Today had not begun well, just as yesterday had ended badly. Having ejected Iona when the news came through about the map going viral, he had similarly been ejected, along with Pirie, from Rhona’s presence.
McNab had a feeling he was about to be ejected again. This time from the case, or from his role in it. The summons had been waiting for him when he’d arrived this morning. Returning home last night, he had slept very little and worried a lot. The map going viral was more than just a setback. It made the case UK news, and had already attracted international attention.
And it was drawing nutters like flies to a corpse.
An early visit to the Tech department had found a big-eyed Ollie with his eyes resembling those of his namesake. He’d been playing the night owl, and been bamboozled by how swiftly the map had captured the imagination of the digital community. He had also made some progress on the game.
‘There are five levels.’
‘Now there’s a surprise,’ McNab had said wearily.
‘When you reach the fifth, you attain a higher level of consciousness, become something else . . .’
‘Dead?’
Ollie obviously didn’t do sarcasm. ‘I think you attain a new persona, get gold stars or something. Although it’s supposed to be Druid-like, it only uses some of the real Druid stuff.’
The words ‘real’ and ‘Druid’ didn’t belong in the same sentence, but McNab refrained from saying so.
‘The Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids is a trilogy so doesn’t match the pattern of five.’
McNab felt a wash of irritated disinterest sweep over him. ‘Ollie,’ he held up his hand. ‘I need to know who’s playing the game.’
‘But if we understand the game, we could pinpoint where the next location will be.’ He noted McNab’s puzzled expression. ‘If they reach level five, they’re sent somewhere.’
‘But they won’t keep playing, not when they wake up to the fact that two of them are dead!’
Ollie was the puzzled one now. ‘The game isn’t out there yet. Only the map.’
McNab was seized by an idea. ‘Why don’t we expose the game and ask the players to come forward?’
Ollie shook his head in disbelief. ‘You’ll be inundated with nutters who say they’re playing it and hackers trying to play it.’
With that worrying thought, McNab had departed, minus an answer for his commanding officer which either of them would like, or even understand.
The meeting with Superintendent Sutherland was scheduled for ten o’clock. McNab had the caffeine buzz by nine thirty in anticipation. That’s when he got the message that Mrs MacKenzie was here, wanting to speak to him. What the front desk didn’t mention was that she was accompanied by Patrick Menzies. McNab discovered this when DS Clark showed them into his office.
McNab threw his sergeant a look that suggested he would deal with her later, but it appeared to have little effect on her demeanour. McNab questioned once again if he was losing his touch.
He welcomed Mrs MacKenzie and offered her a seat, then was forced to shake Menzies’ hand. That accomplished, he focussed on the woman. As far as McNab was aware, Alan’s mother had not taken to Menzies. Now, from the manner in which she checked with him before speaking, that situation had changed.
‘Detective Inspector,’ she began. ‘Alan . . .’
When she hesitated, McNab came in. ‘His body has been released for burial?’
She nodded.
‘And our liaison officer explained how we believe he died?’
She nodded again.
‘I’m very sorry, Mrs Mackenzie, for your loss. I assure you we’re doing everything we can to find who did this to your son.’
She glanced at Menzies and he gave her an encouraging look.
‘I think I can help you with that,’ she said, more strongly now.
‘Have you remembered something that might help?’ McNab said.
‘No, but I’ve received messages about Alan . . .’ She ground to a halt.
Menzies looked as though he might intervene, but didn’t.
McNab’ssuspicions grew and began to flower.‘Messages? Like text messages, emails?’
‘No, they come via Patrick.’ She glanced again at Menzies. ‘But they’re from my son.’
McNab lifted the polystyrene cup and swallowed the remaining double-strength coffee to avoid an immediate response. Within seconds the caffeine buzz was back.
‘Your son is dead, Mrs MacKenzie,’ McNab said gently. ‘Dead men don’t send messages.’
‘He wanted me to tell you he was playing a game. There were five of them. He’s worried about the others.’ Her hands trembled in her lap. Menzies reached over and patted her arm reassuringly.
McNab felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. ‘What sort of game?’
She looked to Menzies again, who then said, ‘I think a computer game over the internet.’
The hairs on the back of McNab’s neck were still standing to attention. He ignored Menzies, who was leaning towards him, and concentrated on the woman.
‘Do you know who else was playing this game with Alan?’ McNab said.
She shook her head. ‘We don’t know, so we can’t warn them.’ Her voice trembled a little.
‘Alan believes whoever set up the game intends their death,’ Menzies said.
McNab glanced at the medium, resenting his intervention. ‘And when exactly did this message from Alan arrive?’
‘The first was on Monday night,’ Menzies said. ‘Alan has been in touch a number of times since, urging his mother to come and speak to you.’ He hesitated. ‘He has also tried to impart other information but,’ he looked distressed, ‘communication with those on the other side is not always clear, Inspector.’
McNab forced himself not to add ‘because they’re fucking dead’.
The office phone rang shrilly.
‘Excuse me for a moment,’ McNab said, grateful for the interruption, until he heard Janice’s voice.
‘You were due in with the super five minutes ago, sir.’
‘I’d like you to take a statement, Sergeant, from Mrs MacKenzie and Mr Menzies about messages from Alan,’ he said, and put the phone down.
‘I apologize, Mrs MacKenzie. I have a meeting with my commanding officer about your son’s case. DS Clark will take a statement from you.’ McNab studiously avoided another Menzies handshake. The truth was he couldn’t look at the medium without showing his distaste.
Once out of sight, McNab composed himself. Whatever happened, he had to give the impression he was on top of the case – notwithstanding voices from the dead and viral maps. He approached the super’s room and knocked on the door.
He had never liked Superintendent Sutherland. Most people didn’t like their boss, but he had been lucky with DI Wilson, whom he both liked and respected. Sutherland, to McNab’s mind, was like a career politician, in the job for self-aggrandizement, rather than public service. The advent of the single police force had seen a mad scramble for the fewer higher echelon positions on offer. Sutherland had scrambled as hard as the next man, but hadn’t reached pay-off and was thus a bit miffed. He still played golf with the great and the good according to office gossip, but that wasn’t enough compensation for more power.
McNab suspected he was regarded by Sutherland on a good day as an irritant. On a bad day, as a scourge. Today was a bad day. McNab was reminded of a former headmaster of his. When called to his study, you were required to stand as remote from his desk as possible, thus rendering you a small and distant fly in the headmaster’s ointment. One that could be flailed at a distance by the whip-like strength of the master’s tongue.
Here, McNab also remained at the door, although not so distant that he couldn’t see the twitching nerve to the right of Sutherland’s mouth, nor the rigidity of the muscles in his neck.
‘I’d like an explanation, Detective Inspector.’
‘About what exactly, sir?’ McNab strove to keep his tone deferential.
‘About how you’re handling this case.’
‘We are progressing, but it is a complex case involving two diverse locations. We’ve established how the Glasgow victim died and expect results on the Orkney victim shortly. We believe they may be connected via an online game which the Technical department is currently studying. There are five players, four of whose identities we have yet to confirm. My Glasgow sources tell me the cocaine find and the body are not connected.’ He took a break as Sutherland held up his hand. McNab felt as irritated as Pirie had looked last night, when he’d done the same.
‘How did this map and its implied connection to the case get online?’
‘That we don’t know, sir.’
‘You realize we are in danger of instigating copycat killings?’
‘I do, sir,’ McNab said, although until that moment he hadn’t, too intent had he been on the possibility that there might be three more potential victims.
‘I want a shut-down as far as the media is concerned. I alone will be interviewed. No one on the case is permitted to discuss it outside these walls. Not in the pub. Not online. Not at home. Not to anyone. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I want the identities of the other gamers found and found quickly.’ He paused. ‘You have forty-eight hours to get on top of this, Inspector.’ He did not specify what would happen if he didn’t.
McNab departed.
The sudden silence as he entered the incident room was palpable. McNab was surprised to see Janice back at her desk. He motioned for her to follow him into his office.
‘I want everyone here at two p.m. with whatever they have, including the Tech guys. From this moment on no one is to discuss the case outside the station. Sutherland’s orders.’
‘Right, sir.’
‘Now, what the hell happened with Menzies?’
‘He had a written statement prepared, sir, giving details of Alan’s messages.’
‘And what do these messages say exactly?’
‘It isn’t clear.’
‘Mumbo-fucking-jumbo?’
‘Professor Pirie might make sense of them. He managed to decipher the victim’s diary on the Reborn case.’
McNab caught the pleading tone in her voice.
‘That was maths, Sergeant, not messages from the dead.’
‘Mr Menzies knew about the game, sir.’
That, McNab could not dispute, although he dearly wanted to know how the medium had got wind of it.
Janice, taking advantage of his silence, went on. ‘The Tech department could check his statement in case it has something to do with the game.’
McNab tried to behave like his former boss would have done.
‘Send it over, Sergeant. I’ll take a look.’