The Longest Shadow

by R. J. Mitchell

  Then the voice in that same head took control, ‘Right now, Gus, you need to get to the bottom line and quick.’

  “That’ll be £7.50, mate,” said the barman and Thoroughgood realised he had been dreaming: “Jeez, you should be wearing a mask, pal. What’s yer first name . . . Dick?” he responded. Shaking his head, he picked up the pint pots and made his way back to Hardie.

  “Well?” asked Thoroughgood.

  “Here’s a different angle for you, Gus. Don’t you fancy being a fly on the wall while Pigeon and Lightning Bolt are flapping around the Hall making sure no one is coming to any harm? I tell you, it’s all there for you, mate. You’ve got Raymond Cheung, the Triad boss, all those VIP’s, with your bloody bird arguably the biggest of the lot, and the gentry, all under one roof with Randy Pigeon trying to make sure everything proceeds in an orderly fashion. Christ, the potential for disaster is awesome. What a people watch,” quipped Hardie.

  “That is an interesting concept, my dear Hardie.” said Thoroughgood allowing himself a smile for the first time since he had arrived. “But one I feel I wouldn’t be able to face without you, my dear Hardie, accompanying me.”

  “Is that an order, Detective Sergeant?”

  “Yer damn’ tootin’” replied Thoroughgood and took a mouthful of his Guinness.

  41

  VICTORIA ROXBURGH signed off on the last delivery sheet confirming that canapés for 300 had arrived and that the chocolate fountains were installed and fully functional. It was noon and the launch was due to kick-off at 2.30, with guests beginning to arrive at 2pm and everything was perfect – including the weather, for once. The Hall shimmered in the magnificent spring sunshine while Loch Lomond sparkled with azure brilliance just beyond, and yet there still remained snow on the peak of the distant Ben Lomond.

  Victoria had just completed a final run-through of the schedule for the charity fashion show with Vanessa in the clothing queen’s trailer. But there was one giant shadow cast over everything. Robert Roxburgh was missing. Victoria had not seen her eldest brother since he had left her to read their grandfather’s diaries on Thursday night. She had tried texting him and calling his mobile, but whereas the phone had initially rung out it now went straight to voicemail – and what had at first been concern had now turned to fear.

  The strain of keeping this from her mother, was taking its toll and Victoria couldn’t remain silent any longer.

  “Where is he Vanessa? How can he expect me to carry this off, all on my own? I can’t keep fobbing Mama off with lies,” said Victoria.

  Vanessa smiled warmly and placed a reassuring hand on Victoria’s shoulder, “Look, Vicky, I know how important this is to your family. Maybe your big brother has gone off on a bender before he gets himself together for the big day. After all, he knows everything is in very safe hands. Always remember, Vicky, men are the weaker of the species.

  “Look,” she added, “how much do we need your brother? So what if Robert has taken stage fright? Between us we’ll make sure the fashion show goes according to plan. I’m more than happy to help out with the launch afterwards. Surely you and your mother can do the meet-and-greet and make your excuses? Is it your fault that Robert’s been confined to bed with a nasty attack of Norovirus?”

  “It is not as easy as that, Vanessa,” Vicky replied. “Our partner from the Gwai Lo, Raymond Cheung, will be here. Do you think he’ll believe that? He’s the most powerful Triad leader in Scotland, possibly Britain. Robbie’s got him to bankroll the whole deal. The plans he has for The Dark Ocean launch in China are almost unbelievable – and now Robbie has disappeared and put it all in jeopardy,”

  Vanessa placed both hands on Vicky’s shoulders, “Look at me, Victoria Roxburgh, and listen carefully because this is the best advice you will ever get. In life, moments arise when an opportunity comes your way and if you take it with both hands it can be the making of you and, in this case, your family. I’m sure Robert will turn up in time to take all the plaudits when the Dark Ocean is being served to your guests, but if he doesn’t then you make sure that no one notices his absence.

  “Okay, so Raymond Cheung will be there, but do you think he will care whether it is you or your brother who make this launch a great success? The only thing that will matter to him is that it’s a success, so why not get him involved? In fact, it sounds like I need to meet Mr Cheung!”

  Victoria smiled weakly as Vanessa continued, “I will give you all the support you need Victoria. As you will see, our whole fashion show has a theme in keeping with the launch. At the end I will stand up and set the scene for you and you will carry everything off just fine. Why? Because you must.”

  “But I don’t know what to say, Vanessa. I am not prepared and Cheung will be sitting in the front row watching me and wondering where the hell Robbie is. Mama has been taking sedatives to cope with the grief of losing Alex, God knows how she will be. It’s going to be just like the Titanic, a once in a lifetime disaster.” said Victoria as tears began to roll down her cheek.

  “It will, if you let it,” said Vanessa. “Put that all to one side and let’s just focus on what is good. This is a fantastic opportunity for your family and it looks like only you can make it happen. We have both pulled in a lot of favours. You’ve used the Roxburgh name to make sure the guest list is A-list, and I have called in a few debts. We will get Cheung involved, I’m sure he’d love the chance to bullshit the glitterati about these ‘unbelievable’ plans he has for the Asian launch. I’m sure that will give your guests something to talk about for years. After all, it’s not everyday a notorious Triad leader gives you his chat! Now is your chance to step out from behind the shadows and show exactly what you are made of. You worry about Robert later, but correct me if I am wrong, the police are here, what with everything that happened with Alexander?”

  “Yes,” said Victoria from behind a handkerchief.

  “Well, after we finish here, you find them and tell them exactly why we are telling everyone Robert has come down with Norovirus. Let them do what they are paid to do, Victoria,” and Vanessa took Victoria’s hands and clasped them warmly once more.

  “What you need to learn from this experience, Vicky, is that in this life you trust no-one, especially men. I have come through failed marriages, to a pop star and an industrialist, and I would have saved myself a whole lot of grief if I’d married neither. And now it seems I am on my own again,” said Vanessa.

  “What about Detective Sergeant Thoroughgood, Vanessa? You seem like the perfect couple,” asked Victoria.

  “He’s not cool with my life and it looks like his feelings for me are not strong enough to overcome those reservations and his own . . . issues, shall I say. But that is what makes you strong, Victoria. You must learn that you don’t always need to be attached to a man. That has become crystal clear to me.”

  Victoria’s discomfort at Vanessa’s words of wisdom was clear, as she looked down at her hands and fidgeted with the handkerchief.

  “Look, Vicky I know that you are quite taken with the Detective Sergeant and I know that he got you out of a very nasty experience at the Art School, but he is not Mr Perfect by any manner of means. Gus Thoroughgood carries an awful lot of baggage around with him, Vicky, and it is baggage you don’t want to become attached to. Trust me.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Victoria, her face screened by her long chestnut tresses.

  “I mean that the Detective Sergeant is a man with a broken heart he doesn’t seem capable of mending. His biggest problem is that he can’t admit that fact to himself. Until he does . . .” Vanessa deliberately let her words taper off.

  “If he has had his heart broken, Vanessa, then surely he deserves the chance to have it mended. I read what he did for you in the papers last year and he must love you to do that. It’s not everyday that someone saves your life, surely it’s fate that you guys are meant to be together?” asked Victoria, for the first time holding Vanessa’s gaze.

  “I think the price that
the woman who wants to mend Gus Thoroughgood’s broken heart will have to pay, is to have hers broken in the process. Because she will always find herself competing with the one thing she can not beat.”

  “And that is?”

  “A ghost called Celine Lynott,” answered Vanessa.

  For the first time Victoria could see real sadness and what appeared to be almost resignation, in her features.

  “So, is it over between you and Gus?”

  “I think it was probably over before it ever really started, Vicky. Take my advice and stay well clear. But enough of Gus Thoroughgood, it is you and I against the world this afternoon and we will make it happen, you have my word.”

  A knock on the trailer door brought their chat to an end as the photographer from Hello! made his presence known and in turn made it clear that Vanessa’s presence was very much in demand . . . immediately. The female reporter accompanying him identified herself as Jackie Marquis and asked if she could interview Victoria.

  Vanessa smiled reassuringly once more, “This is it, Vicky, showtime. If you need me, you know where to find me, but remember what I said about you-know-who and Robert. Make sure they’re your next call.”

  With that, Vanessa was gone. Victoria offered her hand to the immaculate, raven-haired middle-aged reporter and played the part Vanessa had told her she must.

  42

  THOROUGHGOOD ENGAGED third gear and listened to the response from his newly-acquired Mini Cooper, “Listen to that, faither, throaty ain’t she? So what do you make of the whole Mini experience, then?”

  Hardie sat in the passenger seat, his arms folded across his chest, showing as much emotion as a sphinx.

  “Slap the Deep Purple CD in for me, mate, and flick it to number nine. I think you’ll find Speed King is more than appropriate and features the greatest ever keyboard rock solo by the great Jon Lord.”

  “Wasn’t he a porn star?” Hardie quipped and added, “Naw bad I suppose, Gus. It’s bloody well a long way down though, you’re gonnae need a crowbar or a crane to get me out of this. In fact, I would say it’s even lower slung than the RX-8 and I’ll tell you something for nothing, I’d prefer to be firing up the drive way to Roxburgh Hall in the latter. In the name of the wee man, Gus, we are gonnae be looking a bit out of place in a red Mini Cooper with a black and white chequered flag on the lid, to say the least.”

  “I never had you down for a snob, faither, never in all my days. Well, the boys at Arnold Clark were good enough to have it delivered to me this morn’ and I’m afraid when it comes to a nearly new motor I just had to drive the thing. Who cares what the toffs think?”

  As they continued through the countryside the rustle of newspaper shook Thoroughgood from his thoughts and he saw to his amazement that Hardie was actually scanning the sports pages of his Daily Telegraph.

  “Jeez, why do you read this guff, Gus? This boy Forsyth, aye Roddy Forsyth, he’s a day behind the Record – and the Sun, for that matter, with this guff about her Britannic Majesty’s XI being after the Israeli striker,” snorted Hardie in triumph at the final proof Thoroughgood’s favourite read had been exposed as second rate to his preferred tabloid fodder.

  “Have you checked the date, faither?” asked Thoroughgood as sarcastically as possible.

  “Oh,” said Hardie, suitably chastised.

  “I think you’ll find the weekly Forsyth saga is every bit as up to date as your tabloid friends, but with damn more insight and gravitas attached to it,” Thoroughgood laughed long and loud.

  “Up ye, with respect, Detective Sergeant,” said Hardie grudgingly.

  Moments later the discreet sign warning them that Roxburgh Hall was a quarter of a mile away loomed at the side of the road.

  “14.15hrs. Not bad timing, Gus. I dunno about you but I am beginning to feel like an extra arriving for an episode of Downton Abbey,” quipped Hardie.

  “At least your suit doesn’t have any stains on it, faither. Nice of you to make an effort, or was it the missus?”

  “The missus,” admitted Hardie, “Trust me to be wearing a black suit on the warmest day of the year so far. Anyway, that’s rich coming from the walking clothes horse that is Gus Thoroughgood. What’s with the jacket, mate?”

  “This is a Charles Tyrwhitt, 100 percent cool wool, Air Force Stripe, classic fit jacket, faither. With the emphasis being on classic, old fella,” laughed Thoroughgood. “What’s wrong, you a bit nervous there, faither? How do you think I’m feeling?”

  “I wouldn’t be worrying about Vanessa, mate. After all, she’ll be up to her neck in it. Your worries aren’t likely to start until after the launch and by then you’ll know which way the wind is blowing all right, mate,” advised Hardie.

  “You’re quite the amateur psychologist, faither. Anyway, here we are, the turn off for the Hall. By the way, you fancy driving us back, old son, and putting Miss Mini Cooper here through her paces?” enquired Thoroughgood.

  “Aye, very good. I knew there had to be a reason you wanted me along on your jolly. I take it that means that the sponsor’s product will be liberally partaken of by the Detective Sergeant?” asked Hardie.

  “As I always say at these moments, Hardie, or correction, as you always say at these moments, faither, privileges of rank, my dear Detective Constable,” smirked the DS.

  They found themselves in a rapidly growing queue of traffic, directed by a middle-aged man, into a field to their right. To their left was a marquee-laden lawn, while slightly beyond lay a man-made lake with quaint wooden bridges inviting admirers to inspect the exotic vegetation surrounding the brilliantly glimmering water. But it was the gothic magnificence of Roxburgh Hall that really took Hardie’s breath away.

  His eyes devouring the scene that was unfolding in front of him, the DC couldn’t help himself, “How about we go halfers on a taxi, Gus?” and they both roared with laughter.

  Moments later they made their way on foot from the field to the entrance – a quaint stone-framed gateway with a slated roof. Producing his invitation Thoroughgood smiled weakly as a male in a gingham-checked shirt looked up from the reception table. It was Macintosh, the butler and estate manager.

  “Detective Sergeant Thoroughgood, and . . . partner?” he asked with a sly smile at Hardie.

  The DC could not help himself, “That’s right, sonny. Just here to make sure you know how to wipe your arse.”

  Thoroughgood couldn’t help showing his agitation, “Listen, Macintosh, can you tell me where I can find . . .” but before he could finish the sentence he heard his name being called.

  “Hi, Detective Sergeant, glad you could make it, welcome to Roxburgh Hall,” shouted Victoria Roxburgh.

  She was standing just yards in front of the huge marquee that was rapidly filling with champagne-swilling guests. Right there, right then, Victoria Roxburgh looked to the manor born.

  Thoroughgood heard Hardie mutter, “Holy Moses,” in appreciation of the svelte curves that the warm spring sunshine was outlining through her silk leopard print dress.

  The detectives headed through the gateway and Thoroughgood received a welcoming kiss on either cheek from Victoria. Hardie had to make do with a brief handshake.

  “There are refreshments and canapés being served in the marquee before the charity show begins, Detective Constable Hardie. You might want to make the most of these and make sure of two good seats for yourself and . . .” Victoria stalled at her over-familiarity towards Thoroughgood, but couldn’t help herself, “Gus. You might even want to introduce yourself to my mother, DC Hardie. I have told her all about your kindness at the Art School and she wants to extend her thanks. Oh, and her bark is not as bad as her bite I promise you! I just need to borrow your colleague to tell him about a book I have for him.”

  Hardie frowned, but quickly replied, “Don’t mind if I do, miss,” before heading for the marquee.

  Thoroughgood found himself ushered towards what looked like stables, and as they entered a corridor just outside the horse sta
lls, a white stallion poked his nose over a door.

  “Pegasus, meet Detective Sergeant Gus Thoroughgood,” said Victoria.

  “How we doin’, boy?” asked Thoroughgood and stroked its nose gently.

  He turned to face Victoria, sensing her anxiety. “What’s wrong, Vicky?”

  “It’s Robert,” she said. “He has disappeared.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I haven’t heard from him or been able to contact him since Thursday night, when he left me to go down to the boathouse to read over some war diaries belonging to our grandfather. Now his mobile is going straight to voicemail and there’s just no way Robbie would miss the day he has worked so hard to bring about.”

  “Before you go any further, Vicky, let’s just hold on a minute. Obviously, I know there’s a police investigation into what happened to Alexander. I believe there are police officers in the grounds, including a Detective Inspector Pigeon and his colleague DS Bolt?”

  Victoria nodded

  “Thank God for that. Well, before you go any further, we need to find DI Pigeon and you need to share your concerns with him. I assume you’ve not done so already? Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”

  “Just Vanessa, but I haven’t gone into any details,” replied Victoria, feeling very much out of her depth.

  “Okay, we need to hook up with DI Pigeon immediately.”

  “There’s more I need to tell you, Gus.”

  “You should be saving this for the DI, Vicky. He’s the OIC. Sorry, he is the officer in charge of the case.”

  “I don’t like him and neither did Robert. I just want to speak to you, Gus.”

  “All right, fire away, but you are still going to have to speak to the Detective Inspector.”

  “Before Robert went missing he told me all about a set of war-time diaries he’d found that belonged to our grandfather. What he read in them backed up the stuff in the copy of Ivanhoe you came across, but one of them was missing. Robbie also showed me a threatening letter someone had sent him. All it said was, ‘THE OLDEST SIN CASTS THE LONGEST SHADOW’. He believed the message was linked to whatever was in the missing diary. As I said, the last time I saw him was on Thursday night when he was going down to the boathouse to try and work out what was in the missing diary. I haven’t seen him since.”