Death of an Adept

"I don't want to even think this, but the case seems to bear some startling similarities to Randall Stewart's murder." "Tell me," Adam said evenly, laying the pages on his desk. Sighing, McLeod proceeded to outline what he knew so far. "A hill-walker and his dog stumbled on the body. Police surgeon estimates he could have been dead anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of weeks. The body was half-covered with snow."

"But not," Adam said, "in any kind of ritual setting, or you would have said so. What makes you compare it to Randall's murder?''

"Because the left jugular and carotid artery had been slashed through," McLeod said, his blue gaze not shifting from Adam's. "Because he had also been garrotted first - and hit over the head."

Adam closed his eyes briefly, trying to keep at bay the memory of Randall Stewart lying in the snow in his own blood - victim of a ritual slaying involving the so-called "triple-death" favored by certain elder gods of the past. Francis Raeburn had been responsible for that atrocity and several other deaths of equal abhorrence - and had eluded apprehension the one time Adam actually had met him face to face.

"There's something else," McLeod said, cutting short the flashback. "Postmortem analysis of the victim's stomach contents revealed significant amounts of a substance derived from miscum album. That's mistletoe, in case you'd forgotten. When Harry and I checked out Taliere's cottage, I found a jar of mistletoe berries among the herbals in his larder. As you doubtless recall, a decoction of mistletoe was a favored elixir among the ancient Druids, thought to enhance psychic susceptibility." Adam sighed heavily, suddenly feeling years older than when he had walked into the room.

"I shouldn't think there's any doubt that we need to look at that body," he said, glancing up at McLeod. "How soon can you arrange it?"

"I've already rung Motherwell," McLeod replied. "The body's being held in Carluke. They're expecting us in a couple of hours, if you can get away. I've got Harry lined up as well. Since we haven't yet got a location to pin down the slaying, it seemed to me that Harry's talents might be more appropriate than Peregrine's."

"They may well be," Adam agreed, standing to shuck off his lab coat. "Besides that, Peregrine's heavily booked with live sittings for most of this week. It would be awkward for him to break away."

Two hours later, Adam and McLeod were following a Strathclyde Police sergeant along a back corridor of Law Hospital in Carluke, Harry Nimmo trailing in their wake. Though scheduled for court that afternoon, the redoubtable Q.C. had seconded one of his junior associates to appear in his place, so that he could come along. En route, the three men had reviewed the aspects of the present case as they might apply to Callanish, where Harry had been, but no mention had been made of a possible connection with Randall Stewart's murder.

"The police surgeon who did the postmortem wasn't available on such short notice," the sergeant told them, as he opened the door to the hospital morgue, "but I asked today's duty surgeon to go over the report, after you rang. Dr. Singh, here are your visitors from Edinburgh."

Dr. Robert Singh proved to be an amiable Pakistani, veteran of nearly thirty years' service as a consultant to the Strathclyde Police. When courtesies had been exchanged, he wasted no time in getting down to the business at hand.

"I tell you, Dr. Sinclair, this is a strange one," he said, as he rolled out the metal drawer housing the remains of the deceased. "Never have I seen such violence done to a frail old man. He looks like someone's grand-papa."

The face of the corpse on the stainless-steel table showed signs that death had not been easy or peaceful, with a deep gash in the left side of the scrawny neck. Across the broad chest, still surprisingly muscled for a man of this age, faded blue tattoos defined a series of ancient Pictish symbols, some familiar and some not, many of them of darkling import. Bending closer, Adam noted ligature marks across the throat and along the sides of the neck, confirming a ruthless throttling of the victim during the killing process.

Noting Harry's tight-jawed focus on the body, Adam shot a speaking glance at McLeod and drew the other physician aside to discuss details of the autopsy report, leaving the inspector and Harry to carry out less conventional inquiries.

"Come around here, so our backs are to them," McLeod murmured, drawing Harry around to his side of the metal table.

"Adam will get him out of here, if he can, but I think we can manage this without raising any alarm, if you take it slowly."

Harry nodded, swallowing visibly as he set his hands with care on the edge of the table.

"I hope I don't disappoint you, Noel," he whispered. "Now that I've worked with Adam, I know a bit more what to expect, but I'm not sure I'm up to this."