He began by telling them about the awful night she’d vanished before going on to relate the previous night’s events - the voice calling him and the boot prints. By the time he’d finished they looked sceptical but he lacked the energy to care.
“Can you think of any reason why Isla would disappear?” said Stewart.
“You mean voluntarily?”
“Aye.”
“No, none. We’re happy, we’ve just got engaged.”
“And was she happy about that?”
“Being engaged?”
Stewart nodded.
“Yeah, course she was.” Mike frowned. “Or are you saying she regretted saying yes so much she threw herself into the water?”
“I’m merely trying to establish a picture.”
Mike looked to Neil, whose look indicated it would be wise for him to take it easy. “Yeah, she’s happy,” he continued. “And I am too. We can’t wait to get married.”
“How long have you lived in this house together?”
“A year.”
“Always as a couple?”
Mike nodded.
“Did you have any visitors the day she vanished or any phone calls?”
“No visitors. Just two phone calls - one for Isla from her friend in the orchestra in Edinburgh, the other from my mother in Indiana.”
“I believe Isla’s a professional violinist?”
“Yeah, she plays with the Scottish Chamber Orchestra. She’s really good,” he said proudly.
“What did she discuss with her friend?”
“The upcoming concert at Glasgow next month. They’re doing Mozart’s Jupiter.” Pain filled his eyes. “Isla’s really excited about it, she loves her work.”
“Did they argue at all?”
“No, they get on really well.”
“The friend’s name?”
“Sal Henderson.”
Stewart jotted the name down in his notebook. “Did your mother ring for any special reason?”
“Just to talk, catch up. She always calls on a Thursday evening.”
“Does Isla have any enemies that you’re aware of?”
“Enemies? You think someone hurt her?”
“Like I said, we’re just trying to build a picture of her life.”
Mike didn’t like Stewart, he was smug and arrogant but he was biting down on his dislike. All that mattered was that he was good at his job. “No. Everyone loves her, she’s so kind and gentle.”
“And how was she the night she disappeared?”
“Fine, her usual self. Although she had been a bit worried.”
Stewart leaned forward in his seat with interest. “About what?”
“Me. You see, I’d been working up the nerve to propose all day. I was terrified she’d turn me down, so I’d been pretty quiet. She thought I was going off her, that I was unhappy.”
“Because you’d been a bit quiet?”
“Isla’s a very sensitive woman, she picks up on things.”
“And are you happy in the relationship?”
“Well yeah, course. Why do you think I asked her to marry me?”
“I don’t know Mike,” he said coolly. “Any other reason why you were quiet that day, other than your proposal?”
“No, that was it. I’ve been so happy with her I was afraid of spoiling things.”
“Why would asking her to marry you spoil things if everything was going well?”
Mike ran a hand down his face as he started to become flustered. The bastard was twisting everything. “Because asking someone to marry you is nerve-wracking.” He gestured to the wedding ring on the detective’s finger. “Didn’t you get nervous asking your wife to marry you?”
Stewart’s lips pursed. “Do you have any financial problems?”
“No. We both earn good money.”
“This cry you heard last night,” said Wheeler. “Was it definitely her voice?”
“Yeah, I’m sure of it,” replied Mike, relieved by the change in topic.
“It couldn’t have been the wind at all? It did get pretty fierce last night, it can play tricks on the mind.”
“It wasn’t a trick. It was a definite sound because I saw the colours.”
“Colours?” frowned Stewart while Neil sighed and shook his head.
“I see loud noises as colours. It’s a medical condition called chromesthesia,” he hastened to add when they regarded him with raised eyebrows.
“I’ve never heard of it,” said Stewart.
“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” glowered Mike.
“I never said it didn’t. So what colour did you see when you heard this cry?”
His tone was cynical and a little insolent but Mike forced himself to ignore it. Finding Isla was the priority, not his ego. “Scarlet spikes, which is what I see when the sound is distressed. Sometimes the spikes can be framed in black.”
“Heard a lot of distressed sounds, have you?”
“I’ve heard people yelling at each other in the street, arguments, that sort of thing. It’s always red when a lot of emotion is involved. The wind doesn’t get emotional,” he said dryly.
“So if someone was just shouting to get your attention,” said Wheeler, who was genuinely interested. “Would that be scarlet too?”
“No, that would be more orange or purple, sometimes red if it’s really loud. So that’s how I know the cry was real.”
“Who’s your doctor?” said Stewart.
“Dr Royal.”
“At Dunoon?”
“Yeah.”
Stewart made a point of writing that down in his notebook.
“How long have you had this condition?” said Wheeler.
“Forever,” replied Mike. “I didn’t realise it wasn’t normal until I was a teenager.”
“So if someone say slams a car door, what colour would that be?”
“Usually a blue-grey, depending on how close I am to it.”
“And a lawn mower? What would that be?”
“Usually green with tinges of brown.”
“Fascinating. And what about…”
“Yes, thank you DS Wheeler,” said Stewart, tiring of that line of inquiry.
They asked Mike more standard questions, nothing Neil hadn’t already asked him. Judging by Stewart’s annoyed look he’d expected to get more information out of him, like an admittance to murder.
“What have you done so far to find Isla?” said Mike once the inquisition had ended.
“We’ve only just taken on the case,” replied Stewart, gaze darkening at being questioned. “Our first act has been to speak to you.”
The way the inspector looked at him made Mike conscious of just how much of a suspect he was. The precariousness of his situation simply hadn’t struck him before. “The partner’s usually the main suspect, huh?”
“Something like that,” replied Stewart, his smile putting Mike in mind of a rattlesnake. “We’ve got everything we need, for now. Thank you for your time.”
Mike tried not to exhale with relief when they got to their feet.
“One more thing,” said Stewart, pausing by the door. “Is there life insurance on Isla?”
“Yeah.”
“For how much?”
“Two hundred grand.”
“And who is the beneficiary?”
The look in Stewart’s eyes told Mike he already knew the answer but he wanted to hear it from him. “Me.”
“And only you?”
Mike nodded, hating how the inspector’s gaze bored into him.
“Do you mind if we take a look around the house?” added Stewart.
“What for?”
“To see if we can find a clue as to why Isla disappeared. We’ll need to look through her personal possessions. It’s standard practice.”
“Help yourself.”
“Thank you. We’ll start upstairs.” Stewart hesitated. “By the way Mike, don’t go leaving the area, will you?”
“I’m going nowhere unti
l Isla’s found.”
Another reptilian smile. “Thank you. Sir.”
Neil waited until they were out of earshot before speaking. “I don’t like DI Stewart,” he whispered. Thankfully the cottage was old, so the walls were thick. “He’s a proper wanker but he’s good at what he does.”
“Then that’s all that matters,” replied Mike, moving to the window to watch the divers.
“Wheeler seems okay though.”
“Yeah, he wasn’t so bad.”
Neil glanced sideways at his friend. “Do you really think she was here last night?”
“At the time I was so positive. But now, in the cold light of day and after seeing everyone’s sceptical faces, I’m not so sure. What other explanation is there though? Who else put those prints there?”
“I don’t know but whoever did make them wanted it to look like the prints came from the direction of the water. Like Stewart said, why would she not make herself known to you?”
“If it wasn’t her, then who?”
Neil patted his shoulder. “I really have no idea but we’ll find out. It might be a good idea to install a couple of cameras.”
“Yeah, I’ll head into Dunoon tomorrow. There’s bound to be somewhere there I can get a camera from.” He frowned as a man in a grey puffer jacket meandered down the side of the cottage onto the jetty. He started taking photos of the divers in the water with the camera he held.
“Sodding reporter,” said Neil.
He rushed out of the house, Mike following.
“Oy, Sloss,” yelled Neil. “This is private property and you’re trespassing. Do one.”
“Sergeant Hawkins,” replied the intruder, a sleazy greasy creature whose smile was even more reptilian than Stewart’s. “I’m here about the missing woman.” His eyes flicked to Mike and he craned his neck to look him in the face. “Mr Miller I take it? Yeah, you must be. There’s not many who match your description. What do you have to say about your fiancée’s disappearance?”
“You’re well informed,” scowled Neil.
“Aren’t I always?” Sloss looked back at Mike. “This is your chance to get your side across, to put the rumours to bed once and for all.”
“Rumours?” frowned Mike. “What rumours?”
“Well, you were the last to see her alive and when a woman’s killed the odds are it’s usually the partner…”
“Killed? She’s not dead,” he retorted.
“It’s been two days. What other option is there?”
Mike stood there helplessly as the horrible images that had taunted him ever since she’d disappeared replayed through his head.
“That’s it you,” Neil told the reporter. “Get lost. This is private property. Do you want to be done for trespassing?”
Sloss ignored him, keeping his attention fixed on Mike. “Everyone deserves to know the truth about what happened to Isla….”
He released a cry when a pair of arms shot out and pushed him into the water.
“Shut up you stupid man,” yelled Phoebe before bursting into tears. She buried her face in her husband’s chest when he enveloped her in his arms.
“Nice one Phoebe,” said Neil.
“Help,” cried the reporter, breaking the surface of the water, sending red dots dancing before Mike’s eyes. “I can’t swim,” he added, holding his camera aloft with one hand in a vain attempt to stop it getting wet.
“Put your feet down you idiot,” retorted Neil. “You’re in the shallows.”
Sloss calmed down enough to find the bottom with his feet, the water up to his chest. “That was assault,” he snarled at Phoebe. “And you ruined my camera. I’m going to bloody sue you.”
“You’re suing nobody,” said Neil. “You’re trespassing on private property and the only reason I’m not going to nick you is because I don’t want to get the inside of my car all wet. Now get out of the water before you pollute it with your presence and bugger off.”
Sulking, Sloss waded onto the shore, water dripping off him. With great dignity he reached into his jacket pocket, produced one of his sodden cards and held it out to Mike. “Trust me, you want to get your side of the story in before everyone starts making up their own little theories.”
Mike regarded him with distaste before turning his back on him and heading back into the house. He went straight upstairs. Hearing the detectives moving about in his bedroom, he headed into the spare room instead and took Isla’s violin case out of the wardrobe where she’d carefully placed it the day she’d gone missing. She loved to practice in the morning, straight after breakfast, she said losing herself in the music set her up for the day. Despite her jokes about it being fortunate they had no close neighbours, she was so damn good. Her music had brought them together.
CHAPTER 3
Eighteen months ago
Mike sat in The Queen’s Hall, a former church in Edinburgh’s Southside, rapt as he listened to the performance of Beethoven’s First Symphony by the Scottish Chamber Orchestra. It was a smaller venue, intimate, but the acoustics were incredible. He was on holiday from Indiana, visiting his childhood friend Steve, who’d emigrated to Edinburgh from the US seven years ago. Steve had scored free tickets to this recital through work and knowing Mike’s deep love of classical music he’d invited him along. Steve was already starting to regret his decision, he preferred a good rock band and he kept shifting in his seat, bored.
Mike however was enraptured. He didn’t just love music for the sound but for the light show too. Thanks to his chromesthesia the visuals were amazing. Each note elicited a different colour, orbs of red, blue and yellow rising up from the orchestra, slowing and gaining tempo in time with the music. On the long deep notes orbs of blue shivered and shook above the orchestra’s head, morphing into pink the higher the note got. On the fast parts the orbs appeared and disappeared so rapidly it was difficult to catch them as they raced through the colour spectrum.
However, what had him enthralled more than anything was the concertmaster and lead violinist. She seemed to be a living embodiment of the music, entirely lost in the melody, eyes dreamy as she fell into the flow. Above the heads of the orchestra orbs of light blue, pink, purple and orange burst before rapidly being replaced with the next note. But the colours of the first violinist with the long red hair were more vivid, marking her out from the others. She launched into her solo, which she was allowed to improvise, something this particular orchestra enjoyed experimenting with. He didn’t know if he was being biased but he felt it was even better with her own translation of the piece.
The whole thing reached a crescendo before gradually fading away. Mike was on his feet applauding, sending dark blue dots racing across his vision. This encouraged everyone else to get up too and a standing ovation ensued.
Steve grinned at how dazzled his friend looked, well aware that he hadn’t taken his eyes off the concertmaster for a moment.
The audience filed out to the theatre bar, Mike and Steve sitting down together with a pint of lager each.
“Thanks for tonight Steve,” said Mike. “I know stuff like this bores you shitless.”
“No worries. It makes up for the cricket match I made you sit through yesterday.”
“Don’t mention cricket, not unless you want me to drop off,” he grinned.
“I thought you’d appreciate how quiet a cricket match is.”
“Yeah, there’s no denying it’s quiet, apart from the polite clapping. And boring. By the end of the match I didn’t care whether the players lived or died.”
“What are you talking about? It’s riveting.”
“Yeah, right,” replied Mike, taking a swig of lager. He looked around the room. “Do you know if the orchestra come in for a drink after?”
“No idea, I’ve never been here before. Let me guess, you’re hoping to meet a certain flame-haired violinist?”
Mike coloured. “Maybe.”
“You can’t hide the truth from me, I’ve known you since you were fifteen. Your
tongue was hanging out through that entire concert.”
“She’s an incredible violinist.”
“With incredible other things too.”
Applause started up in the room and Mike was thrilled to see members of the orchestra enter the bar. He prayed the flame-haired violinist was among their number. He sat up straighter in his seat when she walked in last, eagerly talking with a woman with short black hair who he recognised as one of the cellists.
“And there she is,” grinned Steve. “She is very cute. But short.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“You need a tall woman.”
“I don’t like tall women. I like them petite.”
“She’ll have to carry around a box to kiss you.”
“Yeah, hilarious,” replied Mike only half-listening. He watched the woman get her drink from the bar - a glass of white wine - and she and her friend retreated to a table to chat.
“Are you going over there then?” Steve asked his friend. “Or are you just gonna sit there staring?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You look a big scary bastard but you’re a pussy underneath, scared of a wee woman.”
Mike didn’t take offence, that was how he and Steve had always spoken to each other, telling it straight. However he did think the Scottish lingo sounded funny in his friend’s Indianapolis accent but he supposed it was only natural, living and working in Scotland and being married to a native. “A pussy, am I? Watch this.”
“It doesn’t count unless you come back with her phone number,” added Steve as Mike got to his feet.
His confident stride began to falter the closer he got to her table. When she and her friend stopped talking and looked up at him expectantly the speech he’d been rehearsing went clean out of his head.
“Can we help you?” said the black-haired woman when he failed to speak.
“I…,” he began, unable to take his eyes off the red-haired woman. Her eyes were a piercing green, beautiful. “I just wanted to say how great the concert was. You’re all really talented.” He forced his eyes to flick to the other woman as he talked but he kept being drawn back to her.
The Loch Page 3