The Tears of Angels

by Caro Ramsay

  Anderson looked at Walker, both confused. ‘So it’s how they met. It explains their friendship,’ said Wyngate. ‘And then they lost those children.’

  The room was quiet for a moment. ‘That is really rough,’ said Anderson.

  ‘And one more nugget? I’ve been trying to find a link between the McCardles, the Dewars and the farm. Nothing at all at first,’ said Wyngate. ‘Then I tried their company, Dewar McCardle. I asked them about the old signs they have at the farm. Back in 2008 Dewar McCardle subcontracted out their print work once they had designed it. Eoin went out to take photographs for the farm’s planning application. And Riverview had horses at livery in those days.’

  A hum of satisfaction thrummed round the room.

  ‘So Eoin knew the site. All we need to know is that he had an archery badge when he was a boy scout. Or did he learn that too while studying ancient man with Robbie? Don’t worry, I’m joking.’ Anderson looked thoughtful. ‘Maybe Bernie had made that connection and that’s what he was looking for. Can we force Eoin’s hand in some way? Archie, what about a re-enactment? Get everybody there, film it? Shake the bag, see what falls out, Hercule Poirot style. Ruth wants to go to mark the anniversary anyway.’

  ‘Indeed. Vik has said his cover has been blown but they don’t seem to care at Inchgarten,’ said Costello.

  ‘And it won’t help if it was all Warren, will it? I mean, as far as he’s concerned, nothing has changed. We started off thinking that nobody has seen him for a year and now, nobody has seen him for a year. Lexy is safe in her cell,’ said Anderson. ‘She’s quite happy.’

  ‘But we do know that Warren had a way of getting off the island, and that makes a huge difference,’ Costello pointed out.

  ‘Although nobody saw him do it, and they would have done as the life raft came round the top of the island. He wouldn’t be able to steer it against the running current. Remember the biblical weather? He would have come into sight. That life raft could have disappeared at any time in the last twenty years. Tony says he didn’t even know it was there,’ argued Anderson.

  ‘So he says. Now.’ Costello was unconvinced.

  ‘That side of the island was out of bounds for the boys, it’s not easily accessible.’ Anderson turned to Wyngate. ‘Any news on the council van?’

  ‘It wasn’t from the council. And forensics say the tyre marks at Riverview are from the type used by many cars but it is worn, so if we get a suspect vehicle we can match it,’ said Wyngate.

  ‘Eoin. Printing company. Could copy and print out a council logo no bother,’ suggested Costello.

  ‘If your auntie was a man she’d be your uncle.’ Anderson walked over to the board and started to summarize connections. ‘Mick, do we agree all this is by two people? Fergus and Eoin? Or Warren and somebody as yet unknown? With a lack of any identifying evidence pointing us in another direction, Fergus and Eoin fit the profile. They are good friends, they are the wronged in a terrible crime and they have suffered loss, a loss so much more tragic if there had been fertility issues. So they blame the police as well as the person they think is the murderer. Warren got away, they have no closure. They have had time to plan this. We can confirm the dead man was Eddie Taylor because he was complicit in McAvoy’s false alibi. And there is the motive: if McAvoy had stood trial for the murder of Grace then he wouldn’t have been out to kill the two boys, would he?’

  ‘But it wasn’t thought murder at the time,’ said Costello quietly.

  ‘And we have already provided an alternative version. Somebody spurred on by seeing the death pits on the computer. A wee girl taken from her bed, drowsy and compliant at the promise of joining the adults,’ said Anderson. ‘She would trust Uncle Warren.’

  Costello walked up to the board. ‘So the revengeful dads? Eoin is still behaving like a squeaky clean person and using our resources while nobody can find Fergus.’

  ‘And have you seen this?’ Wyngate handed Anderson an A4 sheet of paper. ‘Vik is looking at the other child murder on Roonbay. The one in 1934. I’ve checked the log and Sammy had picked it up but Bernie refused to take it further.’

  Anderson read out the note, Costello peering over his shoulder. ‘Angela Colquhoun, four years old, strangled to death. Right by the Rocking Stone.’

  ‘Way too much of a coincidence,’ said Costello.

  ‘It’s famous because the mother was nearly hanged. There was strong feeling that she should swing. It’s history, but it is relevant somehow.’

  ‘And look at that,’ Costello pointed. ‘The date. Angela was murdered at the solstice.’

  The car bumped along the single track road, Anderson fretting about his suspension, cursing Archie Walker, wondering why he had ever been bored by those all-day meetings in air-conditioned rooms with nice biscuits and comfy seats. It was fair to say that his enthusiasm to visit Inchgarten Lodge Park had evaporated.

  Costello was muttering about Sammy, ‘I mean, did she give us any info without us knowing it first? You said she helped Lexy out. She hand-fed the Dewars.’

  ‘She’s a good cop. It was her case before ours. Maybe she was playing her cards close to her chest. It’s natural enough. And she was obviously in love with Bernie and trying to protect him. I think the original team knew they took the easy way out. To them it was Warren cut and dried.’

  ‘I’m not so sure Bernie thought that. Why was he going through the old files of the parents’ school days, their medical files?’ said Anderson.

  ‘We need to wait until we see them.’ The Golf hit a pothole and juddered to a halt. ‘Shit!’ Anderson stuck it in reverse until it was on level ground and then selected first. ‘This is creepy, probably something about only virgins beyond this point. Enter only if you have three toes.’

  ‘Three nipples, isn’t it?’ said Costello. ‘It’s all a bit abandon hope all ye who enter here.’

  ‘Certainly need to abandon hope for any decent suspension. I presume that nobody ever uses this road.’

  ‘It’s the main way into Inchgarten Lodge Park, but a good way of keeping good Christian folk out,’ she said cheerfully, noticing that Anderson was a little reluctant to stick his foot on the accelerator again. But he did.

  Eventually the single track road opened on to a clearing where two cars were already parked: a small Polo and a red Fiesta.

  There was a strange howling noise that made Costello jump as she got out the car. ‘Jesus! You know that dog that guards the gates of hell?’

  ‘It’s just a dog.’ Anderson turned, walking slowly off the wooden planks towards the large barking dog who raised its speckly hackles. ‘Or maybe not …’

  Costello hid behind him. ‘You’re good with dogs. Let it smell wee Nesbit and it will know you’re friend not foe.’ She pushed him forward.

  The dog jumped slightly to the side and barked again; three deep woofs resonated through the forest. It turned its head and pricked its ears at some noise that they could not hear. Then it pranced towards them, sniffed round the bottom of Anderson’s trousers and deduced that Nesbit was not an issue. After a quick sniff at Costello’s boots, Mr Peppercorn raised his leg and peed on her trousers.

  ‘That is weird, isn’t it, makes you think the place might be haunted or cursed or something? What are the odds of four wee kids dying in such close proximity but so many years apart?’

  ‘There’s no coincidence.’ Elvie was sitting on the floor, her long legs crossed. ‘One would have planted a seed about the other. The location is the link. Obviously.’

  ‘So the original team knew about wee Angela,’ said Vik, thinking how relaxed he was, staring at the ceiling, talking crime to Elvie. His phone went, it was Sonja. He ignored it. ‘But they decided there was no connection.’

  ‘That’s illogical.’

  ‘Well, they had McAvoy for the boys. Grace was an accident. Cut and dried. I’m not so sure.’

  Elvie turned her head as if listening for something. She looked at her watch, ‘That will be your boss arriving? Mr P
eppercorn is barking.’

  They followed the dog along the winding dark path as the trees above closed over, blocking the sun. Until once again they were in brilliant light as the trees opened up and the golden sand of the beach came into view. They realized they must have been winding their way down to the water’s edge since they parked the car. The beach was a perfect crescent of rocks and boulders carpeted by sand, one large rock standing proud. At the moment, somebody was sitting on it. The wooden lodges sat on the higher ground to the right of them, an older stone-built farmstead ahead. Far out in the bay was Inchgarten Island, looking much further than it did on the map. They both stood for a moment, sharing the same thought. Jimmy, a frightened wee boy, rowing to get back to shore in the dark as his parents partied here on the bay. His parents making too much noise to hear his screams. Did they all accept the first thing he said, was that the version which stuck? Who knew what he might have seen or imagined he saw?

  ‘Do you know what Batten has in the back of his mind?’

  ‘Don’t know if he knows what’s in the back of his mind.’

  They walked closer to the rock to see a rather large lady perched on it. Her lemon flower-print frock was bright against the loch beyond and the dog was now sitting beside her. She was intent on her task, splashing something in the bucket in front of her then dumping it in the water.

  ‘Aye?’ she said without turning.

  ‘Police.’ They held out their warrant cards.

  She turned at them and flashed them a mile-wide smile. ‘You looking for Vik and Elvie?’ She slipped off the stone and wiped bloodied fingers on the front of her dress. She’d been gutting fish. As she advanced towards them in her bare feet, her curves moved and undulated under the fine fabric. ‘Daisy. How are you doing?’

  ‘We are Vik’s colleagues.’ Anderson was trying to hide behind Costello now as she strode towards them, as subtle as a Viking galleon in full sail. And just as unstoppable.

  She checked her hands were clean then shook hands with them. ‘Vik’s doing fine, bloody idiot. Here for two minutes and falling on his arse. What a dope.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Costello in full agreement. ‘Your dog peed on my leg.’

  She laughed a huge belly laugh, bits of her anatomy wobbling and jiggling, the ankle-length dress barely containing her voluptuousness. ‘Oh, Mr Peppercorn, he’s a right one.’

  ‘Miss Laphan?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Do you know these people?’ Costello held out her file of photographs.

  Daisy looked closely. ‘That’s Lexy. Silly bitch. That’s Lexy’s man … Eddie somebody, he helped Tony with the tractor once. Both got stupid haircuts. He’s married, though, I can sniff that a mile away.’

  ‘So they have been here?’

  ‘Oh aye. We know each other, see each other in town. See her at the hairdresser’s, she’s never out of there with that daft haircut.’ She continued to walk up the beach then stopped suddenly, standing hands on hips, resolute. ‘You after Warren too?’

  Anderson thought she wasn’t as happy as she looked, not half as daft either.

  ‘After the truth. Is your brother around?’

  ‘Tony. Aye.’ She shrugged her shoulders, sending a wave of flesh down her body. ‘Come on, we’ll find him,’ and Daisy walked away into the sun.

  The jetty was rotten through. On it was a small man with thinning brown, waving hair. His checked shirt was open-necked and smelled of sweat and sheep.

  ‘Tony,’ he introduced himself. ‘How are you doing? You not keen to come out to the island then, see where it happened?’

  ‘Not exactly keen,’ said Costello, feeling sick even at the thought of it.

  Tony sat in the middle of the boat, kneeled down, picked up a paddle and secured it to the side. He then pulled the outboard motor on-board, securing it with a large bolt.

  A dirty yellow canoe, the Dreamcatcher, was roped to the shallow end of the jetty. ‘I’ll pull that up to the shore. If you want to go over, we can take the Scoob.’ He had turned as he spoke, narrowing his eyes slightly, like he was gauging the wind. A wind that Anderson was not aware of.

  ‘You normally keep the boats here?’ Anderson asked as he walked along the jetty towards the boat with the outboard motor, Costello lagging behind.

  ‘No, we keep them up on the beach. The Dreamcatcher used to live up there, not much need for her now. The Scoob is normally round the bay, nearer the farm.’

  Costello looked at the water with a snip of fear. ‘So how much water is there exactly?’

  ‘Biggest inland water area in the country by the surface. Seven hundred feet deep, the bottom is full of rocky shelves. Inchgarten is about a quarter of a mile away, but the current through the narrows is very strong.’ He looked out to the island.

  As Anderson stood out on the end of the jetty he was aware of the cooling wind and was glad he was wearing a fleece.

  ‘The Inversnaid laird,’ said Tony, following him. ‘There is always wind on the water.’

  ‘It’s strong.’

  ‘It funnels down the glen, you see. There have been a few scientists who’ve come out and poked and prodded with their machines and their instruments. Once the wind gets up and moves down the water, it produces a huge amount of energy, stirring up the really deep water.’ He rolled his hands, one over the other to demonstrate. ‘So, a huge volume of water, being stirred and moved. But on the surface you might only see a wee ripple and if you were sitting in a small boat, you might feel it as a small surge and then a pull back, but that is all. Debris on the floor of the loch can be swept up in it – small wrecks, all kind of things. Things, bodies, caught in the rock shelves can get dislodged. That’s the real explanation, but we tell the tourists that it is a Hand of the Gods, sweeping his fingers through the water, stirring it up. Some folk used to think it was the spirit of the kelpies and their dead, coming to the surface, coming to life. But it is a geographical, meteorological event. Hot air, cold air, all that kind of thing. Same effect that causes the Loch Ness Monster, but don’t tell the tourist board that.’ He smiled. ‘Loch Ness is longer, deeper, the glen is narrower, so it’s exaggerated.’

  ‘So it washes up all kinds.’

  ‘Oh God, aye. For every five bodies that go in, the loch will give one back. Might have to wait years but it will give up the dead. You can tell; the water gets pockmarked, nitrogen being released from the vegetation lying at the bottom of the loch. It works loose, comes up and the surface of the water bubbles like somebody has flung a thousand small stones at it. Or as if the Gods above are crying. It’s the tears of angels. So when you see that, the dead will follow. You can bet your life on it.’

  ‘It’s that warm draught, I felt it on my face. Bloody eerie feeling.’

  ‘Yes, that will be it.’

  ‘And it stirs up the dead?’

  ‘It does indeed.’ He nodded at them, emphasizing the point. ‘The bodies tend to come up here. That lassie in Milarrochy Bay? She went all the way round and came up a year later. And four that went in drunk over at Luss? Over five years to get them back. But it is a natural phenomenon.’

  ‘And are there any other natural phenomena? People come here and nine months later they have a baby?’ Costello’s voice was half humorous.

  Tony’s eyes crimpled at the sides, he smiled. ‘Look at the place; it has romance in its soul.’

  ‘And the Rocking Stone?’

  ‘I was a doctor once; I had an interest in fertility. The Rocking Stone has as much effect on fertility as sticking Maltesers in your ears.’

  ‘Or dancing naked at midnight with some horny goat?’

  ‘Never tried that. But horny goatweed is a similar chemical structure to Viagra. That’ll be what you’ve heard about.’ He laughed. ‘And the Rocking Stone is a natural phenomenon; the rocking is driven by the height of the tide.’

  ‘But it can’t aid fertility, though, can it?’ Costello let the question lie.

  Tony nodded. ‘I get the infe
rence. It’s relaxation, it’s no stress, it’s away from it all and good food. Away from the rat race, the chemicals, the pressure. Stop worrying about it. Let nature do her thing.’

  ‘Even with the Delaneys?’

  ‘I felt I owed them,’ he said plainly. ‘A break, a holiday.’

  ‘Hi,’ said a voice behind them. It was Elvie. ‘You need to come up to the lodge.’

  Tony stood back, letting the rope run through his hands. ‘Saved at the last minute, eh?’ From what? thought Costello.

  Anderson looked at the laptop, studying the film of the island taken by Elvie’s phone. It helped him get some perspective on the place without getting in a boat. He had heard Jimmy’s version: an adventure on the way out, a terror-fuelled chase on the way back. What seemed idyllic from the shore was a dark, thorny mass with one path. It could be deadly to stray from it. And in the moonlight of the mid-summer night?

  Costello’s mind was more occupied watching Vik and Elvie. They seemed to be getting on very well. Vik even smiled twice.

  Anderson was asking Elvie all kinds of questions. What had she seen? What had she felt? It was great interviewing somebody with no imagination. At a shout they turned to see Daisy standing at the top of the jetty. ‘I’ve put the kettle on. Want to join us?’

  ‘That would be nice,’ said Costello loudly, helping Vik up.

  ‘The food here is bloody fantastic. But there’s a horrible smell in here. Like dog pee.’

  Anderson walked off first, joining Daisy in the sun. ‘We’re thinking of doing a reconstruction on Saturday night, is that OK with you?’

  ‘Like they have on the telly? Fine by me, son.’

  ‘There will be a few vehicles about on the road. The routes of entrance and exit.’

  ‘Only have two. One forty minutes longer than the other. But aye, if it helps Warren, you fill your boots, son.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Anderson, walking towards the Boathouse. Either they had nothing to hide or what they were hiding was very well hidden.

  She walked off, Mr Peppercorn trotting along behind her, his tongue hanging out in the heat. She looked back at Anderson with moist eyes which didn’t suit her face. ‘Cup of coffee makes everything better.’