Torch (8 page)

‘You
hungry?’

The chin was
up, the eyes straight at him. ‘I don’t need your money,’ Jaz said
firmly.

MacRae looked
down at the dog. ‘Buy my friend some chips then.’ He pushed some
money across the counter. ‘And don’t forget the salt and
sauce.’

Chapter
13

Chrissy looked
up from the forensic journal.

‘It says here
that one gram of thallium sulphate constitutes a lethal dose in an
adult. With doses greater than two grams, the illness progresses
rapidly to cardiovascular shock, coma and death within 24
hours.’

‘If someone
wanted rid of him, why not give him a straightforward overdose?’
Rhona suggested.

Chrissy
shrugged. ‘A waste of good cocaine?’ She slammed the book shut.
‘Neat stuff eh? Colourless, tasteless and odourless. Found as a
contaminant in some Chinese herbal medicines, rodenticide and green
fireworks, can be mistaken for cocaine and sniffed...’

‘What did you
say?’

‘I said lots of
things, which one?’

‘You said
something about fireworks.’

‘Green
fireworks. It’s in green-emitting fireworks.’

Chrissy gave
her a look that accused her mind of being elsewhere, which it
was.

‘The victim
visited the drug centre a week before he died complaining of
nausea, vomiting and abdominal pain,’ Rhona read from the report.
‘The doctor there reported him as manifesting acute nervous and
gastrointestinal symptoms. He wanted to admit him to hospital. He
refused and was persuaded to give urine and blood samples. He then
left.’

‘One week later
he’s found dead of an apparent overdose in a burned out building,’
Chrissy added.

‘The general
lab tests on the urine and blood showed nothing,’ said Rhona
thoughtfully, ‘but then they weren’t looking for thallium.’

‘By the
pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes,’ said
Chrissy darkly.

Rhona laughed
despite herself. ‘I didn’t know you were a Shakespearean
scholar.’

‘I’m not. It’s
from a Ray Bradbury book.’ Chrissy shook her head. ‘Let’s face it.
Something smells like shite.’

‘You’re sure
about the hair?’

‘Come and look
for yourself,’ Chrissy offered. ‘Most of the hair was singed but I
got some from the back of the head. ‘Of course we don’t have a
control sample from before death but...’

Under the
polarised light, the dark bands and distorted anagen roots
supported Chrissy’s diagnosis of thallium poisoning. Rhona looked
up. ‘The urine and blood taken after death?’

‘We’re working
on that now,’ Chrissy’s self-satisfied look suggested that life
went on as usual even if the Captain had left the ship.

‘I’d better
call Bill.’

When she did,
Bill didn’t mince his words. ‘They don’t want you back.’

‘Why?’ Rhona
tried to sound disinterested.

‘Apparently
you’re difficult to work with.’ He paused and when she didn’t
reply, felt safe to go on. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘you’ve got your
hands full here.’

Rhona came back
at him. ‘And you agreed?’

‘It isn’t up to
me.’

‘So what’s to
stop me going back?’

‘Saving your
sanity?’ he suggested.

Bill was right.
There was no reason to return. The samples from the Princes Street
blaze had been tested and confirmed the use of an accelerant. They
were still waiting on an exact breakdown but that would arrive
soon. The presence of an accelerant was all they needed. The trawl
on the DNA sample from the semen on the letter had revealed
nothing. And it didn’t match the semen left in the girl. If MacRae
had handed the matter over to the police there was nothing more she
could do.

‘Did you speak
to DI MacFarlane?’ she asked.

‘Yes. He
suspects the arsonist will strike again soon.’

‘So we just
wait and see?’ she said.

‘They wait and
see. We worry about our own.’

She should keep
her nose out of the East’s affairs. That was fine by her. There was
plenty of work here without bailing out the East. She changed the
subject.

‘Chrissy’s
tests confirm Dr Sissons’ suspicions about the presence of thallium
in the body.’

‘What the
hell’s that?’

‘Thallium salts
are colourless, tasteless and odourless,’ Rhona explained. ‘A
poisoner’s dream.’

‘Where the hell
would he get thallium?’

‘Rodenticides,
pesticides, Chinese medicines, fireworks. He could also have
sniffed it thinking it was cocaine. Wherever he got it, it was a
potentially lethal dose.’

Bill didn’t
sound convinced. ‘Cocaine would be a bit upmarket for him.’

‘Well if
there’s cocaine contaminated with thallium out there, there’ll be
more like him soon.’

‘Great.’

‘I suggest you
warn the drop-in centres to look out for tell tale signs. I’ll send
you a standard description to pass round.’

‘Thanks.’

‘And Bill, I
think the blisters on the wrists happened before death. If the
victim was being fed thallium and getting his wrists burned,
someone didn’t like him very much.’

‘He wasn’t a
dealer as far as we know. Maybe he owed his supplier money?’

‘Suppliers
don’t normally kill their customers. It cuts the profit
margin.’

‘Maybe we
should check back over the last year. He wasn’t the first junkie to
die of an overdose in that area,’ Bill said thoughtfully.

‘Just what I
was thinking.’

‘Mind you there
was no reason to think about poisoning in the other cases.’

‘There is now.
And Bill?’ she caught him before he rang off. ‘Personally I’d like
to know who’s behind the redevelopment plans for that area. Junkies
have a bad habit of lowering the tone of the neighbourhood.’

When she
finally got round to attacking her desk, the contents suggested she
had been away for a week rather than a couple of days. The report
from Chemistry lay on top. Rhona checked through it again. Most
forensic laboratories felt confident in identifying the commonly
found accelerants like petrol and kerosene on the basis of their
chromatograms alone. Spencer had gone one step further. The
Edinburgh sample report was conclusive. But then Severino MacRae
had known that by his nose.

Rhona pulled
the brown envelope from her briefcase and emptied its contents on
the desk. The inside photographs of the Princes Street building
only served to confirm the conclusions. The burning pattern was
obvious, the seat of the fire revealed as she’d suggested. She was
momentarily embarrassed by the memory of that morning in the burned
out building, her determination to tell the man his job. Still, she
had been right and no more insufferable than MacRae himself.

She had a quick
look through the remaining photographs. The wide-angle lens had
been used to photograph the building from the two opposite corners,
showing the overall degree of fire damage and the locations of the
various entrances and windows. The aerial photograph showed the
force of the explosion and the trail of debris that sprayed the
railings and beyond. The photographer had taken two shots, once
right above the building, one nearer the front covering the debris,
the railings and the Gardens. The white tent was already up round
the body. Rhona winced when she spotted the flash of blue among the
roses behind the tent. So that was why MacRae had included the
photographs. He couldn’t resist the parting shot. Forensic
Scientist being sick in the flowerbeds.

She checked the
back of the photograph in case he’d written a caption, but it was
blank. It was just a pathetic idea of a joke. She shoved the photos
to one side. She was forty-six miles away from him and Severino
MacRae was still irritating her.

Rhona opened
her in-basket. Most of the titles on the list were
self-explanatory. There was one from Chemistry in reference to the
delivered report, a couple from other forensic labs, a request from
a forensic student to visit the lab. She opened each one in turn
and stored it in an appropriate folder for later action. She kept
Liam’s email to last. She took a breath then clicked it open, her
heart thumping in her chest. The message was short and to the
point. He would call when he knew what his movements were over the
New Year. He signed it simply L.

A mixture of
disappointment and relief swept over her. Liam was as nervous as
she was about a meeting.

Rhona got
started on the bit of the job she liked least, the paperwork. If
she concentrated on her reports it would stop her thinking about
Edinburgh and about Liam.

When she pushed
open her front door, three hours later, the flat smelt stuffy and
unlived in. She had stopped on her way up the stairs and thanked
Mrs Harper for feeding the cat in her absence.

‘My pleasure
dear. There’s some post for you, I left it on the hall table and
your ansaphone’s blinking,’ Mrs Harper gave Rhona a knowing smile.
Mrs Harper was one of Sean’s many admirers.

Her neighbour’s
front door closed when she opened her own. Mrs Harper took her
mothering seriously. Rhona shuffled through the bills and circulars
wishing that Sean wrote letters the way he wrote music. The most
she could hope for when he was away would be a postcard.

She went in
search of some alcohol and found an unexpected bottle of white wine
in the door of the fridge. She was the one who bought white wine.
Sean didn’t like it. She tried to remember when she’d bought it and
couldn’t.

She carried her
filled glass to the hall and sat down to listen to the phone
messages.

When the tune
began, Rhona thought the caller had the radio on too loud in the
background. Then she realised the song by The Crazy World of Arthur
Brown was the message.

The music
stopped abruptly on I’ll see you burn’. Only someone with a warped
sense of humour and a liking for retro music would leave her a
message like that. She fully expected it to be followed by some
sarcastic remark from MacRae that included the word lady. But
no.

There was a
short pause then Sean’s enthusiastic voice. ‘Hi Rhona. Got here
okay. It’s great. You can reach me on this number... ’

Rhona wrote
down the number.

Chance appeared
at her feet winding in and out of her legs, looking for food. Rhona
headed for the kitchen. She fed the cat and went back to the fridge
for something for herself. It was then she noticed the set table.
Place mat, knife, fork and wine glass. Beside it sat a fresh red
rose in a tumbler of water.

Fear trickled
down her spine. The strange message on the ansaphone. Now this. She
stood very still, listening to the silent flat. Maybe it was Mrs
Harper? A distinct possibility and one she could check easily
enough. But the song on the ansaphone?

She walked
through the flat, checking every room for signs of an intruder. All
the windows were tight closed. Nothing was disturbed. The flat
looked just as Sean would have left it.

Chapter
14

Detective
Constable Janice Clarke had wordlessly warned Rhona on entry. DI
Wilson was not a happy man.

Janice was
Bill’s equivalent of Chrissy. They might have been related, not in
looks but in attitude. Janice handed Rhona two cups. The right hand
one was hot, the left one cold, the milk already congealing. Just
the way Bill liked it.

Rhona offered
the cup as the old leather chair girned round to reveal a sour
faced Bill.

‘So what’s
wrong with your face?’

‘Long time
since I heard that one.’ Bill gave her a half smile. ‘There’s been
a call from our friends in the East asking about the possibility of
contaminated cocaine.’

‘Thallium?’

‘Maybe. They’ve
had two serious cases of suspected drug contamination in the last
two weeks. Both critically ill in hospital. And something else.
There was a house fire early this morning on an Edinburgh council
estate. They found the body of an addict inside.’

‘I’ll take a
bet all three addicts lived in a rundown area earmarked for
redevelopment,’ Rhona suggested.

Bill nodded.
‘All from the same estate.’

It was too much
of a coincidence. ‘Who’s the developer?’

‘A well known
and respected company, with interests all over Scotland,’ Bill
raised his eyebrows, ‘including council redevelopment in
Glasgow.’

‘I take it you
pointed that out to your Edinburgh equivalent?’

‘The company
has its headquarters in Edinburgh.’

‘He reminded
you of that?’

‘And the fact
that the chairman of the company is a pillar of Edinburgh
society.’

‘You’re not
going to let that stop you.’

Bill gave her a
look that suggested pigs might fly.

‘Janice and I
are working on it.’

‘Could you get
me details on firms manufacturing fireworks?’ she asked.

‘What for?’

‘Thallium is
used in green emitting fireworks. And Edinburgh, as we both know,
is big on fireworks.’

‘Before you
go... ‘ Bill’s face betrayed his concern. ‘I think you should know
a body’s been found in the hills near Arrochar.’

Rhona took a
seat, her legs suddenly weak. The horror of her last case, a
paedophile ring that murdered young vulnerable men, had ended with
the disappearance of the main suspect, a man whose pen name was
Simon.

‘Initial
examination suggests it could be him. Dr Sissons is doing a post
mortem,’ he paused. ‘I can get someone else to do the forensic work
if you want?’

‘I’d rather do
it myself.’

‘We haven’t
tracked down all the members of the ring. If he survived your
attack and the fire at the cottage, he had contacts that would help
him.’

‘I know.’

‘Let’s hope
it’s him then.’

She nodded.
‘I’m going to drive through to Edinburgh.’