McNab flung the bag in the back of the car. He would have preferred to wait for Rhona but the instructions had been very specific and time was of the essence. He was taking a chance, but his instinct told him this was what he had to do if they were to have any prospect of catching the perpetrator.
If it all went wrong, he didn’t want Rhona to be involved, but he did want her to know the truth. Using the mobile was now out of the question. He would need to get word to her another way.
The jazz club was quiet, with just a scattering of lunch-time visitors. McNab did a quick check to make sure none of his colleagues were there before heading for Sean’s office. Sean and he might be love rivals but McNab had reason to trust the Irishman.
‘McNab, what brings you here?’ Sean said in surprise at his entry.
‘Rhona.’
Sean immediately rose from the seat in concern. ‘What’s happened?’
Not for the first time did McNab recognize just how deep were the ties that bound Rhona and Sean together. ‘Nothing,’ he said swiftly. ‘I need you to deliver something to her. If necessary,’ he added.
Sean examined him closely. ‘Okay.’ He resumed his seat. ‘And how will I know if it’s necessary?’
‘You’ll know.’
‘You in trouble?’ Sean didn’t say ‘again’, although he might have.
‘I have a little undercover job to do. I’ll be out of contact for a while.’
‘How long exactly?’
‘Twenty-four hours.’
‘And I deliver whatever it is if . . .’
‘I don’t come back for it,’ McNab finished for him. He laid the mobile down on the desk.
Sean looked down at the phone, then up at McNab. ‘I hope you have someone watching your back?’
McNab didn’t answer. ‘Twenty-four hours,’ he repeated. ‘No longer.’
Sean called something in Irish as McNab departed. McNab hoped he’d wished him good luck.
DS Clark was used to McNab’s way of working when he’d been the DS and she the detective constable. But the next rung up the ladder had changed things for both of them. Their relationship had always been prickly, because McNab didn’t take rejection very well. Like every other female in the office, Janice had been tempted by the roguish smile, but the thought of being swiftly dropped was worse than the prospect of the encounter, so she’d turned him down. McNab hadn’t given up easily. After the third time, he’d made a remark that had seen him called into DI Wilson’s office. Whatever had been said in there had put an end to things. Janice had been pleased and sorry at the same time.
Since McNab had taken on the role of inspector, Janice had watched him fight his old self, while trying to become a version of DI Wilson. It would never work and Janice knew it. No two DIs operated in the same way, despite carrying the same title. McNab needed to stay his own man if he was ever to be as successful as he had been at DS level. She would, of course, never tell him this. Her plan had been to take the sarcasm, the blame and the sudden reversal of decisions on the chin, until McNab found his true way.
Janice didn’t doubt that this would happen, but she knew he needed someone to watch his back in the interim. In the absence of DI Wilson, that role fell to her.
McNab had been out of contact now for four hours and there were things he needed to know, the first one being that the geocaching guy who’d seen the cocaine stash had been located and was willing to speak to someone about it. The second, and even more important development, had come from Dr MacLeod.
Of the two hairs found on Alan MacKenzie’s clothing, one had been identified as belonging to Alan’s flatmate, Jamie. DNA from the other had produced two partial matches when run through the database, which indicated both were related to the hair’s owner, and both had been convicted of a crime. One of the two was a man of seventy who had committed a series of burglaries over a period of ten years. Angus Patterson was now living in a care home in Paisley and was suffering from dementia. The other partial match belonged to Isabel Kearney who’d been convicted of manslaughter, having stabbed her abusive husband to death. Her story was an uncomfortable read. She’d been sent to prison five years ago, but had only served six months of her sentence before finding an opportunity to hang herself.
Janice entered McNab’s empty office and laid the report on his desk next to the paper espresso cup. She lifted the cup to throw it in the bin and caught the whiff of whisky. McNab had returned from the Tech department with a face like thunder. Her attempt to speak to him had been thwarted when he’d disappeared in here and shut the door in her face. Whatever had happened when he’d tried to play the online game had made him so angry he’d resorted to drinking on duty.
Something that Sutherland would just love to find out.
Janice gave a quick glance round, wondering if the bottle was still in here somewhere. The top drawer of the filing cabinet stood partially open. She walked over as though to shut it, but really to see if that was the hiding place.
It was, and the bottle, two-thirds consumed, was still there.
Janice closed and locked the cabinet and slipped the key into the desk drawer. McNab would go mad when he found out she’d been snooping, but she could cope with that. On her way out Janice picked up the paper cup and took it to the ladies toilet where she rinsed it clean of the smell of whisky, crushed it and threw it in the bin.
Once back at her desk, she gave Dr MacLeod a ring.
Rhona listened to Janice’s story, without reciting her own. ‘And you’ve no idea where he might have gone?’ Rhona said.
‘No, apart from the fact his mobile’s either switched off or out of range.’ Janice hesitated, which suggested there was more.
‘What else?’ Rhona said.
Janice’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I found a bottle of whisky in his office.’
‘He’s drinking on duty?’
Janice’s silence was enough answer.
‘Does he know about the familial DNA matches?’
‘No. The report arrived after he’d gone out.’
Rhona hesitated. ‘The woman he’s been seeing. Her name’s Iona. He met her in the pub the night of his party. Any chance you can locate her?’
A moment’s silence, then Janice said, ‘I’ll ask around. See if anyone knows her.’
Rhona rang off without mentioning her visit to McNab’s flat, which, she acknowledged, was her first step on the wrong path.
She threw down the phone. Damn and blast McNab for putting her in this position. She should have known he wouldn’t handle being a DI. He always thought only he could figure things out.
The labelling of the trace evidence from the flat had caused her some problems, the main one being Chrissy. She stored them out of Chrissy’s immediate view, but it was unlikely they would go unmarked for long. What exactly she would say to Chrissy, Rhona had no idea. Lying wouldn’t work. Chrissy was a veritable lie detector, being so good at avoiding the truth herself.
Rhona made a coffee and sat down to think.
McNab had disappeared off the radar and he wasn’t answering his phone. Those two things worried her even more than the state of his flat and the cocaine stash.
‘Coffee time?’ Chrissy’s expression was inscrutable. She busied herself pouring a mug and scrabbling about in the biscuit tin. When she emerged, she got straight to the point.
‘So what does McNab think about the familial matches?’
‘No idea.’
‘But you were on the phone to Janice. I heard you.’
Jesus. Could Chrissy hear through walls?
‘McNab’s out. He hasn’t seen the report we sent yet.’
Chrissy made a sound that suggested she was on to Rhona. ‘Didn’t you call him?’
‘He’s out of range, or his mobile’s switched off.’ Rhona tried to sound unconcerned.
‘Mmm.’ Chrissy attacked a Jaffa Cake.
Rhona thought it symbolized going in for the kill. She was right.
‘He’s gone awol, hasn’t he?’
‘What makes you say that?’ said Rhona indignantly.
‘Remember the time he took me to The Poker Club and you wanted to come? We wouldn’t let you, because you are incapable of bluffing. Your face is an open book. Where’s McNab?’
‘I have no idea,’ Rhona said.
‘Now, I believe you.’ Chrissy helped herself to another biscuit. The second Jaffa Cake was swiftly demolished.
‘I think McNab’s fucked up big time.’ She observed Rhona. ‘Want to tell me how?’