A Breath on Dying Embers

by Denzil Meyrick

Then there was the man captured on the town’s CCTV. What had he done to Peter Scally, and why? She had a forensic team in Scally’s house, but whether they would be able to throw any light on what had happened she didn’t know. At the very least, she supposed, they would be able to confirm whose blood was caked around the basin and on the threadbare carpet on the lounge.

  Symington wished she had Jim Daley at her side. She’d become used to his steady thoughtfulness and reassuring physical presence. Often she wondered why he wasn’t higher up in the management structure, though having looked at his file she knew that his temper had held him back from promotion more than once. She’d also read a lot about John Donald, and his cold dead hand was all across Daley’s career, poisoning his prospects. She recalled how shocked she had been when she discovered the true nature of the man she’d replaced.

  As she sprayed a puff of perfume behind each ear, and wrestled with her earrings, she wondered more about Daley. She wanted to share her worries with him, but knew that he had more than enough to cope with. Liz’s predicament had reminded her of her own problems in the past. Despite Scott’s recent intervention, she still couldn’t be sure that the threat posed by the man who had occupied her thoughts, her worst nightmares, for so long would not raise its head once more and ruin everything she had worked for.

  The secret she now shared with Scott was a potentially ruinous one. It was the biggest regret of her life. Sometimes she just wanted to come clean, to tell all. But not only did she stand to lose her career; her liberty too could well be at stake.

  But tonight Carrie Symington had more pressing things on her mind. The motorcyclist she’d hit when driving home from a watch night out, unaware that her drinks had been spiked, and all that followed must take second place to the here and now.

  Could she honestly say that the passengers, crew and guests aboard the Great Britain were safe? No. She despised Commander Brachen and his patrician superiority. She was the product of a solidly middle-class family from North Yorkshire, who now found herself in this remote yet alluring part of the country with a weight of responsibility she didn’t deserve bearing down heavily on her slender shoulders.

  She took one last look in the mirror, patted down her short black jacket, and with clutch bag in hand left the hotel and headed for Kinloch’s old quay.

  52

  Captain Banks stood proudly on the pier, passing time with the locals waiting – mostly patiently – for a launch to take them to the party.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said to the old man with the slanting eyes and the olive skin that ended at the top of his forehead to reveal a milk-white bald head. He wasn’t sure whether it was the odd contrast of colour between the old man’s scalp and his face or the shade of his tie that was most remarkable, but he slipped easily into his default mode of welcoming smile and well-honed bonhomie. This was something his life had consisted of for as long as he could remember. Smiling at crude jokes, or enduring painfully boring guests at the captain’s table as he progressed round the world on one ocean or another, simply to entertain those willing to part with enough money for the privilege.

  ‘She’s a fine vessel, right enough,’ said Hamish, shaking the captain’s hand enthusiastically. ‘I’m a mariner of some repute myself,’ he added, as Annie looked on.

  ‘Aye, an’ a drinker o’ even mair repute,’ she muttered.

  ‘Sorry, madam?’ said Banks, taking her hand and bowing deeply.

  ‘I was jeest hoping that yous have plenty whisky on board to entertain those who like a drop or two,’ she replied in her best phone voice, usually reserved for those booking a room at the County Hotel.

  ‘We’re well stocked, don’t worry . . . Annie, isn’t it? I remember visiting your establishment this afternoon.’

  ‘Aye, that’s right, your honour,’ she said with a curtsey. ‘Mind you, it’s easy tae misjudge a party one isna used tae, if you know whoot I mean.’ She smiled.

  ‘Pure poison,’ said Hamish in a stage whisper.

  ‘Sorry, sir?’

  ‘Hamish, Captain, jeest call me Hamish. I was referring to the make o’ whisky the lady beside me stocks behind her bar.’

  ‘Well, you’re looking no’ too bad on it, and you’ve been sampling it for longer than jeest aboot anybody.’ Annie’s withering look was enough to make even Hamish decide not to respond.

  ‘Only the best malt whisky for our guests,’ said Banks.

  ‘None o’ that Speyside stuff I’m hoping, Captain.’

  ‘Not a fan, Hamish?’

  ‘No. The only decent malts is fae the West Coast – here, to be precise, though they concoct a fair enough brew o’er on Islay if you can stand the peat.’

  ‘I’m certain we have something for every taste.’ Banks looked up as another launch arrived. ‘I think this is your transport,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you all aboard.’ He smiled again as a steward guided the small gathering left on the quayside down to the pontoons.

  ‘Jeest a fine man,’ said Hamish as he moved forward alongside Annie in the line.

  ‘Poor bugger’s likely blinded, whoot wae having tae stare at that tie for mair than a minute or two.’

  ‘Och, not at all. He was likely jeest thinking tae himself, well, if anything happens tae me my vessel will be in fine hands wae this upstanding matelot.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Me, you daft woman.’

  ‘One mair comment like that an’ you’ll no’ need a boat back off the ship.’

  ‘How no’?’

  ‘Because you’ll have tae swim hame.’

  ‘Chief Superintendent,’ said Banks, ‘I’m so glad you could make it. I hardly recognised you out of uniform.’

  ‘Not something I’m very used to seeing myself, these days,’ replied Symington. Her smile faded. ‘I wonder, is it possible to have a word with you – in private, I mean?’

  ‘Shall we head to the end of the quay?’

  ‘Yes, that would be fine.’

  As they walked along the line of short people still shuffling towards the pontoons Symington made small talk while Banks waved and smiled beatifically at those about to be his guests.

  Once they were out of earshot, Symington stopped. ‘I’m worried, Captain Banks.’

  ‘About what, Carrie?’

  ‘Something feels wrong. I questioned Majid with Brachen. I think the only thing he’s guilty of is foolishness, to be honest.’

  ‘I knew they’d found him, but I’m afraid Commander Brachen and his team keep as much from me as they can. I know very little of what has happened.’ Banks sounded concerned.

  ‘The drone man – the second man who was seen on the hill – has been spotted in the town. I think he’s still here, but Brachen isn’t interested.’

  ‘I was under the impression that he didn’t exist. Well, according to Brachen, at any rate.’

  ‘Oh, he does, and we’ve reason to believe he’s taken a local man captive – violently, too.’

  Banks thought for a moment. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that, but I have to say, with all the security that surrounds us, I can’t see what he could possibly do to threaten the Great Britain.’

  ‘Did you believe the paparazzi story?’

  ‘One has to take the advice of those in the know, Carrie. We have some of the UK’s best security people on this trip. I’m a mere merchant captain, for all my braid and buttons – a glorified steward, really. Though one that can sail a boat, admittedly.’

  ‘Still, there’s something wrong, and Brachen is determined to ignore it.’

  Banks looked around. ‘There’s a hotel on the corner. Why don’t we have a quick snifter in there while we wait for my launch to return? My chief steward is more than able to take care of hosting until I arrive, and this is quite an informal gathering.’

  ‘More informal than you might think by the look of some of the people I’ve just seen heading across to your vessel.’

  ‘Yes, please do tell me. Who on earth is the man with the kilt and th
e big orange tie?’

  ‘Now, it’ll take maybe two drinks to describe him alone.’ Symington smiled as they crossed the small roundabout and went into the hotel beyond.

  *

  Daley looked at the screen carefully. One name on the crew list had caught his attention. As a police officer, certain things raised suspicions, and a change of name was one of those things. He reached across the desk for his phone and called Kinloch Police Office.

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ said the familiar voice of Sergeant Shaw. ‘How are things, Jim?’ he continued in a more muted tone.

  ‘You know the score. It’s been a tough few days.’

  ‘We’re all thinking of you, sir.’

  ‘Much appreciated, too. With a bit of luck, everything will be okay.’ As he said this, Daley felt like crossing his fingers, but resisted the temptation. ‘Can you get me details on someone, please? I’m working on something for the chief super – is she about, by the way?’

  ‘No, off on a jolly to the Great Britain. It’s the local reception there tonight.’

  ‘Is Brian still on board?’

  ‘Yes, but he’s on radio silence. Chief Superintendent Symington has a secure line to him that security on the ship can’t monitor, sir. He called here earlier, but that was a one-off.’

  Daley thought for a moment. ‘So all communications from the ship are via their own links?’

  ‘Yes. She got permission and the means to have direct contact with DI Scott from above.’

  Daley smiled at the mention of Scott’s temporary rank. ‘I’ll give her a call. Is she on board yet?’

  ‘No idea, sir. There’s a bit of a crowd, the last time I heard. I think more people from the town are attending than they initially anticipated.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’ He gave Shaw the name of the crew member who had raised his suspicions. ‘Get back to me when you can on that. I know you’ll be busy.’

  ‘Just a bit, but I’ll get to it ASAP, sir.’

  ‘Any news on the Pearson murder?’

  ‘Not that I know of, sir. I’ll ask for you, if you like?’

  ‘No, it’s okay. None of my business, I suppose.’ Daley ended the call and looked down his contact list to find Symington’s number. He dialled again.

  ‘Get ready, Mr Scally. Soon it will be your time to make a move.’

  ‘And what do you want me tae dae?’

  ‘You, my friend, will do what you do best. You’ll lie. When the time is right, you will go to the hotel across from the pier. There you will cause a diversion – make a scene.’

  ‘By doing what?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’ll leave that to you. I know you to be a very imaginative man when it comes to creating an illusion.’

  ‘Ach, you talk in riddles, man.’

  Cabdi walked across to Scally, who was still seated on the amp. The big Somali was now carrying the old brass telescope like a cudgel. ‘You will do what I tell you to do, or you will die. The bargain is simple.’

  ‘Right. I go and make a fuss, eh?’

  ‘Go and pretend you’re drunk. I’m sure that’s nothing new to the people you know.’

  ‘I like a drink. So what?’

  ‘You’re right. You do much worse things than that.’

  ‘So what will you be doing when all this is going on?’ Scally folded his arms and looked away from his captor.

  ‘That is none of your business. Just do as I ask, and do it well, or your fate will be the same as that of the birdwatcher, yes?’ Cabdi waved the telescope in front of Scally’s eyes.

  ‘You’re a bastard,’ spat Scally.

  ‘I am a man of faith who believes in the right path. You, on the other hand . . .’

  ‘Right, right, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Oh, you will, Mr Scally, you will.’

  Symington was just taking her first sip of gin and tonic when her phone rang. She removed the mobile from her bag and, without looking, rejected the call.

  ‘Quite right, Carrie. Switch the bloody thing off, if you want my advice. I do it all the time, otherwise I’d spend half my life in some place or other across the globe answering calls from head office in London.’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean.’ As she placed the mobile back in her bag, Symington turned the sound off on the device, but left it on vibrate. ‘So, how’s this trip been? I mean with the passenger list you have, it must be some responsibility?’

  ‘Oh yes, but that’s something one gets used to in this job. Though I must admit, our current guests are somewhat out of the ordinary.’ Banks took a sip of his malt whisky.

  Symington studied his face. Certainly in his fifties, but he’d looked after himself. He was tall, broadly built, but with no sign of middle-age spread. His uniform was well cut and fitted to a frame of which a much younger man would have been proud. His hair was still thick, grey at the sides with threads of silver through a colour that would once have been red or auburn, but had faded with the years; something she’d noticed before in people with that hair colouring.

  ‘Are you married?’ asked Banks, putting down his glass.

  ‘No. I used to blame my job, but somehow I don’t think I’m the marrying kind.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame. You can’t beat a family. It’s security – peace of mind. We all grow old, Carrie. I know that must seem like a long way off to you now, but the years fly in, trust me. There comes a moment when hearth, home and family become the most important things in your life.’ His face was serious, showing none of the forced charm she reckoned must be part of his job.

  ‘Where are they? Your family, I mean?’

  ‘In deepest Buckinghamshire.’ The smile returned. ‘My wife’s a pillar of the community. We live in a small village, you see. The kids are away at school – not my choice, but there you are.’

  ‘Public school?’

  ‘Yes. Oh, nothing fancy like Eton or Harrow, but they’re growing up to be proper little Englishmen, nevertheless.’

  ‘And you’re not happy about that?’

  Banks’s face was now hard to read. ‘Delighted! I mean, where I came from you worked on the fishing boats or you were poor. With the state of the fishing now, everyone’s poor.’

  ‘So, life was tough in the northeast of Scotland?’

  ‘It was, but let’s not waste our few moments of peace and quiet discussing my ancient history. You’re from Yorkshire, if I’m not much mistaken?’

  ‘Yes, North Yorkshire.’

  ‘The best bit.’

  ‘A small village near a market town – though I didn’t have the luxury of a private education.’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s a luxury, just a way of turning out men and women who come to think they are superior to the rest of the country in every way. My wife – though I love her dearly – is an inveterate snob. Nothing would do but our children being hived off. To be honest, I’d have liked them to go to the local school so that I could spend more time with them when I’m at home.’

  ‘So you don’t see them as much as you’d like?’

  ‘No, not really.’ He took another drink. ‘Oh, we do the normal things – well, normal for my wife’s world. Skiing in February, a little villa in Tuscany for a couple of weeks in the summer . . .’

  ‘But still not enough time?’

  He looked at her with what she perceived to be a great sadness in his eyes. ‘No, not really. In fact, I feel as though they’re strangers to me, sometimes. My work, by its very nature, takes me away so much of the time that the years have slipped away so quickly that I feel I hardly know them.’

  ‘Different when you were young, then?’

  ‘Oh, yes, very much so.’ The smile again, but behind it his eyes were still sad.

  ‘Life’s never what you expect, Magnus. I’ve learned that much for sure.’

  ‘That, Carrie, is undoubtedly true.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We have plenty of time for another swift one before my launch gets back. Same again?’

  ‘Yes, plea
se.’ Symington nodded her head as her companion left for the bar. She was by no means as regular a drinker as she had once been, and already the soothing notes of the gin were having the desired effect. The murder of Cameron Pearson was still preying on her mind, though, as was the situation with Scally and the mystery drone man. She was sure that everything must tie up somehow, but she couldn’t make the connection. She was thankful that once this night was over the Great Britain would be sailing for another port and she could get back to some sort of normality, albeit a normality perhaps without Jim Daley. She tried not to think of that.

  The group containing Hamish and Annie was taken through the ship towards the ballroom, located almost at the centre of the vessel. White-coated stewards hurried to and fro, and the distant sound of a string quintet could be heard entertaining those already at the party.

  ‘Noo this is how you dae a function,’ said Hamish, making sure his tie was straight. ‘No pished auld accordionist here.’

  ‘I told you, he was the only man I could get at short notice,’ said Annie.

  ‘You’d have been better served wae me on the mouth organ.’

  ‘Aye, fun for a’ the family. You’d have fair got the party going, I’m sure.’ She looked doubtfully at the kilted man beside her. ‘I hope you’ve brought it wae you. I mean, anyone can get scunnered o’ classical music. I’m sure there’ll be a procession o’ folk jeest fair demanding you get up and gie us a few tunes tae get the party off wae a bang.’

  ‘Dammit! I left the bloody thing at hame. I could have stuck it doon my sporran, tae.’

  ‘I was joking!’

  ‘Well, you might change your mind when they start up wae one o’ they dirges – Beethoven or the like. I’ve got tae say thon classical music fair sends me tae sleep. Give me the skirl o’ the pipes any day.’

  ‘If you fall asleep that can only be a bonus,’ said Annie.

  They were ushered into the ballroom, where a majestic chandelier hung down from a high ceiling. The space was huge, with tables and chairs set on a raised gallery round the dance floor. A few couples were already waltzing to the quintet playing on a small stage at the far end of the floor.

  ‘Damn me, you widna think you were on a ship at a’,’ said Hamish, open-mouthed.