A Breath on Dying Embers

by Denzil Meyrick

  61

  ‘Stop the car!’ said Cabdi.

  Daley looked at the tall African. ‘So, what now?’

  The gun still pointed at the policeman, Cabdi reached into his pocket. ‘Do you understand?’ he said, searching Daley’s face for an answer as he showed him something in his big hand.

  ‘Yes – yes, I think so. But why?’

  ‘There is no time for why. You must do what you think is right. But you have your son to think of. Surely your first duty is to keep him safe. If you choose to follow me . . .’ Cabdi left the rest unsaid.

  The RIB carrying the security team from the Great Britain drifted into the steps beside the old quay, engines off. The chief petty officer in charge of the craft brought her alongside expertly, nudging the bottom step as another crewman jumped onto its slick surface with a rope in order to secure the vessel.

  ‘Well done, chief,’ said Tansie. ‘Now, everyone,’ she went on, addressing her team. ‘We don’t know what we’re facing, so everyone follows my directions to the letter, right?’ They nodded in agreement. ‘Right, with me.’

  The dark-clad figures made their way up the sea steps beside the quay as silently as they could. The seafront was strangely empty of people. Even the white swan that had observed everything at such close quarters had made her way out into the middle of the loch, as though sensing all was not well. The sky above Kinloch was fading from day to night, the last red glow of the setting sun casting long golden shadows across the loch. The town’s lights would soon hold sway, shining under the full moon that was already casting its reflection on the rippling water.

  Symington climbed quickly out of the police car, her protective vest emblazoned with police in bold white letters at odds with the smart designer dress she was wearing.

  ‘Captain Banks, what happened to DCI Daley?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Banks looked mystified. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t seen DCI Daley. There’s some kind of problem on board. I have to get everyone off this launch and send it back to the ship. We’ve just had a radio message.’

  ‘But I don’t understand. We were told that DCI Daley had been taken hostage by a gunman.’

  ‘I heard some children screaming, but I assumed it was just high jinks. Where did this happen?’

  ‘The other side of the old quay.’

  ‘As you’ll notice, it’s not easy to see from here.’

  Symington looked round, and sure enough, unless she stood on her tiptoes, she was unable to see much on the other side of the pier. She did notice that there was no traffic on the road, and assumed that the famous Kinloch bush telegraph had been busy. As she watched, she saw disgruntled partygoers being shown off the launch. She put her radio to her mouth. ‘To all stations, DCI Daley is not at the locus, repeat, not at the locus. I want everything on this, over.’

  Shaw replied from Kinloch Police Office. ‘I’ll have everyone search, ma’am. We’ll use the town’s CCTV system and check his home, over.’

  As she thanked Sergeant Shaw, Symington felt the phone in her pocket vibrate. She grabbed it and looked at the screen.

  ‘Not bad news, I hope,’ said Banks as he helped an elderly woman with a fur stole and a disgruntled look on her face from the launch.

  ‘No, no – it’s okay.’ She began to turn away from Banks. ‘I’ll need to get moving – find DCI Daley.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Movement from across the pontoons caught Banks’s eye. ‘What the hell?’ Without warning, he made a grab for Symington, pulling her off her feet and holding her round the neck, a knife glinting in the setting sun. ‘I’m very sorry about this, Carrie. Wrong place at the wrong time, I’m sad to say.’ He dragged Symington back to the edge of the pontoons as policeman drew their weapons and passengers on the launch began to scream.

  ‘Let her go, sir!’ shouted DS Potts, his hands shaking slightly as he held the gun before him. He heard footsteps from behind and turned his head to see a collection of figures with machine guns and helmets running towards him. ‘What’s going on?’ he shouted.

  ‘So, Annabelle,’ said Banks casually, as though he was a mere observer of events rather than protagonist. ‘You’ve caught up with the game at last!’

  Tansie showed Potts her identity card. ‘We’ll take over from here, officer,’ she said.

  ‘Ma’am?’ said Potts, giving Symington a questioning look.

  ‘Do as she says!’ shouted Symington, then let out a yell as Banks’s grip tightened and the knife pressed into her neck.

  ‘What can you do, Magnus? You have a knife. Give this up, man!’ Tansie shouted.

  ‘But I also have this.’ Banks delved into his pocket and produced an old-fashioned mobile phone. ‘As you know, there are explosives all over the Great Britain – more than enough to destroy the ship and just about everyone on it. They’re handily placed, I assure you. This phone is linked to them. I press one button, and – well, I don’t have to elaborate, I’m sure.’

  ‘But you’ll die too, Magnus.’

  ‘Some prices are worth paying. Payment for a dead father and brother – the debt of a nation torn apart by the British. Fuck you and fuck Great Britain!’ He held the phone high in the air, his thumb moving to the keypad.

  ‘Stop!’ shouted Tansie

  A single shot rang out. The captain staggered, an exit wound blossoming in the middle of his forehead, and both he and Symington tumbled into the loch.

  Cabdi threw the gun to the ground and raised his hands above his head. He watched as policemen and Royal Marines pulled Symington coughing and spluttering from the water, the motionless body of Captain Magnus Banks floating at her side.

  Tansie and two Marines ran up the pontoons towards him as red dots danced across his torso from the many weapons trained on his chest.

  When she reached him, Tansie looked the tall man straight in the face, her gun held out before her. ‘Handcuff him!’ she said, and the two Marines descended on Cabdi, bringing him to the ground and complying with her order.

  He spat as he was shoved into the police van by his captors, Tansie following them in.

  As the van moved off, Tansie stared silently at the Somali on the opposite seat.

  ‘What, are you going to shoot me now?’ he asked, a broad grin spreading across his face.

  At that, she leaned across to the tall African and enveloped him in a hug. ‘You mad bastard, you mad fucking bastard,’ she mumbled into his shoulder, as the Marines looked on expressionless.

  62

  Liz Daley went to the kitchen to get her husband and Chief Superintendent Symington coffee, James junior wobbling unsteadily after her, still wearing the red cap Cabdi had given him.

  Symington took in the scene from the big picture window. The loch was empty now, save for a small shellfish boat chugging its way towards the pier and a yacht navigating its way past the causeway. The Great Britain had moved on with as little fuss as possible. None of the locals or VIPs aboard – apart from Brian Scott and his party, that was – knew anything of the danger they’d faced. The killing of Captain Banks was covered by the story of a crazed gunman with a grudge against the man, the culprit spirited away from Kinloch under the auspices of the Security Service. It had merited comment in the national newspapers and on television, but the lines had been intentionally blurred and names withheld. No doubt the British Government had ensured that the event made as little a splash as possible, and it was soon lost in the never-ending news cycle.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jim. I should have answered your text messages. You were the first onto this.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t,’ said Daley slouching in his recliner. ‘Cabdi – or whatever his real name was – had been an MI5 plant for years. As deep cover as you’ll get. Not a job I’d fancy.’

  ‘Who would?’

  ‘Brian, maybe?’

  ‘Please. He’s nearly scuppered our relationship with half of the oil states in the Middle East. Possibly not my best decision.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Though I really wanted
him beside me in that van when were heading to the pier.’

  ‘Now bravery is something he’s good at: diplomacy – not so much. Anyway, he might be the full time sub-divisional commander soon.’

  ‘That’s defeatist, Jim.’

  ‘I feel defeated.’

  ‘You’re going for more tests tomorrow, yes?’

  ‘Yes, flown up on the wee plane, to hear my fate, no less.’

  ‘I could have driven you.’

  ‘No, Liz offered, but it’s better this way. Twenty minutes each way in the air, a damn sight better than that road.’

  ‘Don’t. Brian never shuts up about it, and he’s living here!’

  ‘You can always rely on Brian.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Thanks for coming up, I appreciate it. Captain Banks turned out to be quite a complex character – or Magnus Kelly, I suppose I should say.’

  ‘Yes. Lost his father to drink, his mother to suicide, and his brother was killed resisting arrest by the army – only fourteen. The records of it all look pretty murky to me. Most of it is redacted. That kind of thing is bound to affect anyone, especially a child. They found a journal in his cabin. Most of it railing against the imperialist British, but it’s clear he had a difficult relationship with his mother. It was strange.’ She stared out of the window again.

  ‘But why all of a sudden? That’s what I don’t understand.’

  ‘Who knows? His real goal was to do the dirty deed in Belfast harbour. A massive strike against the state. It would have been headline news all over the world. He was clever, too. Hoodwinking the Islamic terrorist cell, the disappearing crewman. All designed to get security’s eyes off the ball while his accomplice worked on the ship. But so different from the man I met. And it all backfired on him in the end – big time.’

  ‘But to be brought up away from all that by his aunt – a model student, the very highest reputation as a sea captain, all thrown away in an act of madness.’ It was Daley’s turn to look out of the window. ‘I suppose circumstances make people do strange things.’

  ‘Well, his intention was to kill and maim, mainly to rekindle the troubles in Northern Ireland.’

  ‘A breath on dying embers.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Daley shrugged. ‘These days, anything is possible.’

  ‘Listen, I know you’re worried about your health. But honestly, what they think you have can be managed. I’ve checked: nothing to stop you coming back to work if the diagnosis is right.’

  Daley sighed, looking at the floor. ‘I can’t shake the feeling in my gut. My father told me he was going to die, even when the initial prognosis was good. It was as if he knew somehow. I’ve wondered about it for years. Now I know what he meant.’

  ‘Here we are,’ said Liz, bringing in freshly brewed coffee and cakes on a tray, doing her best to smile through her yellow and purple bruises.

  Symington watched Daley watching Liz as she busied herself with pouring coffee. She could see a mixture of anger and hurt on his face, and something else that was hard to define. Still, they drank the coffee and ate the cakes to the pleasant accompaniment of small talk.

  ‘Right, Mr Scally,’ said DI Scott. ‘So . . . on the day Cameron Pearson went missing we have a picture of your movements.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’ said Scally defensively.

  ‘Your van is here, here and here,’ said Scott, pointing to a number of screen grabs taken from the town’s CCTV cameras. ‘I’m told this road you’re turning on to takes you up to the hill?’

  ‘So? I’m a birdwatcher.’

  ‘You were spotted there by . . .’ Scott looked at his notes. ‘A Mr Hines, who was walking his dog. He said you looked furtive, Mr Scally.’

  ‘My mind was occupied, that’s all.’

  ‘And then we have this.’ Scott pushed a piece of paper across the desk. ‘Phone records. If you look carefully you’ll note two calls. One from Mr Pearson’s mobile to yours, and then just over an hour later you called his number.’

  ‘I’m a friend of his. I phone my friends, that’s whoot folk dae.’ He shook his head. ‘You polis should be asking thon African that gave me a good kicking.’

  ‘And then there’s this, Mr Scally.’ This time DS Potts picked a clear plastic evidence bag from the floor. In it was a small hacksaw, its blade still stained with blood. ‘Found in your shed, sir. The blood on the blade matches that of Cameron Pearson.’

  ‘Circumstantial – nothing but circumstantial. Yous are jeest putting things together to make it look like it was me.’

  ‘So, having you on the hill at the same time Mr Pearson went missing, two empty petrol cans in your van, and a hacksaw blade with Mr Pearson’s blood and bone fragments a’ o’er it, and it’s just coincidence?’ Scott sat back in his chair. ‘And you’ve been having an affair with Mr Pearson’s wife for years.’

  ‘Jeest Kinloch gossip!’

  ‘Mrs Pearson has confirmed it herself, Mr Scally. We’ve also found bone fragments in a fire set on the hill. Marks still visible on them were made by the very same hacksaw that was found in your shed. Also traces of Mr Pearson’s blood and DNA were found in the back o’ your van.’ Scott leaned forward. ‘Mr Scally, I think Mr Pearson thought of you as a friend. He had a real fright up that hill. He called a man he thought he could trust tae help him home. But help wisnae what you had in mind. You just saw opportunity, eh? And I’m going tae charge you.’

  Scally looked at the solicitor at his side. ‘Come on, you. You’re meant tae be defending me!’

  The solicitor looked at his client and shrugged.

  63

  The morning was bright and clear. A fresh breeze bearing a hint of autumn swept across Kinloch, deep within it a whisper of the winter to come.

  ‘I wish you’d let me drive you – or come with you, at least, Jim,’ said Liz as she pulled into the car park at the small airport just outside the town.

  ‘We’ve spoken about this. I’m up and down on the plane in minutes – and it’s paid for by the NHS. I’ll be back before you know it.’

  She leaned sideways to kiss Daley on the forehead and looked hurt when he turned his head away. ‘Sorry. I’m just wishing you well, nothing else,’ said Liz.

  ‘I have to sort my head out, and so do you. The future’s pretty uncertain right now. We’ve got to take things one step at a time, Liz.’

  She brushed away a tear. ‘I’d better get back. Ella will want to get on with her day, not have to keep James occupied.’

  ‘And who knows what bad words he’s learning off Muncle Brian.’ Daley smiled. ‘Things will work out one way or another,’ he said enigmatically, then got out of the car and walked towards the terminal building without looking back.

  ‘I love you, Jim.’ The words on Liz’s lips were almost silent.

  *

  Brian Scott was in the bakery, wondering whether to pig out on two bacon rolls or go for the healthy salad on wholemeal bread option.

  ‘That’ll be you then, Brian,’ said a voice from behind.

  ‘Eh? Oh, hello, Hamish. Nice tae see you better dressed.’

  ‘But I’m jeest in my bib and braces.’

  ‘Better than thon kilt – and the tie.’ He stopped to place his order. ‘Two bacon rolls and a large cup of coffee, please. Here, do you want anything, Hamish?’

  ‘Jeest a small mug o’ tea, if you don’t mind. I’m no’ feeling that hungry, tae be honest wae you.’

  ‘Still in the glums?’

  ‘Aye, jeest worse, if anything. I canna shake them.’

  Scott collected his bag of rolls and handed Hamish his tea. Once he’d paid, they headed out into the sunshine on Main Street.

  ‘It’s a fine day for oor Jimmy tae fly up for his tests.’

  ‘You think so, Brian? Tae me it feels as black as January the fourth.’

  ‘Why that date?’

  ‘Because that’s when I usually take a rest fae the drink after the New Year. Och, fair grim it
is.’

  ‘I remember.’ Scott looked reflective.

  ‘Mr Daley – are you sure he’s off tae the hospital the day?’

  ‘Aye, he went on the morning plane about half an hour ago. Why dae you ask?’

  ‘It’s jeest this dream I keep having.’

  ‘What dream?’

  ‘I told him myself. Him on a boat – strange tides. Aye, and I keep dreaming aboot teeth.’

  ‘You do?’ Hamish had Scott’s attention. ‘What did he say when you mentioned this?’

  ‘Jeest fair brushed it away, man. But there was something aboot him that made me shiver.’

  ‘Here, drink your tea and away doon the pier and potter aboot. And cheer up, man!’ Scott patted Hamish’s shoulder and made his way back up the hill to Kinloch Police Office. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t get what Hamish had said out of his mind.

  The sea below was blue, but looked cold as Daley stared through the plane’s window. The trip reminded him of his first case in Kinloch. He’d flown down on that occasion and the sea seemed as uninviting now as it had that day. So much had happened in his life since then; many faces passed across his mind’s eye, but only the blue eyes of Mary Dunn stared into his soul.

  ‘We’ll be landing at Glasgow Airport in a few minutes. Please make sure your seatbelts are secure,’ said the voice over the loudspeaker.

  They bumped down on the tarmac and taxied to a halt. A transport ambulance was waiting on the tarmac. Daley watched as two frail patients were helped from the plane and into it.

  He walked across the concourse, through the bustle of tourists and business people heading in various directions. Again he was reminded of the past, of his days spent at the airport as a young uniformed constable. He smiled at the memory, and the thought of friends he’d known then and not seen for so long.