In Dark Water

by Lynne McEwan

  ‘Okay. What do you suggest?’

  ‘Well, we need to hit them all at the same time or phones will start ringing and we risk losing some targets, so we send teams out this way.’ He drew a dotted line through a maze of small country roads. ‘They’ll avoid trouble.’

  ‘And we’ll need two squad cars to pick up suspects,’ Shona said. ‘That’s not ideal, I’d rather have them in the cage.’

  Murdo scanned down the list of targets and circled two names. ‘Couple of familiar faces. They’re low level dealers, shouldn’t give us much trouble. Put Guy Matthews, he’s useful, and a special on one, and the two Kirsties, Jamieson and O’Carroll, on the other.’

  ‘Are they up to it if things kick off? I don’t want any mishaps with an operation this size.’

  ‘Oh aye. They’re handy lassies. Rock solid.’

  They went through the rest of the briefing document until both were satisfied. O’Halloran stretched up and yawned. Shona was treated to a glimpse of his pale rounded stomach, like a whale surfacing for air, before it disappeared back beneath his untucked shirt. In the outer office, chip suppers were being distributed and Murdo went to claim his share.

  The forty or so staff and officers in the briefing room accepted DI Shona Oliver’s substitution for DCI Baird without a murmur. With Murdo’s help she went through the schedule of suspects, locations and background checks and answered a couple of queries from the floor. An hour later, as the teams were filing out with their instruction, Shona was approached by PC Guy Matthews.

  ‘Any problem, Matthews?’ Since Murdo’s vote of confidence, she’d ear-marked him as potential CID. Intelligent grafters were what she needed, and she hoped he wasn’t going to ruin his chances by asking a basic question.

  ‘No, ma’am. I just wanted to update you on Nathan Jones.’

  Technically the Sweet Life investigation was no longer her case. But technically, Nathan Jones and his yard full of fishing gear wasn’t really part of that case, beyond a vague witness statement. ‘What can you tell me?’ Shona asked.

  ‘Not much, ma’am. He gave a very brief statement, wouldn’t be drawn. He has a previous for drink driving and was interviewed about stolen outboard motors, but otherwise he’s clear.’

  ‘Nothing violent? No sexual offences?’ Shona asked. Matthews shook his head. ‘All right, thank you, Matthews.’

  Shona gathered up her papers and followed the others out. It was frustrating. It had seemed a promising lead, but now it looked like she was no nearer to finding the identity of the girl from the firth, and her killer, than she had been when she’d folded her brutalised body into the plastic sheeting and brought her ashore.

  * * *

  On the journey home Shona would normally have felt the tightness in her shoulders ease with each passing mile. It was true what she’d said to Dan Ridley earlier, the serious crime rate was low. Resources were always under budget pressures, but Shona’s main concern usually was not a backlog of cases stacking up, but how to prevent talented staff being lured away by busier and higher profile forces. The leviathan of Operation Fortress was a test of her leadership and, although she would have viewed it as a routine operation during her time in London, there were variables here in the experience and training levels of the staff that she’d have liked more time to address. She wondered if Baird had dropped the briefing on her at the last minute on purpose, just to keep her on her toes and in her place.

  Rob had gone to the train station to collect some guests but left a chicken and tarragon stew in the oven for her. She fell on it with gratitude, having missed out on the office chips. Becca was in her room, wrapped in an oversized jumper, once her father’s. With headphones in and intent on her laptop, she grunted hello when her mother kissed the top of her head. Shona gave the screen a quick, parental glance and although the Spotify box showed The Clash’s London Calling was playing, she was reassured to see an essay of some kind was also in progress.

  She stood by the kitchen window looking out on the bay, massaging the tension in her neck. A quick walk, just down to the sailing club pier and back, would help her get some sleep before the three a.m. alarm call. Halfway along the seafront, she saw the light on in the lifeboat station and decided to update skipper Tommy on what they’d found at the Carmine warehouse.

  The two-tone alarm of a call-out blared just as she reached the station door. A couple of cars were speeding along the road towards her, volunteers already alerted by pager. Inside, Tommy was in his kit and loading the first aid box into the boat. Callum the postman and Graham Finlayson, the landlord of the Anchor pub in the next village, burst through the door behind her.

  ‘Got a man threatening to throw himself off Sark Bridge in Gretna. Coastguard want us to stand by,’ Tommy said. ‘It’s at the limit of our range. To save fuel I’m only taking one crew. Shona, get suited up.’ He turned to the other volunteers waiting by the door. ‘Shona’s a trained police negotiator and has experience of this sort of job from when she was based at Tower Lifeboat Station in London.’ They nodded their agreement.

  ‘Course,’ said Shona. She reached for her immersion suit, suspended on the pegs behind her by its yellow wellies. Op Fortress was only hours away, but saving a life came first.

  The sun had almost sunk into the western waves behind them as the Margaret Wilson set off on the long pull east up the Solway. Shona had fired off a quick text to Rob and Becca. Now she was out on the water all trace of tension and fatigue had gone.

  ‘Sark Bridge,’ Tommy shouted to her as they cruised at top speed up the middle channel. ‘Funny how we were just talking about that. Did you have any luck with the lassie?’

  ‘No. We recovered a haul of drugs next door, so not a wasted journey.’ Mention of the drugs brought Baird and Operation Fortress back into her thoughts. She pushed them away, focusing on the job in hand. ‘Any info on the potential jumper?’

  ‘Cops are on scene. It’ll be high water by the time we get there.’

  An hour later, it was pitch dark. They followed the tide up the Solway and branched left into the River Sark. Shona’s hands were numb beneath her gloves from gripping the anchor points and her knees sore from the battering of the waves through the few inches of foam that constituted the bottom of the inshore lifeboat. Tommy throttled back in the confused and choppy currents below Sark Bridge and Shona directed the powerful, handheld flashlight to a group of people up ahead.

  Six feet below the parapet was a man, the light catching the wide whites of his eyes as he clung to the granite pier of the bridge. Blinded, he panicked, his legs flailing for purchase on the slanted stone. Shona dropped her arm down until the light shone instead on the churning water below. A red-haired constable and a member of the public, a thin, middle-aged man in a scuffed, brown leather jacket, were leaning over the bridge, calming the jumper down. On the road behind, a fire crew stood by. Other officers were keeping back a small number of cars and spectators.

  Shona picked up the VHS radio handset, tuned it to Dumfries Police Area Control Room channel and identified herself. But before she could get an update there was a gasp from onlookers as the man slipped further towards the dark water. It was running at upwards of 6 knots with the turning tide.

  Tommy gunned the engine and prepared to move in. Shona scrambled into position in the bow, ready with flotation devices and a grab pole. Suddenly the middle-aged man in the scuffed jacket shook off the police officer’s restraining arm and clambered over the parapet. A moment later he reached down to the man, who after only a second’s hesitation grabbed his wrist. The constable on the bridge leaned forward and took hold of the jumper’s jacket collar. Together they hauled him up. Shona had a last glimpse of an anguished face, dark skinned and unshaven, caught in the beam of their search lamp, before he disappeared to safety over the red sandstone parapet.

  ‘Another one for the mental health team,’ commented Tommy, when they were stood down by the coastguard and eventually turned for home. ‘It never ends, does it?
’

  Shona checked her watch. It would be after midnight when they got back. She had to be up at three. ‘Aye, Tommy,’ she said. ‘Sometimes it feels that way.’

  Chapter 9

  At five the next morning, Shona and DC Kate Irving parked up in the Newington area of Annan, a market town fifteen miles from Dumfries and eight miles from the English border. The two specials waited by their van as the detectives double-checked the details on the warrant. One of the uniformed officers held a scarlet-painted door ram, in case the occupants were reluctant to open up.

  Shona’s eyes felt gritty and her arm muscles ached from last night’s bumpy trip on the Solway Firth. The streets of 1960s grey, pebble-dashed terraces were quiet, but it wouldn’t be long before the police presence was noted. ‘I’d like a chance with the red key,’ Kate said, giving the door ram its nickname. ‘I’ve not used it since training.’

  ‘Okay,’ Shona agreed. She liked her officers to maintain their skills. Kate gathered her fine, fair hair, securing it with a hair band, slipped on the gloves and, weighing the device in her hands, adjusted her grip. ‘Everyone ready?’ Shona nodded to the uniformed officers. ‘Let’s go.’ They rounded the corner and approached the house. The curtains were drawn but a light showed in an upstairs room.

  Kate gave the battering ram an experimental swing, then paused to rip open the Velcro tabs on her stab vest, freeing up the movement of her willowy frame and toned shoulders.

  Shona put out a hand to stop her. ‘I had a colleague, DC Anya Carey, who did that. Know where she is now?’

  Kate shook her head uncertainly. ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘City of London Cemetery. There was a guy behind the door with a knife.’ Shona remembered the metallic smell of arterial blood, the way it clung to the rims of her nails and grooves in the palms of her hands even when she scrubbed it.

  ‘These vests aren’t really designed for women,’ grumbled Kate, readjusting the straps compressing her breasts beneath the thick Kevlar layer.

  ‘It was a lot worse before Nike invented a decent sports bra,’ replied Shona dryly. When she was satisfied Kate was ready, she tapped the special constable on the shoulder. ‘Right, off you go.’

  ‘Police. Open up.’ He pounded on the door. ‘Last chance. Open up, or your door’s going in.’ He put his ear against the white UPVC, listening for movement, then shook his head.

  The door gave way on Kate’s third swing. The specials were first through, shouting for occupants to come out with their hands in plain sight. From somewhere upstairs came the wail of a small child and a woman’s raised voice. There was movement in the kitchen. The officers grabbed a skinny man in jeans and bare feet as he struggled with the locks on the back door. Kate identified him as the suspect, Billy ‘Hammy’ Hamilton, and cautioned him.

  Shona took the stairs two at a time, pausing on the dirty pink carpet of the upstairs landing to draw her baton. ‘Police. Show your hands,’ she commanded, pushing open the three doors that confronted her. The two bedrooms were empty. In the bathroom she found a thin woman sitting on the edge of the cracked bath cradling her daughter. Both faces were streaked with tears.

  ‘He told me he wasnae doing that stuff any more,’ she sobbed, pulling a balled tissue from the pocket of a stained blue bathrobe.

  Shona stowed the baton in her belt and called Kate. They identified themselves, then took the women’s name and details and helped the pair downstairs. Shona carried the sticky toddler, who eyed her with frank curiosity. The little girl touched Shona’s pearl stud earring, then brought her hand up to her own ear. A tiny gold loop sat in the reddened flesh and Shona guessed she’d recently had them pierced. ‘Pretty,’ she said, and the child smiled.

  As they entered the over-furnished living room, the woman let out a tirade of abuse, flying at the cringing, handcuffed Hammy. Kate hauled her off and she collapsed onto the sofa crying. The child looked uncertainly from her mother to Shona. ‘Is there a neighbour we can call, Jax?’ Shona said. ‘We’ll need to search the house and it might be better if you and Keana were somewhere quieter.’

  ‘That’s kind.’ Jax sniffed, teasing a strand of mousy hair round her finger. ‘But it’s too early to get my neighbours out of bed. I’ll stay. Just get that bastard out of my sight.’ She took her daughter from Shona and glared at Hammy, who stood, head down, by the living room door.

  Shona told the uniformed officers to take their suspect back to Loreburn Street for processing. Jax and her daughter sat together eyeing the police officers as they began to pull out drawers and cupboards. Kate searched a plastic toybox, placing it next to the little girl when she’d finished, but the child made no move to pick up her dolls.

  They found a small bag of heroin taped beneath the kitchen counter and a thin roll of twenty-pound notes held by an elastic band in a cereal packet. ‘What’s this, Jax?’ Shona said, walking back into the knocked-through living and dining room, holding the packages up in her gloved hand.

  The woman shrugged and lit a cigarette. ‘Don’t know.’ She nodded at the money. ‘Hammy never gave me that for housekeeping, that’s for sure. Bastard.’

  Shona stood for a moment in the dining room, then turned to Kate. ‘Does this room seem… odd to you? The dimensions? It’s quite narrow compared to the front room, and dark. My kitchen wall’s that colour. Taupe, isn’t it?’ She turned ninety degrees and pointed to the opposite wall. ‘That wall’s more like, limestone, wouldn’t you say.’

  ‘Housing association did it, before we moved in,’ said Jax, getting up from the sofa.

  ‘Yeah, not a great paint job,’ said Kate, catching Shona’s line of thought. ‘I’ll just pop outside for a minute.’

  ‘Where’s she off to?’ asked Jax as Kate stepped out of the back door.

  ‘Sit down please,’ said Shona calmly. ‘DC Irving just needs to check something.’

  A minute later Kate was back. She leaned close to Shona and murmured, ‘I’ve counted the windows, inside and out. They don’t match.’

  ‘It’s a false wall.’ Shona pointed over her shoulder. ‘Get the ram, take it down.’

  ‘Wait.’ Jax jumped up from the sofa as Kate aimed the battering ram at the wall. ‘What do youse think you’re doing? My name’s on the lease, I cannae pay for a new wall.’

  ‘Sit down,’ Shona ordered as the ram pierced the wall on Kate’s first swing. Bags of powder, both dark and light, began to tumble from the hole.

  Shona turned to see Jax rushing at her, a heavy glass ashtray in her raised hand. She stepped aside just in time to dodge the blow, catching the woman off balance and pinning her to the carpet. Kate dropped the ram and fished for her cuffs.

  ‘You stuck-up bitch,’ Jax spat in fury, her face pressed against the rug. ‘My man will kill youse both, so he will.’

  Shona was already on the radio, calling for a team to pick up a new suspect, then she helped Kate to prop the cuffed woman into a seated position on the floor, her back against the sofa where the child still sat staring blankly at her mother. ‘You need to take a moment to calm yourself, Jax,’ Shona said quietly. ‘Tell me who these drugs belong to. Is it your partner Hammy? Were you coerced into keeping them by someone else?’

  ‘Get tae fuck,’ the woman spat.

  Shona walked into the hall, where she could keep an eye on proceedings, and phoned DCI Baird with the news. It was a short call. Baird was jubilant, she could almost see him punching the air, drunk on the success of his operation, the credit for which would fall squarely in his lap. But through the open door to the living room all Shona could see was a sobbing woman in handcuffs on the floor and yet another child who would grow up without her family.

  ‘Forensics are on their way,’ she said to Kate when she’d come back in and sat down next to Keana. The child smelled musty and unwashed. Her cheeks, missing their baby curves, were hollow and grey. Shona couldn’t help comparing the probable value of the drugs and the size and newness of the lounge’s TV with the undernourished little girl
. She’d grown up in a place just like this, knew there were choices to be made. She also knew women who went without so their kids were fed. Her own mother had chosen drugs and died young. Luckily for Shona, her grandmother had been around to pick up the pieces.

  ‘That was quite a performance, Jax. Did you work it out in advance? You playing the innocent partner. Did you think it would distract us and we wouldn’t do a thorough search?’ Shona picked out the least mangled doll from the box and made it dance before the little girl. Keana’s eyes showed a flicker of interest. ‘Who do those drugs belong to?’ She handed the girl the doll and was rewarded by Keana’s attempts to copy Shona and make it dance too. The little girl smiled. Shona felt her heart contract.

  ‘Don’t you want to see your daughter grow up? Don’t you want something better for her?’ Shona leant forward to make eye contact, but Jax turned her head away.

  Shona sighed and got back on the radio. ‘Get the duty social worker down here. Female, two years old. Keana Cameron.’ She listened to the dispatcher’s query. ‘Okay. She may already be on file but warn them, this time we’re not looking at emergency care here, I think this will be a long-term fostering or adoption case.’

  Jax looked up pleadingly at Shona, blinking away her tears. ‘You think you know me? You know nothing. I talk to youse and she won’t last five minutes. They’d kill us both, nae bother.’

  ‘Jax, I can help you,’ said Shona. ‘But you need to tell me what you know.’

  ‘You think you can help me, but you cannae.’ Jax shook her hair back from her face and lifted her chin. She stared ahead. ‘I’ve nothing to say to you, polis bitch.’

  * * *

  There were smiles all round when Shona and Kate finally made it back to the station. Dumfries’s part in Operation Fortress had gone like clockwork, with all the suspects apprehended. Shona swallowed a large coffee and a couple of painkillers to keep at bay the headache that had taken root behind her eyes. She hated jobs with kids, most cops did. Even Kate, currently being patted on the back by Matthews, was more subdued than usual.