The Longest Shadow

by R. J. Mitchell

  As he reached the end of the jetty Pigeon called out, “For fuck’s sake, Thoroughgood, come back here.”

  Thoroughgood raised the index finger of his right hand, stuck it in the air and kept walking.

  Thoroughgood strode into the boathouse courtyard, his mind a maelstrom of emotion. Had he been wrong? If he put himself in Pigeon’s shoes, would he have reacted the same way? But then, what mattered most was time. The killer would strike again and there were only two targets left. It had to be Cheung. But Thoroughgood could not square the crime scene he had just seen with one that the Triad boss or his minions would have left, certainly not after doing something he guessed would be old hat to them.

  Thoroughgood knew that something wasn’t right; something jarred, and the problem was that he couldn’t trust Pigeon to pick up on it. Then again, if Roxburgh’s body was found on the island, surely there would be something of evidential value that could point the DI in the direction of his murderer.

  “Clumsy, too bloody clumsy,” said Thoroughgood out loud and then realised that he was no longer alone.

  Standing under the clock tower arch, leaning against one of its stone walls, was Macintosh. His body reclined at an angle against the curving wall that arched into the roof.

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Detective Sergeant, but is there something wrong? Can I help in any way?” he asked.

  “Yeah, probably a whole lot, mate. You will need to hold it there, Macintosh. This boathouse and the beach have become a crime scene. Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions, pal?”

  Macintosh nodded.

  “When was the last time you saw Viscount Roxburgh – and did he mention anything out of the ordinary to you, indicate anything had been troubling him?”

  Macintosh took his time, allowing the pause to draw out and finally answered, “You mean his grandfather’s diaries?”

  “That is exactly what I mean, Macintosh. Can you elaborate a bit on that? Did the Viscount show you them at any time, or go into any detail about what they contained?”

  “I believe they revealed evidence of Lord Roxburgh’s marital infidelity, Detective Sergeant. The problem was that Viscount Robert did not have possession of the full set and one of the diaries was missing. Beyond that I can’t help you.”

  “By the way, how long have you been here on the estate, Macintosh?”

  “All my life, man and boy. It is my home.”

  “That is very helpful, Macintosh, thank you. Has DI Pigeon spoken to you yet?”

  Macintosh shook his head

  “Then I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to make the Detective Inspector aware of all of this, but also to forget we had this little chat. Comprendez?”

  “What chat?” smiled Macintosh.

  Thoroughgood offered his hand to Macintosh. “Cheers.”

  Moments later Thoroughgood slipped into the empty chair situated next to Hardie’s generous proportions. The DC took a sideways glance at his mate and said in a barely audible voice, “Well, was it worth it?”

  “We’ll know soon enough, mate,” replied Thoroughgood.

  45

  THE SOUND of applause from either side of the catwalk provided proof, if any were needed, that the fashion show had been an outstanding success.

  The presentation of Vanessa’s ‘Siren’ spring collection, augmented by a secondary 1930’s themed show had proven the perfect mix between the provocative, slightly shocking and timeless elegant classics that were the epitome of high pre-war chic. When the fashion queen took to the stage in a gold and red lamé dress that reached to the ankle, and also boasted a plunging v-shaped back line, Vanessa’ s audience were enraptured.

  “Thank you, everyone, and can I just record my appreciation for your generosity. All proceeds from the tops and tails collection which will go towards Macmillan Cancer Care. I hope you have enjoyed both the exclusive modelling of my new Siren range for spring and also our peek back at 1930’s glamour. We will now have a 30 minute comfort break while the marquee is refigured for the main event of the day – the launch of The Dark Ocean Roxburgh signature whisky liqueur.”

  Another warm round of appreciation swept through the marquee which gradually gave way to the hum of expectant conversation.

  Hardie turned to Thoroughgood, “Look, before you have a go at me, Gus, I went backstage to try and keep tabs on Victoria, but there were women everywhere with hee haw on. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”

  Despite himself, Thoroughgood laughed, “God, I’d love to have been a fly on the tent canvas for that one, faither. You and a bunch of scantily-clad models, all nice and cosy. Priceless. Anyway, there’s probably no safer place for her right now. So don’t sweat it, mate.”

  Hardie smiled with relief, “Why don’t you join me at the bar, Gus? I figure we have plenty to talk about before the ‘main event’, as Vanessa called it, gets under way and . . .”

  Before he could finish his sentence Vanessa’s eye-catching figure materialised at his side. “My two favourite detectives,” she smiled. “It’s great that you decided to come. Why don’t you treat me to a glass of fizz before they get the stage turned around for the launch? I’m absolutely parched.”

  Hardie seized his opportunity, “I’ll get them in, Vanessa, and give you two time for a quick catch-up. I’ll find us a table at the back of the marquee and you can join me there,” with that the DC ambled off.

  Vanessa slipped her fingers around Thoroughgood’s left hand and gave it a slight squeeze, “I’m glad you came, Gus, really glad,” she said.

  “It was the least I could do, Vanessa,” said Thoroughgood, then added with an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry about what happened back at the flat, I said some things I regret, things that weren’t true, words you didn’t deserve to hear.”

  “It’s okay, Gus, all that matters is that you’ve come along today. Now let’s go and get that drink. I promised I’d help Vicky out backstage before she makes her big speech.”

  Moments later they joined Hardie at one of the tall tables at the back of the marquee, but before the conversation could flow it was interrupted by an uninvited guest.

  “Miss Velvet, may I introduce myself? Raymond Cheung, at your service. Your pardon gentlemen, if you please, for my interruption, but permit me to congratulate you, Miss Velvet, on your fashion show. May I also say how stunning you look. As is evidenced by your dress, the males of our 1930s species were far luckier than ourselves, gentlemen. I’m sure you will agree,” said the Triad boss.

  Thoroughgood smiled awkwardly and Hardie stared at his black penny loafers.

  Vanessa took Cheung’s proffered hand and quickly found a kiss bestowed on the back of her own, “Enchanté, Miss Velvet, I am sure,” said Cheung bowing courteously. However as he rose, his dark eyes gave both Thoroughgood and Hardie a frank assessment.

  “Again, forgive me for being so bold, but would I be correct in assuming that you two gentlemen are Detective Sergeant Thoroughgood and DC Hardie?”

  “You would be correct, Mr Cheung,” replied Thoroughgood, noting Cheung’s failure to extend a warm hand of friendship to either Hardie or himself.

  “Alas, it is such a shame that Viscount Roxburgh has been taken ill. But just as well for the Roxburghs that Miss Victoria is proving a more than capable deputy. Now, though, I must prepare to play my part. Excuse me, Miss Velvet, gentlemen,” said Cheung as his gaze returned to rest on Vanessa. “I am sure we will meet again, Miss Velvet,” he said, and with a nod, Cheung headed towards the curtain at the rear of the temporary stage, his every movement shadowed by his bodyguard Lam.

  “Jesus H Christ, he’s got some neck on him,” Hardie said with an impish smile. “Looks like you’ve got another admirer there though, Vanessa. Big time,”

  “Yeah, you better watch him behind the curtain, Vanessa, he might find himself unable to resist your little lamé number, there,” added Thoroughgood.

  Vanessa laughed in an endearingly girlish way, but
as she placed her champagne glass to her lips, Thoroughgood quickly turned and muttered to Hardie, “We need to speak, pronto, faither.”

  Vanessa’s ears pricked up. “I heard that Gus, I know there is a lot going on behind the scenes with the Roxburghs – but can we just enjoy a moment before I have to go? After all, isn’t this DI Pigeon’s bird?” she added, laughing at her own joke.

  “Hi-lar-ious, darling,” smiled Thoroughgood.

  Before Vanessa could take her leave, Lady Elizabeth swept up to the table, escorted by the now blazered figure of Macintosh. “My dear Miss Velvet, I think we can safely call your little diversion a triumph. Let us hope it has not stolen the show ahead of the launch. Thank God that loathesome little man has gone,” said the dowager, referring to Cheung. “My interruption was two-fold, Miss Velvet,” she added.” I also wanted to take the opportunity to thank your two policemen friends for helping Victoria out at the School of Art – that dreadful business with the Pole. Thank you indeed, Detective Sergeant and colleague,” Lady Elizabeth smiled.

  “I believe Mr Thoroughgood’s colleague is Detective Constable Hardie, Lady Elizabeth,” volunteered Macintosh without prompting, before smiling thinly.

  Lady Elizabeth adjusted her position slightly, fingering the pearls that habitually adorned her neck and were currently framed in the high collar of a crisp silk Parisian blouse, “Thank you, Thomas, I don’t know what I would do without you,” she said with surprising warmth.

  The dowager added, “We had better not keep you, Miss Velvet – I gather you are assisting Victoria for the launch. Again, my grateful thanks, it is just rotten luck that Robert is in quarantine.” With that, she continued her regal progress over to a group of similarly elegant ladies, with Macintosh still in tow.

  “Wow!” said Vanessa before checking her Cartier. “I better go, boys,” and she ran her fingers down Thoroughgood’s shoulder before smiling brilliantly and heading for the stage.

  “I’m speechless,” was all Hardie could manage.

  Thoroughgood laughed in reply and signalled to his mate to move closer. As they huddled round the drinks table he said, “Just as well, because we need to speak and we need to speak quickly. I take it that despite your little ethical fit you want to hear what went down at the boathouse?”

  “I’m all ears,” said Hardie.

  “Roxburgh’s dead, all right. I’m convinced of it, and everything down at the boathouse points to it being the murder locus.”

  “Body?”

  “Nowhere to be seen, but I would wager your pension on it being discovered some time very soon on a little island about 100 metres off shore. When it is, the shit will well and truly hit the fan.”

  “How you mean, mon gaffeur?”

  “Because there is only one suspect and Pigeon will jump at the opportunity to make a grandstand arrest,” replied Thoroughgood.

  “So I was right all along, it’s gotta be Cheung.”

  “That’s just it, Cheung may be the only suspect, but I don’t like it. The boathouse was like an amateur night out, it was just too messy, the clues too helpful.”

  “So what did you come across at the boathouse, Gus?” asked Hardie.

  “The bottom line is that Roxburgh has been in the office reading the diaries and trying to put together their jigsaw. I think he’s come across something that has finally made it all add up. Then he takes his dram outside while he stares into the loch, the moon, the wide blue yonder, or whatever else he had to do to comprehend it and whack, he’s taken out. On the beach we have his empty whisky glass, a bloodstained log which helpfully has a piece of blue wool from whatever he was wearing attached to it. To round it all off, the jetty just along the shingle also has bloodstains on it and the keys to the boat store and most probably one of the boats are also gone. That doesn’t just add up – it goes off the bleedin’ Richter scale.”

  46

  “SO WHAT do we do next?” asked Hardie before throwing the rest of the champagne down his throat.

  “It’s a waiting game and as DI Pigeon so succinctly pointed out, it ain’t our game.”

  The music that had been piped through the discreetly located speakers stationed throughout the marquee faded and a slightly clipped voice announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have five minutes left before the launch of The Dark Ocean, please take your seats.”

  “That bleedin’ Macintosh gets everywhere,” said Hardie before continuing, “What did you make of him and Lady Elizabeth, mate? Thomas, eh? All a bit cosy, but to be fair to the Dowager, as the saying goes, she’d still get it,” concluded the DC smugly.

  “I’ll make sure your missus is aware of your admiration for Lady Elizabeth, asap, faither. Aye, it is all a bit familiar. Did you notice he was cradling her arm in his paw when she was over talking to the vintage birds at the big table in the corner? Nope, I’d say there is something going on there and maybe it’s just as well, Kenny, ‘cos she clearly doesn’t have the slightest clue about the shit that is about to hit the fan over her eldest son’s likely departure from his mortal coil.”

  “Fair enough, governor. So what now? You want to hang fire up here and maintain a watching brief from a discreet distance? Or get down the front row and make sure we are in pole position for the first drop of sponsor’s product coming our way?”

  “Let’s just stay where we are, and let’s also take it easy on the laughing juice, DC Hardie. I don’t know how this is all going to play out.”

  Hardie responded with a sigh and a glum nod before staring balefully at the champagne glass he had just drained.

  The silence between them was soon broken as the refrains of Highland Cathedral piped out from the speakers and the curtains opened to reveal Victoria Roxburgh sweeping onto the stage, her silken leopard-print number having been replaced by a gold and silver mandarin-collared creation with a thigh length split that was obviously a nod to Cheung, and equally clearly from Vanessa’s Siren collection.

  “Holy mother of Kazan,” said Thoroughgood.

  “You never told me you knew her, mate,” Hardie quipped.

  As Victoria reached the podium to the right of the stage the huge screen behind her began to replay scenes from the history and geography of the Roxburgh’s story as the family’s long association with the whisky industry flashed in front of the enthralled audience. Then the lighting was killed and up through the floor, three stands wreathed in dry ice mist rose, all carrying elegantly shaped liqueur bottles. The screen flashed a close-up of a bottle of The Dark Ocean with a backdrop that matched its name.

  Victoria swept the audience with a serene gaze and cleared her throat, her nerves showing for the first time, “The Roxburgh family is proud of its unique 200 year association with the whisky industry, proud of our reputation for the production of the best malt whisky in Scotland. But I am here today to create a new chapter in our proud history. We have never been scared to innovate and diversify in our search for excellence that will add to the Roxburgh brand and today, ladies and gentlemen, it is time for you to meet the new addition to the Roxburgh family.” She paused. A man garbed in the Glen Lomond distillery livery and apron wheeled out a leather trunk towards Victoria. He opened the trunk and removed a bottle of the liqueur and placed it on the cask.

  “I am proud to present to you, The Dark Ocean,” said Victoria. “A new and unique whisky liqueur developed for the discerning modern palate. But before we let you savour the delights of The Dark Ocean I would like to introduce you to someone, without whom this new chapter in our history would never have been written,” Victoria took a deep breath, before continuing, “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like you to meet Mr Raymond Cheung, the head of the Gwai Lo consortium, our partners in this unique development, which is, I am sure, about to take the whisky world by storm.”

  It was just as well that Victoria led the applause because the impact of her introduction had clearly sent a tremor of shock through the stunned audience.

  As Cheung took to the stage Hardie muttered,
“Here we go,” but before Thoroughgood had time to respond there was a commotion at the marquee entrance just behind them and Detective Inspector Randolph Pigeon entered, accompanied by DS Harry Bolt.

  Pigeon unsuccessfully attempted to catch Thoroughgood’s gaze and after a short pause the DI covered the ten yards between them to arrive at their table. “Glad to see you have taken my advice, Thoroughgood, and started to enjoy yourself,” said Pigeon, purposely eyeing the empty champagne glasses on the table.

  Thoroughgood ignored the jibe and deliberately stared at the stage, where Cheung’s nasal tones could be heard addressing the audience, “Ladies and gentlemen, did you know that 80 percent of Chinese millionaires are under 45? Further, that they love brands with history, heritage and provenance. I am proud that the Gwai Lo have been invited to help burnish the Roxburgh brand, extol its long tradition and present exclusive opportunities to enjoy and associate with the excitement of the new Dark Ocean liqueur, to a market that will, I am confident, make the Dark Ocean the top selling whisky liqueur in the world,” said Cheung flashing a sickly smile.

  He continued, “Let me tell you how proud I am of our partnership, and just how confident we are of its ensuing success. In Beijing right now we have a 15,000 square foot, four-storey building in the process of being branded and liveried as the Ludovic Roxburgh House, in honour of Victoria’s grandfather, the great war-time hero.” Cheung paused for effect and turned back towards the giant screen that had now flashed up a huge shot of the building with an image of Ludovic Roxburgh’s leonine features projected onto it.

  He returned to the audience, “This building will house a club for discerning Chinese whisky lovers and it stands in a quiet courtyard, just a stone’s throw from Tiananmen Square,” Cheung stopped to sample the impact of his words.

  He was not disappointed by the gasps escaping from the audience now seated around tables that were set to a 1930’s Parisian night club theme. As Cheung let his silence draw out for effect, the waiting staff began to move around the tables, garbed in outfits that were the epitome of pre-war Paris, making sure that each table had a bottle of the Dark Ocean, glasses and bottles of water, lemonade and ginger ale.