Final Cut by Lin Anderson Read Free Book Online Page B

ruefully.
    There was a squeal of pleasure as Emma came clattering down the narrow staircase behind her mother.
    ‘Michael!’ She grabbed his hand. ‘I’ve something to show you.’
    ‘I think Detective Sergeant McNab needs a coffee first.’ Mrs Watson looked to him for confirmation.
    McNab suspected she’d observed the evidence of his hangover and felt slightly uncomfortable.
    ‘I’ll wait for you in my room,’ Emma told him firmly, before heading back upstairs.
    Her mother led him along a narrow hall and into a small sitting room, where a wood fire burned and a real Christmas tree stood in the corner.
    ‘It’s nice out here,’ he admitted grudgingly.
    ‘We like it.’
    ‘You used to live in Glasgow?’
    ‘The accent’s a giveaway?’
    ‘You can take the girl out of Glasgow . . .’
    ‘We used to live in the West End. I take it country life doesn’t appeal?’
    ‘No one to arrest. I’d have to retire.’
    She disappeared into a small kitchen off the sitting room. McNab caught glimpses of her as she moved about; filling a kettle, switching it on. He saw her lay out mugs, sugar and milk on a tray. While he waited, he wondered why he was here.
    The child had sent him an email. He hadn’t picked it up right away, because he was spending so much time at the deposition site. In the email, Emma had stated she thought there were two bodies because she could hear two voices. McNab suspected this was nonsense, particularly since Rhona had found the wind harp, but although it didn’t follow protocol, he felt he had to talk to the kid about it. She had taken a shine to him, that much was obvious, and useful under the circumstances.
    There was another reason, of course. Everyone knew he’d messed up on the Gravedigger case. Anything he did on this one had to be an improvement. The girl was a little strange, but he was afraid of missing something vital if he didn’t go the extra mile and question her about what she professed to know.
    Mrs Watson reappeared and laid the tray down on a coffee table. She was dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, her long brown hair caught up in a clip. She looked pretty and much more relaxed than when they’d first met. She handed him his coffee.
    ‘I never got the chance to thank you properly for finding my daughter.’
    McNab decided it would be churlish to argue, even though it was the dogs which had found her.
    ‘Emma talks about you a lot. About wanting to help you find the . . . other one.’ She couldn’t disguise the mixture of worry and embarrassment on her face.
    ‘It’s OK,’ McNab reassured her. ‘I told you to contact me if Emma remembered anything else about that night.’
    ‘I keep hoping it will stop, this obsession.’
    ‘Maybe if I talk to her, it will.’
    She didn’t look convinced.
    ‘Mrs Watson . . .’
    ‘I’m not married, DS McNab,’ she snapped. ‘Please call me Claire.’
    McNab had clearly touched a sore spot. ‘OK, Claire, but only if you call me Michael.’
    She nodded, relaxing a little.
    ‘So, can I talk to Emma now?’
    The girl was sitting cross-legged on her bed. The room was in shadow, the weak winter sunlight barely lifting it out of darkness.
    Claire switched on the light, breaking Emma’s trance-like state. She looked round at them.
    ‘Hi, Emma.’
    Her solemn face broke into a smile and she bounced off the bed.
    ‘Michael. Have you found him yet?’
    ‘Him?’
    ‘The other one.’
    ‘I came to talk to you about that.’
    She glanced at her mother, then back at him. McNab wondered how much the girl was aware of Claire’s fear.
    ‘Why don’t we take a walk in the snow?’ He surprised himself with the suggestion, but he suddenly wanted to talk to the child on her own. ‘Is that OK?’
    Claire looked puzzled but nodded her agreement.
    Downstairs, Emma chatted animatedly as she pulled on a hooded coat and wellington boots. Her mother handed her a pair of mittens.
    Outside it was cold and crisp, the sky a pale