“That won’t be necessary,” said Mike.
“Of course it is. You’ve already checked my extension but I insist you search the rest of the house. I wish to eliminate myself from the inquiry, then we can concentrate on the real search.”
“Alright, if you insist.”
“I do. Then we’ll check Malcolm’s house. I don’t believe he’s responsible, the only thing he subjects others to is his bad taste but he fits the criteria and we can’t afford to miss anyone out. Your friend Billy is on the list too, given that he’s a fit, strong man who lives alone.”
“I’ve no problem with that,” said Mike.
“Good because I think we’re about to rattle a few cages. It’s human nature to be deeply protective over your territory. People may object to us searching their homes even if they’ve nothing to hide.”
“I’ll take the rap if anyone complains to the police,” said Mike. “Isla’s been missing for eight days now. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
The Colonel patted his shoulder. “Don’t give up hope. We’ll find her.”
“What state will she be in though when we do find her?” he said, thinking back to his dream and of her being dragged down to the bottom of the loch away from him.
Neither Alex nor the Colonel replied, not knowing what to say.
Alex parked on the Colonel’s drive and the three men got out.
“Right,” announced the Colonel, clapping his hands together loudly, reinvigorated by this new hunt. “I insist you search my home first. You go inside, I’ll wait right here.”
Alex and Mike glanced at each other, a little embarrassed but Mike took the keys from him anyway and entered the house. They started with the downstairs, which was immaculate. There was very little in the way of decoration. The Colonel had been a bachelor all his life so the only photos were of his deceased parents. There were no other trinkets to sentimentality, everything practical and functional. The Colonel suffered from quite severe OCD so everything was in its place, not a speck of dust or dirt to be seen. Every room was balanced too. If there was one picture on one wall then there was the exact same picture on the opposing wall. Books and DVD’s were hidden away in cabinets, the Colonel unable to bear how messy they looked on shelves. Mike wondered if his time in the army had done that to him or if it was just his way.
The house didn’t have a cellar but it did have a cupboard under the stairs which contained only a vacuum and the fuse box. Just to be sure, Mike checked the extension again but it was still just a shell with three walls.
“It’s safe to say they’re not here,” said Alex when they’d completed their search.
Mike was glad, it meant they could now rely on the Colonel’s skills to help them. “Let’s give him the good news.”
“Finished gentlemen?” said the Colonel when they exited the front door of his house.
“Finished,” mumbled Mike, handing him back his keys. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now, onwards to Malcolm’s house.”
“But he’s not in,” said Alex.
“Don’t you worry about that,” said the Colonel, leading them down the side of the house to the back garden.
“You’re not going to break in, are you?”
“Of course not. The fool leaves a key in a fake stone outside his back door. I’ve told him so many times it’s a security risk but will he listen to me? No, of course not. That man is just too stubborn for his own good.”
They watched, feeling a little uncomfortable as the Colonel picked a stone out of a flower bed, turned it over, slid open the bottom and took out a key. Mike told himself that finding Isla was the important thing. The legalities could be dealt with later.
The Colonel entered Malcolm’s house first, followed by Mike then Alex.
“Alex, you check upstairs,” the Colonel said quietly, as though Malcolm might overhear him, even though he was miles away. “Mike and I will check down here.”
Alex nodded and rushed upstairs.
It soon became apparent that there was nothing to find in the house, so they headed out into the garden to check the extension, the Colonel frowning as he peered inside.
“I don’t know why I’ve allowed myself to get so worked up about this thing,” he said with disdain. “Judging by the poor quality craftsmanship it’ll fall down soon anyway.” With an indignant sniff he gently kicked at one wall with the toe of his boot. “Shoddy,” he commented. “Very shoddy. And he has the nerve to charge money for his carpentry skills.”
Once again it appeared to be a shell and Mike was just about to leave when something caught his eye. “What’s that?” he said, pointing it out to the others before approaching, wanting to make sure he had witnesses who could swear he hadn’t planted anything.
The Colonel knelt down where he’d indicated and peered at the floor. “It looks like strands of red hair.”
“Red hair?” Mike practically bellowed.
He threw himself down on the floor beside the Colonel. “Long red hair, Isla’s colour too. She’s been here. Malcolm must be the one holding her.”
“Come now. Malcolm’s a messy fool and an incompetent but I doubt he’s capable of kidnapping two women. Perhaps Isla took a look in here before she went missing? Ah, wait, there’s a flaw to my theory.”
“What flaw?” said Mike desperately.
“He put down this floor the afternoon she vanished. I don’t suppose there was time for her to come in and take a look.”
“It’s Malcolm,” breathed Mike. “He’s got Isla and Hannah. All this time he’s been helping with the search he knew exactly where they were.”
“Now let’s not jump to conclusions,” said the Colonel. “We don’t know that it is Isla’s hair.”
Mike whirled about the room but there wasn’t anything else to see, apart from a pile of tools in the corner. Frantically he began rummaging through them. The sun had been blotted out by the thick clouds that were moving in, plunging them all into gloom, hampering the search.
“I need a light,” he called to the others.
Alex and the Colonel produced their torches and shone them on the tools while Mike cast them aside one by one, Alex having to jump to avoid being hit in the calf by a hammer.
When he reached the bottom of the pile Mike’s hand touched something cold and damp.
“Shine the torches where my hands are,” he told his friends.
They stepped closer, concentrating the light where he indicated. After Isla’s ponytail had been found Mike was almost afraid to look at what lay on the floor. He told himself it could just be a rag, something Malcolm had used during the building of the workshop but the shiver that slithered down his spine told him different.
He forced himself to look and was caught between relief and horror when he saw it was a black cardigan, a tiny hummingbird brooch pinned to the left lapel.
“This is Isla’s,” he said, scooping it up.
“How can you be sure?” said Alex. “I bet loads of people have black cardigans.”
“Because of this,” he replied, showing him the brooch. “I bought it for her birthday last year. She was wearing it when she disappeared. She’s here,” he cried, leaping to his feet.
As it was clear she wasn’t in the workshop and they’d already checked the house he ran back out into the garden bellowing her name. Alex did the same, only he was calling for Hannah. They paused to listen, praying for a reply but the only sound was the patter of rain, which had started to lightly fall.
“Gentlemen,” said the Colonel solemnly, stepping into the garden. “I suggest we call the police.”
DI Stewart arrived at Malcolm’s house with Wheeler and Neil in tow, as well as a team of scene examiners. Mike and Alex had wanted to return to searching the house and garden for Isla and Hannah but the Colonel had convinced them not to, reasoning if there was any evidence to find leading to their whereabouts then their clumsy efforts might destroy it.
The Colonel was the
first to greet the police officers, taking the responsibility of explaining the situation upon himself. They had considered omitting the fact that they’d searched Malcolm’s house but decided it would look bad if the police found any trace of their presence inside. Stewart hadn’t been impressed with the admission but the fact that they’d found Isla’s cardigan prevented him from objecting too much about it.
“You have to find Malcolm,” exclaimed Mike, unable to contain himself any longer. “He’s hiding them somewhere. He’s leading the search at Loch Long.”
“Alright, calm yourself Mike,” replied Stewart, getting on his phone. He barked orders down the line, his calm, efficient tone soothing Mike a little.
“I’ve deployed officers to the loch,” said Stewart, hanging up. “There’s no reason for him to suspect anything, so he should still be there.”
“You didn’t tell him what we were doing, did you?” Mike asked the Colonel.
“Well…yes,” he replied. “But I didn’t say he was a suspect.”
“What did you tell him that for?” said Alex.
“He can’t possibly know what we’ve found.”
“But he might have guessed,” he snapped.
“Don’t take that tone with me,” he retorted, moustache positively bristling with indignation. “I only said we were searching the village. He probably thinks we’re starting with the loch and outbuildings.”
“Arguing isn’t going to help,” said Stewart. “All we can do is wait.”
“Oh God this is killing me,” groaned Mike. “We’re so close.”
“Does Malcolm have access to any other premises? A garage or lock-up, something like that?”
“His workshop,” said the Colonel. “It’s at the end of Clachan Beag, across from the old telephone box.”
“Wheeler,” yelled Stewart. “Wheeler where have you gone?”
“Here Sir,” he said, emerging from the house.
“Malcolm has a workshop. It’s possible the women are there. Let’s go.”
“I’m coming with you,” said Mike, running after them to the car.
“Me too,” said Alex.
They jumped into the back before the police officers could object. Stewart gunned the engine and sped onto the main road, tyres screeching.
“I didn’t know you had it in you Stewart,” said Mike.
“You’d be surprised,” he replied, brow furrowed with concentration as he drove, taking the main road south.
They all clung onto the doors as he wrenched the wheel to the left, flung about in their seats when his foot slammed on the brake.
Stewart banged his fist off the horn. “Police. Get out of the way,” he yelled at the elderly lady standing in the middle of the road.
She just gave him a smug smile before continuing to hobble with excruciating slowness.
“For Christ’s sake,” said Mike, throwing open the door and jumping out. He pelted down Clachan Beag, a quiet road lined with detached cottages. He pushed himself as hard as he could, lungs threatening to burst but he refused to slow down. The red phone box came into view like a beacon and he pushed himself even harder. Opposite this was Malcolm’s green workshop.
Stewart’s car shot by him just before he reached the workshop, Mike panting for breath as he watched the police officers and Alex leap out of the car and run at the door. As Wheeler threw himself against it Stewart ushered Alex back, ordering him to stay outside. Despite Wheeler’s best efforts, the door refused to budge.
Mike didn’t slow down, running full tilt at the door. Wheeler just managed to jump out of his way as he hit the door, which slammed open. He staggered inside, still going full tilt under his own momentum, hit the wall at the far side and slid to the floor.
“Isla,” he breathed, winded.
Coughing, he dragged himself to his feet, dusting himself off while Stewart and Wheeler launched into the search after telling Alex to stay put at the door. The room was approximately twenty five by thirty feet and was crammed with machinery and work tools.
The detectives called the women’s names as they searched. When Mike attempted to join in Stewart barked at him to wait at the door but he ignored him, getting down on his hands and knees to look beneath the workbenches.
“Sod this,” said Alex, ignoring Stewart’s instructions and joining in too.
“Isla, Isla,” cried Mike desperately.
“They’re not here,” said Wheeler, who was sweating from the exertion.
“No, they must be,” said Mike.
“They’re not,” said Alex, hanging his head. “We would have found them by now.”
Stewart stomped his foot on the floor. “Solid concrete. There’s nothing under there.”
“Wait,” said Wheeler, spying something in the corner. “What size shoe does Hannah take?”
“Six,” replied Alex.
Wheeler pulled on nitrile gloves and picked up a pair of dark grey boots. “These are size six.”
“Let me see,” said Alex, rushing up to him. “They’re Hannah’s, definitely.”
“You’re sure?” said Stewart.
“Absolutely. You see how the laces are different? That’s because she pulled one too tight when she was at my house and it snapped, so I gave her a spare, I took it out of my own boot.” He was gabbling with excitement and the others had to concentrate to keep up with what he was saying.
“Is there anything of Isla’s?” said Mike, flinging aside dust sheets and shoving tools off the workbenches.
“Doesn’t seem to be,” said Wheeler.
Mike ceased his frantic search and stood in the middle of the room raking his trembling hands through his hair. The other three men regarded him uncertainly, wondering what he was going to do next.
Without a word he charged out of the building and raced towards an identical unit opposite Malcolm’s painted the same shade of green. He didn’t slow as he ran at the door, the lock snapping with a clang when he hit it. This time he was stopped by a workbench, which hit him in the middle of the stomach.
With an ooph he sank to the floor, an arm wrapped around his midriff.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” said Stewart, tearing inside after him. “This doesn’t belong to the suspect.”
“I thought we should check while we’re here,” he panted.
Unlike Malcolm’s unit this one was pristine, a few tools arranged neatly on the bench, a set of shelves against one wall. It took a single glance around the room to know the women weren’t here.
“You’ve just broken in illegally,” snapped Stewart.
“Arrest me then,” gasped Mike, still winded.
“We’ve more pressing matters to attend to,” he retorted, taking out his phone. He called someone at the station and ordered them to check if Malcolm owned any other buildings or lock-ups.
“What if he’s killed them?” said Mike, dragging himself up off the floor. “Maybe that’s why only pieces of their clothing have been found?”
“There’s no evidence of that. We don’t even know that he has them.”
“Then why does he have Isla’s cardigan and Hannah’s boots?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” he sighed.
“I’ve got a team searching Malcolm’s house and another team has gone to bring him in. We’ll get the truth but you have got to stop trespassing and breaking into other people’s property.”
“I’ll do whatever I have to do to find Isla and I don’t give a shit who I upset.”
“You’ve been bloody lucky so far Mike but you’re really pushing your luck now.”
“I’ll do anything to find her and you won’t stop me.”
Before Stewart could berate him further his phone rang. “What is it?” he snapped into the handset. Stewart tutted and turned his back on Mike to talk. “Please say this is a sick joke? Dammit. Alright, on my way.”
“What was that about?” demanded Mike.
“The team I sent out h
as found Malcolm…”
“Hey, that’s great. I’ll make the bastard talk,” he said, striding for the door.
Stewart grabbed his arm. “He’s dead.”
“What?”
“It seemed he drowned in the loch.”
“Drowned?” said Alex, who had joined them with Wheeler. “How the bloody hell did that happen?”
“We’re looking into that.”
“The man was a diver for fifteen years, amateur of course. He was always in and out of the lochs, so don’t tell me it was an accident.”
“Details are vague but we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“He could be holding Isla and Hannah somewhere,” interjected Mike. “And now he’s dead we won’t be able to find them.”
“We’re searching his house and I’m accessing his phone records so we can track his movements. We will find them.”
“There’s no definitive proof he even took them though,” said Wheeler.
“But the clothes…,” began Alex.
“Don’t prove he took her. Someone could have planted them.”
Stewart regarded his colleague with interest. “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know Sir. Just a feeling.”
Stewart rolled his eyes. “We’re police officers Wheeler, we work off a lot more than feelings.”
“It’s just a bit…weird.”
“Thank you for that fascinating piece of deduction. Right, everyone out.”
The four of them filed out of the workshop.
“Where should we go?” Mike asked Stewart.
“The moon for all I care. Just stay out of our way and let us do our jobs.”
“If it wasn’t for us you wouldn’t have been put onto Malcolm in the first place.”
“Exactly. You’ve done your bit. Now go home and wait for news. The last thing we need is amateurs blundering about with shotguns.” His eyes narrowed at Mike and Alex when they looked surprised. “Oh yes, I know all about that. I’ve lost count of how many laws you’ve broken Mike.”
“Tell me you wouldn’t do the same if it was your wife who’d gone missing.”
Stewart pursed his lips. “Go home the pair of you. I’ll let you know the second we find anything.”
The Loch Page 21
