Dark Suits and Sad Songs (11 page)

‘Air freshener? Not the first purchase I would have expected a lowlife like this to make.’

‘No, sir. Clearly he was expecting company; somebody he wanted to impress.’

‘Impress?’

‘Don’t you give your house a quick spray before your guests arrive?’

‘Indeed not. I leave all domestic matters to my good lady. In any case, our home is not a fucking crack den like this stupid bugger’s. I daresay you have to attend to that type of
thing yourself now, eh, Jim?’ Donald smirked, breaking off his tirade, unable to resist the opportunity.

Daley said nothing, making sure his expression remained the same, despite his boiling blood. ‘This was an execution, sir, plain and simple. As was that of Rory Newell. We were right about him all along; somebody is sending out a message, a very strong message, sir. I’ve informed the Serious Organised Crime Agency, of course, and they’re studying the crime scene evidence.’

‘Did you know Rainsford spent a spell on secondment with the Carabiniere in Florence? This looks like bloody mafia shit to me, or something similar. Get him in here.’ Donald waved his hand at Daley and turned his gaze to a document on his desk.

As Daley strode towards the door, desperately trying to hold his temper, Donald spoke again. ‘While we’re at it, send DS Scott in to see me. I expect to see a change in his attitude if his return to duty is to be a permanent one.’

‘Afraid I can’t, sir. He’s working a split shift today; on obs tonight, so he’s not on duty at the moment.’

‘Obs duty?’ mocked Donald. ‘That decision should have been left to me. Get someone else to do that, and get Scott back here now. Fuck knows, he’s probably got his face in a bloody glass, already.’

Daley turned in the doorway. ‘Direct order from the ACC, sir,’ he lied, then smiled as Donald waved him away with a dismissive flourish of his hand. Despite the gesture, Daley knew he had won.

15

Daley was looking at a grab taken from Kinloch’s CCTV footage during the window of time around Malky Miller’s murder. Though he had no reason for his suspicions, he didn’t like the look of the man walking down Kinloch’s Main Street with his head bowed. He stood out, was different somehow; certainly he wasn’t a local man, though Daley knew he could be an innocent tourist or businessman. The clip was only a moment longer than three seconds, and Daley had watched it over and over again. There was something about the way this man walked, his gaze permanently fixed to the ground. He wore a dark jacket and a cap underneath which Daley was sure he was bald; no hair was visible on the side of his head, though, from this angle, it was hard to tell. His build was striking; he reminded Daley of a wrestler, or a rugby forward. Somehow, to the detective’s eye, he didn’t fit.

‘I want some stills blown up from this. And take a look around the time it was taken and see if we can find this character anywhere else on CCTV,’ said Daley to a young DC. He leaned back in his chair, deep in thought, as the detective left his glass box. These were vicious, pitiless crimes that left him sick to the stomach. He had seen the full spectrum of
man’s inhumanity in the course of his career, but this was at the extreme end.

And what about Cudihey? Was his horrific suicide a final gesture of defiance, a desperate attempt to cleanse the soul with fire, or a two-fingered salute at an uncaring world? Or was it something else entirely?

A knock rattled his door and Rainsford entered. ‘I thought I would let you know, sir, that a member of the Scottish Government is paying a visit to Kinloch.’

‘Really, when?’

‘Tomorrow, sir. Apparently it’s some kind of fact-finding mission.’

‘Oh, brilliant. Does his majesty know yet?’

Rainsford gave Daley a puzzled look, then realised who he meant. ‘I thought it best that you inform the Chief Superintendent, sir.’ He smiled. ‘Apparently she is bringing her own security detail, so it will cause minimum disruption to us, at least. The whole visit is to be low-key, I’m told.’

‘Just what we need. Get me the details, please, and I’ll tell the boss. Who is this official?’

Rainsford looked at the document he was holding for a few moments. ‘Elise Fordham, sir. She’s the Minister for Rural Affairs, Food and the Environment. Their party will consist of her and two others; an assistant and someone from the communications office. Plus protection officers, I assume.’

‘Who from the communications office?’

Rainsford turned a page over. ‘Gary Wilson, sir. That’s all the information I have.’

‘That’s all the information I need. Gary fucking Wilson.’

‘You know him, sir?’

‘Oh yes, I know him. If you worked in the eighties in the Glasgow Police, you knew Gary Wilson, let me assure you. A bastard, a complete bastard. The fun never ends.’

The sheer size of the warship that had rescued them prevented it from entering Kinloch’s harbour proper, so the Taylor family were being transported to the pontoons aboard a tender, piloted by a petty officer and a young rating. The Navy had managed to winch the family’s dinghy aboard and were going to attempt to salvage their yacht which, thanks to modern buoyancy aids, was still partly afloat, stern up in the water.

‘As the lieutenant said, sir, the local harbour master will want to speak with you at some point, and the coastguard. The police, too, I’ve no doubt. A dreadful set of circumstances,’ the petty officer said to Stephen as they neared Kinloch. ‘I’m pleased that we were in the vicinity. That’s our good deed done for the day.’

Alice looked out of the small cabin window. She was wrapped in a silver thermal blanket, as were the rest of the family. The sailors had been kind and efficient; they had been checked over by the ship’s doctor, offered a shower and a change of clothes, and before they left the warship, given a hot meal. Though she didn’t think that the dark uniform trousers and jumper she had been kitted out with were very flattering, she had been glad to get out of her wet clothes and warm up. The Captain had even radioed ahead to book hotel rooms for them, to give them a chance to talk to the relevant authorities and sort out transport back to Edinburgh. She looked up to see the rating, who didn’t look much older than herself, staring at her. She smiled, making him blush and look away.

Her thoughts turned to what they had just experienced. Though she couldn’t be certain, she felt sure that the vessel that had lurked for so long on the horizon was the same one that had sunk their boat. She knew it was insane, but remembering the whoosh prior to their dinghy sinking, she could have sworn that they had been hit by something. When she had told her father this, he dismissed her theory with no little scorn. As far as he was concerned, the little boat had been damaged in the collision and the whooshing noise was merely the sound of it bursting.

As the young crewman jumped adroitly onto the pontoons and began securing the tender, she pictured the laughing man aboard the boat that had sunk them. She shivered.

‘Elise who?’ Donald asked, from behind the desk in his temporary office.

‘Fordham, sir,’ said Daley. ‘Minister for Rural Affairs, Food and the Environment.’

‘Oh, bollocks, don’t they realise we’re up to our necks in shit here?’

‘Interesting to note that she is from the same department as our suicide case, sir.’

‘Does that surprise you, Jim? Have you ever met a politician who could keep their nose out of anything?’

‘One more thing, sir. Miss Fordham will be accompanied by Gary Wilson from the communications department. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you about him.’

‘Ah, no, indeed. Well, we’ll just have to make the best of it. Let’s hope they stick to their word and this visit is as low-key as they suggest,’ Donald said, lifting the receiver of his phone. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Jim, I have an urgent phonecall to make.’

As Daley left the room he had the uneasy feeling that the imminent arrival of Gary Wilson was no surprise to his boss.

Here we go again, he thought.

As he walked down the corridor towards the CID Suite, Rainsford hurried towards him. ‘Sir, you remember the family who discovered our body in the sea?’

‘Yes. Taylor, isn’t it? The guy’s big in some business in Edinburgh.’

‘Yes, sir. As you know, they were on their way here to be interviewed by ourselves. Apparently, they were hit and sunk by another boat early this morning. Rescued by a naval destroyer a few hours ago.’

‘Where are they now?’

‘County Hotel, sir.’

‘Right, you and I will take a wander down there. For one thing, I need a drink; secondly, as my old gaffer used to say, everything happens for a reason, so let’s go and try to find out what that reason is.’

Daley walked into his office to pick up his jacket. The large room was a hive of activity; there were whiteboards displaying crime scene images, timelines and maps with locations numbered and marked in red; detectives were poring over documents, making phone calls or staring at computer screens.

For the first time in months, despite the death, destruction and all of their attendant problems, he realised that he felt at home.

16

‘Well, well,’ Daley said, as he walked into the bar at the County Hotel. Brian Scott was sitting at a table with a plate of sandwiches and a large cup of coffee in front of him.

‘Aye, you can smile all you want. I couldnae get a proper drink here if I tried,’ he said, nodding in the direction of Annie, who was cleaning a pint glass with a white tea towel.

‘No, an’ you’ll no’ get wan neither, no’ until you get back the night,’ she said.

‘I very much doubt our man will be back here before closing time, Annie,’ Daley said with a smile. ‘Most sensitive operation he’s involved with. Could change the world, in fact.’

‘Aye, you know what you can do with your “sensitive operation”,’ Scott said, glaring from under knitted brows. ‘Two o’ the things I hate most in the world – wild goose chases, and boats.’

Daley noticed that despite using both hands to hold his mug, Scott’s trembling had sloshed some of the coffee onto the white tablecloth.

‘The fresh air will do you the world of good, Brian, trust me.’

‘It’s no’ the air that I’m worried aboot. Every time I come doon here I find myself oot on a boat. You know fine I hate the bloody water.’

‘You’ve been all at sea since I’ve known you, Brian,’ said Daley. He walked to the bar and spoke quietly to Annie. ‘Are the Taylors here? I need to have a chat with them. Somewhere quiet, if you could arrange that.’

‘Aye, no bother, Mr Daley. You can use the dining room, there’s nobody in there. Dae you want me tae give them a buzz an’ tell them you’re here?’

‘Yes, that would be great, Annie,’ said Daley. He turned back to Scott. ‘What time are you heading off, Mulder?’

‘Och, in just over an hour. Aye, an’ you can stick that Mulder piss up your arse, tae.’ Despite his fragile condition, he managed a smile. ‘Luckily, my dear wife had the good sense tae pack a warm jumper, an’ a waterproof jacket. Fucking flippers I’ll be needing next. If I’d wanted tae join the Underwater Branch, I’d have spent mair time at the baths in Maryhill when I was a boy.’

Daley watched the Taylor family as they walked into the County’s large dining room. Underneath healthy tans, they looked pale. They were dressed in ill-fitting clothes that clearly weren’t their own. Mrs Taylor’s eyes were red-rimmed, and despite his outward calm, Daley could tell that her husband was stressed too, biting his finger nails as he ushered his family to the table where Daley and Rainsford were waiting.

‘Please take a seat,’ Daley said. ‘There are plenty chairs. Well, you’ve certainly been through the mill, from what I’ve
been hearing. I’m DCI Jim Daley, by the way, and this is DS Rainsford.’

‘Stephen Taylor.’ He shook Daley’s hand. ‘This is my wife, Andrea, and our children, Ian and Alice.’

‘We’ll take it from the top then,’ Daley said. ‘You found a body in the water.’

Scott made his way to the pier down Kinloch’s Main Street, quiet in the early evening. He was to meet a fisherman called Norrie Deans at his boat the
Grey Gull
. The few people he passed smiled at him, or said a brief hello. Though it was still warm, he had a thick jumper and a bulky waterproof over his arm. It always seemed to be cold at sea, no matter how mild the weather on land.

As he reached the head of the pier, he spotted a familiar figure standing within a haze of pipe smoke.

‘Well, now, how are you doing?’ said Hamish. He was dressed in a fisherman’s waterproof bib and brace set, over a thick dark jumper and sea boots. ‘You’ll be ready for oor wee adventure?’

‘Naebody telt me you were coming, Hamish,’ replied Scott, wondering just how hot the old man must be, clothed as he was.

‘Ach, but I’m sure your pal has the dementia, or something similar.’ Hamish looked at him, taking the pipe from his mouth and spitting noisily onto the ground. ‘We had a conversation aboot it a’ jeest this morning. I offered tae be your guide, so tae speak. Aye, he thought the idea was jeest inspired.’

‘Aye, well, whatever. I take it you know what we’re aft er, here?’

‘Well, now, in my time at sea, I’ve been lucky enough tae witness maist things, so you needna worry that I’ll be shocked, or faint away like a wee lassie. I’ll gie you a take on my unique knowledge o’ the coast. Aye, unsurpassed hereabouts, let me tell you.’

‘Och, I better give the gaffer a phone,’ Scott said, searching in his trouser pocket for his mobile.

‘Oh aye,’ said Hamish, flourishing a plastic carrier bag he had been holding. ‘I brought this – tae serve against the chill, you understand.’ With that he revealed a bottle of whisky. His eyes creased in a slant as a broad grin spread across his tanned face.

‘Er, yes, well, I daresay that would dae the trick nicely.’ Scott put the phone back in his pocket. ‘Now, where’s this boat?’

‘The
Grey Gull
, there she is there.’ Hamish pointed to a fishing boat at the end of the pier; of medium size in Scott’s admittedly limited experience, but looking sturdy enough for him to be able to approach this latest naval adventure with more confidence than he would have thought possible an hour before. The fact that Hamish had produced a bottle of whisky had done a lot to soothe his nerves as well.