Skinner's ghosts

36

Maggie Rose clung to Brian Mackie with her right arm as tightly as she had ever held her husband. The difference was that she was wearing walking clothes and hopping on her left foot.

Together, they crested the rise above the caravan until they were in ful sight of anyone who happened to be watching from inside. They were approaching from the opposite direction to the farmhouse, an injured rambler and her escort, in search of help.

The tourer was long and white, with a television aerial on top, and it looked virtual y new. Two windows faced them, above the tow-bar and the gas bottle which sat upon it, and on what would have been the off-side on the road. Behind both, curtains were partly drawn.

They looked at the van only occasional y as they approached, but neither could see any signs of occupancy. As they approached, Mackie called out. 'Hello. Anyone there?' He and Rose watched carefully for signs of anyone moving inside, but saw not as much as a tremor.

Soon they reached the door, which was accessed by three portable steps. 'Lean against the van, love,' said the superintendent, loud enough to be heard by anyone who might be inside. 'I'l knock.'

He stood on the middle step and rapped the door firmly with the knuckles of his left hand. His jacket was open, giving him instant access to his pistol in its holster, beneath his left armpit.

The silence from within the caravan was unbroken. He knocked again. Finally, he waved a hand in the air, as a sign to the hidden watchers, reached up and tried the handle of the door. To his surprise and that of Rose, it swung open, outwards, at his touch.

Instinctively, both officers drew their guns. 'I'm going in, Maggie,' said Mackie, and a moment later launched himself through the doorway, into the living area inside.

The caravan was empty, or so it seemed. There was a toilet cubicle in one corner, and a tall cupboard beside the door. Mackie opened both and looked inside, then checked the sliding doors of the storage areas under the window seats.

'Okay, Maggie,' he cal ed out at last. 'It's empty. Signal Andy, would you please.'

Outside, Rose waved both arms above her head in an al -clear gesture. Twenty-one men, all but one in uniform, stood up awkwardly from their concealment in the heather. Handing his carbine to the man closest to him, Martin bounded down the slope towards her, and together they joined Mackie in the suspect van.

Martin looked round, careful y. 'It's as clean as a whistle, isn't it?

There's not a sign of occupancy.'

Mackie lifted the metal lid which covered the burners of the gas hob. 'This has been cleaned,' he said. 'You can still smell the Flash.'

So have all the other work-surfaces,' said Rose. 'Within the last couple of days, probably. There's barely a sign of dust.' She opened the cubicle door once more and checked inside. 'The chemical toilet's been emptied too, but there's bleach in the pan, so it has been used.'

'Radio communications are hopeless up here,' said Martin, stepping back to the door. 'Inspector,' he called outside. 'Send someone back to the farmhouse. Use Mr Carr's phone to order a team of technicians up here.' He turned back to Mackie and Rose.

'This guy's been very efficient, but let's turn the place over quickly ourselves, just in case he's missed something.'

Each taking one third of the caravan, the three detectives began to search quickly and efficiently, looking inside empty drawers, behind curtains, inside the oven, under the movable squabs of the window seats for any scrap which might lead them eventually to the identity of the man who had brought the vehicle to its isolated parking place.

'Nothing this end,' cal ed Maggie Rose from near the door, after ten minutes.

The neither,' said Mackie, from the kitchen area.

'No,' said Martin. 'Nowt here either that I can see.' As he spoke he made to pick up the squab of the seat beneath the end window, but it was secure. He tugged either end to make sure that it was indeed immovable, and was about to turn away when his eye was caught by a glint, just where the upholstery nestled against the wall. He leaned forward and forced a gap with his right index finger, working away until he freed an object.

'What's this, then?' he muttered to himself. It was in fact a piece of foil, folded over double. As he straightened it a slip of brown waxy paper fell out.

He picked it up and spread out the foil. 'Look at this,' he said to his col eagues. 'Transway. It's the cover off a "rich and creamy" yoghurt, complete with best-before date, five days hence.' He looked at the paper. 'Haifa Mars bar label. And,' he said, almost triumphantly,

'there's a bar code on it.'

'Where's the nearest Transway supermarket?' asked Mackie.

'Haddington,' said Martin and Rose in unison. The DCS handed over both items to the Superintendent, holding each careful y by the corner. 'I suggest,' he said, 'that you take the wrapper down there, and find out what they can tell you from that bar code.

'I don't imagine it'l identify the transaction, but it should tel you whether they sold it and when. The technicians can have a look at the yoghurt top. If they can get a print off it, I'l bet you it was left by Mark McGrath.'

Maggie Rose looked at him, astutely. 'D'you think Mark planted those deliberately, hoping that we'd find them eventually?'

'God knows,' said Martin. 'He's a clever and resourceful wee boy, no doubt, but that might be expecting too much of him.'

Rose smiled as she remembered her first encounter with the missing child. 'I only hope,' she said earnestly, 'that we have a chance to ask him.'