Page 13

Chapter

Ten

W hen we returned to Dr Singh’s office, Fetch Jackson spread out the contents of the folder on the pathologist’s wooden desk. I watched as he moved his hat and gloves out of the way then arranged the sheets of paper so we could all see them. Once he’d finished, I stared at him pointedly.

‘I brought the files of all the witches who’ve been reported missing to us in the last three months,’ he explained.

Well, now wasn’t that handy?

‘It’s as well that I did,’ he continued. ‘John Doe – or rather Rory Taggert – is one of them.’

Keeping my expression blank, I reached for the first piece of paper. ‘He was reported missing by his parents?’

‘Yes.’ Jackson nodded soberly. ‘Only three days ago. He doesn’t—’ he coughed and amended his words ‘— didn’t live with them but he checked in regularly.

When he didn’t make his usual Sunday visit, his father went to his flat and discovered it was empty.

He reported his son missing shortly afterwards.

’ He tapped another sheet of paper. ‘Taggert Senior was upset at his son’s disappearance but not surprised. ’

Dr Singh picked up another piece of paper. ‘Drug use. Numerous accounts of petty crime.’ He let out a low whistle. ‘He was regularly in trouble with the MET.’

‘May I see?’ I asked. He handed me the sheet and I scanned it. Rory Taggert had a checkered history, from larceny to mugging and opportunistic thieving. Judging by the number of times he’d been arrested, he hadn’t been a particularly successful criminal.

‘I expect Mr Taggert tried to steal from the wrong person and was stabbed for his efforts,’ Dr Singh said quietly.

Jackson pursed his lips disapprovingly. ‘From his history, it was only a matter of time.’ He gathered up the papers before I could examine them all.

‘I will visit his parents and inform them of his passing. When they are able, they can identify his body.’ He tutted.

‘It’s a sad state of affairs, especially for Mr and Mrs Taggert. ’

‘Can I make a copy of that file?’ I asked. I hadn’t been able to glimpse an address either for Rory Taggert or for his parents.

‘That wouldn’t be appropriate, Ms McCafferty. You’re not part of the formal investigation and now that we know who he is …’ The Fetch’s voice trailed away. ‘It’s best if we deal with this officially from now on.’

Damn. ‘Of course.’ I bowed my head. ‘I’m simply glad that we know who he is and that his parents will receive some sort of closure.’

The witch offered a sad smile. ‘You have done good work here. Coldstream could do with more citizens like you.’ He turned to Dr Singh. ‘Could I have his personal possessions? His parents will want them.’

The pathologist nodded. ‘I shall retrieve them for you now.’ He went out of the room.

I looked at Fetch Jackson and he looked at me. There were a thousand questions burning in my head but I chose to hold my tongue. It seemed the wisest option; I didn’t yet understand the rules of this particular game and, until I did, I needed to play my cards close to my chest.

Jackson misinterpreted my expression. ‘I wouldn’t feel too bad, Ms McCafferty.

There are lots of young men like Rory Taggert in Coldstream.

Some manage to change their ways, some fall foul of their own misdeeds.

I won’t say that he deserved what happened to him but he wasn’t a good person. He wasn’t like you.’

It was getting harder to stay quiet. ‘Mmm.’

He patted my hand just as Dr Singh returned with faintly reddened cheeks. ‘Er, there’s no easy way to say this,’ he began, ‘but I’m afraid that Rory Taggert’s effects are no longer here.’

Jackson stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘His clothes would have been removed from his body when he was brought in, and bagged and tagged together with anything else that was found on him. We keep all such items in a special storage room towards the back of the building.’

‘You put them there yourself?’

‘No. I wasn’t here when Mr Taggert was brought in. It would have been my colleague, Dr Biswick.’

Dr Biswick whose filing was haphazard. ‘Is there any chance that she put the items in the wrong place?’ I asked.

Singh shook his head. ‘No. I’ll double-check with her, but I don’t see where else she could have put them.’

‘He was in the Tweed – his clothes would have been soaking wet,’ I pointed out. ‘Could they have been hung out to dry or laundered?’

‘No. We’ve learned over the years not to second-guess what families want to retrieve and how they wish to retrieve it.

Not everyone wants items to be restored and cleaned.

The guidelines are very specific – we wait to hear the next-of-kin’s wishes before we do anything.

Plus,’ he added uncomfortably, ‘as soon as we learned that his death was deliberate, there would have been more reason not to tamper with his effects.’

Jackson shifted his weight from foot to foot; he looked extremely upset. ‘What about an inventory?’ he barked. ‘What has actually gone missing?’

The pathologist ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

‘Not a lot,’ he admitted. ‘There was no wallet, watch or jewellery. All he had were his clothes – a blue shirt, dark trousers and a heavy belt with a gold buckle.’ He flicked a look at me.

‘You don’t suppose that man yesterday stole them, do you? ’

Jackson’s head whipped towards me. ‘What man?’

I winced inwardly; I’d been hoping that the matter of Knox Thunderstick wouldn’t come up. ‘When I visited the mortuary yesterday, I spoke to a man who I thought was Dr Singh.’

‘He was wearing my lab coat,’ the pathologist interjected. ‘He’d obviously broken in here and was snooping around. He jumped out of the staffroom window before we could stop him. He knocked me down and Ms McCafferty?—’

I interrupted. ‘He was a young man and I’m a middle-aged woman who’s not as fit as she used to be.’ At least both of those things were true. ‘I went after him, but once he’d left the building I knew I couldn’t catch him up.’

‘You don’t know who he was?’ Jackson demanded. ‘You’d never seen him before?’

I felt the same tension and pressure in my temples as I had earlier. ‘Not until yesterday, when I mistook him for Dr Singh.’ Again I was telling the truth – but omitting what I’d learned more recently.

‘Was he a witch?’

‘A druid, I believe,’ Singh answered.

A tiny, inarticulate noise escaped Jackson’s mouth.

‘At least the missing items are only clothes,’ I said, watching the Fetch carefully .

His jaw clenched then he forced himself to relax. ‘Yes. Only clothes. They’re not important.’

‘I hope his parents won’t be too upset at their loss.’

For a brief moment his expression clouded as if he’d entirely forgotten that Rory Taggert’s parents existed. ‘I will explain to them and offer the mortuary’s sincere apologies on your behalf.’

Dr Singh blanched. ‘Please do.’

Jackson looked at me. ‘Thank you again for your concern, Ms McCafferty. It has been a pleasure to meet you.’ He was clearly dismissing me. He started walking towards the door, manoeuvring in such a way as to usher me out.

I considered my options then obliged. ‘Thank you for allowing me to join this meeting,’ I said. ‘I appreciate that the witches’ council has been kind enough to put my worries to rest by including me.’

‘We are here to serve the entire community, not only witches.’ Jackson smiled, baring his teeth. ‘But you are welcome. Let’s walk out together.’

As I looked over my shoulder, my eyes met Dr Singh’s; he was still looking troubled by the loss of Rory Taggert’s clothes. ‘Thank you,’ I said again.

‘Of course.’ The pathologist nodded, then Fetch Daniel Jackson took my elbow and all-but marched me down the hallway.

Ignoring his raised eyebrows and flash of amusement, I retrieved a reluctant He Who Roams Wide from Cindy’s lap. She sniffed her disappointment that my cat wasn’t staying, but, with a Fetch in attendance, she chose to keep her mouth shut.

While he shrugged on his coat and adjusted his cuffs, I slipped out of the front door with He Who Roams Wide by my heels and headed down the street without looking back. I only turned to the cat when I was a good distance away and nobody could overhear me. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘that was interesting.’

He Who Roams Wide flicked the tip of his tail and angled his head up to me.

‘That man was a Fetch from the witches’ council,’ I told him.

There was a small miaow.

‘Yep. That witches’ council. The bureaucratic nightmare that serves only witches, and keeps its doors tightly closed against all others.

They sent a Fetch to investigate my John Doe, even though he was neither rich nor famous nor powerful – in fact, it appears he was nothing more than a petty criminal.

Even more bizarrely, Fetch Jackson let me join in so I could discover that information.

That’s quite out of character for someone from the witches’ council, wouldn’t you say? ’

He Who Roams Wide miaowed louder.

‘In fact,’ I continued, ‘I’d go so far as to say that he wanted me to learn John Doe’s real name so that I’d stop asking questions and return to my cat-lady cave without so much as a follow-up whimper.’

The cat butted my leg with his head.

I reached up, touched my temples and grimaced.

‘He used a truth spell on me. Twice.’ I sniffed, irritated by the mental intrusion that I obviously hadn’t been expected to notice.

‘And the possessions brought in with the body have mysteriously vanished. Knox Thunderstick didn’t steal them.

He wasn’t carrying anything with him when he ran off. ’

He Who Roams Wide’s ears twitched.

‘If Fetch Jackson was telling the truth and I can believe that missing persons’ file, John Doe is Rory Taggert. But my questions haven’t been answered. In fact,’ I mused, ‘now I have more.’ A lot more.