The Wrong Kind of Clouds

by Amanda Fleet

  She didn’t wait for an answer but pulled out her phone. Her face fell a moment later.

  ‘Oh. It’s gone straight to messages… Hi Rob. Can you call me back when you get this? It’s Helen.’

  She rang off and looked at LB.

  ‘Do you know the address in Skye? Or Archie’s surname?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I have them at home somewhere. I can check at lunch.’

  LB delved in his wallet for a card and wrote his mobile number on the back.

  ‘Well, thank you for your time, Ms Wright. If you think of anything else that might be helpful, please give me a call? And could you ask your brother to get in touch?’

  He handed her the card and stood, smiling at her. She ushered him back through to the shop. LB surreptitiously clicked end call on his phone, thanked Helen again, and while her back was turned flashed his hands at Summer to indicate ten minutes. He hoped she would understand and play along.

  The bell jangled above his head again. As soon as he was out of sight, he texted Summer to again ask her to stay and tell her that he’d be at the coffee shop across the road.

  He chose a table by the window and kept his eye on Wright Interiors while he ordered a black coffee.

  Summer stuck to the plan, joining him almost a quarter of an hour later.

  ‘I think I’ve just agreed to redecorate my dining room.’ She looked flustered.

  He smiled. ‘You know it would have looked weird for you to have left straight after me! How much did you manage to catch?’

  ‘All of it, I think. What now?’

  ‘Now? Breakfast.’

  He pushed a menu over to her and Summer laughed. They were the only customers in the place. LB put their orders in, pulled out the sheaf of notes he had accrued over the past few days and shuffled through them until he found the timeline.

  ‘I need to call Andy Watson,’ he said apologetically, glancing at Summer.

  She shrugged, dropping sugar cubes into her coffee.

  ‘Andy? It’s LB. I talked to Forrester’s ex-girlfriend this morning. Apparently, he’d borrowed money from Keir Bevan… I know… and he was behind on the payments. He’d been given one of Bevan’s warnings…’

  LB held the phone away from his ear, waiting for the torrent of expletives to cease.

  ‘Just thought you should check it out. My gut instinct is that it’s not him, because there was another call about the money, after Forrester went missing… I know it’s your case… handle it however you like… oh, and it was the ex-girlfriend who told Paul Hampton about Kate… a letter… yes, I guess it is the same one… no, nothing else.’

  Summer mouthed, ‘She’s pregnant,’ across the table at him.

  ‘Oh, no, hang on, she’s pregnant… no he wasn’t happy… Helen Wright.’

  He passed on her contact details and hung up.

  ‘The poor woman is probably going to get a visit from Watson.’ He picked up his coffee.

  ‘You don’t seem to like him.’

  ‘No. He gives policing a bad name. He’s exactly like the image of coppers you have.’

  He watched the shutters come down between them and took a bite out of his croissant. Chewing, he pushed the timeline between them. Before he could speak, Summer asked, ‘Who’s Keir Bevan?’

  ‘He’s a nasty piece of work. Loan shark. If he hadn’t called again after Patrick went missing, I’d be suggesting we get a team of divers searching the Forth.’

  Summer swallowed and LB realised too late that he should have cushioned the blow. He slid his hand over hers.

  ‘But he did call after Patrick disappeared, so I don’t think he can be involved.’

  ‘Who do you think is?’

  ‘Well, Helen has every reason to hate him, but I don’t think it’s her. She does have a brother with no alibi though, who is conveniently unreachable out in the west somewhere. My gut feeling is the Hamptons, though. I think Helen sent the letter to Paul, Paul confronted Kate about it, Kate called things off with Patrick and then Patrick blackmailed her over the affair in order to pay off the loan shark. Although much of that is supposition.’

  ‘So where is he?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘And possibly won’t ever? The Hamptons are too savvy to say anything.’

  He inclined his head in acknowledgement.

  Summer leaned forward, rubbing the skin above her eyebrow. ‘Why do you think Kate tried to kill herself?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe she felt she’d lost everything that meant anything to her—husband, career, respect? Maybe she realised her husband was behind Patrick’s disappearance and couldn’t bear it.’

  ‘He’s not just missing though, is he? He’s dead. You don’t take someone out of the picture for this long and then be able to just put them back. Patrick would report them; it would come out. No, if Paul Hampton has made Patrick disappear, it’s permanent.’ Summer’s voice quavered.

  LB picked her hand up and pressed her fingers against his lips. There was nothing he could say that would help. Yes, the party line was always that you didn’t give up hope until you found a body, but she was right. Whoever was behind Patrick’s disappearance wouldn’t keep him hidden somewhere indefinitely. He was more than likely already dead. The only real hope was that he might have been left for dead somewhere and be found in time, but the more days that passed, the less likely that was.

  ‘Who’s Bruce Macdonald?’

  LB hesitated before answering. ‘Paul Hampton’s brother-in-law.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And he has a violent past.’

  ‘Why aren’t you searching his property? It won’t be Paul who’s taken Patrick, it will be him! Why aren’t there search teams going through his shed, his house, his…’ She tailed off, tears choking her throat.

  ‘Because we don’t have enough evidence for a search warrant,’ he said softly.

  ‘That doesn’t normally stop you! Why don’t you just make something up?’

  LB’s patience had reached its end. ‘I know that’s your experience. I know the police treated you and your family badly when you were young, but it’s not like that now. What you’re wanting me to do is to become the very thing you despise! The very thing I despise.’

  She tried to pull her hand away but he kept hold of it.

  ‘Look, once we finish here, I’ll go to the station and see if I can persuade the team there to go and check; I’ll comb through everything again and see if there’s enough evidence to search his properties, but I can’t promise anything.’

  He released her hand and she snatched it down to her lap. LB rubbed his jaw.

  ‘I’ll get someone to check out Helen Wright’s brother too. I don’t have a sister, but I can imagine if I did, I’d be less than happy if she got treated the way Patrick treated Helen.’

  Summer nodded. ‘I’ll get these.’ She flicked her head towards the waitress.

  LB shrugged. Summer plonked her bag on her lap and started half emptying it to find her purse. One of the first things out of the bag was a pair of thin rubber gloves. LB picked them up and stared at her, his face hard.

  ‘Care to explain?’

  Summer met his eyes levelly. ‘I always carry a pair with me. Years ago, I helped out at an accident—a cyclist was knocked off his bike and I worried because of all the blood. I’ve carried a pair since then.’

  He nodded, relaxing. Summer continued to pile object after object on to the table, making LB laugh, first at the quantity of stuff she had and then at the size of the bunch of keys she deposited on top of the files.

  ‘You look like a jailer,’ he said, hoping to lighten things.

  ‘Yeah, I know. House, car, my parent’s house… I have to keep them all together or I’d lose them. You’ve seen my place!’

  She paid for the breakfasts and repacked her bag, still stony-faced.

  ‘How long will you be at the station?’

  ‘Don’t know. Why?’

  ‘I have
some business I could do in Edinburgh if you’ll be an hour or more.’

  ‘Then do your business. Call me when you’re done?’

  She nodded.

  At the doorway, LB caught her hands and pulled her towards him.

  ‘I will do my absolute best to get someone looking at Bruce Macdonald’s properties. I promise.’

  He pressed his lips to her forehead. She smiled weakly and drew back.

  ‘I’ll call you when I’ve finished.’

  He watched her walk away, feeling sick at the thought that Patrick could still be alive in one of Macdonald’s properties. Dear God, let them be able to get a warrant.

  Saturday, Lunchtime

  Helen Wright’s brain clicked over things. Where were those printouts of the emails and photos? They weren’t at home—she’d searched the place when she’d got back from meeting the Adamsons—and they weren’t here in the office either. She could have sworn that she’d left them at home on the coffee table. Maybe Rob had moved them.

  ‘Oh, God. No.’

  His anger had been directed equally towards Kate Hampton and Patrick. Had he given those emails and photos to the press? She’d used them to confront Patrick; she hadn’t intended for them to be made public.

  She called his mobile.

  ‘Hi, sis!’

  ‘Hi, Robbie. How are you? Why didn’t you call me back?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I left a message.’

  ‘Oh. Haven’t checked them. What’s up?’

  ‘Er. There was a folder on the coffee table. Did you pick it up?’

  ‘Folder? What was in it?’

  ‘Some pictures and some emails.’

  ‘Oh. Of the slut and the bastard? Yeah. I got rid of them.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I thought they were too upsetting for you.’

  ‘Did you give them to the press?’

  ‘What? Fuck, the reception’s bad again. What?’

  She didn’t get to answer as he rang off, leaving her in no doubt. He’d never been able to lie to her, even as a little kid. She looked for the business card the tall policeman had given her.

  ***

  LB had called Summer twice and twice it had rung though to voicemail. He was sitting in his car, going through his notes, wondering if he should call again, when his mobile rang.

  ‘Hey,’ she said as he answered. ‘I’m done. What were you calling me about?’

  ‘Tell you when I see you. Where shall I pick you up?’

  They arranged a meeting place. When he arrived, he leaned across to open her door and kissed her cheek as she got into the car.

  ‘Good news,’ he said before she could speak. ‘Someone said they saw a man matching Macdonald’s description leaving Patrick’s flat on Thursday.’

  ‘Is that enough to get a warrant?’

  ‘Yes. There’s a team organised to search all of Macdonald’s places.’

  ‘All?’

  ‘He’s got a number of places linked to him over the city. Two warehouses, a lock-up, plus of course his home. Watson says he’ll keep me posted.’

  Summer’s face was wreathed with smiles. ‘Thank you.’

  LB shrugged. ‘And Helen called me. She thinks her brother, Rob, told the press about Patrick and Kate Hampton.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You remember she said she’d seen Patrick leaving a hotel with Kate Hampton? And read his emails? Well, she’d taken pictures of Patrick and Kate entering and leaving the hotel. And after reading his emails, she forwarded them to herself and then printed them off. She says she used all of this to confront Patrick the day they broke up, but that they’re now missing and her brother said he got rid of them. She’s sure he gave them to the press.’

  ‘And how does this help to find Patrick?’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t. But it does solve something that had been bugging me.’

  Summer grinned. ‘And did anyone find out anything about Rob?’

  ‘Not much so far. Ex-army. Address currently the same as Helen’s. Sandy’s doing some more digging for me.’

  ‘Right. So what’s the plan now?’

  ‘Go back to Fife. Have a late lunch. Wait to see what turns up in the searches?’

  She seemed crestfallen. ‘What if they find him?’

  ‘Even if they do, you won’t get to see him today. He’ll either be in good enough shape for Edinburgh to question him, or he’ll be getting checked over by doctors. We might as well head back. Your turn to cook, I believe.’

  ‘Fine. Oh! I called Chifundo, Moyenda’s wife.’

  ‘How’s Moyenda?’

  ‘He’s out of hospital. He’s quite badly beaten and was asleep when I called, so I didn’t speak to him, but Chifundo said he’ll be okay.’

  ‘Good. Did she say who had done it?’

  ‘She just said he was mugged and that they took his phone and his wallet, but I’m sure that’s not the full story. I’ll try and talk to Moyenda later. Chifundo’s English isn’t quite as good as Moyenda’s.’

  He drove them back to her house and helped Summer to make sandwiches. The atmosphere around them fizzed with excitement and expectation although they talked about anything and everything except Patrick. Just as LB was swallowing his last mouthful, his phone rang.

  ‘DS Stewart… what? … You’re kidding me? … nothing? Nothing at any of them? Shit… When? … Okay, thanks for letting me know.’

  He hung up and looked across at Summer. ‘They’ve finished searching the Macdonald properties. No sign of anything. They’re questioning Macdonald at the moment, though.’

  Summer crumpled visibly, and he stood quickly to catch her. He lowered her to the chair and held her as tears shone in her eyes.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know,’ he whispered, feeling wretched. He’d been as certain as she was that they’d find something at one of the places.

  He pressed light kisses to her head, cradling her against his chest. She wormed her arms around him.

  ‘What now?’ she asked, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

  ‘Let’s see what he says.’

  They didn’t have long to wait. Watson called again a few minutes later. LB relayed the crux of the conversation to Summer.

  ‘He’s confessed to breaking and entering in order to steal letters back from Kate to Patrick, but swears blind he knows nothing about Patrick going missing. And he has a watertight alibi for Tuesday.’

  Summer nodded. ‘Okay. Say he’s telling the truth. Who else could it be? Someone at the MSA? Maybe the child-trafficking thing involved someone there?’

  LB shook his head. ‘Possible, but we’ve nothing to go on. There’s been no indication from Moyenda or anyone else that there was a Scottish angle to it all. None of the adopted kids came to Scotland, did they?’

  Summer shook her head. ‘And it isn’t Keir Bevan because he called after Patrick went missing, so who is it? Helen? Helen’s angry brother?’

  ‘Going to the press only punished Kate,’ said LB slowly, sounding his thoughts out.

  He pulled his mobile out again and called his partner.

  ‘Hi Sandy. Any update yet on Rob Wright? Yes, I’ll hold.’

  He waited, his mind running over all the options. It seemed to take an age before Sandy came back on the line. LB’s expression hardened and his eyes widened. He flicked his fingers at Summer, demanding a pen and paper from her, and scribbled furiously. The call went on for several minutes. Finally, LB rang off and looked at Summer.

  ‘Ex-military, as we knew. Left the army under a bit of a cloud after an incident in Iraq. Hasn’t held down a job since but seems to be working for his sister at the moment and living at her house. Known to have a temper. Been involved in some brawls after hours outside pubs and warned by the police several times, though no charges against him.’

  Before Summer could respond, LB was back on the phone.

  ‘Ms Wright? DS Stewart again. I wonder if you could
tell me the address in Skye where your brother is? … Could you look please? Thank you.’ He jotted down the address when it came. ‘And you said the owner of the house was called Archie. Do you have the surname? … Finlay. Thank you… No, nothing serious. We just wanted to see if he really had given the press those things. Thank you very much.’

  He looked up something on his phone, then held it to his ear.

  ‘Hello? This is DS Stewart from Fife Division. We’re looking into the disappearance of an Edinburgh man called Patrick Forrester and we have some evidence that points to him being on a property on Skye. Would it be possible for an officer to go out to the place and check for me, please?’

  LB relayed the address, adding more details about the case and giving his number. The call finished, he looked at Summer who was piling things into her bag.

  ‘Come on,’ she chivvied. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Skye of course!’

  ‘Whoa! Let’s see what they say before we go charging off there!’

  Summer faced him squarely. ‘It’s four days since I got that call from him. Everything at this end is going nowhere. It might take them hours to go out to the place; hours he might not have.’

  ‘It’ll take us longer to get there!’

  Summer stared at him and then closed her eyes. ‘I can’t do nothing!’

  He caught her hands. ‘Sit down. It’s pointless going haring off. Let’s see what they say.’

  His voice was low and soothing. Summer sank down into a seat, head bowed, rocking herself slowly.

  ‘Oh God. Please let them find him,’ she whispered. ‘Please let him be alive.’

  ***

  The thin light from the grille barely lit the room, never mind warmed it. Patrick’s body was convulsed with shudders. The relief he’d felt at having his ankles freed had been short-lived as the pain and infection from the wounds seemed to be spreading. If he didn’t end up with his throat slit by his enemy, he’d probably die from his injuries, he thought.

  He’d spent the day in fear of hearing the bolts being drawn back and his captor reappearing. Woozy as his head was, Patrick could clearly remember the man saying he’d dug his grave. Would anyone find him before the man killed him and buried him? Was anyone even looking for him? Probably not. Work thought he was on holiday and neither Kate nor Helen were very likely to be seeking him out. What about Summer? Would she have done anything? Or was he going to die in this shithole?