Symington looked at the patrician civil servant. He was tall, probably in his sixties, and had been assistant to the British ambassador in the USA for ten years; a career diplomat to his bootstraps, and good at it, too. His well-cut pinstripe suit, pristine silk shirt, ruby signet ring and easy, superior manner marked him out as the epitome of the establishment. Around the table, there were many well-adorned uniforms on display, but there was little doubt that the man in the suit was in charge.
‘We have Royal Marines and police officers in the hills around the loch in case this second-man theory is correct. However, I wish to scale that back, as I see no real evidence of the existence of another man and word of such things spreads. The last thing we want is our passengers becoming unsettled. We continue with the itinerary as planned. And if the engineers need more time to fix the problem with the electrics, well, I can’t think of a better place on our tour to stay a little longer.’ He smiled at those gathered around the table, as if to say This meeting is over.
‘I’m afraid I don’t agree,’ said Naysmith, Brachen and Tansie nodding in support. ‘The Great Britain has been attacked; if she can’t get under way immediately, then plans should be made to transfer the passengers to another vessel and sail as soon as possible, under our close escort.’
Sir Edward smiled benignly, but there was steel behind his blue eyes. ‘The attack you mention was merely the work of an over-enthusiastic photographer – who paid a hefty price for his effort to seek ill-gotten gains. Our friends at Police Scotland have roadblocks checking every vehicle leaving the town. We have – I reiterate – Royal Marines searching the hillsides for this missing accomplice who have found nothing. Whatever risk there was has passed. We proceed as planned.’
‘But we stay on station in the loch, yes?’ asked Naysmith.
‘No, you return to the Sound. Your presence here has been explained as part of a drill.’ Sir Edward collected his notes and stood. ‘These are the wishes of the government. Of course, if you require orders from your individual superiors, that isn’t a problem. But I think that would be rather a waste of time, don’t you?’ He looked at them one by one, all now mute around the large table. ‘Good! Now let’s get on with what we’re here to do.’ He nodded to Captain Banks, turned on his heel, and left the room.
‘What about the phone we found, Sir Edward? And the sighting of two men with a van similar to the one found on the hill today?’ said Symington.
‘The phone will be analysed and whatever it contains taken into account. As for the van – well, vans are ten a penny. There is no evidence as far as I can see connecting one van with the other. Indeed, I think I’m correct in saying that the witness you have said he thought the van was white – this one is blue. Happy?’
As she headed back to shore on the launch, Chief Superintendent Symington was anything but happy. Like the majority of those at the meeting, she was far from convinced that all was well. She had a murder inquiry on her hands, an errant crewman, and now an accomplice in the drone affair she was almost sure was not hypothetical. The fact that it was Daley who thought he’d seen another man was enough to convince her.
The mobile in her handbag rang, and she took it out and put it to her ear.
‘Ma’am,’ said Sergeant Shaw. ‘As you know, we had the phone found on the hillside cloned before handing it over to the Security Service.’
‘Yes, and?’
‘Calls were received from and made to only one number – untraceable.’
‘No surprise there, then.’
‘But they’ve triangulated the signal, ma’am. Every call on the phone found on the hill was made to or came from the Great Britain. They have their own mobile facilities on board and all calls and internet go via the ship’s communication systems because the locals masts are blocked for security reasons, so the job was reasonably easy.’
Symington’s mind was working overtime now. ‘So whoever was operating the drone that hit the Great Britain was in contact with someone aboard?’
‘That’s what forensics think, too.’
‘I’m on my way back to the office. I’ll call them.’ She ended the call and thought about Sir Edward Chapelhouse. If a police forensic team had managed to reach such a conclusion, she was sure that the Security Service had done likewise.
As the boat bounced across the waves towards Kinloch, she stared at the hill from where the drone had been launched, deep in thought.
30
‘Why that dress?’ he asked, looking her up and down.
‘Oh, don’t you like it? It cost a small fortune.’
‘Your tits are hanging out.’
‘It’s revealing, but my tits, as you call them, are hardly hanging out. Anyway, this is the dress I’m wearing, end of story.’
‘Change – change now. We don’t have much time. Come on!’
‘I don’t have anything else with me.’
He sat on the end of the bed, bow tie undone over a dress shirt, head bowed. ‘Just do what you’re told.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘This is a big night for me. Everyone who’s anyone will be there tonight to see me get this award. I don’t want to be sitting next to someone who looks like a cheap tart at the top table.’ He glared at her, eyes flashing with temper.
‘Fine, go on your own. I’m damned if I’m going anywhere with you in this mood.’ She walked towards the door. ‘Enjoy your night.’
Liz stared at herself in the mirror. She’d just showered, and was wearing no make-up. If anything, the cuts and bruises on her face looked worse – vivid yellow, purple and black now – and much more noticeable, though mercifully the swelling on her cheek had gone down a bit and was less painful.
She remembered reaching for the door handle, then being grabbed around the neck and pulled back into the room. The rest of what happened was a flurry of blows, pain and shock, which left her, head spinning, on her hands and knees on the carpet, watching the blood from her nose drip onto the deep pile carpet.
‘And you can fucking clean that up before I get back,’ he’d shouted before leaving the room and slamming the door.
She’d known what he was like. She’d seen him humiliate employees, hotel staff, waitresses, but she’d never thought that his arrogant cruelty would be directed at her, and with such violent fury. But here she was, staring at a face she barely recognised, in a house that belonged to a man she’d shamelessly cheated on and treated like shit for years. She opened her make-up box and began the job of trying to make her face look passable enough to go out of the house.
She saw him standing in the doorway. ‘What?’ she said, almost aggressively.
‘I know who did it, Liz,’ said Daley.
‘No, you don’t.’
‘Alexander Manston. I know his address in Inverkip, the name of his yacht, what cars he drives, where his dental surgeries are – even how much he earned last year.’
She turned and stared at him. ‘Why did you bother to find all that out?’
‘Because I hate scum like him.’
She turned back to the mirror. ‘It’s none of your business, Jim.’
‘No, but here you are, in my house, with my son. How long do you think it would have been before he took his temper out on James, eh?’
‘He would never harm a child – and anyway, I’d never have let him.’
‘Oh yes, you were obviously in control of the situation.’
‘Just leave it!’ She banged her fists down on the dressing table.
‘No, I won’t leave it. I want you to report him.’
‘No.’
‘So, you’re happy for this to happen to someone else?
Surely to fuck you don’t plan to go back to him?’
‘Oh, so now you’re going to start. What is it with men that they think everyone has to do what they want? Please enlighten me, because I’m mystified.’
‘But this isn’t just about you, Liz, it’s about our son. Or have you forgotten that?’
‘Of course not. You’re only down here out of the way until the bruises heal, then it’s back to business as usual up the road, with the next psycho you pick up. Well, if you think I’m going to allow my son to be put in harm’s way, you’ll have to think again, Liz.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that I don’t care what expensive lawyers your family can afford. I’ll fight you for custody of James, and I’ll win.’
‘Huh, so you can leave him in the charge of some decrepit fisherman, or with Brian Scott? That’ll be the day.’
‘No, so that he’s safe from the next man you choose to buy you fancy clothes and take you on expensive holidays, just so he has something pretty hanging off his arm. Anyway, you weren’t too bothered who looked after him when you left him with me a while ago at a moment’s notice, were you? You knew I was working.’
‘And around we go again, Jim.’
Daley shook his head wearily. ‘Do everyone a favour and report this bastard. Because if you don’t, I will, got it?’
‘Well, I won’t be giving evidence. I just want to forget it ever happened – that I ever met him.’ She stood and walked across to the wardrobe, bundling clothes onto the bed.
‘Oh, the grand gesture, as always.’
‘It’s clear you don’t want us here, Jim. It’s fine; I’ll make other arrangements.’
‘You do what you like. My son stays here.’
‘And just how are you going to achieve that? I’ll take him where I want. He’s in my care.’
‘In that case, I’m going to report this incident to social services. I’ll tell them what condition you were in when you turned up here, and that I’m worried that our son will be endangered if he remains in your custody.’
‘My lawyer will shred that nonsense, and you know it.’
‘Your father’s lawyer – but I’m guessing he doesn’t know anything about this, am I right?’
She blinked at him across the room. ‘Please don’t do this, Jim. Please, I beg you. I’ve been through enough, don’t you think?’
He walked over to his estranged wife and embraced her. ‘I’m sorry for what’s happened to you – you know how I hate bastards like Manston. Do the decent thing, Liz. Report him and save someone else from this – or worse. There’s more than just your pride at stake here.’
She buried her head in the chest of the big man she’d married and sobbed.
Cabdi was cold – very cold. He’d walked for miles, staying low over the summit of the hill then creeping from bush to bush, or along drystone walls. He’d spotted a farmer working distantly on a field on his tractor and had managed to duck into a hollow before being spotted, where he’d stayed until the coast was clear.
Eventually, he’d arrived at the ruins of a cottage. There was no roof, but he was sheltered from the wind and out of sight, and he’d have time to think. He was confused, too. Though Faduma had gone against their instructions, the device should still have exploded, and the fact that it hadn’t made him question everything.
He’d realised that in his haste he’d left the mobile phone behind at their campsite and cursed himself for it, but otherwise they’d been careful. The van had been bought for cash and registered using false papers; nothing in their belongings could point to who they were, or where they’d come from.
They had trained to do this on so many occasions. Each time, the drone had exploded, though using a much smaller charge. Why had nothing happened this time?
He thought of the voice on the other end of the phone – a man he had never met face to face. He knew that Faduma had betrayed his trust, but now he began to wonder if he too was a mere pawn, an unwitting player in someone else’s game.
Cabdi felt his head. Though it still ached, the flow of blood had stopped; using his medical knowledge he concluded that he was suffering from nothing more than minor concussion and contusions.
He thought about Faduma. Perhaps he shouldn’t have taken his life; perhaps leaving him dead on the hill was a wicked thing to do. But in the time he’d known the man, Cabdi had recognised an individual who was out of control. This had become more and more obvious as time had gone on. Now Cabdi thought that Faduma would never have accepted the failure of their mission, and would have tried something insane in order to bring death and destruction to the great ship.
He knew that people would be searching for him, and that time was short. He had to get away from this isolated place, but first he had to think of a way of completing the task he’d been given, regardless of how he now felt about the faceless individual who had set him on the path. It was the most important point in his life; all he had ever wanted to do.
But now he must rest. Leaning his still pounding head against the cold stone of the wall, he let tiredness overcome him, and he drifted into a troubled sleep, Faduma’s face haunting his dreams.
31
Brian Scott was sitting beside DS Potts with Peter Scally facing them across the desk in the interview room, his lawyer at his side.
‘Come on, Peter,’ said Scott. ‘You were having an affair with Cameron Pearson’s wife – admit it, man!’
Scally’s lawyer opened his mouth to intervene, but his client stopped him by speaking first.
‘Aye, you’re right. Me an’ Maggie are close – have been for a long time, as you say. Cameron was mair interested in his birds than paying attention tae his wife. But as far as I know having it off wae a married woman isn’t a crime, or have I missed something?’
‘Good. Now we’re getting somewhere, Mr Scally.’
‘But I’m telling you – and my grandson will back me up on this: I did not kill Cameron Pearson, plain and simple. Me and Maggie was going tae tell him – come clean, like. She’s always felt sorry for him, but life’s too short, and neither o’ us are spring chickens.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be having a wee word wae Mrs Pearson tae.’
Scally scowled at the acting DI. ‘She might no’ have wanted tae stay married, but the woman still has feelings for Cameron. Can you no’ jeest leave her oot o’ all this? There’s nothing to it, nothing at all.’
‘And what about this? For the tape I’m showing Mr Scally production number one, which I’m reliably informed is part of a human skull, charred fae a fire.’ Scott stared at Scally. ‘Now, we’re just waiting on the results of tests on this, but I’m willing tae bet my hoose on the fact that this is part of the deceased’s skull. It was found in your house, Mr Scally. What is it – some gruesome keepsake, eh?’
‘I must protest,’ said Wilkinson, Scally’s lawyer. ‘Nothing has yet been determined in connection with these remains. For all we know they could be animal bones. I will not allow my client to be asked questions based on mere supposition.’
‘I can explain how I came about that,’ said Scally. ‘When me and the boy saw they two guys had left the fire – as I telt you – we went doon and took a nosy aboot. Yes, I saw the piece o’ skull, and like you I think it’s likely Cameron Pearson’s, though I’m heartsore tae say it. They men killed Cameron – I’ve no doubts aboot that.’
Just as Scott was about to reply the door opened. ‘A word, DI Scott,’ said Symington.
Scott paused the interview and followed his boss from the room. ‘Aye, ma’am? What’s up?’
‘I don’t think Peter Scally was responsible for the death of Cameron Pearson, Brian.’
‘Eh? He’s admitted having an affair wae the man’s wife for years – he’s got every reason tae want Pearson deid. He’d half o’ his heid in a kitchen drawer!’
‘No, I think he and his grandson did come across two men – one of whom you found dead on the hillside. I don’t think for a minute those guys were trying to get a picture or two to sell to the papers. The fact that one of them is dead is enough to persuade me of that.
‘So, the emphasis is now on
what Scally and his grandson saw. I want to know everything they noticed about those men. I know they’ve given statements, but once you tell Scally that you believe him, perhaps it’ll help jog his memory.’
‘Right. So no’ paparazzi, then?’
‘No, not in my opinion.’ She paused. ‘Something came to light at the meeting on board the Great Britain – something significant.’
‘Like what?’
This question was left unanswered. ‘End the interview with Scally. Tell him he’s no longer under suspicion but we still want to talk to him about the men he saw the other night. Let him and his grandson have a chat about it in the family room. Give them coffee – something to eat. I don’t want them to feel under any pressure.’
‘You seem awfy sure, ma’am.’
‘Yes, I think I am.’ She looked her new detective inspector straight in the eyes. ‘Have you and Ella ever been on a cruise?’
‘No, no way. I’ve always hated boats . . . wait, why are you asking me that?’
She smiled. ‘Sort out Scally then come to my office, please, Brian.’
As Scott watched her walk briskly down the corridor he muttered to himself, ‘I don’t care how fancy the boat is, I’m no’ going on it.’
Roughly a hundred and fifty of the Great Britain’s passengers sat in the ballroom. Sir Edward Chapelhouse was addressing them using a PowerPoint display on a large screen at his back.
‘Now, the good people of Kinloch have, I hear, gone to great lengths to make this visit to their town an enjoyable one. As we’ve seen there are a number of eateries, bars and shops, and the distilleries have thrown open their doors to all comers. Feel free to enjoy the delights of this unique little town – another example of the diversity and allure of our great country.’ He smiled broadly, looking around the room as his words were translated into a dozen or so languages for those who didn’t speak English by a team of unseen translators via individual headsets.
Segre Avine, a Belgian hedge fund manager, stood to speak. ‘So we can go anywhere and mix freely, yes?’
A Breath on Dying Embers Page 15
