Torch (18 page)

MacRae fished
in his pocket and handed her an envelope. ‘MacFarlane asked me to
give you this.’

Rhona tore it
open. She read the faxed forensic report on the remaining cups with
growing alarm. MacRae hadn’t trusted Jaz from the outset. Did Jaz
give them the drawing of the boy with the nose ring already knowing
he was dead? Jaz had been watching Greg’s apartment and MacRae’s
family. Jaz drank coffee in Greg’s flat. Now they had matched a DNA
trace on the semen in the letter with one of the cups taken from
Greg’s. Which could mean Jaz sent the letter.’

‘Christ. What’s
wrong?’ MacRae said, catching her look.

‘We have to get
inside Greg’s apartment.’

Chapter
31

Greg’s front
door swung open.

It had taken
ten seconds for MacRae to defeat Greg’s fancy security system.

‘You’ve done
this before?’

‘Don’t tell
MacFarlane.’

The flat was
clean and empty. There were fresh flowers in a vase on the hall
table and a neat pile of unopened mail by the phone. The bedroom
wardrobe revealed a partially cleared rail and no shoes. Rhona was
convinced Greg hadn’t been there since she spoke to him that first
night.

‘What are we
looking for?’

Rhona was
skimming through the telephone book. She found the number and
dialled. A man’s voice answered. She tried to sound casual. ‘Is
Greg there?’

‘No,’ the voice
sounded amused. ‘Should he be?’

Whoever Justin
was, he’d changed his voice since their last meeting.

‘I believe we
met in Greg’s flat a few days ago,’ Rhona tried. ‘You arrived just
as I was leaving.’

The voice was
puzzled but anxious to help. During the ensuing conversation Rhona
learned that Justin Roberts was not the man who let himself into
Greg’s flat and sat relaxed on the sofa, paying Rhona compliments.
By the time she hung up, MacRae had rediscovered the drinks cabinet
and was helping himself.

‘I need a
drink,’ he said as if she would argue. He sat down where the pseudo
Justin Roberts had sat, feet up, giving her the once over. That was
what had been odd, Rhona realised. She had never been sized up by a
gay man before.

‘So your
friend’s gone to Rome. What’s the problem?’

A niggling
doubt was turning into a terrible realisation.

‘I’ve been
stupid.’

‘What the hell
are you talking about?’

‘I gave him a
name and an identity.’

MacRae looked
lost.

‘The second
time I stayed... there was a guy came into the flat. I assumed it
was Greg’s boyfriend Justin Roberts.’

MacRae was
catching on, fast.

‘And it
wasn’t?’

She shook her
head. Everything was adding up. ‘I think he’s the man we’re looking
for.’

The drill of
the phone interrupted her explanation. The ansaphone cut in and
started its bland message. Then a voice Rhona recognised ordered
her to pick up.

‘Yes?’

There was a
short silence then:

‘I want you to
know I can see you both quite clearly.’

Rhona looked
round, mentally stripping the room, searching for the camera.

‘Don’t bother.
You won’t find it.’

‘Bast...’

Rhona covered
MacRae’s expletive with her hand. She spoke quietly into the
receiver.

‘What do you
want?’

‘We’re going to
play a little game, you and I. If you win, MacRae’s child will
live. If you lose, both the building you are in and Granny’s
cottage will be destroyed by fire.’

Rhona forced
her voice to remain calm. The arsonist was power assertive.
Confronting him would only make matters worse.

Beside her
MacRae’s breath was coming in rapid gasps, his skin grey.

‘Tell me what
to do.’

Rhona listened
to his orders, sick with the thought of the consequences of his
action. An explosion here would seriously undermine the building,
break gas pipes. The arsonist would get his show alright. Bigger
and louder than any pyrotechnic display in Princes Street
Gardens.

‘We have to
clear the building first,’ she insisted.

‘No! he said
harshly. ‘You have exactly twenty minutes. You will go alone.
MacRae will remain in my line of sight. Is that understood?’

‘Yes.’

Rhona touched
MacRae’s arm. ‘There’s still time. Try and call MacFarlane,’ she
whispered.

The basement
was empty apart from some packing cases lining the walls. But if
she had been sent to look, there had to be something to find. It
just wouldn’t be obvious.

Rhona walked up
and down, stamping her feet, checking the sound. Nothing. She
headed diagonally towards the opposite wall. This time the sound
was different. She was a foot from the corner. Four packing cases
stood between her and the wall. She dragged them back. A narrow set
of steps led to a darkened room below street level. At the bottom a
sewer vent pipe climbed the wall.

MacRae’s voice
echoed in her head. ‘Every building has a six inch diameter pipe
leading into the sewer. They don’t all have a way in.’

Rhona wouldn’t
believe that. Couldn’t.

She dropped to
her knees on the rough concrete floor and began to crawl about
exploring the surface with her hands. The metal ring of the manhole
cover jabbed her shin. She grabbed it and pulled, her arms
screaming with the effort. Sewer gas escaped from the black hole,
making her gag.

Rhona braced
herself and dropped inside.

Propane was
denser than air. If the gas was already on it would have gathered
below. He would set the timer to spark ignition ten minutes
later.

She stood
trying to get her bearings. Beside her water flowed in muted
silence. As her eyes became accustomed to the dark, she made out a
door on her left. She reached for the handle. Inside was a pair of
overalls, an assortment of tools and a torch. As she switched on
the torch, she caught the scent of gas.

Now was the
time to run. Rhona felt her heart race away from her as her brain
calculated how long she had. If the arsonist had been lying to her,
then death was imminent. If he was telling the truth she had five
minutes to find the propane and stop it igniting.

In her head
time rushed past, yet in the claustrophobic atmosphere of the
tunnel it stood still. She breathed in the gas and followed its
sickening hiss.

The canisters
stood side by side, hidden behind an archway that led from one
sewer into the next. Attached was the trigger device. Simple and
effective. A spark in a gas filled area. A memory of the carnage of
an IRA terrorist bomb in the height of the Troubles flooded Rhona’s
head. Forensic bags full of samples that had occupied her days and
filled her nights with tortured images of the dead. This explosion
would wreak the same havoc.

As in the
moments before death she thought of those she cared about. Liam,
Sean... Severino waiting above, his child in the hands of a
madman.

She pulled off
her jacket, immersed it in the dark water then walked towards the
device.

In the flat
above, Severino stood in the same moment of time. In his mind his
arms were about Amy, sheltering her from the fire that would rage
round her. The scars on his back burned with the memory of his own
pain and the pain that would be hers. He wept silently for what he
had done to his daughter. He found himself praying. God let there
be angels. God let Amy’s guardian angel protect her. Please God
protect Rhona.

He had turned
on the mobile in his pocket and pressed what he thought was the key
for MacFarlane. He’d whispered his message and hoped it was
heard.

All his fears
about this arsonist had come true. He had focussed on the woman,
given her a task that could not be fulfilled. Would laugh and gloat
over her failure. Rhona’s death in that fire, Severino’s death,
Amy’s death would be his favourite snuff movie.

Severino could
feel the eyes of the camera on him. Taste the watcher’s excitement.
He understood it. He had tasted it himself. Fire. The ultimate
cleanser. The ultimate life force. The ultimate orgasm.

Rhona forced
the small black box under the water, jamming it below the side
ledge. Air bubbled to the surface and dissipated. She rose from her
knees and walked back to the canisters, turned the valves and the
hissing stopped.

She stumbled
towards the steps, waves of nausea sweeping over her, her body
moving into sudden shock, her limbs shaking with fear, relief and
cold.

In the distance
fire engines screamed their arrival. Rhona heard voices from the
basement; MacFarlane’s then MacRae’s sharp with fear.

‘Rhona! Thank
Christ!’

He caught her
as she stumbled up the steps and gathered her in his arms.

She looked up
at him.

‘Amy?’ she
said.

Chapter
32

Above him the
skylight was shrouded in white. Jaz reached over and flicked on the
bedside lamp. This time he had been asleep. Well and truly
asleep.

The room was
chilly, the radiator cold. He reached for his jacket. He would
check on Emps. Make sure he was alright.

Outside, a
single line of footprints led to the cottage. Someone had arrived
here recently. But who? Jaz crept forward, conscious of the crunch
of his feet in the snow. The front door was off the latch. He
slipped into the hall and stood listening.

Someone was
weeping, a small pitiful sound like a child. Amy?

He pushed open
the kitchen door. Amy sat in the chair beside the range, a teddy
bear clasped in her arms, her face streaked with tears.

‘Amy. What’s
wrong?’ His eyes darted to the empty dog basket. ‘Where’s
Emps?’

Tommy stepped
into view and gave him a cold penetrating look. ‘Thought I told you
to get lost.’

Jaz looked from
Tommy to Amy’s terrified face. ‘Amy, come here.’

Amy tried to
get up, but Tommy caught her arm and wrenched her back, holding the
knife to her neck. ‘She’s not going anywhere Jazzy-boy and neither
are you.’

Jaz stood
still, thinking. The most important thing was to get Tommy away
from Amy. If he could get him outside, confuse him in the dark, she
might have a chance. Jaz sprang through the open door, ran the
length of the hall and dived into the open air, slamming the door
behind him. Tommy was seconds after, promising to slit Jaz’s
fucking throat from ear to ear.

The hedge round
the house was at least three feet thick. Jaz threw himself down and
rolled beneath it.

Tommy was
outside now, sweeping the beam of a torch across the front garden.
On the third swing, the beam hovered above Jaz then descended,
exposing his hiding place and blinding his eyes. Tommy laughed. A
horrible sound. But Tommy was so intent on mocking his prey he
hadn’t spotted Emperor crawling belly down, stalking him across the
snow.

‘Get him Emps!’
Jaz screamed.

As the dog
sprang, Amy came running out. Jaz grabbed her and pulled her
towards the front door, meeting the razor sharp edge of Tommy’s
knife on the way. Amy screamed and Emps started barking, as lights
sprang from the trees and a half a dozen armed policemen came
running across the snow towards the cottage.

Chapter
33

Rhona walked
round the lab, touching the equipment which structured her
life.

She had stopped
the arsonist blowing up the Edinburgh building. Amy was safe. Safe
and sound and as far away from her father as Gillian could manage.
But they hadn’t found the pyromaniac... yet.

Outside January
light touched the dripping skeleton branches of trees. Kelvingrove
Park had survived the New Year celebrations. As had she. A New Year
had begun, for Glasgow and for her. Sean had returned. Unexpected
and... she toyed with the idea... almost unwelcome.

Fear of death
was erotic. She and Severino had tasted that fear together. It was
worth everything in that moment, but when fear subsided?

Her mobile
drilled a sharp note. She glanced at the screen expecting Sean’s
name.

It was
Liam.

She pressed the
green key and waited, holding her breath.

His voice
sounded improbably young. She conjured a vision of him in her head.
As she had done a thousand times before.

‘Can I come and
see you?’

‘I’d like
that.’

He stumbled.
‘I’m sorry... ‘

She stopped
him. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘I was
scared.’

Relief swept
over her. So that was why he hadn’t turned up.

‘So was I.’

There was a
silence.

‘I’ll be there
in half an hour,’ he said.

She whispered
okay and hung up

She
concentrated on the details of the case while she waited for Liam
to arrive.

The body in the
sewer was the guy in Jaz’s drawing. His name was Joe MacMurdo. He
was known to the Glasgow force as a small time drug dealer.
MacMurdo’s DNA had matched the semen found in Karen. It looked like
Karen had been raped by MacMurdo then left to die in the fire.
After all who cares about a homeless girl without a family? But Jaz
had cared enough to put his own life in danger, she reminded
herself.

Soon all the
pieces would come together. The process had already begun. DI
Wilson had passed details of Meldrum Holdings to the Procurator
Fiscal. With Jaz’s statement on what he had overheard between Tommy
and the Financial Director of Meldrum Holdings, they thought they
had a case of intimidation and murder associated with the company.
Bill Wilson suspected the Finance Director for Meldrum Holdings
would be the fall guy. Already the big guns behind the company were
marshalling their lawyers, pleading ignorance of any crooked
dealing.