The Loch

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The Loch Page 7

by Heather Atkinson


  Mike looked to Stewart for his opinion but the man had gone white. “Are you okay?”

  Stewart cleared his throat and resumed his usual stern expression. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Who do you think it is?”

  “Or what do we think it is?” said Wheeler, mischief in his eyes when he looked back at his colleague.

  The penny dropped with Mike. It seemed Stewart had a terror of the supernatural. But this wasn’t supernatural. This was human and it had Isla.

  “Could that be your fiancée?” Stewart asked him, a tinge of hope in his voice, praying he confirmed it was something terrestrial.

  “I don’t think so, it looks too tall.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I can’t be a hundred percent but it doesn’t move like her.”

  “Him, not it,” rasped Stewart. “Or possibly her.”

  “Have you caught them on camera inside the house?” said Mike.

  “Yes,” replied Wheeler. “Of course we checked the footage in the sitting room first.”

  On the screen Mike saw the same dark form carefully place Isla’s sodden coat on the coffee table before vanishing. Their features were obscured. It wasn’t even clear what gender they were.

  “They leave this room,” continued Wheeler. “Then vanish out the back door - like a phantom.”

  He ended this statement with relish, glancing sideways at Stewart, who was still ghost white, sweat standing out on his forehead.

  “The back door was locked,” rasped the inspector. “But when we checked it, it had been unlocked.”

  “Well it’s not a phantom,” announced Mike. “This is someone flesh and blood and they’ve got Isla.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Stewart said firmly, Mike’s statement making him feel a bit better. “And they picked the lock, it wouldn’t have been difficult. See, a perfectly simple explanation,” he said pointedly at Wheeler.

  “There is a local legend connected to this loch,” interjected the third detective, who Stewart had introduced earlier as DC Brown. “My gran lives around here and she loves a good ghost story.”

  “Ghost story?” croaked Stewart.

  “Apparently a woman drowned in the loch at the end of the nineteenth century. Everyone said it was suicide after she was jilted by her lover, the son of a wealthy landowner. The woman in question, Jenny, was the daughter of a poor farmer. Her lover married some wealthy heiress and abandoned her. There were whispers he paid two men to drown her in the loch when she threatened to tell everyone she was carrying his child. Now she lurks in the depths, dragging unfortunate people down to their deaths. Around here she’s known as Drowned Jenny.”

  “What a load of crap,” said Wheeler while Stewart sat beside him, paralysed with fear.

  “That is a real person,” said Mike, pointing at the image on the screen. “Not some deranged Victorian spook.”

  Stewart cleared his throat as he built up to speaking again, the sound reminiscent of a motorbike warming up. “Of course it is and I don’t want to waste one more second on such silly childish stories.”

  Brown scowled and leaned back in his chair.

  “Isla’s gran used to own this cottage, didn’t she?” Wheeler asked Mike.

  “Yeah, she did.”

  “Did she or Isla ever mention that story?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t want to hear any more talk about ghosts, okay?” Stewart practically yelled. He blushed when everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him. “Mike,” he said, turning to him. “Are you aware of any other entrances into the cottage? Perhaps a cellar with a tunnel to the outside?”

  “There’s a cellar but it doesn’t lead outside.” He hesitated before adding. “Not that I’ve seen anyway. It’s really more of a hole in the ground than a proper room. Isla hates it, it creeps her out. She refuses to go down there.”

  “How do you get down there?”

  “There’s a hatch in the utility room but Neil and his officers have already searched the house.”

  Stewart’s look told Mike that was of absolutely no consequence to him. “Check out the cellar,” he told Brown with relish, enjoying avenging himself on him for his ghost story.

  The detective sighed and got to his feet.

  “When was this cottage built?” Stewart asked Mike.

  “Eighteen thirty nine.”

  “Then there’ll be no architectural blueprints.” Stewart rose purposefully. “Alright, listen up everyone.”

  The team working on the house gathered in the kitchen to listen. The room was too small to accommodate them all so a few of them were forced to stand in the doorway, slyly jostling each other for space.

  “It’s possible there’s an entrance into this house that no one knows about, not even Mike here,” announced Stewart. “If there is I want it found. Get to it.”

  Now they had their instructions they all returned to their duties.

  “May I have a word in private Mike?”

  He nodded and followed Stewart into the sitting room, wondering what else he was going to get accused of.

  “I wondered,” began Stewart. “If you have any enemies?”

  “Me?” he said, surprised by the turn in questioning.

  Stewart nodded.

  “No, not that I’m aware of. I’ve only been in Scotland a year.”

  “Anyone from Indiana? Could a grudge have followed you here?”

  “No. I don’t have any enemies.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes,” he replied impatiently. “What’s this about?”

  “I’m starting to think this is about you not Isla and that she was taken as a way of getting to you. I’ve worked a lot of missing person’s cases and this is completely unique. I have never known a kidnapper break into the victim’s home to leave their clothes, certainly without a ransom note. Neither have I known someone taken from their own property, which is extremely rare. This all seems to be aimed at you, to torment you.”

  “But…I’ve never made any enemies.”

  “That you’re aware of.”

  “That I’m aware of. I’ve just lived here quietly with Isla. I’ve not fallen out with anyone.”

  “Is there anyone at work you’ve upset?”

  “No. I work freelance.”

  “You’re a graphics designer, right?”

  “Yeah, a motion graphics designer. I specialise in websites, logos, title and credit sequences and commercials.”

  “What was your last project?”

  “It was for an advertising agency in Aberdeen. I drove up there last Tuesday to finalise the project.”

  “Did you get paid okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you have any trouble with any of the staff?”

  “No, none.”

  “Any trouble with any of your past clients?”

  “No. This is nothing to do with my work, I’m sure of it.”

  “Did you do the same job in the US?”

  “Yeah and I had no problems with those clients either.”

  “Your work pays well, you earn six figures a year.”

  Mike frowned. So Stewart had really done some digging into his life.

  “It made me consider the possibility that Isla could have been taken for ransom,” continued Stewart. “But if that was the case we would have heard something from the kidnapper by now. Have you had any fallings-out with the locals?”

  “No. Well, not until today when I confronted that sleazy bastard Sloss.”

  Stewart chewed his lip thoughtfully, gazing out across the water. “While you were away in Aberdeen did Isla stay here?”

  “Yeah. I drove up there and came straight back, I didn’t stay over so she didn’t see the point in coming with me. She wanted to stay home and practice for the concert she’s got coming up.”

  “Was she alone?”

  Mike nodded.

  “Did she report any unusual activity? Knocks at the doo
r, strange phone calls, someone watching her?”

  “No, nothing. She was her usual happy self when I got home.”

  “If anything had happened would she be likely to tell you or keep it secret so you wouldn’t worry?”

  Mike’s impulse was to say that she would tell him. Then he hesitated. Isla was always thinking of others, often to the detriment of herself. He’d been under a lot of pressure to finish that project, the agency had given him a tight deadline but he’d done it and they’d been pleased, even going as far as to pay him a bonus for having it done on time. If something had happened she might not want to have bothered him with it, especially as he’d come home in a very celebratory mood.

  “It’s possible,” he replied.

  “Is there anyone else she may have confided in? Does she have a best friend?”

  “Phoebe Harper, who you’ve already met.”

  “Aye, I’ve spoken to her and she said Isla told her nothing unusual. Apparently Isla also told her that she’d never been happier since she met you.”

  Mike took in a deep shuddering breath as pain lanced through his chest. “Thanks.”

  “You looked like you could use some perking up.”

  Mike thought maybe the stone cold detective did have a heart after all. He watched Stewart look out of the window down to the loch but for once his gaze moved past the divers, who were taking a break from the chilly dark depths, standing around the van sipping hot coffee. His eyes fixed on the water and a shiver passed through his body before he abruptly turned from the window. Mike wondered what had happened in the inspector’s past to make him so afraid of a ghost story?

  “Do you know if this house lies on any valuable land?” Stewart asked him.

  “Err, no idea.”

  “It was passed straight on to Isla from her gran? You didn’t need to purchase it?”

  “No. She inherited it on her death.”

  Stewart swallowed hard. “Did…did she pass away in this house?”

  “No. She died in a hospice.”

  Stewart tried not to let his relief show but failed. “Oh right, okay. I can look into the land value. This could be a plot to drive you off it.”

  “But there are other ways to drive people out of their home and it’s Isla’s house, not mine.”

  “Are you her next of kin?”

  “Yeah and she’s mine.”

  “So you’d inherit the house on her death?”

  “If you’re trying to insinuate…”

  “I’m not insinuating this is down to you. I’m saying if something happened to Isla then you would own this house, meaning you could be a target too.”

  “Oh,” replied Mike, not too convinced.

  “I want to explore every avenue. I get the feeling we’re missing something. There’s a motive behind this disappearance. You’re certain that figure we caught on camera wasn’t Isla?”

  “Definitely. It must be the person who took her.”

  “You have to face the fact Mike that Isla could have voluntarily disappeared and this is all down to her.”

  “No, she wouldn’t do that,” he said passionately. “You don’t know her, she has such a good heart, she wouldn’t inflict this pain on me.”

  “People have secrets Mike and they keep them from those they love the most, I see it in my line of work all the time.”

  “I haven’t kept anything from Isla, she knows everything about me.”

  They were interrupted by a police officer dashing into the room. “Sir, we’ve found something outside.”

  Mike charged after Stewart and they followed the officer out the back door of the cottage and into the trees. They came to a halt just a few yards into the tree line.

  “Well, what am I looking at?” demanded Stewart.

  “We’ve found tracks through the woods of a person walking alone. Judging by the footprints they’re small and slight. They go right up to the house.”

  “What size shoe?”

  “Four.”

  “Isla’s size.” Stewart looked to Mike. “You said the figure in the footage couldn’t be her as they didn’t move like her.”

  “Well that’s what I thought. It was hard to tell with all the darkness and shadows.”

  Stewart’s eyes narrowed at him before he looked back at the officer. “Where do the tracks lead?”

  “This way Sir.”

  “Have you swept the area?” he demanded before following.

  “Aye Sir. We didn’t find anything other than the tracks.”

  They walked through the woods together, the tracks leading up to a lay-by on the main road.

  “There’s evidence of a car being parked here,” said the officer.

  “Well duh,” countered Stewart. “It’s a sodding lay-by. Of course there’s been cars parked here.”

  “I mean recently Sir,” he dourly replied.

  “This lay-by is popular with people stopping to take photos of the loch,” said Mike.

  “All the same, we’ve recorded the tyre tracks left behind. Unfortunately they’ve been made by very common tyres.”

  “So we know we’re dealing with a flesh and blood person,” said Stewart, this fact making him incredibly happy. “And we know the route they’re taking to reach the house.”

  They returned to the cottage, entering through the back door into the kitchen, Stewart almost tripping over a scene examiner crouched on the floor, studying the tiles.

  “Anything?” Stewart asked them.

  They shook their head, white paper suit rustling, just a pair of eyes above a mask.

  They headed through to Wheeler, who likewise had found nothing else of interest on the footage.

  “Mike,” said Stewart. “I don’t think you should stay here on your own anymore. I want someone with you at all times.”

  “You think I could be in danger?”

  “It’s very possible.”

  “But if Isla is trying to send me a message then having someone else here might put her off. Or whoever took her might be scared off and we’ll never find her.”

  “That’s a chance we’ll have to take.”

  “No. I can’t risk losing the only link to her.”

  “And what if you end up going missing too?”

  “It’ll be worth it if they take me to her.”

  “Whoever’s doing this hasn’t left anything that can tell us who they are. That indicates knowledge and planning. This person knows what they’re doing, they could even be a professional criminal. If you won’t have someone stay with you I insist you stay elsewhere until this is resolved.”

  “I’ll be fine, I can handle myself.”

  “Do you think Isla would want you putting yourself in danger like this?”

  “I haven’t been hurt.”

  “Yet everything that has happened has been done to taunt you and there’s no sign that it’s going to stop any time soon.”

  “They might not come back at all now they’ve seen you lot hanging around.”

  “I seriously doubt that.” He yawned and rubbed his eyes. “At least let your friend Sergeant Hawkins stay and we’ll leave the cameras in situ. Would that do?”

  “Yeah, suppose.”

  “Good. I’ll call him and let him know. We’ll be clearing out of here soon but if anything happens, anything at all, you call me immediately, do you hear?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  “Do you still have my card?”

  Mike nodded.

  “Good. Programme my number into your phone, so you can call me quickly should you need to.”

  Stewart headed into the utility room with Mike and peered down the open hatch into the cellar before recoiling with a shudder.

  “It smells like earth,” he told Mike.

  “It doesn’t have a proper floor,” he replied. “Just dirt.”

  Stewart wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. “Brown? You down there?”

  “No Sir,” replied a voice from behind him.

 
Stewart jumped and whirled around to face the detective. “Why not?”

  “I had to deal with a phone call about another case I’m working on. It was important.”

  “Oh, right. Well, you can check the cellar now.”

  Brown muttered something inaudible as he descended the stairs, a torch clutched in one hand. Stewart was incredibly grateful it wasn’t him down there as he watched his colleague vanish into the blackness.

  “Anything?” he called down when there had been a couple of minutes of silence.

  Brown’s face appeared at the bottom of the steps. “Yes Sir. You really want to see this.”

  “What have you found?” demanded Mike, charging down the stairs before Stewart could stop him.

  “Wait, you could trample vital evidence,” called Stewart.

  Mike ignored him and vanished into the blackness below.

  “Oh…hell,” he muttered, taking a deep breath before plunging after him.

  Stewart paused at the bottom of the steps, shocked by how dark it was. The floor was indeed soft beneath his feet, giving truth to Mike’s words. It was obvious this room was underground. With its strong earthy smell and the darkness it felt like he was in a grave, buried alive…

  “Sir, you okay?” said Brown.

  Stewart jumped and winced when a torch was shone in his face. “Get that thing out of my eyes you idiot.”

  “Sorry Sir,” he said, lowering the torch slightly.

  “I nearly fell on the steps,” said Stewart indignantly as a way of explaining why he was sweating and shaking.

  “Oh, okay Sir,” he replied, the doubt strong in his voice.

  “Never mind all that. What have you found?”

  “This,” he replied, shining the torch on something in the corner of the room.

  “What is it?” he frowned.

  “Oh God,” said Mike. “It’s Isla’s scarf.”

  “It’s wet,” said Brown grimly.

  “It’s just been planted,” said Stewart. He turned and scrambled back up the ladder, emerging in the kitchen. “No one leave,” he yelled pulling the back door shut and locking it. “Wheeler, Wheeler, where the hell are you?”

  “Here Sir,” he replied, emerging in the kitchen doorway.

  “Close the front door and lock it. No one leaves, you understand?”

 

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