In Place of Death (27 page)

‘I'm so glad you made it, Rachel. I was so worried about you. I don't like you having to come home on your own like that.'

‘I'm fine. Don't worry. I'm here now. We're both fine.'

‘Yes, both fine. All's fine now you're home.'

Narey pushed the door ajar quietly and saw her dad sitting on the edge of his bed with his arm round Jess. She looked up at the door opening and smiled sheepishly. Narey wasn't sure if
what she was feeling was gratitude, anger or jealousy. She gestured outside with her head and waited for the girl to follow. When they were both in the corridor, she closed the door again.

‘You're pretending you're me?'

A flush came to Jess's cheeks. ‘I'm not
pretending.
Sometimes he thinks I'm you. Maybe because we've got the same hair colour, I don't know. But he
does. It's not good to keep correcting him on things. He only gets worked up. So I let him think it. You're not always here and it comforts him. I'll stop if you want.'

‘No. Don't. It's . . . it's okay. If it makes him happy. I can't be here as much as I want to and—'

‘I wasn't having a go at you for not being here. Honest. I know you have more important things . . . I mean, like an important job. I—'

‘I get here as often as I can!' She was angrier with herself than the girl but that probably wasn't the way it sounded. ‘Look, Jess, thanks for staying to look after him.
I really appreciate it. But I'll take it from here. You should head off home.'

‘Fine.' The girl shrugged sulkily and turned to leave.

Narey didn't know what to do but knew she shouldn't leave it like that. ‘Hang on.' As Jess spun back towards her, she took her purse from her pocket and took out a
twenty-pound note. The girl's eyes widened with surprise and her mouth fell open.

‘What? I don't want your money! That's not why . . . No, just . . . just go see your dad. He might like it if you sing to him.
Money?'

Shit. If there was a way of making things worse then trust her to find it. Some days she just shouldn't bother getting out of bed.

Unable to sleep for thinking about her dad and the way she'd messed it up with Jess, Narey was sitting up in bed with her laptop in front of her. She was deep in
OtherWorld, a notepad at her side.

She considered joining the forum under some dumb user name and fishing for the information she wanted. If she dropped the right bait then maybe she'd pull up the person that found Hepburn
and called the cops or find out that Hepburn himself had used the site. And maybe she'd catch a killer.

It was a long shot but she was sure she was fishing in the right pool. She signed up, called herself WeegieGirl and posted.

It probably wouldn't get any points for subtlety but she was in a hurry and it just might flush someone out.

She looked at it, not at all convinced it was a good idea, but closed her eyes and pressed enter.

Well there it was. Up for everyone to see. No going back from that and she just hoped someone would tell her something useful.

She flipped from section to section through the forum, bringing up all the Glasgow posts again. She'd read through most of them the previous time but knew it had to be done again. There
was so much of it. Asgarten Youth Hostel, the cathedral, the subway, the West End tunnels, Gartnavel Royal Hospital, Gartloch Asylum, Holmlea Primary School. So much to get lost in.

She jotted down all the names, counted up how many posts they'd made and where they'd been. It was a slog but she didn't know any other way.
Astronut.
LilytbePink.
CardboardCowboy. Digger9. Magellan93. Hermit. Spook. JobnDivney.
Bloody
Metinides
again.
PencilPusber. NigbtLigbt. BigTomDog. Ectoplasm. Crow.

The forum had a search function and she put in the names in turn and brought up every post they'd made. It varied hugely. With Divney, it wasn't much at all. He'd made only
three posts and those were all just remarks on other people's photographs.

However she immediately saw that CardboardCowboy was a different story altogether. Fifty-two hits in a little under a year. Eleven of those were posts that he'd started, each of them a
report of an explore he'd done along with photographs. The guy was prolific.

He was a regular commenter too, enthusiastic about explores that others had done. He'd talk up people's photographs, remarking on their reports. She jotted down dates and ticked off
posts. The Cowboy had been active online every day or two.

Until it suddenly stopped.

Just over six weeks ago, he'd posted a compliment about a photograph from inside an office block that was to be flattened. And then nothing. His posts just dried up completely without
explanation. As if he'd disappeared. As if he was dead.

It was him. It had to be.

Something bothered her though and she went back and re-checked the posts by the user who called himself JohnDivney. Sure enough, he'd only ever commented on three posts. All three were
about six weeks earlier. And all three had been originally posted by CardboardCowboy.

She was simmering with that thought when the buzzer went at the front door and it made her jump. She stepped naked from bed and pressed the intercom.

‘It's me.'

‘Hey, me. Come on up.'

Walking to the front door, she took it off the latch and left it slightly ajar. She padded back through to the bedroom, closed the laptop and slid it under the bed. The computer and everything
on it was business and she didn't want to mix it with pleasure.

Winter was up the stairs in a minute and she heard him close the front door behind him. By the time he had walked through the living room and the hall, he was as naked as she was. He slid in
beside her and she flinched at the cold chill he'd brought in with him.

‘Sorry.'

‘That's okay. I can warm you up pretty quickly. How was your night with these mysterious old friends?'

He slipped his arms round her and kissed her. ‘It was fine. I went home first and picked up a change of clothes for the morning and then headed over.'

‘Beer,' she told him as her lips slid from his.

‘I
did
brush my teeth.'

‘I can still taste it. It's okay though, you know I like it. Kiss me again. In fact, don't stop.'

‘Bad day? I know I still owe you that hug.'

‘Bad day, shitty night. I'm afraid a hug isn't going to cut it now.'

‘More?'

‘More. Much more, please.'

He pulled her closer and ran his hands down her body. ‘How much more?'

‘As much as you've got.'

He released her from his arms, letting her go enough for him to catch her by the shoulder and arse and flip her over onto her front. She lay beneath him, her body pushed into the bed as he began
to kiss her neck then work his way down.

He squeezed and licked, teased and probed, making her move to his touch and forget the day she'd endured. This would last as long as they wanted but he had a feeling it was going to be
urgent and swift, needs fulfilled and bodies sated. Her hips were writhing below him and he pressed against her, matching her movements. She arched her back, pushing up at him, inflaming him,
welcoming him, encouraging him.

He slipped a hand between her legs, found her more than ready and knew neither of them wanted to wait any longer. A moment later, he was inside her and they were moving together. He had one hand
on the small of her back and one entwined through her hair. Hers were pressed against the bed, bracing back against him.

She urged him on and he did as he was asked, losing himself in the moment and the act, letting everything go. When the end came it was together and breathless.

He lay on top of her, bearing what weight he could on his elbows and kissing her neck. She managed to twist a hand back and stroke where she could.

‘I needed that.'

She'd said it but it could have been either of them.

‘Want to talk about it?'

A long pause for thought then a heavy sigh. ‘No. Just hold me and kiss me. Tell me about your night if you want though.'

‘No. I'd rather kiss you.'

‘Suits me fine.'

Friday morning

The incident room was buzzing in a way it only could when everyone was under pressure yet secretly enjoying it. You couldn't go around admitting that you got a high when
there was a murder, better still more than one. But it was why they did what they did. No one signed on to find lost cats or give road-safety talks to schoolkids.

The phones were ringing off the wall, detectives were running in and out, keyboards were being hammered, the humour was black and rife and there wasn't a single moment of silence. Narey
loved it. Even under all the pressure she'd managed to create for herself, she revelled in it.

She'd spoken to Hepburn's sister who told her that a DNA test was being done that afternoon. No one doubted that it was him but everyone needed the final confirmation. Rico
Giannandrea had been in and out like a fiddler's elbow, working with Johnny Jackson and turning over every stone to see if Saturn Property might be hiding underneath it. They were also
forensically examining other companies to see if Saturn had morphed again.

They were looking again at Davie McGlashan's post-mortem results and maybe, just maybe, there would be something they'd missed. Maxwell had drawn up a list of Jennifer Cairns'
charity commitments, including a breast cancer support group, a homeless charity and an arts foundation. Narey had lined up a phone call with someone who was supposedly the UK's leading
urbexer. Others were trying, so far in vain, to find a link between Hepburn and Cairns. It was buzzing.

She was looking at her computer screen when she became aware of Fraser Toshney standing up and waving at her, his hand clutching a pen. He had a phone in his other hand, clamped firmly to his
ear. Toshney was manning one of the hotlines and had been fending off well-meaning nutters all morning. This time, he seemed to have something more interesting.

She pushed out of her chair and walked over, just catching the tail end of the conversation.

‘Are you sure you don't want to give your name, sir? You might be eligible for a Crimestoppers reward and . . .'

He stopped to listen. ‘It would really help us if . . .'

He looked at her and shrugged. ‘He's gone and wouldn't leave a name. Said he wasn't interested in a reward and didn't want to get involved.'

She just looked at him. ‘Well? I'm assuming this is something worth me getting out of my chair for.'

‘Yes, boss. Definitely. Well, if this guy's telling the truth. He says he's got a name for the person that found Euan Hepburn in the Molendinar.

‘This guy says he was in Oran Mor last night and overheard some people talking. One of them was a guy named Remy Feeks. He spelled the name out for me. He says this guy was talking a lot
about the body in the tunnel, knew a lot about it. He said, and get this, that this Remy Feeks said he went urbexing. We haven't said anything public at all about urbexing, boss.'

‘I know that, Fraser. Go on.'

‘The guy that phoned said Feeks seemed really interested in the Molendinar and said he'd been in there. He was asking lots of questions about it.'

‘Did he give an address or a description?'

‘No address but said, from what he heard, he lives in the East End and works in a Tesco. He said this Feeks sounded scared. He specifically said' - Toshney checked his notes -
‘that he didn't sound scared of getting caught. More like scared that he'd be next. He said the guy was maybe twenty-six or so with fair hair and freckles. Skinny guy about five
feet ten.'

Narey glanced down at the scribbled note. ‘Good work, Fraser. Go and get that typed up into something legible then get your coat. We're going to the East End.'

They were driving out to the East End to see the only Feeks listed in the Glasgow phone book. The phone call might have been genuine or it might have been another crazy or just
an attempt to get someone into trouble. There was only one way to find out.

Adelaide Street was like an oasis in reverse. Its short row of grey sandstone buildings was isolated among green swathes of wasteland where other tenements used to stand. Now the remaining
homes, weathered and shabby, stood like the last couple of teeth in an old man's mouth.

This part of the Calton used to be home to hundreds of families but they and their houses were all long since gone. The buildings, the single-ends and rows of closes, had been demolished and the
infertile scrubland was the only reminder of where they had stood. Many of the buildings had become unfit for habitation by twentieth-century standards, lacking the little luxuries like inside
toilets and heating. All that hung on were the better-class and later-built tenements that had sprung up in a 1920s overhaul. They were better then but they weren't all that now.

According to both the phone book and the electoral register, Archibald Feeks was the only person in the city with that surname and seemed to be an obvious enough place to start. If he
wasn't the right Feeks then he was likely to know who the other one was. Narey and Maxwell parked up in front of the downbeat row and stood for a moment to take it in.

There was only a handful of flats in the block whose windows weren't either boarded up or smashed in. Most were shattered, open to the wind and rain and to anything or anyone else who
fancied crawling in. Take away the lack of curtains in a couple of those whose glass had thus far escaped the sticks and stones that broke their bones, and that left just three that might still be
lived in.