‘No.’ I’m pretty sure she knows he isn’t here. That she waited until he’d left for Colquhoun’s before deciding to come over.
She leans close to me, her eyes suddenly sharp and dry. ‘Did you ask him? About what he said to me? How he threatened me?’
‘Marie—’
‘You are in danger.’ Her fingers close around my wrist. ‘Tu comprends?’
‘Marie! Stop.’ I snatch my hand back.
She shakes her head, takes a phone out of her pocket, and then thrusts it at me. ‘Regardez. Look what he says to me one week before Ellice disappears. Look!’
Stay away from her. Stay away or you’ll regret it.
It’s Ross’s number. I think. But I shove the phone back towards her, start trying to close the door. ‘I can’t do this now. I have to—’
‘You must! You’re in danger!’ She pushes back. Tries to grip hold of me again. ‘S’il te plaît!’
I’m glad of the fury that burns suddenly through me, laying waste to everything else. I drop the flowers and wrench the door wide, pushing Marie aside as I step out and slam it shut behind me.
‘Catriona—’
I battle to lock the door as her hands continue to touch me, pull at me. I want to scream. I want to run away from all of this, and never look back.
‘Catriona. Listen to me! You—’
‘I’m going to the morgue!’ My shout sounds, even to my own ears, more like a scream. Marie closes her mouth and steps back, drops her hands to her sides.
I can feel other eyes on me as I run down the steps and through the gate, along the road towards the number 49 bus that’s pulling in to the stop. But I don’t slow, don’t turn around. Don’t look back.
*
The City Mortuary is an ugly concrete block sandwiched between beautiful Victorian terraces. Logan is leaning against a set of double doors next to a big metal-shuttered garage. When he sees me, he straightens up, and his smile is solemn, fleeting. I fight the threat of another choking seizure by biting down hard on my bottom lip and pushing my fingernails deep into the fattest part of my palms.
‘Hi, Cat.’
A sign on the wall alongside him says EDINBURGH CITY MORTUARY. It’s a very grand, gold-coloured plaque, polished enough that I can see my face in it. I blink hard, look up at the sky instead. It’s white and heavy with the threat of spring snow.
‘You’re bleeding.’
I feel the heel of Logan’s palm against my cheek, the rough warmth of his thumb against my skin. I turn my head and pull my lip between my teeth.
‘I’m okay.’
He nods. Drops his hands down by his sides. ‘Okay.’
‘Logan.’ Rafiq is standing inside the double doors. Just looking at her sleek ponytail and intense stare transports me back to the house. I’m sorry, Catriona. It’s definitely her. It’s definitely El. ‘You’re needed back at the station.’
He doesn’t argue, but there’s some defiance in the way he steps closer to me, briefly squeezes my hand. ‘Take care, okay? You’ve got my number.’
Rafiq holds the doors open, nods at me as I pass her. The waiting room is a soft magnolia. It’s very warm and very empty.
‘Sit down a minute,’ she says. ‘Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?’
I nod. Even though I’m not.
She sighs. ‘Would it help if I showed you the DNA report?’
I don’t know what she means by help. Although I do know that I want to see it enough to nod again.
She takes out her phone and hands it to me.
DNA ISOLATION TEST
Reference Samples:
ID 1551204: Soft-bristle toothbrush belonging to Ellice MacAuley (dob 01/07/86) [Collected 04/04/18]
ID 1551205: Wide-barrel hairbrush belonging to Ellice MacAuley (dob 01/07/86) [Collected 15/04/18]
Kinship Sample:
ID 1551206: Buccal swab from identical twin sibling, Catriona Morgan [HID1551_201] (dob 01/07/86) [Collected 15/04/18]
Jane Doe [HID1551_200] Samples:
Partial facial and upper body saponification; DNA extracted from femoral bone marrow
DNA isolation was carried out separately for all samples. Genetic characteristics were determined by the following PCR single-locus-technology analysis.
Results were confirmed by retesting original samples. All laboratory analyses and interpretations follow the recommendations of the DNA commission of the International Society for Forensic Genetics, ISFG.
Conclusion:
Based upon our analysis and the biostatistical evaluation of its results, it is practically proven that Jane Doe [HID1551_200] is > 99.9999% Ellice MacAuley (dob 01/07/86), of 36 Westeryk Road, Leith.
And that Catriona Morgan [HID1551_201] (dob 01/07/86) is > 99.9999% the living identical sibling of the deceased.
Expert Witness:
Dr Iain Patterson MB ChB, BMSc(Hons), FRCPath, MFFLM
Head Forensic Pathologist
North Lothian CID
I read it twice, three times, until my eyes go blurry. When I give back the phone, my hand is shaking.
‘I want a copy of that,’ I try to say with some authority, but my voice is shaking too. White noise rushes through my ears as if I’m underwater.
‘Of course,’ Rafiq says.
‘I still want to see her.’
‘I really think that would be a bad idea. It won’t help. If anything—’
‘I have to.’ I make myself look at Rafiq. Her brow is wrinkled, her mouth thin, her eyes full of concern. ‘Please.’
She finally nods. ‘But afterwards, I have to ask you some questions, Catriona. Okay? It’s important.’
I barely hear her over the beating of my heart or the roaring in my ears.
*
Rafiq takes me through another door: VISITOR FACILITIES. As if we’re in a stately home. In the corridor beyond, more doors: INTERVIEW ROOMS, COUNSELLING ROOMS. I follow on behind Rafiq. I don’t speak. I don’t think.
We pass a door labelled BIER ROOM, but before I can ask her what a bier is, Rafiq opens the door alongside it. VIEWING ROOM. And my mouth clamps shut.
Everything inside it is soft focus, unobtrusive, warm. Non-institutional. The lights are low, and the acoustics somehow muted. I realise that what I’ve been imagining ever since Logan’s The Greenock Dive and Marine Unit recovered her this morning is one of those sterile white-tiled rooms with metal storage drawers and steel tables with big plugholes, like something out of CSI or Silent Witness.
When Rafiq asks me to sit down, her voice has lost all of
