a little. After that, another chat with Callum Sullivan would seem in order.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ the DS agreed.
He was just about to slide into Pye’s car when his phone sounded. ‘That’s probably Cheeky, telling me my salad’s in the oven,’ he said as he took it from his pocket. ‘No it’s not,’ he murmured as he checked the screen. ‘It’s Jackie.’
‘Sarge,’ she exclaimed as soon as he answered, ‘I’ve just had a call from the control room.’ Her tone told him, unequivocally, that their working day was not complete.
‘A patrol car just answered a call to a location on the road to the Glencorse Reservoir, just past the Flotterstone Inn. They found a Toyota car abandoned and burned out. The number matches Donna Rattray’s Aygo.’ Her voice quivered with tension.
‘There are two bodies inside,’ she added.
Twenty-Three
They saw the blue light from a mile away, absorbed and amplified by the low cloud ceiling. The patrol car was waiting at the entrance road to the Flotterstone Inn, a place that Pye knew well. It was one of his wife’s favourite haunts, although their visits had been less frequent since the birth of their child two years earlier.
A sergeant in a Day-Glo jacket stood beside his vehicle.
‘Where is it?’ the DCI asked.
‘Go straight on up the Glen road, sir. You’ll see the signs. Carry on for the best part of a mile. There’s a fire appliance at the scene, although the blaze was out by the time we got there.’
‘Who reported it?’
‘There’s a house a wee bit beyond, beside the reservoir. The householder went out to get some logs and saw the light in the sky. He ran down there and called Fire and Rescue.’
‘When?’
‘Must be two hours ago now. The fire guys didn’t call us in till they had the blaze under control, and could see what’s inside the car. By the way, sir, the team leader’s going frantic; I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with him.’
‘What does he look like?’ Haddock asked.
‘Big bloke,’ the officer replied. ‘You canna miss him. He’s got a couple of stripes on his jacket. I’m not certain but I think he’s black.’
The two detectives exchanged glances. ‘Thanks,’ the DCI said. ‘We’ll get on up there.’
‘Mind the road, sir,’ the constable volunteered. ‘It’s no the best.’
‘Fuck!’ Pye murmured as he drove on. ‘This is not good.’
As they had been warned, the road was rough and narrow, limiting their speed; it took them a couple of minutes to reach the clearing where the fire appliance stood, with its spotlights trained on what was left of the white Toyota.
They saw Levon Rattray at once; two of his crew were beside him as if they were holding him back, but when he saw Pye’s car he shook them off, and ran towards it.
‘Have they told you?’ he yelled, grabbing Haddock by the arm as he stepped out. ‘He’s in there, Dino and somebody else.’
The DS took hold of his wrist and squeezed it, hard enough to make the man release him, saying as he did, ‘Calm down, Levon. We’ve been told that there may be bodies in the vehicle, but we’re making no assumptions. We know that the car is your wife’s, and we know that she isn’t in it, but those are the only two absolute facts we have.’
‘It’s Dino, I know it.’
‘Then let us take a look,’ Pye told him. ‘But you, please stay back. You’ve done your job; now let us do ours. Go and sit in your cab. We’ll talk to you when we’re ready.’
‘I want to come with you,’ the fireman insisted.
‘If we need you we’ll call you,’ the DCI said, firmly. ‘Now, do as I ask, please.’ He turned to Haddock. ‘Sauce, get us a couple of . . .’
The sergeant had anticipated the instruction and was in the act of taking two paper crime scene suits from a box in the boot of the car. They slipped them on and walked towards the wreck, Haddock carrying a large halogen torch.
The Aygo was sodden, water was coursing from the roof, and dripping from the empty window frames. They guessed that the glass had blown out from the heat of the fire.
The occupants were soaked also, two black twisted figures that could have been carved from any carbonous material, obscene impressionist sculptures that once might have been part of the woodland that surrounded the site . . . had it not been for the teeth that gleamed in the beam of the detective