They had given up at the sound of the sirens. When she’d opened the bathroom door they’d gone, although the place still reeked of them. The skinny one had dripped blood everywhere, but he wouldn’t die from his injury, although sex might be a problem for a while. Rhona had smiled at the thought.
She’d refused any treatment from the paramedics. There was nothing wrong with her, apart from a slapped cheek which had resulted in bruising and some puffiness. She’d got off lightly, no thanks to McNab. Once again he’d asked her to come and meet him here, then left her in the shit. It was getting to become a habit.
Back in her own car, she tried both numbers he’d used to call her. Neither answered. As she rang off, a call came through from Bill, who’d obviously been told about her incarceration.
‘What the hell happened?’ he said.
‘McNab texted me to meet him at his place. When I turned up he wasn’t there but a trio looking for the holdall was. Have you found him yet?’
‘We’re on our way to Sighthill cemetery.’
Rhona’s heart stopped. ‘Why?’
‘Magnus thinks Kearney’s going there and he has McNab and Helena in the van.’
‘Alive?’ she said.
‘We don’t know.’
She swore under her breath. It was always like this with McNab. Her fear for him was mixed with fury. Why the hell did he always have to play the hard man and go it alone?
‘I’ll meet you there,’ she said.
As she joined the motorway, a flash of lightning lit up the distant outline of Cathkin Braes. Another downpour, she realized, was inevitable after the heat and humidity they’d endured over the past week. Sure enough, moments later, the first drops of rain met her windscreen. Rhona turned the wipers to fast as, shortly after, the heavens opened. The stream of cars started to slow as the drivers struggled to make out the road in front of them.
Rhona applied the brakes as the tail lights in front flashed.
Minutes later the line of vehicles drew to a grinding halt.
She tapped the wheel impatiently. If she had been in a police car, they could have put on the siren and taken to the hard shoulder. She would give it five minutes and if they hadn’t started moving by then she would take to the hard shoulder anyway.
The deluge resounded on the roof in a deafening roar. Peering out the driver’s window, the motorway seemed to undulate as surface water quickly accumulated.
She put the car into neutral, turned off the engine and called Bill. There was no answer, so she tried Magnus. When he responded, she could barely hear his voice above the rain.
‘We’re about ten minutes away, making slow progress,’ he said.
Rhona couldn’t even claim to be that close.
‘Bill’s called for back-up from the Air Support Unit, but they’re out west. Could be an hour before they can get there.’
Rhona asked the question that had been puzzling her. ‘Why do you think he’s going to Sighthill cemetery?’
She listened in distress to the news that a photograph of McNab and Helena had been posted online along with the caption, ‘Buried in plain sight’.
‘He drew a stone circle round the bodies,’ Magnus said.
‘Then why the cemetery?’ she asked.
‘His mother’s buried there and . . .’
Rhona cut him off, knowing he was wrong. So wrong. ‘He’s not going to the cemetery, he’s headed for the stone circle.’
‘What stone circle?’
‘Sighthill stone circle. It was built in the late seventies. An academic experiment in constructing a modern stone circle that reflected the astronomical layout of the ancient ones. When the Tories came into power, funding was cut and it was never finished. Most people don’t even know it exists.’
She could sense Magnus’s bewilderment. ‘Buried in plain sight,’ he muttered.
‘Where are you exactly?’ Rhona demanded.
‘Almost at the cemetery.’
‘You’ll have to double back. The circle’s just north of the M8 motorway in Sighthill Park. I’m closer than you are.’
She heard him mutter something to Bill, then he came back on.
‘Bill’s sending the other car to the cemetery. We’ll double back and meet you.’ His voice fizzled out as the pounding rain took over.
Rhona put the car into gear, indicated, and drew onto the hard shoulder. A chorus of horns sounded their annoyance as she swept past. She didn’t think she had missed the exit that would allow her access to Sighthill Park. From there she could wind her way up to the top of the hill where the stones were located. How far she would get by car she wasn’t sure.
Peering through the windscreen, her wipers going full pelt, she ignored the angry faces and honking horns and concentrated only on locating the exit. Cars lined the slipway. Rhona swept past them too.
The dark row of trees and bushes that hid the motorway from the park came into view. The rain was easing as she located the entrance. After the lights of the motorway, the single-track road was almost pitch black, dense foliage catching at the car on either side.
Her memory of the hill and the stone circle was sketchy. Her one and only visit had been with an old friend, whose astronomical knowledge had been sought when the place was being planned. She’d been astounded by the level of scientific thought that had gone into the placing of the stones. From what she recalled, there had been fifteen stones to mark various important dates in the astronomical calendar, including the summer and winter solstices, at both sunrise and sunset, and a central stone. Three further stones had been delivered but had never been raised. When Mrs Thatcher came into power the project had been immediately cancelled, because she deemed it ludicrous. There had been moves since to restore it, then she’d heard more recently that it was to be removed altogether to make way for a development.
The road took a sudden turn and she braked, before noting a side track that appeared to climb the hill. Rhona engaged a lower gear and followed it, more slowly this time. The trees melted away as she crested the hill and spotted the jagged outline of the stones set against a purple-red horizon. Thunder still rolled, although the storm had moved further away now, to the north.
Rhona stopped the car and got out.
If Kearney’s van was still here, there was no sign of it. She grabbed her high-beamed torch and set off for the stones.