‘Einar Petersson?’ she asked.

‘He helped me. He’s OK.’

‘I thought he was lying.’

‘You buried me. Of course you would think he was lying.’

‘And Slater?’

‘Who knows? Maybe when it goes to court I’ll get some answers.’

He eased her round to face him. For a moment she saw a stranger who merely had McNab’s voice. Head shaved, thinner, a short beard dyed black, then she met his eyes and saw the real McNab still in there.

‘May I kiss you, Dr MacLeod?’

But it was she who kissed him, tasting the man she had known. When they parted, he said, ‘When I woke in the hospital, I vowed I would live long enough to do that again.’

‘What happens now?’

‘We could go upstairs.’

They undressed in suddenly awkward silence. His body was so much thinner. Taut and wiry like a long distance runner’s. She tried not to focus on the bullet wound in his back, but still her eyes were drawn there and she saw him lying on the pavement, the blood pumping out of his body.

‘Hey.’ He was beside her, bringing her back to the present. ‘Come on.’ He led her to the bed and threw back the duvet.

They lay facing one another. He traced her cheek, her neck, as though checking that each plane and curve was where it should be. His touch was familiar, but at the same time new. She wondered if his brush with death had changed him, made him calmer and more concentrated.

Afterwards they lay naked and exposed, the duvet thrown to the floor. Warm air from an overhead heater circulated above them, softly brushing their bodies.

‘What now?’ The same question she’d posed earlier. The one he’d chosen to misinterpret.

‘I lie low until the trial begins.’

‘They’ve picked up Kalinin?’

‘Soon.’

‘How do SOCA know you’ll turn up at his trial?’

‘They know if I’m alive, I’ll be there.’

‘Does Kalinin know you’re alive?’

‘He isn’t sure.’

‘But he’s looking for you?’