Chapter Seven

With Flora in the car, Luke waited until they had a chance to be alone in the house before telling Carly what they had learned regarding the bartender, Marjory Alden.

"That's a critical situation! We must do something immediately, Luke. There are children involved and God only knows—"

"Carly, I know! But we need to move slowly and carefully. She wouldn't continue doing what she's doing if she didn't believe her children were still alive. So, we need to go about this as slowly and as carefully as possible."

"But we're nowhere near answers to any of this, even with Flora being certain that the Connoly couple are involved," Carly said. "And...so, at the hospital, pretty much everything that we thought is right. There is a strict timetable—and we need to be looking at a few medical experts, maybe a disgraced doctor or someone who didn't make it through medical school."

"Maybe even someone who needed a transplant him-or herself and figured out a way to get one, and then figured out it could be a very profitable enterprise," Luke murmured.

Carly let out a sigh and shook her head. "Finding those children must be our main priority now."

"Agreed."

"And the information Flora gave Daniel and Jordan? Anything real?"

"I don't doubt in the least that Flora MacDonald is frightened, nor do I doubt anything I was told by Jordan and Daniel that occurred right before MacDuff and I got there," he told her. "The problem is so far—other than knowing that Marjory Alden's children are not with their father in Ireland—we don't have anything that's concrete. Yes, Flora thought she'd seen the man who accosted her today before when she was leaving work at the Connoly house. She thinks he's been at the house. And I'm sure while you gained vital information regarding the medical portion of this situation, I sincerely doubt you discovered a doctor there who ran up to you and said he was transplanting stolen organs."

Carly shook her head. "The hospital is legitimate. As far as the doctors go—I sincerely believe that. However, I wasn't able to meet Dr. Douglas—he didn't have office hours today."

"Just because the man is a doctor—"

"Right. And he's not part of the transplant team," Carly said.

"So," Luke told Carly, "Flora is going to work with a sketch artist—we'll get out a bulletin and at the least speak to the man. It could prove that he's simply a jerk. He was obnoxious to Flora, hitting on her. And he ran when he saw Daniel and Jordan. He might have just looked at the two men and decided that Flora MacDonald wasn't worth the fight he might get into with the two of them. Between them..."

"Yeah. And we know there is a doctor in the Douglas family."

"But there are dozens, if not hundreds, of doctors in Edinburgh and the surrounding vicinity." Luke frowned thoughtfully. "And medical examiners."

"A medical examiner is a doctor—a coroner isn't always a doctor, but—"

"Right. My point is that an ME isn't usually trying to save a life—but he or she would sure know a lot about human anatomy."

"True!" Carly agreed.

"We need to get back out there and get a plan going. Here's my fear as far as jumping the gun with Marjory Alden. If these people believe that she's been compromised and might give them away, they might kill those kids immediately."

"So what's our plan?" Carly murmured.

"Pretty much what we thought before. Tonight, we head to Filigree. Somehow, one of us needs to talk to Marjory Alden without letting it be seen we're talking to her about anything that has to do with what's going on if that makes sense."

"I've already been up there and then I went back to the table, but tonight... I'll go in early. I can say that I just want to sit at the bar and have a few drinks alone," Carly said. "I can closely watch whatever is going on, maybe order a drink from her to subtly spill...switch to that Tennent's Zero in a can, and watch whoever might be followed—"

"And we can be ready to follow anyone she notes leaving," Luke said.

Carly nodded.

"All right. We need to gather as a team and go over it all," Luke told her.

She smiled and walked over to him, coming up on her toes to gently and swiftly kiss his lips. He caught her shoulders, holding her to him for a minute.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"Ye auld reminder that the world can be good!" she said lightly, but then she frowned and said, "Luke, we must find those children."

"And we will," he assured her. He kept his voice strong; he didn't want her to know that even he was afraid they might not find them, and if they did find the children, whether or not they'd be alive.

"Team time," he said.

She nodded and headed out the door, knowing he was following her.

Brendan Campbell had come while they were talking; he was at the table with MacDuff, Jordan and Daniel.

"Where's Flora?" Carly asked, frowning.

"Poor lass is really, truly terrified. She has said she'll never go back to work for the Connoly family. She doesn't even want to go to school until something has changed—until whatever is going on has been stopped," Daniel explained.

"I don't know if everything she has told us is right or true, but I do know it's what she believes with all her heart," Jordan said. "She told us that the night before the gutted man was found in the vennel, when she'd left the Connoly house, she'd known that either Mr. or Mrs. Connoly had been up, doing something—which hadn't really surprised her, except for what came after. She thinks they had met with the man she believes she saw by the vennel that night, and perhaps either Mr. or Mrs. Connoly was standing guard while the body was dumped back there."

Brendan Campbell waved a hand in the air. "I have solved that situation. It was evident that Flora was trying to help us and in trying to help us, she may well have put herself in danger. I made arrangements for Flora to be taken to a safe house for the time being."

"That's great," Carly said. She let out a sigh. "Do we speak with them again, or—"

"As you know, I believe, she'll be working with a sketch artist," Campbell told them. "We'll then have Daniel and Jordan view the sketch, see if they think it's a true likeness, and we'll get our hands on him—even if just for questioning. We'll find out if he's just a jerk of a bloke, or if he's involved. As it is, I understand that your next moves are going to be this evening."

"We'll head out early again, for six, in just a few hours," MacDuff said.

"We first heard about Marjory Alder through her fellow bartender at Filigree, William MacRay, who contacted Carly. She believes she can get to the bar and get a rapport going with Marjory, let her know that we're aware of her situation, and find out if she can give us any help at all so we might possibly find them," Luke said.

"I'm good at listening, too, sir," Carly told him. "If someone looks like they're becoming a bit too inebriated, I'll alert the team immediately—"

"A few of us will be inside, and a few will be outside," Luke explained.

"And I have undercover officers pulled in from across the UK on patrol," Campbell said.

"Sir," Carly asked. "Does Marjory's ex-husband know—"

"That his children might be in danger? Aye," Campbell said. "He's returning this evening, but he knows he mustn't give anything away. Naturally, he's beyond upset she's been lying to him, telling him the kids are just fine, sleeping every time he tries to talk to them—but we've made him understand that him throwing caution to the wind could be the end for them."

"Then..."

"Our next moves are in just a few hours," MacDuff said. "Until then..."

"I think I'm going to church," Carly said.

"Not a bad idea," Campbell said. "We could use some help from on high!"

She smiled. "Indeed, something for which we're always grateful. But we also believe that people might be lying in wait at Greyfriars Kirkyard. I love Greyfriars itself, sir, and since the kirkyard is enormous, there might be something that..."

"Jumps out at you?"

"No one with a knife, let's hope," MacDuff muttered.

"That I see something—"

Brendan Campbell smiled and groaned at the same time. "So many so-called ghost-hunters call it the most haunted burial ground anywhere in the world. That brings out every fanatic known to man, even when there's a truly heinous serial killer—or killers—running around. They claim people have been bitten, pinched and scratched by the spirits."

"Great. Get beat up so go back," Jordan murmured.

Campbell shrugged. "My point is that the place does not help us much now. There is even a tour that operates at night, goes to the Black Mausoleum, even to the area known as the Covenanters' Prison, due to the many hundreds who were held there after the Battle of Bothwell Bridge, June 1679. Sad, to this day, men and women are still fighting horrendous wars over religion, but...the point is there may be a great deal of movement, noise and action within the kirkyard. Then you don't just have the crazies, you have those who love the dog, little Greyfriars Bobby! Ah, well, that's Scotland. Stories of love and loyalty—and stories about bloody battles."

"Not to mention Burke and Hare!" Jordan said dryly. "But back to the little terrier—such a charming story, which did allow for a darling statue and a great pub, Greyfriars Bobby's Bar!"

"I do like the pub. And as for blood and guts and love and charm... Hey, that's the story of the world," Luke reminded them. "Which might," he noted, "make it an even better place for someone to lie in wait. And if people are being pinched and scratched and letting out screams, other calls of distress might not be noted."

"True," Campbell agreed. "And...ah, well. I shouldn't be complaining. The Real Mary King's Close, the kirkyards, the castle, all haunted—makes good money for our tourist industry. But you're right, finding the children is a priority—along with stopping the murders, period. I believe, considering the circumstances, your plans are solid."

Carly stood. "I won't waste time—we'll meet here, be ready for the evening by five thirty?"

Luke rose. "I'll accompany you. No one goes out alone. And, of course, I'm going," Luke said.

"But of course!" Daniel agreed.

"One more thing. We do still have people researching the small islands," Campbell told them. "Here—and across the pond. You do believe someone is making use of the privacy such a place affords?" he asked Luke.

"I do. We're not ruling out any possibilities," he said. "But timing is everything in such a situation. One would need the right conditions and someone with enough medical expertise to see that the stolen organs are viable for those who have purchased them. It would be very easy to reach many of these islands quietly by boat. It would be possible for someone to have accrued a complete medical setup there, along with someone able to perform the necessary surgeries."

"I have alerted our people on the water. Just as in the United States, we now have laws against just breaking in on people and demanding to see what they've got. But if we find cause, we can get a warrant."

"Of course. We are law enforcement. That means we are beholden to follow the law," Luke told Campbell, smiling.

He headed to the door and waited for Daniel and Carly to go on out, and he started to follow them.

"Jordan? MacDuff?"

"We're going to go over and over everything we know for the coming evening," MacDuff said. His computer sat before him; he looked up from the screen. He had already started on his study.

"Aye, I'll stay with the old grouch," Jordan told them. He looked over at Campbell, wincing. "Sir, I didnae mean any disrespect—"

"It's fine, lad." Campbell grinned. "He is an old grouch!"

MacDuff groaned and then ignored them. Luke smiled and closed the door, keyed in the code on the entry pad, and followed Carly and Daniel out.

"I didn't mean to intrude if you were trying to be alone," Daniel said.

"No, you're not intruding, and we really want to get a sense of the kirkyard," Luke assured him.

"And I was hoping..."

"That we might find a helpful spirit?" Carly asked him.

Daniel nodded. "Supposedly, it's one of the most haunted cities in the world. One would think there might be many ghosts willing to give us a hand!"

Carly talked to him about Kaitlin Bell as they walked.

"Spirits can slip around, unseen—uncaring if they are seen—and even they haven't been able to fathom what's going on here," Daniel said.

"I'm hoping we'll see her again tonight," Carly said.

Daniel looked worried. He glanced at Luke and Carly and said, "Tonight, I believe that we will learn something. But I also believe this might have been on hold for a wee bit. Whoever is doing this knows the patrols are sweeping the city—they must be aware of the warning that Campbell gave with his press conference. I was thinking they might move on. Try their act in another city or town."

"That's possible," Carly said. "But you still have the problem of maintaining viable organs and a place where the transplant patients can have surgery. If their base is here, they'll need to target locations that are close by."

"Ice chest. Every law enforcement individual in the city and beyond is on the lookout for ice chests!" Daniel noted. "Except—"

"Except if they have a killing place, an actual surgery they use before dumping the body, they wouldn't need ice chests," Luke said.

"Okay, that's true," Daniel agreed. "Have we heard anything on a distillery yet where a super-octane whiskey is being served?" he asked but answered himself. "No, because if anyone had any information, we'd all have it."

Luke nodded. "Right." He inhaled, looking over at the wall and facade of the church coming into view. "If they are making use of a private island, it might be just as easy getting there with a victim from cities or towns just to the north, south or west," he mused.

"Water and a boat," Daniel agreed.

"And here we are," Luke said, stopping and pointing out the statue of the loyal little terrier, Bobby.

Carly laughed softly. "He's wearing a sign! It reads, Please Don't Rub My Nose!"

Daniel groaned. "He needs the sign. There's a rumor that it's good luck to rub his nose. Problem is, too many nose rubs and it will wear down the statue." He shrugged. "You know, some believe that there's a curse on the castle, too. If students visit before a test, they may well fail it. Superstition!" He paused, studying the pub behind the statue. "Too bad we're not heading into Greyfriars Bobby's Bar! I could go for a pint—or a whiskey. No, a pint. I think it's the whiskey that's being tainted. These people want to strike Scotland where it hurts!"

"I think it's all for money," Carly said. "And these killers have been amused by the comparison to Burke and Hare. And that, yes, striking at one of a country's major exports, sure, why not? Except one is a secret pleasure, though Campbell did warn that people needed to take great care with their drinks."

They headed through the main entrance, with the great church or kirk standing before them.

Graves surrounded it, but the graveyard itself seemed to stretch forever. Paths led in several different directions.

And naturally, many people were walking through the grounds to admire the monuments, the aging walls and the history to be discovered.

"We're walking over the remains of over a hundred thousand people," Daniel murmured. "At one time, this was outside the main area of the city and St. Giles' was the center. Development meant they dug up the kirkyard and many, many bones were reinterred here." He grinned. "Even for John Knox, the great reformer! His grave is a car park now, they think—then again, with all that went on during the centuries, he may be there or he may not!" He shrugged. "St. Giles' dates to the twelfth century, with the main buildings now having been constructed between the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries. Greyfriars—named for the clothing worn by the friars who at one time had a parish—is newer." He grinned. "Dates to about 1620. But then again, as I've noted...bones could be from about any of those centuries."

"Let's see the church itself," Carly said.

"I personally think it's quite magnificent. Oh, there are, I don't know, prettier kirks or churches about the world, but Greyfriars... Well, so much happened through the years, building on and off, a true place of community and...lots of the architecture, the nave, aisles, memorials, tombs... A lot is incredibly—cool," Daniel finished.

"Hey, you don't have to convince me," Carly told him. "Remember, I spent all kinds of time here throughout the years. And yes, it's wonderful, beautiful and unique. And that's why I feel like I'd love to go in." She pinched his arm. "I used to come to services here when I visited with my grandparents."

"Ah! A true parishioner!" Daniel said.

Carly liked the Greyfriars, Luke knew that to be true. But he also knew she, too, was hoping to find someone. A different kind of witness. One who couldn't appear in court but might still help them find the guilty.

And it was fine. Greyfriars was an amazing kirk, restored in the 1800s after a great fire. The stained-glass windows were magnificent, the organ was impressive and the pulpit, bearing the arms of Scotland, was fine as well.

But even as he took in the architecture and memorials in the kirk, he saw Carly had gone to take a seat in one of the pews.

And then almost as if he'd followed them in—as perhaps he had—a man in a kilt and jacket appeared. He headed toward the pew where Carly had taken a seat, and he smiled inwardly. The man, he thought, had been deceased for quite some time.

Perhaps he was buried just beyond the doors of the church.

Carly kept her head down as the man joined her, and he thought she was whispering something.

She was. The two rose and headed out of the church, wandering toward a path that would take them around to the largest section of the kirkyard.

Daniel walked up to him. "She's found someone!" he said.

"Leave it to Carly. She seemed to know that maybe someone had seen us before and would come to us," Luke said.

"But how do they know...?"

"They don't," he told Daniel. "They hope, just as we do. Shall we give them just a moment and join them? I believe the gentleman has something to say."

The gentleman who had come to her had passed away many years before, Carly was certain. He was kilted, and she smiled, wondering if he knew her name.

He was clad in the MacDonald tartan, a tall man with fine broad shoulders, a handsome head of dark but graying hair and a rich beard to match. He appeared to have passed away at the age of sixty or so.

"Keith MacDonald," he told her. "Among those in the yard since the year of our Lord 1844. I saw you at the new pub, that place with the neon sign saying Filigree, and you were with a dear friend of mine," he told her.

"MacDonald? Really?" she queried. She smiled at him. "Maybe an ancestor of mine?"

"Ah, lassie, there are many MacDonalds, but aye, perhaps at some point. Now, I be the one who should be asking really?"

"Really. My dad's parents are from here."

"And you walk about like a tourist," he said, nodding. "But you are no tourist."

"You saw me with a friend of yours—who?" Carly asked.

"Why, Kaitlin, of course," he told her. "Friends in life, friends in death. Human flesh will always wear away, but the love in the human soul stays forever."

"And what about the sickness in a human being?" she asked him, wincing.

But he seemed to know she was here because of what was happening.

He shook his head. "There are people about. Come. Let's walk across the yard a bit, we're too close to the Black Mausoleum, the resting place of Bloody Mackenzie, and far too many come to see it."

She followed him, aware that Daniel and Luke were near, but trying to give her time to achieve a rapport with the spirit before they joined them.

"So, as I said, lass, Kaitlin was a dear friend then, and now. And we lived through that dreadful time when resurrectionists were tearing up graves, and Burke and Hare were creating their own corpses."

"She knew the boy, Jamie—"

"As did I. Poor lad. His feet were so severely deformed, but he had a heart of gold. Nothing to his name but the true care he gave to all." He paused, shaking his head. "Now, I also knew the two blokes, Burke and Hare—both men named William, therefore I will make it easy and make use of their surnames. The oddity of it all. Burke could be quite the gentleman. He worked real jobs at times, a cobbler, sometimes. He would entertain his customers and those around them, singing and dancing...he could be fine and polite. Now, Hare—the wretched bloke who turned state's witness and went free despite the horror of his crimes—was a wretch of a man. Rude, abrasive...not a fine fellow to be about in any way. Strange law, not guilty nor innocent but not proven let both the wives go free as well, though if they participated or not, I cannot say. But did they suspect or know? Most certainly."

"I'm so sorry," Carly murmured.

"We've witnessed much here, a country within a nation, so much bloodshed, but...now, as then, there is little quite so horrid as the thieving of one man's—or woman's—life, for the profit that's to be made from such a murder." He paused, still shaking his head at the events, as long ago as they had now been. "And Knox! Sorry, Doctor Knox, Robert Knox, not the reformer John Knox, but the anatomist! As if he—when his students recognized a few of the lasses plying the streets—turned a blind eye, a truly blind eye. Yet, at the trial, Knox said he had no knowledge of how the pair had acquired their corpses. The horse's arse! Begging your pardon, young lass—"

"It's quite all right," Carly said.

"Hare, of course, and his wife ran from Edinburgh, good thing. I'd have given the fellow a good auld burking if I'd had the chance, and like as not, I suppose, I'd have faced the hangman's noose. Knox, I do believe, lost his glittering reputation and left town as well, and..."

He let his words whisper away, but he looked at her, frowning a bit worriedly, and told her, "We're being followed."

She smiled again. "Those are my friends, sir. And they're...they see you as well, and, yes, they can hear you and speak with you."

"How very, very strange!" he said. He looked at her. "Time goes by, so much time..."

She decided she'd try to explain quickly. "There's a gentleman in the United States who founded a special unit of our FBI, I'm sorry, one of the American—"

"I know FBI," he assured her. "I loved—and still love—the theater. But I was quite entertained when I first saw the television come into being. Quite fascinating, what one can learn from it." He wrinkled his nose. "Then there are shows... Forgive me, lass, I digress! But the FBI—"

"Works mainly in the States. This gentleman, alive and well himself, knew about people who could communicate with those who had shed their earthly flesh but remained. And he had also spent his life helping others and was well-known by the right people, so he formed a special unit composed of people—like me. And we've recently formed an international unit, helping when called or when there might be an American suspect or..."

"Strange killing, eh?"

She nodded. "And those gentlemen—Daniel is with the National Crime Agency here, and Luke, the very tall gentleman, and I are part of the same team."

"Ah, so..."

"Speak freely. We've been hoping so desperately for help, though, of course, lest they lock us up, we don't explain to others how we received that help."

"Aye, and they'd be throwing you all out of court were you to try!" he said grimly.

"Most likely. And seriously, for a good reason. There was a time when they burned or hanged innocent midwives and others for being witches and—"

"Lass, I am aware of history. And aye, I understand. But these gentlemen—"

"Are truly my friends, and as determined as I am to end this horror that is occurring in this beautiful, beautiful city!"

He nodded. Carly beckoned Luke and Daniel, and they joined her and her ghost. The men and Carly ambled slowly as if they were about to discuss more of the sights.

Carly introduced them to Keith, and Luke and Daniel grinned. "MacDonald? A relative?"

"Perhaps," Keith said. "And proud I'd be if it were a fact," the ghost assured him.

"I've been so hoping," Daniel said.

"Sir," Luke told him, "we are truly proud to have made your acquaintance. We do believe we're moving forward. We are discovering certain clues, but we're hopeful—"

"Aye, hopeful that I may give you a name!" the ghost said. "What I know is this. I saw it but once, on a lovely lass, and she walked from the pub just fine, having imbibed a bit, but not...it was not until the gentleman stopped her, told her she must try one last drink. He followed her from the pub with that glass in his hand. She was still so sweet, saying she didnae need more to drink, and he kept begging her, please, just to taste, it was his family's special brew. And so she agreed, ever determined to just be polite and cordial. But then, even as she drank, the small van came by, and she was whisked into the vehicle, and it was the next morning that she was discovered."

Carly felt her phone vibrating and realized that Luke's and Daniel's phones had gone off as well. She excused herself and pulled her phone from her pocket and keyed in.

The message was from Brendan Campbell. It was short and sweet. Artist finished the rendering.

He was sending out the artist's image of the man Flora MacDonald had seen at the Connoly house.

The man who had grabbed Flora's arm at the café that morning. Carly looked at Daniel and Luke.

The sketch quickly appeared on her screen. She knew they had all received it, and she glanced at Daniel first, wanting to see his reaction since he'd been closest and had seen more of the exchange between Flora and the man.

Then she looked at Luke again.

Luke nodded to her.

She turned to her newfound ghost friend and asked him, "Keith, was this the man you saw with the young woman, running after her with a drink?"

She turned her phone so that the ghost could see it. Luke and Daniel looked at him anxiously, waiting for his reply.

"Mind ye, it was dark, and death, I fear, like age, does not improve one's vision."

"Aye, sir," Daniel said, "but—"

"I would say aye, indeed. That was the man," Keith said, his tone strong with conviction.