‘How did it go?’ she asked.
‘As well as could be expected. He’s still the same Kane – brilliant, manipulative, convinced he’s the smartest person in any room.’
‘And probably correct about that, which makes him even more dangerous.’ Dr Murray walked with Brodie towards the exit, past more locked doors, more small windows into rooms where the criminally insane lived out their sentences. ‘Will you be visiting Dr Holmes again?’
‘I don’t think so. But never say never.’
‘Good. The less contact they have with the outside world, the better. Men like Kane and Holmes… they feed off attention, off the knowledge that people still fear them or find them fascinating. The best punishment we can give them is to forget they exist.’
Brodie signed out at the security desk, collected his belongings from the locker, and stepped out into the warm afternoon. The hospital sat on extensive grounds in Morningside, surrounded by high walls and careful landscaping. It looked almost peaceful from outside, like a private estate rather than a place where Scotland’s most dangerous minds were locked away.
His phone buzzed with a text from Ruth:
We’re at the café. Take your time.
37
The café was called Isobel’s, on Shore, in Leith, a small independent place that served excellent coffee and home-made soup. It was also run by his parents, Isobel and Dougal. Brodie parked his car and walked round to the entrance.
Inside, the café was warm and bright, filled with the comfortable sounds of conversation and clinking dishes. Ruth spotted him immediately from a table near the window and waved him over. The Water of Leith ran past, on its way to the sea.
‘Hello, son,’ Isobel said, waving over to him.
‘Hi, Isobel,’ Brodie said.
‘It’s Mum to you. Wee bugger.’ She smiled at him. ‘Soup?’
‘Please. And a coffee.’
‘Sit down. Your dad will bring it over.’
‘Tell Dougal not to rush.’ He grinned at his mother.
Ruth wasn’t alone. Lucy sat beside her, looking better than she had a week ago but still carrying the shadows of trauma in her eyes. And across from them was Detective Superintendent Rob Cross, his solid presence somehow reassuring despite being out of uniform in jeans and a polo shirt.
‘Did you see him?’ Cross asked as Brodie sat down, Ruth immediately pouring him tea from the pot on the table.
Brodie nodded. ‘I saw him. And Kane. They’re both exactly where they need to be – locked up, under constant supervision, never getting out.’
‘Won’t be going anywhere,’ Cross confirmed. ‘The procurator fiscal’s office has confirmed Holmes will be sectioned indefinitely under the Mental Health Act. He’ll remain in secure psychiatric care for the rest of his life. Nobody will ever have to worry about The Embalmer again.’
‘And David Duffy?’ Lucy asked quietly. ‘What’s happening with him?’
‘No charges,’ Brodie said. ‘He cooperated fully with the investigation, provided testimony about Holmes’s activities once he understood what had been happening. He’s in therapy, trying to process everything. I think he’ll be all right, eventually.’
Ruth squeezed Brodie’s hand under the table. ‘It’s really over, then. After all these years, after everything that happened, it’s finally finished.’
‘It is.’ Brodie smiled at her. ‘We did good work. All of us. We caught a killer who’d been operating for a very long time. We gave those victims justice, gave their families closure.’
‘And we saved lives,’ Lucy added. ‘If you hadn’t figured out the sand connection, if we hadn’t found that old funeral parlour… Holmes would still be out there. He’d have killed me, killed you, and Detective Superintendent Breck, and disappeared again.’
‘But he did figure it out,’ Cross said firmly. ‘That’s what matters. The investigation, the teamwork, the refusal to give up even when leads went nowhere – that’s what broke this case. You should all be proud.’
They sat together for another hour, drinking tea and eatingsoup, talking about the case and carefully not talking about it, letting the normality of the café wash away some of the darkness of the past months. Eventually, Cross had to leave, and Lucy made her excuses as well – she was having dinner with her parents, who’d driven up from London to spend time with her while she recovered.
That left Brodie and Ruth alone at the table, the café gradually emptying as the afternoon turned to early evening.
‘Are you really all right?’ Ruth asked quietly. ‘With how it ended? With Holmes being locked up rather than standing trial?’
