As he approached his front door, a figure stepped out of the shadows. McNab, immediately on alert, felt instinctively for a gun he didn’t possess, a result of undercover work he’d rather forget.
‘It’s only me,’ Freya said apologetically as she entered the light.
To say he was surprised to see her there was an understatement. He’d given her his card with a mobile number and the station number. He had definitely not mentioned where he lived.
‘How did you find out my address?’
She gave him a disarming smile. ‘My job is to find out things about people who lived centuries ago. Finding you was less difficult. Besides, you mentioned where you ordered your pizza from.’ She pointed across the street. ‘After that it was easy.’
McNab was impressed. ‘You haven’t any relatives in the Italian Mafia?’ he said.
‘I’m from Newcastle, remember?’
He met her smile. ‘Only a little less scary.’
‘Can I talk to you in private?’ she said quietly.
‘Want to come inside?’
‘Please.’
Opening the door, McNab said a silent thank you for the fact that the place didn’t smell of stale food and whisky – a definite upside to his new-found sobriety.
Freya glanced about. ‘You live alone?’
‘Always,’ McNab said firmly, then regretted it.
When she came back with, ‘Me too,’ and an understanding look, something shifted inside him.
God, he was on dangerous ground.
‘Fancy some coffee?’
‘That would be great. Black, please.’
‘Take a seat,’ he said as he spooned fresh coffee into the filter.
McNab heard her settle behind him and imagined her there on his sofa, wishing the circumstances were different. Memories of Iona, his last attempt at a relationship, resurfaced. Admittedly, Iona had been about sex. Only sex. Most of their sex had been fuelled by whisky and in her case coke. Something he’d chosen not to notice at the time, preferring to believe the big pupils were all about her excitement at being screwed by him.
As the boiling water filtered through the coffee grains, McNab fetched two mugs from the cupboard, keeping his eyes averted from the whisky bottle that stood alongside. He hadn’t avoided The Pot Still and Barry Fraser tonight to come home and repeat his earlier mistake.
‘I wouldn’t mind a tot of whisky in mine,’ she said from behind him.
‘Sure thing,’ McNab said and lifted the bottle out.
Everything went into slow motion after that. He poured a decent measure in her coffee, then the bottle headed towards his own mug. His fumbled attempt to prevent this resulted in a spill on the kitchen surface. When the sharp scent of the spilt whisky met his nostrils, McNab fought a desire to scoop it up with his finger and lick it.
He turned away swiftly and carried both mugs over, setting hers down on the coffee table in front of her.
‘Hope it’s not too strong,’ he said.
‘My father used to make me a hot toddy when I had a cold. He swore by them. I didn’t like the taste of whisky then, but I like it now.’
‘A hot toddy in Newcastle?’
‘My dad came from Inverness.’
McNab swallowed a mouthful of coffee. For some reason, the caffeine didn’t provide its usual kick. He must be getting used to it. Just as you did with whisky, which was why one was never enough.
‘What did you want to speak to me about?’
She had moved on to whisky with water. He’d finished the coffee and made another pot, stronger this time. There was a scent in the air. At least there was for him. It was the mingled aroma of a woman and whisky. Freya was, he thought, a little drunk. She was also frightened.
The tale she’d told him had been an odd one and he wasn’t sure he recognized the significance she placed on it. But it meant something to her. It seemed Shannon had hinted that she’d found something in the old library in the main building which had originally housed the Ferguson collection of manuscripts on the occult.
‘And?’ McNab had said.
‘We were interrupted at this point and I never found out any more. Then she didn’t come into work and . . .’ Freya’s voice had tailed off in distress.
‘You think Shannon found something important?’
‘The Ferguson collection is world renowned,’ she’d explained, then gone on to mention a selection of famous pieces it contained.
McNab had made suitable noises, at the same time thinking that writings about casting spells and turning metal into gold were about as believable as parables about turning water into wine and feeding the world on a few loaves and fishes. Eventually he came to understand that whatever Shannon had thought she’d found, it was no longer there.
‘And you think this possible discovery could have something to do with Shannon’s death?’
Freya had thrown him a look of exasperation at this point.
‘Such documents are priceless. Someone might kill for them.’
Now those two statements did make sense to McNab.
‘So Shannon mentioned finding something to you. You took the key to the room from her desk and went looking for whatever it was, after I told you about her death?’
She nodded. ‘And there was nothing there.’
‘Could she have been the one to move it?’
Freya shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What about Grant?’
‘I asked him. He said Shannon had never mentioned anything to him, but he’d check it out.’ Freya asked McNab for another drink.
McNab took the glass from her and went to fetch a refill. There had been half a bottle’s worth and there wasn’t a lot left. Perhaps it was safe now for him to have one. He couldn’t go out and buy another bottle at this late hour. McNab made a decision and shared the remainder. His neat, hers diluted.
When he arrived back with the two glasses, she looked pleased.
‘I thought you were still on duty,’ she said.
‘Time to knock off for the day.’
‘Good.’
She shifted along the couch towards him. That surprised McNab, but not as much as what happened next. He was used to being the one to make the first move. Often he overstepped the mark and was rebuffed. Iona had made a play for him in the pub on the night of his promotion. He’d succumbed only after Rhona had turned him down. Iona, he liked to think, had caught him on the rebound.
The lips that met his were moist and whisky-laden. The tongue that sought his even more so. She tasted good, and smelt even better. As she arched her back he felt the press of her breasts against him.
It had been a long time since McNab had experienced sober sex. The eagerness was there, but the desperate fumbling, forgotten in the morning, didn’t have to be, he told himself. McNab stood up and offered Freya his hand. When she took it, he led her through to the bedroom.
He woke as dawn filled the room to find Freya no longer beside him. For a split second, McNab thought she had been no more than an erotic dream, then he spotted something on the pillow next to his. It was a figurine, a small replica of the Goddess statue he’d seen in the magick shop window. On its base was the name Freya.
Under the shower, McNab relived their encounter. With a clear head, he recalled everything in detail. He had become the perfect witness. The one the police longed for. The one who could describe a suspect in detail, down to the exact location of a freckle or a mole.
McNab could recollect the timbre of Freya’s voice, the sound of her sigh, every curve and plane of her body, the taste and smell of her. If he’d walked into a crowded room, he suspected he would know immediately if she was there.
It was something he’d experienced only once before.
As he dried and dressed, McNab moved from thoughts of Freya to what she had further revealed after they’d made love. It was that moment when closeness made you say things you might come to regret.
‘I rarely saw Leila or Shannon at work. Most of my time in the library is spent on research. I didn’t know they were practising Wicca until I met them at a coven meeting.’
McNab had sprung to attention at that point. ‘Where was this?’
‘In Edinburgh. There’s a meeting place in the Vaults under the Bridges. It’s not a secret. Tourists who visit the Vaults during the day can look through a grille at the room. But,’ she said, ‘the members don’t advertise their identities.’
McNab recalled Ollie mentioning his friend Joe using the Vaults for a coven meeting.
‘And you three are members?’ he said.
‘Just visitors. Shannon and Leila were as surprised to see me as I was to see them.’
‘Were they members of any Glasgow coven?’
‘No. And neither am I. It’s perfectly possible to practise Wicca alone or in a group of two or three.’ She hesitated. ‘Leila and Shannon worked together, but Leila was the leader. And I think she was using her skills as a Witch in other ways.’
‘How exactly?’
‘Selling sexual magick.’
‘You mean casting spells during sex?’ he’d said with a dismissive laugh.
Freya had pulled away from him at that point. ‘You shouldn’t mock something you don’t understand,’ she’d warned.
‘Or you’ll put a spell on me?’
Her hurt expression had cut McNab to the core. ‘I’m sorry. That was way out of order,’ he’d said, keen to make amends. When Freya had eventually nodded an okay to his apology, McNab had felt his stomach flip in relief.
Don’t fuck this up, a small voice had warned him.
‘What made you think Leila had been selling sexual spells?’ he’d said, having finally registered the true significance of her statement.
‘Because of something she said once.’
‘And what was that, exactly?’
‘That men were willing to pay for sex, and pay even more for sex magick.’