Dark Suits and Sad Songs

by Denzil Meyrick

  ‘As the lieutenant said, sir, the local harbour master will want to speak with you at some point, and the coastguard. The police, too, I’ve no doubt. A dreadful set of circumstances,’ the petty officer said to Stephen as they neared Kinloch. ‘I’m pleased that we were in the vicinity. That’s our good deed done for the day.’

  Alice looked out of the small cabin window. She was wrapped in a silver thermal blanket, as were the rest of the family. The sailors had been kind and efficient; they had been checked over by the ship’s doctor, offered a shower and a change of clothes, and before they left the warship, given a hot meal. Though she didn’t think that the dark uniform trousers and jumper she had been kitted out with were very flattering, she had been glad to get out of her wet clothes and warm up. The Captain had even radioed ahead to book hotel rooms for them, to give them a chance to talk to the relevant authorities and sort out transport back to Edinburgh. She looked up to see the rating, who didn’t look much older than herself, staring at her. She smiled, making him blush and look away.

  Her thoughts turned to what they had just experienced. Though she couldn’t be certain, she felt sure that the vessel that had lurked for so long on the horizon was the same one that had sunk their boat. She knew it was insane, but remembering the whoosh prior to their dinghy sinking, she could have sworn that they had been hit by something. When she had told her father this, he dismissed her theory with no little scorn. As far as he was concerned, the little boat had been damaged in the collision and the whooshing noise was merely the sound of it bursting.

  As the young crewman jumped adroitly onto the pontoons and began securing the tender, she pictured the laughing man aboard the boat that had sunk them. She shivered.

  ‘Elise who?’ Donald asked, from behind the desk in his temporary office.

  ‘Fordham, sir,’ said Daley. ‘Minister for Rural Affairs, Food and the Environment.’

  ‘Oh, bollocks, don’t they realise we’re up to our necks in shit here?’

  ‘Interesting to note that she is from the same department as our suicide case, sir.’

  ‘Does that surprise you, Jim? Have you ever met a politician who could keep their nose out of anything?’

  ‘One more thing, sir. Miss Fordham will be accompanied by Gary Wilson from the communications department. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you about him.’

  ‘Ah, no, indeed. Well, we’ll just have to make the best of it. Let’s hope they stick to their word and this visit is as low-key as they suggest,’ Donald said, lifting the receiver of his phone. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Jim, I have an urgent phonecall to make.’

  As Daley left the room he had the uneasy feeling that the imminent arrival of Gary Wilson was no surprise to his boss.

  Here we go again, he thought.

  As he walked down the corridor towards the CID Suite, Rainsford hurried towards him. ‘Sir, you remember the family who discovered our body in the sea?’

  ‘Yes. Taylor, isn’t it? The guy’s big in some business in Edinburgh.’

  ‘Yes, sir. As you know, they were on their way here to be interviewed by ourselves. Apparently, they were hit and sunk by another boat early this morning. Rescued by a naval destroyer a few hours ago.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘County Hotel, sir.’

  ‘Right, you and I will take a wander down there. For one thing, I need a drink; secondly, as my old gaffer used to say, everything happens for a reason, so let’s go and try to find out what that reason is.’

  Daley walked into his office to pick up his jacket. The large room was a hive of activity; there were whiteboards displaying crime scene images, timelines and maps with locations numbered and marked in red; detectives were poring over documents, making phone calls or staring at computer screens.

  For the first time in months, despite the death, destruction and all of their attendant problems, he realised that he felt at home.

  16

  ‘Well, well,’ Daley said, as he walked into the bar at the County Hotel. Brian Scott was sitting at a table with a plate of sandwiches and a large cup of coffee in front of him.

  ‘Aye, you can smile all you want. I couldnae get a proper drink here if I tried,’ he said, nodding in the direction of Annie, who was cleaning a pint glass with a white tea towel.

  ‘No, an’ you’ll no’ get wan neither, no’ until you get back the night,’ she said.

  ‘I very much doubt our man will be back here before closing time, Annie,’ Daley said with a smile. ‘Most sensitive operation he’s involved with. Could change the world, in fact.’

  ‘Aye, you know what you can do with your “sensitive operation”,’ Scott said, glaring from under knitted brows. ‘Two o’ the things I hate most in the world – wild goose chases, and boats.’

  Daley noticed that despite using both hands to hold his mug, Scott’s trembling had sloshed some of the coffee onto the white tablecloth.

  ‘The fresh air will do you the world of good, Brian, trust me.’

  ‘It’s no’ the air that I’m worried aboot. Every time I come doon here I find myself oot on a boat. You know fine I hate the bloody water.’

  ‘You’ve been all at sea since I’ve known you, Brian,’ said Daley. He walked to the bar and spoke quietly to Annie. ‘Are the Taylors here? I need to have a chat with them. Somewhere quiet, if you could arrange that.’

  ‘Aye, no bother, Mr Daley. You can use the dining room, there’s nobody in there. Dae you want me tae give them a buzz an’ tell them you’re here?’

  ‘Yes, that would be great, Annie,’ said Daley. He turned back to Scott. ‘What time are you heading off, Mulder?’

  ‘Och, in just over an hour. Aye, an’ you can stick that Mulder piss up your arse, tae.’ Despite his fragile condition, he managed a smile. ‘Luckily, my dear wife had the good sense tae pack a warm jumper, an’ a waterproof jacket. Fucking flippers I’ll be needing next. If I’d wanted tae join the Underwater Branch, I’d have spent mair time at the baths in Maryhill when I was a boy.’

  Daley watched the Taylor family as they walked into the County’s large dining room. Underneath healthy tans, they looked pale. They were dressed in ill-fitting clothes that clearly weren’t their own. Mrs Taylor’s eyes were red-rimmed, and despite his outward calm, Daley could tell that her husband was stressed too, biting his finger nails as he ushered his family to the table where Daley and Rainsford were waiting.

  ‘Please take a seat,’ Daley said. ‘There are plenty chairs. Well, you’ve certainly been through the mill, from what I’ve been hearing. I’m DCI Jim Daley, by the way, and this is DS Rainsford.’

  ‘Stephen Taylor.’ He shook Daley’s hand. ‘This is my wife, Andrea, and our children, Ian and Alice.’

  ‘We’ll take it from the top then,’ Daley said. ‘You found a body in the water.’

  Scott made his way to the pier down Kinloch’s Main Street, quiet in the early evening. He was to meet a fisherman called Norrie Deans at his boat the Grey Gull. The few people he passed smiled at him, or said a brief hello. Though it was still warm, he had a thick jumper and a bulky waterproof over his arm. It always seemed to be cold at sea, no matter how mild the weather on land.

  As he reached the head of the pier, he spotted a familiar figure standing within a haze of pipe smoke.

  ‘Well, now, how are you doing?’ said Hamish. He was dressed in a fisherman’s waterproof bib and brace set, over a thick dark jumper and sea boots. ‘You’ll be ready for oor wee adventure?’

  ‘Naebody telt me you were coming, Hamish,’ replied Scott, wondering just how hot the old man must be, clothed as he was.

  ‘Ach, but I’m sure your pal has the dementia, or something similar.’ Hamish looked at him, taking the pipe from his mouth and spitting noisily onto the ground. ‘We had a conversation aboot it a’ jeest this morning. I offered tae be your guide, so tae speak. Aye, he thought the idea was jeest inspired.’

  ‘Aye, well, whatever. I take it you know what we’re aft
er, here?’

  ‘Well, now, in my time at sea, I’ve been lucky enough tae witness maist things, so you needna worry that I’ll be shocked, or faint away like a wee lassie. I’ll gie you a take on my unique knowledge o’ the coast. Aye, unsurpassed hereabouts, let me tell you.’

  ‘Och, I better give the gaffer a phone,’ Scott said, searching in his trouser pocket for his mobile.

  ‘Oh aye,’ said Hamish, flourishing a plastic carrier bag he had been holding. ‘I brought this – tae serve against the chill, you understand.’ With that he revealed a bottle of whisky. His eyes creased in a slant as a broad grin spread across his tanned face.

  ‘Er, yes, well, I daresay that would dae the trick nicely.’ Scott put the phone back in his pocket. ‘Now, where’s this boat?’

  ‘The Grey Gull, there she is there.’ Hamish pointed to a fishing boat at the end of the pier; of medium size in Scott’s admittedly limited experience, but looking sturdy enough for him to be able to approach this latest naval adventure with more confidence than he would have thought possible an hour before. The fact that Hamish had produced a bottle of whisky had done a lot to soothe his nerves as well.

  ‘Lead on, Hamish. This is a piece o’ nonsense, but we might as well enjoy it as best we can.’ Scott put his arm around the old man’s shoulder as they walked to the fishing boat. ‘Maybe I’ll enjoy this light duty malarkey more than I thought.’

  ‘So you saw someone on deck, Alice?’ said Daley. ‘Can you describe him?

  ‘Yes,’ Alice answered confidently. ‘He was kind of big. Ugly. He was bald or with a shaven head – one of the two. I saw him quite clearly.’

  ‘Do you think you’d recognise him if you saw him again?’

  ‘Yes,’ Alice answered quickly. ‘I’ll never forget his face. He was laughing at us as his boat sailed away. We could have drowned, and all he could do was laugh. I hate him.’

  ‘Alice!’ her mother chastised.

  ‘It’s OK, Mrs Taylor. I understand your daughter’s sentiment. In fact, this could be most helpful. Would you mind coming up to the office, Alice? There’s a picture I’d like you to take a look at.’

  Have I found my man in the street? Daley wondered.

  17

  Scott swore as he clambered onto the fishing boat. Hamish, already aboard, held his hand out to support the detective as he manoeuvred himself off the pier and over the gunwale of the vessel. The tide was full, and the boat sat high in the water.

  ‘Where’s this Norrie character, then?’ said Scott, looking about the deck for any sign of life.

  ‘No, he’ll no’ be up here, he’ll be doon there,’ Hamish replied, gesturing over the far side of the boat as he tried to relight his pipe in puffs of pungent smoke.

  ‘Eh?’ said Scott, as he struggled over the nets, fish boxes and coils of rope scattered across the deck.

  ‘That’s Norrie’s boat doon there.’ Hamish puffed on his pipe, scattering a cloud of midges that had been bothering them since they came aboard. To exaggerate this effect, Hamish removed the pipe from his mouth and puffed out yet more tobacco smoke into the still air. ‘Aye, Mr Scott, the curse o’ Scotland, these wee bastards. Did I tell you the tale o’ why they came tae plague oor fine nation?’

  ‘Never mind that,’ exclaimed Scott, looking over the side of the fishing boat. ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘That’s the Grey Gull. A fine wee craft she is tae.’

  ‘“Wee” being the operative word. You pointed this boat oot when we were at the head of the quay.’

  ‘No, no, indeed I did not. This is the Winter Star. It belongs tae the MacDonald boys. For whoot reason would I tell you this was Norrie’s boat?’

  ‘You distinctly pointed tae this boat wae your bloody pipe, just a few moments ago,’ said Scott, looking askance at the small wooden vessel that bobbed alongside the larger fishing boat.

  ‘Weel, jeest how was I tae point tae this boat when she was doon here oot o’ sight? I pointed in the general direction o’ the boat we were efter. It’s no’ my fault you grasped ontae the wrong end o’ the stick wae such gusto.’ He smiled, a look of satisfaction writ large over his face.

  ‘And while we’re at it,’ said Scott, ‘just how dae you intend tae get aboard that . . . that tub.’

  ‘Ach, noo that’s the easy bit. Norrie! Would you fling me up the rope ladder.’ At this, a hatch popped open on the deck of the Grey Gull, and a plump-cheeked man sporting a greasy Breton cap stuck his head out and squinted into the golden sunlight of the summer evening.

  ‘I might have known, nae show without Punch, Hamish,’ said Norrie. ‘We’re having a wee bit o’ engine trouble. Nothing terminal, you understand. I’ll be finished in ten minutes or so. Jeest yous two enjoy the sunshine. Me an’ Kenny will be oot in a minute.’ With that, the hatch closed again.

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Scott, ‘just brilliant. Here I am aboot tae surrender mysel’ tae the ocean blue again, this time aboard the pride o’ the Toy Toon fleet, and tae make matters worse, the engine doesnae work, plus I’ll have tae perform fuck knows what acrobatics, just for the privilege of getting aboard.’

  Alice walked the short distance from the County Hotel to Kinloch Police Office with Daley and Rainsford. They had asked her many questions about what had happened in the early hours of the morning, and seemed most keen to hear as much as she could tell them about the ‘laughing man’, as they now referred to him. She was troubled, though. Before the police had arrived, her father had warned her not to mention her theories about the sinking of their boat, for fear of making a fool of herself, or sending the police out on a fool’s errand. But she was sure what had happened was down to more than reckless irrresponsiblity and she just couldn’t dislodge him from her mind. The face, the laugh; all of it made her shudder.

  Daley sat behind his desk, Alice beside him in another chair. Rainsford had been despatched to get coffee, a task Daley knew the detective felt was well beneath his pay grade.

  ‘Now,’ said Daley, booting up the laptop on his desk. ‘I would like to show you something.’ In a few moments, the machine burst into life and he found the file which contained the grainy CCTV footage.

  Alice sat forward on her seat to get a better look. Suddenly, into frame, walked a man clad in black. Daley saw the girl’s eyes widen.

  ‘Hang on, Alice. I’ll rewind this and stop it at the point where we have the best glimpse of his face under that hat.’ Daley pressed a couple of buttons and the short clip rewound and paused, this time stopping just over two seconds in. The stocky man had raised his gaze in order to cross the street; it was a side-on view, but the best they had.

  ‘That’s him, that’s definitely him!’ The teenager stood in her excitement. ‘There’s no way I’ll forget that face – ever.’

  ‘You’re absolutely sure?’ asked Daley. But the look on Alice’s face was enough to persuade Daley she was genuinely convinced that this was the same man who’d left the family for dead as their yacht sank.

  ‘There’s something else I want to tell you,’ Alice said, her voice tailing off, as though she’d said something out of turn.

  ‘Yes, by all means.’

  As she was about to speak Rainsford pushed the door open; the look on Daley’s face was enough to make him grimace and back out.

  ‘Don’t worry, Alice. If you know something else, no matter how stupid or trivial you think it is, just tell me. Nobody’s going to make a fool of you or tell you off. I promise.’ He smiled at the girl, trying to put her at ease.

  ‘Just before the Navy found us, I saw another boat,’ said Alice nervously.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, it was as though they just floated there, for ages, doing nothing.’

  ‘What was the boat like?’

  ‘That’s just the thing, it was too far away to make out, but, well, you know.’ She shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘Well, I just kind of felt that it was the same people who’d hit us, and t
hey were just out there watching.’

  ‘What made you think that?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Just, like, a feeling. Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ answered Daley, who had solved many crimes over the years based on just that feeling.

  ‘I told my dad, but he says it’s ridiculous.’

  ‘What, about the boat?’

  ‘No. Well, not just that,’ she said, sounding suddenly unsure. ‘Before we sank – the second time, in our little dinghy – there was a noise, and a piece of rubber hit me in the face.’

  ‘Why do you think that was?’

  ‘Oh, my dad just thinks that the dinghy got damaged in the collision and sort of burst, like a balloon. There was a whooshing noise, then a kind of pop.’

  ‘And after that the piece of rubber from the dinghy hit you in the face. Is that correct, Alice?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you think, what, that someone did this deliberately?’

  ‘I think someone shot the boat and sunk it. I’m sorry,’ she said, blushing, ‘this sounds like the kind of thing you would expect a stupid wee girl to say.’

  ‘Tell me, Alice. I know you saw this man, on board his boat. Did he see you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘He looked right at me. I called to him for help, and then he started to laugh.’

  ‘Good,’ said Daley, smiling at the girl again. ‘You’ve been a great help, Alice. Thank you.’

  The girl smiled back at him and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She was bright, clever and pretty; she was lucky to be alive. Daley’s blood ran cold.

  Scott was grim as the small craft chugged out of Kinloch harbour, billows of dirty blue smoke issuing from its diesel engine into the still air. At least the sea looked calm; Scott rubbed his chin, reflecting with a shiver on some of his recent nautical experiences.