Shallow Water

by Hunter J Walker

  ‘Keep it; Henry will never miss it; it’s been sitting in there for years.’

  As they walked out into the street he noticed that people were not inclined to walk into him. He put it down to revulsion, but a young man bumped into him and apologised, a thing he found surprising in Glasgow.

  The middle-aged woman behind the counter hardly glanced at his face while he ordered a pot of tea for two and a piece of cake for Joanna. After he’d paid he carried the tray over to the table she chosen by the window. Once the tea was poured and she had daintily consumed all the cake he broached the question that was bothering him. ‘Where has my brother disappeared to? I’ve left him voice mails and sent emails and not a single word from him, nothing!’ James put a hand to his face. ‘Ow…’

  She put out a hand and touched his arm. ‘Don’t get yourself worked up about this. It’s just like him to disappear for days or even a week without a word.’

  ‘When did you see him last?’

  ‘He went out on Friday night saying he had to meet someone and that was the last time I saw him.’

  ‘I was supposed to meet him in the Blind Piper. I don’t know why he chose that dump: I was only in there 30 seconds and someone slashes my face.’

  ‘Do you think there was any connection?’

  ‘There must be, I’m a software designer not a bloody criminal.’

  A mobile rang and he looked around. ‘It’s yours,’ Joanna said.

  He searched his pockets in the unfamiliar jacket to find the phone. Finally he discovered it in an inside pocket and answered it. ‘James Smythe.’

  The voice said: ‘James Cameron-Smythe?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This is Detective Constable Ashburner. Are you up to talking to us again this afternoon?’

  ‘Do I have to come to the police station?’

  ‘No, we can do it at your home if that’s more convenient, sir.’

  ‘Sounds fine, what time?’

  ‘Four o’clock at your home address?’

  ‘Fine, goodbye.’ James put the mobile back in the inside pocket. ‘As you have probably guessed, that was the police.’

  *****

  James and Joanna sauntered back to his flat in the Merchant city. She put her arm through his and pulled him closer, she had always been an exotic creature to him – one of the many his brother had acquired and discarded over the years. As the younger brother they had always been beyond his reach.

  A group of women came along the pavement towards them and James moved across the pavement to get out of their way, but not far enough and the young woman on the inside of the group collided with him. She turned, her face contorted with contempt, her mouth opened to say something; but she stopped when she saw his ruined face impassively turned towards her. The look of contempt was replaced with one of fear; she dropped her eyes, turned and scurried after the other women who had carried on past them.

  ‘One look from you and she ran away.’

  ‘Not the Glasgow hard man effect?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  They reached the door to the set of flats, which were located above the offices that occupied the first three floors of the building. Once they were inside the flat James checked the time on his phone, five minutes to four. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

  Joanna put her hand on his arm to restrain him. ‘I’ll do that; you sit down and breathe deeply, and relax. You don’t want the detective to think you’re nervous.’

  Before he had a chance to relax he heard the sound of the doorbell.

  ‘I’ll get that,’ Joanna said and returned a minute later with the tall, broad-shoulder policeman he recognised from the hospital.

  *****

  ‘Take a seat and do you want a drink? We have some real coffee brewing,’ Joanna said.

  Douglas nodded. ‘Coffee would be fine, black, no sugar please.’ Turning back to James he took a good look at his wound. ‘Sorry, professional interest, it seems to be healing now, but are you able to talk?’

  James nodded. ‘If I keep it short, it’s not too painful.’

  ‘OK, the first bit is simple, which is run over your answers from yesterday, simply answer yes if the statement is true.’

  ‘You are James Arbuthnot Cameron-Smythe of this address?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You were attacked outside the Blind Piper public house at about eight-thirty pm on Friday night.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘By a single person, who you didn’t recognise?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The man was a white man, over six feet tall, dark hair, dark coat, forty to fifty years old?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you be able to recognise the man again?’

  ‘Not with any certainty, it was so quick I didn’t get a good look at him.’

  ‘Nothing was taken from you and you have no reason to think anyone would want to assault you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You have no debts or obligations you cannot fulfil for any reason?’

  ‘No…well, I have a mortgage on this flat, but it’s not in arrears and I don’t really think the lender would go about assaulting their customers to get their money back.’

  Douglas smiled thinly. ‘Depends on who you borrow the money from?’

  ‘The Halifax.’

  ‘I think your safe enough with them.’

  Joanna put a mug of coffee on the floor next to Douglas’ feet and sat down on the sofa opposite. She was not the sort of girl he would have instantly associated with James: tallish, blonde, skinny and a bit wild.

  ‘Do you frequent the Blind Piper or is there a reason you went there on Friday?’

  ‘Never been in the place before. My brother asked me to meet him there.’

  ‘Your brother?’

  ‘My elder brother, Henry.’

  ‘Did he say why he wanted to meet you?’

  ‘No, he was very enigmatic, but that’s him all over. Not a word for ages and then he wants to meet in some bloody stupid place for no reason.’

  ‘Do you know where your brother is at present?’

  James shook his head. ‘He’s not been back to his flat and he’s not answering his phone.’

  ‘Do you know if your brother has any dealings with anyone who frequents the Blind Piper?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge, why do you ask?’

  Douglas smiled. ‘I’ll put it this way James; most of the customers of the Blind Piper have either served time, or are likely to serve time, in prison.’

  ‘Oh. I see what you mean.’

  ‘If this brother of yours turns up please ask him to get in touch with me. The number is on this card.’ Douglas handed over a card with his name, rank and telephone number on it. He drained the mug of coffee and stood up; then thought of another question. ‘Do you know the man who helped you after you were assaulted?’

  ‘Absolutely no idea, but he wouldn’t stop talking about his mate Davie of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders; he died in Aden back in the sixties?’

  Douglas noted the details and wondered if he could trace him through the regimental museum. Closing the notebook he stood up. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Cameron-Smythe.’

  Once James had closed the door he returned to the living room. ‘What are you going to do now?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m going back to the flat and if Henry’s not back by tomorrow I’m going to start packing. You should get back to work and stop worrying about him; he’s a selfish sod and doesn’t give a damn about anyone.’

  He watched her leave and settled on the sofa. He looked round the room wondering what to do for the rest of the day.

  *****

  Douglas was settled in front of the TV watching Top Gear when the phone rang. He answered it and instantly recognised Susanne voice. ‘Douglas, I need picking up.’

  He paused before replying. ‘Where are you, darling?’

  ‘Where do you think, at the station! Come and pick me up…please.’r />
  ‘I’ll be there shortly,’ Douglas said and rang off. He switched off the lights, locked the front door and made his way down the stairs to the street. To his relief his car started first time and he drove along the road to the Gallowgate and turned left – then a run of mostly green traffic lights lasted until he reached Albion Street and turned right into it. At Ingram Street he turned left and at Queen Street he made a right turn and was in sight of the station. Susanne was waiting on the corner of the square opposite the station, her coat tightly buttoned against the cold wind. The lights were red and he stopped in the traffic and sounded the horn. Her head came round and she saw the car. Running, she had the door open and was in the front passenger seat before the lights changed.

  ‘God, that train journey was a nightmare and the symposium was a complete waste of time,’ she exclaimed, almost before she’d closed the door.

  Douglas waited until the next set of lights before replying. ‘If you haven’t eaten, we could go out somewhere?’

  ‘Sounds good, I need to forget today.’

  In Albion Street he squeezed the car into a space between a BMW saloon and a dirty white van. Inside the apartment building they waited for the lift. She leaned against him and sighed. ‘I didn’t think my colleagues were such a bunch of pigs until I had to spend a Saturday night with them.’

  Douglas kissed her on the nose. ‘Forget them – where are we going?’

  ‘I need a glass of wine first.’

  Inside the flat Douglas opened the bottle of red wine and filled two glasses, handing one to Susanne and sitting on the sofa with the other. Susanne ran the wine around the glass and inhaled the aroma; her mouth turned down at the sides in disgust. ‘This is rough – must be one you bought.’

  Douglas took a large mouthful and swallowed it. ‘It’s drinkable.’

  Susanne put her glass onto the low table. Let’s go out and we can get something that really is drinkable.’

  Forty minutes later, after Susanne had demolished a full plate of Lasagne, Douglas watched a waitress pour two glasses from a bottle of St Emilion Grand Cru. He waited until they were alone before asking: ‘How much does this cost per bottle?’

  ‘Don’t start; I’ve had a shit weekend…now swirl the wine round the glass and breathe in the aroma.’

  ‘Can’t I just drink it?’

  ‘Not at this price…Vandal.’

  ‘I’m sure the Vandals enjoyed a good glass of wine on their rampages across Europe.’ Douglas picked up the glass and rolled the glass to move the liquid, then breathed the vapour before emptying the glass down his throat.

  ‘God, you are a Vandal.’

  ‘Do you really want a wine ponce for a boyfriend?’

  ‘Where did you hear that phrase?’

  ‘Oz and James’s Wine Tour or something like that. James called Oz a wine ponce for going on about Terroir.’

  ‘Do you want me to explain it?’ Susanne asked.

  ‘You mean all that stuff about soil, orientation to the sun and the moon, climate, oak, pruning, yeast, fermentation, irrigation and compost – to name but a few of the parts of Terroir.’

  ‘Now who’s being poncy?’ Susanne said and drained her glass before reaching for the bottle. ‘We need to have a talk about my mother.’

  She filled the glass again and put the empty bottle to one side.

  ‘Must we? The evening was going so well.’

  ‘Yes, Douglas, she wants the pair of us and she emphasised the pair, to attend a dinner on Saturday night. Come what may, you will be there!’

  ‘Yes, if we can go back to your place right now.’

  ‘What about coffee?’

  ‘We can have that afterwards.’

  Susanne leaned over and kissed him on the lips. ‘What are we waiting for?’

  *****

  The window on the top floor of the Radisson Blu Hotel gave Tanya Vidak a good view over the south of the city. The red ball of the setting sun threw a glow over the sky to the West. Standing watching the lights appear as the city fell into darkness she waited for the call – she couldn’t leave the room until she had spoken to him and he was not a punctual man. She disliked this assignment from the off – playing the role of a policewoman was difficult enough, but once accepted by the shift it became easier. But in this she played a detective who would be expected to produce results and she would be a member of a team riven with distrust. She turned to the bed and picked up the file labelled: Douglas Ashburner. She opened it and began to read.

  Almost as if the man was watching, the telephone rang after she finished reading the file and replaced it in her briefcase. ‘Yes,’ she said on picking up the phone.

  ‘Tanya, I trust you are coping with the wilds of the north?’

  ‘On first observation, sir, drinking seems to be the normal survival technique, commonly to excess.’

  ‘Chin up and all that. Have you read all the files now?’

  ‘All the important ones.’

  ‘Well, that operation will have to go on the back burner, we have a situation.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘An old colleague by the name of Marcus Triffit has disappeared. He doesn’t seem to have met with the normal sort of accident. His mobile phone has been dead for the past two days and no sight of him on the CCTV in his flat.’

  ‘What was he doing here?’

  ‘He had a breakdown several years ago and after he recovered to some degree it was deemed necessary that he have a job well away from London. We found him a position at a company called Computing & Software Utilities, based in Glasgow.’

  ‘What was he doing for the company?’

  ‘General purpose software for banks, but recently we discovered the company had taken on a more problematic project.’

  ‘And the problem with this project, sir?’

  ‘It involved Marcus’ talent for encryption and decryption.’

  ‘Ah, was this on his CV?’

  ‘Certainly not! I was given specific assurances by the bloody woman heading the company that he would not be working in this area.’

  ‘And what do you want me to do?’

  ‘Find him dead or alive…and also find any of his work that could remotely compromise national security.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I will pick it up immediately. You have sent the details?’

  ‘They are on their way and I need a report on any progress immediately,’ he replied and ended the call.

  Tanya listened to the dead line for a second before closing the phone and putting it in her briefcase. Her superior was clearly rattled by something. She turned on her laptop to look for the encrypted email with the details of Marcus Triffit. While the machine booted up, and searched for the Wi-Fi signal, she searched her bag for the Pen Drive containing the one-time-pad and decryption software. She knew that despite nearly a century’s advances in mathematics and technology it was still the only absolutely secure way of sending information.

  Chapter 4

  Monday

  Douglas found the MIU offices quiet and almost deserted when he arrived. He immediately began viewing the CCTV files on the DVD again. He ran the video forwards quickly and then backwards slowly until he could see Smythe exit the bar, followed by a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark coat and hat. He could see Smythe stop and turn; the tall man’s arm come up, pass across Smythe’s face and him reel back with his hand to his face.

  ‘That the dastardly deed, Dougie?’

  He looked up to see Knox leaning over his shoulder staring at the screen.

  ‘Yes, an old-fashioned razor slash according to the doctor; the victim says he never saw it coming and has no idea what it was about.’

  ‘Common enough, he owes someone money, or drugs, or something.’

  ‘Doesn’t quite fit in this case, the victim is middle-class and not the type…’

  ‘Bollocks, Dougie, nothing upmarket about the Blind Piper – it’s a hole – he was up to something.’

  Douglas replied: ‘
But…’

  ‘Right Knox, bugger off, we don’t need your comments, insightful or no’,’ Nicola snarled.

  Knox looked for a moment as if he was about to argue, but measuring the scowl on Nicola’s face made him back down and he sidled off. Nicola watched him retreat back to his desk. ‘The weekend is over, Knox, do some work, it’s what the taxpayer expects,’ she shouted at his retreating back.

  She turned to face Douglas. ‘My office now!’

  Douglas followed in her footsteps into the office. She slammed the door behind him the crash of its closing reverberated around the MIU suite. She sat in her chair and glared at Douglas.

  ‘And don’t even think of sitting in that chair Detective Constable Ashburner. I emphasis the Constable bit because it neatly states our relationship. As an Inspector I give the orders and you try your miserable best to follow them.’

  Douglas stood still judging it best to say nothing.

  ‘Are you totally out of your mind? Was there anyway you could misconstrue my instruction to stay away from that girl?’

  Douglas finally managed speak. ‘I was an accident, ma’am.’

  ‘Explain! And this had better be good.’

  ‘The team asked if I wanted to join them on a Saturday night out. Nobody mentioned a pole dancing club until gone midnight.’

  ‘And it just happened to be the one Shona Doherty is performing at?’

  ‘If I’d any idea she was there I wouldn’t have entered the place.’

  Nicola snorted. ‘But you didn’t exactly run away when she dropped into your lap.’

  Douglas felt he had to concede the point. ‘I had more to drink than I would have had normally and I didn’t expect her to sit on me.’

  ‘But you didn’t throw her off when she did, Douglas…and if your girlfriend hears about all this, you will have some more explaining to do.’

  ‘What exactly is the problem with Shona?’

  ‘OK, sit down and I will explain in words of one syllable, so you can understand precisely what is wrong with Ms Doherty.’

  Douglas sat.

  ‘Shona Doherty is part of the Doherty clan. I know it’s an accident of birth, but that doesn’t change the fact that among her extended family there are relatives who are among the biggest criminals in this part of the world.’