A Breath on Dying Embers

by Denzil Meyrick

  ‘While you get drunk, you mean?’

  ‘So what? You going to have go at me too? Why not, eh? Just wallop me here.’ She pointed to her right cheek. ‘He missed that bit.’

  Daley picked up his son. ‘Right, Jimmy boy, time you had a walk with Daddy.’

  ‘Don’t call him that. His name is James. You sound like Brian bloody Scott.’

  ‘Could be worse – I could sound like you, Liz. And please, don’t talk to me like that again. You know I’d never harm you.’

  ‘What does harm mean, Daddy?’

  Daley lifted their son high above his head, ignoring the twinge of pain he felt for an instant in his chest. ‘Let’s get your coat on and go for a walk. We can see the big ship better from the top of the hill.’

  ‘Yay!’ The little boy smiled broadly as his father carried him out of the room.

  Liz heard the door slam, took another gulp of wine, then searched in her handbag for her mobile phone. She dialled a number and waited for a reply.

  ‘This is lovely,’ said Ella Scott, taking in the splendid cabin they’d been allotted on the Great Britain. ‘Look, we’ve got a balcony, and a separate bedroom and lounge. It’s bigger than the flat we had when we got married.’

  ‘Aye, well, don’t get too used tae it. I’m here tae work, no’ enjoy myself, Ella.’

  ‘Nothing to stop me having a good time, is there? Aye, and if you want tae look the part would it no’ be better if you weren’t cloaking aboot wae a face like a wet weekend in Paisley?’

  ‘This is serious! You both knew fine I didnae want this job, yet you and Carrie Symington conspired against me.’

  ‘Made you see sense, you mean.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  ‘So, the story is that you’re a local businessman on board for a few days tae make contacts, aye?’

  ‘Wind energy, Ella.’

  ‘Aye, well, you’ve plenty o’ that. Carrie knows you well, right enough.’

  ‘Oh, Carrie is it noo?’

  ‘What dae you want me tae call her – ma’am? She’s no’ my boss.’

  ‘Aye, but she played you like a fish.’

  ‘At least I’ve no’ got a face like one – a deid haddock, at that.’

  ‘I’m no’ sayin’ anything.’

  Ella Scott threw herself back on the huge bed. ‘Oh, this is right comfy – and look at the size o’ it! You could have a game o’ tennis on here.’

  ‘New balls, please,’ replied Scott, his mouth downturned. ‘Anyway, when’s the last time you played a game o’ tennis?’

  ‘1978, if you must know. I went tae the council courts quite a lot then wae my friend Teeny.’

  ‘Teeny’s no’ playing much tennis noo, I bet?’

  ‘Naw, she married an Australian. You want tae see the hoose they’ve got oot in Adelaide.’

  Scott sighed. ‘You’re getting mair like Liz Daley every day.’

  ‘Aye, and talking of Liz Daley, what’s happening there?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She appears oot o’ nowhere, just as bold as brass. Wae a face like that, I think we all know what happened tae her. Jimmy’s got a big heart, that’s all I can say.’

  ‘Hardly appropriate, Ella, especially since his heart nearly stopped the other day. Anyway, it’s none o’ oor business.’

  ‘You’re a policeman. And whatever I think of her, she doesnae deserve that. Och, you know fine what I mean aboot Jimmy having a big heart.’ She patted the bed beside her. ‘Here, it’s a while since we . . .’

  ‘We don’t know what happened to her. It could have been a car crash – anything.’ He paused. ‘Since we what?’

  ‘You know – the jolly old thing. Dae I need tae spell it oot?’

  ‘I’m working, Ella!’

  ‘Oh aye. And you were working when you were winching me up a close in the Toonheid – uniform, the lot. I cannae see any potential terrorists in here. Come on, we don’t get luxury like this very often in oor lives.’

  ‘You’re a wicked woman, Ella Scott.’ He began to unbutton his shirt.

  ‘And don’t you be shouting oot “Annie!” in the throes o’ passion, neither.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Think I’m daft? I see the way she looks at you – they puppy dug eyes. I like the lassie fine, but it’s as obvious as the nose on your face that she’s got the hots for you.’

  ‘You fair know how tae dampen a man’s fire. Just put on thon leopard onesie and that’ll be the job done. I’m no’ like Jimmy, running aboot wae young things.’

  ‘Och, that was a shame. Poor Jimmy.’

  ‘So he has it away wae some lassie half his age and it’s a shame, while I get accused o’ something I never did. That’s just typical.’

  ‘He deserved some happiness. You’ve had a happy marriage for years.’

  Scott looked at the ceiling,

  ‘Aye, and before the next half an hour is by, I’ll know why Liz Daley is here, tae.’ She smiled. ‘Come tae bed, Brian.’

  34

  Cabdi thanked the old woman. She’d given him a lift to Kinloch in her ancient car. He was pleased by the easy way she’d just assumed that he was a passenger on the Great Britain. In return, he’d taken a look at a lump on her wrist and diagnosed a ganglion, something she appeared to be inordinately happy to have.

  ‘Saves me a trip tae the land that time forgot,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The health centre. Och, they jeest tell me I’m getting auld and tell me tae drink plenty fluids and take an aspirin. They’re no’ bothered if you live or die once you get past a certain age in this country.’

  Cabdi thought about this. Old people were venerated in Somalia; valued for their wisdom and respected by one and all. In the West, as with so many things, life was different. Working in the hospital in Glasgow, he’d seen bored relatives argue around the bedsides of elderly relatives about who would get what when the patient died. It made him feel sick.

  ‘I’ll jeest leave you here, son. My hoose is up in the scheme, there. If you jeest follow this road a whiles it’ll take you right into the toon centre.’

  Cabdi thanked her, and strode off towards Kinloch. He knew his strategy was risky. He couldn’t be sure he hadn’t been seen. However, he was also reasonably certain that there was little evidence to connect him to Faduma, the man he’d left dead on the hill.

  He had to go on. He had a mission to complete, and there would be many strange faces in Kinloch with the cruise ship in the harbour. Though he cursed himself for leaving the phone behind on the hill, he’d had little choice. Faduma, by virtue of his own stupidity, had killed himself, and as a result, Cabdi had almost failed in his task.

  He shivered at the memory of pushing Faduma from the ledge. But he had a job to do, and though he’d never met the man on the phone – didn’t even know his name – he would recognise his voice. Of that, he was sure.

  With this in the forefront of his mind, he pulled the stolen baseball cap down over his eyes and turned the corner into Main Street.

  ‘What is this pony? A small horse, yes, but what does it have to do with whisky?’ asked Henning Schroeder, a German freight magnate, a confused look on his face.

  ‘Noo, you see, a pony’s something that you have wae your first few drams, especially if you’ve a drouth fae the night afore,’ Hamish replied.

  The bar at the County Hotel was thronged with visitors from the Great Britain. They had put on a cold buffet in the function suite upstairs, and the distant notes of an accordion could be heard as the bar door swung open and closed.

  ‘So you drink this pony, yes?’

  ‘Aye, here, I’ll show you whoot I mean.’ Hamish leaned across the bar. ‘Annie, can we have two ponies for me an’ my new friend here?’

  ‘You can hold your horses, Hamish. There’s only the three of us behind the bar here, and that’s six hands. I’ll get tae you when I’ve a second.’ She scowled at the old fisherman, then smiled broadly at his German
companion.

  ‘How ye getting on?’

  ‘Sorry?’ said Henning, stroking his tidy beard as he tried to decipher the local dialect.

  ‘I’ll be wae you in a wee minute,’ said Annie, like Scott deploying her usual strategy of speaking slowly and loudly to any foreign guests who happened upon her domain at the County.

  ‘Och, she’s jeest useless,’ said Hamish. Just as he was about to comment further a tall Japanese businessman lurched into them, spilling some of his dark beer on Hamish’s dungarees. The visitor bowed and muttered something the old man couldn’t understand. However, he returned the bow and soaked up the spillage with a large handkerchief.

  ‘Too much to drink, yes?’ said Henning.

  ‘No, I’ve only jeest started.’

  ‘No, I meant the man who spilled the beer on you, Hamesie.’

  ‘Och, if I’d a pound for every time I’ve had a drink spilt on me in this establishment, I’d be on that boat wae all of you – fair minted, I’d be. Once we get oor ponies, we’ll head tae the shindig upstairs, aye?’

  ‘All these new words.’

  ‘Zie accordion,’ replied Hamish in his best German accent.

  ‘Here’s your ponies,’ chimed in Annie. ‘Two lights.’

  ‘This is beer in a wine glass,’ said Henning with a look of surprise.

  ‘Aye, it is that,’ replied Hamish.

  ‘And the lady behind the bar called it light, yes?’

  ‘Aye, that’s light beer.’

  ‘But it is dark, no?’

  Hamish thought for a moment. ‘It is, but it’s light at the same time – if you know whoot I mean.’

  ‘With these ponies and light beer that is dark, I don’t think I will pick up Scottish so easily.’

  ‘You’re doing jeest fine. And anyhow, your Scottish is a lot better than my German, and that’s a fact.’

  ‘Ah, this is good to hear!’ A broad smile spread across Henning’s face.

  ‘All I know aboot German is fae the war movies. Did you ever see Where Eagles Dare?’

  ‘No, I have missed that one.’

  ‘Die, Englischer!’ Hamish shouted, mimicking a bayonet thrust.

  ‘Oh.’ Henning looked uncomfortable.

  Before Hamish had the chance to run through his repertoire of German phrases, he had to fend off another Japanese businessman. This one was smaller and he was doing his best to sing an Elvis Presley song.

  ‘Come on, me an’ you will go upstairs, Henning. The chances o’ staying dry in here are worse than being caught in an Atlantic squall.’ The old man eased himself down from his bar stool, and, followed by a bemused German carrying a whisky in one hand and a wine glass full of dark beer that they called light in the other, wound his way out of the main bar of the County Hotel and up a short flight of stairs to the function suite, where the music was now bellowing.

  *

  Chief Superintendent Symington knocked at Jim Daley’s front door. When no reply was forthcoming, she was about to turn on her heel and leave when the door opened a crack.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ said Liz, staring through the chink. ‘Jim’s out with our son. Will I get him to give you a call when he gets back in?’

  ‘No, it’s okay. I’ll see him soon. Just thought he could help me with something to keep him occupied. I know how hard it is to be laid up with nothing to do.’ She hesitated. ‘Are you okay, Mrs Daley?’

  Behind the door, Liz lowered her head for a moment, then let it swing fully open. She was slightly unsteady on her feet because of the wine, and still hadn’t applied any make-up to her battered face.

  ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Liz. ‘It wasn’t Jim, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking anything.’

  ‘Yes, you were. Listen, please come in. I’m afraid I’ve had a few glasses of wine, but I’m not drunk – yet. It would be nice to have some female company. This isn’t something I normally do – the drinking, I mean.’

  Symington nodded and crossed the threshold into the hall.

  ‘In here,’ said Liz, leading her into the lounge.

  Symington sat on the large couch and watched Liz Daley open another bottle of wine. ‘It won’t help, you know.’

  ‘Ha, you sound like Jim. I suppose he’s discussed this with you.’

  ‘No, not at all. But it’s not hard to tell, is it? I’m a police officer, Mrs Daley. I know an abused woman when I see one.’

  ‘Call me Liz.’ She offered Symington a large glass of wine, which was refused with a shake of the head. ‘I know that you – Jim – have all dealt with women in my position. But you don’t know what it’s like, I assure you, Chief Superintendent.’

  ‘You might be surprised what I know. And please, it’s Carrie.’

  ‘You knew about Mary Dunn, I take it?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  Liz snorted a mirthless laugh. ‘Never thought he had it in him.’

  ‘In my experience – and clearly yours – you never know what’s really in anyone.’

  ‘Jim wouldn’t harm a fly – oh, he has a temper, but this kind of thing is the last thing he’d do.’ A tear meandered down Liz’s bruised cheek.

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘You really are as bad as my husband! All you police officers can think about is charges and courts. Do you have any idea what that would entail for me? I would never be able to go home again.’

  ‘And just how is this your fault? I’m assuming a man did this to you?’

  ‘Good work, detective.’ Liz put her glass on the large coffee table. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.’

  ‘No, but it is my job. Whoever did it needs to be brought to justice, Liz.’

  ‘I told you, I can’t! I just want to forget it ever happened. Why don’t you and Jim understand?’

  ‘I do understand.’

  ‘How could you?’

  ‘A man – a colleague, in fact – raped me.’ This was delivered with an emotionless steady gaze.

  The sentence hung in the air.

  ‘Oh – I’m sorry. I had no idea . . .’

  ‘Very few people have. Like you, I couldn’t face doing anything about it. And anyway, it was complicated.’ Symington raised her head defiantly.

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘I let it eat away at me for years. It ruined every relationship I’ve had since. Oh, I know there are good, kind men out there – like your husband. But I can never take that chance.’

  ‘Did it happen a long time ago?’

  ‘Yes – long enough.’

  ‘And you still think about it?’

  ‘Every day. I think about it every day.’

  ‘And it doesn’t get easier – with time, I mean?’

  ‘Good and bad days; but on the whole, no, it doesn’t get better with time. It festers in your soul, and unless you have the strength to do something about it, it will destroy you.’

  Liz swallowed hard. ‘I’m so sorry – really, I am.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry for me, be sorry for yourself. I got myself into a place I should never have been in, at the hands of a monster. But you have the chance to do something. It’s too late for me now, but you can help put things right, for your own piece of mind, and for those who will suffer at this man’s hands, again and again.’ Symington stopped, hearing the front door open.

  ‘We’re back, Liz!’ called Daley.

  ‘You can come and talk to me any time,’ said Symington quietly, as James junior appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Ma’am,’ said Daley with surprise, coming in behind him. ‘I didn’t see your car.’

  ‘No, I got a lift up. The driver will come back for me when I’m ready.’

  Daley stared between Liz and Symington. He could sense tension in the air, and wondered what had passed between them.

  ‘Can I have a word, Jim?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’ll take James th
rough.’ Liz picked up her son and made to leave the room.

  ‘Okay. I hope I’ll see you again soon, Liz.’

  ‘Thanks, Carrie. Much appreciated – I mean that.’ She closed the door, leaving the two police officers alone.

  ‘She’s had a hard time, Carrie,’ said Daley.

  ‘You don’t need to say anything, Jim. I understand.’ She opened her handbag. ‘Listen, if you want, there’s something you can do for me – if you feel up to it, that is.’

  ‘Great. It’s driving me mad just sitting here.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’ Symington handed Daley a memory stick.

  ‘What’s on here?’

  ‘Answers, I hope. As you know, the phone we found near where the dead man had only communicated with one number. Untraceable, of course, but we know it came from the ship.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘On the memory stick is a detailed list of the passengers and crew on the Great Britain – their jobs, short biographies and so on. Don’t ask how I got it.’

  ‘So you still think this wasn’t some paparazzi job gone horribly wrong?’

  ‘With two dead men – yes, I do. The Security Service realise this too, but they think the danger is over.’

  ‘But you don’t.’

  ‘No, I don’t. You saw the other man on the hill.’

  ‘Yes, I think, but not clearly enough to describe him. I was making calls when I saw movement. I’m sure there were two men fighting.’

  ‘Well, they’ll probably find him. They’ve certainly got enough manpower on the job. But what about the contact on the ship?’

  ‘Majid? Perhaps got cold feet and buggered off before the attack?’

  ‘No, there are calls after he disappeared. There’s somebody on that ship who knows something. Somebody who may be dangerous; I can feel it, Jim.’

  ‘Pity we can’t get someone aboard – clandestinely, I mean. I know that the spooks won’t be keen.’

  ‘I’ve managed to place somebody on board. Captain Banks is a very friendly man – as worried as me, as it turns out.’

  ‘Good going, ma’am.’

  ‘If you go through the passenger list – have a dig, flag up anyone who even sounds remotely suspicious – you’d be doing me a huge favour, Jim.’