The Loch

by Heather Atkinson

  When he walked in the chatter stopped, all the customers turning to look at him. The only ones who didn’t pay him any attention were a table of four in the corner. Judging by their accents they weren’t locals and they were too busy laughing and joking with each other to notice the sudden silence from the other customers.

  Mike considered whether or not to question them all but he didn’t want to tackle such a big group all at once. Besides, none of these people were close to Isla. He had to confine his investigation to those closest to her and then widen it. So he took a table and waited for Billy to come to him.

  “Alright Mike,” he said with forced cheer. “How are you holding up?”

  “Okay,” he replied tightly.

  “The usual?”

  “In a minute. Could I have a word first, in private?”

  “Okay. Do you want to come through to the back?”

  “Thanks.”

  Mike followed him through the café to the small kitchen, ignoring the stares.

  “What can I do for you?” said Billy, regarding him with concern.

  “When did you last see Isla?”

  “What? Why are you asking me?”

  “I would really appreciate it if you could just answer the question.”

  “I’ve already told the police this.”

  “I know but humour me Billy, please.”

  “It might help?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Okay. It was three days before she disappeared. She came in for a coffee and you met up with her. You remember, you’d been to Glasgow to meet with a possible client. It went well and you were in a good mood, you both had extra carrot cake. Sorry,” he added when Mike hung his head with disappointment. “You were hoping for more?”

  “I’m hoping to find some detail the police missed, something that might lead me to her.”

  “You don’t think I did anything to her?” said Billy, looking appalled.

  “No, course not,” replied Mike, patting his shoulder. “I just wondered if there was something you’d maybe seen or heard, some detail you might not think was important at the time.”

  “I’ve been wracking my brains, hoping to come up with something but no, I can’t. Tell you what, if I do remember something or if I overhear anything I’ll come straight to you before I even go to the police.”

  “Thanks Billy. You’re a good friend.”

  “Hang in there Mike, she will come back.”

  “God I hope so. I don’t know how much more I can take,” he replied, blinking back tears.

  Billy delved into the fridge and produced one of his famous carrot cakes, the full thing, not just a slice. “I know it’s a poor substitute but I hope it’ll give you some comfort.”

  “Thanks,” said Mike, accepting it from him and shaking his hand, feeling terrible for considering he could be a murderer. This was a genuinely nice guy. “I appreciate that.”

  Mike left the café feeling uplifted. Little kindnesses went a long way.

  He’d just carefully placed the cake in the passenger seat of the Land Rover when his attention was diverted down the road by the screech of tyres. He saw Neil’s police car come to a halt and the man himself leap out and run up to one of the detached cottages across the road. He hammered on the front door, which was opened to reveal Colonel Arundel, his face bright red with anger, gesticulating wildly as he spoke to Neil, jabbing a finger at the cottage next door.

  Curious, Mike wandered across the road. The Colonel and his next door neighbour Malcolm were on his suspect list, so this could be interesting.

  The Colonel led Neil down the side of his cottage to the back garden, so Mike was able to follow.

  “Look what he’s done?” he heard the Colonel yell in his brusque, clipped voice. His first name was Victor but everyone in the area referred to him as ‘the Colonel’. “That mad bastard has uprooted all my rose bushes now.”

  Neil stared with dismay at the mess of pink petals and soil that had been scattered across the insanely neat garden.

  “Did you see him do it?” said Neil wearily.

  “No but I know it’s him. I demand that you arrest him at once.”

  “I can’t arrest him without evidence.”

  “It’s the same pathetic excuse every time.”

  “That’s the law Colonel. I can’t arrest someone on your say-so. Last time I was here I suggested you install cameras to catch him in the act. Have you done that?”

  “I don’t want ugly cameras hanging off the front of my house, ruining it.”

  “You can get small, unobtrusive ones these days,” said Neil, sounding tired and bored.

  “I am not letting that cretin dictate what I have in my own home. I don’t like a thing out of place and having cameras dotted everywhere will look out of place.”

  “Then I can’t think of any other way to get evidence,” sighed Neil. “Unless you have a witness?”

  “A witness, eh?” he said thoughtfully, stroking his sandy-coloured moustache. “Now that’s an idea.”

  Mike waited at the foot of the garden. Neither Neil nor the Colonel had noticed him. He watched Malcolm from next door stomp down the path leading around the side of the house. He was so angry he didn’t really register who Mike was, merely saying thank you when he stood aside to allow him to pass.

  “You,” exclaimed the Colonel when Malcolm appeared in his back garden. “Look what you’ve done to my roses.”

  “I didn’t do anything to your sodding roses,” retorted Malcolm. “You did it yourself to set me up. You’re mad.” He looked to Neil. “This crazy person cut all the heads off my rhododendrons.”

  “I did not but I would like to shake the hand of the person who did,” retorted the Colonel. “They were sad, pitiful specimens and now they’ve been put out of their misery.”

  “Bastard,” yelled Malcolm, lunging for him.

  Neil put himself between them and held them apart at arm’s length, ducking his head to avoid the men’s arms as they flailed at each other. When it was becoming apparent he was being overcome, Mike - whose vision had been disturbed by small scarlet and black orbs bouncing about before his eyes - decided to step in and help his friend. He grabbed Malcolm by the back of the shirt and pulled him backwards. Malcolm released a cry of surprise, head swivelling left and right in an attempt to see who had hold of him.

  “Thanks Mike,” said Neil, straightening up.

  Malcolm calmed right down when he realised he was in the grip of a man who was not only a giant but also a possible murderer.

  Neil looked severely from the Colonel to Malcolm. “Any more of this and I’ll nick you both for causing a disturbance. Now this nonsense has got to stop. I’m working on finding Isla and this ridiculousness has taken me away from that.”

  They hung their heads. “Sorry,” they said in unison.

  “Now I suggest you go home and stay out of each other’s way because I am rapidly losing patience with you both.”

  Chastised, they went inside, slamming their front doors shut.

  “What exactly is the deal there?” said Mike.

  “Just stupid, petty stuff. The Colonel’s building an extension onto the back of his house and Malcolm’s building a workshop in his garden for his woodworking. The Colonel claims Malcolm’s building is blocking the sun from his garden and Malcolm claims the Colonel’s extension is blocking the sun from his garden. They’re like a couple of kids and I am so bloody fed up of it. If they don’t grow up quick they’ll find themselves in prison and you know what? I’ll stick them in a cell together, then they’ll be forced to get along.”

  “You should just do it. I don’t think they’re going to learn any time soon. Actually, I wanted to ask them about when they last saw Isla.”

  Sympathy filled Neil’s eyes. “So that’s why you really came into the village?”

  Mike nodded.

  “I asked them personally. I can tell you what they said if you really want to know?”

  “I need
to hear it for myself.”

  “Okay but take my advice - don’t ask them just yet. Let them cool down or they’ll just fob you off.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” he replied.

  “I can assure you everyone with a connection to Isla has been interviewed. I know you don’t think much of Stewart but he does run a thorough investigation. What is it?” he frowned when Mike went rigid.

  “Were the Colonel’s extension and Malcolm’s workshop searched?”

  “No. We need a search warrant and there’s no grounds for that. Mike, wait,” he called when he ran down the side of the Colonel’s cottage and into the back garden.

  Mike stormed towards the extension, which had only been completed on three sides, the fourth comprised of a plastic sheet that flapped in the breeze. Mike smacked the sheet aside and entered the extension, Neil hot on his heels, disappointed to find it empty. It was a shell of a building. The walls, floor and roof were in place but inside there was nothing.

  “What on earth is going on?” said the Colonel, entering the extension via a door that had been cut into the wall of the large lounge, linking the two rooms. “Mike, are you okay?”

  “S…sorry,” he sighed, dragging a tired hand down his face. What the hell had he been thinking? That the Colonel had kidnapped Isla and stashed her in a room with only three walls? He was losing his mind. Not only that but the Colonel had used his military skills to organise the searches for Isla, the ones that weren’t led by the police anyway.

  “It’s okay,” he said sympathetically. “You must be under so much pressure.”

  Mike just nodded.

  “Can I get you a cup of tea?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Mike wondered if you’d mind telling him about the last time you saw Isla?” said Neil.

  “Of course not. It was three days before she vanished. I saw her in the shop first. I got into a row with the moron next door, so I went into the café for a herbal tea to calm down and she was there with you.”

  Mike recalled the Colonel’s upright figure sat regally at the table in the corner, sipping tea with his pinky raised. His story tallied. “Thank you. Are you building this yourself?”

  “Yes,” he smiled proudly. “I had a little help initially from Will McNair but it’s mostly my own work.”

  “It’s a good job. Sorry for intruding.”

  “Please don’t worry about it. If there’s anything I can do…”

  “I’ll let you know,” he said before leaving.

  Mike looked so lethargic and defeated as he headed back into the garden that Neil was doubly shocked when he vaulted the wall into Malcolm’s garden.

  “What on earth are you doing now?” he said, following, annoyed when it wasn’t as easy for him to scramble over the wall.

  “I may as well check while I’m here,” said Mike, striding into the huge wooden structure in the rear of Malcolm’s garden. The man himself was inside, hammering pieces of wood together. Like the Colonel’s extension it was unfinished, although he did have the four wooden walls in place but nothing else. Another shell. Nowhere to stash a kidnap victim.

  Malcolm blinked at them. “What’s going on?”

  “We wondered if you could tell us about the last time you saw Isla?” said Neil.

  “Oh, okay. It was at the shop, errr six days ago I think. Sorry, I’m useless at remembering dates and times. She’d just left the shop as I was going in. That madman next door was inside. We got into another row about his hideous extension.”

  Once again his suspect’s story tallied. “Why do you think his extension’s so bad?” Mike asked him, curious.

  “In the evening I used to get the sun on my patio. I loved sitting out with a cup of tea, there was a perfect moment of peace before the midges came out. Now he’s taken that away. My patio is permanently in the shade and does he care? No. He just retaliates by having a go at my workshop, which you have to admit is a work of art. He should be grateful that he gets to lay his stupid, ignorant eyes on it.”

  “Okay, thanks for your time,” said Neil hurriedly, not wanting to get dragged back into all that.

  He and Mike left, taking the path down the side of Malcolm’s cottage back to the main road.

  “Satisfied?” Neil asked Mike. “Or is there anyone else’s property you’d like to trespass on?”

  “I’m done,” he sheepishly replied.

  “You’re lucky they were so understanding, especially after you know what it’s like to have someone trespass on your property.”

  “I thought I’d find something…”

  “That we haven’t managed to find?”

  Mike nodded.

  “You have to understand, we go through months of training. We know what questions to ask and where to look. How many missing persons cases have you worked before?”

  “None,” he mumbled.

  “DI Stewart’s worked eighteen. That’s experience you need. I know he’s an arsehole but he’s an arsehole who’s good at what he does and you need him.” Neil tutted when a call came over his radio asking him to attend a traffic incident in Coylet. “I’ve got to go. Can I trust you not to trespass on anyone else’s property or run around the area interrogating everyone you meet?”

  “Yeah you can,” sighed Mike. He’d had such big ideas of his abilities in something he really had no knowledge about and now he was feeling foolish.

  “Good. Go home Mike,” said Neil before getting in his car and driving off.

  But Mike couldn’t go home. The idea of returning to sitting on his hands doing nothing was too depressing, so he got back in his Land Rover and decided to drive around the area, looking for possible places Isla could be hidden. It probably wouldn’t get him anywhere but at least he’d feel like he was doing something.

  Mike didn’t return to the cottage until the evening. He’d driven up to Inverary then headed west to Lochgoilhead, flashing Isla’s photo in every shop and hotel he came across but no one had seen her. Then he’d driven south, back through Strachur. It had been late afternoon by then and as there was no sign of Neil he decided to stop by the McNair’s house to talk to them about the last time they’d seen Isla. There’d been no point turning up earlier as they would have all been out at work.

  He was invited inside by Hannah, a pretty woman with long auburn hair and hazel eyes. She was putting a brave face on things but the house reeked of unhappiness. The children were subdued, the two teenage girls who looked just like their mother quietly playing on their phones in the corner of the room. Will sat brooding before the television. It was clear they were both unhappy in their present situation but were trying to put on a front. Mike thought splitting up would be better than this misery.

  Hannah told him she’d last seen Isla when she’d knocked on their door a week ago to return a book she’d borrowed off her, another Agatha Christie. Mike knew it had been an excuse to check on her friend. Although Hannah hadn’t told Isla anything outright she knew her marriage was in trouble and she wanted to help but Hannah had refused to confide in her. Mike wondered if Isla had confronted Will about how he was treating her friend, he’d snapped and hurt her. But surely anger like that would be in the heat of the moment. Isla’s abduction had been planned and cold-blooded, not Will McNair at all. Plus the man wasn’t too blessed by brain cells, so he doubted he had the mental capacity to abduct her and leave her clothing about the cottage.

  Will said he’d last seen Isla six days ago. He’d been helping the Colonel with his extension. He’d just been leaving his garden when he saw her enter the shop. His statement tallied with the other witnesses.

  Now he had the information he wanted, Mike made his excuses and left. He had enough misery of his own to contend with without absorbing anyone else’s.

  Next on his list was the snobby bitch Phillipa Shaw and her poor bastard of a husband. They lived in the last house on the left on the way out of Strachur, heading north, a grand grey stone manor house overlooking Loch Fyne. Alex Shaw wa
s something big in banking, hence their wealth. Alex wasn’t too bad but Phillipa seemed to think she was royalty and lorded it over the rest of the villagers.

  Alex answered his knock at the front door, panic flashing through his eyes when he saw who their visitor was.

  “Mike,” he began. “Err, how are you doing? Any news on Isla?” His nerves weren’t anything to do with the fact that Mike was considered a possible murder suspect. Alex was just useless with people going through a crisis, he never knew what to say.

  “Sadly no. Can I come in? I’d like to talk to you and Phillipa.”

  “Yes, yes of course,” he babbled, standing aside to allow him to enter.

  Mike walked in and looked around. A massive chandelier had been installed in the hallway that looked like it would have been more at home in Buckingham Palace. The house was large but not big enough for this monstrous object, so vast it almost touched the walls either side.

  “Alex, who is it?” called an imperious voice from the lounge.

  “It’s Mike, dear,” he called back.

  “Well show him in then.”

  “If you could remove your boots please,” Alex told him, looking embarrassed. “Sorry, Phillipa’s orders.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, pulling them off, wishing he’d worn a pair of socks without a hole in. He pulled the left sock back over his big toe, which peeped out of the top. Only then was he allowed into the lounge.

  Mike found himself standing in a large room that was the result of wealth combined with bad taste. Flouncy dark pink curtains framed the window. The two huge decadent couches that matched the ugly curtains took up most of the floor space. The walls were lined with glass cabinets holding an array of expensive yet twee ornaments. Two enormous Chinese vases stood either side of the fireplace and another hideous chandelier hung from the ceiling. The carpet was so thick his stockinged feet sank into it.

  Phillipa reclined back on one of the couches like Cleopatra, an expensive box of chocolates on her lap. She wore a dark pink silk dress that made her body blend into the couch. Her light brown hair was piled on top of her head, strategic ringlets hanging down around her face and although she was only lounging around at home she wore full make-up. Mike thought she looked like a woman who was running screaming from age.