stop herself running and embracing him.
There must have been something in her stance or the expression on her face, because he upped his pace as he came towards her.
‘You okay?’
‘I had a slight run-in with a couple of teenage boys.’
McNab knew her well enough to recognise a lie. He was already pulling out his mobile. ‘Description?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Description,’ he insisted.
‘White tracksuits, checked caps.’ She gave a laugh. ‘Which describes half of Glasgow.’
The laugh didn’t fool McNab. ‘You should have waited for me.’
Rhona didn’t want to discuss that. ‘Now you’re here, can we make a start?’ She didn’t mean it to come out as irritated as it did.
He snapped the mobile shut. ‘A team’s on its way. But yes, we can make a start.’
She covered her discomfort by fetching her forensic case from the car. McNab waited for her by the ruins. By the time she returned, she had regained her composure. Seeing McNab as a knight in shining armour had unnerved her. She wanted him at a professional distance, nothing more.
‘It’s a large area,’ he said on her return. ‘What are we looking for?’
‘I want to locate the plants. For Abel to have traces in his pocket, he must have been pretty close to one.’ She showed McNab the printout. ‘It won’t be in flower yetso just look for low-growing leaves like these. There’ll be no plants around it – it doesn’t like competition.’
‘A bit like myself.’
It was an awkward attempt at a joke, or a harking back to old times. Either way she didn’t acknowledge it. Rhona made a show of pulling on a set of latex gloves.
‘I’ll find the plants and take soil samples. I suggest you check out the buildings.’
He took what amounted to an order with good grace.
She moved in the general direction of the bing. Patches of fresh grass and weeds were clearly visible among the garbage and piles of tyres. If they thought the boy was here, they would have to lift the tyres and go through all the piles of rubbish. It wasn’t a nice thought.
The undergrowth became patchy because of poorer soil. This was the bugloss’s natural habitat. Ten minutes later she struck lucky, spotting a plot of the telltale leaves near a weird structure like a concrete cylinder with a single door and an inverted cone as its top. It was far enough away from the farm buildings to suggest it played some part in the nearby mine.
The cylinder was part buried in slag at one side, the bugloss scattered over it. She climbed the slag, extracted a plant and a sample of the surrounding soil and bagged them. From her vantage point, the ground near the door looked disturbed by what might be a set of wheels. Glancing back the way she’d come, she could make out a set of parallel lines running from here through the short grass to the tarred track and the railway bridge.
A vehicle had crossed the waste ground to this cylinder and not long ago.
Common sense told her that with all the dumping going on, that wasn’t unusual. Instinct told her something else.
She took photos of the tracks from above, then came closer and took some more. Normally she would lift a print immediately, but she desperately wanted to take a look inside the concrete cylinder. If she were careful she could reach the door without disturbing the evidence.
McNab was nowhere in sight, which probably meant he was inside one of the farm buildings.
She listened at the door. The last thing she wanted was to disturb another drink and drugs party, but the only sound was the drip of water.
The handle turned easily enough but the wood was swollen with damp and the door jarred against the bottom half of its frame.
Rhona put her shoulder to it and gave a short sharp shove. The door resisted the first time, but gave on the second try.
A fetid smell rushed out to greet her. Urine, fresh faeces and the stench of decomposition.
17
THE SMELL WAS strong enough to make her gag, but her desperation to
There must have been something in her stance or the expression on her face, because he upped his pace as he came towards her.
‘You okay?’
‘I had a slight run-in with a couple of teenage boys.’
McNab knew her well enough to recognise a lie. He was already pulling out his mobile. ‘Description?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Description,’ he insisted.
‘White tracksuits, checked caps.’ She gave a laugh. ‘Which describes half of Glasgow.’
The laugh didn’t fool McNab. ‘You should have waited for me.’
Rhona didn’t want to discuss that. ‘Now you’re here, can we make a start?’ She didn’t mean it to come out as irritated as it did.
He snapped the mobile shut. ‘A team’s on its way. But yes, we can make a start.’
She covered her discomfort by fetching her forensic case from the car. McNab waited for her by the ruins. By the time she returned, she had regained her composure. Seeing McNab as a knight in shining armour had unnerved her. She wanted him at a professional distance, nothing more.
‘It’s a large area,’ he said on her return. ‘What are we looking for?’
‘I want to locate the plants. For Abel to have traces in his pocket, he must have been pretty close to one.’ She showed McNab the printout. ‘It won’t be in flower yetso just look for low-growing leaves like these. There’ll be no plants around it – it doesn’t like competition.’
‘A bit like myself.’
It was an awkward attempt at a joke, or a harking back to old times. Either way she didn’t acknowledge it. Rhona made a show of pulling on a set of latex gloves.
‘I’ll find the plants and take soil samples. I suggest you check out the buildings.’
He took what amounted to an order with good grace.
She moved in the general direction of the bing. Patches of fresh grass and weeds were clearly visible among the garbage and piles of tyres. If they thought the boy was here, they would have to lift the tyres and go through all the piles of rubbish. It wasn’t a nice thought.
The undergrowth became patchy because of poorer soil. This was the bugloss’s natural habitat. Ten minutes later she struck lucky, spotting a plot of the telltale leaves near a weird structure like a concrete cylinder with a single door and an inverted cone as its top. It was far enough away from the farm buildings to suggest it played some part in the nearby mine.
The cylinder was part buried in slag at one side, the bugloss scattered over it. She climbed the slag, extracted a plant and a sample of the surrounding soil and bagged them. From her vantage point, the ground near the door looked disturbed by what might be a set of wheels. Glancing back the way she’d come, she could make out a set of parallel lines running from here through the short grass to the tarred track and the railway bridge.
A vehicle had crossed the waste ground to this cylinder and not long ago.
Common sense told her that with all the dumping going on, that wasn’t unusual. Instinct told her something else.
She took photos of the tracks from above, then came closer and took some more. Normally she would lift a print immediately, but she desperately wanted to take a look inside the concrete cylinder. If she were careful she could reach the door without disturbing the evidence.
McNab was nowhere in sight, which probably meant he was inside one of the farm buildings.
She listened at the door. The last thing she wanted was to disturb another drink and drugs party, but the only sound was the drip of water.
The handle turned easily enough but the wood was swollen with damp and the door jarred against the bottom half of its frame.
Rhona put her shoulder to it and gave a short sharp shove. The door resisted the first time, but gave on the second try.
A fetid smell rushed out to greet her. Urine, fresh faeces and the stench of decomposition.
17
THE SMELL WAS strong enough to make her gag, but her desperation to
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