The Darkness and the Deep

by Aline Templeton

  ‘To play devil’s advocate, that could just be because he was worried about her going out in bad weather with an inexperienced cox.’

  ‘Maybe. So what’ll he say, then, when we pin him to the wall in there?’

  ‘If he’s guilty, he’ll start trying to convince us he was in love with her so he wouldn’t have done anything that could harm her. And that Willie was a good mate and he wouldn’t harm him either. And if he’s innocent—’

  ‘He’ll say the same thing.’

  She groaned. ‘Come on, we’d better get on with it.’ As they got out of the car she said, ‘It’s like that puzzle about the two identical tribes – one lot can’t tell the truth, the other can’t tell lies, and you meet one at a fork in the road. You have to know which way leads to the town instead of a crocodile-infested swamp and you’re only allowed one question. You know that one?’

  ‘No, what—?’

  Elder was standing waiting for them. ‘Tell you later. Oh – any word of Jon?’

  MacNee shook his head. ‘He’ll turn up. Only the good die young.’

  As they reached the shed, Elder said frigidly, ‘Do come in,’ holding open the door. They went ahead of him, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the soaring emptiness above them, and Fleming led the way into the tiny office where she and MacNee sat down on two small upright chairs. Elder took his seat behind the desk and with an assumption of authority began, ‘Now, Inspector—’

  ‘Yes,’ Fleming said. ‘Mr Elder, we’re looking for a drug trafficker who’s behind all this. And we’re coming to the conclusion that it may well be you.’

  Even MacNee blinked in shock. Elder recoiled, as if she had physically struck him across the face.

  ‘What – what – I don’t know what you mean—’

  ‘Don’t treat me like a fool. Of course you do.’ He was starting to sweat already. Good.

  MacNee leaned forward. ‘I think the inspector means that in a situation like this, where two very serious crimes have been committed, both needing local knowledge, and where there is suspicion that it may be drugs-related, anyone who’s wealthy and in a business using a lot of casual labour, is bound to be a suspect.’

  This time it was Fleming’s turn to be startled. It was only when Tam turned a bland face towards her that she remembered her challenge to him. Well, if he fancied the ‘nice cop’ role, she knew what hers was.

  ‘That’s the mealy-mouthed way of putting it. Let’s start with where you were, precisely, at eleven-fifty last night, when the owners of a property adjoining Baker’s Brae heard screams of agony and ran out to find Willie Duncan’s body, flattened by the tyres of the vehicle which had run over him.’ Seeing the look on his face, she added, ‘Twice,’ for good measure.

  Elder was fighting for composure. ‘At home in bed. You – you can ask my wife—’

  ‘And I take it there would be no objection to offering your vehicle for inspection?’

  He jumped at that. ‘Certainly. None. I will give you the keys, and I won’t even ask for a warrant.’

  ‘Mind you, it’s not just the one you’ve access to, is it?’ Tam broke in. ‘What about the business cars? And the vans?’

  ‘Check any you like.’

  ‘And that wee sporty number your wife has?’

  There was a slight hesitation, then he said, ‘It’s her car. You would have to ask her.’

  ‘That’s a fine cop-out,’ MacNee sneered and Fleming had to bite her lip. The nice-cop resolution hadn’t lasted long. She wasn’t about to step in to fill the vacancy herself; she didn’t think Elder would be dumb enough to fall for it anyway.

  ‘Let’s move on to the other occasion, Mr Elder. The evening the lifeboat was wrecked. What precisely were your movements on that occasion? If I remember your statement and the statements of the saleswomen in the showhouse, you were at Fuill’s Inlat, although they didn’t see you until you went in to tell them there had been a call-out and you were leaving?’

  ‘That’s right. Yes.’

  ‘Perhaps you could expand on that a little for us. I have to confess I can’t recall, offhand, how much time elapsed between the call from the coastguard and when you spoke to them? Though it will, of course, be a matter of record.’ She really had him sweating now; he’d taken out a handkerchief and was dabbing his brow.

  ‘I – I was talking to some people – prospective clients – I don’t know who exactly—’

  ‘Strange,’ Fleming mused. ‘I don’t recollect a report of any of them mentioning that. We can always ask them again—’

  ‘They – they might have forgotten—’

  ‘Oh, come on, sunshine, you can do better than that! The big man himself, chatting up the punters, and they wouldn’t remember?’ MacNee’s laconic drawl was pure, distilled scepticism. ‘What were you doing – skulking around the bay, putting the lights in place?’

  ‘No!’ It was an animal-like howl and Fleming eyed him sharply. She’d been keeping him off balance to stop him thinking calmly enough to clam up and send for his lawyer, but she didn’t want him falling apart altogether. It was like trying to land a salmon; this might be the time to cut him a bit of slack.

  She said, much more gently, ‘I wonder, Mr Elder, if you are beginning to feel you wish to – adjust some of the information you gave me on the occasion of our last meeting?’

  He mopped his face again. His lips were trembling and he dabbed at his mouth before he spoke. ‘Yes. I – I wasn’t open with you. I rubbished the story about Ashley and myself because she was dead. What would be the point of admitting it? It would have meant trouble all round – her husband, my wife. And I have no reason to embark on a divorce now. But yes,’ he bent his head, ‘she and I were very much in love. We were together that night when the call came in. She’d just agreed to marry me—’ He put the handkerchief to his eyes.

  ‘Well, that’s all very fine and good.’ MacNee’s tone was vicious. ‘It’s a nice performance. But you see, Elder, we’ve only your word for it. There’s plenty of rumours, but no one’s seen the two of you together. And your own wife said you chatting up Ashley at a party would be enough to get a story like that started.’

  ‘You’ve spoken to my wife?’

  ‘Oh aye. That was before this latest business, though. See here, Willie was into drug dealing – we know that fine. And he’d been worried about being seen talking to me – did that scare you? Just in case for once he’d discovered he’d a tongue?’

  ‘You think I would have done something like that, to silence Willie?’

  ‘Someone did,’ Fleming pointed out.

  ‘But not me! Look, the reason no one saw Ashley and me together was because we were careful, for God’s sake! We both had positions in the community. We met, mostly, at the showhouse, once it was furnished.’

  That suggested an interesting thought: was the ersatz domesticity of a showhouse bedroom a reflection of their relationship, a shallow illusion of glamour and the good life? From what Fleming had heard of Ashley Randall, true love would have been unlikely to strike if Ritchie had been the lifeboat mechanic instead of the Honorary Secretary, but looking at the wreck of a man in front of her, she could almost believe that what he was saying was genuinely felt.

  ‘So where do you claim you were at the time the call from the coastguard came?’ MacNee pursued.

  ‘I don’t claim, we met at a pub near Glasserton – the Black Bull.’

  MacNee made a note of that. ‘So they’ll remember you there? We can check that out.’

  ‘We deliberately chose a pub where we wouldn’t be recognised. And it was a busy evening – the barmaid was more interested in her social life than her customers.’

  ‘I see. Someone else who might have forgotten you being there? Funny, isn’t it, the way all these people you meet seem to be suffering from memory loss?’

  ‘No, no! It’s only that girl—’ He stopped.

  ‘Oh, of course. Sorry, sorry. You’ve got me forgetting things now.’ MacNee was
having a fine time. ‘The other people who’d forgotten you were there were right, you weren’t there. You just told us you were, briefly, before you changed your mind. Now, before you get me even more mixed up, did you mean to say you were really down on the shore, fixing those lanterns?’

  Elder put his head in his hands. ‘This is intolerable!’

  ‘Queer the things people find intolerable,’ MacNee said conversationally. ‘What I call intolerable is a man flattened on the road, and a wreck that killed two men and left one woman dead with her face smashed in.’

  At these words Elder looked up, his face taking on a greenish tinge. He jumped up, his hand pressed to his mouth, and stumbled out of the room.

  ‘Gone to boak,’ MacNee said with coarse satisfaction.

  ‘Tam, you went too far,’ Fleming said. ‘That was genuine enough, you know – you can’t fake that kind of revulsion.’

  ‘Maybe. But if you were cold-blooded enough to kill your oldest friend and the woman you were screwing – we’ve only his word for it about the touching proposal scene – thinking in detail about the result might easily make your stomach heave.’

  He had a point there. ‘Laura talked about pathological solipsism,’ Fleming said thoughtfully.

  ‘What’s that, when it’s at home?’

  ‘Selfishness, to the degree where no one else matters in pursuing your own interest. And what you just said would be a perfect illustration.’

  ‘She’s not daft, Laura.’

  Fleming nodded, then glanced at her watch. ‘He’s taking a long time. I hope this hasn’t just given him time to think and get himself organised, before we move on to the drugs stuff.’

  MacNee looked crestfallen. ‘Maybe. He’s been a while, right enough.’

  A little silence fell, then MacNee said, ‘What was the question?’

  ‘The question?’

  ‘The one you ask to find out which road to take.’

  Fleming laughed. ‘Oh, that question! You have to say, “If you were a member of the other tribe, which road would you tell me to take?” The lying man will tell you the wrong one, the truthful man will tell you the wrong one as well, so you take the opposite road.’

  It took a moment for MacNee to digest it, then he said, ‘I like that. I could see it working in interrogations – ask the lad who’s protesting he’s innocent what he’d say if he wasn’t, and since you can assume he’s lying, because they always do—’

  ‘I think you’re taking me out of my depth here, Tam. Anyway, that’s him coming back.’

  Elder was still pale, but he looked much more composed. ‘Can we conclude this interview for the time being? I’m not well – I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, obviously.’

  ‘Oh, just a couple more things,’ Tam said. ‘I’ve a question to put to you. We’ve as good as accused you of being a drug trafficker. Supposing, just supposing, you were, what would you say?’

  Elder looked down at him contemptuously. ‘I would say exactly the same thing as I would say if I were innocent. As indeed I am. I would say, “This is a ludicrous suggestion and since you haven’t arrested me I can only assume you have no evidence to back it up. I am therefore refusing to say anything until my lawyer is present.” And that’s what I’m saying now.’

  As they went back to the car, MacNee was looking crestfallen. ‘Och well, you win some, you lose some.’

  ‘We weren’t going to get him so upset he confessed anyway,’ Fleming said, ‘and he’s given us quite a bit to follow up on. Though I have to say it’s all pretty negative stuff – he might not be able to prove he was where he said he was, but it won’t be easy to prove he wasn’t to the Fiscal’s satisfaction.

  ‘Oh, there’s Tansy. I wonder if she’s caught up with Jon?’

  But Kerr’s worried expression told them she hadn’t. ‘No one’s seen him. And I checked discreetly with HQ and he hasn’t turned up there either.’

  ‘So we have to start taking this seriously.’ Fleming’s face was grim.

  ‘I recognised some of the lads he was with last night,’ MacNee said. ‘I could try and find them – see if they know where he is without blowing his cover. But if I draw a blank—’

  ‘I know. Then I think the balloon will have to go up.’

  15

  Lewis Randall came out of his surgery and on his way out for lunch stopped at the reception desk. Enid Davis was there, neat as always in a pale blue shirt-blouse; she looked up and smiled at his approach.

  ‘Enid, I’m just going to look in to see Mrs Duncan on my way home. She must be in a terrible state of shock and she has to watch her blood-pressure.’ He looked shaken himself, with dark shadows under his eyes.

  ‘You are good. I’m sure she’ll appreciate that. I know how difficult it was for poor Katy Anderson to have to come in here after the last tragedy.’

  ‘Yes, all those people staring at her!’ Muriel Henderson, who had been working at one of the filing cabinets, came over with the speed of a heat-seeking missile. ‘So intrusive!’

  ‘Yes indeed,’ Randall said, without emphasis. ‘Anyway, I’ll have my mobile with me if I’m needed.’ He went out.

  ‘Muriel, I’m off now too. Mrs McNally’s still in the waiting room – Dr Matthews is running late this morning. And Cara should be back in half an hour to let you away.’ Enid headed for the back office to collect her coat.

  ‘Thank you, Enid,’ Muriel said frostily. She had not forgiven her for the way she had spoken, and she hadn’t forgotten her suspicions either. That little exchange had been quite blatant – her leaving whenever he did, and him reminding her he had his mobile so he could let her know when he’d finished at the Duncans’. She must remember to pass that on to the constable, next time she saw him.

  This would have to stop. Katy Anderson looked wearily about at the litter of memories she had surrounded herself with, all she still had to prove that her life with Rob hadn’t been a dream: the photos, the pressed rose from her wedding posy, the programme from the Glasgow show they’d gone to on their first date . . . It had been her relief from the rest of the sorting out she’d had to do, removing Rob’s pyjamas from the pillow, throwing out his toothbrush and shaving things. His clothes . . . she’d just had to shut the door of his wardrobe and leave that, until at some unimaginable future date the pain became bearable.

  It had helped at first to blot out the intolerable present with the past, reliving the presentation of Rob’s RNLI medal from the yellowing report and photo in the Galloway Globe, the surprise weekend in Paris from an old, sweetly sentimental birthday card. But it wasn’t working now. Last night’s tragedy had shocked her back to the reality that was this terrible new life.

  What was happening, in this peaceful, friendly place where she had been so happy? Somehow, after Rob’s death she had been too numbed with shock to ask questions; now, ‘Why? Who?’ was a constant beating inside her head.

  Could she bear to go on living here, with the front windows of this very room giving a view of the sea which had taken Rob from her, and the back one of the place where Willie Duncan had died, where without even turning her head she could see the police screens and the gathering pile of flowers beside them? Could she walk down the street there and meet her neighbours, while she wondered if it was one of them who had done these awful things? It was horrible, horrible – but where else was she to go?

  Then there was Nat. Sooner, rather than later, she would have to confront the problem. She had tried to blot out her terrible suspicions, and she’d been grateful to Enid Davis, who had made a case for him. Grateful – but not completely convinced. To someone naive, of course mothers and sons loved each other and estrangements were no more than misunderstandings. And perhaps she did love him really, even if all she felt about living with him, without Rob’s presence to protect her, was a shrinking fear.

  She had seen hatred in Nat’s face when he looked at Rob – yes, and at her too, sometimes, hatred and contempt. In the initial shock, she had hardly n
oticed whether he was in the house or not, but now she was becoming aware that he was trying to make up to her, with cups of tea and sympathetic enquiries. Perhaps he did feel sorry for her, did feel guilty about his past behaviour, and perhaps she should be giving him the benefit of the doubt, but yesterday she had caught a look on his face as he turned to leave the room which was neither kindly nor apologetic.

  She needed a breathing space – maybe they both did. She couldn’t send him back to his father, of course, who was responsible for much of the damage that had been done to their son, but she’d always got on well with Dave’s mother, a decent woman who might find Nat a suitable place near her in Glasgow for the time being. Or would that only make things worse? Oh, she needed Rob, Rob who was kind but tough, to put things in perspective . . . She pressed her lips together, hard. She couldn’t have Rob, that was all, and she’d have to get used to it.

  When the doorbell rang, it occurred to Katy to wonder if it might be Enid Davis. They’d talked a bit at the funeral tea; she’d discovered that they had both suffered badly from an unhappy first marriage, and she’d been helpful about Nat before, too, even if Katy did think she might have a rather idealistic notion of teenage boys. It would be a lucky coincidence if it was Enid.

  It wasn’t. When she opened the door it was Joanna Elder who stood there, stylish as always in a cream wool coat with a luxurious fake-fur collar. She had a basket looped over one arm and was carrying an elaborate floral arrangement of pink and white lilies.

  ‘Mrs Elder!’ Katy said, showing her surprise. Her acquaintance with the Honorary Secretary’s wife had always been of the most formal kind.

  ‘Oh, Joanna, please! How are you?’ Her smile was charmingly sympathetic. ‘I just brought you some flowers and one or two sort of foodie things.’

  ‘How very kind! Do come in.’ Katy had repeated the words so often that the response seemed programmed, like a mechanical doll’s. She led the way upstairs to the kitchen so that her visitor could set down the ‘foodie things’, in the faint hope that with that duty done she might go away.