Torch (6 page)

Chapter 8

It took ten
minutes to get to the important place that had spoiled her dinner.
On her right hand side was a small harbour, half a dozen boats
beached on the mud. On her left, a long low white building with
bright red signs. Rhona stared out of the window in disbelief.

‘What’s
this?’

‘A real
restaurant. Best battered fish and chips in Edinburgh.’ MacRae was
actually grinning at her. ‘It’s impossible to get a table here on a
Friday night. Ian promised to hold one for fifteen minutes, no
more.’

‘This is why
you embarrassed me and dragged me from my meal?’

MacRae shrugged
his shoulders. ‘It got you here, didn’t it?’

He was already
out of the car.

‘Come on. I’ve
removed you from hell and taken you to heaven. What more do you
want?’

The smile
MacRae got from the waitress was verging on a come on. She twinkled
and bobbed and escorted them to their table with a swing of her
hips.

‘Amy likes it
here,’ MacRae handed her the menu. ‘They make a fuss of her.’

‘They make a
fuss of her father too.’

For the first
time MacRae looked embarrassed, but the look disappeared so quickly
Rhona wondered if she’d imagined it.

‘Okay what is
it you wanted to show me?’ she insisted.

‘After you
sample some real fish and chips.’

Rhona refilled
her cup from the large teapot and sat back in the chair. MacRae had
been in the kitchen for the past five minutes. When he disappeared
through the doors she heard the calls of welcome. It made her
think. MacRae was different tonight. Seeing his daughter had done
him good. This morning he had been a coiled and tense. Tonight he
was relaxed.

He emerged,
laughing. Behind him a handsome male face grinned out.

‘Jamie sends
his love.’ MacRae sat down. ‘I told him you’re not interested.’

‘What makes you
think that?’

‘No time,’ he
smiled, ‘or was it, no inclination?’

He held her
eyes until she looked away.

‘Why did you
bring me here?’

His face grew
serious.

‘This was on my
windscreen when I came out of the cinema.’ He handed her a typed
note.

She read out
the words.

‘I hope you’ll
be at the party?’

MacRae’s face
confirmed her suspicions.

‘He means the
Hogmanay street party, doesn’t he?’

‘The arsonist
profiles as power-assertive. He achieves a sense of superiority
through expressing exploitative control, dominance and intrusive
violations of the law. In laymen’s terms he gets his kicks from
mayhem. With the crowds that’ll turn out over New Year, he’ll have
his biggest audience to date.’

‘You’re certain
the fires weren’t insurance or fraud jobs?’

‘If a building
is set on fire for insurance purposes, no one lets us know, before
or after the event.’

If the person
responsible for the fires had no more reason for lighting them than
pleasure, it would make him almost impossible to catch.

He was reading
her mind. ‘The worst kind to find.’

The ring of the
mobile broke the silence that followed. MacRae listened, his
expression switching from anger to worry.

‘I’m on my
way.’

He was on his
feet.

‘What’s
wrong?’

‘Someone threw
a petrol bomb in Amy’s bedroom window.’

MacRae ignored
the No Waiting sign and the double yellow lines and swept into an
ambulance space outside Casualty. It had taken twenty minutes to
get to the hospital. MacRae had ignored every red light and kept
his horn on full blast most of the way. Rhona had expected a police
car to stop them at any time. When she offered to park the car,
MacRae threw the keys in her lap without speaking.

Rhona sat for a
while in the car park trying to decide whether to go in to the
hospital or not. She desperately wanted to know if Amy was okay,
but if Gillian was there it would look bad. She didn’t want to
cause any trouble between MacRae and his wife, especially now.

When she
entered reception, MacRae was standing alone, but almost
immediately the lift door opened and Gillian emerged. Rhona waited
at the entrance but MacRae caught sight of her and motioned her
over.

The words were
tumbling out of Gillian.

‘Amy was in
bed. She was tired after the cinema. I heard a crash then Amy
screaming. By the time I got to her the room was full of smoke. I
got her downstairs and outside. Mr Fraser next door phoned the Fire
Brigade.’

‘Where’s
Amy?’

‘Ward seven.
She’ll be alright.’ The sob of relief was turning to anger. ‘I knew
this would happen but you would never believe the threats. The job
always came first.’

MacRae’s
knuckles were clenched white.

‘This isn’t the
time to discuss my job.’

‘Your job
almost killed our daughter.’

MacRae looked
stricken.

‘Why don’t you
and Amy come back and stay with me in the flat?’

Gillian was
staring at Rhona.

‘Wouldn’t that
be a little crowded?’

MacRae looked
weary. ‘Dr MacLeod is covering Gallagher’s job. She’s staying at a
friend’s flat, not mine.’

Gillian was
unconvinced.

‘You threw me
out, Gillian. Remember?’

‘It seems
throwing you out wasn’t enough.’

MacRae turned
to Rhona. ‘I’m going to see Amy. Can you take a taxi back?’

She nodded. ‘Of
course.’

Gillian threw
Rhona a look as entered the lift. Rhona wondered if Gillian’s
suggestion of infidelity came from past experience or a sense that
she could never come before the job in Severino’s life.

Chapter 9

Jaz couldn’t
sleep. He rolled out of bed and went to stand at the window. The
lights of Edinburgh stared back at him. He had been in this flat
for three months and he still loved it with a passion he would have
found difficult to describe to anyone willing to listen. The only
people who could understand were ones who had been homeless
themselves.

He left the
window and went into the tiny kitchenette, filled the kettle and
popped a teabag into a cup. He didn’t bother with milk. Without a
fridge it went off too quickly. He scooped two teaspoonfuls of
sugar into the cup and poured in the boiling water.

The dog was
awake and when Jaz sat down it came and laid its head in his lap.
Emperor was missing Karen. Every time he heard a female voice on
the stairs, he was up and at the door.

Jaz was the
same, even though Karen had never been in the flat. He’d offered
her a bed one night when it was really cold, but she’d refused.

‘Emps keeps me
warm,’ she’d told him.

He’d gone back
with the dog and the policeman had taken a note of his address and
told him he could hang on to Emps for now. Jaz had offered to look
at the body, check if it was Karen. They’d agreed because they knew
it would take time to locate a relative, if they managed at all.
Kids like Karen were running from someone or something and it
wasn't usually concerned families.

The blast had
hit her back, so her face was recognisable. It only took a second
but the smell of burnt flesh stayed in his nostrils. That and a
terrible feeling of anger.

It wouldn’t be
light for another hour. Jaz rinsed his cup at the sink. It was a
good time to find the people he needed to talk to. The ones who
might have noticed someone hanging about the empty building. The
people nobody noticed or if they did they looked straight ahead and
pretended they hadn’t. The people who were an embarrassment to the
good folks of Edinburgh. A bit like himself.

Outside the
streets were glistening in a light frost. Jaz stuck his hands in
his pockets, whistled lightly to Emps to follow and set off for the
Grassmarket.

To the
tourists, the Grassmarket meant pubs and eateries. Jaz knew it
better than that. To Jaz, the down and outs who sat begging from
passers by, gave the place its character. At night, they clogged
the alleys and jammed the doorways. These were the long stay
patrons of Edinburgh’s underbelly; the ex-servicemen whose lives
had fallen apart, the drunks and the addicts.

Traffic was
beginning to flow along Chambers Street as he passed the Museum of
Scotland and headed down by Greyfriars churchyard to the Cowgate.
The men’s hostel on the corner was closed but there was an old guy
coughing up spit on the front steps. Jaz recognised him.

The Bruce
wasn’t one to miss a chance. He had his hand out right away.

‘Any change
Mister?’

Jaz dropped a
pound coin plus fifty pence in the dirty palm and the face lit up.
The price of a can of extra strong lager. Breakfast had
arrived.

‘Ah, you’re
alright son.’

‘It’s me.
Jaz.’

The old guy’s
face worked hard on focusing.

‘I’m looking
for Mary,’ Jaz explained.

The face
changed to suspicion. ‘What d’you want the Queen for?’

‘I need to talk
to her.’

‘The Queen
doesn’t talk. Not sense anyway.’

The old guy was
shuffling off towards a High Street newsagent and off licence open
early enough for breakfast. Jaz walked beside him.

‘I heard Mary
had a little trouble.’

‘What’s it to
you?’

They were
nearing the shop. There was anticipation in the old man’s step. In
his head, he was already swallowing the lager, feeling the surge as
the alcohol met his brain. He might be a drunk, but he was shrewd.
If Jaz wanted information, he would pay for it.

The owner was
pulling up the safety grill, lifting the big bags of delivered
rolls from the shop doorway.

‘We could buy
four cans and a couple of rolls,’ Jaz said. ‘Keep you going for a
while.’

The old guy was
summing up the offer. ‘Forget the fuckin rolls and make it half a
dozen cans.’

Jaz nodded. It
would skin him but he needed to talk to Mary. If what he’d heard
was true, she might know who lit the fire.

The Bruce
waited till the money was across the counter and the pack of lager
in his hands.

‘The Queen’s in
the Infirmary. Some bastard tried to get her out of a squat. She
wouldn’t go so he set her hair alight.’

‘Was it the
same guy she told The Wallace about?’

‘The same one.’
The Bruce laughed. ‘Stupid bitch is cracking up. No drink allowed
in the hospital.’ His laugh sounded like dirty water going down a
blocked drain. ‘She wants The Wallace and me to rescue her.’

Then he was off
across the road to a wooden bench. Breakfast was served.

There was no
point turning up at the hospital until nearer official visiting
time. If Queen Mary knew anything, he would find out soon enough.
Jaz headed for his pitch outside Waverley, his mind turning over
what he should do after that. All he knew was Karen shouldn’t have
died. Whoever lit that fire was responsible for her death. If the
police didn’t find him, he would do it himself.

Chapter
10

‘We found a
leather pouch round her waist. The pocket was at the front so it
escaped much of the heat. It held some coins, and this.’

Dr MacKenzie
handed Rhona a photograph. The bright young face stared out at her,
side by side with the Alsatian. Rhona wondered how the girl had
persuaded the dog into the booth, then made it sit in such a way
they were both visible for the flash. The dog’s tongue hung out,
long and pink and dripping. It had a grin on to match its
mistress’s.

‘She had just
about enough money for her next meal, a penny whistle and a change
of clothing, plus the remains of the tartan blanket.’ The
pathologist nodded to the bagged items behind him.

‘According to
eyewitnesses, the blast from the backdraft was extensive. From the
state of the body, she must have been facing away from the fire,
but directly in its path. The lacerations to the back of the skull
suggest intense heat. Her front is relatively unmarked except for
the genital area.’

‘What do you
mean?’

He motioned her
forward.

‘The pubic hair
is burned away, the genitals blistered, yet this area would have
been shielded from the blast.’

‘These burns
were inflicted before the explosion?’

He nodded. If
that was true, it was the first link between the Glasgow fire and
this one.

‘I take it you
want to stay while we open her up?’

Rhona
nodded.

The doctor
reached for an array of instruments beside him. Each pathologist
had his own systematic procedure for post-mortem. Rhona watched as
Dr MacKenzie chose the favoured way, making a simple incision down
the middle of the body from the neck to the pubis making a detour
round the tougher skin of the navel.

‘The usual
samples have already gone to the lab,’ he said. ‘You may speak to
my assistant about those if you wish. Apart from the genital burns,
there is no suggestion of violent injury prior to death. However,
there was evidence of recent sexual contact which may or may not
have been consensual.’ He paused as he lifted the stomach clear of
the body and manoeuvred it over a container, ‘And if I’m not
mistaken, nothing to eat for some time.’

The scissors
bit through the stomach wall, releasing the meagre contents with a
soft plop into the container.

The girl had
been living on fresh air. Whatever she had earned from playing the
whistle had not been spent on food.

‘Maybe she was
feeding a habit?’ Rhona suggested.

‘More likely
feeding the dog. A dog that size needs copious amounts of food and
seeing it tied up outside the tent, it was well looked after.
Anyway, we’ll know about drugs once we get the results of the urine
tests.’

‘She was very
young,’ Rhona said, thinking about the face in the picture.