Shallow Water

by Hunter J Walker

  ‘Susanne and I don’t discuss work, so I don’t know what she thinks about it. But I agree with you that the timing of his death is a bit of a co-incidence. On the other hand, is there any evidence that anybody harmed him – what about the ambulance crew and the 999 call?’

  Nicola shrugged. ‘The 999 call gave the location and the information that a man had collapsed; it was a very short call: New Wynd, man down, send ambulance. Only six words, not really enough for a voiceprint. The ambulance crew gave a vague description of a man: white male, medium height, short hair, dark coat, heavily built. He disappeared as soon as they arrived.’

  ‘So, all we have is a suspicion that it’s connected, how about we just sit on it and see what comes out of the woodwork.’

  ‘OK, what else have you got?’

  ‘The Sutherland girl’s father is the Chairman of the Scotia Investment Bank, which has its head office in Edinburgh. His secretary informed me that he’s overseas, but he is landing at Luton today and then flying back to Glasgow this afternoon. He is expected in the Edinburgh office tomorrow morning. Of the girl herself, I still have to track down the postman. I’ll concentrate on that this morning. If that doesn’t work it will be a case of tracking down the occupants of that block of flats and it’s possible she doesn’t live there now.’

  ‘OK, and razor man?’ Nicola asked.

  Douglas looked up at her. ‘James Smythe?’

  ‘Yes, that’s unfinished business.’

  ‘I’ll pay him visit and get a photograph of his brother if he hasn’t made contact.’

  ‘And the other business with Superwoman?’

  Douglas suppressed a laugh. ‘We stocked the fridge and the freezer last night, and this evening we’ll decide what stuff needs putting into the house to make it look like a home.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘DS McCray wants a word before I go.’

  ‘Mmm, better not disappoint him…and let me know when you find the girl’s flat. Right, off you go.’

  *****

  Douglas left the office and went to find McCray. He didn’t find the man but a note on his desk, in large handwriting, said: I will be back in ten minutes so don’t go out before seeing me!!!! Back at his desk he began an Internet search for the phone numbers of the Royal Mail sorting offices in Glasgow and after wandering around their website he found a telephone number for locating local sorting offices. To his surprise the call was answered promptly – the woman told him the address and telephone number for the area of Glasgow of interested to him. He rang the number and he let it ring…and ring…and ring. He gave up when DS McCray returned and indicated he was to follow him.

  In the toilets McCray checked all the cubicles were empty before speaking. ‘Relax, I’m no here to fondle yer arse – I just want nobody to overhear us. You got pished on Saturday night. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘We started at the bar in the corner of George Square, we were there for an hour, went to a restaurant and I don’t remember the ones after that.’

  ‘How many rounds did you buy?’

  Douglas thought for a moment before answering: ‘The first one.’

  ‘None after that?’

  ‘No, that was it.’

  ‘You were set up, son, that lot never buy their rounds. Who suggested the pole dancing club?’

  ‘No idea, I just followed the crowd.’

  ‘How did Shona Doherty know your name?’

  Douglas shuffled his feet and McCray snorted. ‘I know you know and because the DI can make your life shit, you’re trying not to tell me. What did she say in the Blind Piper? Dougie, that woman will fuck you up if you fuck her.’

  ‘Mm, something like that.’

  McCray shook his head. ‘She should know better than to call you by name. If it’s OK with you I’ll try and keep that bit quiet for the moment. Our lives will be hell if we drop her in it.’

  Douglas nodded his agreement.

  ‘OK that’s enough about that…and moving on to a different subject: If you’re going to fondle Superwoman’s arse don’t do it here, because if she breaks your arm, or anything else, I don’t want to have to pick up the pieces.’

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’

  McCray pocked his chest with a stubby forefinger. ‘I got a tenner on you at odds of twenty to one, so don’t let me down.’

  ‘What bet?’

  ‘God preserve me from dreich Detective Constables: The shag her first stakes.’

  *****

  Douglas booked out a pool car and drove to the address he had been given for the local Royal Mail sorting office – an old two-storey building dating from the nineteen-sixties. He walked into the shabby reception area: a small room with a notice board and a single chair sitting by the shuttered hatch. A plastic press switch was glued to the wooden counter with what looked like chewing gum. He pressed the bell and heard nothing; he pressed the bell a second time – for longer. After a minute or so the shutter shot up to reveal a large middle-aged man wearing a blue T-shirt. Before Douglas could say anything the man spoke: ‘Where’s the fire, or are you waiting for the million pound cheque from the lottery, or is there a bomb in the office and you’ve come to defuse it?’

  Douglas presented his warrant card and said slowly: ‘I am a police officer and you don’t answer your telephone, so I had to interrupt my search for a missing girl to come down here in person. I would be grateful if you could answer a few simple questions and then I can get back to work and so can you.’

  The man looked carefully at the warrant card before grinning at him. ‘OK, fire away, Sherlock.’

  *****

  James Cameron-Smythe walked to work, following the same route that he always used – however the walk was not the same. He wore his usual casual attire of jacket, chinos and shirt, but the people who passed him steered out of his way or in one case crossed the road to the other side rather than pass him. After ten minutes he started to enjoy scaring them and in one case he so frightened a woman by looking at her that she stepped off the pavement into the gutter.

  He reached the entrance to his workplace in a recently renovated building in the Merchant city and pushed the glass door, labelled Computing & Software Utilities, open and nodded to the receptionist on the way to the stairs. On the second floor he punched the entry code into the electronic lock and entered the open plan office that was home to the software team.

  Jonno was the first to welcome him back. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes. The shit’s hit the fan and she’s ranting and raving like Hitler in Downfall. Marcus hasn’t put in an appearance since Friday, you’ve been out and nobody else stepped up.’

  ‘Why doesn’t she step in, she knows all about the project?’ James replied.

  ‘She just says: I’m the Managing Director, not the monkey and walks away.’

  ‘The whole company will go belly-up if this project isn’t completed.’

  ‘She’s been waiting for you to get back.’

  James shrugged. ‘I’m going to do my emails first and she can go to hell.’

  ‘We’ll all lose our jobs if the company goes under.’

  ‘OK, Jonno, that irritating fact is duly noted,’ James said before sitting at his desk and switching on his computer.

  ‘Watch out, she’s coming this way,’ Jonno muttered and walked off towards his desk.

  James watched Fiona Grey striding towards him; she ignored everyone else in the room, fixing her attention on him. But as she drew closer he saw her eyes hesitate, dwelling on the tape covering the wound.

  ‘James, do you know Marcus hasn’t been in this week? Any idea what’s happened to him?’ she said.

  He shook his head. ‘Good to be back, it’s nice to see everyone again and how are you?’

  She crossed her arms and stared at him. He waited for her to speak, but she remained silent, her jaws clenched ever tighter. Just as she was about to explode he replied to her questions. ‘No and n
o, I haven’t seen or heard from him since Friday, and if that’s all I would like to get on with this pile of shit on my desk.’

  ‘No, it isn’t, there is a meeting in the conference room at ten. Be there.’

  ‘Oh God, another meeting instead of doing actual work.’

  She turned on her heels and elegantly stalked away, muttering under her breath.

  *****

  Douglas consulted his notes – he’d tried a number of streets: Silvergrove, McPhail, James, Anson and Templeton without any sign of the postman. But in Monteith Row he spotted a red bicycle that could only be the property of Royal Mail. Stopping the car further down the road he turned off the engine. Getting out he walked along to the bicycle and looked around for several minutes.

  ‘Oi, what are you up to, pal?’

  Douglas turned towards the speaker and saw a compact middle-aged man striding aggressively towards him. He held up his hands with the palms out to indicate his lack of aggression. ‘I’m looking for the postman who delivers to the area including the block of flats over there.’

  The man slowed and his face took on a puzzled expression.

  Douglas produced his warrant card. ‘DC Ashburner, I’m trying to find a missing girl by the name of Annabel Sutherland; I’m told she used to live in the flats.’

  The man squinted at the warrant card for an inordinately long time before replying. ‘Yep, I remember the name, she’s in flat 8 on floor 3; or, at least, her post was delivered there.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Douglas said and headed for his car.

  ‘The entrance is round the back by the car park,’ the man said to his retreating back.

  At the car, Douglas noted the address, before driving the short distance to the flats.

  *****

  Douglas checked the number on the door before ringing the bell. After several minutes he rang the bell again, then banged on the door and finally he looked through the letterbox. He could just see the edge of an envelope lying on the floor of the hall.

  ‘If you don’t go away I shall ring the police,’ a female voice said.

  Douglas straightened up and turned to look at her: the woman was middle-aged and well dressed in an old fashioned way. She had thin lips and eyes that could pinpoint a man’s place in society at a hundred paces. ‘I am the police,’ he said slowly – he had always wanted to use that phrase.

  ‘Show me your warrant card then, young man,’ she snapped, the tone of her voice making clear that being young, or a man, was an offence in her eyes.

  Wearily he held up his warrant card for her inspection. He could tell from the way she screwed up her eyes she couldn’t read it without her glasses, but rather than admit she needed assistance with her eyesight she muttered: ‘What are you doing?’

  Douglas was not in a good mood by this point, but retained his temper. ‘I am trying to find out whether your neighbour is at home?’

  She sniffed. ‘I don’t know, I have never spoken to the woman and have no knowledge of her whereabouts.’ Turning her back on him she walked towards the lift.

  ‘Thank you for your help, missus,’ Douglas called after her.

  Trying the next flat he got no response, he rang the doorbell of the last flat in that hallway and waited…and waited. Finally he gave up and turned away; before he had gone more than a few paces he heard her voice.

  ‘Is that you, Douglas?’

  The shock at hearing her voice made him freeze, his heart racing he turned to face her – he struggled to control his breathing.

  Shona was standing in the open doorway, her jet-black hair messy from sleep, dressed only in a short black silk kimono held by a single tie at the waist. ‘Is anyone with you?’ she asked.

  It struck him as odd that in the middle of the afternoon she was still in a kimono, but he pushed the thought to the back of his mind and replied: ‘No, just me, the boss is busy with other things and let me out on my own…I need to ask you about the girl that lives in 8/3.’

  ‘You’d better come in,’ she said and opened the door wide.

  He stepped into her flat. He had imagined her home as a cramped, messy old flat in a tenement, and the gleaming leather, chrome and glass interior astonished him. The flat had an open view through a vast twenty-foot high window, across the grass and trees of Glasgow Green to the river Clyde. It was not a place he could have afforded on his salary. The furniture was new, apart from a large polished wood chest, or box, sitting in the centre of the living space. She stopped in the centre of the room and gestured towards the white leather sofa. ‘Take a seat…would you like a tea or a coffee? And I also have some beer in the fridge, but I guess you don’t drink on duty.’

  ‘No, the days of alcoholic lunches have passed, but I will have a cup of coffee if that’s not too much trouble?’

  She smiled. ‘It’s no trouble at all for you, Douglas.’

  He took off his coat and laid it on the arm of the sofa before sitting down.

  Shona busied herself in the kitchen area behind him for a while, until he heard the kettle come to the boil. Then she appeared with two mugs of coffee in one hand and two coasters in the other. She placed one coaster on the polished chest, near to him, and placed one of the mugs on top of it.

  ‘It’s a campaign chest from the Boer war and it would be a shame to ruin the surface,’ she said and placed another coaster on her side of the chest before putting the second mug on it. She sat down on the low chair opposite, with her legs aligned towards him and crossed them.

  He could almost hear a voice in his ear. Clucking hell, Dougie, I don’t believe this. The low chair gave him a view of her legs and he guessed she was not wearing anything under the kimono. He felt his heart start to pound and a reaction from his groin. Vaguely in the background he heard her silky voice: ‘What do you want to ask me, Douglas?’

  He dragged his eyes further up her body, the rise of her beasts clearly visible at the V of the kimono and her nipples visible through the silk. He dragged his eyes to her face, framed by the jet-black hair. His heart raced and there was a bulge in his trousers now. His face went a bright red colour; he didn’t know what to do and couldn’t think of anything to say.

  She grinned at him and slowly uncrossed her legs. ‘I think there is something we had better get out of the way first…don’t you, Douglas?’ She stood up and moved over to him. Before he could react she straddled him on the sofa, with her knees either side of his legs and her breasts inches away from his face. In one quick movement she undid the tie around her waist and dropped the kimono from her shoulders. He was correct, there was nothing underneath.

  ‘Let’s get that thing out there before it explodes,’ she whispered.

  *****

  Later, when they had totally exhausted their passion and lay quietly on the sofa, she repeated her question: ‘What did you want to ask me?’

  Douglas had to gather his thoughts before he could reply. ‘The girl in flat eight might be missing. I wanted to know when you last saw her?’

  ‘Annabel? I saw her a few days ago…I have a key if you want to have a look in her flat.’

  ‘That’s her. I’d better call this in. If the boss hears about this second hand she will go ape-shit.’

  When he was dressed again he called Nicola’s mobile number.

  ‘Yes?’ she snapped.

  ‘I have found Annabel Sutherland’s flat. One of her neighbour’s has a key and she is willing to let us in.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’

  ‘The neighbour.’

  ‘What’s wrong, Douglas, spit it out?’

  ‘It’s Shona Doherty.’

  There was a silence before Nicola responded: ‘Did I hear you correctly?’

  ‘Yes, the neighbour is Shona Doherty and you should be here to avoid future complications when we go in.’

  ‘How on God’s earth did you manage this, Dougie?’

  ‘Are you coming, ma’am?’

  ‘Yes, Douglas, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes; try not
to get her pregnant in the meantime.’

  Douglas ended the call and went back into Shona’s flat. She was waiting for him in the living room wearing the kimono again. ‘Shona, it might be better to put some clothes on, my boss will be here shortly and it would be better is she didn’t see you in that.’

  ‘What do you want me in?’

  ‘Have you got a burqua?’

  She kissed him. ‘She really is that bad?’

  ‘Worse.’

  *****

  Douglas left Shona’s flat and went down to the car park. He anticipated his boss would be in a foul mood. He stood by the entrance of the block of flats, holding the door open and only two minutes into his vigil he saw the elderly silver Citroen appear around the corner of the building and squeal to a stop in front of him.

  ‘Good morning, Inspector.’

  ‘Right, Douglas, where is she?’

  ‘Upstairs,’ he had to suppress the next bit: getting dressed.

  To his relief, Shona was fully dressed in jeans and a white top, when he showed Nicola into the flat. He observed her gaze sweep around the gleaming interior and the view through the high window to the river.

  ‘Hello, Miss Doherty, I understand you have a key to Annabel Sutherland’s flat,’ Nicola said.

  Shona took the key from a pocket of her jeans, handed it to Nicola and followed her out of the flat.

  ‘Please wait outside, Miss Doherty, until we’ve had a look round,’ Nicola said and put the key into the lock.

  Shona looked puzzled and Douglas explained: ‘There may be a body and if there is it’s better that you don’t see it.’

  ‘Is there an alarm?’ Nicola asked.

  ‘It shouldn’t go off, she never sets it,’ Shona replied.

  Nicola turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. She paused and called out: ‘HELLO.’ There was no reply and Nicola entered with Douglas close behind. Shona waited outside. They quickly checked the living and kitchen areas, the single bedroom and the bathroom. No body disfigured the neat flat and nothing appeared to be out of place.

  ‘Dougie, ask Shona to come in and see if anything is missing or out of place,’ Nicola said.

  Shona followed him inside and checked all the rooms. ‘It all looks as if it’s there and in the right place,’ she finally said.