A Breath on Dying Embers

by Denzil Meyrick

  ‘Brian, what’s happened?’ said Liz, her voice barely audible through the wails of her son.

  ‘I should have known better. He’s been having these turns, Liz.’ He leaned into Daley’s ear. ‘Okay, big man, take it easy. Help’s on its way.’ Despite himself, Brian Scott felt his eyes brim with tears.

  10

  When Cabdi reached their little camp, he found no sign of life. He poked his head through the tent and then the back of the van – nothing. He looked around and called out in Somali, but answer came there none.

  Just as he was beginning to panic, he heard a noise behind him. Turning round swiftly, he felt his heart sink. Faduma was walking down the hill from a different direction. A man was held tightly in the crook of one arm, and his hand was pressing a large knife to his unfortunate captive’s throat.

  ‘What is this, Faduma?’ Cabdi snapped.

  ‘This man, he was following you. I saw him.’

  Faduma’s captive looked to be elderly – perhaps in his seventies. He had a fat, florid face, wispy grey hair, and a pair of expensive binoculars and a camera swung over an ample gut that bulged through a Barbour jacket.

  Cabdi felt sick inside. He knew how hot-headed Faduma was, and cursed himself for leaving him alone.

  The man was trying to speak, but Faduma was holding him so tightly that only a desperately strained whisper crossed his lips.

  ‘Let him go.’

  ‘I cannot, brother. He is a danger. He must have seen what you were doing on the hill. He will expose us.’

  Cabdi shook his head. ‘No. We can handle this, I’m sure.’

  ‘You must ask for instructions.’

  Cabdi turned to Faduma’s captive and spoke in English. ‘Why were you following me?’

  Faduma loosened his grip, allowing Cameron Pearson to gulp in air and breathe properly for the first time since he was taken by surprise and felt a knife against his throat.

  ‘I’m an ornithologist – a birdwatcher,’ he replied, his voice weak and trembling. ‘I wasn’t following you. I was watching a rare bird – an American gull. It must have been blown off course in the storms last week.’

  ‘He’s lying,’ said Faduma in Somali.

  Cabdi walked up to the captive. ‘We thought you wanted to steal from us. We have very little, and where we come from bandits roam freely.’ He searched the man’s eyes for the truth, but saw only panic.

  ‘You must call,’ said Faduma, tightening his grasp on his captive’s neck once more. Cameron Pearson screamed.

  Cabdi turned on his heel and removed the mobile phone from his pocket. He pressed a button on the top of the device and held it. Soon, the tiny screen and small keypad lit up. He dialled. After a moment, the call was answered, and Cabdi moved away, speaking quickly but softly to the person on the other end of the phone.

  As Faduma watched, he could see that Cabdi didn’t like what he was hearing. His voice rose, and he began gesticulating with his long thin arms.

  Suddenly, the call had ended. Cabdi was breathing heavily as he held down the button on top of the phone until the light went out, then slipped the device into his pocket. He walked away from Faduma and Pearson, shaking his head, alternately cursing and praying.

  ‘Tell me, Cabdi, what must we do?’ Faduma called.

  Cabdi stopped in his tracks. He turned to his partner, grim-faced. ‘We must do what has to be done.’

  In the distance a cow lowed plaintively. Faduma glared at the old man, the knife held still under his double chin. Cameron Pearson felt the warm stream of urine run down his leg and onto his climbing boots as Cabdi walked towards him.

  ‘There is no other choice.’

  Daley came slowly back to consciousness, as though emerging from a nightmare. Instinctively, he tried to sit up.

  ‘No, Jim, stay still.’ It was Liz, but he couldn’t work out why she was there. He looked down at his chest. It appeared to be covered in sticky pads, from which wires led to a screen that bleeped at his side.

  ‘What happened, Liz?’

  ‘You collapsed, Jim. The doctors are trying to work out why now.’ She smiled at him.

  ‘What’s happened to your face?’ Daley reached out to touch her, but she drew away.

  ‘Nothing for you to worry about. Just try and get some rest. The doctor said he’d be back as soon as he could.’

  Daley laid his head back on the pillow, desperately trying to remember how he’d ended up in hospital. He recalled entering his house, but then things were a blur, although he thought he remembered Scott whispering in his ear to take things easy.

  The door of the side room swung open, and a young doctor, stethoscope round his neck, strode into the room.

  ‘Up the road for you, Mr Daley, I’m afraid.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Liz asked desperately.

  ‘There’s no need to worry, Mrs Daley. It’s far too early to diagnose what’s happened to your husband.’

  ‘So why are you taking him away?’

  ‘Merely as a precaution. We wouldn’t have the right equipment or expertise here if . . .’

  ‘If what?’ she said in a rush.

  ‘If your husband required any kind of procedure.’

  ‘Have I had a heart attack?’ Daley was looking the clinician straight in the eyes.

  ‘You have raised troponin levels, but not by much. It’s too early to say.’

  ‘Troponin?’

  ‘It’s a measure of the level of protein in the blood. When cardiac arrest takes place, it’s above normal – a classic sign. But the levels are usually higher than yours. We have to make sure we can deal with any eventuality, so it’s best we helicopter you to the RAH in Paisley.’

  ‘I want to go with him.’

  ‘Yes, of course. If there’s room in the aircraft you can accompany your husband. But try not to worry. Even if it’s a heart attack, it’s a mild one, and that’s worst case scenario. We have to make sure he gets the best possible care until we diagnose what the issue has been.’

  ‘Can I speak to Brian Scott?’ Daley asked.

  ‘Yes. He’s outside; I’ll tell him. The nurses and porters will be in shortly to get you ready to leave. Try and stay calm, both of you.’ He took a reading from the machine Daley was wired up to, wrote it quickly on the chart at the end of the bed, then moved quickly to the door, reassuring them again that all was well.

  No sooner had he left than Scott burst into the room.

  ‘You’re okay, big man. Just a shock, eh?’ He looked pale and concerned.

  ‘Listen, Brian. I want you to get hold of Symington. Tell her I fainted – probably after the heat on the boat. But don’t mention it might be my heart.’

  ‘Your heart! I knew it, Jimmy. You should have calmed down the booze – lost some weight.’

  ‘Maybe, Brian. We don’t know yet.’

  ‘Oh, do leave it, Brian. He’s just come round.’

  ‘Aye, but what aboot Symington? She can ask questions herself, Jimmy. The lassie’s no’ stupid – well, no’ that stupid.’

  ‘Patient confidentiality, Brian. Just tell her I’m off to have some tests.’

  Before Scott could reply, three nurses and a porter entered the room.

  ‘You’ll have to leave while we get Mr Daley ready for his trip, please,’ said the charge nurse. ‘The helicopter is on its way.’

  Liz and Brian were ushered out into the corridor, where they found seats against the wall.

  ‘He’s going to die,’ said Liz, head in her hands.

  ‘Go Team Daley, eh? Have some faith, Liz. My uncle George had four heart attacks before he died. You’ve got tae keep positive.’

  ‘What age was he?’

  ‘Thirty-eight – but, man, he’d done all the wrong things. Drank too much, overweight, no’ enough exercise, poor diet. You know the score.’

  ‘Sounds just like Jim – and he’s older.’

  ‘Och, this was years ago. They can dae wonders these days.’

  A nurse ap
peared from Daley’s room. ‘Nearly there, Mrs Daley. We’ll be off soon.’

  Liz nodded, doing her best to swallow her tears.

  ‘Look after him, Liz,’ said Scott.

  ‘I’ve never done anything else.’

  Scott shook his head. ‘Is that right? So a’ they affairs were your way o’ making sure he was okay, eh?’

  ‘He had an affair too, you know!’

  ‘No’ until you’d driven him tae distraction. Don’t come the Little Miss Innocent wae me.’ He paused. ‘You know, all this time I’ve kept my mooth shut – said nothing. It’s your business, no’ mine – or so I thought. But you led him a merry dance, hen. You bloody well know it, too. He’d have done anything for you, but you threw it in his face, time after time.’

  ‘As you say, none of your business, Brian,’ she replied haughtily.

  ‘Huh, don’t come the old soldier wae me. If you want him back – really want tae make a go of it, no’ just a place tae run to when you’re in bother – well, you’ll have tae change your ways, Lizzie.’

  Before she could form a reply to this unexpected outburst, the door to Daley’s room opened and the trolley bearing his large frame was pushed out into the corridor. He’d been wired to a mobile heart monitor being carried by a nurse. The rate of its bleep appeared to hasten the nearer they pushed him towards Liz and Scott.

  ‘Can you follow us, please, Mrs Daley?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She turned to Scott, being careful not to catch his eye. ‘Is it still okay for Ella to look after James – until things are more clear, that is?’

  ‘Aye, of course.’ Scott looked past her. ‘Hey, big man, just you ca’ canny, right? Nothing for you tae worry aboot here. I’ve got your back.’

  ‘Don’t make me worse, Bri.’ Daley attempted a laugh, but a pain in his chest cut it short.

  As Scott watched them push his friend away, he felt his throat tighten with emotion once more. ‘God bless you, old buddy,’ he said under his breath.

  11

  Captain Banks bowed deeply as the duke and duchess ascended the ornate staircase. He’d made sure that their equerry was advised to remove them to their quarters before things became raucous and some of the ship’s guests forgot their manners. This party would last into the wee small hours, and he was determined to ensure that everything went smoothly.

  As he admired one of the American delegation, a statuesque blonde, his head steward Hutchinson made his way towards him through the throng.

  ‘Sir, we have a small problem.’

  ‘Don’t tell me the bubbly’s run out. Mind you, I wouldn’t be surprised, the rate this crowd knock it back.’

  ‘No, sir. One of my staff has gone missing.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Majid, sir. Joined us at Newcastle.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. His possessions are not in his cabin, sir.’

  ‘How the hell did he get off the ship? I’m assuming he didn’t swim with his goods and chattels in tow.’

  ‘At this stage, we’ve no idea. Shall I pass it on to security, sir?’

  ‘No, leave it with me for the moment.’ Banks hesitated. ‘Where was he from, this Majid?’

  ‘Lives in the UK, sir, but his family are still in Pakistan.’

  ‘Right, thank you, Hutchinson. Please carry on.’

  Banks whispered into the ear of one of his officers, then discreetly took a side door out of the ballroom. As he ascended the gangway, the noise of the revellers disappeared, vanishing when he took the last few steps onto the bridge.

  ‘Thank you, bosun, I have the bridge. You’re relieved.’

  ‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir.’ The grizzled older man removed a pair of binoculars from round his neck and handed them to Banks.

  The captain nodded to the spotty-faced midshipman, the Royal Navy’s representative on the bridge, then set the binoculars to his eyes. Carefully, he scanned his surroundings. The ship was at anchor, prow facing the town of Kinloch that sprawled around the head of the loch. He could see smoke rising from chimneys and streetlights bursting into life as the last light of the early autumn day began to fail.

  He cursed quietly to himself. He’d handpicked the merchant crew for this assignment. Though he didn’t know them all personally, he had studied their records with the company and taken them on this prestigious trip based on that and recommendations from fellow officers who served the line. He brought Majid’s face to mind.

  Banks ordered one last search of the ship – quietly, by his men. Soon he would have to inform Brachen. In this rarefied company a missing crewman would be bound to rock the boat – literally.

  He bit his lip, considering the best course of action.

  ‘Your name, young man?’ he asked the midshipman.

  ‘Truly, sir, Andrew Truly.’

  ‘Been in charge on the bridge before?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Truly looked hesitant.

  ‘Well, this is your big moment. I know we’re lying at anchor, but you are now in charge of the vessel, understand?’

  ‘I should inform Commander Brachen, sir.’

  ‘For what reason? I’m the captain of this ship, and I’ve just given you an order. Jump to it, lad!’

  Banks left the pale-faced youth and took the short route to his own cabin.

  ‘Now, Commander Brachen, let’s see what you’re made of, eh?’ he muttered to himself. He picked up the phone and dialled one for the ship’s communications operator. ‘Get me Kinloch Police Office. Urgently!’

  The man sat beside the bonfire, staring at the flames.

  In their midst, the skin of the severed head was bubbling and bursting, melting in the heat. The unfortunate ornithologist’s eyes appeared to slip down the blistered skin of his cheeks. Soon, only the blackened skull stared back at the watcher through the red, yellow and blue flicker as it began to crack in the petrol-fuelled cauldron of the flames.

  He looked on, unimpressed. He felt no pity or sorrow for the victim. Some things had to be.

  ‘What do we do now?’ said Faduma. He was staring almost unblinkingly at the starlit sky. The Milky Way arched over the hill towards the glimpse of sodium light spilling from the town. ‘Our work will soon begin, Cabdi. But maybe sooner after this, I think.’

  ‘What happens when is none of our concern. Our master will decide.’

  Faduma looked round. There was no sign of life under the stars. ‘But we can’t stay here, surely?’

  ‘You are right. If we are unlucky people will come searching. All that should be left here are the marks of our campsite. We must leave nothing behind to identify us.’

  ‘I have changed the wheels. But you haven’t answered my question.’

  Cabdi stood. ‘There wouldn’t have been a question if you’d not been so impetuous. We could have easily explained away our presence here. I’m a doctor; people believe in doctors in this country. I told you that before. Your actions were rash!’

  ‘They shouldn’t believe doctors.’ Faduma’s face was a shadow in the starlight.

  Cabdi lunged for him, grabbing the smaller, younger man by the throat. ‘Listen to me, Faduma. You never – ever – do anything like this again, do you understand. You take orders from me.’

  ‘I do not!’ Faduma struggled from Cabdi’s clutches. He was stocky and strong, and his tall, lean companion lost his grip. ‘I did as I was told – as I was ordered to do. Why do you treat me this way?’

  ‘Because of the action you took. Do you think our master is happy you did what you did? I can assure you, he is not.’

  Faduma sulked, looking back at the stars. The sky was dull now; a cloud had edged across the sky, blocking out the starlight. ‘I ask again, what do we do now?’

  ‘We move camp tonight. We will find another place near the bay. There are hills on the other side of the loch. Even if anything goes wrong, we have a plan to escape.’

  ‘You are wise, my brother.’

  ‘You are not, Faduma. Do something
stupid again and our master may not be so tolerant. ’

  Faduma looked unhappy. He stood and took one last look round their campsite. ‘What is that, brother?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That glow over the hill – lights?’

  ‘Quickly. We have to leave this place!’

  ‘Can I speak to DCI Daley?’ said Captain Banks. He’d liked the big detective when they’d met earlier in the day. After many years in the Merchant Navy, he could spot someone focused on their job, not on the slippery process of climbing the ladder to promotion and success. His boss – Symington – had worked the room like a politician, not a police officer. Banks was sure Daley would be the right man to quietly assist him.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’ The voice on the other end of the line was hesitant.

  ‘Sorry for what?’

  ‘DCI Daley is unavailable, sir. Can I direct you to anyone else?’

  ‘He must have an assistant, surely?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll put you through to Detective Sergeant Brian Scott.

  The line clicked and popped, then a rough, accented voice said, ‘DS Scott, can I help you?’

  ‘Ah yes, Sergeant Scott. Captain Magnus Banks of the Great Britain. I have a small problem.’

  ‘Don’t we all.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir. Just thinking aloud – you know what it’s like, eh? What’s your problem?’

  Banks described the missing crewman.

  ‘Am I no’ right in saying that you have your own security on board? Half o’ MI5 an’ the SBS, so I heard.’

  ‘Not quite, Sergeant. But I’d rather keep this between ourselves for the moment, if you don’t mind. I’m sure you know what a fuss these people can make. My guess is that the man has simply done a bunk, holed up in some hostelry in Kinloch, or in the arms of a young lady he met on a previous voyage. If I flag this up now it’ll be like the D-Day Landings. The place will go on red alert, and your job and mine will become infinitely more difficult.’

  Scott thought for a moment. ‘Aye, right enough. I’m no’ a man for fuss myself, I must admit. You email me a picture o’ this Majid, and I’ll get oor uniform boys on the job. But if we can’t turn anything up, I’m thinking you’ll have tae press the panic button.’