A Breath on Dying Embers

by Denzil Meyrick

  But something didn’t make sense. The owner of the voice he heard most certainly didn’t match the person he’d imagined would be behind it.

  As Cabdi’s mind raced on, Scally leaned into him again. ‘Aye, dae you want me tae tell you why the folk here aren’t talking tae me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Cabdi replied, feigning an interest he didn’t feel.

  Scally rambled some more, but suddenly he caught Cabdi’s attention again.

  ‘So, as I said, I agreed tae go up there wae my grandson that night tae look for Cameron.’

  ‘Did you find him?’

  ‘Aye. Well, bits o’ him, at least.’ Scally looked around as though he expected everyone to be listening to him. ‘I found a piece o’ his skull – burnt to a cinder, it was.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Aye, and I saw the men who killed him. They men in the van I telt you aboot – a light blue yin, we think. It was hard tae see in the dark. I reckon I could identify them.’

  ‘But you didn’t see them properly?’ Cabdi felt he already knew the answer.

  ‘Aye, it was dark. But one of them was tall and thin – a bit like you,’ slurred Scally.

  ‘And how do you know they killed him?’

  ‘Who else could have done it?’

  Cabdi took in the man as he took another swig at his glass of whisky. He was small, mean-faced, with sharp features and pixie ears. There was something in this face that reminded Cabdi of other people who had lied to him over the years, a venal inscrutability that marked them out as the worst of men. But what was he trying to say? A plan formed in the Somali’s mind.

  ‘So they buggered off, and me an’ the boy goes doon tae where they’d set the fire. There, in amongst all the ashes were the bones of my friend.’ Scally sat back and folded his arms with a contented look of achievement, as though the story had been utterly compelling and accomplished.

  ‘So you knew this man well – the dead man, I mean?’

  Scally took a deep breath and again leaned into Cabdi, who did his best not to recoil from the strong smell of alcohol on his breath. ‘You see, I’ve been having it away wae his wife for years.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Me and her – you know.’ Scally made a lewd gesture.

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Cabdi forced a smile and began to think. ‘Listen, it’s very crowded here. I don’t like bars so much. I’m interested in your culture; this is my first time in Scotland. I would love to see how you live – your home? I’m sorry if I am being impertinent.’

  ‘No, it’s my pleasure, son. I’ve had enough o’ these bastards anyhow,’ Scally said, raising his voice and attracting looks from customers and staff alike. ‘Me and you will go up the road. Hey, listen. My grandsons are baith tall lads – no’ quite as skinny as you – but they’re always leaving clothes and stuff at my hoose when they come up for a bevvy. I can lend you some o’ their kit, if you like. It looks as though you could do with a change.’

  ‘That is very kind.’ Cabdi smiled broadly and thanked him, even though everything about Scally made him recoil. He knew how the man on the hill Faduma had come across had died.

  ‘Good man! I’ll get some food doon ye, tae. You look like you could do wae a good feed.’ He paused, then said more quietly, ‘You’ll be right rich, I’m thinking – especially if you’re on that boat, eh?’

  Cabdi nodded, his face giving nothing away. ‘I have enough, Mr Scally. Now, let me see your home. I should be honoured.’ Though he had remained calm, Scally’s story had made one thing very clear: he had to get out of sight. He could have approached the man – his contact, his master – done something in the bar, but there had been so many people about. Though they had never met, Cabdi was sure that this man must have recognised him. It made sense. They had lost contact since Cabdi had been forced to abandon the camp when Faduma had failed in his early attempt to attack the ship.

  Cabdi still couldn’t work out why that had happened. He needed time to think. At least his master now knew he was close. He had to find a way to get near him. The man’s face appeared in his mind again. It had been a surprise, but then, all sorts of people shared his hatred of the Infidel.

  ‘Right, follow me, son,’ said Scally, taking to his feet rather unsteadily. ‘We’ll get a taxi, I think. I’ve done too much walking the last few days.’

  40

  ‘So this was the biggest octopush you ever saw,’ said Hamish, his voice slurred by whisky. They were at a table in the County Hotel’s function suite, where he and Henning had been joined by one of the German businessman’s colleagues and an Argentinean businesswoman. ‘Och, the damned thing was near as big as the boat – huge!’

  ‘Aye, like your capacity for whisky, Hamish,’ said Annie in passing, as she collected empty glasses from the table. ‘He’s full o’ tall tales,’ she continued by way of warning to the old fisherman’s new companions.

  ‘Oh, but we are enjoying these stories very much,’ said Henning. ‘They have entertainers on the Great Britain, but none as good as Hamesie, I am thinking.’

  ‘Aye, whootever you say,’ said Annie, moving to the next table with a growing trayful of empty glasses.

  ‘If I were you I widna listen tae anything she’s got to say. Och, she’s jeest fair scunnered that she’s not holding court behind the bar doonstairs and somebody else is getting a word in. She’s a bitter woman, and no mistake.’

  ‘Tell us more about this octopus, please,’ said the Argentinean, pushing her dark fringe back from her forehead before taking a sip of red wine.

  ‘Yes, please do,’ agreed Henning.

  ‘Whoot octopush?’ said Hamish, a puzzled look.

  ‘The one you were telling us about just a moment ago,’ said Henning.

  Hamish closed one eye and thought for a few moments. ‘Aye, right, thon beastie, I’ve got you noo. As big as two boats.’

  ‘You said one a minute ago.’

  ‘Aye well, you see, Mariana, that’s the thing aboot octopushes, they can fair stretch – bugger me, you never quite know jeest whoot size they are, to be absolutely honest wae yous.’

  ‘Did you catch it in your nets?’ asked Henning, wide-eyed.

  ‘Well, we thought we’d caught it right enough, but in actual fact it had caught us, if you know whoot I mean.’ Hamish paused for a gulp of whisky. ‘You see, as I jeest telt you, as we hauled it aboard, oor skipper – Sandy Hoynes, a fine man, God rest him – was fair chuffed, because you don’t catch an octopush every day o’ the week, by any manner o’ meansh. And doon in the likes o’ Shpain, a beast like that could fetch a pretty penny.’ Hamish nodded sagely.

  ‘How much – relatively speaking, I mean?’ asked Henning’s colleague Gunther.

  ‘I’m no’ right sure aboot the creature’s relatives, but this yin – och, enough tae buy a hoose back in they days. A modest one, mind, but a hoose nonetheless,’ Hamish added quickly, anxious that no one should think he was embellishing the story.

  ‘I have heard of these animals,’ said Mariana. ‘Though one has never been caught, they have found huge beaks that can only have come from such a giant creature. So, tell us, what happened next?’

  ‘Beak, did you say? Well, this fella had a beak like one o’ thon T-rex’s, I’m telling you.’

  ‘They didn’t have beaks,’ said Gunther. ‘They were dinosaurs, with huge teeth.’

  ‘You have the right of it there. But as any right-thinking man knows, a’ they dinosaurs turned intae birds, so on the way they grew big beaks.’ Hamish gestured with his outstretched arms to indicate the dimensions by way of illustration.

  ‘You are a font of knowledge, Hamesie. Of this there is no doubt.’

  ‘Och, when you’ve been at the mercy o’ the great Atlantic for so many years, if you was tae haul up Queen Victoria in your nets you’d no’ be o’er surprised.’

  ‘Back to the octopus, Hamesie. So, you have hauled it on board in your nets. What then did your Kapitän do?’

  Hamish’s face took on
a melancholy look. He removed his bunnet, revealing a bald head a good few shades lighter than his face. ‘That’s jeest the thing.’ He sighed.

  ‘So there was some kind of tragedy?’

  ‘Och, tragedy’s no’ the right word for it, Gunther. It was much worse than that.’

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ Mariana put her hand to her mouth. ‘You mean, this creature – did it grab him and take him back into the depths?’

  ‘Well, something like that – worse in fact.’

  ‘Come on, Hamesie, don’t keep us in this suspense!’ said Henning.

  ‘Well, the bugger reached oot o’ the net and wae one o’ they big tentacles o’ his took a grab at Sandy.’

  ‘No!’ said Gunther.

  ‘Oh, aye. Jeest fair lashed oot at the poor man, so it did.’

  There was silence at the table as Hamish’s companions took in the full horror of Sandy Hoynes’s predicament.

  ‘And then?’ asked Mariana reverently.

  ‘This is the worst part, right enough. Wae one o’ its sookers – you know the things they have on the tentacles?’

  They all nodded in unison.

  ‘Well, wae one o’ they great sookers, it took a hold o’ Sandy’s bib and braces.’

  ‘It did pull him overboard, then?’

  ‘No’ quite, Gunther. But it got a grip o’ his wallet – aye, an’ his baccy, tae – an’ slipped back under the water wae them. A right devilish look on its face, tae.’ Hamish nodded his head, a faraway look in his eyes.

  His companions looked at each other.

  ‘Mind you, he had his favourite pipe in his other pocket, so it wisna a total disaster.’ He shook his head, the same sad look on his face.

  Just as Henning was about to make further enquiries, Lamont and his accordion band struck up with another reel.

  ‘One o’ my favourites,’ shouted Hamish. ‘“Pipe Major MacPherson Leaving Benbecula” – jeest a fine melody!’

  ‘What is this baccy?’ asked Gunther, but no one could hear him over the swirl of the accordion.

  As Daley sat in the hospital corridor anxiously awaiting news of his wife, a doctor appeared through the ward door.

  ‘Now, Mr Daley, can I have a word?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. How is she – my wife?’

  ‘She’s responding well. In one way, she’s out of danger.’ He eyed Daley up and down. ‘But I’d like to speak to you more generally.’

  James junior had been mollified by the sweets and was chewing away quietly on his father’s knee.

  ‘Nurse Stanley, could you take charge of Mr Daley’s son, please?’

  ‘Certainly, Dr Lee.’ The nurse took the child in her arms, cajoling him quietly as they walked down the corridor.

  ‘My office is this way, Mr Daley.’

  The detective followed the doctor down the corridor past a nurses’ station and some side rooms until they reached the office.

  ‘Can you please get to the point, doctor? I’m very anxious about my wife.’

  ‘We were lucky. We got her in time, pumped out her stomach and stabilised her. She’s out of danger, as I say, but I’m still unhappy.’

  ‘Lasting damage, you mean?’ Daley looked worried.

  ‘Well, she certainly has been damaged recently. I examined her thoroughly, and she has extensive bruising and contusions to her face, and indeed some bruising to her upper body, too. In other words, she’s been beaten – and recently, in my opinion. What do you have to say about that?’

  ‘That it’s none of your business,’ replied Daley tersely.

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Mr Daley. I’ve not been in Kinloch for long – only a matter of days – but I know an abused woman when I see one. And I’ve noted that all too often the husband or partner is the one responsible for such attacks.’

  ‘What are you trying to say?’

  ‘That in this instance, it is my duty to inform the police of my findings.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Liz – my wife?’

  ‘I know how scared women in these circumstances become. But don’t think your wife’s silence on the matter will save you. I’m sick of these situations . . .’

  Daley fished in his pocket and flashed his ID. ‘My wife and I have been estranged for some time. She arrived in Kinloch with these injuries – I can tell you the name of the man who did it, if you want, but it’s a matter best left between her and the police, don’t you think?’

  ‘How do I know this is true?’

  Daley stood quietly, then suddenly lurched across the desk and grabbed the doctor by the lapels, his grip tightening. Panic spread across the clinician’s reddening face as he tried desperately to speak, but only a throaty squeak could be heard.

  The office door swung open.

  ‘Jim, enough!’ The voice was Symington’s. ‘DCI Daley, let him go!’

  Daley released his grip, letting the doctor fall into his chair gasping for breath.

  ‘What on earth is going on here?’ asked Symington.

  ‘Ask Hercule Poirot here,’ said Daley, pushing past his boss.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To find a doctor who can tell me how my wife is, not accuse me of assaulting her.’

  ‘I want that man arrested,’ croaked Lee.

  ‘I want to know what you said to my colleague,’ replied Symington, as she watched Daley stalk down the corridor.

  After a brief conversation with the doctor, Symington went in search of Daley. She found him sitting with his son, his face still red following his encounter.

  ‘Here to arrest me, are you?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jim. I heard what had happened to Liz – came as soon as I could.’

  Daley nodded his head. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I didn’t expect to find my senior officer trying to strangle one of the medical staff,’ she said quietly, with a forced smile so as not to upset James Daley junior.

  ‘I’d like to tell you I regret it, but it wouldn’t be true, ma’am.’

  ‘Right or wrong, you could have been in serious trouble, Jim.’

  ‘Huh! Do what you like. I’m finished anyway – I won’t be able to keep my job with this condition. And as far as Dr Lee is concerned, I have a lawyer, too, and his behaviour was less than professional. So I think it will end up quits, don’t you?’

  ‘And Liz, what about her?’

  ‘She’s out of danger.’

  ‘She must be really troubled, Jim.’

  ‘We all are.’

  ‘Listen, I’ve warned Lee about his conduct, and he’s agreed not to make a complaint.’

  ‘Oh, that’s big of him. You can tell him if he comes near me again he won’t be so lucky.’

  She shook her head, and held out her arms to hold Daley’s son. ‘There are men serving with your condition – I’ve checked. It all depends on the severity, and how you respond to treatment.’

  ‘Really – in my present capacity?’

  ‘If you get the all-clear and your condition is managed, yes.’ She was dandling James on her knee, making him giggle.

  ‘If not?’

  ‘Come on, can we at least try to look on the bright side?’

  ‘Yeah, right. I’ve got a heart condition, my wife’s had a good kicking from her boyfriend, and the arsehole down the corridor presumed I did it. Everything’s moonlight and roses, ma’am.’

  ‘Everything can be fixed here, Jim. Trust me, I’m on your side.’

  He stared at her as she whispered in his son’s ear and made him laugh out loud. ‘I do believe you. But it’s all bloody difficult right now.’

  Just as she was about to reply the phone rang in her pocket. She answered, and her expression turned grave. ‘I see, Sergeant Shaw. Thanks for letting me know.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, Brian’s sunk the ship?’

  ‘No, much worse. The press have got hold of the Pearson and drone stories.’

  ‘But they can’t publish on a D-Notice.’

  ‘The
y can if they’re in America.’

  ‘Give me James. You have enough on your plate, Carrie.’

  ‘And so do you. I’d better go. Give my best to Liz, yes? . . . Until she does something about that horror of a man, I worry that she might try this again.’ She blinked back a tear.

  ‘I appreciate your concern, ma’am, and I admire your empathy.’

  ‘Ah, it’s not something I’ve had to work hard on.’

  ‘Ma’am?’ Daley sensed he was missing out on something.

  ‘I’ll tell you one day. But I better go now. Sorry I can’t stay and chat to Liz, but as I say, please give her my best.’

  ‘Of course I will.’ As he watched her walk down the corridor he called her back. ‘Ma’am, nearly forgot, something I found that might be of interest.’

  ‘From the list I gave you?’ She was back at his side.

  ‘Yes. You might want to take a look at Patrick O’Rourke. Owns car dealerships throughout the States. He’s rich –very rich – but he has a past.’

  ‘As in?’

  ‘His father was associated with the Provisional IRA, and some of his close family were wiped out, one way or another.’

  Symington bit her lip. ‘Good work, Jim. Thank you.’

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to finish, sorry.’

  ‘You have your family and your own health to think about. You look exhausted, Jim.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Try not to worry. I’m always here for you, remember that.’

  As she hurried off, his admiration for the person who had replaced the venal John Donald rose. Yet again, he found that this woman – his boss – possessed all the skills required to do her job well. Not only did she have to navigate the awkward politics that faced senior officers in Police Scotland, she was a more than capable investigator, and knew how to manage her staff.

  It’s a different world, he thought, as he pondered his early days in the police.

  ‘Mr Daley, your wife would like to speak to you.’

  Again relieved of James junior, Daley made his way into the ward.