Human Face

by Aline Templeton

But now she’d get her trustee to sort things out and she could go back to the comfortable life she’d had before all this. It had just been a sort of madness, the whole Adam thing – she realised that now. And nothing like that would ever happen again.

  DI Kelso Strang emerged from the Balnasheil Hotel feeling he ought to go back in for a shower after Fiona Ross’s farewell.

  ‘I don’t know how you could do it, Kelso – even going out in a boat on a night like that would terrify me, but actually going in to save a subordinate – well, that was just simply heroic,’ she gushed.

  Yes, usually we leave them to drown if they’re below inspector rank – no, he couldn’t say that. He produced one of the non-committal grunts he had perfected since coming here and she went on, ‘It was just – just so brave! But we’re really disappointed you’re leaving now. You know there will be so many people wanting to interview you, and we’d be more than happy to invite you stay a few more days – on the house, of course. A token of our admiration.’

  Oh, I bet you would, he thought grimly. Free advertising, chance to be on the telly, bar takings soaring …‘I’m afraid I have to get back,’ he said coolly.

  He escaped and walked along to where he had parked his car. The sea was almost insultingly tranquil today, a deep navy blue with a gentle breeze blowing that barely ruffled the surface. Gulls were swooping and calling and further out there were gannets diving, piercing the surface like white arrows. The straggle of whitewashed houses was glittering in the sun and the colour of the sea, the lush green of the fields and the hills on the other side of the bay that were grey-purple shading into misty blue were an exquisite harmony, impossibly perfect like a delicate watercolour in a tourist gift shop.

  But when he turned his head, there it was, the Black Cuillin ridge, bare today of even a softening wisp of cloud, looming over the prettiness like a death’s head at a wedding party. Strang shuddered. How could anyone live here, in the shadow of that eternal reminder that the hills remained while human life was no more than a brief flicker of light, soon extinguished. He was in a sombre mood as he drove up the hill and turned his back on the mountains, heading home.

  But he’d better drop in at the hospital to see Livvy Murray. JB hadn’t really said anything about their meeting except to imply that Livvy would fall in with the political version, just as he had, but he needed to make sure they were singing from the same hymn sheet.

  She was sitting up in bed when he arrived, still looking battered but definitely stronger, though he saw her quail as he came in.

  ‘Hello, sir,’ she said nervously. ‘Look, I just want to say—’

  He sat down. ‘Let’s have a pact, Livvy. We don’t talk about any of that now, not any of it. We’ve been told what happened and there’s no point in arguing, is there? Not with JB.’

  ‘Is that what you call her? She was quite scary today when she was sorting out what we’re to say.’

  ‘She’s a good boss. But don’t try to take her on about it; she’s very tough.’

  She gave him a sidelong look. ‘Think I’m daft?’

  He laughed. ‘Anyway, how are you feeling? You look—’

  She held up her hand. ‘Part of the pact. We won’t talk about that either, right? What happens now?’

  ‘It’s up to you guys to finish up. I’m on my way back to Edinburgh – just stopped in to say goodbye.’

  She looked surprised. ‘You’re not staying on? I thought …’

  ‘So did I, but it’s economics. Keeping me here costs money and CID Portree can do whatever needs to be done now.’

  ‘So, that’s it. Back to the police office, I suppose.’

  She looked so glum that he felt sorry for her. She’d got it wrong, certainly, but she was worth more than that. ‘Look, why don’t you apply to join the CID? I’ll put in a good word for you with the lads at Portree if you like.’

  ‘Thanks very much,’ she said dully.

  She obviously wasn’t thrilled about that suggestion either, and it occurred to him that she might have been hoping to prove herself in this investigation as a way back to Glasgow again. There was nothing he could do about that.

  He rose, a little awkwardly. ‘Well, I’d best be on my way back home. You just get well, all right?’

  ‘Sure.’ Then she paused. ‘Do you mind me asking – have you someone waiting for you there?’

  It caught him unawares. ‘Not now. She’s dead,’ he said harshly, then as he saw her face crumple in dismay, stammered, ‘Sorry – that came out wrong. Road accident. You weren’t to know.’ He floundered his way out of the room in a flood of half-phrases.

  Oh God, her big gob! She wasn’t even sure where that question had come from, just that she’d wondered a couple of times what his taste might be. Would she never learn?

  Poor guy – and if the scar on his face was anything to go by, the accident was recent. She’d thought he was a cold, stand-offish bastard but it was probably taking him all his time to hold himself together. You weren’t going to be a barrel of laughs in those circumstances and sometimes when he’d smiled and lightened up a bit she’d thought he’d probably be OK if you got to know him.

  She wasn’t going to find out now. The circus was leaving town and here she was, left behind, contemplating the trampled ground and the circles of blanched grass where the tents had been. The hint that ‘JB’ had given her was just that, not anything like a promise.

  The thing was, she could go back to Glasgow any time she wanted if she left the force and got another job. She wasn’t going to, though. Becoming a detective was obsessing her now and if that meant staying on in Skye, it was just what she’d have to do.

  In one of its characteristic mood shifts, the weather had changed and it was getting darker now; the sun had vanished and as she looked out of the window, squally rain rattled on the pane. She groaned. She must be mad.

  Kelso Strang could feel the clutch of nerves in his stomach as he drove along the Forth shoreline to Newhaven. It was dark; he could see the lights of the Fife coast winking on the other shore. He turned in and parked in the courtyard area below the little group of fisherman’s cottages, fetched his bag from the back and slowly climbed the outside stairs to his front door.

  It still looked the same. Alexa would still be there waiting for him, in the kitchen, in the sitting room, in their bedroom, in the little room they’d been decorating for the baby who would never occupy it now. He stood on the doorstep for a moment, bracing himself for the impact.

  But inside, the house wasn’t the same. It felt fusty, unaired, as he picked up the pile of mail from behind the door. It felt empty. Alexa wasn’t there; she had gone.

  Kelso had been living in a sort of suspended animation, keeping devouring grief at bay. He would have time to do his mourning now. He could take the compassionate leave he’d been offered and he wouldn’t have to suffer alone. His mother, his sister – they were longing to give him any loving support he was prepared to accept.

  He didn’t want that, though. Only pausing to set down his case, he picked up his keys and drove off again to the police headquarters at Fettes Row. It was late, but he suspected that JB would be working on tonight anyway.

  DCS Borthwick looked surprised to see him. ‘This is impressive dedication, Kelso! I wasn’t expecting to see you today. How was your journey down?’

  ‘No problems. Thought I’d just come in and see where we are.’

  ‘It’s expanding in quite a dramatic way, actually. The fraud operation in conjunction with the Met is bringing in some big names and with the interest in the Balnasheil murders it’s going to hit the national media in a seriously big way tomorrow. You may want to lie low for a bit,’ Borthwick warned. ‘Have you been pestered for interviews?’

  ‘There wasn’t anyone waiting on the doorstep and I haven’t actually checked my messages.’

  ‘The coverage has been very positive but it does no harm to play it down. I’ve persuaded the CC not to parade you and PC Murray for their
benefit. Smacks too much of a hostage video, I always think.’

  Strang laughed. ‘How is she? She was on the way to recovery when I left.’

  ‘Yes, they’re probably letting her home tomorrow.’ She paused. ‘Kelso, I’m going to offer her a transfer here.’

  ‘What!’ He was horrified. ‘Look, I’m not saying that she didn’t make a positive contribution but it was a bit outweighed by the rest of it.’

  ‘Speaking as the man who had to go into the water to fetch her out, you mean? I hear what you’re saying, but I think she’s got promise and I like to back my hunches. Someone took a punt on me, once. What she was lacking was training, but we can fix that.’

  ‘I suggested she apply to Portree CID – that would be more her level.’

  ‘You’re forgetting something. She’s a heroine in the eyes of the media.’

  Strang compressed his lips, and managed not to say, ‘For “media” read “chief constable”.’

  ‘I think we agreed we weren’t going to theorise, Kelso.’ There was a warning note in her voice.

  She’d made her decision and there was no point in arguing. ‘You’re the boss,’ he said without enthusiasm.

  ‘Yes, I am. Anyway, there’s going to be a lot of loose ends to tie up here, liaising with Portree CID and so on. Are you prepared to go on with that? I did offer you compassionate leave—’

  ‘No,’ Strang said, then, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Right.’ She gave him one of her penetrating looks. ‘You’re making quite a good job of coping, you know.’

  ‘Am I? I don’t know. How are you supposed to do it?’

  ‘The way we all do – one day at a time. Don’t look ahead. You keep your footing by checking the ground under your feet until the really bad days get further apart. Anyway, get an early night. We can talk about the next steps tomorrow. It looks as if we’ll be getting the green light for further SRCS operations, so I’ll want to know how you feel.’

  ‘I—’ he said, but she held up her hand.

  ‘I don’t want an answer now. Sleep on it. Scribble down a strengths and weaknesses list and come to a considered decision.’

  It gave Kelso something else to think of apart from the empty house as he drove back to Newhaven.

  Strengths and weaknesses – well, there were certainly drawbacks to having such a level of responsibility when you were isolated miles from direct support, and in this case at least there had been a local force to call on. In some of the wilder areas of Scotland there wouldn’t even be that.

  He’d had to go through a steep and sometimes painful learning curve and in the event it had stretched him to the limits. Indeed, Vicky Macdonald’s death left him with questions he still wanted to ask himself about how far he had been responsible.

  In the past, too, he’d enjoyed working closely with colleagues – the team spirit, the banter, the brainstorming. Had he only coped with being on his own because he’d put his feelings into cold storage for the duration of the case, and once feeling returned would that position be lonely and unsatisfying?

  He’d been a sniper, though, another lonely job that had been satisfying too, and leading this inquiry had absorbed him totally, leaving him with no space to contemplate the black hole that was all that was left of his former life. For the foreseeable future, that would be an alluring thought – and if he was honest, he had thoroughly enjoyed the freedom of making a decision without having to persuade everyone else to go along with it. That could cut both ways; as his mother used to say to him when he was small, ‘You can’t have the penny and the bun.’

  He would sleep on it and draw up his list for JB obediently, but he knew already what his decision was going to be.

  Kelso parked at the cottage and walked up the stairs to the front door again with dragging steps. This was where real life caught up with him – all those anxious calls from friends to return, the media blitz to deal with …He shut the door and looked round him, feeling his spirits sink. He’d kept the darkness at bay, but now …

  Scotch. He had just poured two fingers into a tumbler when there was a knock on the door. He thought of ignoring it, but sooner or later he’d have to face the world again. It wouldn’t take long for the Daily Record to find out where he lived.

  But it was Annie, his elderly neighbour, who stood there. She was shrunken with age but she still had the brightest of beady dark eyes that swept across his face, then down to the glass in his hand.

  She didn’t say hello, didn’t ask how he was, simply stepped inside, took the glass from his hand and set it down.

  ‘You neednae be thinking you’re starting that, right the very minute you’re in the door. I’m telling you, Alexa would give you laldy for that. The pub’s open so you can come right down there with me and buy me a wee bevvy as well. There’ll be a good crowd in the night – there’s that jazz group later – you aye liked them fine.’

  The darkness lifted, just a little, and he laughed. ‘Annie, you’re a bully.’

  ‘Oh, I am, right enough. So you better just do as you’re tellt, before I put the heid on you. And I’m wanting salt and vinegar crisps with my dram.’

  Looking smug at having got a laugh out of him, Annie led the way down the stairs and he followed her along. No matter what had happened to him, the little boats still bobbed, clinking, in the harbour there, the lights still shone from the houses over on the opposite shore and there were still the regulars in his local, laughing and talking.

  Kelso fingered the scar on his cheek. It was healing, but it would never heal completely. And nor would he.

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  About the Author

  ALINE TEMPLETON grew up in the fishing village of Anstruther, in the East Neuk of Fife. She has worked in education and broadcasting and was a Justice of the Peace for ten years. Married, with two grown-up children and three grandchildren, she now lives in a house with a view of Edinburgh Castle. When not writing she enjoys cooking, choral singing, and travelling the back roads of France.

  alinetempleton.co.uk

  By Aline Templeton

  Evil for Evil

  Bad Blood

  The Third Sin

  Human Face

  Copyright

  Allison & Busby Limited

  12 Fitzroy Mews

  London W1T 6DW

  allisonandbusby.com

  First published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2018.

  This ebook edition published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 by ALINE TEMPLETON

  The moral right of the author is hereby asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978-0-7490-2268-6

 

 

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