Jeremiah's Bell

by Denzil Meyrick

  She took the small but powerful binoculars from her pocket and held them to her eyes. She was angry with herself when the image before her began to jump and jar because of the trembling of her hands. She would have liked to blame the chill wind for that, but knew it was the visceral emotion of fear, the like of which she hadn’t experienced since she was last in this place.

  She willed her hands to stop trembling and soon she was able to pick out the dwelling more clearly. Beside a broken plough sat the remains of an old Transit van. It was kilted to one side, a back wheel arch propped up on bricks. Though the ruined vehicle sported one wing that looked light blue, almost white, the rest of the bodywork bore the red-brown of rust, though she could still make out a shadow of the bottle green it had once been.

  Where would I be now without that van, she wondered. She hadn’t expected to see it, but there it was, decaying like the rest of the property, but present still. Parts of her life that, no matter how hard she tried, she could never banish from her darkest thoughts and worst nightmares.

  She scanned the shingle beach, swallowing hard when she noted three hulking dark figures hauling a little boat along the pebbles nearer to the bank of seaweed. They were a blur now, her tears obscuring the view despite the quality of the binoculars. She let them hang by the strap around her neck as she sobbed.

  This was unexpected – unwanted. But it had happened.

  Alice spoke to herself, her voice suddenly changed; gone now the Kentucky drawl. ‘Gie yersel’ a shake, lassie – come on!’

  Just as she forced herself to stop crying, something else grabbed her heart with icy cold fingers. Distantly, on the wind, a bell tolled. Jeremiah’s bell – it could be no other.

  Alice Wenger sank to her knees and curled up in a ball on the soaking ground.

  Jim Daley looked himself up and down in the mirror. He was glad to have lost some weight, but unhappy about the reason for doing so. But this bittersweet feeling encompassed most of his life now, he reckoned, so he tried to make the best of things. No struggle this time to button his trousers – in fact he had to draw his belt in a couple of notches.

  He tied his tie in the habitual Windsor knot then sat on the end of the bed to put on his shoes, polished to perfection the night before. This wasn’t going to be his first day back at work, but he was to see Chief Superintendent Symington, and that was enough to set his pulse racing. It was as though she had the power of life and death over him, to give, or to take away. The notion disturbed him greatly.

  He looked at the picture of his wife and son on the dressing table. Despite himself he couldn’t remember when it had been taken. Liz had gone, come back, then gone again. Now, it seemed, she was determined to come back for good. But remembering the song, he wasn’t sure if that was what he wanted. Still, she’d kept him safe, nursed him through one of the most difficult times of his life, and he felt he owed her a deep debt of gratitude.

  But was that enough upon which to base a marriage?

  ‘Right, that’s me, Liz,’ he called as he found his car keys on the table in the hall.

  She emerged from the lounge in sweatpants and a long jumper, newly acquired glasses on the end of her nose as she appraised him. She smiled and walked the short distance to kiss him on the cheek and wish him well.

  ‘I hate this,’ said Daley.

  ‘Of course you do – why wouldn’t you?’

  ‘It’s like going to see the headmaster.’

  ‘In that case you should ask Brian for tips. I’m sure he stood before a fair number of headmasters in his time.’

  ‘Of that there can be no doubt.’ He smiled and kissed her on the forehead.

  ‘We’re okay, aren’t we, Jim?’ She looked up at him hopefully, large eyes magnified by the spectacles.

  ‘Of course we are,’ he replied with as much conviction as possible. But he could see a shadow of doubt pass across her face, more than likely reflecting a similar expression that had just passed across his own. ‘One day at a time, eh?’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right, Jim. One day at a time.’

  She wished him good luck as he walked down the steps to the SUV parked under the raised decking beside his house on the hill. Before him, across the lime green waters of the loch, the familiar march of gravestones was picked out in flashes of sunlight from behind scudding clouds. The smell of the storm was strong in the air; everything renewed, a fresh start. That’s what he was hoping for – wasn’t it?

  He sat behind the wheel, drew a smaller length of seatbelt across his stomach than he was accustomed to, and started the car. He made his way slowly down the rough track that took him out on to the main road. As he drove through the town he was surprised by the bustle. He reasoned that the last two stormy days had kept folk indoors and now they were taking advantage of the favourable elements while they could. The forecast was for more bad weather.

  In minutes he was driving through the gates of Kinloch police office. He smiled, noting that Brian’s car was occupying his parking space. He didn’t mind; in fact the thought of his old friend being acting sub-divisional commander made him chuckle. But he knew that was unfair. Instant choice for the next chief constable he might not be, but Brian Scott – despite his many failings – was one of the best cops he’d ever worked with, as well as being his oldest and dearest friend.

  As Daley punched in the security code to access the office via the rear door, a whole new set of thoughts entered his head. Had things gone another way he could have been standing at a similar door while someone else entered the security code. Regardless of the noble revenge for a hideous crime, he knew he was lucky not to be behind bars himself. As he walked into the dim light of the corridor, the familiar bleep and crackle of radio traffic made him feel like a fraud. Had he any right to be here, any right to be discussing his return to work?

  Any bastard would have done the same, Jimmy. Brian Scott’s words echoed in his mind. If he’d done that tae my Ella, he’d have been wearing his bollocks for earrings, I’m no’ joking!

  Heartened, Daley strode down the corridor towards the charge bar, where Sergeant Shaw was looking puzzled as he worked on a set of papers, his hair standing on end where he’d been scratching his head for inspiration.

  ‘You at the Times crossword?’

  ‘Jim – sir, no, not at all. I’m trying to make sense of our acting inspector’s roster sheets.’ He grimaced.

  ‘Ho! Good luck with that.’ For the first time in a long while Daley felt a smile spread across his face. ‘Is she in – the real boss, I mean?’

  ‘I think so – unless she’s in your box arguing with Brian again.’

  ‘Arguing? What about?’

  Shaw shrugged his shoulders. ‘No idea, but they were going at it hammer and tongs a while ago. Brian was giving as good as he got – I could hear them from here.’

  Daley raised his brows. ‘Oh well, I’ll leave you to it. No time like the present.’ Shaw gave him a wink of encouragement and Daley walked along the corridor until he reached what had been John Donald’s office. In a way he would have been happier at the prospect of facing his dead boss and bitter enemy. There would have been no sense of guilt or unworthiness when confronting a man who cared nothing for morals and even less for the law. But as he composed himself and knocked on her door, he knew Carrie Symington was a different proposition altogether.

  7

  Brian Scott entered the bar at the County Hotel, his stomach rumbling. He hadn’t enjoyed his breakfast because of bickering with his wife, so he’d decided to treat himself to something substantial rather than his usual filled roll and crisps.

  Two or three people were dotted around the room. A young couple sat at one of the back tables, and the wafting aroma of their fish and chips made the detective’s mouth water. At the table nearest the bar, Hamish and another man sat deep in conversation, their expressions less than sanguine. Likewise Annie, usually animated and welcoming, merely nodded and said a subdued ‘Hello’.

  ‘Has s
omebody died, or what?’ Scott asked.

  ‘It’s yourself, Brian,’ said Hamish. ‘Come on over and take a seat.’

  Scott accepted the invitation and sat down beside Hamish and his companion. ‘Can I get a menu, Annie? I’m fair starving, so I am.’

  She reached below the bar and stretched over to hand him a laminated single sheet that served as the lunch menu. ‘No special on the day, Brian.’

  ‘Oh, why not?’

  ‘Och, big Peter couldna be bothered – whoot wae a’ the goings-on, an’ that.’

  ‘What’s been going on?’

  ‘A fair tragedy, Brian,’ said Hamish. ‘No other way tae describe it.’

  Scott’s heart lurched in his chest for a moment. If any kind of disaster had befallen the community he should have known about it. ‘What are you on aboot?’

  ‘Och, I can hardly let the words form in my ain mooth,’ said Hamish. ‘You tell him, Annie.’

  ‘Bad news, Brian – the worst, in fact,’ she said.’

  ‘Will somebody just tell me what’s happening!’

  ‘There’s men here – surveyors, if you please,’ said Hamish, clearly now ready to tell the tale. ‘They’re upstairs going through the bedrooms at this very moment.’ He shook his head and downed what was left of his glass of whisky.

  ‘What are they aboot?’

  Annie made to speak but Hamish beat her to it. ‘They’re here to work out how they can turn the hotel into flats, that’s what they’re aboot!’

  ‘Eh? Surely no’. This place does well, what wae meals an’ drink, guests and the like.’

  ‘No’ well enough, Brian, that’s clear,’ said Annie, her head bowed, leaning on the bar. ‘I phoned the owners last night. They didnae say much, mind you, but I could tell fine whoot they’re at.’

  Scott shook his head in disbelief. ‘Hard tae think o’ Kinloch withoot this hotel.’

  ‘I’ve been coming here since the end o’ the war,’ said Hamish. ‘I was jeest a nipper, mind you, but my faither brought me in after that German submarine got washed up on the causeway. Fair upset, he was – even though it was the enemy who perished. Mind, there’s a fair solidarity between men o’ the sea, regardless o’ ideology, though he was tight tae admit it at the time. I was greetin’ fit tae burst, so we came in here as a treat. My, I remember that like it was yesterday.’

  ‘Aye, an’ you’ve been in jeest aboot every night since,’ said Annie.

  ‘I’ve graced this establishment a fair number o’ times o’er the years, it’s true. For all its faults, mark you.’

  ‘Faults? Whoot faults?’ Annie was suddenly on the defensive.

  ‘Well, for a start, you’ve always been mair expensive than Jenny’s, and the beer’s never been as good as in the Douglas Arms. Something tae dae with the drawing distance fae the cellar, I’m sure.’

  Annie tried to speak, but her mouth flapped open and closed like a landed fish.

  ‘You’ve been coming here for a whiles yoursel’, Erchie, eh?’ Hamish addressed the other man at the table.

  ‘Aye, since I was posted here from Clydebank,’ Erchie replied.

  ‘Posted?’ asked Scott.

  ‘Yes, posted. I was in the polis. I served as a constable here for a good four years. Long before your time, mind you.’

  ‘Why did you leave?’

  ‘Married a local lassie. Her family weren’t so keen on polismen, so that was it. Either the job or the lassie I was in love with. So I chose her.’

  ‘No regrets, I bet.’

  ‘Ha! No regrets, my arse. We lasted about eighteen months before she ran off with the cobbler.’

  ‘Willie Johnson. Would shag a barber’s floor, that bugger,’ observed Hamish with a sour look.

  ‘They moved to Australia, and that was that – left high and dry.’

  ‘And naebody tae mend so much as the sole of your boots in the whole place. Auld Mr Quinn in the shoe shop rubbed his hands till they was red-raw, so he did.’

  ‘Did you apply tae join up again?’ asked Scott.

  ‘No, it wisnae really for me, to be honest. We’d a right bugger o’ an inspector back then – everybody hated him. I didnae want tae go back tae that. I was a farm labourer up until a couple o’ year ago.’

  ‘And what are you at these days?’ Scott had noticed his boiler suit.

  ‘Just part time oot at the airport. I do odd jobs – help with the luggage, clean the loos, that sort o’ thing. Gets me oot o’ my bed in the morning, and pays for the car; that’s about all I can say tae recommend it.’

  ‘Here, tell Brian whoot you telt me earlier, Erchie,’ said Hamish. ‘We’re both needing a wee libation, Brian – jeest tae force the sadness oot, you understand.’

  Scott ordered a round of drinks and fish and chips from the menu. ‘Right, I’m all ears,’ he said, after taking a gulp of ginger beer and lime.

  ‘Just something that troubled me yesterday; like seeing a ghost, so it was,’ said Erchie.

  ‘Here we go.’ Scott raised his eyes to the heavens.

  ‘Noo, hear him oot, Brian. This might be o’ interest tae yourself, mind.’

  ‘If you must, but get it o’er before my fish an’ chips arrive.’

  Erchie adopted a faraway look. ‘We’re going back – och, mair than thirty years. It was my last year in the polis. A lassie went missing; disappeared intae thin air, so she did.’

  ‘One o’ the Doigs fae the black croft,’ Hamish interrupted.

  ‘The black croft? That’s a cheery name tae call your hoose,’ remarked Scott.

  ‘That’s no’ its right name. It’s Rowan Tree Cottage – but it’s been known as the black croft since long before I was born.’ Hamish took a gulp at his whisky.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Well, the Doigs got a bad name – the worst.’

  Scott sighed. ‘So it’s a family saga, noo. Mind my fish an’ chips are near ready.’

  ‘They were wreckers, Brian, the lowest o’ the low. Lured fine seamen tae their deaths, an’ profited from what was washed ashore. Despicable, that’s a’ a man can say.’

  ‘That’s jeest auld wives’ tales, Hamish,’ said Annie.

  ‘Not a bit of it! My faither telt me, and his telt him. And let me tell you, we’re no’ a family prone tae fancy.’ There was a brief silence while those gathered absorbed this fact.

  ‘And what aboot this lassie, then?’ asked Scott, desperate to shorten what promised to be a long tale of Kinloch lore.

  ‘The day after she left the school, she just disappeared. Took their van fae the cottage, and that’s the last that was seen o’ her – until yesterday,’ said Erchie.

  ‘Yesterday?’ Despite himself Scott’s interest was piqued.

  ‘I was busy unloading the cases fae the trolley at the terminal. This lassie came up tae me – American like – asking for a taxi. I’m prepared tae swear that it was Alison Doig.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘I spent my last year in the polis looking for her. Yous must have records back up the road still. We found the van abandoned at Tarbert, but that’s as far as we got. It’s as though she just evaporated.’

  ‘Hard tae tell after all these years, I’d say. The woman must be in her fifties by noo.’

  ‘I’m telling you, if that wasn’t Alison Doig I’ll eat Hamish’s bunnet.’

  ‘You bloody well will not, Erchie!’ said Hamish, pulling the Breton cap down on his head by way of security.

  ‘And these Doigs, are they still aboot?’ asked Scott.

  ‘Yes, very much so. The mother and faither are a fair age, but still oot at the black croft, so they are. Auld Doig was a smart bugger. Went tae Glasgow tae be a doctor, so they say. But his faither didna like the idea, so it was back tae the croft. Never sat his exams, so I believe. He married a MacKechnie lassie fae up Firdale way. She was a right horror – could turn milk sour wae jeest a look. My faither crossed himself every time we passed the black croft when we was oot on the boat – an’ h
im a Protestant, tae. They’ve got three big hulking lads, but naebody hardly ever sees them. No’ jeest quite right, so I’ve heard. Live off the land and the fishing. Don’t even have electricity, so they say.’

  ‘So it’s the blacked oot croft,’ said Scott with a chuckle.

  ‘I’m telling you, it was her,’ said Erchie as Scott’s meal arrived.

  Two men entered behind the waitress. The older of the pair handed Annie two sets of keys on the familiarly over-large wooden hotel fobs. ‘That’s us, Annie. We’ll not stay for lunch, we’re on a tight schedule.’

  ‘Good!’ said Annie without looking him in the face.

  ‘Aye, off tae ruin someone else’s lives, I shouldna wonder,’ said Hamish.

  With a shake of his head the surveyor left the bar, his young colleague behind him looking apologetic.

  Almost oblivious of this, Brian Scott savoured his lunch and silently resolved to have a look at the case of Alison Doig back at the office.

  ‘And you’re sure you feel fine, Jim?’

  ‘Never felt better, ma’am. The tablets have fixed the heart arrhythmia. The doc calls me a model patient.’ Daley smiled weakly.

  ‘Well, the force MO agrees. You seem to be in good shape – lost a bit of weight, too, I see.’

  ‘It’s been a stressful time, ma’am.’

  ‘I know – I absolutely acknowledge that. Things must have been so hard for you both. How’s Liz?’ Symington knew she would have to raise the subject sometime, but she was dreading it.