Natasha woke Callanach to say that the uniformed officers were changing shift again.
‘Seven o’clock and all is well,’ she boomed with a smile. ‘You were sleeping like a baby.’
‘Are you all right?’ Callanach asked, but she looked rested and refreshed.
‘All my limbs are still attached and none of the windows are smashed, so I’d call that a successful operation, Detective Inspector. Why don’t you use the bathroom while I make French toast. House specialty.’ He was going to insist that she not bother but his stomach said yes. Twenty minutes later he’d changed his clothes and retaken his seat from the night before.
‘I’ve texted Ava to let her know I’m fine. No response yet. She’s probably sulking because you insisted she couldn’t be here last night.’
‘In her best interests,’ Callanach said through a full mouth. ‘The sooner the Chief can put this complaint to bed, the better. What are your plans? We’re still following up the list of departmental staff so you probably shouldn’t go in to the University yet.’
‘As fond as I am of sitting at home, I have work to do. I’m bored of being scared. I’ll be sensible, nothing risky, but I have to go in to my office. There’s work building up. You can phone me every ten minutes if that helps.’
‘Certainly, I will,’ Callanach said. ‘If anything happened to you, Ava would never forget it. I can’t lose her as a friend. She’s the only one I’ve made since I got off the plane.’
‘Oh, I think Ava would forgive you almost anything,’ Natasha said. ‘All right, maybe not that, but anything else. Can we talk about how our conversation ended last night?’
‘I have to go,’ Callanach said, shoving his arms into a jacket. ‘Do what the police officer tells you and don’t speak to any strangers.’ Callanach put his plate and mug in the dishwasher then picked up his mobile. ‘I’m glad last night turned out okay.’
‘Luc!’ Natasha shouted as he dashed out of the back door. He looked back. ‘Ava’s not the only friend you’ve made since you arrived. You have at least two.’
Outside was a blue sky and the absence of rain. Even the wind was taking a day off. It was far from sunny but Callanach decided he’d happily settle for not freezing. His car was parked opposite Natasha’s and he started the radio before putting on his seat belt, adjusting it to make room for the enormous amount he’d eaten in the previous twelve hours. Pulling away, he gave the house one last external inspection, checking up and down the road. That was when he spotted the silver Mercedes parked under a tree at the far end of the street.
‘Just couldn’t stay away, could you?’ he said through his open window, slowing down, expecting to see Ava waving at him. He’d have no choice but to tell her to go straight home. Daylight wouldn’t make her presence at Natasha’s any more acceptable to DCI Begbie. Callanach was parallel to her car when he saw there was no one inside. He parked and got out.
The Mercedes was unlocked, the driver’s door not quite fully closed. Convinced he must have missed her on foot as he’d been getting into his own vehicle, he called her mobile. There was silence, then ringing. With a growing wariness he realised it was coming from the passenger seat of Ava’s car. He reached in to pick it up, instinct stopped him and he withdrew, phoning Natasha as he stepped away.
‘Natasha, I know this will sound strange but is Ava with you?’ he asked as lightly as he could manage.
‘No, you know that, you just left,’ Natasha said. A pause. ‘Why?’ Callanach couldn’t reply. Lines were forming to make a shape inside his head and he didn’t like what he was seeing. ‘Luc? Say something.’ She slammed her phone down hard. He heard it hit what he guessed was the kitchen table. Seconds later Natasha was running down her pathway into the road, looking left and right for him along the street. When she saw him she froze, then she spotted Ava’s car and began to sprint. It wasn’t far and running would achieve nothing but she raced towards him as if to stop a child from falling off a cliff.
‘Where is she?’ she screamed. ‘What’s happened? Tell me what’s happened!’
‘I don’t know,’ Callanach said, catching her before she could tear through the vehicle. ‘You mustn’t touch it, Natasha, please.’ The uniformed officer was behind her, puzzled, out of breath.
‘Call the station,’ Callanach ordered. ‘Get a location for Detective Inspector Turner. Tell them her car and mobile are here. I want officers at her home immediately. Contact her family and ask if they’ve heard from her in the last twelve hours.’
Natasha collapsed to her knees. ‘She’s gone,’ she cried. ‘Oh God, we were in there eating and drinking while she was being taken.’
‘We don’t know that,’ he said. ‘Ava could be anywhere. She could be up a tree in your back garden for all we know.’
‘No,’ Natasha sobbed. ‘No, she’s not. Her keys are in the ignition, Luc, and her handbag’s on the back seat.’
Callanach stared through the window. Natasha was right.
He wanted to believe there was a better, more rational explanation. He wanted to explain where she might have gone. In the end he knew the simplest explanation was the most likely. The woman he had claimed just minutes ago as his only friend in Scotland, had been abducted.
The sirens could be heard coming from every direction. The forensics team arrived in tandem with the Chief Inspector. Out of nowhere, a press van followed before the road could be closed and constables hastily formed a line around the car to block the camera’s view. Not that there was anything dramatic to see. It was what was missing that was so damning.
Callanach wanted Natasha to go back inside but she refused, stubborn, furious with grief and panic. Instinctively and without hesitation he put his arms around her shoulders and held her tight as she fought back tears.
‘What was DI Turner doing here last night?’ the Chief demanded.
‘I don’t know,’ Callanach replied quietly. ‘As far as I was aware she was at home. She must have been keeping her movements quiet because of the suspension.’
The implied criticism was below the belt and Callanach knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself. It wasn’t lost on DCI Begbie.
‘Don’t make this about her suspension, Inspector. Turner knows better than to put herself in harm’s way.’
‘It’s my fault,’ Natasha said. ‘She was here to protect me.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Callanach told her. ‘There’s nothing anyone could have done to stop it. Whoever is responsible played us.’
‘Where’s your team?’ DCI Begbie barked.
‘At the University checking out the other departmental staff,’ Callanach said.
‘Get them out of there and into the incident room. If this was a set up with DI Turner as the intended victim, then the University was just a means to an end. Pull every uniformed officer and detective from any other investigation that can spare them. Check who might want retribution from the baby case and revisit the death threat. And get the bloody press out of here. If I see Ava’s face splashed over the news, heads will roll.’ Callanach saw that the Chief was reeling. Ava had been under his command for years. He’d been responsible for promoting her. She was a difficult person not to love.
‘Come on, Natasha, I need to get you home,’ he said, walking her back up the road towards her house. As he did so, there was a shout from behind.
At the Mercedes a forensic technician was waving and shouting for an evidence bag. Callanach left Natasha and went back.
‘What is it?’ he demanded.
‘A trainer, lodged way back under her seat. Just one. Could have been there some time, fallen out of a gym bag, maybe.’
‘At the end of a gym session she’d have undone the laces to remove the trainer, and even then it wouldn’t have fallen out of a bag and ended up lodged under the driver’s seat. If she was conducting surveillance last night, this is the sort of shoe she’d have been wearing. It seems more likely to me that this came off her foot at some point during …’ He looked up the road towards Natasha, the will to finish the sentence draining from him. Ava had known exactly what she was doing even in the stress and panic of the abduction. She’d shed the shoe to prove beyond doubt, as soon as the car was found, that she’d been taken by force. It was typical of her to be planning even in chaos. ‘Don’t tell Professor Forge,’ he said to the officers around him. ‘Enough hope’s been lost this morning.’
He returned to Natasha, whispering urgent but distracting nothings about procedure and priorities as they went.
‘She’ll fight. I’ve never seen anybody get the better of her,’ Natasha said.
‘We don’t know what’s happened yet,’ Callanach replied. ‘Ava might have had a blow to the head and wandered off, or followed a lead on foot with no time to pick up her bag. Anything’s possible. Panicking won’t help.’
‘Don’t patronise me,’ she said quietly. ‘I get it. We talk facts not hypotheses.’
‘Exactly,’ he replied. ‘Ava would tell you the same.’
‘Ava can’t tell me anything right now.’ Callanach didn’t respond. Natasha was right. ‘She’s all I’ve got, Luc. My parents cared more about maintaining their social status than they did their own daughter. That’s why they ditched me when I came out. I didn’t fit their ideal of a wholesome, socially correct child. The day I told them, my mother asked if I’d done any research into where I could be treated for my “perversion”. My father just never spoke to me. He was the centre of my world until that day and he never spoke to me again. Ava looked after me, rebuilt my confidence and loved me enough that she very nearly made up for the whole rotten lot of them. I was depressed for the best part of a year, wavering between hanging around bars picking up any woman I could and phoning bizarre churches in America who claimed they could cure me. Ava didn’t once tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself. She didn’t make helpful suggestions. She just let me get on. The life I have now was all built through her and if I have to live it without her …’ She dropped her head as she fought not to cry, tensing her shoulders, gritting her teeth. ‘I refuse, Luc. I refuse to go on without her. So just fucking well bring her back. If you’re one ounce of the detective and the man she seems to believe you are, then prove it now.’
Callanach didn’t make any promises. There was no comfort to be given. He simply let himself out of Natasha’s house and did as she wanted. He got on with the job.
The incident room was a parody of a child’s game of sardines, body crushed against body, no one seated because chairs would take up too much space. The Chief took charge and Callanach was glad. He was too full of self-loathing to be trusted to lead the team dispassionately.
‘You all know what’s happened by now,’ DCI Begbie began. ‘DI Turner’s home was securely locked and undisturbed, as was her garage. In addition her handbag, found in her car, contained her house keys. The conclusion is that she was abducted between the hours of nine last night and six this morning. Door-to-doors have been conducted in Professor Forge’s road and there’s no information. It’s a quiet area, no local pub, people tend to be indoors at a reasonable hour. Low footfall. The majority of people living in the vicinity drive to and from work.’
Salter shouted across a sea of heads.
‘Is it the same man who took Buxton and Magee?’
Professor Harris stood up before the Chief could answer. Callanach hadn’t even realised he was in the room, not that it was possible to see further than the people immediately in front of him.
‘The man who took Miss Buxton and the Reverend Magee is in custody and this abduction does not shake my faith that we have the right man. Whilst there are similarities, there are also wild variations. The break-in at the professor’s house, the two rather crass notes, the fact that the assailant wasn’t waiting at DI Turner’s home but lured her to a public location. It’s a well-executed offence, I grant you, but the modus operandi is completely different. I suspect that what we have on our hands is a copycat.’
Callanach raised his voice to be heard above the sighs and moans rippling through the crowd.
‘DI Turner was an extremely difficult subject to choose to abduct if this was a copycat,’ Callanach said. ‘Why risk kidnapping a police officer?’
‘Kudos,’ Harris replied immediately, as if he’d foreseen the question. ‘The glory of going one better than the man whose work he is emulating. He wants the same recognition, probably hopes Rory Hand himself will admire his daring. These are crimes of ego, DI Callanach. They are bold and unafraid. The copycat wants to show that he is even more outrageous than his idol.’
‘So why the clumsy notes and the heart in the freezer?’ Callanach wasn’t going to be silenced so easily. ‘That was just trickery, not a device Buxton and Magee’s killer has resorted to.’
‘I believe our new player is trying to put his own stamp on his work, to be unique. The outcome is a tribute to Hand’s work, not the minute detail.’
‘Could you not call the person who abducted DI Turner a player, if you don’t mind, Professor Harris,’ DCI Begbie said. The room was silent. It was a reprimand. ‘This is no game.’ Harris opened his mouth to apologise, knowing he’d been too clever for his own good, knowing he’d lost the respect of the men and women in the room, but Begbie wasn’t going to let him get another word in. It was the only moment of satisfaction Callanach got from the briefing. There was no other good news at all.
‘I’ll be revisiting the baby deaths case and chasing leads on anyone who might have felt retribution was necessary. DI Callanach will be following up the death threat DI Turner received. Anyone not allocated to those teams will be conducting further checks in the crime scene area, CCTV, studying recent personal and professional communications to see if there were any other threats she didn’t report. DS Lively will be continuing to process the case against Hand. I want updates by noon. Now get moving.’
Tripp caught up with Callanach in the corridor. ‘I just thought you should know, sir, the scrap-yard owner finally found his records. He passed the car to a dealer in Edinburgh. Name’s Louis Jones. Shall I bring him in?’
‘Not at the moment. That car could have gone on to another four or five dealers after Jones. Get me the file on the death threat, then find Sergeant Lively. Tell him to ask Rory Hand for the dates and times when he killed Buxton and Magee. I want to know how long each was alive. And tell Lively he’s to indicate to Hand that the police already know the answers to those questions, as if there’s a right or wrong. Professor Harris is not to be involved or I will personally see to it that DS Lively is the subject of a rapid transfer to traffic.’
‘Using those exact words?’ Tripp looked concerned.
‘Those exact words.’
‘You don’t really think it’s the same murderer who’s got DI Turner, do you sir? Only if it is …’
‘I have no idea, Tripp. It’s a mess. There are more differences than similarities and we’re all chasing our tails. But I want some answers and I want them right now, if only to rule a few possibilities out.’
Callanach arrived home at two in the morning, and then he’d only abandoned his desk because Begbie had seen his light on and issued a direct command for him to leave the office. Outside Callanach’s flat was a tall stick leaned carelessly in the corner, wrapped in brown parcel paper. He recognised the handwriting on the attached card as Ava’s.
He opened his door, grabbed the parcel and rushed inside. He tackled the wrapping paper first, desperate to believe that inside was a clue as to her whereabouts, that it had all been a terrible mistake and that Ava was alive and well, having run away after her suspension. What he found was a gleaming wooden fishing rod, reel already attached, with a small box of flies and a rolled-up woollen hat. Callanach opened the note. It was scribbled, the penmanship not a concern, with what looked like tea spilled on one corner of paper that had clearly been ripped roughly from a notebook. It was typically her.
‘Luc – I’ve decided you need to learn to relax. Enclosed is a fishing rod in case such things had passed you by in France. Next time you’ve a weekend off, we’re going to Loch Leven near Kinross. There I will teach you to catch the finest trout in the world, which I will also cook for you. We’ll hire a cottage (you’ll be paying as I’ll be sharing my fishing expertise with you). It’s a beautiful place – only sky, water and more sky. Just so we’re clear – this is not a date. The fish are much more interesting to me than you!’ The final phrase was followed by a huge smiley face, below which was a PS. ‘You’ll need the hat. We have to fish from a boat and it gets cold. Sorry if it messes up your hair!!!’
He picked up the fishing rod. It wasn’t cheap. The wood was velvety smooth and the reel made the softest of clicks as he wound it, balanced faultlessly against the weight of the rod. The present and note had been left before she was taken, he knew that. Presumably while he was settling in at Natasha’s, so she could be sure he wasn’t home.
The thought of what Ava was suffering was unspeakable. Callanach held a pillow to his face and yelled.