by Ian Skewis
He pondered on whether or not to contact his own family, to let them know that he was back home in Hobbs Brae, but he felt it would only muddy his business. And what a covert business it had turned out to be. He’d become quite the detective these days, snooping about and following his respective leads. How could he tell them that he had come here for the sole purpose of stalking an ex-girlfriend? How creepy would that sound? he wondered.
Despite his concerns, he couldn’t help but be a tiny bit pleased that Alistair had stumbled. The fact that Caroline had gone missing was proof, if ever proof was needed, that Alistair was simply not good enough for her, and that it would take a man, a real man, to come charging in on his white horse and rescue her from whatever or whoever she needed rescuing from. As far as Matthew was concerned, he was the one to do it, for he had always been convinced that Caroline needed rescuing from Alistair.
It had struck Matthew as odd that his replacement had been a boy with the complexion of cement and an ugly scar on his face. Now, because Alistair had let Caroline slip through his fingers, Matthew felt forced to return home – the last place on earth he ever wanted to be.
‘Too many bad memories,’ he once said to Caroline, and he had left it at that.
Yet Matthew was well aware that he too had allowed Caroline to slip through his fingers. With his good looks and well-spoken charm, he had once thought of himself as something of a catch, but he soon discovered that Caroline wouldn’t tolerate his misdemeanours and so she had moved on. Matthew had pretended to himself that he wasn’t bothered, but as time ticked by he understood what he’d lost, and he could no longer cope with the idea of someone else taking his place. His jealousy took him by surprise and when he discovered that Caroline had gone missing, he surprised himself again with the lengths he would go to in order to find her – such as checking into a hotel under the guise of an alias. Jason Black. The alias ensured that no one knew Matthew had returned.
Being recognised was the one thing that had troubled him most on his journey home, but he quickly realised that he had undergone a huge transformation since his childhood in Hobbs Brae. Once a pale, skinny teenager, he had remade himself when arriving in Glasgow, and had bulked up in the gym, whitened his teeth and now had a permanent tan. He was barely recognisable anymore. He wondered if all this cloak and dagger was worth it, but he couldn’t help himself because there was always the prospect that Caroline might appreciate his efforts and give him a second chance.
Something distracted Matthew from his thoughts – a shadow emerging from the trees. A large, suited man had come out with a teenager and was walking at pace away from the forest. Matthew watched, fascinated, as they both got into a car nearby, where another suited man was waiting at the wheel. He had seen the bigger of the two men before and knew he was in charge of the investigation. His fascination soon turned to alarm when he saw them heading towards the centre of Hobbs Brae. From his vantage point high on the hill, he watched as the smaller detective entered the Warm and Friendly.
‘Why would he go there?’ he whispered. Have I been found out?
Meanwhile, the officer in charge drove away from the hotel and off towards the police station, taking the lad with him. Time to face the music, Matthew thought, and he drew a breath and headed quietly back to the Warm and Friendly. On arriving, he stood outside the door and listened. There was nothing. Cautiously, he stepped into the gloomy hallway, his heart thudding with dread.
Margaret was standing there and staring at him.
His heart skipped a beat at what she was about to say.
Suddenly, she broke into a smile and said, ‘Lovely to see you again, Mr Black, but you just missed a visitor. Said he was a police officer and that he wanted to talk to you. I didn’t like the look of him and told him you were no longer staying here.’
Their eyes met and he thought he saw her blush.
Without waiting on a response, she then said, ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
You’ve just saved my bacon, he thought, and smiled broadly, switching on his charm. ‘Maggie, I’d love a cup of tea.’
As he sat there at the table, waiting, he recalled an oar slicing through the waters of a loch.
‘Whatever’s wrong?’ Margaret asked, startling him, a tea tray in her hands. ‘You look a little crestfallen, dear.’
‘Bad memories,’ he said, almost to himself.
Margaret sighed and sat a plate of biscuits on the table in front of him. ‘We’ve all got plenty of those,’ she said. ‘But let’s not dwell on them. A nice cup of tea will solve everything.’
‘Yes, a nice cup of tea,’ he replied, and he watched vacantly as she poured the brew, his mind elsewhere, for all he could see in that moment was the oar striking the water – and the blood beneath the waves.
Chapter Thirty
September 4th
DC Clements was in the mortuary again, thinking long and hard about the humiliation he had suffered at the hands of Jack, and right in front of that weirdo kid, too, banging his knuckles against the metal surfaces as he moodily skulked about.
Driscoll came in, slyly looking behind him to ensure that no one had seen him enter. ‘You rang, m’lord?’ he joked.
Colin gave him a brooding stare and the smile fell from Driscoll’s face.
‘Campbell’s becoming a liability,’ he stated.
Driscoll stammered, trying to catch up. ‘Well, he’s eager to please, ambitious…’
‘He’s an arse-licker. He simpers after anybody who’s in charge and pines after them like a wee puppy. I’m done with him. It’s just you and me now.’
He observed Driscoll gain a few inches in stature and a smile of delight spread across his feline face. He almost heard him purr with pleasure.
‘I had my arse booted today, yet again,’ Colin growled.
‘What happened?’ asked Driscoll, stepping closer.
Colin paused for a moment and then said, ‘I tried to explain to him that I didn’t bring that kid in for questioning because I was tailing him.’
‘Makes sense,’ agreed Driscoll.
‘Well, I thought so. I wanted to see what he would get up to, see if he did anything suspicious. I mean, how many nineteen-year-olds decide to stay in a forest, for fuck’s sake? The kid blames his dad, but Jerome seemed all right to me. In fact, I quite liked him – a no-nonsense type of guy.’
‘Just like yourself,’ said Driscoll, smiling still.
‘Don’t push it,’ Colin snapped irritably, trying not to scratch at his blotchy face, which he could feel was getting hotter and redder by the minute.
‘Sorry, boss,’ replied Driscoll.
‘All his lordship is worried about is the fact that I didn’t mention it in my report. Because I didn’t mention it, he thinks I’m trying to withhold something from him. Paranoid prat.’
Driscoll suppressed a laugh.
‘And now Jack wants the blood sample expedited.’
‘Shouldn’t be too difficult.’
‘Naw. It isn’t. I just wish he would stop micromanaging everything I do. I would, of course, have had that done, but Jack always has to get in there first. He loves the sound of his own voice, that one.’
‘I tend to try to avoid him as much as possible to be honest, sir,’ replied Driscoll.
Colin regarded him for a moment, wondering if Driscoll was as honest and transparent as he made himself out to be. ‘I visited the Warm and Friendly today,’ he said, letting his words hang in the air.
Driscoll’s ears pricked up. ‘Oh?’
It was Colin’s turn to switch on the sly demeanour. ‘Yes. I’ve been searching every nook and cranny for any signs of, well, anything that might help us tie up the loose ends. You see, there are four missing people here and they’re all connected.’
‘Four, sir?’ enquired Driscoll, moving closer.
‘Well, there’s Alistair Smith and Caroline Baker. And then there’s Matthew White.’
‘Well, yes, but is he actually missing?’
‘Well, Campbell has come in handy for something. The CCTV footage showed that Matthew was following the missing couple. He may well have been the last person to have seen them.’
‘This isn’t really anything new though, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘I’m getting there, Driscoll. Allow me my moment of glory.’
He let Driscoll chuckle, then moved on. ‘We contacted Matt’s restaurant. Spoke to a supervisor who manages the place in his absence. It turns out that the supervisor was told that Matt would be away for a few days, but they were not told where he would be. However, we know he came here.’
‘So?’ asked Driscoll impatiently.
‘So he’s still here.’
He watched Driscoll’s eyes narrow. ‘I did a bit of snooping about. No one recognises Matthew White from the photo I got from one of his chums at the restaurant. He’s a good-looking bastard as well, and in this hellhole of a place he should stick out like a sore thumb.’
‘So…’
‘He’s incognito. I checked the recent signatures in the guestbook at the hotel. Know what I found?’ He teased Driscoll with a pause. ‘One signature. Dated September the first. Jason Black.’
‘Jason Black, sir?’
Colin was enjoying this. Driscoll was now the mouse and he was the cat. ‘Jason Black. Matthew White. A wee bit of a coincidence, methinks. But there’s more to it than that.’
Driscoll licked his lips and moved closer still.
‘I checked out that name, Jason Black. He lived here in this village at the same time as Matthew White and Alistair Smith. He died in an accident.’
Driscoll’s eyebrows raised. ‘You mean this is the fourth missing person?’
‘No, he’s not missing,’ said Colin with a sigh. ‘But Alistair’s father is.’
Driscoll smiled. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Good work, boss.’
Colin smiled supremely. ‘I found out that Jack had pursued that case years ago, but it was never concluded. William Smith has never been found. And Matthew White has been in the vicinity every time someone in Hobbs Brae goes missing.’
‘But William Smith, Alistair’s father?’ Driscoll interjected.
‘Matthew worked for him.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Driscoll. ‘So let’s get him.’
‘We need to catch him first. So keep an eye on that hotel. Margaret Crawford is the landlady. She’s as mad as a box of frogs, but still a game old bird and might be hiding him for some reason. Watch her closely.’
‘Absolutely, sir,’ replied Driscoll, beaming with pleasure.
Colin allowed himself a rare little laugh. ‘Do not, and I repeat, do not breathe a word of this to Jack. Knowing him, he’s already ten steps ahead of us anyway and has something up his sleeve, but just in case, keep it to yourself.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Driscoll, preparing to leave.
‘And remember this. If I crack this case ahead of Jack, there will be a reward in it for you, especially now that Campbell’s out of the game.’
Driscoll nodded obediently and left.
Colin stayed for a while longer. He winced a little. There was a dull pain in his groin. He breathed deeply until it subsided. Then, feeling recovered, he made to leave. He was almost out of the door when he stopped dead in his tracks. I wonder why Jack never cracked that case. Did he fuck up in some way? He imagined saying this to Driscoll. It would be an easy thing to do. Just say the words and let the drama unfold. A self-satisfied smile appeared on his face. ‘Well, I think I’ve earned myself a wee pint or two at the Crow’s Beak.’ And he left, the rubber-lined doors swinging shut behind him.
Chapter Thirty-One
September 5th
He must think I’m stupid, thought Jack. He was sitting behind his desk, collating all the information he had received and noting one glaring hole in the paperwork. ‘Clements,’ he hissed.
Despite being reprimanded for it countless times before, he observed that Colin’s notes on the case were written almost entirely in shorthand. Jack heaved a sigh and glanced over the pages of hieroglyphs and non-stop abbreviations.
‘It takes reading between the lines to whole new levels,’ he had complained to his wife once, only once, because from the look on Rachel’s face he could tell instantly that she couldn’t be less interested.
A snake slithering up the ladder, that’s Colin, he thought. Hard to believe that he actually started life intending to be a doctor, but changed his mind and became a policeman. So he gave up his Hippocratic Oath and became a hypocritical oaf instead. He suppressed a laugh. Jamie would have liked that, he thought. Shame he’s not here just now. He stared out of the window for a moment. The sun was still shining outside and his office felt humid, despite the open window and the fan revolving in the corner. Would the air never clear in this place? he pondered.
Once more, he thought to call his wife, but what would he say? They never spoke anymore. He had to read between her lines too, listen to what she didn’t say. It was an intangible code that implied rather than stated what she was thinking. The clues were in the pauses, the hyphens and the dot, dot, dots.
No clues in the dot, dot, dots here, thought Jack, for Colin’s notes were every bit as bad. Why is he so lemon about everything? he wondered. He thought back to their argument in the woods.
‘We’ve been working partners for years now. I know we’ve never really seen eye to eye, but surely we can do better than this?’
Colin just sniffed, avoiding his gaze.
Jack felt his hackles rise and made a concerted effort to sound calm and reasonable. ‘We have solved countless cases together but I don’t understand what’s eating you lately. Is it something personal?’
‘Aye,’ said Colin, and he turned to go.
‘I haven’t dismissed you yet,’ Jack barked, and he immediately regretted his tone of voice, because he knew that Colin would not back down. As he predicted, the argument escalated and he watched helplessly as Colin stomped off. I can’t piece the clues together on this one, he thought. It was an ongoing dilemma for Jack that his relationships with other people were 10 times more difficult to solve than the cases he had to contend with.
Which brought him back to Rachel.
The sound of the front door slamming shut still echoed in his mind. He could hear her footsteps outside, rapidly receding. ‘It’s not my fault!’ he shouted, and smashed the mirror in front of him with his fist, instantly lamenting it, wondering if the next seven years could be any worse than what he’d already gone through. Then he saw that he was bleeding.
Jack frowned with displeasure at the star-shaped scar that still shone white across his knuckles. The telltale signs of old arguments that never quite go away.
Maybe that was it in a nutshell. He knew how much Colin loathed him for what he had said to the Chief.
‘I don’t think DC Clements is a worthy successor,’ Jack had said, sitting in the plush office of his boss.
‘And why is that?’ replied the Chief, fingers interlocked defensively in front of him.
‘I feel as if I’m walking on eggshells around him. He always seems to have an agenda going on, usually to my detriment.’ He bit his lip. Never begin a sentence with ‘I feel’, he reminded himself.
The Chief Superintendent smiled patiently and replied, ‘Well, these are hardly solid accusations, Jack. I mean, where’s the proof?’
‘I don’t think he likes me,’ Jack said, and almost kicked himself. He knew how feebly he was coming across.
‘Not much I can do unless you give me something of substance. I mean, has he done anything to halt the progress of your case? Any proof of insubordination?’
‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ replied Jack, a little petulantly.
‘Well then,’ said the Chief, and went back to his paperwork. ‘You can go now.’
‘Right,’ said Jack, unsatisfied, and he walked out of the office and decided there and then never to mention it again. He’ll trip himself up in f
ull view of the Chief eventually, he thought, trying to find some cold comfort.
He cast his mind back to the broken mirror. He recalled taking it down just before Rachel returned. Their eyes met and she saw the pale shadow on the wall where the mirror had once hung, but he noted that she never mentioned it, nor did she say anything about his bandaged hand. They lived in a house where words were suppressed and this bad habit infected the discussion he had with his boss. He regretted not being more explicit when trying to advise the Chief not to promote Colin. He knew how trite his objection had seemed. On the other hand, the mere fact that he had visited his superior in order to talk about Clements would no doubt have sown a seed of doubt in the Chief’s head. Perhaps that would be enough, thought Jack. And maybe that was what had got to Colin. Did he find out about our conversation? Is that why he’s been giving me daggers lately? he wondered.
Someone knocked on his door.
‘Come in.’
Campbell entered breathlessly. ‘Sir, there’s loads of journalists outside. They know it’s a murder case now.’
‘Fuck,’ mouthed Jack. He drummed his fingers impatiently for a moment. ‘Hold them off for the time being. No statement until I give the go ahead, okay?’
‘Sure, boss,’ replied Campbell eagerly. He was about to leave when Jack decided to ask the 20-million-dollar question, knowing full well the response he would get.
‘Don’t suppose you happen to know who blabbed?’
Campbell blushed and said, ‘Sorry, I don’t.’
Jack gave him a put upon kind of smile and Campbell quickly closed the door behind him. Jack got up and opened it again, feeling claustrophobic. He paced about irritably, mulling over everything he had seen and heard. Finally, he arranged a meeting with the murder inquiry team. He took a deep breath and prepared himself, for he had an agenda of his own this time. I’m going to remind a certain someone who’s in charge of this case, he told himself, and he marched down the corridor and strode into the room.