“What’s going on? Why the urgency?” Caroline let her go and stepped back into the shelter of the doorway.
“Have you seen the news?” Fiona asked.
“Is this to do with that murdered crime writer?” Caroline had never been slow to grasp connections. “I thought they’d got someone for that?”
“Yes. But I think there’s a possibility that the person in custody is a fake confessor. An attention-seeker. If I’m right, there’s still a serial killer out there. And I’m afraid he’s got Kit.”
“Oh my God! And they’re heading for Inverness?” For the first time, Caroline sounded shaken.
“Kit owns a bothy out in Sutherland. I think that’s where the killer is planning to take him. Kit keeps a Land Rover at a garage in Inverness. I need to get there and pick up the Land Rover and try to head them off before they get to the bothy.”
Caroline frowned. “Forgive me if I’m being naive here, but isn’t this one of those things the police should be dealing with?”
“Yes. But they think the man in custody is the killer. They’re not even halfway convinced that Kit’s actually missing. They think he’s gone off on the razzle with his mates, drowning his sorrows over Georgia.”
“But you know different?”
Fiona spread her hands. “I know Kit.”
Caroline nodded, as if satisfied. “Fine. Jump in. I’ll drive you.”
“Honestly, there’s no need. I can drive myself. I just needed to borrow the car.”
Caroline reached out and grasped Fiona’s wrist gently. It was a curiously intimate gesture. “I said, I’ll drive you. Besides, how am I going to get back to St. Andrews at this time of night?”
“No, Caro, it’s not your fight. Call a taxi. I’ll pay for it. Just give me the car keys, Caro, please?”
Caroline shook her head. “No way. You’ve always been there for me. I’m not leaving you.” She turned on her heel and marched back to her car, pulling the driver’s door open and getting in. She started the engine and wound down the window. “I thought you were in a hurry, Fiona?”
As they shot up the motorway towards Perth, Caroline broke the silence. “Tell me what’s going on with Kit.”
So Fiona outlined the whole story, from Drew Shand’s murder onwards. “It could be that I’m being paranoid,” she admitted. “But that’s my risk, and it’s one I’m prepared to take. Looking stupid on the shores of Loch Shin would be, in my opinion, the best possible outcome of tonight.”
“But you know in your heart that’s not what’s happening here,” Caroline said heavily.
Fiona nodded. “He wouldn’t stay out of touch. He’s in a state about Georgia, and I’m the only one he opens up to. Of all the times he might ignore me, this is the least likely.” They fell silent then, each lost in her own thoughts as the windscreen wipers slapped the rain away and they drove deeper into the Highlands, the looming bulk of mountains rising around them as Caroline hammered up the road towards Inverness to the late-night sound of the Cowboy Junkies. At that time of night, there was little traffic to vary the endless ribbon of the Ap spooling out ahead of them.
Somewhere near Kingussie, Fiona closed her eyes and leaned her elbow on the window ledge. With no need for Caroline to stop for petrol (and nowhere to make a stop, even if she’d needed it), Fiona drifted in an edgy doze until they made it to the outskirts of Inverness just after half past six.
Fiona was already two and a half hours later than she would have needed to be to hit the wilderness ahead of Kit.
Joanne Gibb drove cautiously down the street where Gerard Coyne lived. Thankfully, nobody seemed to be stirring. But then, that’s pretty much what she’d have expected in this part of North London so early on a Saturday morning. She hoped it would stay like that for a little bit longer. She needed to identify the house then find a parking space somewhere she could keep an eye on the place. It wouldn’t do to lose him because she couldn’t find somewhere to sit unobtrusively. It helped having a VW Golf with black-tinted windows. Impossible for passers-by to see inside, and with the added bonus that any local likely lads would probably leave it alone on the general principle that anybody who owned such a mean-looking machine would probably be considerably more well hard than they were.
On her first pass, she identified the house. She couldn’t immediately see a place to park, so she drove to the corner, turned round and cruised slowly back. About a dozen yards past Coyne’s house, a set of headlights flashed at her. Her first reaction was that someone had noticed her predicament and was indicating they were about to move out of their space. Then she recognized Neil’s Ford, a car almost as scruffy as its owner. She drew level and they dropped their windows simultaneously. Joanne’s nose twitched as the stale aroma of unwashed male rolled out towards her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “You were supposed to go off at midnight and leave chummy to his own devices.”
Neil yawned. “I couldn’t do it. I tried to clear it with the boss but I haven’t been able to raise him. I can’t get through on the mobile, his home phone’s on the answering machine and he’s not responding to his pager. I can’t believe it. He’s never out of touch. And last night, of all nights, when he knew we were starting a fresh surveillance. It just doesn’t make sense. So I decided to stay till you got here, just in case.”
Joanne gave a sly smile. “I bet I know where he is.”
“Where?”
“He’s birding it,” she said.
“Bollocks,” Neil scoffed. “He’s like a monk, the guvnor. He’s forgotten what it’s for.”
“You lot never forget what it’s for,” Joanne said. “He came back from seeing that lecturer the other day with a real spring in his step. And he asked me for a restaurant recommendation.”
“God, he must have been desperate.”
“Thank you, Neil. Anyway, I reckon he’s gone off to her place and decided that for once he’s going to forget about the sodding job and have a good time.”
Neil shook his head. “He’d never turn his pager off.”
“That’s what you think. So, what are you going to do now?”
Neil reached down and turned the key in his ignition. “I’m going to piss off back to the Yard and get my head down for a couple of hours until he gets in. Wherever he is, he’ll be in this morning to see what’s what, I bet you any money.”
“That would be a mug’s bet. Hang on till I turn round again and I’ll slot into your space, OK?” Joanne drove off. By the time she’d swung round, Neil was edging out, leaving room for her to pick up the surveillance. She waved him off and settled down. She only hoped Gerard Coyne wasn’t planning on a bike ride this morning.
FIFTY-ONE
Caroline pulled up at a roundabout on the edge of Inverness and killed the stereo. “Where to now?” she asked.
Fiona yawned and scrubbed her eyes with the edge of her fists. She had that empty nauseous feeling that comes with too little sleep and too much adrenaline. The rain had stopped and there was a thin grey mist hanging in the air, leaving Inverness looking even more like a ghost town than the hour itself. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “All I know is that the guy who owns the garage where Kit keeps the Land Rover is called Lachlan Fraser.”
Caroline snorted. “Like that really narrows it down.”
“I take it Fraser’s a pretty common name hereabouts, then?”
“You could say that. The ancestral seat of the clan chief is about half a dozen miles up the road. Fraser is about as common a name round Inverness as Smith would be in London.” She put the car in gear and cruised towards the centre.
“Where are you going?” Fiona asked.
“When in doubt, ask a policeman.” Caroline headed on down the main road. “We’ll either find the police station, or we’ll find some night-shift woolly suits in a patrol car sneaking a fly bacon butty at the all-night snack bar.”