DI Bill Wilson and Detective Superintendent Sutherland went back a long way. The road they’d travelled together had often been a rocky one, with bad blood on occasion. Something which Bill chose not to dwell on, although Sutherland liked to allude to it now and again. The rocky and bloody patches usually featured DS Michael Joseph McNab. As it did again today.
Sutherland was a man Bill thought he understood. They were similar in age, both married, with teenage children, although their careers had not followed similar paths. Bill had always sought to stay close to front-line policing. Sutherland, on the other hand, had striven to get away from it as swiftly as possible. At times, Bill thought the super had forgotten what it really meant to be a detective. What had to be done, sometimes outside the rule book, to get results.
The image before him now confirmed this – the carefully groomed hair, the smart uniform, even the neatness of the desk, suggested someone who had forgotten that life and death was as disordered as those involved in it.
Apparently there had been some disquiet regarding McNab’s participation in the current murder case. Bill had interrupted the doublespeak at this point, to remind Sutherland that it had been DS McNab who’d had the sense to check on Shannon Jones.
‘And forced entry in the process,’ Sutherland said.
‘And that’s what the disquiet is about?’
‘McNab does not maintain the discipline of a police officer. He acts like a wild card with no respect for the law, which has been, I must remind you, a big contributor in his downfall.’
‘He caught Stonewarrior, sir,’ Bill reminded him, ‘when the combined might of the UK police forces couldn’t.’
‘You exaggerate, Inspector.’
Bill bit back a retort. Annoying Sutherland further wouldn’t help McNab’s case.
‘So there isn’t an official complaint, just some disquiet?’ Bill tried to nail down the reason for his summons.
‘I thought it apt to remind you that DS McNab is your responsibility.’
‘I am aware of that, sir.’
Sutherland shot him the look of a superior making a point of his superiority.
Bill ignored it. ‘Is that all, sir?’
On Sutherland’s curt nod, Bill exited.
So there was disquiet about the investigation. He would have put it more forcibly than that. And it had nothing to do with McNab’s part in it. Bill’s disquiet came from the fact that they had not yet picked up their main suspect, despite numerous showings of the CCTV footage. And now they were about to release details of the Shannon Jones murder.
In his opinion it was no unlucky coincidence that Shannon Jones had met her death so swiftly after that of her friend. Neither death, he thought, was random. Both had been planned, but the reason for them escaped him. True, it might be that the second killing had occurred because the perpetrator viewed Shannon as a threat to his continued freedom. But Shannon Jones hadn’t been the only one to see the suspect that night in the pub. The barman McNab had interviewed had given a good description, even added to it with details of the expensive watch and wallet. If Shannon had been in danger because she’d had a close-up of their suspect, so too was the barman.
And what about the suspect’s mate, who was even more elusive? If he was innocent of any wrongdoing, why hadn’t he come forward? Then again, maybe the deaths were the work of two men rather than one.
Bill re-entered his office and took up residence in his swivel chair, turning it to face the window with its view over his city. He registered that he was grateful to be back here with more to think about than Margaret’s illness and was then flooded with guilt that he had stopped thinking about it, even for a moment.
But dwelling on Margaret’s cancer hadn’t stopped it returning and wouldn’t make it go away. That’s what she’d said when confronting him with her demand that he go back to work. Thinking about an investigation, on the other hand, could help solve it.
His wife was a wise and courageous woman, both attributes Bill acknowledged she had in greater abundance than her husband.
On Margaret’s orders, Bill now turned his thinking skills back to the task in hand.
Rhona’s recent revelation regarding possible DNA identification of the nine men whose sketches were in the dolls could be a game changer, but only if they were already on the database, and that was only a possibility if they’d already been found guilty of a crime.
There were a number of presumptive tests used in the detection of semen which weren’t dependent on the presence of sperm cells. One was the acid phosphatase (ACP) test, used both in the search for seminal stains and in their presumptive identification. ACP was an enzyme secreted by the prostate gland and found in very high concentrations in seminal fluid compared to other bodily fluids. If a stain was seminal fluid, exposure to the ACP test would result in a purple colour in less than half a minute. However, the colour also developed when other bodily fluids were present, such as vaginal fluid, although the reaction time was much longer.
The definitive test, the one Rhona had chosen to use, was the p30, which detected the presence of a protein of the same name produced by the prostate gland. Among bodily fluids, p30 was found almost exclusively in seminal liquid. Its other advantage was that the identification of semen was unaffected by the absence of spermatozoa. So if the owner of the seminal fluid had had a vasectomy, or was affected by a condition known as azoospermia, it didn’t matter.
Once the existence of seminal fluid on the nine pieces of paper stored in the dolls had been established, the next step was to produce a DNA profile for each of them and run them through the database. Besides DNA profiles, they’d already amassed a sizable collection of trace evidence – hair, fibres, skin flakes, urine traces from the toilet, vomit, fingerprints and even a naked footprint. All useful in building up a picture of who had been in Leila’s flat. Even the chirality of the knots used in the noose made from the cingulum provided another piece of the jigsaw.
Rhona checked the time on the wall clock. If she was going to Edinburgh with McNab, she would have to get a move on. Go home, eat, change and be ready for his arrival. Chrissy had departed already, having not yet solved the mystery of McNab’s love life. Before leaving she’d instructed Rhona in the art of interrogation. Not for the first time Rhona had thought Chrissy would make a good detective.
‘Why don’t you just call him?’ Rhona had suggested. ‘After all, you two are bosom buddies.’
It seemed Chrissy had already considered doing that. ‘He would see it as failure on my part that I had to ask,’ Rhona had been told, with an exaggerated sigh.
Rhona had found the only way to put an end to the conversation was to go into the lab and firmly shut the door.
She eventually left at seven. On the way home she stopped at the deli and bought some cold cuts and potato salad. One thing Sean had done by intermittently reappearing in her life had been to highlight the paucity of her culinary horizons – namely, pepperoni pizza and no. 12 on the Chinese menu. Both fell short of Sean’s freshly cooked food. The cold cuts and potato salad weren’t freshly cooked either, but at least they offered some variety.
Showered, Rhona contemplated what should be worn to the meeting of a Witches’ coven. Obviously if one had a gown, what was worn beneath, if anything, didn’t matter. Eventually, having dressed as normal, she settled down to her deli meal.
The buzzer sounded dead on eight o’clock. Approaching McNab’s car, Rhona found Magnus already in the passenger seat and registered that the two men looked relatively comfortable in one another’s company, which was as surprising as McNab’s new loved-up persona.
McNab drove in his usual fashion, reminding Rhona why she preferred to travel in the back when he was at the wheel. Judging by the stiff set of Magnus’s shoulders, he was bracing himself rather than openly gripping the seat.
Once on the motorway, things improved a little. The traffic was relatively thin, the road straight. McNab cruised along at just over seventy, slowing for speed cameras where necessary. Magnus relaxed a little and Rhona decided it was time to bring both of them up to date on the sketches and the probability of DNA profiles from the deposits of semen.
‘I showed Barry Fraser the sketch with his name under it,’ McNab said. ‘By his reaction, I would say he thought it might be him. He also admitted to the cingulum playing a role in his encounters with Leila.’
‘Did he have any idea who the others were?’ Magnus asked.
‘I didn’t reveal there were nine. I’ll keep that for when he comes in for his DNA test.’ McNab paused. ‘I also ran into Danny Hardy, who seems to be mates with Barry.’
‘Did Danny know what his sister was involved with?’ Rhona asked after McNab had described their encounter.
‘He knew she was a Wiccan. Said there was no law against it, and he’s right.’ McNab looked about to add something, then didn’t.
Magnus had remained silent during McNab’s story, but Rhona could tell by his expression that he was deep in thought. Her rendition of his name had no effect, so Rhona tried again.
‘Magnus?’
This time he did respond. ‘I wonder if the nine men involved are a defined group.’
‘You mean like a coven?’ Rhona said.
McNab again looked as if he would say something, then stopped.
‘That’s twice you’ve done that,’ Rhona accused him. ‘What is it?’
There was a moment’s silence, then he said, ‘A workmate of Leila’s thought she was selling sex magick.’
‘Someone from the library?’
McNab nodded. ‘Her name’s Freya Devine. She’s a PhD student in medieval history and also a Wiccan.’
‘So there were actually three of them?’ Rhona said.
‘Freya didn’t know about the other two until they met at the Edinburgh coven. Like her, they weren’t members, just visitors.’
‘Are you sure she was telling you the truth?’ Magnus joined in with Rhona’s concern.
Now McNab’s yes sounded slightly hesitant. ‘They weren’t close friends, not like Shannon and Leila.’
‘So she couldn’t be linked to them other than through the library?’ Magnus said.
‘No,’ McNab said in a manner which indicated he no longer wished to discuss the woman in question, which immediately raised suspicions in Rhona’s mind.
Was this the female Chrissy had been seeking?
‘I’d like to talk to Freya Devine,’ Magnus said. ‘Is that possible?’
By the set of McNab’s jaw, he was now regretting ever mentioning her name.
‘Maybe.’
Magnus looked as though he might pursue this, but catching Rhona’s warning glance, wisely decided not to.