Neil whipped round as the cry seemed to come from directly behind him but there was nothing. It was very difficult to see in the darkness, the only light cast from the end of the jetty. The trees took on monstrous shadows, every hill and mound concealing a possible attacker. The strong sense that someone was watching crept over him and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, as though something with cold dank breath was standing right behind him. This idea took such possession of his mind that he whipped round in a frantic circle, the torchlight eerily lighting up swaying trees and rustling bushes but all he saw was more darkness.
A thud behind him made him cry out. He almost doubled over with relief when he saw it was Mike, the noise caused by him jumping from the boat back onto the jetty.
“Anything?” said Neil, although he didn’t need to ask. The disappointment in his eyes said it all. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s get back inside before this storm really gets going.”
After checking the boat was securely tied, Mike followed his friend back to the cottage. Neil jogged towards the house, head bowed. At least he could pretend he was running to get out of the weather when in truth there was something else that was making him feel much more uneasy. He was sure there was someone - or something - out here with them. He’d heard the ghost story about Drowned Jenny, it was part of local folklore. It had been used as a warning to all the local bairns not go to the water without their parents - don’t go near the loch on your own or Drowned Jenny will get you. He wondered if Jenny was here now, watching them, waiting for the moment to pull them down into the icy depths, the messy dark tendrils of her hair wrapping around their faces, smothering them…
Neil shook himself out of it. He was a professional police officer for God’s sake and he was letting childhood fears get the better of him. Something human was doing all this, not Drowned Jenny. The welcoming glow of the cottage brought him back to his senses and he entered the hallway cautiously, mindful of the boot prints Mike had returned to every time he’d gone out. However, this time there was nothing.
Judging by how disheartened Mike looked, he’d expected to find the same. He sank down on the bottom step of the staircase, his head in his hands, a low keening emanating from the back of his throat. It took Neil several seconds to realise he was mumbling the words, “What the fuck is going on?” over and over.
Ducking into the kitchen, Neil dug out a bottle of brandy, poured them a glass each and returned to Mike.
“Drink this,” he told him, shoving it into his hands. “It’ll warm you up.”
“Nothing can warm me up,” he murmured, cradling the glass. “I’m so cold all the time. It’s like I’m already dead.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” he said, tears shining in his eyes. “Someone took her and killed her and now they’re using her clothes and sound effects to drive me out of my mind. It’s the only thing that makes sense. She wouldn’t leave me like this by choice.”
“She could be stuck somewhere and if she is I swear to God we’ll find her. Now stay here while I check the house.”
After locking the front door Neil checked downstairs, even going as far as to peer into all the kitchen cupboards but there was nothing. The line of salt he’d spread across the hatch leading into the cellar was undisturbed, indicating the hatch hadn’t been lifted. He was proud of himself for that brainwave because that horrible cellar was the last place he wanted to be at the best of times, never mind in the dark in the middle of a storm.
Mike was still sitting on the stairs sipping his brandy when he returned to the hallway. Neil headed upstairs, squeezing past him. The bedrooms and the bathroom revealed no nasty surprises, to his relief. Stewart would have been furious with him if the perpetrator had managed to leave another surprise while he was out of the house after being expressly told that he wasn’t to go outside. He took two towels from the bathroom and carried them downstairs.
“Come into the sitting room,” he told Mike. “We need to get you warmed up by the fire.”
Mike obeyed, allowing himself to be led back to the couch. Neil gave him one of the towels and they both used them to dry off their hair. Neil threw more wood on the fire and with the ensuing heat it didn’t take long to get dry again. Mike looked almost catatonic as he returned to staring into the flames. Neil wondered if Stewart’s theory was right and this was all some elaborate plot to drive Mike out of his mind. If it was it seemed to be working.
Convinced the night’s adventures were over, Neil allowed himself to relax, sinking into the armchair, the warmth and the brandy conspiring with the soothing crackling of the fire to lull him to sleep. Mike was similarly relaxed, although he hadn’t spoken since they’d returned to the house.
They both jumped when there was a loud hammering at the window to Neil’s left, which looked out over the water. With a gasp they leapt up and ran to the window, peering outside.
“Can you see anything?” Neil asked him.
“Nah it’s too dark.” Mike pressed his face up against the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes in an attempt to block out some of the interior light.
Neil hit the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. “Is that better?”
“Yeah. I can’t see anything out of the ordinary.”
A hammering this time at the front door made them both jump again.
“I’ve had enough of this shit,” roared Mike.
He yanked open the sitting room door, dashed into the hallway, unlocked the front door and flung it open...
To reveal nothing.
The cry Mike released was like nothing Neil had ever heard before. He wasn’t a hunter like his friend but he could imagine it was the same sound a wounded bear made, one that was verging on frenzy despite the agony it was in.
He’d fully expected Mike to run outside into the night but instead he turned and raced into the kitchen, pulling on the pair of wellington boots he kept in the utility room and dashed out the back door.
Neil had left his boots in the hallway, so he was forced to rush back for them, taking his still soaking wet coat with him. By the time he got outside Mike was nowhere to be seen. Neither was anyone else.
“Oh bloody hell,” he exclaimed. “Mike, where are you?”
No reply.
He ran down the side of the house, past the small garden that contained the vegetable patch and apple tree Isla meticulously tended to. This area was more protected from the elements. It was only when he emerged at the front of the house that the wind and rain hit him in the face so forcefully it was impossible to make anything out.
“Mike?” he yelled but his voice was lost in the raging wind, which snatched the breath from his throat.
When he still saw no sign of his friend he practically hopped on the spot with indecision. Which way should he go?
He decided on trying the other side of the house, which took him back into the rear garden.
“Thank God,” he breathed when he saw Mike standing in the centre of the lawn, staring into the trees that ran around the back of the house. “Mike, are you okay?” he called, having to yell over the wind.
“I saw her,” he replied. “It was Isla. I saw red hair.”
“How could you see anything in this darkness?” The garden was illuminated only by a weak puddle of light cast from the kitchen window.
“I saw her,” he insisted, scanning the tree line. “I think she went in there but I can’t be sure.”
“You are not going in there in this weather, you’ll only end up having an accident. Come on inside, you don’t even have a coat on. You’ll catch your death.” Neil shivered at his own words.
“Wait, I see someone.”
Neil was about to tell him that it was his imagination and all he was seeing was the movement of the trees in the wind when he realised a tall, dark, faceless figure was indeed walking towards them. As thoughts of Drowned Jenny ran through his head, dragging all his childhood fears with them
, he called out, “Stop, police.”
Mike turned in the direction he was looking and broke into a run.
“Mike, no. Wait.”
Before he could stop him, Mike had grabbed the figure by the shoulders and slammed them back onto the grass.
“Get off me,” cried a voice Neil knew all too well. He shone his torch on the figure. “DI Stewart. What the hell are you doing here? Sir,” he hastily added.
Mike released a growl of frustration and released the inspector, allowing him to drag himself to his feet.
“What the fuck are you playing at?” Mike bellowed in his face.
Stewart’s expression was decidedly unimpressed, rainwater dripping from his pointed noise. “Let’s talk inside.”
Wheeler stumbled out of the undergrowth after them and the four of them returned to the house, entering via the back door because it was closer.
Mike was shaking with cold, his jumper and jeans soaked through. As Neil entered the utility room he tripped up, only Mike’s huge hand grabbing his arm preventing him from hitting the floor.
“Thanks,” he said.
But Mike hadn’t heard him. He was gaping at something on the floor. Neil looked down to see a pair of boots, one lying on its side from where he’d fallen over it.
“Are those…,” he began.
“Isla’s,” breathed Mike.
“Back out the door,” Stewart told them. “We’ll go in by the front so we won’t risk trampling any evidence. All we can do is hope Sergeant Hawkins hasn’t already done that in his clumsiness.”
Any protest Neil might have had was drowned out by the roar of the wind as they headed back outside and ran around to the front of the house, Stewart leading the way, bursting into the cottage. The warmth and cosy glow inside was a soothing balm to the terror the inspector had endured standing in those woods in the dark.
They all peeled off their wet clothes and boots and rushed back to the utility room to find Isla’s boots still in situ.
“Secure the evidence Wheeler,” ordered Stewart. “Mike, Sergeant Hawkins, let’s give him space to work.”
“But…,” began Mike.
“There’s nothing you can do here,” said Stewart, tugging on his arm and leading him back through the kitchen.
Mike shrugged himself free and disappeared upstairs to pull on some dry clothes before Stewart could detain him with questions.
While he changed, Stewart and Neil stood before the fire to warm themselves. The inspector launched into a tirade at Neil, who stood firm before the rollicking. Stewart railed against him for not only letting the perpetrator slip through his fingers but for allowing him to plant more of Isla’s belongings. On top of that they were no nearer finding who was responsible. Stewart kept his voice low, so Mike wouldn’t overhear but it had the same effect had he been shouting.
“The cameras will show something,” offered Neil when Stewart finally ran out of steam.
“For your sake let’s hope so.”
“I’m sorry Sir but what did you expect me to do? I had a choice between staying in the house and making sure Mike was safe. I chose the latter. I can’t be in two places at once.”
“You shouldn’t have let him go outside in the first place.”
“You’ve seen the size of him. How do you expect me to stop him? And isn’t it better that the boots were left rather than Mike being hurt or worse?”
Stewart’s lips pursed as he realised he was right. “I want you to think very carefully about what you saw Sergeant. Mike was out of your sight for a good couple of minutes while you stumbled about in the dark looking for him. Could he have got through the back door and planted those boots himself before you found him? After all, he had the key.”
“What are you saying?”
“You know exactly what I’m saying. I want you to forget for the moment that you’re friends. A woman’s life is at stake. Could he have put those boots there himself?”
“Well, I suppose. But he didn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He didn’t start knocking on the front door and the window, he was in the room with me.”
“Has it not occurred to you,” said Stewart, as though he were addressing a particularly stupid child. “That he could be responsible for Isla’s disappearance and he arranged this elaborate charade with the assistance of an accomplice?”
“No,” said Neil firmly, although he was lying to himself as well as his superior officer. A few times the treacherous thought had whispered in the back of his mind. “Mike’s a good man.”
“You’ve only known him a year. How do you know for sure?”
Neil didn’t know what to say. He’d thought Stewart had come round to the idea of Mike being an innocent in all this but he’d just been keeping his cards close to his chest.
“He was vehement that none of us could stay over tonight,” continued Stewart. “But he was happy to let you stay.”
“Because we’re friends.”
“More likely because he knew you wouldn’t question the show he put on.”
“I don’t believe it. You didn’t see him Sir, he was distraught.”
“Or just a good actor. He’s a stranger here, no one really knows him. The one person who does has vanished and he was the only person for miles around when it happened. Just keep an open mind Sergeant, alright?”
“Yes Sir.”
“My officers will study the footage from last night. I know they are impartial.”
“If you’re insinuating I would deliberately hide evidence…”
“I’m not insinuating anything but I need someone who isn’t personally involved. From now on I think you should limit yourself to being the liaison. No more night time vigils for you.”
“Mike won’t allow anyone else in the house, he’s afraid they’ll scare off whoever’s doing this.”
“He’s going to find that decision taken out of his hands soon enough. I think you’d better return to your normal duties. I hear one of the local old biddies has lost her cat. Sounds right up your street.”
Neil huffed out an annoyed breath and folded his arms across his chest while Stewart glared into the fire, the flames dancing in his eyes. Wheeler, who had finished bagging Isla’s boots, stood awkwardly at the back of the room, his dark hair turning into a frizzy forest on top of his head as he dried off.
Mike returned to the room a few minutes later, eyes bright with anger.
“What the hell were you doing out there?” he demanded of Stewart. “I told you I didn’t want you around.”
“I’m sorry Mike but this is a police investigation. We’re trying to catch whoever kidnapped your fiancée. I thought you’d be pleased that we’re dedicated enough to spend the night standing around in woodland in the middle of a storm to find her.”
“Why did you lie to me?”
“I thought it would be simpler than trying to argue the toss with you.”
“Bullshit. It’s because you think I’m responsible for all this madness and you were hoping to catch me in the act.”
“It’s because this intruder is our best chance at finding Isla,” retorted Stewart. Not only were his nerves on edge after the intense spookiness of those woods but he was cold and tired. He could have been in the familial warmth and comfort of home with his wife and kids but no, he was here attempting to find the fiancée of this man who was now shouting at him and his temper finally snapped. “We’ve got no other leads Mike, nothing,” he yelled in his face. “All sightings of her have led nowhere and the divers haven’t found anything, apart from the hat. The only thing we have is that intruder so do not give me any shit for doing my best to find her, okay?”
Once the red and black spots had stopped bouncing before his eyes, Mike nodded, his rage doused. “Alright, I appreciate that but I don’t like being lied to.”
“It was the only way. You weren’t listening to reason earlier.”
Mike poured himself a whisky. “Anyone else want one?”<
br />
Neil and Wheeler were itching to say yes but one look from Stewart made them change their minds. “No thanks,” they said instead.
“So did you catch the intruder?” said Mike.
“No,” muttered Stewart.
“How many officers did you have with you?”
“Five, including Wheeler.”
“And the six of you couldn’t catch one person?”
“Whoever it is has an in-depth knowledge of the terrain and from the brief glimpse I caught of the fleeing figure they were wearing night visions goggles, giving them the advantage. Plus the rain washed away their tracks.”
Mike’s chuckle was humourless. “So all your lies were for nothing?”
Stewart chose not to reply to that remark.
“Did the intruder see you?”
“Yes,” replied Stewart.
“So now they know a bunch of police officers are lurking about in the trees they’re not going to come back, are they?”
“We can’t know that.”
“Whoever this bastard is they’re not stupid and coming back would be stupid. Congratulations Inspector, you’ve just lost our only link to Isla.” He downed the rest of the whisky. “I’m going to bed now. Do what you need to do then get the fuck out of my house. I’m sick of the sight of you.”
With that he refilled his glass, picked up the whisky bottle and carried both up the stairs, walking a little unsteadily.
Mike climbed into bed and sat up drinking whisky, listening to the sounds of the police officers moving about below. It took them a full hour to piss off. He heard the front door slam shut then footsteps come up the stairs.
There was a knock at the door then Neil’s voice called, “Mike?”
“What?” he called back.
“I’ve been ordered to stay the night, just in case the intruder comes back,” he replied through the wood.
“Like they’re gonna do that thanks to your little friends.”
“You never know. Is it okay with you if I stay?”
“Yeah, fine,” he sighed. It hadn’t been Neil’s fault, he’d done his best. Stewart was the one who’d screwed things up.
“Thanks. I’ll kip downstairs on the couch, so I’ll hear if anyone knocks again.”
The Loch Page 9
