booksnew/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike19.xhtml

<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN"
  "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd">
<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en">
<head>
<meta name="generator" content=
"HTML Tidy for Windows (vers 14 February 2006), see www.w3.org" />
<title>Chapter 19</title>
<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="imperaWeb.css" />
<link rel="stylesheet" type=
"application/vnd.adobe-page-template+xml" href=
"page-template.xpgt" />
</head>
<body>
<div id="text">
<div class="section" id="xhtmldocuments">
<h2>19</h2>
<p>Jack reached for the notebook under the pile of coins and keys
on the table beside the bed. He flipped the pages until he found a
clear one, still concentrating on the dream, holding it together
before it broke up. He flicked the top off the pen, ignored it when
it bounced on the table and rolled to the floor, and wrote quickly.
When he had finished, he picked up the report from Robbie Cattanach
on the drowned woman and scanned the lines until he found what he
was looking for. One of her shoes had been missing when she was
fished from the river.</p>
<p>He'd scanned the sentence just before he'd fallen asleep and had
seen no significance there. Dead people in rivers were often
missing shoes and boots. The current of the river sucked them
away.</p>
<p>But in the dreamscape, the fact of the missing shoe had gained
importance. He did not know what that importance was, but a piece
of a complicated jigsaw had, as if by magic, fitted into another
part. Now he knew where to look, though he wasn't sure exactly
why.</p>
<p>Jack clambered out of bed, now completely awake. He shrugged
into his old dressing gown and tied the cord tight around his
waist. In the kitchen, he stabbed the switch on the coffee maker
and sat down, his mind a tumult of half-asked questions,
half-answered responses.</p>
<p>The girl. Lorna Breck.</p>
<p>"<em>He heard the woman</em>," she'd said."<em>There was a woman
there. She was in the shadows. I couldn't see her properly, not her
face. Her leg was sticking out, and she had lost one of her shoes.
Her bag was lying on the stairs.</em> "</p>
<p>The words came back to him with surprising clarity. The girl had
scrutinized him with her glistening grey eyes, staring intently
into his own. There had been something more than odd about her.</p>
<p>Despite the fact that Jack had seen her collapse in hysterics on
River Street, and the implausible tale she'd told about seeing the
attacks on the children, she was still a conundrum. He remembered
thinking of her as a loony. Yet there was something he realised
only now that he'd missed.</p>
<p>In all the years he'd been a policeman, he'd seen hundreds,
maybe thousands of cranks and crazy folk. Eventually, the trained
eye was able to spot them. An odd walk, a twitch in the eye,
something that set them aside from normal people.</p>
<p>Lorna Breck had looked worried and she'd looked sick, and the
tale she'd told was preposterous.</p>
<p>But there was strangely <em>reasonable</em> quality to her.</p>
<p>And yet she'd said something which sparked off a train of
thought in Jack's mind when he'd dozed, and come up with a picture
that might be truly significant.</p>
<p><em>The warehouse</em>. Jack recalled the sergeant on the dog
team outlining the area they'd searched. The snow had made it
difficult for the alsatians. They hadn't found a trail to follow.
The hunt had spread wider, but the police only examined those empty
buildings which had been open, or had an obvious entry. And they
had been looking for a boy, nothing else.</p>
<p>Jack waited until the red light on the coffee-maker went out,
sifting few connected facts he had, weaving the scant threads
together. He poured a cup, spooned three heaps of demerara into
the brew and started to sip. It tasted wonderful, strong and thick,
and in addition, the pain in his throat had subsided
significantly.</p>
<p>He turned in his chair and reached for the phone, when it rang
loudly. That, he thought, was happening too often. He picked it up,
brusquely gave his surname, and a woman's voice said hello in a
voice that was more a question than a greeting.</p>
<p>"Jack Fallon," he said, unable to place the voice.</p>
<p>"It's me. Lorna Breck. We spoke today."</p>
<p>For a second Jack was completely wrong-footed. He'd just been
thinking about the girl, had decided he'd have to speak to her
again, when she'd called him.</p>
<p>"Yes. We did," he said, non-commitally.</p>
<p>"I had to call," she said. Her voice sounded different on the
phone, but despite the distortion, he could hear the tightness of
distress.</p>
<p>"It's going to happen again. Or it <em>has</em> happened, and I
don't know what to do."</p>
<p>"Hold on. back up. Start from the beginning," Jack said almost
gruffly.</p>
<p>"I saw it Mr Fallon. I saw it again. Tonight."</p>
<p>"Saw it again?" he repeated.</p>
<p>"It was killing somebody. A girl."</p>
<p>"Where?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. In a room. In a tunnel. Something like that. The
girl was screaming. Oh.."</p>
<p>Her voice broke off abruptly.</p>
<p>"Now wait a minute," Jack said, gently as he could. "Calm down a
little and just tell me."</p>
<p>There was a snuffling on the line. It sounded as if she was
blowing her nose. When she started talking again her voice was
cracked with strain.</p>
<p>"I wasn't asleep. It just came to me. It was in the dark. There
was a lot of noise. Like drums, clanging sounds. The girl was
screaming and it came down on the ropes and opened up the roof. She
was terrified. I could <em>feel</em> it. And then it reached down
and took her."</p>
<p>"And you saw this?"</p>
<p>"Yes," she said. She sniffled again, catching her breath.</p>
<p>"And then what?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. It lifted her up and she was crying all the time.
It was just like the boy. It carried her up into the dark
and..and.."</p>
<p>"And what?" he asked again.</p>
<p>"And she'd dead."</p>
<p>The words came out with heavy finality.</p>
<p>"You don't know where?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"Or when?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>Jack sighed. He'd been right a few minutes ago. There was
something more than odd about the girl. He didn't know whether to
be suspicious, or dismissive. He had other things on his mind, but
he was already on the horns of his dilemma. The girl had told him
something earlier which he'd discounted and then a possible answer
to part of it had come when he'd fallen asleep. He had to check
that out before he did anything else.</p>
<p>"Listen," he finally said. "There's not much I can do about it
at this time of night. But I'll speak to you first thing in the
morning. Are you going to work?"</p>
<p>She said she'd been told to stay at home.</p>
<p>"Fine. I'll take your number," Jack said. She gave it, and he
said he'd call in the morning. There was a silence on the other end
which went on for several seconds, when finally she said.</p>
<p>"Please. I can't take much more of this."</p>
<p>The telephone couldn't disguise the plaintive, almost despairing
appeal in her voice.</p>
<p>"Leave it to me," Jack said blandly.</p>
<p>He slung the receiver and let it hang on the phone for a minute
or two while he considered what she'd said. Another killing, but
she didn't know where or when. That was a big help. It was no help
at all. First he had to investigate the warehouse.</p>
<p>The phone rang again and he snatched it from the cradle,
expecting to hear her voice again.</p>
<p>"Mr Fallon?" A man's voice this time.</p>
<p>"Sergeant Thomson here."</p>
<p>"Hello Bobby," Jack responded. "What's up?"</p>
<p>"We need you down here. There's been another one."</p>
<p>The words landed like thuds on Jack's consciousness. He didn't
even have to ask, though for a vertiginous moment he experienced a
strange rush of unnerving trepidation, as if he'd stepped out of
reality for a moment and was floundering in a place where
everything was out of true and out of step.</p>
<p>"Where?" he finally asked.</p>
<p>"The distillery," Bobby responded matter of factly. "We got a
call half an hour ago, A girl's just gone missing."</p>
<p>The weird <em>deja-vu</em> sensation washed through him
again.</p>
<p>"What happened?"</p>
<p>"Christ knows," Bobby said. "Sorry sir."</p>
<p>"Don't worry Bobby, just tell me."</p>
<p>"She was in a lift. It got stuck between floors. When the
engineer went in, she was gone. But there's blood all over the
place. There's a few of the women taken to hospital."</p>
<p>"Were they hurt?"</p>
<p>"No. They fainted."</p>
<p>"Right," Jack said. "I'll be down in ten minutes." He was about
to hang up again when he told Bobby to hold on.</p>
<p>"Listen. While I'm here. Get Ralph Slater and John McColl in and
then get a couple of men round to the old railhead warehouse on
Artizan Street. The one next to the engine works. I want the whole
place searched."</p>
<p>"What are we looking for, sir?"</p>
<p>"Anything at all. Possible evidence of the Kennedy boy. I need
it done now."</p>
<p>He hung up this time and sat staring at the wall, feeling numb
and disorientated. The second call, right on the back of the first
had thrown him off balance, leaving him with a weird sense of
helplessness and scary confusion.</p>
<p>After a moment, he got up from the table and ran his cup under
the tap, then bent and scooped cold water on to his face. The icy
shock helped slow down his jumbled thoughts. It took him a few
minutes to get dressed. He hadn't had time for a shower and as he
ran his hand across his chin, he knew he was in dire need of a
shave, but there was no time for it. He hauled his coat on, flicked
his hair back from his forehead with an abrupt sweep of his hand,
and went out into the cold night.</p>
<p>Ralph Slater was just arriving at the main gate of the
distillery when Jack pulled up. A crowd of women stood at the door,
huddled against the cold, with their heavy winter coats slung on
top of their overalls. An ambulance light was winking in the
covered area where the lorries normally loaded their goods. A
patrol car was parked beside it, and just beyond, the bulk of a
fire engine loomed against the brick wall. Already the mist coming
off the river was thick and opaque, giving the buildings a
dreamscape fuzzy quality.</p>
<p>"What's the word Jack?" somebody called from the corner. Blair
Bryden started walking towards the car.</p>
<p>"Haven't a clue yet," Jack told him. "Give me a chance."</p>
<p>"Her name's Carol Howard and she's sixteen. She went into a lift
and never came out again."</p>
<p>"Well, you know more than me."</p>
<p>"My aunt works with her," Blair said. "She gave me a call."</p>
<p>"Well, I'll have a word with her later. Give me some time to see
what's happening and I'll have a chat when I come down." Blair
nodded. He was a conscientious editor.</p>
<p>Inside, Jack and Ralph took the stairs two at a time until they
got to the fourth floor. The place was crowded with firemen. The
elevator doors had been wedged open. Ropes trailed out through the
space, disappearing up through the hole in the roof. Smears of
blood had been trampled over the floor, leaving red treadmarks
inside and out of the cabin.</p>
<p>One of the policemen came over as soon as Jack arrived.</p>
<p>"Nobody knows what happened yet," he said. "Apparently she went
down to the canteen, two floors below to get her handbag. This was
about an hour ago, just after the tea-break. One of the storemen,"
the constable flipped a page on his notebook, "Peter Cullen. He
said he heard a noise coming from the lift. The girl was calling
for help. She seemed to be stuck in the jammed lift. A few minutes
later, there was a great deal of noise inside the lift and the girl
started screaming. There was nothing else until the engineer got
the thing open. The girl was not inside."</p>
<p>He closed his notebook.</p>
<p>"I'm afraid they haven't located her yet."</p>
<p>Sorley Fitzpatrick, the chief fire officer came bulling across,
stepping over the lines of ropes.</p>
<p>"We've been right up to the top of the shaft. There's an
air-vent on the housing which the boys say has been forced open. No
sign of anything, Jack. If that girl was in the lift, then she's
gone."</p>
<p>"Have you checked down below?"</p>
<p>"Nothing there. Up above the cage there's a lot of blood. Smells
like a slaughterhouse in there. I wouldn't recommend a visit."</p>
<p>"Neither me, I suppose, but I'll have to take a look."</p>
<p>He went across to the lift with Sorley and followed the man up
the ladder set at an angle, reaching up into the space above.
Somebody had rigged up a series of lights which clung to the rails
on rat-trap crocodile clips. The lift rattled under their feet as
Sorley pointed upwards. The shaft soared into the distance, getting
narrower in distant perspective. Two firemen were lowering
themselves down on the ropes. Ralph Slater eased his way through
the gap to stand beside them, aiming his own flashlight here and
there on the shaft walls.</p>
<p>"Christ, what a mess," he finally said, then, without another
word, he started scooping samples into the plastic wallets he took
from his bag.</p>
<p>"There's more traces of blood, or what seems to be blood,
further up on the guide-rail. Nothing on the roof, as far as I can
tell, but I expect you'll want a look yourself."</p>
<p>"Yes," Jack agreed gloomily, knowing he would have to inspect
the whole area. The idea of going up the shaft appalled him. He
clambered down and into the building again. By this time, John
McColl had arrived, looking a bit bleary eyed, but clean shaven.
With him were two young detective constables. Jack asked the
manager for a room and was shown to a tidy office. Inside, he
started laying out instructions for the rest of the team.</p>
<p>An hour later, he found himself on top of the building, bracing
himself against the cold west wind, as he had done on the top of
Lomond View after the strange death of Jock Toner. The parallel was
not lost on him. As he stood in the centre of the flat expanse of
roughcast he experienced another flashback.</p>
<p><em>"He's dead</em>." the girl had said. "<em>It came down from
above in the dark and just lifted him up. I could hear it
breathing. It's like an</em> animal."</p>
<p>Like an animal. Whoever had taken the girl from the lift,
leaving her blood to drip in a clotted pool had to be an animal. A
maniac. A psychopath.</p>
<p>"<em>I don't know</em> what <em>it is. You can't see it
properly. It moves so fast, and it climbs.</em> "</p>
<p>It climbs. It <em>climbs</em>.</p>
<p>There was no doubt about that. He climbed alright. Nearly to the
top of Latta Court. And to the roof of Loch View, two of the
highest buildings in the town. Now Jack was standing on the flat
roof of the distillery, a towering block which overlooked the whole
of the centre of Levenford. He turned to face south and could see
right across the river, beyond the old cemetery on its promontory
at the confluence of river and estuary. Across the firth, nearly
eight miles away as the crow flies, the tiny lights of the south
bank towns glittered in the fog like distant stars.</p>
<p>High places. Jack recalled his own words. The pattern had struck
him before. There had been nothing but frozen blood on the ground
on Barley Cobble where the battered body of Shona Campbell had been
found, yet on a hunch Jack had ordered a search of the roof and
they'd found traces of thread. Of a sudden he was certain they
would match the fibres taken that day from the baby's cot.</p>
<p><em>High places.</em> Why?</p>
<p>He did not have the answer to that question, but now he was just
as certain he was getting there, slowly and surely, and for some
reason, a weird shiver ran through him. He did not know what he
would find when he got to the end of the line, to the end of the
questions. For a strange, almost panicky second, Jack Fallon did
not want to get there.</p>
<p>He turned back from the south, sweeping his eyes across the
town's night horizon. From where he stood, his view to the ground
was restricted by the safety wall that lined the edge of the
building, more than three feet high. Almost directly to the north,
the ornate roof of the town hall, corbie-step gables and dragon's
back ridging, nosed up behind the stand of elms on Memorial Avenue.
Off to the right, the cranes and gantries of Latta Marineyard stood
gaunt and prehistoric, ribbed and articulated. Someone had left a
light on in the cabin of the giant lifting derrick. It glowed like
a monster's eye. Beyond them, the black, towering sheds of the old
shipyard with its own gaunt cranes, a conglomeration of metal,
great slipway doors and winching gear, lying dormant until the need
for boats came back again.</p>
<p>Then, just north of them, hardly visible, pointed the steeple of
Castlebank Church, where William Simpson had preached to a
congregation while hiding a dark and disgusting secret.</p>
<p>Swinging his gaze back, Jack followed the sightline. The tall
poplars, mere shadows in the mist, along Slaughterhouse Road. The
tower of the crumbling provost's hall, built two hundred years
before by the ship-owning power barons who had ruled the town with
god-fearing strictness backed by the oppression of vast wealth. To
the far left, the dreary concrete blocks of Latta Court and its two
neighbours huddled together, the winking red hazard light on the
highest roof like an ember in a bed of coals. To the north west,
the black twin stacks of the old forge chimneys, rearing like gun
barrels aiming at the sky, barely visible in the gloom. Out in the
dark, the bells of St Rowan's Church plaintively tolled the
hour.</p>
<p><em>High places.</em></p>
<p>Places above the sightlines, only truly seen from another high
place.</p>
<p>"<em>It climbs</em>," she had said. He could hear her voice,
tight with distress.</p>
<p>"It climbs alright," he said aloud. The wind whipped his words
away beyond the safety barrier.</p>
<p><em>But how did she know?</em> Jack had dismissed the visions,
or dreams, or whatever she cared to call them. He didn't believe in
mumbo-jumbo. That was for cranks and crazies and loonies, and thank
christ the majority of them were harmless. Despite what Andy Toye
had said, that kind of thing was strictly out of the picture as far
as police business was concerned. Facts, facts and more facts, they
were what counted.</p>
<p>Yet what she had said nagged and tugged at him.</p>
<p><em>What did she know?</em> That was more to the point. As he
stood in the cold, he cast his mind back. She'd told him he'd seen
someone - though she called it some<em>thing</em> - come down from
above and smash Shona Campbell to the ground. Now they'd found the
fibres snagged on the guttering.</p>
<p>She'd told him the boy was dead. There had been nothing in the
papers about that, just that he was missing.</p>
<p>And tonight she had phoned him, in a blind panic, or so it
sounded, to tell him that a girl had been killed.</p>
<p>She'd been right about that. There was no doubt in Jack's mind;
no doubt in the minds of the firemen or the women who had stood
outside the lift while the booming noises had echoed down the shaft
and the screams had reverberated from above. The girl was dead.</p>
<p><em>So how did she know? And what did she know?</em></p>
<p>Jack turned and walked slowly back to the stairway which led
back into the building. For some reason his feet had wanted to
carry him to the edge of the roof, and he'd had to fight against
the urge to look down. It was an odd compulsion and he'd felt it
before, but he knew if he stood on the edge, he'd feel the tug of
gravity, the insistent drag of the ground and its implicit
invitation. The elevator housing, a squat, square construction, one
of four which grew from the roof, was just beside the stairway. At
its nearest side, the thick aluminium grid lay buckled and twisted.
Jack hunkered down to have another look at it. Ralph Slater's boys
had already taken pictures from all angles and it had been dusted
for prints. Nonetheless, Jack lifted it carefully using his finger
and thumb on a corner. It wasn't heavy. The thick mesh had been
ripped and torn. He placed it against the hole where it had stood,
and something peculiar caught his attention. The grille had been
pushed <em>inward</em>, not forced out. He could see where it had
bellied from the frame as if a considerable weight had been forced
against it. The gridwork had snapped in several places. He took it
out of the frame and held it up close to his face, peering at the
broken ends of thick wire latticework. The edges were rough. They
hadn't been cut. Furthermore, they were out of true, bent in
towards each other as if they had been gripped by a powerful hand.
He held his own hand up, but despite his own size, his fingers
could not reach the span that would have been required to grasp the
twisted pieces of metal.</p>
<p>He laid the grille down where it had been lying, and
thoughtfully got to his feet. Somebody called his name from down
below and he walked slowly to the stairs and back into the main
party of the distillery.</p>
<p>"Absolutely nothing," John McColl said. "They're all saying the
same thing. Plenty of noise and screams, then nothing. Scared the
hell out of them."</p>
<p>"Scares the hell out of me," Jack admitted.</p>
<p>"Oh, by the way," John interjected. "There's been half a dozen
calls for you. Everybody and their granny wants you to call
back."</p>
<p>"At this time of night?"</p>
<p>"Bobby Thomson wants you urgently."</p>
<p>As soon as he heard that, Jack felt the familiar jolt as
adrenalin kicked into his blood.</p>
<p>"What's he want?"</p>
<p>"You to call back. Yesterday."</p>
<p>Jack took the steps three at a time. Nobody was using any of the
lifts in the building. Sorley Fitzpatrick and the engineers were
checking the other three, just in case. The distillery manager had
sent the whole night-shift home. Jack got to his car. Somebody had
left a message tucked under the wiper. He snatched it out as he
opened the door and eased himself in. It bore five digits. Jack
recognised Blair Bryden's number and gave a wry grin. He made a
mental note to call the Gazette office in the morning, then reached
for the receiver and called in. Somebody put him through the desk
sergeant and Bobby Thomson came on, his voice fighting through the
static.</p>
<p>"The dog men are in, sir. I thought you ought to know."</p>
<p>"And?"</p>
<p>"They found traces. A shoe. No <em>two</em> shoes. A handbag.
And there's possible traces of dried blood."</p>
<p>"Shit," Jack said vehemently.</p>
<p>"Sir?" Bobby's voice crackled. He'd heard that alright.</p>
<p>"Sorry Bob. Expletive deleted." Jack's mind was racing. There
were too many options on what to do next. He closed his eyes and
concentrated for a minute, ignoring the hiss of static in his
ear.</p>
<p>"I'll get Ralph along soon as I can. In the meantime, seal the
area. Not a thing to be touched. No announcement."</p>
<p>"Oh and Mr Cowie's looking for you," Bobby came back.</p>
<p>"What's new?" Jack said to himself. Bobby chuckled and Jack
realised he'd spoken aloud.</p>
<p>"Tell him I'll be along in twenty minutes." Bobby acknowledged
and Jack thumbed the off button. He debated sending the women
patrollers up to Clydeshore Avenue to pick up Lorna Breck and bring
her to the office, but then he dismissed the notion. He knew where
she was. If he brought her in to the station, the superintendent
would only ask awkward questions for which Jack, at the moment had
no answers. He got out of the car and back into the distillery. The
crowds had dispersed in the cold, damp air. The ambulance light
still twinkled blue starlight. There was an odd air of stillness
about the place.</p>
<p>Jack got Ralph and hauled him down from the upper floors.</p>
<p>"We need another scene of crime operation," he explained without
any preamble.</p>
<p>"What, again?"</p>
<p>"Not a fresh scene. At least I don't think so."</p>
<p>He gave Ralph directions, told him he'd meet him at the old
warehouse in under an hour, then went back to the car and pulled
out of the covered driveway and went back to the station.</p>
<p>At the desk, Bobby Thomson handed him a sheaf of messages which
he snatched in passing and read as he strode along to his own
office, pausing only to waylay young Gordon Pirie, the fresh-faced
recruit and ask him to make a cup of tea. The boy looked over at
Bobby Thomson who just nodded wisely.</p>
<p>There were two messages from headquarters, one from Criminal
Records Office, the other from the forensic lab. He called CRO
first, asked for an inspector he knew from the old days, and waited
while the extension rang. Finally somebody picked it up. Jack gave
his name and the inspector said hello.</p>
<p>"What've you got Fergus?"</p>
<p>"Bingo on two counts. John McColl said this was a priority job.
You've come up on both sets of prints. Tomlin was at scene of crime
in the Herkik operation. We've twenty clear fingers and several
palms, all with nine-point matching. It was him alright."</p>
<p>"And?"</p>
<p>"The drownee. She was there too. We've got confirmation on all
points. Nothing on the register on either of them, though, no
previous. Unknown to the police on any list. If you can get me an
ID on the woman, it will help."</p>
<p>"I don't think that'll be long," Jack said confidently. "You'll
get it as soon as I know it."</p>
<p>"Okay. Best of luck," the inspector said. "By the way. What the
hell's going on in your patch?"</p>
<p>"Damned if I know," Jack wearily. A sudden wave of tiredness
swept through him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a
full night's sleep. He ran his hand over his chin again and felt
the rasp of an extra day's growth. "But I'm working on it."</p>
<p>"Your old pals are rooting for you."</p>
<p>"And I'm rooting about down here," Jack said. He thanked his
fellow officer and went back to the messages.</p>
<p>At the lab, the sergeant who had left the message was off duty,
but Jack was put straight through to the textiles and fabrics
section. The young woman who answered was unfamiliar, but helpful.
The threads of material snagged on the gutter on the roof at Barley
Cobble, she confirmed, had been successfully matched up with fibres
taken from the sheets of baby Kelly Campbell's cot, and
corresponded to others taken from the shoulder of her mother's
coat. They were pure wool, dyed pink. The young chemist went into
some detail about the composition of the dye and the cross-section
thickness of the fibres, and Jack let her run on for a while,
though he didn't need the technical information right at that
moment.</p>
<p>It did confirm again however, the conclusion Jack had reached
earlier.</p>
<p>The killer was a climber. He liked high places.</p>
<p>Now he had a few other things to do. He had to find out why, and
he needed to know how Lorna Breck knew. Did she know him? Was she
involved?</p>
<p>Was her story just an act to put him off the trail, or even a
callous act of mishief-making? He decided she could wait, though
not for much longer. The baby-faced recruit came in with a pot of
tea and placed the tray on the table. Jack gave him an appreciative
wink and the youngster blushed. As soon as he left, Jack dunked two
of the biscuits until they were soft and swallowed them whole. He
had just stuffed a third into his mouth when there was a knock on
the door. Before he could speak the door opened and his immediate
superior strode in. Jack swallowed too hastily and burned his
throat.</p>
<p>"Didn't you get my message?" Superintendent Cowie asked.</p>
<p>"Yes. I was a bit tied up. I just had a couple of calls to
make."</p>
<p>"What's going on?"</p>
<p>"Another youngster. Seems to have been snatched."</p>
<p>"Yes I know all that, although I should have heard it from
you."</p>
<p>"No time. I went straight there."</p>
<p>"Alright. But there's more. I didn't authorise extra men for
another search. There's been three dog handlers brought back on
duty. That's on top of the SOC's men. Can you enlighten me?"</p>
<p>"Well, acting on information received, I thought it best to
enlarge the search area."</p>
<p>"What information. From whom?"</p>
<p>"It's a bit vague at the moment sir. I'd rather leave it until
we have something more concrete. In fact it's more of a hunch
really."</p>
<p>"A hunch? We can't afford overtime on the strength of some vague
intuition."</p>
<p>"No. It was a bit more than that. But you did say you wanted
immediate action, and that's what I'm trying for. I don't think
headquarters will object to a couple of extra men on a night. It
happens all the time in Glasgow."</p>
<p>"That may be. But this is not Glasgow. We don't have the budget
or the manpower."</p>
<p>"We could put in a request some more. I'm sure the divisional
commander would look on it favourably."</p>
<p>Jack knew what the reaction to that would be. Cowie would rather
cut off his leg than put in such a request to head office. It would
be an admission that he couldn't run his own patch. Jack himself
knew there would be no shame on it. He'd been working on murders
too long to care about who thought what. From his own point of
view, he knew there was nothing to be gained from calling in the
cavalry, at least not at the moment, despite the media pressure
which featured the bizarre kidnappings on almost every teatime
bulletin, and were certain to have a picnic and barbecue in the
morning when news of the latest abduction hit the streets. There
was nothing to be gained, and a possibility that an influx of
officers who did not know the area might only muddy the waters.
Jack needed just a little more time before he yelled for help, but
he was pragmatist enough to know that when the time came, he would
bawl his head off.</p>
<p>"Absolutely not," Cowie said. "The whole force is overworked and
undermanned. We won't get any thanks for it."</p>
<p><em>Nor the glory</em>, Jack thought.</p>
<p>"So what do we know about the girl?"</p>
<p>"Nothing much. Bare details. I've sent a WPC round with John
McColl to speak to the family."</p>
<p>"Preposterous!" Cowie spat. His face was taking on that familiar
red tinge. He looked like a man who wanted to be running things but
didn't quite know how, which, in Jack's view, he was.</p>
<p>"You mean we think we shouldn't speak to her?"</p>
<p>"Not that. Of course we should. I want detailed statements from
every one involved. And I want duplicates of all reports."</p>
<p>"Naturally," Jack said, lying with a straight face.</p>
<p>"No. It's preposterous that girl should be snatched like that in
a building full of people. Whoever is doing this is thumbing his
nose right at us. The press will have a field day."</p>
<p>"Probably. But at least you can tell them there are one or two
developments."</p>
<p>"I hope there are," Cowie retorted. "I sincerely hope there
are." He turned away from Jack and walked briskly to the door.</p>
<p>"Full reports, understand?" he barked, without turning
round.</p>
<p>Despite himself, Jack grinned. He poured another cup of tea and
drank it quickly. He wasn't sure when he'd manage to get another,
for he felt a long night coming on.</p>
<p>It was almost two in the morning and he was now feeling utterly
fatigued when he went down to the operations room and put out a
call for Ralph Slater. When he came on the phone, he sounded just
as weary.</p>
<p>"Just coming in," Ralph said. "No body, but plenty of
circumstantial. Oh, I think I can ID the swimmer for you."</p>
<p>"Bring it all in," Jack said. "I'll be here."</p>
<p>Ralph took less than ten minutes to get round to the station. He
looked blue and cold and his shoes and trousers were streaked with
dust. Two of his team were carrying black plastic bags. The scene
of crimes boss told them to lay the material on the table and he
gratefully nodded when Jack offered him a cup of tea from the huge
pot the new recruit had brought up from the canteen. The small
gathering stood around, trying to get some heat into their
bodies.</p>
<p>When the other two had left, Jack and Ralph went over what
they'd found.</p>
<p>It was a pitiful collection. Two shoes. One a woman's, the other
a child's training shoe.</p>
<p>Jack got a fleeting flashback to the dream.The prints had been
clear. One bare foot and the clear marks of gumboots. It hadn't
been accurate, but that hardly mattered any more.</p>
<p>"Definitely the boy's. We got a full description. It matches,"
Ralph said over the rim of his cup. The other one's from the woman
in the river. I can guarantee it. I could get the effects from
downstairs, or even show you a print, but take my word for it."</p>
<p>"Naturally," Jack agreed. "You're scene of crimes."</p>
<p>"Now the handbag is more interesting," Ralph went on, now
speaking through a mouthful of biscuit. "We found that on the
stairs. Some blood drops on it. Much more on the upper levels and a
fair puddle on the rafter boards, and I'll give ten to one it's the
Kennedy kid."</p>
<p>"No bets."</p>
<p>The contents of the bag were in a separate wallet. There was a
small purse with a few notes and change, a pen. Two combs and a
lipstick.</p>
<p>Jack poked through it with a pencil.</p>
<p>"What's this?" he asked, looking over at Ralph. The two cards
were face up, printed in fading pastel colours. The six of wands
and the queen of wands, both of them old-fashioned, printed on
linen board.</p>
<p>"I thought you'd find that interesting. They're the same kind as
we found on Simpson. I think there's a tie-in."</p>
<p>"Oh there is. She was at Cairn House. Records have confirmed the
prints."</p>
<p>"But there's more."</p>
<p>Jack raised an eyebrow. Ralph indicated the small pile of
effects.</p>
<p>Jack nudged the cards out of the way, then he saw what Ralph had
meant. It was a lapel clip, with a name on it beside a photograph
of a woman with short greying hair.</p>
<p>"It can't be," he said through his teeth.</p>
<p>"But it is. She was covered in shit when they took her out of
the river. Her own mother wouldn't have recognised her, but I'll
take any bets that's who it is."</p>
<p>"Janet?"</p>
<p>Ralph nodded. "And Christ alone knows how she figures in all of
this. She would never say boo to a goose."</p>
<p>Jack scratched his head, perplexed. Janet Robinson had been one
of the girls in the typing office. She was as quiet as a mouse, a
young-old woman who kept herself to herself, but she was an
excellent worker. She'd churned out dozens of reports for Jack in
the past couple of months.</p>
<p>"That's all we need," he said to Ralph, dropping the plastic
card back into the pile.</p>
<p>He went back to the seat and eased himself down. "Right. John
McColl's out talking to Tomlin's wife after he speaks to the girl's
mother," he said. "We might get something there, though I doubt it.
I need somebody out to Cross Road to pick up a man."</p>
<p>"Tonight?"</p>
<p>"Yes, Tonight. I'll send two of the uniforms along. And there's
a girl I have to speak to."</p>
<p>"You and me both."</p>
<p>"No this one's got something to tell me. Ever heard of Lorna
Breck?"</p>
<p>Ralph shook his head. "Rings no bell."</p>
<p>"She tells me she's been seeing the killings. Called me tonight
just before Bobby Thomson phoned. She said it had happened again,
to a girl this time."</p>
<p>"Think she's involved?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. There's something weird about her. Under normal
circumstances I'd say she was telling the truth, but I've been
wrong before. I'll have another talk with her in the morning, but
keep that to yourself. I'll have enough trouble explaining what was
going on at Cairn House."</p>
<p>"Having a seance, wasn't it?"</p>
<p>"Trying to raise devils," Jack said.</p>
<p>Ralph gave him a nakedly skeptical look.</p>
<p>"You don't believe any of that crap, do you?"</p>
<p>"No, but they probably did. I think we're dealing with a bunch
of weirdos. Some sort of sect, maybe devil worshippers or
something. You've read the Orkney case, and the Yorkshire stuff. I
think we might have a group of nutters who're taking it one step
further than dancing naked round a fire and screwing goats."</p>
<p>"You think they're killing folk?"</p>
<p>"I think," Jack said, looking Ralph straight in the eye. "I
think they're sacrificing babies."</p>
<p>Ralph Slater was in the act of swallowing a mouthful of tea. He
choked as it went down and sprayed himself as he spluttered to get
his breath. His eyes were watering and he snatched a tissue from
his pocket and dabbed at them. Finally he turned back to Jack.</p>
<p>"Are you kidding?"</p>
<p>"No. I wish I was."</p>
<p>"Cowie is going to love you. Are you going to tell him?"</p>
<p>"Not yet. Lets see what we can drag in. I can't keep him off my
back for much longer."</p>
<p>Later that night John McColl came back from Edward Tomlin's
house with something Margaret Tomlin had found in her husband's
jacket. It was a tarot card crumpled and lined, but there was no
mistaking the pattern on the back. It was identical to the others
that had turned up. On the face, it bore the picture of a heart
impaled by three swords.</p>
<p>Edward Tomlin died in the early hours of the morning, when Jack
was heading for home, almost stupefied with fatigue. His body was
taken down to the mortuary where Robbie Cattanach would open him up
the following morning. Some months later, both Robbie and Dr
Collins would collaborate on a paper for the <em>Lancet</em> on the
remarkable physiological effects of paraquat poisoning.</p>
</div>
</div>
</body>
</html>