A Breath on Dying Embers

by Denzil Meyrick

  ‘It was just because you didn’t want anyone to see you, Liz. Remember how long I’ve known you. I want you to tell me who did this.’

  Daley tried to sit up in bed, and the monitor at his side began to chime repeatedly.

  A nurse dashed into his room, a worried look on her face.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said.

  ‘Your heart rate has just shot up, Mr Daley.’ The nurse checked the machine. ‘If you don’t mind, Mrs Daley, I have to get your husband ready to go for his echo scan and X-rays.’

  ‘Yeah, sure. I’m sorry.’ She kissed Daley on the forehead. ‘I’ll wait until you come back. Hopefully I can take you home.’

  ‘To Howwood?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Howwood’s not my home, Liz. I don’t think it ever was, to be honest.’

  As the monitor chimed again, the nurse looked at Liz. ‘Please, Mrs Daley, if you don’t mind.’

  She swept out of the room, head lowered so no one could see the tears now flowing down her face.

  Brian Scott sat at the breakfast table facing James Daley junior. Despite the resemblance to Liz across the eyes, he could see much of his old friend in the wee boy’s face.

  He sighed, thinking about Daley lying in his hospital bed. He remembered placing two fingers against Daley’s neck in his house on the hill. It was something he’d done many times in his career as a police officer, but never had he been so relieved to feel the pulse of a still beating heart.

  He thought of all the things he’d witnessed in his long career. The dead and dying: eviscerated corpses, people burned black or mangled beyond recognition in car accidents, decapitated murder victims – the list just went on and on.

  He understood why Daley could become morose; it was a miracle that he’d not gone the same way. Despite it all, Scott held what meant most to him close to his heart – his family, his friends and the good times in his life. Things Daley seemed incapable of doing. Of course, his big pal had never been blessed with the stable marriage he enjoyed. He watched Ella busy at the sink. She’d never wanted to be anything other than a mother to her children, a homemaker. He knew that type of attitude was frowned upon nowadays, but he could never quite understand why. What could be more important than bringing up children, making them feel safe and loved and cared for – teaching them what was important in life?

  Of course, he’d done his bit. However, the police service was a cruel master, with its long, unpredictable hours, the pressure of cases carried back home – something he’d always tried not to do, but had, in the main, failed to avoid.

  Then there was his drinking; of that he was ashamed. Night after night spent carousing with his mates, rather than being at home watching his children grow up. How he wished he could scroll back and change all that. But as his mother had always said, wishes were like dreams, they rarely came true. Aye, she was a cheery bugger, his mother, he thought. But with a husband who spent his time either at work or in the pub before handing her a pittance on which to bring up the family, she’d had every reason to be less than happy, he supposed.

  ‘You daydreaming again?’ said Ella, drying her hands on a tea towel.

  ‘Just thinking aboot the big fella,’ he replied, nodding to James to make sure that the child wouldn’t hear anything that would make him worry.

  ‘I telt you when I first came here that he looked dreadful. Of course, add madam to the mix and hey presto, your man’s in the hospital.’

  ‘She’s been through the mill hersel’, Ella. Took a right battering, by the look o’ her.’

  ‘Well, no woman deserves that – no’ even her. But why did she head straight doon here? She’s a family at hame wae a big hoose and nae shortage o’ money. Why no’ just go to them for help?’

  ‘How keen were you tae go to your mother when there were problems?’

  Ella Scott thought for a moment. ‘Aye, true. But I’d no’ been tae bed wae half o’ Strathclyde Police – aye, an’ bugger knows who else, tae.’

  ‘Who’s bugger?’ said James, looking up from his breakfast cereal, face slathered in chocolate milk.

  ‘Och, just a person Auntie Ella doesnae like too much, son.’

  ‘Hameby says there’s a lot o’ buggers down on the pier, Muncle Brian.’

  ‘Aye, well, don’t you worry what Hameby has tae say.’

  ‘Yes, just you listen tae your Uncle Brian, son. You’ll no’ go wrong there,’ said Ella, her eyes raised to the heavens.

  ‘Muncle Brian’s funny, Auntie Ella.’ The wee boy laughed.

  ‘Oh aye, just hilarious, son – a laugh a minute,’ she replied unsmilingly.

  Scott was about to reply when his phone vibrated on the breakfast table. Wondering if it was news about Jim Daley, he fumbled it into his hand, then mouthed ‘Symington’ to Ella before walking out to take the call.

  ‘Yes, ma’am?’

  ‘Another success last night I hear, DS Scott.’

  ‘Sorry, ma’am?’

  ‘Mr Sanjeev. He’s made a complaint against us and a local resident this morning. After you broke down his door in the middle of the night and terrified the wits out of the poor man.’

  ‘I was just acting on information aboot the missing crewman, ma’am.’

  ‘Flawed information, DS Scott – seriously flawed!’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Anyway, we can speak about that when you come in. When are you coming in, incidentally?’

  ‘Just on my way, ma’am.’

  ‘Good. Well, get here as quickly as possible. I have something urgent we need to discuss. Some good news about your friend, but I suppose you’ll have heard.’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Well, he’s stable. Just had a heart scan. They reckon he might have a slight arrhythmia problem, but easily fixed with drugs, they hope. Might be out of hospital later today. But he’ll have to go back in a while to have more checks, so he won’t be coming back to work any time soon.’

  ‘Great news, Carrie!’ said Scott, forgetting protocol in the relief of hearing Daley was out of danger.

  ‘Yes, well, he’ll have to be replaced – temporarily, at least. That’s what I want to talk to you about. So get in as soon as, Brian.’

  Before he could say goodbye the phone went dead. He smiled, delighted by the news about Daley, but the joy was soon replaced by the familiar feeling of being in trouble again. Och well, you can’t have everything, he thought as he took his jacket from the stand in the hall and flung it over his shoulders.

  ‘That’s me away, Ella. Oor man might be getting oot o’ hospital later today,’ he said, poking his head round the kitchen door.

  ‘What’s been the problem?’

  ‘Eh, I’m no’ sure what she said – sounded like diarrhoea.’

  ‘What? First time I’ve heard o’ anyone passing oot wae that.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve felt like passing oot a few times I’ve had the runs.’

  ‘Charming. That’s just because you were mostly to the nose the night before.’

  ‘Listen, I have tae rush. Her majesty wants me in PDQ.’

  He hurried down the hall and out into the drizzle of a grey September morning, a bounce in his step, despite the roasting he was more than likely about to receive at the hands of his boss.

  But Brian Scott was well used to being hauled over the coals.

  16

  Captain Banks was on the bridge of the Great Britain. He’d spent a restless night thinking about Majid. He knew that when the police in Kinloch failed to turn anything up, he’d have no choice other than to inform Commander Brachen, and that was likely to ignite the kind of furore only Her Majesty’s Royal Navy could initiate. He stroked his chin in contemplation. Why were people so stupid, he wondered?

  Kinloch had almost disappeared in the heavy smir of rain, but the ship was quiet. Most of his passengers were sleeping off the party that had carried on until just after four in the morning, when Banks had ordered his head steward t
o put an end to proceedings.

  He envisaged a morning filled by meetings with Brachen and Tansie. Looking at his Omega wristwatch, he decided to hang on for half an hour or so before setting things in motion.

  The door of the bridge swung open to reveal Brachen in full uniform.

  ‘A word please, Captain, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Certainly. You have the bridge, Steele,’ he said to the first mate. ‘In my cabin, Commander?’

  ‘Yes, I think that would be appropriate,’ Brachen replied sharply.

  The pair made their way down from the bridge and into Banks’s large cabin, located directly underneath.

  ‘Can I get you some coffee, tea, Commander Brachen?’

  ‘No, you can bloody well tell me what you think you’ve been doing since you found out that one of your crew has gone missing!’ Brachen’s tone was sharp.

  ‘May I remind you that I’m the captain of this vessel? It’s not your job to upbraid me. I hope that’s clear.’

  ‘I’ll do what the bloody hell I like. For fuck’s sake, man, even basic seamanship tells you that you raise the alarm if one of the crew goes missing. He could have fallen overboard!’

  ‘He didn’t fall overboard.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘He was on one of the launches that were ferrying dignitaries to and fro yesterday. He jumped off at the pier. Told the bosun he had to get something done in the town – family stuff. He had a bag with him. Though the rest of the crew waited, he didn’t return, so they had no choice except to carry on with what they were doing without him.’

  ‘Brilliant!’

  ‘I’ve informed the local police, who have a full description of him, plus a photograph. I thought it prudent, given what was happening aboard yesterday, to make as little as possible of the incident. You people do overreact. Just think what it would have done for the reception.’

  ‘You should have informed me immediately. The actions I’d have taken would have been wholly appropriate, I can assure you – unlike yours!’

  ‘May I remind you once more, Commander Brachen, that I remain the captain of this vessel. One of my crew is missing, not yours. I did as I saw – and see – fit, and that for me is the end of the matter. Should the police in Kinloch be unable to trace him, then I had every intention of informing you. However, I await information from them, so if you please, I have work to do.’ Banks stood, holding his arm towards the cabin door. ‘Good morning, Commander.’

  ‘I hope for your sake they’ve found him, or I will take charge of the situation.’ With a furious look, Brachen left the cabin, slamming the door behind him.

  Ned Paterson and his nephew were hauling lobster creels out in the Sound. The Isle of Arran looked grey and unwelcoming in the drizzle, and the sea dark, matching Paterson’s mood. Only one lobster all morning, and it was undersized and had to be thrown back.

  He swore under his breath as he let the coil of rope suspending another empty creel back into the brooding Sound, to lie in wait for an unsuspecting crustacean under a small pink float, or so he hoped.

  ‘No’ good the day, Uncle Ned, eh?’

  ‘No, Billy, it sure is not. Only another four creels tae check, and nothing. I blame that bloody great cruise ship. Noise an’ lights a’ day and night. Puts the lobsters off. We might have tae think about moving the creels.’

  He stared the few hundred yards to where the next float bobbed, praying that the creel beneath held something worthwhile.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Billy.

  Following his nephew’s line of sight, Ned squinted through the smir at a grey-looking object a few yards from the boat. ‘It’s too big for a dead fish, unless it’s a shark. Might be an unfortunate seal or dolphin, I suppose. C’mon, we’ll take a look.’

  He fired up the small inboard diesel engine, and the lobster boat chugged in the direction of the motionless floating shape. ‘Gie it a tug wae the boathook, Billy!’ he shouted above the rattle of the engine, as the now soaking rain hissed off his wet weather gear. Some days at sea were a joy; this certainly wasn’t one of them.

  ‘Whootever it is, it’s bloody heavy,’ said Billy, as Paterson shut off the engine and let the vessel float nearer to the object. ‘I’ve got a grip on it, mind you.’

  Paterson made his way to the front of the boat as his nephew strained with the boathook. He leaned over the side of the vessel in order to get a better look at the thing that had caught their attention. ‘Wae a bit o’ luck it’ll be a beluga whale, Billy, eh?’

  Quickly, though, the expression on his face changed; on closer inspection, the object in the water was no seal, whale or dolphin. As Billy pulled, the grey mound upended itself. Both fishermen recoiled at the sight of an ugly stump of a neck, bloodied, where a human head had once been.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ Billy shouted.

  ‘Steady, son. We’ll need tae call the harbourmaster. Keep a haud o’ it as best you can.’

  As Paterson rushed to the tiny wheelhouse for the radio, his nephew leaned over the rail, face averted from the headless torso bobbing in the water. He was still spewing up as his uncle, voice quaking, spoke to Kinloch’s harbour master.

  Still in his cabin, Banks answered the phone on his desk. ‘Yes, Captain Banks speaking.’

  He listened carefully to the caller, shaking his head as he did so. ‘And what’s next – in terms of finding him, I mean?’ He nodded silently at the reply, thanked the caller, and replaced the handset in its cradle.

  He drummed his fingers on the desk for a few moments and lifted the phone once more. ‘Ask Commander Brachen to come to my cabin, please, Reggie.’

  He leaned back in his chair, stared at the ceiling of the cabin. Now the Royal Navy and MI5 would swing into action, and his life would become infinitely more difficult.

  17

  Scott pressed the entry code into the panel next to the back door of Kinloch Police Office and rushed inside, glad to be out of the rain.

  ‘Hey, where’s the fire?’ he said as DC Potts dashed towards him, hefting a raincoat around his shoulders.

  ‘They’ve found a body just off Kilconnan Head, gaffer.’

  ‘This’ll be oor man Majid, likely, eh?’

  ‘I’m just going out with the harbourmaster in the lifeboat to bring the remains to shore. I suppose we’ll soon find out.’ He was about to head for his car when he stopped. ‘Oh, the boss is looking for you. Right agitated, she is – especially after this.’

  Scott nodded. ‘Aye, I know. I’ve seen plenty agitated bosses in my time, don’t worry. Just you get oot on that lifeboat. Last time I was on it I lost my breakfast – aye, an’ my dinner the night before, intae the bargain. Keep me up tae speed.’

  Without bothering to go to the CID suite, he turned left along the corridor and stopped at Symington’s office. He straightened his tie then knocked on the door, hearing the sharp invitation to enter before he turned the brass handle.

  Symington was behind her desk, typing quickly on a laptop. She looked up and nodded to the chair at her desk. ‘Sit down, DS Scott.’

  Scott did as he was asked, and watched her type with no little admiration for the speed at which she could do so. He waited silently for the onslaught.

  Symington closed the lid of the laptop and stared at her Detective Sergeant. ‘You’ll have heard they’ve found a body.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Out at Kilconnan. DC Potts just informed me.’

  ‘Pound to a penny it’s our man Majid, Brian.’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Scott, secretly pleased that she’d used his Christian name, always a good sign from a senior officer, in his experience.

  ‘Well, I suspect we’re about to become very busy, so I won’t bang on.’

  ‘No, ma’am.’ Here we go, thought Scott.

  ‘My information is that DCI Daley will indeed be discharged from hospital later today.’

  ‘Oh, great!’

  ‘Yes, good news. But he won’t be returning to duty – not
until they’ve investigated fully what caused his collapse, and it’s being properly treated.’

  ‘No, ma’am. I guess you’ll have tae fill in for him? Him being the sub-divisional commander, an’ all.’

  ‘I have a division to run, but someone will have to fill in for DCI Daley, that’s true.’

  ‘Some young high-flyer, no doubt. Och, I’ve seen them come and go.’

  ‘I sincerely hope the person I have in mind will want to stay in Kinloch.’

  Scott thought for a moment. ‘But what about DCI Daley, ma’am? I thought you said he’d be returning tae duty once he gets sorted an’ that.’

  ‘I hope that will be the case, but he’s not out of the woods yet – healthwise, that is.’

  ‘I see.’ Scott could now feel his heart in his boots. He’d felt encouraged by Symington’s earlier manner, but now things didn’t seem as rosy.

  ‘Now, I’m not going to mention the unfortunate incident last night, despite the fact that I believe you threatened to,’ she consulted her notes, ‘shit in Mr Duncan’s dinner, then ordered him to be thrown bodily down a stone staircase.’

  ‘Noo that was just a figure o’ speech, ma’am. You see, this auld guy was . . . och, it’s a long story. You had tae be there.’

  ‘You can tell me this long story in your report. Meanwhile, as you know, we have other pressing matters at hand.’

  ‘Aye, right enough, ma’am. I’ll get that report tae you later this afternoon.’

  ‘Good. I’ll be interested to hear why one of my officers finds that the threat of defecation in a member of the public’s meal is the right way to go about his business. But I know you’ll find a creative excuse.’

  Scott nodded but said nothing, figuring he was in a better position than he’d expected to be. Saying something – anything – in his defence was likely to make matters worse.

  ‘Now, as to DCI Daley’s replacement, I’ve been speaking with the ACC. He and I are on the same page as far as this is concerned.’

  ‘Oh, aye.’

  ‘First, we intend to give DC Potts a temporary promotion to Acting Detective Sergeant.’