Perfect Crime. Helen Fields
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Come on.’
They went through the visitor centre, where some unlucky local uniformed officer had been stationed with an employee to allow them access, and walked towards the front entrance of the castle, still imposing even in its semi-ruined state. A gale was buffeting them from the north and the rain was only a degree short of freezing. Ava pulled up her hood and shook long dark brown curls of wet hair from her eyes.
They took the wooden footbridge over the old moat and entered through the arched doorway of a greenish brick structure. Below them and to the right, encompassing an area of loose fallen rocks and part of the moat, was a section of crime-scene taping. Beyond that, they were met with slippery cobblestones before the castle grounds opened up ahead of them. In front, a grassed area led to cliffs that crumbled into the sea. A fierce whistling echoed around the ancient structure and it was easy to see why visitors had imagined ghosts there, stepping back hundreds of years in time. It was clear that no attacker could have approached from the direction of the sea and also that Ava was right. Suicide in the direction of the cliffs would have been the much more obvious option.
Luc saw Ava pointing towards an internal doorway and they went inside to find a spiral stone staircase with little to assist their climb other than a rope attached to the central wall. He followed close behind her, watching her footing, fighting his desire to reach up and steady her. Ava wasn’t the sort of woman who wanted or needed much help, but that didn’t make it any easier for him to switch off how protective he felt of her. She’d become his closest friend in Scotland, which wasn’t always simple given that she was also his boss.
Ducking under additional crime-scene tape, they moved to a level paved outcrop with a visitors’ information board. The section was wide, easily three foot across, and level enough to have stood safely, if not advisedly on top of the wall, overlooking the bridge and the moat. Above them, higher walls blocked some of the wind but none of the rain.
‘Apparently, this is the fore tower. When exactly did our man fall?’
‘He was found at the bottom of the wall when staff got in this morning. The castle doesn’t open until 10 a.m. at this time of year and the door we came through is locked at night. We won’t know what time he fell until Ailsa completes her report and estimates time of death, but it was between about 7 p.m. and 8 a.m. They have cameras at the visitor centre, which we’ve checked, but they don’t give a good enough night-time picture for us to see anything,’ Ava shouted over the wind.
‘He broke in?’ Callanach asked.
‘What?’ Ava yelled, huddling into him to hear.
Callanach put an arm around her shoulders and cupped a hand over her ear to make himself heard.
‘I said, did he break in or just stay after the centre closed?’
‘I’m told there’s no damage to the door or the lock, but there’s no CCTV of the castle itself, so we can’t be sure. Apparently, people have ended up locked in here at night before. Plenty of small corners to hide if you don’t want to be spotted. Look …’ She pointed over the edge, leaning perilously across the rough stone wall. ‘He must have fallen from just here. Hold onto me.’ She climbed the wall past the information board and lay on her stomach, head over the edge, indicating for Luc to hold the back of her coat.
‘No,’ he said, loudly enough for her to hear perfectly clearly over the gusts. ‘I can’t let you do that.’
‘I think you mean, I can’t let you do that, ma’am,’ Ava corrected him. ‘If you don’t hold onto me tightly enough, I’m joining our as yet unidentified friend on Ailsa’s table, so get a grip. Literally.’
‘Come back. I’ll climb it. Call me whatever names you like, I’m not okay with you taking that sort of risk.’
‘Except there’s no way I’m strong enough to pull you back when you slip. You’ll just take me down with you and that’s not how I want to go, so follow orders, Detective Inspector. I spent my childhood climbing walls like these and in worse weather.’
Dangling from the waist forwards, Ava leaned as far over the edge as Callanach would allow her. He guessed they were around fifteen metres up and even if his estimate was wrong, given the dark and precipitation, he was certain it was a sufficient distance to be lethal. Ava cursed every few seconds, shifting along the wall, moving the flashlight to and fro, up and down, until finally she shouted out.
‘Camera!’ Ava yelled, waving the flashlight towards Callanach’s face.
‘I need a free hand. You’ll have to come back up a second.’
‘No can do. I’ll never find this again. My camera’s in the left-hand pocket of my coat. Just grab it and pass it to me.’
‘God, you stubborn, stupid …’
‘I can hear you, you know. Take the torch.’
Callanach took it, keeping a grip of Ava with his right hand as he delved into her pocket and passed her digital camera to her.
‘What is it?’ he shouted.
‘Flap of skin, I think. There’s a thin line of it snagged on the rock.’
The flash went off several times and Luc braced himself to counterbalance Ava’s increasingly outward-leaning weight.
‘Take the camera and pass me an evidence bag.’
Callanach slipped the camera into his coat and reached into his trouser pocket for a plastic bag.
‘Ava, we have to come back and do this in the morning.’
‘It’ll be gone by then. There must have been blood here given the amount of skin but I can’t see any trace of it. If Ailsa’s right about the boot mark, this might be our last chance to get the evidence.’
Callanach handed her the bag. ‘Just give me a bit more room to manoeuvre, I think there’s something else stuck in the rock.’
She shifted her weight in order to move her head downwards. The gust that took her came from the opposite direction than the predominant gale, rendering Callanach’s balance useless and thrusting him forwards into Ava’s body. She screamed, grabbed the rock face, rolling to one side and losing her grip, her right leg flying into the air then crashing back down into the jagged brickwork. Her jeans ripped from knee to ankle and her cheekbone smashed hard against the bricks.
Callanach threw himself forwards, wrapping an arm around her thigh, feeling her slipping away from him. Scrabbling at the rock face, the flailing of her body was making it harder to hold her. The wind whipped around her head, taking her screams down the sheer castle wall.
‘Ava, I’m pulling you up on three. Tense your stomach, stop grabbing the walls and reach for my arm!’ he yelled with no way of knowing if she’d heard.
Forcing his boot tips over the ninety degree angle of the wall he was lying on to gain some stability, Callanach tensed.
‘One, two …’
She wrenched on his arm, moving too early, too jerkily. Her leg ripped away from him as she got a grasp of his hand.
‘Hold me!’ she screeched.
Blood was pouring down her face, and her grip was wet and weak on his hand. Both legs flew out behind her in the wind.
He scraped forwards across the flat of the wall, twisting his body to get better pulling power and dragging a knee up and under his core, roaring as he fought the wind for her, his right arm a vice around her back, launching himself backwards. They flew upwards and crashed against the rear of the visitor information sign, Ava like a rag doll in his arms once her weight shifted over the top of the wall. She landed on top of him, crying out and clutching him madly. Callanach cradled her head, whispering words of reassurance she would never hear over her cries and the storm.
It was minutes before she raised her head to look at him.
‘Do you need an ambulance?’ he asked.
Ava