A Breath on Dying Embers Read online

‘Eh? He’s a fine lad, aye, and he likely deserves a promotion. But what aboot me? There’s no’ room for two detective sergeants here, I widnae have thought.’

  ‘Indeed, absolutely correct. Kinloch doesn’t justify it in terms of size and so on.’

  ‘Right, so I’m back off up the road. Just when Ella was getting settled in, tae.’ Scott shook his head and looked at the floor. ‘I suppose young Potts has a degree. The only degrees I’ve got are from the . . .’ He paused. ‘Well, never mind, ma’am. Just a wee club I belong tae.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘What you do in your own time is your business – as long as it’s lawful, that is.’

  ‘Oh, aye. Nothing unlawful about the Lodge – er, the club, ma’am.’

  ‘Right, to the point. I want you to move your things this morning . . .’

  ‘Aw, come on,’ said Scott, breaking into her sentence.

  ‘Move them into DCI Daley’s office, Acting Detective Inspector Scott.’

  Scott opened his mouth then closed it again. ‘Aye, an’ I just came here in Apollo 24. You’re no’ so good at the jokes, ma’am.’ He laughed.

  ‘I can assure you, there’s no joke involved. You’ll replace DCI Daley in his capacity as head of CID and nominally as sub-divisional commander when, or indeed if, he returns. I’ll be close at hand to take care of divisional matters. We’re in for a bloody hard time with all this, as you know. Every eye will be on us. But, as far as it goes, I’m sure you’re more than equal to the task.’ She stood and held out her hand. ‘Congratulations, Acting DI Scott.’

  Bewildered, Scott took her hand, and shook it enthusiastically. ‘Thank you, ma’am. I’ve got to say, that was a title I never thought I’d hear.’

  ‘Remember, you’re Acting DI, but it’s still a feather in your cap – long overdue, in my opinion. Let’s try not to make an arse of it, Brian.’ She smiled. ‘Right, no time like the present. You get on with things, and we wait to find out what this body is all about.’

  ‘Aye, right, Carrie – ma’am. Oor Ella won’t believe this!’

  ‘Somehow, I’m sure that’s true.’

  Scott got to his feet and headed for the door.

  ‘Oh, and Brian . . .’

  ‘Yes, ma’am?’

  ‘Send your measurements to HQ. You’ll need a uniform – even if it’s only for ceremonial purposes.’

  ‘Aye, right, ma’am.’

  Scott left the room wondering when he’d last worn a police uniform. No’ this century, anyhow, he reckoned.

  The new campsite was concealed deep within a thick pine forest on the opposite side of the loch. At first, they’d struggled to find the track outlined in their new orders, but with maps, satnav and many false starts, Cabdi and Faduma eventually reached the small clearing where they had parked and erected their tents.

  Faduma was now sullen. He realised that he’d been rash in taking the elderly man captive, and that Cabdi wasn’t at all happy with him. Still, though, he resented being subordinate to his companion. No one had his zeal, his will to fight for the cause. He yearned to avenge those killed by the Infidel with a passion that made him feel as though he was already heading for paradise.

  Also, he was worried about Cabdi. Did he have the same hatred for those who were trying to destroy their people and everything they believed in? Faduma wasn’t sure. The man was too squeamish when it came to punishing those who must surely die. Secretly, Faduma was becoming more and more concerned about Cabdi’s will to end the task they had begun, a task that would almost certainly end in their glorious martyrdom and the paradise that followed.

  He watched his companion as he prepared food over a camping stove. The thin man’s long legs were folded in on themselves as he squatted to stir a huge pot.

  ‘It smells delicious, my brother. You have skill with food, there is no doubt.’

  ‘Taught me by my mother,’ replied Cabdi. ‘Take your time, love what you do, use spices and herbs, and make the food sing. That is what she always told me.’

  ‘She was a good teacher.’

  ‘I think we must practise with our equipment. I want to make sure that everything goes as planned. We have already made one big mistake – there must be no more. Our mission cannot fail.’

  ‘You worry too much. Once we have eaten, I will test the equipment. Our leader has been clever; this is an even better place from which to work. These tall trees give us cover, and the track leads to a high point from where we can do what must be done.’

  Cabdi didn’t take his eyes from the pot he was stirring, merely nodding at Faduma’s enthusiastic comments.

  ‘Have you nothing to say?’

  ‘No, I am concentrating on our meal. We pray, eat and then test the equipment. You remember the words of our leader – you obey me in everything, now.’

  ‘We were partners, now you are my master. How is this fair?’

  ‘It’s fair because of what you did. You are lucky still to be alive. Be thankful, my brother, for you know our leader would not hesitate to have you killed if he chose. It is only because of your expertise with the machine that you are still alive, I think.’

  Without speaking, Faduma stared at the man cooking his meal. Resentment was rapidly now turning into hatred. Faduma knew that he was the instrument of destruction. Cabdi was a tool, a mere cog in the machine that he would set in motion. Ultimately, he would decide when things would be done. He would bide his time.

  18

  The prospect of the drive from the hospital in Paisley to Kinloch had worried Liz, but Daley had been determined to return to where he now called home, and to his son. Though not keen on the idea, the doctors at the Royal Alexandra Hospital relented, trusting that the clinicians in Kinloch could cope with the solution of drugs needed to stabilise Daley’s heart just as well as those in Paisley.

  Despite the assurances that he was fit for the journey, she kept checking the wellbeing of the man to whom she was still married. Just in case, though, she drove the hired car much more carefully than usual towards remote Kinloch.

  At one point he dozed off, head lolling against the passenger window. Anxiously she took his arm and pulled on one of his fingers, and was relieved when he opened his eyes.

  They drove on, the tall hills on either side obscured by low cloud on this grey day, as the rain splattered off the windscreen and kept the wipers busy with an irritating yet hypnotic squeal.

  They were roughly halfway to Kinloch before Daley spoke.

  ‘We’ll pick up James and go back to the house. I’ll get Ella on the mobile.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Liz.

  ‘Oh what?’

  ‘Just . . . just that I wasn’t sure if you’d want me in the house.’

  ‘Where else would you go?’

  ‘I could book into the County, if you feel it would be better.’ She hated the conversations she had with her estranged husband now; the long pauses, silences, unfinished sentences – unspoken hatred on his part, she thought. ‘Though I suppose that my being in the house would be better for you. You know, just in case . . .’

  ‘In case what – I die, you mean?’

  ‘No! Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jim. It’s like treading on eggshells every time we speak. Can’t we at least be civil, even if it’s just until you recover?’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  She turned to look at him, eyes flashing. ‘No, you won’t just be fine. You heard the cardiologist. This is a real wake-up call. You have to start looking after yourself – right now!’

  ‘Yes, dear, thank you so much for your concern. Until some bastard beat you up, you weren’t bothered whether I lived or died. What’s changed?’

  ‘Do you want your son to grow up without a father, is that it? Are you pining so much for that girl that you’ve forgotten you have responsibilities to your own flesh and blood?’

  Daley shook his head. ‘That’s so typical of you, Liz. You’ve shagged your way right through our marriage – and not with me, either. Now all you can think a
bout is that I was capable of finding happiness elsewhere. Pathetic.’

  ‘She was half your age!’

  ‘She was a beautiful person – nicer, kinder, better than you’ll ever be – ever be capable of being!’ He banged his fist against the glove box, then grimaced, putting one hand to his chest.

  ‘What is it? Are you okay?’ Her face had drained of colour, the red anger of only moments before gone.

  ‘It’s fine, just a twinge. They told me that would happen until the drugs kick in properly.’

  He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and dialled Ella Scott.

  The body, minus feet, hands and head, lay on a gurney in the mortuary at Kinloch Hospital. The pathologist, who had been flown in from Glasgow, was examining the remains with the detached efficiency that epitomised her profession.

  In gowns and masks, Scott, Potts and a local doctor who was assisting looked on.

  ‘Certainly in late middle age, possibly older,’ said pathologist Yanka Omelia, her voice heavily accented.

  ‘Thought that myself,’ said Dr Terence Brady, Kinloch’s newest GP, clearly not immune to the allure of the blue-eyed Latvian woman working on the remains.

  ‘You don’t have to agree with everything I say, Doctor Brady. Just do your job, please.’

  Nice put-down, thought Scott, grinning behind his mask. ‘So, you can find oot his identity wae DNA and that, eh?’ he asked.

  ‘I can certainly extract DNA from the remains, but unless you have a match for him, it doesn’t mean we’ll find out who he is.’

  ‘Aye, but he’s Asian, right?’

  She stopped what she was doing and stared at Scott. ‘Whatever makes you think that?’

  ‘The guy we’re looking for is Asian.’

  ‘This man’s skin is pale – does he look Asian to you?’

  ‘Aye, but being in the water an’ that, you know . . .’

  ‘You think it’s washed his skin white, is that it, Inspector?’

  For a split second Scott hesitated, wondering who the inspector was, then quickly realising it was himself, shook his head. ‘Naw, that’s no’ what I meant at all. I’ve seen loads o’ bodies come oot o’ the sea. Nearly all o’ them are bloated, white and puffy – do you get what I mean?’

  She stared at him for a couple of seconds, then went back about her business. ‘Yes, this person – or these remains, at least – have been in the sea, but not for long. I’d say no more than a few hours. And as far as the identity of the individual is concerned, I can almost definitely say he’s not Asian.’

  Scott reckoned that he didn’t want to pick a fight with Yanka Omelia. ‘So can you guess a wee bit, though?’

  ‘Guess? My job is not about guessing, Inspector. If you want a considered opinion, that is easier to give, but guess, no.’ She looked at Dr Brady. ‘And you can please stop nodding. I find it distracting.’

  Even under his mask, the blush on the young clinician’s face was plain.

  ‘Aye, a considered opinion, then, please,’ said Scott.

  ‘A white male, between mid-sixties and mid-seventies in age. Adding on feet and a head, I’d say probably five feet six to five feet seven inches tall. Though the hair on his chest is mostly grey, I’d say that this man would have had blond or red hair when he was young. No particular scars or tattoos that may help identify him, though he has a large mole just below his left shoulder blade. In my opinion, most certainly not of Asian extraction.’

  ‘And what about his feet, head and hands?’

  ‘Removed roughly, most probably with a knife. Most likely one with a serrated edge – and not particularly sharp, by the look of things. The cut marks on the bones indicate this. Clearly done to hide his identity.’

  ‘I’m no’ Sherlock Holmes, but I kinda reckoned that mysel’,’ said Scott.

  ‘Very well done, I’d say,’ said Brady.

  ‘Thanks, son,’ said Scott.

  ‘N-no, I was meaning Ms Omelia, actually, Inspector.’

  ‘You have experience in pathology, Doctor Brady?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, no, not directly, but . . .’

  ‘In that case, how would you know if the job I’m doing is good or bad? I just wish you would all let me get on with what I have to do. You will have a full report within twenty-four hours, Inspector.’

  Scott thanked the irritable pathologist, and left her and the unfortunate Dr Brady to their task. He and Potts removed their masks and gowns and washed their hands in the anteroom adjoining the mortuary.

  ‘Let that be a lesson tae you, Potts. Just because you spy a pretty woman, doesnae mean tae say she’ll no’ be able tae bite your throat oot.’

  ‘I noticed that, though it didn’t seem to put the good doctor off at all.’

  ‘He’s got no chance there.’ Scott flung on his jacket, checked his pockets, and hooked out his mobile phone. ‘Right, we’ve got a missing Asian man, and a deid geriatric ginger. Just the kind o’ thing you don’t want to happen when you’ve just been promoted, temporarily or no’. Are there any local missing persons?’

  ‘No, gaffer, not to my knowledge.’

  ‘Well, if she’s right and the body has only been in the sea for a few hours, it didnae come fae far away, so we’d better get asking questions.’

  ‘And still nothing on this Majid.’

  ‘No. Captain Banks phoned me earlier. We’ve flung oot the net, but he could be anywhere by now.’

  ‘I hope he’s still got his head.’

  ‘You know how tae cheer a man up.’ Scott looked at his watch. ‘You picked a fine time tae leave me, big Jimmy.’

  ‘Is that not a song?’

  ‘No, but “Move your arse before you get my boot up it” is one of my favourites.’

  The pair left the hospital, now with two mysteries to solve.

  Having picked up James from Ella Scott, the small, dysfunctional Daley family made its way back up the hill to Daley’s home. The little boy sang to himself in the back seat as they took the steep lane, the engine of the hired car whining at the gradient.

  ‘Mummy, what’s a right shithouse?’

  ‘James! Don’t say that. Where did you hear it?’

  ‘Muncle Brian said it last night.’

  ‘Don’t listen to what Muncle Brian has to say. And certainly don’t repeat it.’ She looked across at her husband. ‘Time you’d a word with your pal, is it not? What kind of man speaks like that in front of a child?’

  ‘The kind that doesn’t beat women black and blue,’ replied Daley flatly.

  ‘I’m going to take James back home.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘So, you don’t want to see your son?’

  ‘No, that’s not the case at all. What I don’t want – what I’ll never let happen again – is for you to manipulate me all the time. If you want to go back to Howwood, that’s fine. I can keep James. I don’t have anything else to do, that’s for sure. You can get on with your exciting new life.’

  ‘Thanks. Thanks a lot, Jim.’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘Oh, forget it! Anyway, I’m not leaving you alone after all this.’

  ‘Do what you want, Liz. That’s what you’ve always done, and that’s what you always will do.’

  In silence, they pulled up under the decking balcony of Daley’s bungalow, unloaded the car and entered what had once, albeit briefly, been a proper family home.

  19

  Peter Scally fretted as he walked down Long Road heading for the centre of Kinloch. While he was tired, he was even more worried. Maggie Pearson was going to report her husband as missing.

  He’d tried to persuade her that Cameron would turn up, but she would have none of it. Most likely scenario was that he’d fallen in the dark and was lying at the bottom of a cliff, either dead or badly injured, she reckoned.

  He knew he’d been selfish; that he should have alerted the authorities about his missing friend after what he and his grandson had witnessed the night before. But
he didn’t want to face yet more gossip, and probably questions from the police when Pearson failed to appear.

  He thought of the two mysterious men in the van he and Kevin had seen. There was something about them that made him uneasy – very uneasy.

  He had his hands in his pockets, and his thumb brushed the rough edges of the fragment of bone he’d found amongst the ashes the previous night. He’d been looking at it all morning. He hated lying – one lie just led to another, and before you knew where you were the truth became a stranger.

  But who’d want to kill Cameron Pearson? He’d always been a popular, well-doing man, respected throughout the community. He knew that’s what they’d say.

  No, there was only one man upon whom suspicion would fall – him, Peter Scally.

  ‘Hey, Papa!’ The voice came from the other side of the street.

  Scally watched his grandson wait for a lorry to pass then run across the road in his direction.

  ‘Right, Kevin, lad, whoot’s happening?’

  ‘Have you no’ heard?’

  ‘Heard whoot?’

  ‘Ned Paterson found a body in the Sound this morning. They’re saying a headless corpse.’ The young man looked at his grandfather desperately.

  ‘They’ve found bodies in the water roon here before now. Look at that poor lassie at Machrie a few years ago. We’re right beside the Atlantic, Kevin. Bodies can wash in fae America.’

  ‘It’s time tae come clean, Papa. We saw they two guys last night. I don’t know whoot they were up tae, but Cameron was your pal. If they fellas we saw last night did something to him and we stay quiet, we’re as guilty as them.’

  Scally shook his head. ‘Now, wait a minute, son. Jeest forget we saw anything last night. You know whoot they say about volunteers – always the first tae get their heids blown off, right? Maggie’s going to report Cameron missing tae the polis today. We’ll jeest leave this well alone.’

  ‘No. If you don’t tell them what we saw, I will. I want you tae come up tae the polis station wae me right now. Now, Papa!’

  Peter Scally looked at his feet, and sighed. ‘Right, we do it your way. But listen tae me. We can tell them aboot those blokes an’ the fire, but we’re no’ going tae make a big production of it. That’s the kind o’ stuff the polis love. The next minute they’ll be setting us up wae killing Cameron.’