The snow had stopped during the night but it was still dark when Clare forced herself out of bed. She pulled back her bedroom curtain but it was hard to see how thickly it had fallen. Downstairs, she opened the kitchen door to let Benjy out for a pee. The snow had blown against it and there was a cornice six inches high on the threshold. Benjy ran through it, scattering snow on the kitchen floor and launched himself at the garden, delighting in this new white world, almost disappearing up to his middle. He bounded along until he found his feet then cocked his leg.
In the kitchen Clare threw down a towel to mop up the melting snow and began making herself coffee and toast. Benjy reappeared, bringing more snow in with him and she stooped to wipe his paws with the towel. He began sniffing at the cupboard where his food was kept and Clare took the hint.
As she munched on toast she considered the day ahead, wondering if the DCI would return her call. There was something about the deaths of the two women that bothered her. Hopefully Neil would phone with the results of Alison’s post-mortem and she’d have a better idea if there was a link. She had to hope not.
Her thoughts turned to Miles and Cheryl Sharp. Had they known Ingrid too? It seemed unlikely but she couldn’t shake the feeling they were both hiding something.
The Rohypnol was another worrying factor. If there was someone in the town using the so-called date rape drug, she had to find the culprit before any more women were attacked. As she drained her coffee mug it occurred to her there could have been other victims, perhaps too confused or ashamed to come forward. Maybe they should put out a message via social media. She tapped a note on her phone to speak to the press officer about that. They might have something ready-made they could share on Facebook and the like.
Thinking of Facebook reminded her of the DCI’s skiing photos and, suddenly, she felt very lonely. She had ended things with Geoffrey. That had to be done, either way. But now it looked as if the DCI might have found himself a new partner.
And it was only January.
It took Clare a good ten minutes to clear the snow from around her car. As she worked, she heard the sound of a tractor approaching. She lifted her head as it passed her drive and was delighted to see the farmer had fixed a snow plough to the front of a red Massey Ferguson. A spray of dirty snow was thrown into her garden, but she didn’t mind about that.
‘God bless the farmers,’ she muttered as she cleared the last of the snow at the entrance to her drive.
She drove along the newly ploughed road, thinking how beautiful the world was after a snowfall, the harsh edges smoothed out with a white blanket. Heading east she could see the sky beginning to grow light as sunrise approached and she was filled with a sudden longing for spring and for happier days.
With the roads newly cleared she was soon at the station. Someone had been out early, clearing a path to the front door again but the markings delineating the parking spaces were hidden. There were a few cars in the staff car park already and she lined hers up next to them. As she stepped out she saw the pink faux-fur coat approaching. Zoe was picking her way along Tom Morris Drive, an enormous pair of headphones clamped over her ears. She wore yellow fisherman’s wellies on her feet and was carrying a Tupperware container. Clare waited to walk in with her.
‘You’re certainly dressed for the weather,’ she said.
Zoe grinned. ‘I love these wellies. You can keep your fancy expensive ones – I’ve had these for years and they’re still going strong.’
‘Is that your lunch?’ Clare said, indicating the box.
Zoe laughed. ‘I’d be some size if this was my lunchbox. No, I made a chocolate cherry cake last night. Just a thank-you to everyone for being so nice.’
‘Oh Zoe! So much for my new year diet…’ She held open the station door for Zoe.
‘You don’t have to eat it,’ Zoe said, laughing again.
‘Yeah, right.’
As Clare headed for her office her phone began to ring. She glanced at the display. The DCI. She tucked it under her ear and opened the office door flicking on the lights. ‘Hi, Al. Happy new year.’
‘Oh, yes. Um, happy new year, Clare. Hope you had a good break?’
‘Yes, thanks. You?’ She was about to mention his skiing trip then thought better of it. She didn’t want him to think she was checking up on him.
‘Yeah, it was great. I was away for a week. Just back last night so playing catch-up.’ She thought she could hear a noise in the background, as if he was tapping at his keyboard while he spoke. ‘Listen, Clare,’ he went on, ‘I got your message. Is it important? I’ve a hell of a lot to wade through today.’
She sat down in her chair, faintly nettled at this. He ought to know she wouldn’t have called unless it was important. Or did he think it was a social call? ‘Well…’ She thought she heard him sigh. ‘Just forget it, Al. I’ll chat to Chris about it.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ve got a couple of minutes.’
That’s big of you, she thought but didn’t say. Instead she related the events of the past twenty-four hours. ‘I’m not even sure the two deaths are linked though…’ she tailed off.
‘Do you have a cause of death for either of them?’
‘Nothing definite. I’m hoping to hear from Neil today.’ She realised how lame the whole thing must have sounded. ‘It’s just, I have an odd feeling about these deaths.’
‘Better to wait until you have something more concrete, Clare. Call me later if you want to chat again. Now, I really must go.’ And, with that, he ended the call.
She sat for a minute, contemplating his reaction. He’d been terse, impatient to get off the phone. Was he really that busy? Or did he think Clare had more than work on her mind? And, if so, was he trying to put her off? She could hardly blame, him. She’d had her chance with him and she’d blown it. She sat back in her chair, staring at the phone. The call couldn’t have been more than two minutes long.
Her office door opened and Chris looked in. ‘Morning, boss. How’s the snow out your way?’
She put the DCI to the back of her mind. ‘Oh, you know. Pretty deep.’ She indicated a chair. ‘Come in and sit down, Chris. I could do with a chat.’
‘Hold on…’ He disappeared for a minute. When he returned he was carrying two pieces of Zoe’s cake, wrapped in paper towels. ‘Plates all gone,’ he said, adding, ‘greedy bastards.’
Clare eyed the cake. It did look lovely but it wasn’t even nine o’clock. ‘I’ll save mine for later,’ she said, putting it over on the filing cabinet.
‘So, what’s on your mind?’ Chris said, breaking off a piece of cake and popping it in his mouth. He licked cherry jam off his fingers. ‘Oh my God, this cake’s amazing!’
‘I had a phone call yesterday afternoon – not long before I went home.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Neil Grant.’
‘That was quick.’
‘No, it wasn’t Alison Reid. Another sudden death – came in when I was on leave. Woman in her thirties, again – Ingrid McKinnie. Did you attend?’
Chris shook his head. ‘Nope. I was off from Christmas Eve. Did Dundee not deal with it?’
‘Yes they did. But Neil thinks it might be suspicious. Admittedly, she’d been drinking and was found in the Kinness Burn so it could have been a drunken accident. But the odd thing is there was Rohypnol in her system and no sign of sexual assault.’
‘Washed away in the burn?’
‘Neil doesn’t think so. She wasn’t fully submerged. And there were no trauma injuries.’
‘Alcohol, though…’
‘Yes, that’s true.’
‘And the Rohypnol would prevent her struggling so the absence of injuries doesn’t mean she wasn’t assaulted.’
‘I suppose.’
‘But you’re not convinced?’ Chris broke off another bit of cake. ‘Oh, Clare,’ he said, licking his lips, ‘You really need to try this.’
‘Maybe… I’m not sure.’ She sat forward in her chair. ‘Chris you remember the marks on Alison Reid’s neck?’
‘Yeah…’
‘Well, according to Neil, there were marks on Ingrid McKinnie’s neck too.’
‘So, someone’s picked her up in the pub, slipped her a tablet – walked her down to the burn meaning to assault her. Maybe had his hands round her neck then he’s been disturbed – party-goers wandering past – he’s left her and she’s tumbled into the water.’
Clare considered this. ‘Could be. But… if he’d been disturbed, would he have had time to strangle her?’
‘You think she was strangled?’
‘That’s just it. I don’t know. Neil was a bit reluctant to give me a cause of death. He’s going to phone back today – ideally with Alison’s results as well.’
‘You’re thinking they’re linked?’
Clare shrugged. ‘I’m just not sure.’
‘No point in second-guessing it Clare. Wait till you’ve heard from Neil.’ He rose, picking up the remains of his cake, and made to leave.
Clare’s phone began to ring again. She glanced at the display. Diane Wallace from Tech Support. ‘Hold on, Chris, it’s Diane.’
After the exchange of new year greetings which Clare was starting to find tedious, Diane got straight to the point.
‘We’re swamped here, Clare, so I’ll keep it short. The laptop wasn’t password protected so I’ve downloaded all the data. It’s in a folder on the network.’
‘Brilliant. Thanks so much, Diane. Anything else on the laptop we should know about?’
‘Nah. The usual social media apps. She wasn’t logged in though and I’ve not got into them yet but I’ve got Craig, my boy wonder, running password crackers. Hopefully it won’t take too long.’
‘Okay, Diane. Let me know when you’ve got anything else, and let’s catch up soon, yeah?’
She ended the call and turned to Chris. ‘Alison’s laptop. Diane’s put the data on the network.’ She picked up her mouse and navigated to the drive where Diane had uploaded the folder. She began with Alison’s emails, sorting the messages by recipient. Then she glanced at Chris. ‘Put that cake down and take a look at this.’