Dark Suits and Sad Songs (20 page)

Amidst the subsequent hubbub, Murray leaned forward in his seat and spoke loudly into his microphone. ‘Everybody will need tae be quiet an’ let the Minister answer the gentleman’s question.’

He hadn’t reckoned with her political talents though. Fordham leaned toward the microphone and simply said, ‘I’m not quite sure to what exactly the gentleman refers, however if it is a question about the government’s continued efforts to create for this country a sustainable and ecologically moral power network, then I must tell him that currently everything is under discussion and all possibilities are being examined. The coast of Kintyre is no different to the rest of our coastline here in Scotland. We know that such research will lead to us becoming self-sufficient in green energy by the second half of the twenty-first century.’ Then, without taking a breath, she thanked the audience again, turned on her heel and made her way back through the curtains at the back of the stage, quickly followed by Wilson, who glared at Murray as he passed.

‘An’ that, as they say, is that,’ said Murray, as less than enthusiastic applause echoed briefly around the George Hall.

‘I sincerely hope you’ve got some fags on you, Gary,’ said Fordham as she made for the door.

‘Here,’ he replied, ushering her into the dressing room. ‘Our friends from Kinloch will try to pigeonhole you at the back door. We’ll stay in here for half an hour or so, until they get fed up. I’ll tell the minders to wait in the corridor and keep the locals at bay.’ With that, he slid a silver bolt in place, locking them in the narrow room. ‘Catch,’ he said, throwing a cigarette to Fordham.

‘What about the smoking ban, Gary?’

‘After the shambles you’ve just presided over, smoking behind the bike shed will be the least of your worries,’ said Wilson in a harsh whisper, as he spun a white lighter across the small space between the Minister and himself. ‘Everything was bad enough before Uncle Sam chipped in.’

‘Yeah, strange one. How he knows about our renewables project up there, I’ve no idea. Maybe spotted research vessels in the sound or something?’

‘Don’t be so fucking stupid. Didn’t you see his haircut? Fucking military. CIA, even – stands out a mile. This is getting hot, Elise. Too hot for me.’ He looked at her through bloodshot eyes. ‘I just got a message from my friendly copper. The spooks have found something on Kirsteen Lang’s hard drive.’

‘Mr Daley, you’re the local chief of police around here, am I right?’ asked the tall American, holding out his hand to shake Daley’s. Scott was squinting across the loch as he drew heavily on a cigarette, Daley waiting patiently at his side.

‘Well, yes. Not exactly how we would term it, but as close as we get to that kind of thing in this country,’ replied Daley, taking the man’s hand. ‘You are?’

‘Michael Callaghan. Please just call me Mike, everyone else does.’ He shook Daley’s hand vigorously. ‘Kinda lovely here, yeah?’ he observed, looking across the loch, burnished silver in the evening light. A family of swans, in search of bread crusts, swam towards the crowds spilling out of the hall. The noise of people talking and laughing carried across the water. One man, Arnie, was singing and dancing past the pier, much to the amusement of his friends.

‘Yes, it is,’ Daley replied. ‘Interesting point you raised in there. You seem very well informed.’

‘Oh, just a concerned tourist, you know. I love it here; everything is so unspoiled and fresh. Sort of the way things are meant to be.’

‘Are you stayin’ for long? I’m Brian Scott, by the way.’ The detective also held out his hand for the taller man to shake. ‘I’m the deputy.’ He grinned.

‘Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been looking around for some business opportunities. I’m in the golf game. This place is like golf heaven. Do you know, I drove my first shot right across the Atlantic Ocean onto the green this morning? I know a lot of folk back home would love to do likewise.’

‘And you wouldn’t be in favour of wind turbines spoiling your view?’

‘Got it in one, Mr Daley. Got it in one. I won’t keep you guys from your business, it’s been great meeting you,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you cops have your work cut out down here. Such a tragedy with the guy who set himself on fire. What a way to end your life.’ He looked at Daley levelly. ‘You’d have to be real desperate to want to do that.’ He smiled, then walked away.

‘Aye, cheerio,’ said Scott, under his breath. ‘If he’s a businessman, I’m in the Salvation Army.’

‘You know the Americans, Bri. But I agree, he does have a kind of military bearing.’

‘Military bearing? He looks like General MacArthur.’ Scott stubbed his cigarette out on top of a bin. A few yards down the street, Mike Callaghan ducked into a large black SUV and sped away.

26

Sarah MacDougall’s day began like all the others had over the past few months, and like they would continue to, she supposed, for a very long time. A harsh buzzer roused her from a fitful sleep and she eased herself over the side of the bed. In her mind, she went through her daily mantra, counting down the days until she was eligible for parole.

She had been sentenced to six years for conspiracy to supply controlled drugs as well as a host of smaller charges. She knew that she was clever, much cleverer than the majority of her fellow inmates in Cornton Vale; many of whom were pitiful victims of society, rather than a danger to it. Yet here she was.

Her love of reading had landed her a plum job as an assistant in the library. There, amongst the shelves, life seemed normal; she could almost be back at her expensive private school. The librarian was a civilian, and their chats about literature and life had brightened the dark world into which she had been thrust. She was studying philosophy now, a pursuit that unlocked the doors of her restricted world to infinite ideas and possibilities. It was an escape from her regimented routine, lived amongst people she, in the main, despised. Though she reminded herself that, such had been
her father’s upbringing and subsequent career in crime, she was merely one step away from these people – removed by a single generation and a fortune in feloniously obtained money. What did she have to be so proud of ?

Well, she had her brain, her intelligence.

Today could change things for her, get her out of this place. She had worked to set her mind free; now it was time for the rest of her body to follow. Her father had told her secrets during their brief bid for freedom, before he had died in the sand; she had wrestled with this knowledge during her trial and incarceration. What she knew – the secrets she had been told – she was certain others would want to know. The question had always been when best to make this private knowledge public. At what point could it be used to her best advantage? What forces would be released by opening this Pandora’s box?

Her knowledge had the power to change things – to set her free. But her possession of this information could also destroy her. As she pinned back her hair – dull now, with no expensive highlights or slick cut – she thought about the slim volume on the shelf in the library: her last will and testament. She wrote something on a scrap of paper, folded it, then tucked it into her pillow case. There it would remain until the evening. She did this every day, just in case. In the evening things would be different. Knowledge was power, and power would set her free. For the first time in a very long time, she felt her spirit soar.

The radio programme he was listening to was retro and, for him, nostalgic. Songs from the eighties played as he drove along the beautiful winding road, away from Kinloch.
Sunlight glinted on the waters of Loch Fyne, flashing through the trees, just like the strobing effects in the night club all those years ago when he had first set eyes on Liz. ‘We met at midnight in Paris,’ she used to say. It sounded sublime; many of her friends remarked upon its romance. What she omitted to tell them was that Paris was a club in the back streets of Paisley.

It all seemed like a very, very long time ago.

Could he rekindle his relationship with Liz? Would the spark of the love he felt for her, would always feel for her, be enough to set fire to their relationship again? And what about Mary? She had called him when he arrived home after the public meeting. She sounded sad, alone and confused; her voice was small when he declined the invitation to spend the night at hers. When he’d told her that he was to visit Liz the next day, she’d put the phone down.

He turned the radio off. Nostalgia was all very well, but it was an indulgent emotion; what was tear-jerking poignancy for one brought a cold shiver of embarrassment to another. No matter what he decided to do, somebody was going to get hurt: Liz, Mary, himself, their baby – her baby. Frustrated at the circles in which he seemed to be turning, he tried to drag his thoughts back to work, and what Sarah MacDougall would say.

There was something he was missing, he was sure of it. He had come to rely on his inner voice, the nagging doubt that told him all was not well, despite appearances. What had happened over the last few days had been bad, but he had the feeling that it was only part of a greater, much more sinister, whole. Cudihey’s death, the appearance of a known assassin on the streets of Kinloch, and the horrific executions of
Malky Miller and Rory Newell all jostled for his attention. John Donald’s face kept flashing before his mind’s eye. Yes, he was being investigated, but it was all very subtle. Daley had thought about it a lot since Layton’s revelation; he reasoned that if senior management had thought Donald to be in some way compromised, they would never have let him loose as commander of a division in the new force. As always, wheels within wheels. He was sick of it, all of it; he could foresee the job to which he had given the best years of his life becoming more and more political, a setting for behind-the-scenes deals catered to the advancement of those who occupied executive positions, who were more worried about their pensions and reputations than their real purpose: to solve and prevent crime.

He thought of Sarah MacDougall. She had lost everything, including her freedom. He gunned the car along a straight section of road towards the white buildings of the village in the distance.

His phone rang, and Rainsford’s voice spilled into the car, confident as always – another perk of private education.

‘Sir, I’ve just been warned off from any further investigation into the map found on Cudihey’s boat.’

‘By whom?’

‘ACC in charge of discipline. He was adamant, sir. Any information about it, or about the lights in the sky, is to be passed to him, then he will inform the relevant department.’

‘The MOD, no doubt.’

‘He didn’t say,’ said Rainsford. ‘Oh, one thing, though. I discovered that this is the line of a cable, but not an old telegraph as we had thought.’

‘What is it, then?’

‘Apparently it was laid just after the end of the Second World War. That’s where my enquiries have to end, I’m sad to say. There was a lot of military activity around Kinloch in those days. Something to do with that, sir?’

Daley thought for a moment. ‘You have a smartphone, don’t you? One of your own, I mean, not the one you’ve been issued with.’

‘Yes, sir, but . . .’

‘Keep plugging away on that. And use your mobile network, not the office wifi. To coin a phrase, “I don’t think we’re alone”.’

Education and exercise, that’s what existed now for Sarah MacDougall. They couldn’t lock up her mind, and exercise helped her stay sharp. An enlightened approach to the imprisonment and rehabilitation of the prisoner in the twenty-first century meant that a well-equipped gym was available for those who didn’t want to see their bellies fold over the top of a pair of baggy leggings.

Sarah put her head down as she pedalled hard, a constant need within her to better her performance on the exercise bike. She felt rivulets of sweat slither down her back as her breath shortened with the exertion. Soon, the natural high of an endorphin rush would help her cope with another day behind white walls, high fences and razor wire. She closed her eyes against the pain, shutting out the light in the bright room.

She didn’t expect the blow which sent her face smashing into the bike’s console, though the pain it engendered changed her life in a split second. She opened her eyes just in time to see a glimpse of her own blood as it slid down the
screen displaying her time, speed and distance. Her world slipped beneath her, as though she was suddenly travelling at immense speed. She felt nothing of the second blow that turned her world, once full of hope and potential, dark forever.

Daley circled the looming edifice of Stirling Castle, following the road through a couple of roundabouts and over a bridge, then turned left, away from Scotland’s old capital and towards one of its biggest prisons. He was on a straight stretch of road now, though numerous mini roundabouts, traffic lights and slow buses hindered his progress.

A flash of blue reflected in his rear-view mirror caught his attention. He took his foot off the accelerator and edged his car into the side of the road to let the ambulance rush past, the wail from its siren changing pitch as it drew level with him. He watched it thread its way through the traffic ahead in a flurry of lights and sound, and something cold gripped Jim Daley’s heart. He pressed his foot firmly back on the accelerator and the car lurched forward.

Daley stopped at the front gate of HMP Cornton Vale just in time to see the ambulance disappear into the complex of white buildings. A security guard in a peaked cap and a white shirt with epaulettes walked towards the car. An identity tag swayed across his paunch as he neared the vehicle.

‘DCI Jim Daley,’ he said, through the open window, passing his warrant card towards the guard for examination. ‘I have an appointment to interview an inmate.’

‘Picked a bad time, DCI Daley,’ replied the security guard. ‘We’re in lockdown. There’s been an assault on one of the
prisoners. Doesn’t sound good, but don’t quote me on that, will you, mate. Just pull your vehicle into the side over there, and we’ll be with you as soon as possible.’

The churning feeling at the pit of Daley’s stomach told him that something was very wrong. He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled down his contacts list. His call was answered by a harassed secretary.