Abduction in Dalgety Bay

by Ramsay Sinclair

  All of those niggling thoughts were silenced when we caught a glimpse of DCI Reid’s coffin being carried into the coven of people. DCI Reid was a living, breathing human being that had been reduced to nothing more than a large, wood stained box. The notion didn’t quite click, and it was hard to wrap my brain around the idea that it was genuinely him stuck inside of that coffin. That he was really gone, even. I half expected DCI Reid to burst out in a raucous fit with a flask clenched in one hand and a half-smoked cigar in the other.

  He didn’t, of course.

  2

  After hymns and prayers alike, we’d been ushered and gathered into a dignified circle to stare at the hole in the ground. The coffin had been lowered down; it was beginning to fill up with mud and dirt and all things inconceivable. How is it that we could spend a lifetime building ourselves up with various achievements and then end up with the rest of humanity, criminals or not, in a pit where people would tread above you for the rest of days?

  I averted my stinging eyes, although the stinging wasn’t from tears. They were cold from the harsh breeze that had steadily built up all afternoon long and whipped at our coattails.

  DCI Reid’s family were hugging and muttering spewed sayings such as, “He’s in a better place now,” as well as all other kinds of preconceived crap. None of them truly meant it, for I could see the insincerity on their faces. It was simply a front to show they cared.

  I’m sure Iona Reid wasn’t paying much notice to their shoddy attempts to console each other, for she, too, stayed frozen to the spot. Spots of gravel littered her tights near to the ankles.

  “Are you still alright?” Abbey glanced up nervously at my glum expression, her curvaceous body holding the weight of my own.

  I wished people would stop with that same bloody question. How did they expect me to feel knowing I had a chance to stop DCI Reid from lighting the fluid that caused the explosion but failed to do my duties as a law-abiding officer?

  “Not really.” I shuffled on the spot, shoulder to shoulder with her and McCall. “It’s hard to believe that’s what becomes of all of us after we die. Corrupt or not, we’ll all be covered in the same load of crap.” I gestured towards the troughed ground, to which a few of his family glared at me crossly, mainly for my inability to filter my sentences. “Makes you wonder what it’s all for. All the fighting, the friendships and the love we have in our lives.” I screwed my nose.

  “Finlay, don’t talk like that,” Abbey warned me with an understandable hint of concern. There was a reason I barely attended events such as these.

  “There are bugs everywhere, and dogs could walk right in and do their business on the graves. I’d rather be cremated than spend the rest of my life here.” I hissed softly and kicked a tuft of grass to display my reasoning.

  McCall nudged me harshly, and I realised that Iona Reid had overheard everything I’d said about her husband's resting place. Tension rose in the air as McCall shifted uncomfortably on the spot, waiting for the consequences of my loose lips.

  Flummoxed, I stuttered. “I’m sorry. I’m no good at this kind of thing, and--”

  Iona Reid chuckled stuffily in pure amusement, stunning us all into a state of confusion.

  “Alec would have said the same,” she said as she remembered her late husband, her voice sounding muffled from all the sobbing she’d done.

  “He would’ve hated all of this as much as us, you know. There’s a reason he always used to talk about you, Cooper. You’re two peas in a pod.” It would’ve been rude to wholly disagree after already offending the proceedings, so I did my best to stay quiet. “Luckily for my husband, I don’t think they let dogs into the graveyard. At least not into this part.” Iona pointed to a sign that hung on the weathered wrought-iron gates. It was cable tied to their unkempt bars, and it still managed to flap gustily in the wind.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Abbey frantically apologised on my behalf and flicked a buzzing fly away from them. It was blowing against the wind, struggling to contend with the breeze. Its wings flailed helplessly and sprawled against Abbey’s hand when she tapped it. “Finlay’s not been himself recently.”

  I saw myself in the fly, beaten and bruised but still trying to fly against the wind.

  “I can sympathise.” Iona grimaced, and her loose curls tumbled over one shoulder. “Everything changed so quickly. My husband had a bigger impact on people's lives than even I realised. The effort the station has gone through today is what Alec deserved before he got involved with the wrong people.” She sniffed. “It doesn’t feel real at the moment,” Iona Reid added as she licked her oversized lips, smeared in a shiny coating of lipstick. “He was my life, you know. Over thirty years of marriage. I thought we’d at least have ten more.”

  A second wave of cries rose in her throat, calling for another sympathetic embrace from Abbey. They hugged tightly, and neither of them let go in a hurry. I awkwardly shoved both hands into the warmth of my pockets. McCall smiled politely, and the rest of our team stood partaking in hushed discussions, shivering in the Scottish gales.

  “You’re coming over for the wake, aren’t you all?” Iona Reid asked us after calming down. “I’ve cooked food for everyone, and there’ll be plenty of drinks. Most of them for me.” She snorted into a limp handkerchief, the end of her nose red raw.

  McCall faltered at the question and glanced towards DC Taylor. “I’m not sure. We’ll probably go to the pub to celebrate his life quietly. Just us and the team,” she said to politely excuse us all.

  “Uhm, actually,” I interjected, “I’m going to go home.” I struggled to express that company was the last thing I really wanted right now. The funeral had provided food for thought, an end to a few months of turmoil from the case regarding DCI Reid’s actions.

  “You are?” The information was news to Abbey. She was under the impression that we’d arranged to go to the wake. We were supposed to, but internally, my plans had changed. Staring at DCI Reid’s grave turned out to be hard enough, let alone stepping foot in his house. That would bring back too many unwilling memories that I was trying to forget.

  “Right,” she adapted quickly. “I’m sorry, Iona, but I’ve got to take Finlay home.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I began to protest.

  “I agree,” McCall jumped to her aid. “I’d feel safer knowing he’s got company tonight.”

  “I am here, you know?” I attempted to prove it would be fine. An hour or two alone to wallow in self-pity would suffice. Today’s extortionate proceedings had taken any fight left inside, clean away. All I longed for was a peaceful drink or two alone, the television, and a night of uninterrupted rest.

  Abbey searched my face knowingly. “Like I said. I’ve got to escort Finlay home.” They wouldn’t take no for an answer, stubborn as they came. “I hope you’ll be alright on your own, Iona?”

  “I will be eventually,” the vivacious woman said. “I’ve got some of Alec’s family here, so it’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me anymore, just worry about yourselves. It was nice to finally see you out and about after all the trouble my husband caused you, DS McCall.”

  She pulled McCall in for a warm hug, although they’d barely met before today. They’d only heard stories regarding each other. “And don’t think you’re escaping that easily, Cooper.”

  Before we understood what was happening, I was being pulled into an overly perfumed hug, all arms and chest. “I know today wasn’t pleasant, but I’m grateful you came, anyway. As the last man to speak to him alive, it was important to me. That he trusted you to be there for him.”

  Leaving Iona Reid in the company of family, splashes of water coated our shoulders and soaked through our clothes. We were utterly fed up with being outside.

  “Didn’t feel like going to the wake either, huh?” I rocked back and forth on my heels.

  “It didn’t feel right,” McCall admitted silently, watching the team. “Not after everything we went through trying to catch DCI Reid in the act
and my suspension. No, the pub and a pint will do me. I’d rather be anywhere but here. I hate funerals. They remind me of--”

  She broke off suddenly, finding it easier to keep it private. Funerals probably brought memories to light of her once-disrupted childhood.

  “Try not to get frustrated with us all,” she continued. “It’s only natural that we want to care for you at a time like this. You’ve gone from barely drinking at all to knocking back a few most weekends. You can disguise the shakes if you want and deny that you’re having nightmares, but we who know you best understand you’re in a state of shock. Call it meddling, but all of us will be looking out for you, whether you like it or not.”

  Abbey hummed gratefully.

  “Is that a promise or a threat?” I smirked at the pale women, deflecting the subject appropriately.

  McCall playfully slapped my bicep. “I guess we’ll find out sooner or later.”

  “Finlay--” Abbey wrapped her toned arms around my slimmer-than-normal waist. “Are you ready to leave then?” She sighed, knowing that nobody could persuade me after I’d made a decision. “I’m ready when you are.”

  McCall answered instead. “He is. Try to get some rest this weekend. I expect to see you at the office on time next week,” she chastised gently. “The new DCI will want to meet us too.”

  Ah. DCI Reid’s infamous replacement. To say I was hesitant about serving underneath another superior was an understatement. The ordeal our team had been through under DCI Reid’s time of service was enough to last us all a lifetime. In fact, it was safe to say that we were all wary of who was going to fill his morally corrupt and larger than average boots.

  “You go through DCIs at the same rate you go through cases,” Abbey smirked.

  “Tell me about it,” I scoffed.

  McCall just shook her head. “Hopefully, this time, it’ll be different. That whoever takes over is here to stay and do a jolly good job of it too. Someone younger would be nice, so we know they’re not about to retire on us.” She rolled her gleaming eyes and stole a glance towards DC Taylor, who was left standing on the outskirts of the CID group.

  “Go ahead,” Abbey asserted as she sensed McCall’s obvious hesitance to leave us after today. “John seems as though he’s waiting for you. We’ll be fine from here.”

  They shared a friendly smile of understanding.

  “Thanks…” McCall clearly debated whether a show of affection would be needed round about now. I hoped not, as I had enough of hugging people already. “Well,” McCall decided against it, “wish me luck at the pub. I have got a feeling I’m going to have to wrestle the packets of roast beef crisps away from Cillian. You know what he’s like when he gets going on them.”

  “Rebecca will keep him in line.” I squinted. It already looked like she was telling Cillian off. “You’ll be fine. Have a round on me?” I suggested as I fumbled to find a ten-pound note.

  “No, we couldn’t do that. Keep the money. You need it more than we do.” McCall laughed kindly and nudged the note away. “See you next week.”

  “Good luck,” Abbey added softly, and with nothing much left to say, we started to pace along the graveyard’s gradual descent.

  McCall got smaller and smaller the further we roamed, immersing herself into the CID team’s chatter. Every so often, we’d both look behind us and catch each other's eyes without meaning to.

  When the gathering was left far behind us, a web of thoughts and feelings entrapped both Abbey and me. Though I couldn’t fathom what she thought about, I knew my own mind was still torn in two. Too many questions repeated themselves inside my head, wondering whether DCI Reid deserved what came to him in the end. Part of me said yes, but the rest said no. I didn’t know which half of me was right. I had become Jekyll and Hyde, and each fought against the other.

  “I kind of wanted to be alone,” I confessed pointedly, arm in arm with the petite woman.

  “Aye, which is precisely why I’m coming with you. You make bad decisions when you’re left to your own devices,” she reminded me carefully. The decorative veil of hers flapped in the frequent gusts of wind, getting worse as we climbed various hills.

  Perhaps they were right.

  “Fine, but I’m having a drink tonight, and you can’t stop me,” I warned.

  “Fine,” she repeated nonchalantly as she threw her hands up in mock mercy. “But I’m having some too. Funerals are utterly depressing.”

  It was nearly enough to make me crack the first grin in a while.

  Passing silently by the bay, I remembered where my first high profile case took place. It sent me reeling, and Abbey must’ve noticed me staring at the agate water as it rhythmically washed in and out of the bank.

  “Things were a lot easier then, huh?” she mentioned without thinking.

  “If you call investigating murders easy, then sure,” I quipped and rubbed my freshly shaven chin.

  “You know what I meant,” she tutted and wrestled a high heel from the grass. “Things were a hell of a lot easier for me back then. Before I met you, I was a hard-nosed office worker. Men were last on my agenda, let alone grumpy detectives of your sort. But then I saw you in the woods, all mean and moody, and that was kind of hard to resist.”

  Smirking at the people we used to be, I pretended to be indifferent. “Witnesses were last on mine.”

  “Hey!” Her rosy mouth hung open indignantly. “You pursued me.”

  “Only after the case was over and done with!” The inflexion in my voice wavered slightly. Sharing a fond glare, we ended up chuckling.

  “Not true.” Abbey was determined to set the record straight. “We went on a date during the midst of it all.”

  “That wasn’t my choice. You practically stalked me. But,” I planted a kiss on her flushed forehead, “I’m glad you did.” Taking a nervous breath, there were a few things Abbey needed to know. “I’ve got a lot of anger to process at the moment. There were still things I wanted to say to DCI Reid, mainly about his cowardice. I know I shouldn’t feel angry because it’s not going to bring him back.”

  “You have every right,” Abbey butted in, careful to approach me with ease without being overwhelming. “It’s a step towards healing.”

  “People have told me that already. I have a feeling they’re lying to give me a false sense of positivity,” I revealed.

  “That’s called paranoia, Finlay. You’ll have to learn to live with that nagging voice at the back of your head. It’s not your fault that DCI Reid hid his true self behind lies and deceit. You couldn’t have saved him. Nobody could.” She’d told me this a hundred times at least, but no matter how often people reassured me that the actions pursued at Seafield house were right, I had convinced myself that DCI Reid could have been helped. Somehow.

  “Yeah,” I eluded, wishing to change the topic. We couldn’t think of much else to discuss and ended up treading the dusty roads in peace. It was a comfortable silence because Abbey wouldn’t judge me.

  When we finally arrived home, I fumbled in my suit pocket to find the freezing set of keys. They clattered to the floor, for both of my hands were significantly weaker than this morning. My lack of food was prevalent, and we both noticed how I began to lapse in response to even the simplest of tasks. Grabbing the keys from my slack grip, Abbey led us slowly inside.

  “You need something to eat. Sit your stubborn arse on the seat,” she said lightheartedly as she guided me across to the kitchen table. “I seem to recall Kirsty saying she’d offered you something to eat earlier, but you refused.”

  Did people ever stop gossiping about me?

  “I feel as though I’m in a care home thirty years too early.”

  “It can’t come a day too soon,” she said with an I-told-you-so expression on her face. “I’m making us a slap-up meal, so greasy that it’ll clog your arteries.” She knew where the utensils were kept and stared at my tired appearance. “Does a wee bit of bacon and eggs sound alright?” She bit her lip, holding up the cardbo
ard box of eggs.

  I agreed simply to entertain her, letting people care for me if that’s what they really wanted to do.

  “Before we eat, go into the first cupboard on your left. Please?” I asked.

  Abbey followed my guide curiously. Shuffling on the spot, she wondered what I so desperately desired. It didn’t take long to find out, for the cupboard was stacked to the brim with lager, rum and whiskey. Although hesitant to indulge my dire habits, she reluctantly opened up a bottle and poured herself the first glass.

  “I’m having some before you finish it all. It won't help anything, you know,” she chastised but handed me the entire whiskey bottle at my command. Taking a long gulp from the bottleneck, an instant sensation of relief coursed through my weary body, and burning reflux became prominent in my throat.

  “Are you sure about that?” I shrugged. “It feels like it’s helping. It’ll numb the pain at the very least.”

  “Well, then. Cheers to that.” She cynically raised her glass and cracked some egg yolks into a hot, sizzling pan which splashed from the volume of oil inside.

  3

  McCall

  The bartender carried over our rounds with all the patience of an expert. Ignoring the spilt foam, we thanked him and handed over our hard-earned pennies. After he set the drinks upon our oak table, which matched the rest of their wooden decor, we all took a moment to gather ourselves in solitude. DCI Reid’s funeral wasn’t the most enjoyable way to spend our weekend off.

  As predicated, Cillian was playing upon the gaming machine and hit the plastic in a huff whenever he lost. However, when he finally won a few pounds, nobody could stop him from jumping in excitement. Anyone would think he’d won the lottery.

  “Nothing beats their lager here.” John sipped his pint and settled into the booth style seats. Resting his head in the slight ledge behind us, he had a foam moustache residing on his top lip. I picked up a napkin and wiped it away, an act that earned me a goofy grin. “Although with this diet I’m on, the amount of sugar in one of these will knock me off track for the entire week.”