‘I see,’ Pye murmured. ‘Poor lass. It may be she’s better off unconscious; that way she doesn’t have to deal with the fact that her child’s dead.’
‘Her child?’ the surgeon gasped. ‘She was attacked too?’
‘Abducted. She died from natural causes. You weren’t to know; you must have been operating on her for most of today. Do you know if any of her relatives have turned up?’ he asked. ‘Her partner’s away, and we’re making contact with him. I’ve been busy with the investigation, but I’ve had officers calling the contacts on her phone to locate other family members. I haven’t had time to check on their progress.’
Ms Iqbal nodded. ‘There is an aunt, Mrs Rainey. She wants to see Ms Regal as soon as she’s out of recovery and installed in the ICU. She is in the room; if you wait here I will fetch her.’
‘Sure.’ As the surgeon had said, the corridor seemed to be the most private place in the intensive care unit; beyond, green-clad staff seemed to be in one continuous bustle. The detective knew why they were so busy. A few years before, his mother had spent a couple of days in a similar unit in another hospital, after life-saving surgery; he understood from that time how intensive the unit’s care was.
‘Are you the policeman?’ The voice that spoke the question was authoritative, and although its foreign accent was not as strong as that of the surgeon, it was there nonetheless.
He turned to face its owner, to find that she was almost as tall as he. She had been seated on her own in the waiting room, by the window, as if she was trying to position herself as far from anyone else as possible. ‘That’s right, DCI Pye, ScotServe; Edinburgh Division CID. Mrs Rainey, yes?’
‘Indeed, Ingrid Rainey; Grete is my niece. What has happened to her? And what of our little Zena? Where is she?’
Suddenly, Pye felt exposed in the open corridor. He looked at the surgeon, who was standing behind the woman. ‘Ms Iqbal,’ he asked, ‘is there somewhere we can go?’
Understanding the situation, she frowned and nodded. ‘There is a staff room,’ she said. ‘I will take you there, and make sure you are not disturbed.’
She led them into the unit, turning right at the end of the corridor, into another, which ended in a green door with a keypad entry, marked ‘Staff only’. She punched in a code. ‘There you are; you can lock it from the inside. I’ll tell the senior nurse that you are here, and you can advise him when you go.’
‘What have you been told, Mrs Rainey?’ Pye asked, as soon as he and the aunt were alone and seated.
‘The person who called said that Grete had been involved in an incident, that was how she put it, and that she had been taken to the emergency unit in Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. I went there at once, but they sent me here. The surgeon tells me Grete’s life is in great danger. What has happened, sir? And where is our Zena? Is she safe? For her daddy is away.’
The DCI took a deep breath. Slowly and carefully, he took her through the events of the day, stage by stage, pausing at times to allow the woman to absorb the story she was being told. Twice he asked her if she wanted him to pause, but she refused, her expression grim as she held herself together. He finished with a summary of the pathologist’s findings.
‘And the monster who did this?’ Ingrid Rainey asked icily when he had finished; her mouth quivered and her eyes were moist, but her voice was strong and controlled. ‘Have you caught him?’
‘No,’ Pye admitted, ‘but we believe we’ve identified at least one person involved. We’ve alerted ports and airports as a matter of course, and if we don’t arrest him by the end of this day we’ll issue a public appeal, name, photograph, everything.’
‘Be sure you do arrest him,’ she hissed. ‘My poor girls.’
He nodded. ‘Guys like me,’ he murmured, ‘we’re trained not to become emotionally involved in our investigations. But I’m a father, my boss is a father and the man who found Zena, he is as well, so trust me, none of us will rest until this man is convicted. We have to be painstaking in everything we do, and we have to be very cautious in our public statements so as not to infringe the suspect’s legal rights, but trust me, we are breathing down his neck.’
‘As far as I am concerned,’ the aunt snapped, ‘this person has no rights.’
‘But the law says he does. Mrs Rainey,’ he went on, ‘this is a terrible thing for you to have to cope with. Are you all right? Is there someone who can be with you?’
‘No,’ she replied, ‘there is not. My husband and I are no longer together; he is in London with another woman, and welcome to her as long as he keeps paying me what he promised in our settlement. My sister Tora, my twin, Grete’s mother, she died seven years ago.
‘We are Norwegian; Tora and I came to Edinburgh as engineering students, over thirty years ago. We never returned. I married Innes, my husband, and gave up my career. Tora, she worked for an Edinburgh company, until she had Grete. She took time out, but went back when the child was old enough to be left.’
‘And Grete’s father?’ Pye inquired.
Ingrid Rainey pursed her lips. ‘He was never a major part of her life. Tora married John Regal when she became pregnant, but soon came to regret it. She threw him out when Grete was five. The man was involved in criminality of some sort, but I never knew what.’
Pye leaned forward on his chair. ‘But he’s still alive, yes?’
‘I have not heard that he is dead.’
‘Then where is he? She’s still his daughter and Olivia . . . Zena . . . was his granddaughter.’
‘I do not know,’ she admitted. ‘Grete never mentions him; I do not believe he has ever seen Zena.’
‘What can you tell me about Lieutenant Gates?’
‘David is an engineer, as I was. He is a naval officer, as you know, but I have never been encouraged to ask about his work.’
‘He’s a specialist?’ the DCI murmured. ‘I didn’t know that. Does he have family? Apart from John Regal, does Zena have grandparents?’
Mrs Rainey nodded. ‘Yes, she does . . . or rather she did, the poor little darling. Their names are Richard and Julia, and they live in Dirleton.’
‘Are they retired, or do they still work?’
‘They are not so old, but they do not work any longer. They had a business, a company that made skylight windows, but they sold it a few years ago. They have another home in Portugal and they spend a lot of time there, so they do not see as much of Zena as I do.’
‘Thanks. They may have been contacted already, in the same way that you were. If they’re away we’ll try to get in touch with them in Portugal. I’ll check once we’re finished here. Where do you live, Mrs Rainey?’ he continued.
‘A little closer to Grete, in Haddington; in the Nungate, by the river.’ Her chin trembled, the first sign of loss of control. ‘Little Zena spent a lot of time with me and she loved to play there. We had to watch her, to stop her falling in. You know how adventurous little ones can be.’ Then her face froze again and her eyes hardened.
‘Grete looked after her so well,’ she said. ‘We both did. And now this terrible senseless thing has happened.’ She stared at Pye. ‘This man, this creature. Why would he want to hurt Grete so badly and to take our precious child?’
‘At this moment we can only form theories about that,’ he replied, ‘but the main line of our thinking is that he didn’t act alone, that he had an accomplice, and that he was paid to abduct Zena. When we find him, we’ll know more.’
‘Be sure you do.’
‘We will, however long it takes us.’ He shifted in his chair. ‘Is Grete a full-time mum,’ he asked, ‘or does she have a job?’
‘She is a graphic designer. She is self-employed and has a little studio beside the cottage. She is quite successful; also it gives her something to do, with David being away at sea for so long.’