‘Oh, certainly. As usual, measures have been taken to ensure your safety while ashore, but Kinloch is a quiet place, so relax.’ Though Sir Edward smiled beatifically, he recalled the police van arriving at the quayside in Glasgow with a van full of very drunk, very rowdy Japanese businessmen. But he’d seen his fair share of pissed presidents, sozzled sovereigns and tipsy tyrants in his time as a diplomat. Despite the hard sell, of which he was in charge, it was essential that these influential men and women on board were afforded ample opportunity to let their collective hair down between the discussions that were designed to bring much needed business to the nation.
‘What about these insects?’ asked one tall, red-haired woman in a New York drawl, the senior executive of an American fashion conglomerate.
‘Insects?’ Sir Edward tilted his head like a mystified dog.
‘Do they call them midges?’
‘Ah yes, the fabled Highland midge. Nothing to worry about on that score – out of season, Mrs Hapstein.’
‘I have delicate skin, Sir Edward. The last thing I need is to spend the rest of the trip covered in lumps and bumps.’
‘You have nothing to worry about; I assure you the locals don’t bite either.’ The laughter pleased him. ‘Now, if you’re all ready, it’s time to take the short trip to Kinloch. The launches will ferry you to and fro, and will always be on hand, so you can return here whenever you want. If you please, ladies and gentlemen . . .’ He gestured to the door, where members of the crew were ready to escort their guests to Kinloch.
Watching them go, Chapelhouse was pleased that the numbers willing to take the trip were healthy without being large; just about right in terms of management and security. Behind his broad smile, the incident with the drone still troubled him, and though he’d brushed off the concerns of the onboard security team he’d been around too long not to recognise a threat when he saw one. However, in the opinion of Number Ten, whatever risk there had been was now spent. Sir Edward could only trust that the missing man on the hill would soon be found, if indeed he existed at all.
O’Rourke stood in line waiting to board the small vessel that would take them to Kinloch. He was looking forward to socialising with some normal people for a change, instead of his preening, snooty fellow passengers on the Great Britain. In any case, he needed a drink – a proper drink and a chance to mull over his thoughts and plans. Seeing his homeland – albeit distantly – had brought so many feelings to the surface that had long lain buried. He wanted to deal with these before he made any more plans.
A voice spoke at his shoulder. ‘Ah, there you are, Patrick,’ said Khan. ‘I hope you don’t mind if I join you. No hard feelings about losing all that money?’
‘Hell, no! I enjoyed throwing away every dollar,’ he lied. ‘C’mon, my friend, let’s see what this Kinloch has to offer.’ He’d hoped to spend time alone in some bar, but Khan was tolerable company, and he’d soon lose her if the need arose.
As for Harid Khan, she looked serene. He’d seen the fire in her eyes as she thumped him at golf, but now she looked as though everything in her world was good. He was sure he detected a look of anticipation on her face, and for the first time he worried if this beautiful woman planned on getting to grips with him at something other than golf.
As they shuffled along towards the sea gate, O’Rourke felt the phone vibrate in his pocket. He read the message and smiled.
‘Good news, Patrick?’
‘Hell, I only listen to good news, my friend.’
Khan smiled back. In reality, the last thing she wanted to do was to spend time in what she considered a miserable little town. But she had things to do.
Cabdi found a stream and managed to clean himself up, though the gash on his head would be obvious to anyone who gave him more than a passing glance.
He’d taken the decision to hide in plain sight. He wasn’t sure if he’d been spotted on the hill, but he had to take the chance that he hadn’t. He figured that with so many new faces from so many different parts of the world coming off the cruise ship, it would be possible for him to blend into this small community unnoticed. Though it was a huge risk, he’d calculated that it represented his only chance.
Reaching the top of a ridge he spotted a cluster of houses huddled round a rocky bay. Immediately below him, a man who had clearly been digging ditches was walking away in the direction of this small community. He’d left a shovel thrust into the ground, and a red baseball cap was perched on the handle, presumably because the sun was now well hidden behind high white clouds and he no longer needed it.
Cabdi held back until the man was out of sight, then scrambled down the side of the hill and grabbed the hat from the shovel. He placed it carefully on his head and looked around. A road snaked past the village.
Cabdi climbed over a fence and walked across a field towards the road. He had money in his pocket, and by his reckoning couldn’t be far from Kinloch. Though his strategy was risky, he had come too far to leave things unfinished. And in any case, questions – many questions – needed to be answered.
As well as the cash, he could feel the reassuring heft of the pistol in his pocket.
32
Jim Daley watched the district nurse take his blood pressure as he sat on the leather recliner in his lounge. His son looked on with wide eyes as the black band inflated on his father’s arm and the nurse squinted attentively at the gauge.
‘Still a bit high, Mr Daley, but not as bad as yesterday, which is good. You’re taking the medication as directed, yes?’
‘Yes. Well, I don’t want to collapse again, and the last place I want to be is in hospital.’
‘I’m sure.’ She smiled. ‘Your pulse is steadier, too. I’ll need to take some bloods, if you don’t mind.’ She looked pointedly at the toddler.
‘James, go and find Mummy. She’s in her bedroom, son,’ said Daley. Liz had chosen to stay out of sight when the nurse arrived, not wanting any questions asked about the condition of her face.
‘He’s gorgeous,’ said the nurse, when James junior had gone.
‘Yes, and a right little monster – I wish I had his energy.’ Daley bit his lip. ‘I know it’s not your decision, but can I ask you a question?’
‘Yes, of course. If I can answer it, I will. If I can’t . . .’ Her voice tailed off.
‘I’m guessing I’m not the first patient you’ve ever had with this condition, right?’
‘Not by any means. Heart problems, sadly, are not unusual in our community. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that.’
‘So, with this . . . I mean what I’ve been diagnosed with . . .’ Daley hesitated.
‘Go on, I won’t bite your head off.’
‘Well, will I recover – I mean recover enough to go back to work?’
She packed away the blood pressure monitor and removed a yellow box from her bag. ‘Advances in treatment of heart conditions like yours are improving rapidly, Mr Daley. We’re seeing effective new medications arriving all the time. Let’s face it, here in Scotland we’ve had plenty of willing subjects to practise on.’
She took a syringe from the yellow box, checking it carefully as she removed the plastic packaging in which it was housed.
‘So do you think I’ll be able to go back to work?’
‘I think your condition will improve dramatically. The drugs are already taking effect. But I don’t know what rules they have in the police. All I will say is that I have many patients with managed heart disease who go about very demanding jobs in an almost entirely normal way. But let’s not rush things, eh, Mr Daley?’
Daley nodded, baulking at the title. He was used to having a rank, and DCI Daley sounded so much better than plain ‘Mister’. ‘Thank you. I’ll hold on to that, then.’
‘Now, you’ll feel a little scratch.’ She had applied another tight band around his upper arm, and was poised with the syringe.
‘Don’t you say a little prick any more?’
‘No, for pr
ecisely the reason you’ve asked.’ She found a vein and began to draw dark blood from Daley’s arm. ‘Listen, it’s normal to be anxious – everyone is when they hear they have heart problems. But if you keep taking the medication, have regular exercise, watch your diet and let us keep an eye on you, it should be fine. Oh, and try to avoid stress.’
‘Fat chance of that.’
‘Losing some weight will definitely help, too.’ She smiled.
‘Yes, I know,’ replied Daley wearily. ‘I know a warning when I see one. Trust me, you’re preaching to the converted.’
‘Right, that’s us finished. I’ll get this sent up the road. I’ll be back tomorrow – will the same time be okay?’
‘Thank you, yes,’ said Daley, feeling utterly miserable. He recalled how many times he’d bemoaned the fact that he was a police officer, but now that his career was at stake he wanted nothing more than to be back at work.
You don’t know what you’ve got until you lose it. The words rang in his head.
‘I’ll show you out,’ he said, lowering the recliner.
‘No, don’t worry. I can see myself out – I remember the way. You should just sit quietly for a while after I’ve taken your bloods. Oh, and it’s Mary, by the way.’
Daley, who’d been lost in his own thoughts, looked up, momentarily out of kilter, a confused look on his face.
‘My name. It’s Mary. I’ll see you around the same time tomorrow.’
‘Yes – yes, sure, Mary.’ The name almost stuck in his throat, but he swallowed hard and banished thoughts of another Mary.
He heard the nurse close the front door firmly and head off in her car.
What would he do if he couldn’t continue as a police officer? Would he even survive to be anything? Thoughts of his own demise, memories of his dying father, and the last time he’d seen Mary Dunn’s face as she smiled at him round the bedroom door of her tiny cottage, all flashed through his mind.
The truth was, no one knew their fate. Some had a better idea than others, but in the main, life was a lottery. Some won, some lost, but no one could go on living for ever. This realisation was the curse of middle age. The young – unless they were ill – never let thoughts of their own mortality cross their mind. He certainly hadn’t. But as grandparents, parents, even friends began to die, thoughts of one’s own end came almost daily, for him, at least.
He’d started listening to music again in the hospital. Though there were some songs he still couldn’t bear, he was pleased that at least he could pass the time doing something he loved again. It had been a pleasure denied him since the death of Mary Dunn.
Daley reached for the tablet on the floor by his chair. He made sure that the Bluetooth was on and connected to his sound system.
He scrolled down a list of his favourite songs.
As the first bars of Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ boomed from the speakers, he closed his eyes and thoughts of the past soon began to appear again. The pair of them sitting in a café eating burgers with onion rings; her blue eyes flashing, looking straight into his.
The truth was, he’d stopped believing a long time ago; stopped believing he’d ever be happy again.
Just as the song’s second chorus was about to begin, the door swung open. Liz shouted at him to turn down the music; she had a sore head.
As the band sang ‘stop’, he switched the tablet off. The moment was gone.
‘No, I’m no’ doing it, and neither is my wife,’ said Scott, crossing his arms over his chest determinedly. ‘Anyway, you cannae place a civilian like Ella in harm’s way.’
Chief Superintendent Carrie Symington stared at him, a hint of disapproval on her face. ‘Of course, this isn’t the kind of thing I can order you to do, Brian. But I’d hoped that you’d see the sense in it.’
‘Oh aye, I see the sense in it, fine. But how is it when it comes tae going on a boat, my name’s always the first oot the hat?’
‘I’ve been aboard twice – and Jim was on the Great Britain too.’
‘Aye, look how he fared after his wee jaunt.’
‘He has a medical problem. Nothing to do with being on the Great Britain.’
‘Well, I’ve got a medical problem, tae: I don’t like boats!’
‘That’s not a condition, just an irrational fear.’
‘Irrational! Do you know how many times I’ve near copped it on the wet stuff since I came doon here? Anyway, it doesnae make sense. I’m the acting boss here. Why no’ stick Potts on the boat?’
‘Two reasons: first, he’s not married; and second, he doesn’t have your experience or eye for something that’s not right.’
‘Don’t you try tae butter me up – ma’am,’ said Scott, remembering in the nick of time to whom he was talking.
‘And most important, no one on board knows you.’
‘Ha! I’ve spoken tae the captain – thon Banks fella.’ He sat back in the chair with a smile on his face.
‘Oh, he’ll never put a face to the voice. And in any case, all I want you to do is observe. Someone was in touch with the men who operated that drone, and whoever it was was on board. Now, as I told you, the government is trying to play this down as a paparazzi stunt gone wrong. But taking into account the man left dead at the scene, as well as the possible connection to the murder of Cameron Pearson, not to mention the fact that they’ve slapped a D-Notice on it all, I think they know it was a terrorist attack gone awry.’
‘The fool on the hill, eh?’
‘Yes, exactly.’
‘Well, I’m no’ going tae be the daftie on the deck.’
She sighed, looking through some papers while she thought of another strategy to persuade her recalcitrant Acting DI to be her eyes and ears on the Great Britain. ‘Think about it, Brian. Someone on board that ship was in touch with the man, or men, on the hill. There were no explosives in that drone, yet someone who operated it is lying dead. So we have to ask the question, surely?’
‘The answer’s easy. Either it was a wind-up that went badly wrong, or it was hopeless from the start. Ma’am, we’re not even allowed tae ask questions about the dead man. Don’t you think we should leave all that tae the Security Service?
‘No. They’re on cover-up manoeuvres, and you know it. That’s why I want us to do something. ’
‘Like what?’
‘That’s what I want you to find out. And since this has been closed down by the MOD, I think it’s our duty to probe further. It’s our patch, Brian!’
‘No, my answer’s the same. I’m no’ posing as some businessman on there. For a start, what kind o’ businessman would I make? They’d suss me oot in seconds.’
‘Oh well. As I say, I can’t force you and your wife to do this, but it would have been so helpful.’
‘I’m usually the man that stands still while every other bastard takes one step back – if you’ll pardon the French, ma’am. No’ this time. I’m no’ volunteering. Anyway, I’ve got a sub-division tae run.’
‘Very well, Brian. Your choice, and I respect that.’
Symington watched him leave the room. Once he’d closed her office door she picked up her phone. ‘Sergeant Shaw, can you put me through to DI Scott’s home number?’
‘He’s in the office somewhere, ma’am. I saw him about twenty minutes ago.’
‘Yes, I know that. It’s Mrs Scott I’d like to speak to, please.’
Symington replaced the receiver and waited with a smile for the phone to ring.
33
‘You have no idea how it feels, Jim. You feel helpless, scared, shocked – horrified that you’ve let yourself become so vulnerable. I wake up in the middle of the night after seeing his face in my dreams – smelling him, even.’ She looked away to hide her tears.
‘I understand – well, I’m trying to, Liz.’
‘You can’t ever understand. The feeling of being at the mercy of someone who could kill you; the outright ordinariness of it all once it’s over, as he sits back down and ties
his tie as though nothing happened.’
Daley watched her take a gulp of wine. He’d investigated so many cases like this – women attacked by brutal husbands or boyfriends, or a tiny number where the female had been the aggressor.
He remembered being told as a young cop to steer clear of domestic disputes; what happened behind closed doors between man and wife was their business, not that of the police. Fortunately, those days had gone, but what could he do when Liz refused to take the matter further?
‘Let’s just forget this happened, Jim. Though I suppose Brian will have been asking questions.’
‘He hasn’t said a word. You know Brian: he only gets involved when it becomes his business.’
‘Good, faithful Brian. Maybe I should have married someone like him.’
‘You think?’
‘Who knows? You and I haven’t exactly been couple of the century, have we?’
‘I tried.’
‘You were – still are – married to the police, Jim. What are you going to do when both me and the job you love so much are gone?’
It was like a stab to the heart. He knew he was only her target by proxy, but it brought the thought that had haunted him since his short time in hospital back to the forefront of his mind.
‘I’m sorry, that was unfair. I shouldn’t have said it.’ She gave him a weak smile and reached across the table for the wine bottle.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he lied. ‘And that won’t help. Booze will just make everything seem worse, trust me.’
‘Oh, are we back to one of your mother’s old maxims? Never drink when you have a problem, son. I hate all that homespun philosophy, Jim, and you know it.’
He’d promised himself that he would stay calm, try to talk her into bringing her attacker to justice, but he could see he was getting nowhere.
‘Mummy!’ James junior was toddling into the lounge after his nap.
‘Can you deal with him, Jim? Take him outside for a walk or something. The nurse told you to take regular exercise – don’t you think it’s time you took some? Or are you just going to sit on that recliner and feel sorry for yourself, playing old songs and watching the TV?’
A Breath on Dying Embers Page 16