In Dark Water

by Lynne McEwan

  ‘Okay, Marcus,’ Shona said.

  ‘You want to know who killed Isla? Ryan’s dad,’ Gringo spat. ‘That bastard, Duncan Saltire. Wouldnae leave us alone. He was stalking her. I told him to back off and he had two of his thugs do me over. That’s what we argued about the night… the night I hit her. I told her to keep away from him, but she said she needed money and he’d pay for her to keep quiet about how they used to score when they were together. Now fuck off and do your job.’ He slumped in his seat and with a dejected flick of his hand, summoned the prison officer like a waiter and told him he was ready to go back to his cell.

  * * *

  ‘For someone who didn’t want to hurt his girlfriend he made a damn good job of wrecking her life. But did he kill her? What did you make of him?’ Shona asked Dan as they drove out of the prison car park.

  ‘Weren’t you worried?’

  ‘What? That he’d see it as a chance to get even? I was banking on it.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘If he refused to see me, I’d need to interview him formally. He was banged up at the time of the offence, so a solicitor might raise objections. I was counting on his curiosity, his desire for revenge. He wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to try to humiliate or embarrass me. He gave it a go, he’s just not very good at it.’ Shona indicated and turned onto the main road. ‘I needed to see his reaction to the news of Isla’s death. Was there was any hint of triumph? Did he know already?’ Shona shook her head. ‘He was devastated, that wasn’t put on. I think his regret about hurting Isla and the guilt he carries was the one perceptive thought he ever had in his whole life. Pity it’s too late for Isla.’

  ‘What if he’d reacted badly?’ Dan persisted. They stopped at the traffic lights.

  ‘Well, I had you there to protect me.’ She grinned, but instead of smiling back he looked crestfallen and embarrassed.

  It had come out wrong. She’d meant it as light-hearted reassurance, something she could have said to Murdo or Ravi, and they’d have come back with a wry reply.

  She felt a wrinkle of irritation. He’d obviously heard the story of how the last encounter with Gringo had ended. Did he really think she’d put them both at risk? That a detective inspector of her experience would needed rescuing? It was an insult both to her as an individual and a senior officer. Ridley had overstepped the mark. They travelled the short distance back to Cornwell Mount in silence.

  Frowning, she pulled into a free bay in the car park. But her displeasure was tempered with the thought that he’d cared enough to be concerned. In a police officer of any level that was a reassuring quality. It was also something to be valued in a colleague, and a friend. She switched off the engine and unclipped her belt, turning to look at him.

  ‘It wasn’t that I didn’t trust your judgement,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘I’m just trying to understand. You have some history with him. Murdo told me what happened when he attacked you at the hospital. That meant he was already hyped up. If he’d taken the news of Isla’s death differently… he could have struck out at either of us, or a prison officer. He’s a big bloke. Someone could have been badly hurt.’

  ‘I’m aware of that, and took those points into consideration when I set out my interview strategy. I also spoke to the governor about Gringo’s mental state before we arrived. They’ve been working with him and he’s made good progress with anger management. Sometimes you have to hold your nerve, provoke an honest reaction, if you want to find a proper lead.’

  Dan nodded. ‘Okay, I get that. Duncan Saltire?’

  ‘Oh, I know Mr Saltire, a wannabe local politician and small-time thug who the shit never sticks to. He pedals a particularly tasteless brand of right-wing ideology, the Sons of Scotia. That he’s Ryan’s father is very interesting, especially when you do the maths. Isla was twenty-one and Ryan is six years old.’

  ‘She had his baby when she was fifteen.’ Dan frowned. ‘How come Saltire wasn’t prosecuted?’

  ‘Maybe she refused to name the father. We don’t know for sure he is Ryan’s dad,’ Shona said. ‘But Saltire has political ambitions. A grubby story about underage sex and drugs looks bad, even if you’re a fascist. That’s certainly a potential motive. Time Mr Saltire and I had a chat.’

  ‘Want me to come with you?’

  ‘No, I’ll get Murdo to rattle his cage. You get back to Carlisle. Interview Jamie Buckland, check for sightings of Isla at his address. We need to fill in that timeline.’ They got out the car and said their goodbyes. As Dan walked away, Shona called after him, ‘By the way, you did well this morning. The hankie was a nice touch.’

  He coloured slightly. ‘My old sergeant taught me that.’

  ‘Sounds like he knew what he was talking about.’

  ‘She,’ said Dan. ‘And yes, she did. So do you, ma’am. Thank you for this morning. I learned a lot.’

  Chapter 12

  Shona stood by the bedroom window, putting in pair of gold drop earrings Rob had bought her for their tenth anniversary. The early evening sun glittered on the Kirkness shore. A few dinghies and small yachts zig-zagged in the light breeze in front of the sailing club and she felt the familiar heart-tug of the water. The Scottish Trade Against Crime reception was taking place this evening at the Golden Eagle Hotel, a five-star establishment on Glasgow’s Clydeside, owned by TV businessman Kenny Hanlon. It was a couple of hours’ drive away from Kirkness. She knew where she’d rather be.

  ‘Thought you’d given up the undercover work when you left Vice.’ Rob came into the bedroom, struggling with the knot in his tie.

  ‘Very funny. Do you think this is too much? Too tarty?’ She spun this way and that before the mirror, suddenly unsure. She’d intended to buy something new, but Rob had discouraged her, pointing out she had a wardrobe full of clothes from London. The tight black vintage cocktail dress with its lace sleeves and beaded hem was his favourite. Maybe it was a little low-cut at the front, now she came to think of it. ‘Should I change?’

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ he said, his arm circling her waist. ‘I’m so used to seeing you in trousers or waterproofs, I just forget how lovely you look in a dress.’ He kissed her neck, nuzzling against her. ‘God, you smell so good.’

  ‘No, no, no.’ She wriggled free. ‘Mind on the job, Robert.’

  ‘My mind’s always on the job.’ He made a grab for her, but she easily sidestepped him. He fell sprawling onto the bed, then grinned invitingly up at her and patted the duvet beside him.

  She shook her head, laughing. ‘Behave yourself. Your job is to get me through this STAC reception, stop me telling our host Kenny Hanlon what a total gobshite I think he is.’ She secured the second earring.

  Rob lay back, watching her, his hands behind his head. ‘You never would. My Shona is never less than professional.’ He smiled. ‘But yes, The Enterpriser. Hanlon must be raking it in. BBC show, hotel group. Might put a business proposal to him myself. He’s got fingers in lots of pies. Could tap him for the local tourism group, or my restaurant idea.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sharing a pie with Hanlon I suggest you use a very long spoon.’

  Rob laughed. ‘If you’ve already promoted him from gobshite to the devil himself I will need to watch you, lassie.’ He wagged a finger at her. ‘What’s the problem? Got a nice fat CID file on him, have you?’ He swung his legs out and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Shona stepped into her heels and beckoned Rob towards her. ‘No, should I have?’ She unravelled his tie and started again. ‘What have you heard?’

  He shrugged. ‘Nothing much. Has money to invest. He always turns the profit, others take the losses. Keeps on the right side of the law, just.’

  ‘Regular businessman then. He’s certainly keeping on the right side of the law with this STAC initiative. He’s the Money Messiah as far as Division are concerned. A million for community crime initiatives. Mind you,’ she said, patting his newly straightened tie, ‘he’s probably screwed double that out of his low-paid h
otel workers over the years, so he can afford it.’ She smoothed her dress and smiled at their reflections in the full-length mirror. They were a good match, a picture of respectable success.

  Rob reached for his dark suit jacket and slipped it on. ‘Maybe I should ask him the question everyone really wants to know?’

  ‘Where he got his millions?’

  ‘No. Is that his real hair? It’s a very funny colour. Do you reckon it’s his own?’

  ‘No idea, but frankly, if that’s the basis of your business pitch to Kenny Hanlon, I think it needs work.’

  * * *

  Shona scanned the room. A string quartet played in the background. On the dark red walls hung landscapes in oil and portraits of Glasgow’s great and good, mostly white, mostly male, mostly dead.

  ‘A top-up?’ DCI Gavin Baird appeared at Shona’s shoulder.

  ‘No, I’m fine, sir,’ Shona said. But Baird took her half-empty glass, flagged down a passing waiter and swapped it for a full one. ‘Thank you, sir.’ She had a two-hour drive home. This would put her over Scotland’s strict, one-drink limit. Baird looked like he was already there.

  ‘Call me Gavin. First name terms tonight. I’ll go back to being detective chief inspector tomorrow. Cheers, Shona.’ He clinked his glass against hers, then watched her over the rim as he swallowed a mouthful of warm champagne.

  ‘Cheers… Gavin.’ Shona pressed the glass to her mouth, but didn’t drink.

  Across the room she saw Kenny Hanlon glad-handing through the crowd. In contrast to the sober dinner suits and uniforms around him, he was wearing a flamboyant saffron-coloured jacket in designer tweed, the fine check exactly matching the pale hazel-gold of his eyes. Hanlon paused to introduce two beaming businessmen to a third, thin-faced man with a smile like a knife gash. Hanlon’s voice carried above the hubbub of the room. ‘David, Andy, I’d like to introduce you to Evan Campbell, I know you will have lots to talk about.’

  Hanlon must have felt Shona’s gaze upon him. He strode over to join them. ‘Detective Inspector Oliver, I just thought I’d take the opportunity to say hello. And your husband Rob? He’s in banking, isn’t he? Is he here with you tonight?’

  Whoever had briefed him on the guest list had been thorough. Shona shook his hand. ‘Mr Hanlon.’ She kept her attention from straying to his hairline, and the peculiar upstanding brush of hair. ‘Yes, Rob’s here somewhere, but he’s left banking. He’s in hospitality and tourism now.’

  ‘Smart move, man after my own heart.’ He kept her hand tight in his grasp. ‘Why haven’t we met before?’ He tilted his head to one side, a coquettish twinkle in his eye.

  ‘I don’t usually socialise in such elevated circles.’ She smiled and retrieved her hand with a firm pull.

  ‘Well, it’s very nice to meet you. I believe you’re the first female detective inspector I’ve met. So, what’s next?’ He looked at her expectantly, his hands clasped in front of him. Beyond the opening titles, Shona had never watched his show. Was this a catchphrase she should be smiling in recognition at? She had the sense that she was auditioning for something. Shona exchanged a quizzical glance with her boss.

  ‘Come on now, Gavin,’ said Hanlon. ‘DI Oliver would be such an asset to our project, I hope you’ve brought her on board?’

  ‘Of course,’ Baird assured him.

  ‘We might have a future chief constable here. Project like this is always good for the CV.’ Hanlon beamed at them. ‘No offence to you, Gavin.’

  ‘None taken,’ said Baird.

  Shona smiled tightly. ‘I’m very happy where I am but… thank you for the vote of confidence.’

  ‘Inspector.’ Hanlon gave her a little bow, running his eyes across Shona’s figure, lingering on her neckline. He smiled. ‘Excuse me.’ Turning, he raised a hand and hailed a handsome, silver-haired man Shona recognised as a BBC Scotland news presenter. ‘Alastair!’ Hanlon set off like a vivid yellow speedboat through a sea of black suits.

  ‘Why am I here, exactly?’ Shona rotated the stem of her champagne glass between her fingers.

  ‘Same reason I am,’ said Baird, not looking at her. ‘To celebrate the launch of the new crime prevention initiative and all the improvements it’s going to bring, and to make sure we’re all on the same page.’

  Shona stared at him. Just what was he implying?

  ‘I don’t have to tell you the difference this will make to our budgets, and the community,’ he added piously. ‘And an initiative this size doesn’t happen without a few hiccups, a few minor indiscretions. As local chief it falls to you to make sure some over-zealous officer doesn’t balls things up.’ He raised his eyebrows, seeking confirmation that she’d grasped the full implications of what he’d just said. The message was clear. I expect you to make this work, whatever it takes. You’re either with me or against me. Time to choose a side.

  ‘Ah, here’s your husband.’ Baird drained his glass as Rob arrived. ‘Another drink?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ She put her hand over her glass. ‘I’m driving.’

  ‘No, no need for that. There’s a room booked for you both here. Make a night of it.’

  Rob’s smile widened but Shona shook her head. She knew it wouldn’t end with the free drinks. There would be a late meal, then somebody would mention the casino. No one was going to put temptation in her husband’s way. Before she could answer, a tall, slim woman, polished to a hard shine, took Baird’s arm. She wore a tight red dress made up of strips of fabric and her blonde hair was swept up into a complicated knot. On someone else the clearly expensive dress might have looked cheap, but this woman had the figure and authority to carry it off.

  ‘This is my wife, Nicola,’ Baird said with obvious pride. They shook hands, Shona aware how smooth and pale Nicola’s hand felt in her own sun-browned, sea-roughened grip.

  ‘What a wonderful evening, I’m so glad you could make it,’ Nicola said, as if she was the hostess. ‘The area where I’m a councillor will be greatly improved by this initiative.’ Nicola was obviously in full, sound-bite mode. ‘We aim to cut the re-offending rate, which is frankly atrocious, through a series of projects to educate these people to be better members of society. I think it’s important for those of us who’ve been lucky in life to provide a moral lead. I just hope the people we’re trying to help appreciate it.’

  Rob smiled and nodded but Shona knew he hadn’t been listening to a word Nicola said. Other people’s problems bored him, and if he was thinking about Nicola at all it would be how she got in and out of the intricate wrappings of her dress and whether she was wearing any underwear.

  It was the familiar prejudice, the deserving rich and the undeserving poor. ‘Crime is a social issue, not a moral one,’ Shona said flatly. ‘The only difference between people in poverty and the rich is money. Cash in the bank doesn’t give you a more refined morality, often the opposite is true.’ And it doesn’t give you carte blanche to be a condescending cow, she refrained from adding.

  ‘Well,’ said Nicola, momentarily lost for words, ‘that’s an interesting point of view.’

  Shona could have sworn she saw Baird smirk at Nicola’s discomfort, but he quickly suppressed it and, clapping his hands together, suggested they track down some canapes. He slipped his arm around Nicola’s waist and guided her away.

  To Rob’s delight he spotted old friends from Glasgow University Business School and after much back-slapping and introductions to a group of red-faced, boisterous men who Shona thought looked like bankers, or a word close to that, he disappeared with them to the bar.

  Detective Chief Superintendent Malcolm Munroe came up to her, stiff in his dress uniform. ‘Shona, good to see you. Bit of a carry-on, this.’ He sniffed over his ginger ale. ‘Money better spent elsewhere,’ he added, indicating a loud group at the free bar. Shona was mortified to see Rob among them.

  ‘A high profile initiative with the business community to cut crime must be a good thing, sir.’ She guided Munroe to a quieter spot away from the bar
. ‘I hear you’re retiring soon.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve done my bit. It would be good to go out on a high, leave a legacy.’ He nodded. ‘You did well with Op Fortress, I hear. I did the right thing putting you in charge in Dumfries,’ he congratulated himself. ‘Do you miss London at all?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Shona assured him.

  ‘Keep in touch with your old boss, DSU Harry Delfont?’

  ‘No,’ said Shona evenly. Why was Munroe asking that? Delfont had given her a glowing reference only because he wanted her out. ‘We never had that much in common.’

  ‘So, liking it in Dumfries? Land of Robert Burns. A fine part of the world.’ Munroe looked like he was winding up to deliver a sample of Scotland’s national poet when there was an announcement over the PA and Kenny Hanlon bounded onto the stage to a roar of applause.

  In the manner of a TV evangelist, Hanlon greeted a stream of celebrities, business leaders and senior police officers who pledged their commitment to the project. After a carefully choreographed ten minutes, the TV cameras were finished, and it was the turn of the photographers. Various combinations of people were corralled onto stage, officers lining up to have their picture taken with celebrities. Even Munroe was caught in a burst of flashlight like a rabbit in the headlights, a fixed grin on his face as he gripped Kenny Hanlon’s hand. She should find Rob and escape before they came for her. Hanlon’s jovial face beamed from the stage but as the cameras turned away and the lights dimmed his resting expression seemed to her to have a reptilian edge, the yellow eyes a predatory watchfulness.

  When she finally located Rob at a corner table strewn with empty glasses he put up only a brief resistance. He shook hands with his old university friends with promises to keep in touch and followed her unsteadily towards the foyer. They were almost at the door when The Enterpriser himself stepped in front of them.

  With the show over, Hanlon also appeared to have been sampling his own hospitality. Shona sidestepped his attempt to drape an arm around her shoulder. ‘Oh, you’re not going now?’ He stuck out his bottom lip.