The Loch

by Heather Atkinson

  Will’s resolve strengthened and he raised the weapon again. “I’ll get her back when you tell me where she is.”

  “I can’t because I don’t know, I swear. And what about your daughters? If you shoot me they’ll be left all alone. You’re a good dad Will. Don’t do that to them.”

  Will’s eyes filled with tears and he tilted the gun barrel to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

  “It’s okay,” said Mike, placing his gun down on the hallway floor. He looked to Will who, after a momentary pause, did the same.

  “Come on through,” Mike told him. “You need a drink.”

  Will followed him uncertainly into the sitting room, standing in the middle of the room, looking lost as Mike filled two tumblers with scotch.

  “Thanks,” said Will, taking the glass from him with a shaking hand and downing the lot in one go.

  “Good man,” said Mike, refilling it for him.

  They sat opposite each other, Mike on the couch, Will on one of the armchairs. The silence lay heavy and thick between them for a few minutes before Will spoke.

  “We’ve been arguing so much lately,” he began, voice quivering. “I don’t know why. Everything I do seems to annoy her. We haven’t had sex in months, she doesn’t even like me putting my arm around her. I get so pissed off because I can’t understand what’s gone wrong, we used to be so happy. It’s fucking frustrating. The kids are upset with it all, they’ve gone quiet and introverted. It breaks my heart.”

  He drained his glass and Mike refilled it for him.

  “When she vanished, my first thought was that she’d left me but when I saw she’d left everything behind I knew something was wrong. It was a feeling, deep down in the pit of my stomach. What if she got so sick of it she decided to take her own life? What if she just walked into the loch?”

  “People asked me the same thing about Isla - was she depressed or worried about anything? Did she have any money troubles? It was also insinuated that she’d thrown herself into the loch because she regretted saying yes when I proposed. And you know what?”

  “What?”

  “Fuck them and their stupid theories. Isla hasn’t killed herself and neither has Hannah. Someone took them and we’re going to get them back.”

  “How can you be sure? Anything could have happened.”

  “Because Isla wouldn’t have left me voluntarily and Hannah wouldn’t have left you.”

  “Aye she would. She was sick of the sight of me but you’re right Mike, she wouldn’t have left her daughters, they’re her world.” His gaze turned dark. “But how do I know you’re not behind it?”

  “I don’t know what I can do to prove it to you but I swear on my mother’s life that it isn’t me.”

  Their heads snapped round to the front door when there was a solemn knock, three slow loud raps followed by silence. The way it was done wasn’t natural and it made them both uneasy.

  “Maybe it’s the police?” offered Will, putting down his glass.

  “They’ve never knocked like that before,” said Mike.

  The knock came again - three slow steady raps.

  Mike crept into the hallway, Will following. Both men picked up their shotguns and paused to listen.

  “Ready?” Mike mouthed at Will.

  He nodded, clutching his shotgun, knuckles white.

  Mike yanked open the door - to once again reveal no one. He looked down expecting to see something left on the doorstep but there was nothing there either.

  The two men dashed outside, looking up and down but the darkness appeared to be empty.

  “You go left, I’ll go right,” Mike told Will.

  He nodded and they headed off in different directions.

  As Mike ran around the side of the house already he knew his efforts were in vain. The intruder would be long gone.

  “Anything?” he asked Will went they met up in the back garden.

  “No but it’s so dark it would be impossible to spot anyone.”

  “Let’s go back inside.”

  Together they headed back around the side of the house to the front door. Perhaps it hadn’t been the intruder after all but someone playing tricks. There were plenty of whackos out there who’d think it amusing to torment a man who was already in hell.

  Mike put his hand on the door handle and froze. Something damp and hairy was touching his skin. Quickly he retracted his hand, frowning when he saw something hanging from the door handle.

  “I’ve got a torch,” said Will, producing one from his coat pocket.

  Mike released a cry and staggered backwards when Will cast his light onto the object he’d touched.

  “What the hell is it?” said Will.

  “I…Isla’s ponytail,” stammered Mike. “The sick son of a bitch cut off her hair.”

  CHAPTER 12

  “Mike? Mike?”

  Stewart turned from a catatonic Mike - who was sitting on the couch staring down at the floor, ignoring all attempts at communication - to a scared-looking Will. “How long has he been like this?”

  “Since he called you lot, so about forty minutes,” replied Will. “It’s like his body shut down. Mind you, I’d be the same if I’d found Hannah’s hair tied to the front door.” Just the memory of that long red ponytail held together by a black bobble caused long icy fingers to crawl up and down his spine.

  Stewart nodded Will to one side, out of earshot of Mike. “How long was he out of your sight when you went outside to look for whoever knocked?”

  “Err, a minute at the most. I just ran around the house to the back but I couldn’t see anyone there.”

  “Who reached the back garden first?”

  “Mike. He was already there. He said he hadn’t seen anyone either.”

  “And you’re sure the hair wasn’t on the door handle when you exited the house?”

  “I couldn’t say, I didn’t look and Mike opened the door from the inside, so he wouldn’t have noticed either.”

  “So you don’t know if it was there when you first arrived at the cottage?”

  “No.”

  “When you went out to look for whoever knocked, was Mike entirely out of your sight for a full minute?”

  “Aye. You’re not suggesting he did that, are you? Look at the state of the man, no one is that good an actor. His skin’s grey for God’s sake.”

  “I’m not suggesting he did,” he replied, eyes narrowing at Will.

  “I didn’t put it there either,” he retorted.

  “That’s good to hear Sir. By the way, why did you come to the cottage?”

  “I wanted to talk to Mike. We’re going through the same thing, I thought we could support each other.”

  “Really? In that case why did you bring your shotgun?”

  “For protection. We’ve no idea who’s taken Isla and Hannah or why.”

  “Hmmm,” was his reply, eyes scanning Will’s face suspiciously.

  “So what happens next?”

  “I need to try and talk to Mike.”

  “I’ll get him a whisky.”

  “Worth a try.”

  Will poured out a glass and held it under Mike’s nose. Slowly his hand rose to grip the glass and he knocked it back before dumping the glass back in Will’s hand.

  “Feeling better?” said Will.

  “Another,” was Mike’s only reply.

  Will looked questioningly at Stewart, who nodded and knelt before Mike. Now he was up close he could see the man’s hands were shaking. “Mike, can you hear me? Mike?”

  Finally his bloodshot eyes focused on him.

  “Will tells me there was a knock at the door but you didn’t see anyone. Is that right?”

  One slow nod.

  “And you’re certain that’s Isla’s hair?”

  Another nod. Mike’s eyes flicked past him to the hallway where he saw Wheeler searching his wet coat, which Will had stripped from him and hung up. “Hey,” he said, getting to his feet. “What the hell are you doing?�
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  Guilt filled Wheeler’s eyes as he realised he’d been caught out. “Just part of the search Mike.”

  “You think I did it, don’t you?” he snarled, advancing on him. “You think I cut her hair off and tied it around my door handle. What kind of sick freak do you think I am?”

  Mike was so blinded by his own roar, black dots shaking before his eyes, that Wheeler was practically invisible as his hands grasped the front of the detective’s shirt and slammed him up against the wall.

  “Mike, let him go,” exclaimed Stewart, running to assist his colleague. He was astonished to see Wheeler’s feet were a full four inches off the floor.

  “Mike, stop,” cried Will, racing to his side and tugging at his arm in a futile attempt to free Wheeler, astonished by the strength in Mike’s arm, who simply shrugged him off.

  “What’s it gonna take to get it through to you stupid fucks?” Mike yelled in Wheeler’s terrified face. “It. Isn’t. Me.”

  He emphasised each word by banging Wheeler against the wall, making him wince.

  “Mike, put him down,” yelled Stewart, hand going to the spray at his belt. “Or do you want to get lifted?”

  Mike ignored him. As he drew back his fist to punch Wheeler, who could only close his eyes against the blow, Stewart produced his spray and gave Mike the full force of the liquid aerosol straight in the face. For a few seconds Mike didn’t react, except to blink at Stewart in surprise. But it had a delayed reaction and he cried out with pain and released Wheeler, hands going to his face, his eyes screwed tight shut.

  While he was incapacitated Stewart and Wheeler worked together to wrench Mike’s hands behind his back and cuff him.

  “Don’t worry Mike,” said Stewart. “The effects are only temporary. They’ll wear off soon. Just breathe normally, you don’t want to hyperventilate. Wheeler, open the door, let some fresh air in.”

  Wheeler did as bid and Mike stood by the front door, breathing in the cold air, Will looking on in astonishment.

  “My eyes are burning,” groaned Mike.

  “Like I said,” said Stewart coldly. “It’s only temporary. In twenty minutes it’ll be like it never happened. Maybe you’ll think twice in future before assaulting a police officer?”

  Mike was too sore and exhausted to tell him that he was thinking about assaulting the bastard who’d sprayed him right in the eyes.

  “Try and keep your eyes open and let your tears wash it away. How’s your breathing, is it okay?”

  “Fine,” he muttered. He ached to rub his eyes but couldn’t because of the cuffs.

  “Was that really necessary?” Will demanded of them.

  “He was attacking my colleague,” retorted Stewart. “What would you have done?”

  “Fought fair, not sprayed him in the eyes like some scared wee girl.”

  “I stuck to procedure Mr McNair. If you don’t like it you can always put in a complaint.”

  “Like that’ll get me anywhere.”

  Stewart gave him an indignant look before turning to Mike. “Feeling better?”

  “Yeah. At least I can open my eyes properly now.”

  “Good because you’re under arrest for assaulting a police officer.”

  “What? You can’t do this.”

  “I can and I am.”

  “Hey that’s not fair,” interjected Will. “He’s just had a huge shock. Have some compassion.”

  “If I were you Mr McNair I’d keep quiet, unless you’d like me to look more closely at why you came here armed with a shotgun.”

  Will glared back at him but made no further comment. “Don’t worry Mike,” he called instead. “I’ll send my solicitor to the station, he’s really good.”

  “That’s fortunate,” said Stewart as he led Mike out. “Because he’s going to need a good solicitor.”

  Mike had never felt so low in his entire life as he did right then, locked up in a police cell, his eyes still stinging, unable to stop thinking about Isla’s ponytail tied to the door handle. He couldn’t help but wonder what part of her was going to turn up next. More clothes or more body parts?

  He buried his face in his hands and cried, the tears helping irrigate his stinging eyes. If she was dead they may as well lock him up because he wouldn’t be interested in living any longer. He wasn’t going to fight the charges, what was the point? He’d assaulted Wheeler and the guy hadn’t deserved it, he’d always been nice to him and he’d searched his coat on Stewart’s orders. He should have gone for the inspector instead, he was the real asshole.

  He looked up when he heard the key turning in the lock of the cell door, blinking rapidly to try and clear his still hazy vision.

  “Come to charge me?” Mike asked Stewart.

  “No. You’re free to go.”

  “What?”

  “I spoke to the DCI as well as the CPS and we’ve agreed to drop the assault charge on the grounds that the balance of your mind was disturbed. Wheeler’s unharmed anyway, apart from a few bruises on his back.”

  “What does he think about me being let go?”

  “He’s in agreement. You’re fortunate he’s a big softie.”

  Mike was both humbled and ashamed. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Try thank you and you are expected to apologise to DS Wheeler.”

  “Of course. I feel such an ass.”

  “You look like one too Mike.” Stewart’s cold mask cracked slightly, allowing some of the warmth to seep out from underneath. “But you had just gone through a massive trauma. One reason we agreed to drop the charges was because we could imagine how we’d react if this happened to our own wives. You must understand though Mike that we have to check every avenue. Finding Isla is our priority and if we have to hurt your feelings to do that then so be it.”

  “Yeah, I know. I won’t act like such a dick again, promise.”

  “Good and try and ease up on the whisky. Use it to relax by all means but don’t go overboard.”

  He nodded wearily. “Message understood.”

  “I’ll drive you home. We’re still checking the cottage. Have you got a problem with that Mike?”

  He held up his hands. “Nope.”

  “Good and consider yourself bloody lucky because there will be no second chances.”

  It was two o’clock in the morning by the time they got back to the cottage. Mike was dead on his feet. Even Stewart, who never looked tired, had dark shadows beneath his eyes. Will had already left.

  Wheeler was in the sitting room. When Mike walked in he came to a halt, regarding him warily.

  “Hello Mike.”

  “Hello…Wheeler,” he replied, realising he didn’t know his first name. “I’m sorry for attacking you, I had no right. I feel really bad about it but what’s happening is driving me out of my mind…” To his relief, Wheeler stopped him mid-sentence.

  “No need to apologise, really Mike. It can happen to the best of us. You’re under so much pressure.” He extended his hand for him to shake. “Let’s put it in the past, eh?”

  “Yes please,” he smiled, shaking his hand.

  “Found anything?” said Stewart, interrupting the moment.

  “Actually yes,” replied Wheeler. “One of the scene examiners found some footprints in the back garden leading into the woods, just two in the soft soil in a flower bed. Size four.”

  “Isla’s size,” breathed Mike.

  “But why would she cut off her own ponytail and wrap it around a door handle?” said Stewart. “No, it doesn’t make sense.”

  “It could be a woman who took her?” offered Wheeler. “Or a small man?”

  “Or the real perpetrator has a partner who is leaving these items.”

  “Does the hair,” began Mike, finally putting voice to his worst fears. “Mean that she’s dead?”

  “No,” said Stewart firmly. “There’s no reason to suspect that.”

  “But it means whoever took her has upped their game. It’s a big leap going from leaving her ou
tdoor clothes to cutting off her hair.”

  “I agree.”

  “Please,” said Mike desperately. “We have to find her before he cuts something else off her.”

  “And we will. She’s in the local area, of that we’re convinced.”

  “Did you look closer at Alex Shaw?”

  “I did. He doesn’t have a criminal record, which is a surprise given that he’s a banker. Comes from a good family…”

  “So did Ted Bundy.”

  “He spends a lot of his time in Glasgow because of work and after meeting his wife I don’t blame him. The night Isla disappeared he was driving back from the city. He arrived home just before eight.”

  “So he could have taken Isla, he was alone when it happened. He could have snatched her at seven o’clock and taken her to where he’s holding her, which can’t be far then returned home in time. He has a wine cellar that runs the length of the house. Phillipa doesn’t go down there, it’s his personal space. There’s a separate entrance into the cellar at the back of the house.”

  “We’ve tracked his car on CCTV through Glasgow at just before six o’clock that evening. He couldn’t have got back here in time to snatch her at seven, it’s too far.”

  “Did you see his face on the footage?”

  Stewart shook his head. “No.”

  “He could have paid someone else to drive his car to give himself an alibi.”

  “That thought has already occurred to us Mike. However he was at home with his wife when Hannah went missing, although Phillipa was asleep but she stated that if her husband had left she would have known and she’s willing to swear that he didn’t. Then she told me that if I continued to harass her husband she would get the Chief Superintendent involved, who apparently is a close personal friend.”

  “You’re not going to let that crap stop you, are you?”

  “Of course not and I asked the Chief Super how she knows the Shaws. She told me she met them once at a dinner party and in her opinion Phillipa Shaw is a cretin of the first order and is no friend of hers.”

  “Alex could have snuck out when Phillipa was asleep and snatched Hannah,” said Mike excitedly. “They live practically next door to the McNair’s and their house overlooks the beach where she went walking. He could have seen her and decided to take the chance. She knew and trusted him, she wouldn’t have thought twice about it when he approached her.”