The Relentless Tide Read online

  I’ll do anything not to end up like these sad bastards, she thought to herself. When I turn forty I’m just going to sit at home and read self-improvement books.

  As she stirred her extra long drink – doubtless poured into such a glass to convince the imbiber that he or she was getting value for money – Baird was aware that someone had occupied the stool beside her.

  Casually she turned to have a look, seeing a tall, awkward-looking woman with curly ginger hair and the minimum adornment of make-up and other decorative trimmings, wearing an unattractive, ill-fitting yellow dress that gaped at the neck, revealing an off-white bra that had clearly seen better days. For some reason, it struck Baird as strange that she had opted to paint her nails black while wearing this outfit, but after what she’d seen so far it seemed almost anything was possible in this parade of fading, failing vanity and self-delusion.

  The woman, a good few years younger than herself, Maggie reckoned, made eye contact with her, smiled and shouted a greeting.

  ‘Hi, I’m Alison. Are you here alone too?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Baird, wondering whether the woman who was sharing the bar with her thought she was gay. ‘Not many men about,’ she hollered back, making sure there was no misunderstanding.

  Her new companion shrugged. ‘They won’t be in for another hour or so. Filling up on Dutch courage at more reasonable prices.’

  ‘Ah, good thinking. Wish I’d done the same.’

  Daley and Scott were watching proceedings via a number of CCTV screens in the manager’s office.

  ‘Tall lassie, Jimmy. This could be oor women. That would be a bit o’ luck, eh?’

  ‘Too lucky, Bri. But, I suppose you never know – stranger things have happened. We’ll just observe for the moment.’

  ‘Should we no’ alert Speirs? I mean, if things look likely, you know.’

  ‘Nah, that mob would rush in and ruin it. We need evidence. All we have just now is a tall lassie. We can’t move on that.’

  Scott nodded, his and Daley’s eyes still fixed on the screens.

  ‘Fancy a seat?’ Alison pointed to an empty table at the back of the room. ‘Might be a bit quieter.’

  ‘Yes, why not? I’m Tina, by the way,’ said Maggie casually.

  ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  They shook hands, ordered fresh drinks for which Alison insisted on paying, then made their way through the preening, screeching, gaudy crowd to a quiet table.

  At least I can see the whole room, thought Maggie, as they took their seats. She opened her handbag to a slit, taking comfort from her small police radio within.

  She reasoned that she would look less conspicuous with a companion; and at the very least she would have someone to talk to, as the operation, in all probability, would fizzle out and come to nothing.

  She’d done this before.

  Kinloch, the present

  The figure that emerged from the deep hole on the end of two stout ropes was in a cage of thin, rusting flat-bar iron, untidily welded, clearly an amateur job. Helen McNeil was pale, her hair stood in filthy clumps, and the stench of her body was plain in the cool damp air. She looked around as though reborn, almost as though she was seeing life for the first time, having been removed from the horrors of her squalid confinement.

  Helen squinted up at the grey sky through the bars of her tiny cage. Mercifully it had stopped raining, but even though the ground was still saturated she fell to her knees sobbing uncontrollably, staring up at the faces looking down at her through long hair that straggled over her face.

  A fireman got to work with a burning torch, and soon freed her from the ill-constructed cage.

  ‘Thank . . . thank you all so much,’ she managed to say through sobs, the thick blanket she had been given wrapped tightly around her.

  Daley gestured to the Fire and Rescue personnel to give him and the liberated nurse space.

  As they moved off, Daley said, ‘Helen, we need to get you to the hospital. An ambulance is on its way from Kinloch.’

  For a few moments she just looked straight at him, her eyes suddenly wild with terror, and then she said, ‘What if it’s one of them?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘One of my colleagues – the people I’ve worked with all these years. What if they did this to me?’

  ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘You don’t know the people of Kinloch. You think you do, Mr Daley, but you’ve not been here long enough. They resent anyone who isn’t local – think of them as second-class citizens.’

  ‘But you’re well respected and liked – both in the hospital and by those in the community, from what I can gauge. I know Kinloch’s tight-knit, but this is on the extreme side even for here.’

  ‘You reckon?’ A new determination flashed across her features. ‘You’re never part of the community here unless everyone can trace you back to a great-grandmother from Machrie, or a room and kitchen in the Glebe Fields. I got this job ahead of a local nurse. I’m sure that’s what’s behind all this.’ She stopped and jabbed her right forefinger repeatedly into her temple, making Daley wince. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think in there, Mr Daley. Oh yes, you don’t have much else to do when you’re trapped in absolute darkness waiting to die.’

  As if on cue, the distant sound of an ambulance siren echoed round the hillside, and she flung herself at the policeman, grabbing him tightly as the blanket fell on to the thick grass. Daley automatically shrank back from her odour.

  ‘Don’t let them put me back in there. They’ll inject me with something and say it was a mistake. Please, please, DCI Daley.’

  ‘If anyone is at fault, it’s me. I left strict instructions you were to work only within the confines of the hospital. I should have made sure that those instructions were adhered to.’

  ‘See, I’m right!’

  ‘You insisted on attending the Machrie call, I believe.’

  She said nothing, simply burying her head in Daley’s chest as the ambulance swayed and bumped up the rough track to the castle and its newly uncovered dark secret.

  As a paramedic tried to help McNeil into the vehicle she struggled wildly, holding her hand out to Daley and screaming his name. The detective realised just how gravely her imprisonment had affected this fragile woman.

  Before he joined her in the ambulance, he stared down at the gaping black hole that had been her prison. The darkness seemed to pull him in, the same feeling he had when standing on a cliff’s edge.

  Her screams broke the spell, and he left the once legendary, newly discovered oubliette to be secured by the Fire and Rescue team.

  ‘Poor Helen,’ said a paramedic he vaguely recognised from his trips to the hospital and the bar at the County Hotel. ‘She’s lost her mind – thinks we’re going to put her back in there.’

  ‘Maybe she’s not thinking straight,’ said Daley. ‘But one thing is for sure, someone imprisoned her in that hole.’ He nodded at the medic and stepped into the ambulance beside the shivering, dishevelled, stinking figure of Nurse Helen McNeil.

  32

  The bar of the County was busy. As always, whenever some event of note took place in the area, the locals headed to their hostelry of choice in order to find out the real truth behind what was going on.

  ‘They tell me she was gnawing at a rat when they found her,’ said Hamish. Uncharacteristically, he was propped up on a stool at the bar, there being no spare seats at any of the tables on his arrival. ‘The blood wiz fair dripping doon her chin – aye, absolutely that. They tell me she was jeest sucking up the tail like a piece on thon spaghetti they Italians like so much.’

  ‘Oh, the poor woman,’ said Annie. ‘She must have been beside hersel’ tae go tae such lengths.’

  ‘It’s hellish whoot starvation will dae tae a man – aye, and a woman as weel come tae that,’ said Hamish, puffing at his unlit pipe.

  ‘I mind she came up tae change a dressing on my faither’s leg – och, this was years ago. Do you kno
w, I’m sure we were having a bolognese when she arrived.’

  ‘There you are,’ replied Hamish, raising his eyes to the heavens. ‘That incident was likely tae the forefront o’ her mind when she was incarcerated doon in that great hole in the darkness, and managed tae trap a rat for her dinner. Aye, I can jeest imagine her sayin tae herself, “Noo that’s just how Annie fae the County eats her pasta. I’ll dae the same wae this rat’s tail.”’

  ‘I’m not saying anything,’ interrupted Malky, the paramedic who had taken the stricken nurse back to Kinloch Hospital and spoken to Daley. ‘It’s mair than my job’s worth tae be spreading gossip, but I can tell you this, there were nae rats involved. I’m sure that doesn’t contravene the Hippocratic oath.’

  ‘Och, but you’re a decent soul right enough, Malky Ramsay,’ said Hamish. ‘When – like me – you’ve pitched your life against the great Atlantic Ocean day after day, you know whoot awful necessities desperation can bring aboot. Sure, I’d tae eat an uncooked mackerel one day when I forgot my pieces. My auld skipper Sandy Hoynes said that the Japanese swore by eating raw fish.’

  ‘Sashimi – have you never heard o’ it?’ said Annie.

  ‘Aye, well, whootever they call it, it wisnae tae my taste. Food’s no’ right unless there’s been a bit o’ fire aboot it . . . or some other legitimate cooking method, you understand. In any event, I widna be sooking up a rat’s tail as though it was a length o’ spaghetti, no, no matter how bleak things were. A man has tae have his limits.’

  ‘Funny we’ve never found whoot your limit is when it comes tae downing drams,’ observed Annie.

  ‘Ach, that’s another matter entirely. How can you compare the consumption of the water o’ life tae munching on an uncooked rat? Makes me wonder jeest whoot passes for standards in the kitchen here.’

  Just as Annie was opening her mouth to let fly with a volley of expletives, the door swung open to reveal two figures. One tall, unkempt, in a crumpled suit and bearing an unhealthy pallor; the other shorter, with his neatly cut salt and pepper hair still wet, sticking up in spikes as though it had just been roughly towelled.

  ‘Whoot on earth are you wearing, Brian?’ enquired Annie, looking at the grey jogging pants and hooded top her new customer had on.

  ‘It’s the only thing I could find in the office tae change intae. One o’ they young fellas gave me a loan o’ it. I’ve been soaked all day . . .’ He was about to say more when he paused, sniffled, panted, then let out a tremendous sneeze. ‘See,’ he said, wiping his dripping nose on his sleeve. ‘I’ve caught double pneumonia – aye, and a’ doon tae the shite job I’ve tae dae.’

  ‘One large malt and a ginger beer,’ said Daley, wincing suddenly as he passed his right hand across his chest.

  ‘Here, you’re as pale as a ghost, Mr Daley,’ said Annie, a look of concern on her face.

  ‘Indigestion,’ he replied. ‘I’d fish for my lunch. I’m always the same, but I can’t resist mackerel.’

  ‘Was it cooked?’ asked Hamish.

  ‘Indigestion doesnae make you pale in the face,’ said paramedic Malky Ramsay. ‘Sure you don’t want me tae check you out?’

  ‘Indigestion might not make you peelly-wally, but no sleep will do it every time,’ said Scott. ‘And too many drams.’

  ‘Well, would you listen tae that,’ came a familiar female voice from behind. ‘This fae the man that never so much as touched a drink. Don’t you listen tae him, Jimmy. Same wrong wae you as always – you work and worry too much. It’s been like that all the years I’ve known you.’ She returned her gaze to Brian. ‘What on earth have you got on? I know polis uniforms are getting mair casual, but . . .’

  ‘Ella, dear. How are you?’ said Scott. He hugged his wife as Annie looked on from behind the bar, a forced smile on her face.

  Glasgow, 1994

  Though she’d been asked to blend in, WPC Maggie Baird felt she was maybe enjoying herself too much. Though she’d only had three vodkas, she felt as though she’d consumed much more. She was even finding her new companion surprisingly good company. Since she’d visited the Ladies, the evening seemed much more tolerable.

  A small balding man sidled up to their table. His clothes were at least a decade out of fashion, and the Cuban-heeled boots that stuck out from below wide-bottomed trousers were clearly an attempt to make up for lack of height.

  At least he wasn’t wearing a toupee, thought Maggie, though it took her a few seconds to remember why she was in this place dressed as she was. She squinted at the man and tried to concentrate. Who knew? This could be the murderer – or at least his assistant.

  As it turned out, the man – who introduced himself as Dougie – seemed much more interested in the younger Alison. She slid her large frame nearer to Maggie as her admirer helped himself to a seat beside them.

  It wasn’t long before Maggie noticed that Alison looked increasingly discomforted by the attentions of the middle-aged man. She decided to intervene.

  ‘Listen, you,’ she said. ‘Who invited you tae shit wae ush?’ She broke into a fit of the giggles when she realised how the slur in her voice had made her sound. Alison grabbed her hand under the table, trembling.

  ‘How come yous are here if yous don’t fancy a bit o’ chat an’ a stagger aboot the dance floor wae me? Are yous a pair o’ dykes, or what?’

  Maggie sat back, a mean look spreading across her face. ‘See me, I’ve never been tempted by a member o’ the shame shex as me in my life. Not that there’s anything wrang wae that, mind you. What folk dae in their personal lives is their business, none o’ mine.’ She straightened her back and composed herself, her gaudily painted lips pursed in a prim, schoolmistress-like thin line. ‘But I tell you thish for nothing. I’d rather mate wae a fucking scabby donkey than have anything tae dae wae a wee shite like you.’

  ‘And dae you speak for your granddaughter, auld yin?’ said Dougie, smiling at his own wit.

  ‘Naw, but she doeshn’t want anything tae dae wae you neithers. Sure you don’t, Alison?’

  Maggie’s companion shook her head and said, ‘Please leave us alone.’

  ‘Aw, c’mon, lassie, gie a guy a chance. I mean, you’re not exactly belle o’ the ball yersel’. I would have thought you’d be happy wae any kind o’ attention, cos you sure don’t look like you’re getting much, if you get my drift. You and your granny.’

  Unsteadily, Maggie got to her feet and leaned across the table, watching Dougie’s eyes flash as he spied her plunging neckline. ‘Fuck off, pervert!’ she shouted, attracting looks from around the bar, despite the general din.

  ‘Aye, aw right – keep your girdle on, auld yin,’ said Dougie, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender and backing away from the table.

  When she sat back down, Maggie couldn’t understand why she’d just landed on her backside on the floor.

  ‘Fuck me, Alison. The vodka’s strong in here, eh?’ She laughed as the younger woman hauled her to her feet with powerful arms.

  Looking on from the nightclub office on a flickering black-and-white CCTV screen, Brian Scott raised one eyebrow. ‘Are you sure you chose the right woman for this, Jimmy? She’s no’ looking too clever.’

  ‘Probably an act,’ his colleague replied, though he looked less than convinced.

  ‘If you say so, boss. But mind you, if she can act as good as this she should be on the stage, no’ pounding the beat up in the Toonheid.’

  Scott had barely finished speaking when the screen registered a flurry of flailing bodies: a fight had broken out. A group of about six young men who had been drinking quietly together had suddenly turned on two newcomers. Daley watched a blade flash under the lights, as a stool was cracked over a young man’s head.

  ‘Call Stewart Street, Bri,’ he said as he watched a team of doormen enter the fray.

  As Scott called for uniformed officers to attend the fracas, Daley returned his attention to the table where Maggie Baird and her companion had been sitting. It was empty.
r />   ‘Delta Alpha One to all units, I’ve lost visual on Maggie. Report, over.’

  Scott looked at Daley with a puzzled expression, and said, ‘They’ve probably gone for a waz, Jimmy. You worry too much.’

  ‘Check out the toilets, please, Delta Alpha Five.’

  ‘Roger, Jim. Stand by.’ The voice was barely audible above the shouting that accompanied the fight. After less than a minute: ‘That’s a negative, Delta Alpha One.’

  Daley grabbed his radio. ‘To all stations outside premises, we’ve lost sight of subject. Anything to report, over?’

  Through background noise and crackle of the radio, the silence was deafening

  33

  ‘So you’re wae us the night then, Mrs Scott,’ said Annie in her best Sunday voice.

  ‘Ella, please – I’m no’ royalty.’ She looked across the room to a table where Daley and her husband were deep in conversation. ‘Nor am I likely to be, neither.’

  They both laughed.

  ‘So, Jimmy,’ Scott was saying, ‘what’s happening with oor three bodies up in the hospital?’

  ‘Symington’s up there now. Helen’s in a state of collapse. I don’t know how this is going to affect her.’

  ‘I’m no’ surprised, after being banged up doon that hole.’ Scott shuddered. ‘I cannae even imagine what that was like.’

  ‘As for our archaeologists, your Boris was lucky. He was hit in the shoulder; he’ll survive. Mind you, they won’t let us talk to him – any of them, come to that.’

  ‘The gaffer will sort that out; I widnae worry aboot that. They’ll no’ be able to say no tae her for long. What aboot Galt?’

  ‘Not sure. He’s in Glasgow now; got helicoptered out about half an hour ago. I’ll check up later.’ He thought for a few moments. ‘I’d love to know how that necklace got where it did.’

  ‘Oor patients up the road will be able to throw some light on that.’

  Daley looked meaningfully at the bar, where Annie and Ella were deep in conversation. ‘Could this become a problem?’