Wilderness (Arbogast trilogy) (20 page)

“We must get up now darling, but don’t worry everything will be fine.”

Kovan was not naturally good tempered first thing and did not look pleased to be woken. Hanom grabbed the pile of yesterday’s clothes from the floor and lifted her daughter, covering her in the sheets she slept in. When Kovan saw the smoke in the hall she stiffened.

“What’s happening mummy, has there been an accident, is our house OK?”

“We must leave because of a little fire but don’t worry we’ll phone for help once we’re safe.” Hanom stroked the side of Kovan’s cheek to reassure her. This was something that usually calmed her daughter but Hanom could see that the fear was starting to build. Crossing over the threshold and out into the cool night air Hanom allowed for a sigh of relief. She needed to go back for her father. Breathing heavily to try and calm herself down the Kocack women would have seemed calm to a passerby. The fire itself could not yet be seen from the street.

“It will spread soon.” The voice startled Hanom and she jumped at the sound, clutching Kovan through fright.

“It’s too tight mummy, you’re hurting me,” but Hanom wasn’t listening.

“Karim, tell me this wasn’t you. Tell me that you wouldn’t stoop so low?”

The question hung between them like a corpse on the gallows. Karim looked as if he was about to explain, to put her mind at rest, and for a second he looked like the Karim of old.  But the dark cloud returned and he took a step back gesturing for them to follow.

“You must come now. If you want to be reunited with your husband and if you don’t want to die, you must come.”

Kovan was weeping into her mother’s shoulder. She had never seen adults behave like this before and it scared her. Hanom looked up at the second floor, the flames just visible now under the window. She knew she had to leave, that what lay ahead was uncertain, but at that moment she was sure of one thing: that any love she may ever have held for her brother in law was now lost. If he perished in this fire he had brought on their lives she would be glad of it. She stepped forward and could see there was a waiting car to the side of the house. Another man was in the driving seat. He nodded to her in acknowledgement. Hanom turned and stood face-to-face with Karim before spitting hard. He stood, unmoved, as the saliva ran down his face watching Hanom and Kovan then he smiled.

“Your carriage awaits my princess,” he said grabbing her arm, “and before you ask the answer is yes.” Karim looked up at the house then down on Hanom and Kovan who were now sat in the back of the car, “Yes your father is dead.”

By the time the alarm was raised it was already too late as the rickety old wooden house in Istanbul quickly burned away. The dry, brittle wood cladding sparked like kindling and the house burned like a searchlight in the night. The blaze meant that the rest of the street was evacuated due to the danger of the fire spreading through that close knit community. The fire was not brought under control until late that afternoon and by the time the forensics team arrived there was little left to investigate. The structure had collapsed in on itself and down into the basement. It was another 13 hours before the body was found, and another four days before the blaze was explained as having been the result of an electrical fire.

Glasgow, Scotland, February 22
^nd
2010

The paramedic found Arbogast collapsed in the hallway of the 22
^nd
floor of Tower 12 with Rosalind Ying unconscious with her head in his lap. At first he thought they might be dead but the Detective’s sudden burst of fury suggested otherwise.

“Don’t waste time on me take a look at her,” Arbogast said. Underneath the soot Rosalind had turned an unnatural shade of blue. The paramedic rolled up her sleeve and nodded.

“What is it?” Arbogast said, concerned and frustrated he could not do more to help.

“Does this woman have a history of drug misuse sir?” Arbogast stared at her blankly before replying as calmly as he could.

“She is a Detective Chief Inspector with Strathclyde Police – she does not use drugs.”

“Then I’m afraid that someone has introduced her to the habit. She appears to be overdosing.”

The stretcher arrived and Rosalind Ying was thrown onto it unceremoniously before the paramedics disappeared back down the stairwell. Arbogast followed in convoy. They left in separate ambulances.

“She’s in good hands now and the hospital is less than five minutes away. I’d say she has more than a fighting chance of pulling through and she’s lucky to be alive.”

Arbogast thought that was a phrase he seemed to be hearing more and more these days.

It was 4:30pm at Glasgow Royal Infirmary, which meant visiting time for those lucky enough to have someone that cared. Mary Clark had other plans anyway. Mary had been moved into a private room off the Cardiology wards due to the risk of complications brought on by hypothermia. Although she still felt weak Mary had made a better recovery than she had let on and she was now aiming for an unscheduled visit of her own. Mary knew the first task would be the hardest and that she would need to deal with the policeman before being able to do anything else. Mary had been told the officers had been stationed there to ‘keep an eye on her’ but she knew only too well that she was under practical house arrest and was being segregated from the rest of the patients, which had given her time to think. Mary had asked about her husband John who should have been back in touch by now, but they said he had gone missing which wasn’t a good sign. Looking around the room Mary realised that she had one or two pressing problems. Firstly she had no clothes other than the gown she had been given by the hospital. Her clothes were most likely classified as evidence now. She had searched through all the cupboards and drawers in the room but, unsurprisingly, they had all been empty. Turning her attention to her 24 hour guard Mary was running short of inspiration. Early on it had been that young guy Frank. He had been sweet, trying to talk to her and telling her everything would be OK. That was when they thought she was the victim. Frank had not been as nice to her after the investigation had switched its focus to her. Mary sized up her chances. Frank was a big man and he would be difficult to get past but she didn’t feel that she had any choice. The chair was just outside the room and the only time her guard would leave was when there was a nurse in the room. She was always under their watchful eyes. Mary’s luck changed for the better about an hour ago. Frank had been replaced by the family liaison officer, DS Mhairi Reid, who was altogether a more appealing prospect. She had come up with an idea, which she was just about to put into action. Mary opened the door slightly and cleared her throat.

“Mrs Clark you know you are not allowed to leave the room unaccompanied.”

“I’m not aiming to leave but it’s just that I’ve got,” Mary lowered her voice, “well let’s just say you might be able to help me with a delicate matter,” she smiled in a way she hoped would inspire empathy. DS Reid recoiled slightly at the notion but Mary could see she was weighing up the situation. She rose from the chair before bending in to Mary.

“I’ll just get a nurse for you.”

Mary didn’t waste any time. There was no-one in the hallway and she knew she had to act quickly. She punched DS Reid sharply in the throat, winding her and causing her to bend over. While she was doubled up Mary grabbed her hair and pulled her into the room. She was prepared for this and had shredded a pillow case and now deftly wrapped it around the officer’s mouth using it as a makeshift gag. DS Reid was disorientated and didn’t have time to realise what was happening to her. She looked from left to right as her brain tried to make sense of the situation. Her natural reaction was to raise her hand, to try to say ‘No’ but as she rasped and spat onto the cotton sheet she was now bound to her fate. Mary grabbed her by the hair again and smashed her head down onto the floor, once, twice...four times – then quiet. Mary could see there was blood but she knew that could not be helped. The blinds to the room were drawn so she would not be seen if she worked fast. Mary dragged the leaden weight of Mhairi’s body into the en suite bathroom. It had been built to be disabled friendly so there was plenty of room to work. The two women were not exactly physically matched but Mary knew the clothes would need to do. DS Reid was about four inches taller but maybe not as wide as Mary. Stripping her of her uniform, Mary shed her gown and got into character. “I’m sorry,” she said, bending over to kiss her former captor as if saying goodnight to a lover, “But it had to be this way.”

Mary slipped out of the room and was almost caught by a passing Doctor. She quickly sat on the sentry chair before she was seen and nodded to the man as he passed. If he had looked at her more closely he might have seen the beads of sweat which had formed on her brow. Once he left Mary slipped away unnoticed. As she walked from the hospital up and out of the concrete walkway she noticed an ambulance arriving with sirens blazing, unaware that her self-appointed nemesis was about to take her place on the casualty list.

Eric Sanderson had visited Tower 12 earlier the same day. He had been feeding Onur whisky all night while he guzzled on cold tea. He knew that something was going on behind the scenes but had not realised that it might present him with an opportunity. People always asked why he lived the way he did, why if he had made so much money selling land, didn’t he sit back and enjoy life. He always said the same thing: that he invested his money into the company and that he was waiting for the long term kick back, his retirement fund. And this was true to a point but his benefactor knew him too well.

John Madoch first approached him a long time ago, around the time when all the fuss had kicked off with the boy and his daughter in the 80s. Madoch had held a knife to his crotch and asked a single question, ‘Where is it?’ ‘It’ was what Sanderson considered his life’s greatest achievement but also his darkest secret. The ‘secret place’ had been for his Mary, although he never let her know where it was. It was always a car ride away at night – a long, circular journey which led to the inevitable confrontation. He had made her feel that it was quite normal and in time she had learned to accept it. All until she was old enough to know differently and then she began to challenge and defy him but had never mentioned the big secret. His wife had died of cancer having never cottoned on to what was happening. Eric always imagined she must have known but she had never said anything. He often wondered if she had worried herself to death, always fretting about the little things but never dealing with the big problems of which he surely would have been top of the list. That had been a long time ago but with Madoch the past was never let alone. His ‘investment’ was more of a security than anything else. His secret was kept and he did alright out of it. Sometimes the ‘secret place’ would be used by people who needed to stay out of sight for a day or two, but now through a curious turn of events he had a different use in mind. Eric imagined he might even be able to have some fun along the way.

He had squared the meeting with the boss first and so when he arrived at Tower 12 everyone knew what to expect. He had been there and it had been strange to see him after all this time in the flesh. Eric could see that he despised him but that didn’t matter – he would do as he was told. The arrangements had been made. Eric told the girl her father was waiting but she didn’t seem to be convinced. ‘Where is my mother?’ she kept asking in Turkish, ‘Will I see her soon?’ Sanderson had smiled, not understanding what she said in her foreign tongue, and ruffled her hair in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. ‘I’ll return later, be sure to be ready.’ The girl sat playing on the dirty green carpet, and Sanderson thought that she might find herself quite at home, given time.

As he breathed in his lungs were filled with cool, clean, life giving oxygen. Arbogast could almost taste the next 40 years. His face was covered in soot, the dirty black particles having stung his eyes and blocked his nose. When he ran his hands through his hair a thick, filthy grease smeared his hand. In the ambulance they had made him take oxygen although he had protested that he was sure he didn’t need it. When he got it though he knew he was wrong.

This was his life for the five minute trip to hospital with the wailing siren marking out the vehicle as one worthy of free passage through the clogged arteries of the city’s east end. When he arrived his first thoughts were for Rosalind. He shrugged off the attempts of the paramedics who tried to corral him into the emergency admissions ward for a medical examination, as he could feel he was going to be OK. It turned out that Rosalind had been injected with what they thought might be Diamorphine – or in other words Heroin. Arbogast could feel the investigation slipping away from him. He didn’t think there would be too many people out there brave enough to take on the police like this, and fewer still with the nerve to try and burn one alive. Arbogast was sure of one thing though – Madoch was definitely involved. It was his property, two people involved in the case worked together at one of his firms.
‘One was Kovan’s father for Christ’s sake.’
Answering his phone Norrie Smith updated Arbogast on the search.

“They’ve found another body at the flat. We’re fortunate to have caught the fire when we did. It’s burned out the front of the building but the back rooms are all intact.”

“It’s John Clark isn’t it?”

“We think so John,” Arbogast couldn’t remember the boss having used his first name before. “John Clark’s wallet is in the building, it was found on the corpse but I can’t identify the body yet, the face has been badly mutilated.”

“But you think it’s him?”

“Well he’s the same build and height and the wallet is a fair clue even if we can’t be a hundred per cent about it. We’ll need to look at dental records as he was badly burnt, but it’s a matter of time. Whoever is responsible for this seems to be tying up all the loose ends. And if that wasn’t bad enough Onur Kocack has now disappeared.”