The Loch

by Heather Atkinson

  “Alright.”

  Neil’s footsteps retreated back downstairs. Mike plonked the glass down on the bedside cabinet and turned on his side, hoping he managed to snatch a bit of sleep.

  CHAPTER 7

  When Mike woke he was standing out by the loch, staring down into its black depths. Isla’s voice began calling him and he whipped around looking for her. He realised the voice was drifting up to him from the water. Peering into its depths he spied red hair floating like seaweed.

  He took a deep breath and dived into the icy water, fighting against the intense cold that tried to drain the life from his body. He dove downwards, the world around him a murky grey-blue. Spying the red hair below him he plunged even deeper, joy filling his heart when Isla’s upturned face greeted him. She stretched a small pale hand up to him and he attempted to grab it so he could take her back to the surface and light but instead his hand met with a clear solid wall that he hadn’t even realised was there because he could see right through it. Panic filled him and he frantically began pounding at it with his fists in an attempt to break through, his limbs moving with excruciating slowness through the water. But it refused to yield.

  Her green eyes were wide and pleading as she gazed up at him, nails clawing at the invisible wall that divided them. Her eyes bulged, mouth involuntarily opening as she struggled for air, her body jerking spasmodically.

  Mike attacked the invisible wall with renewed vigour but still he couldn’t break through. His lungs ached for oxygen and his muscles screamed with the effort but it was in vain. All he could do was watch as she started to sink back into the murky depths, which swallowed her up, her hand still reaching out to him…

  Mike sat bolt upright in bed bellowing her name. His body trembled with cold and he wrapped his arms around himself, convinced he was wet after being in the water but looking down he realised he was bone dry. He’d kicked the duvet off himself in his sleep and as the heating hadn’t been on all night the house was cold.

  He delved back beneath the duvet and buried his face in the pillow, letting the tears fall as he relived the horror of the dream.

  Stewart and Wheeler were back at the cottage at eight o’clock the next morning. They knocked on the door but no one answered. Peering through the window they saw Neil asleep on the couch. The inspector regarded his slack jaw, the sound of his snoring and the line of drool down his chin with disdain. He banged on the window, taking a sadistic pleasure in the way Neil jumped awake, eyes widening when he saw them staring back at him through the glass. He threw aside the duvet he’d taken from the spare room and leapt up to answer the door. Thankfully he’d slept in his clothes, so his undies weren’t on display.

  “Come in Sir,” he said.

  “Oh thank you,” he said sarcastically. “Where’s Mike?”

  “Still in bed.”

  “Are you sure? You were out for the count.”

  “I would have woken up if he’d left.”

  Stewart’s arched eyebrow was doubtful. He left Wheeler and Neil to make the coffee while he mounted the stairs to talk to Mike. When he rapped on his bedroom door there was no answer. A loud, more insistent knock drew an angry, “What?”

  “It’s me, Stewart.”

  “What do you want?”

  “To talk.”

  There was no response but he walked in anyway. Mike was on his side facing away from the door.

  “We checked the footage from last night,” Stewart told him. “We had it linked up to a computer back at the station. The cameras picked up a figure outside and in the utility room when they left the boots but they’re too well wrapped up to get an ID. They did pick the lock at the back door. Unfortunately it was so dark we didn’t spot them. I did consider mounting external lights on the house but I thought that might scare them off and warn you of our presence.” He paused, waiting for a response to that statement but none was forthcoming, so he continued. “Facial recognition was useless because the night vision goggles and hood obscured their face and the weather played havoc with the external cameras.”

  The memory of that creepy phantom figure on the monitor back at the station made Stewart shudder but he put all of his will into stifling it. He succeeded but it made him pull a strange constipated expression that fortunately Mike missed as his back was to him.

  “Do you even know if they were male or female?” said Mike hopefully.

  “No, sorry.”

  Mike deigned to turn over to face him. “So all that last night and for what? A shadow that no one can identify.”

  Stewart was a little shocked by Mike’s appearance. His skin was a ghastly white, thick black shadows around his bloodshot eyes. For the first time he actually looked small, shrunken, as though the situation were draining the life out of him. Stewart gravitated from once again firmly believing Mike was responsible for all this to believing he was a victim and it annoyed him.

  “The intruder had red hair,” said Mike. “I know no one believes me but they did. When they ran into the trees their hood slipped back. Their hair was red.”

  Stewart doubted how clearly he could have seen that in the dark. “We’re in Scotland,” he said a bit more gently. “There’s plenty of people with red hair. It doesn’t mean it was Isla.”

  “Who else could it have been?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know anything, do you? No one does.”

  Stewart attempted to work out whether this statement was a proud taunt or genuine despair but Mike’s voice was so flat with exhaustion it was difficult to tell.

  “We will catch them,” said Stewart, both as a warning and a reassurance. “I promise.”

  Mike just snorted before turning his back on him. Stewart took this as a dismissal and left the room. As he was going down the stairs that bossy cow Phoebe and her wet lettuce of a husband were coming up. As she refused to slow, like a freight train going full tilt, he was forced to press himself back against the wall to allow them to pass. He wondered if they could be anything to do with it. They certainly kept poking their noses in.

  He watched as they disappeared inside Mike’s bedroom. He’d done some checking on them but it was time he looked closer at the Harpers.

  “It’s just us,” said Phoebe, perching on the edge of the bed.

  “Hello,” said Mike flatly.

  “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?”

  “Cold,” was his reply, pulling the duvet higher.

  “I’m not surprised to hear it, running about in the middle of a storm with no coat. You’re lucky you didn’t land yourself in hospital. You’ve got to start taking better care of yourself,” she replied, noting the strong smell of alcohol emanating from him.

  “I thought I saw Isla,” he said. “What was I supposed to do?”

  Phoebe blinked back tears. “I suppose I would have done exactly the same thing but we’re worried about you Mike. This is a terrible strain on you.”

  “I’ll cope.”

  “We think you should tell your family about all this,” said Jake. “There’s nothing like the support of family in times like this.”

  “I’ve told them about it, I had to after I set up the social media page about Isla’s disappearance. I’m really close to my sister Janet but she’s ready to give birth, she can’t fly, the same goes for my other sister. My parents have said they’ll come out but I said no. My mom’s got a heart condition and she’s terrified of flying. I told her and my dad to stay home. Me and my parents don’t really get on anyway. My dad would just wind me up and make everything worse.”

  “Is there no one else, an aunt or uncle? Or how about your friend Steve in Edinburgh?”

  “I’m not close to the rest of my family. They’re only interested in helping someone if they can get something out of it and I don’t want to bother Steve, his wife’s just had a baby.”

  “I really feel you need more support.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not.”


  Mike closed his eyes and feigned sleep, indicating the conversation was over.

  “Let us help.”

  “I appreciate you coming over,” he mumbled. “But I need to be on my own.”

  “You need people around you in times like this,” said Phoebe. “Don’t isolate yourself.”

  Jake placed a hand on her shoulder. “The man wants to be alone. Leave him be.”

  “Okay,” she replied, for once acquiescent. The truth was, she didn’t know what else to do.

  Mike was relieved when he heard the door close behind them. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep as his mind was whirling so much. He was thinking about the person he saw running into the woods behind the house last night. In the cold light of day he wasn’t sure whether they were Isla or not, despite how insistent he’d been to the police. It had been so dark and he’d been so desperate, as well as a little drunk. Perhaps he’d seen what he’d wanted to see? But one thing was certain - that person had moved through those trees in the dark with no torch, so they knew them like the back of their hand.

  The intruder was a local and he was going to find them.

  Now he just needed the useless police to piss off.

  “For Christ’s sake,” he yelled when there was another knock at the door, the room turning scarlet in time with his voice. “Can’t I get any peace?”

  “Sorry Mike but this is important,” said Stewart’s voice through the door.

  Something in the inspector’s tone made his stomach plummet and ice break out all over his skin. Throwing aside the duvet, he called, “What is it?”

  Stewart pushed open the door but remained on the threshold, as though he didn’t want to intrude, his eyes wide and gentle.

  “What’s happened?” rasped Mike.

  “A body’s been found.”

  Mike wanted to retreat back to bed, pull the duvet over his head and ignore the whole world but he would not fail Isla by acting like a coward. “Where?”

  “In the forest at Glenbranter.”

  “Is…is it Isla?”

  “She fits the description but we need a formal ID. Would you be willing to identify the body? By Scottish law two people who knew the deceased are required to make the identification. Your friends Jake and Phoebe are willing to go but I wanted to check with you first. I thought you might like to do it.”

  Mike’s hands started to shake. He didn’t know if he could bear seeing her dead. “Is it definitely her?”

  “We’re not sure. The body had been left exposed for a couple of days. I must warn you Mike, it’s not going to be easy.”

  “How did she die? Please Stewart.”

  “It was murder.”

  “Christ,” said Mike, blinded by tears, too frightened to ask how. He took a determined breath. “I’ll do it,” he said miserably. “Just let me get dressed.”

  “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  Mike was tempted to crumple into a heap and lock himself in but Isla needed him. If it was her body then she needed to be claimed and given a dignified burial. If it wasn’t then she was still out there needing his help. Either way he refused to let her down.

  Taking a deep breath he flung off his clothes and pulled on a fresh jumper and jeans. Thankfully Phoebe was doing his washing for him, so he had plenty of clean clothes.

  He headed downstairs. Phoebe was in the sitting room, tears pouring down her face, Jake’s arms wrapped around her.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said determinedly. “Isla would do the same for me.”

  “And I’m coming along as moral support,” said Jake.

  “It’s not her,” Phoebe told Mike. “I know it in my heart.”

  Mike just nodded, unable to find it in himself to comfort her, he was too busy fending off the overwhelming terror threatening to claim him.

  The three of them followed Stewart outside to his car and climbed in, Mike in the front passenger seat, Phoebe and Jake in the back. Wheeler and Neil stayed behind at the house in case anything else happened.

  “Just so you know,” said Stewart, starting the engine. “The press have got very interested in this case, especially since they heard about the discovery of the body at Glenbranter. They’re gathered at the top of the drive. Some of them are from national papers. The wee toad Sloss is with them. I’ve stationed officers to ensure they stay away from the house. The sneaky little bastards have tried to get close a few times. They’ll go into a frenzy when they see you in the car with me.”

  Mike wasn’t prepared for the hoard of journalists that swamped them when they reached the top of the drive. At first they’d seemed rather uninterested in Stewart’s car, until they’d realised who was sitting in the passenger seat. They surrounded it, taking photos and shouting out questions.

  “Are you under arrest Mr Miller?”

  “Did you kill your girlfriend?”

  “Where’s Isla?”

  “Get away from the car you locusts,” Stewart snapped at them through the window while Phoebe frantically gave them the finger. The two uniformed officers on duty ushered them back enough so Stewart could guide the car onto the road.

  “I hate reporters,” he said.

  “Thanks for keeping them away from the house,” said Mike.

  “See, us police do have our uses.”

  “Have you seen the body?”

  “No. Sorry to do this to you Mike.”

  “How…how did this woman die?”

  “Strangulation.”

  Mike ran a shaking hand down his face as he built up the courage to ask the next question. “Was she assaulted first?”

  “You mean sexually assaulted?”

  Mike nodded.

  “Yes,” he said quietly.

  Tears blinded Mike and he turned his attention to the window, twisting his hands together in his lap while Phoebe quietly sobbed in the back, Jake’s arm around her shaking shoulders.

  It might not be Isla. He had to keep that in mind.

  Mike felt sick as they pulled up around the back of the hospital in Dunoon. Thank God there were no reporters here, they were all around the front. Fortunately Stewart had managed to bypass them entirely.

  Stewart parked the car, threw off his seatbelt and opened the door, Phoebe and Jake doing the same. When they realised Mike hadn’t moved they all hesitated.

  “Can you do this?” Stewart asked him. “If not Jake can do it.” In truth it was why he’d allowed Jake to come along, he’d had the feeling Mike might bottle it but he wanted to see his reaction to the body. The identification could have been done via a video link but Mike’s reaction could indicate once and for all whether he was dealing with a genuinely worried fiancée or a killer.

  “I need to do this for myself,” replied Mike. “As well as for Isla.”

  “Alright,” said Stewart gently. “Let’s go.”

  The three of them got out of the car and a few seconds later Mike followed, reluctantly trailing behind them. He was glad Stewart had come in this way because this part of the hospital was practically deserted, only frequented by staff. The odd person they did pass paid him no attention, no accusing looks or suspicious stares.

  They followed Stewart downstairs into a cold, dank section of the hospital, the sign saying Mortuary making Mike shudder. The thought of that beautiful woman with the creative heart who lived for music and nature being stuck in this soulless sterile place made him want to cry.

  “Here we are,” said Stewart as they walked through a set of double doors that swung shut behind them, blocking out the world.

  Mike’s heart was beating so fast he expected it to burst out of his chest. The sterile stink - which overlaid something else much more repellent - made him feel sick. They hovered outside the door leading into the room where either his life would be destroyed or the body of some poor violated woman lay. Either way, it wasn’t going to be good.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” said Stewart, continuing in that gentle voi
ce so at odds with his usual snappy demeanour. “She’s covered with a sheet. The mortuary attendant will draw the sheet back just enough for you to see her face, that’s all. If it is Isla you don’t even need to speak, just a nod will do. Jake, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait here.”

  Mike took a deep breath and clutched his arms about himself in a vain effort to stop shaking while Phoebe clung onto Jake tighter.

  Stewart held the door open to allow Mike and Phoebe to enter. They quietly filed past him, heads bowed before he let it swing shut, blocking out Jake’s worried face.

  Mike thanked God it was a viewing room and not the actual mortuary lined with metal drawers containing the dead, although it was still cold, sterile and vastly unpleasant, the stink stronger in here. In the centre of the room was a gurney on which lay a white sheet covering an unnerving lump. A white-coated male attendant stood beside it, hands respectfully clasped before him.

  Phoebe’s trembling hand grasped Mike’s and together they stepped up to the trolley.

  “Are you okay to do this?” Stewart asked Phoebe, who was shaking so badly he feared she was going to collapse while an ashen Mike stared at the shape beneath the sheet in fright.

  “Y…yes,” she gasped, tears spilling down her face.

  “Alright,” said Stewart, keen to move this along. Thanks to his superstitious fears he loathed mortuaries. Every time he was in one he felt like someone was standing just behind him, although his logical mind told him no one was there. He forced himself not to look over his shoulder and to concentrate on Mike as the attendant rolled back the sheet.

  Phoebe gasped, hand flying to her mouth as she staggered back a couple of paces. “What have you done to her eyes and mouth? Why are they stitched shut?”

  “When someone is strangled their tongue and eyes protrude,” replied Stewart as gently as he could but there was no softening that blow.

  “Oh God,” she murmured.

  Stewart spoke while keeping his gaze riveted on Mike. What he saw was only horror, tears rolling down the man’s face. There was no enjoyment of a predator looking at his handiwork.