by G R Jordan
G R Jordan
Water’s Edge
A Highlands and Islands Detective Thriller
First published by Carpetless Publishing 2019
Copyright © 2019 by G R Jordan
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
G R Jordan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
G R Jordan has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.
Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.
First edition
ISBN: 978-1-912153-49-7
This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy
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To Jean for all your support.
At last one in a genre you favour.
Contents
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
About the Author
Also by G R Jordan
Foreword
This story is set in the idyllic yet sometimes harsh landscape of the Isle of Lewis, located in the north-western part of Scotland. Although set amongst known towns and lochs, note that all persons and specific places are fictional and not to be confused with actual buildings and structures that exist and which have been used as an inspirational canvas on which to tell a completely fictional story.
Chapter 1
The dreary haar hung around the harbour limits meaning anything beyond the small lighthouse was abandoned to the grey blanket. From the top floor of the station, he could usually see right out into the Minch, even catch the odd passing cargo ship as it made its way through the often rough waters that separated the island from the mainland. At five o’clock in the morning, his shift was taking its toll and he was fighting the bleary eyes that had been forced to look at the information screens so necessary for his job.
The thing about this time of the morning was that so little happened in general, it was normally qu-. No, he must not say that word. Under no circumstances was that word to be mentioned or even thought of, lest a cavalcade of woe would come in on the emergency numbers. So far the night had been routine. Just after his shift had started, one of the visiting yachts to the area had broken down and he had been involved in organising the lifeboat to help them negotiate the entry to the harbour. Otherwise it had all been qu-, routine.
Turning back to the room from the window, he saw his colleague, her face rooted to her screen and headset on. It may have been her timesheet she was looking at, because for this time of the morning she seemed intense. But then again she was often intense, especially when anything broke the qu-, routine nature of the shift. Looking behind her, he saw the paper calendar with its simple indicator that was moved along the numbers to indicate the day. Then he baulked at the number it displayed. She hadn’t moved it on at midnight. Now a day behind, he knew his mind would return to it time and again until the marker was adjusted. There was something wrong in his make-up surely, affected as he was by such simple and inconsequential things.
He turned back to the window, stretching his arms and legs, pushing back the cramping feeling attacking them. Keeping himself from tightening up was always a problem. When you sat for so long...
An artificial claxon broke the quiet of the room. On spinning round he saw the confirmatory red panel flashing and he automatically raced back to the desk. Grabbing his headset, he placed it over his ears and then pressed the red button, accepting the incoming distress call.
“Coastguard Rescue!”
“Coastguard,” screamed a voice, “Is that the Coastguard?”
“Yes sir,” he answered calmly whilst inside his blood began to pump fast and he felt the nervous twinge in his stomach. This sounded like a bad one. “What’s the problem?”
“There’s someone out there. Someone on the rocks.”
“Where are you, sir?” The need to locate and then send help burned in his mind.
“I think they’re dead, God, I think she’s dead.”
“We will get help to you, sir, but I need to know where you are. Where are you, sir?”
“Oh God, she’s dead. She must be dead. I can see her throat, inside her throat. Even from here.”
“Where are you? Tell me where you are, sir?”
But the phone call had dropped from the system. His heart pounded but he forced his brain to think through what to do. Position, I need a position he thought, somewhere to send teams. Looking up at the screen he saw the incident had been flagged on his map. Because it was a mobile call, it was showing an indicative position, not necessarily accurate but based on a mobile mast and the information garnered electronically during the call. Start there, he thought, just start there.
Standing, he started issuing instructions to his colleague and shouted for their third watch keeper to come back in from their break. He requested they send a lifeboat, coastal rescue teams and a helicopter to the situation, treating the casualty as still alive despite the caller’s assertion. Then he called the mobile phone that the first informant, the man who had been so panicked, had called in on. But it just rang out.
As the wheels of search and rescue spun rapidly, he realised that this was no longer a qu…, routine night shift.
Chapter 2
Detective Inspector Macleod sat in one corner of the station’s cafeteria with his eyes closed. He could hear the clatter of knives and forks, spooning down of greasy breakfasts and cereals, coffee cups lifting and descending but he was in his own calm and serene island. It was always good to start a day with prayer and he had done so when he had arisen. But now as he waited for his colleague to join him, he indulged in some more brief moments with his Lord.
There was so much in this world that needed fixing, his day job told him that. Twenty years on the force and now working the murder squad, he had seen plenty, unlike the upstart that was about to join him. In recent years, everything had gone crazy. He had worked with women before, most of them more than competent at their jobs, indeed some had even been the reason they had solved certain cases. But he had grown up with women knowing their role in the home and this was
a change he had found hard to swallow.
Yet, he had swallowed it, to the point that his senior officer was a woman and he showed no resentment or annoyance but instead had worked with her the best he could. It helped that she was very professional, knew him and his job. And so, despite the many reservations he had, he worked with this new openness the force displayed.
However, the woman about to join him was different. In her mid-twenties, she had risen up the ranks quickly and was now a detective, recently assigned to his department. Although he had never worked directly with her, he had seen her about, usually in something provocative and unashamed to flirt. And not just with the men. There were rumours that she was quite hedonistic in her life but he had never seen the point of investigating this further as his boss had seen the sense of never assigning her to a team of his. But with Mackenzie having been taken off-line after the car crash, there was no choice but to pair them.
His eyes opened and he baulked at the flesh in front of his face. There were two buttons undone on her blouse and he was sure he could see a bra strap. As his head lifted he looked into the youthful face that smiled back at him. Her red hair was tied back in a ponytail and around her neck hung a simple gold chain on which hung a small cross. Inside something raged that this precious symbol was being hijacked by this woman but he knew he had to maintain his calm.
“Detective McGrath, thank you for your punctuality. I think it’s time we get to the airport, I believe the flight to Lewis leaves in a little less than two hours.”
The woman nodded. “Of course, but please call me Hope. I think using long titles just gets in the way, sir.”
Nodding, he rose from his own chair. Sir, that’s good, he thought, formal enough, she’s not getting to call me Seoras. Placing the chair back under the table, he saw one of the uniformed officers approach and hand Hope a small package. When the officer had gone, he asked her what it was.
“Just some photos from the convention I attended. Comic books, sir.” She took some out of the packet and handed them to Macleod. Looking at the first one, he saw her in a group of girls all dressed in bright, bold outfits. This was not an issue but the amount of body left uncovered was. Still, he couldn’t lecture her straight away about where this path would take her.
“Very good,” he said mutedly, “but we can’t stand around. There’s a body that wants to talk to us.” Hope nodded and he knew she got his point.
Routing via the office, they grabbed their small cases and were then taken by Johnstone to the airport. There would be a small team by the time everyone arrived but himself and Hope would be there as quickly as possible. The local officers would be holding the fort until then and he hoped they wouldn’t do anything daft. Deep inside, he knew this attitude towards the resident force was just a front for his nervousness about returning home, back to the island that had been his childhood home, a place he had not seen in over twenty years.
Waiting in the lounge, secreted down a small staircase, he looked around at the island faces about to board the small aeroplane with him. Someone had said the cross winds at Stornoway would make the landing fun and he remembered their devilish face, almost gloating in his apprehension at flying. The winged coach held just over thirty seats and he would be seated beside Hope in the cabin. Trying to focus his thoughts on the case before him, he found himself thinking of falling through the air, or seeing the plane run off the runway and then exploding into flames. Irrational and childish he knew, but he couldn’t beat these demons from his door.
“Coffee, sir.”
Hope was holding a paper cup before him and he gratefully took it. Watching her then walk over to the long window to stare at the airport workings, he saw several other men stare at her behind. When she turned round suddenly, he noticed their eyes quickly divert before commencing to stare again. There was no doubt that she was extremely attractive but Macleod felt that she flaunted her looks. When he was growing up, girls kept their legs covered and certainly showed no hint of breastbone never mind any lingerie peering out. She may not have been the most buxom woman he had ever seen but there was no need to offer them up like a sacrifice on the altar of men’s thoughts.
The Tannoy system broke into life and Macleod chuckled internally at the fact that the speaker was only ten feet away from his audience and yet was using this device to be heard. Standing with his ticket, he was flanked by Hope and he wondered how it must look to others, a slip of a girl as his companion. No, she was no “slip” of a girl. Detective McGrath was almost six foot, and although reasonably broad, did not have an obvious ounce of fat on her. Maybe it was because she was in that prime of life, a time when even he had so little wrong with his physical appearance. No, everyone was probably thinking they were work colleagues. The thought that people were surmising he was a dirty old man, was not one to be entertained.
The aircraft rolled down the runway and glided into the sky, but was then buffeted by some rough winds. Macleod swallowed hard trying to keep a solemn appearance. His ears were being assaulted by the noise of the engines and he suddenly realised McGrath was talking to him. She seemed to be asking if he was alright but was leaning forward and he found the scent of her perfume invading his nostrils. It was subtle and pleasant, intoxicating to a degree and coupled with her neckline, it gave him a warm sensation. But it was wrong and he looked away from her, holding a hand up to indicate no help was required.
Thankfully the trip was short and before he knew it, the Saab 340 was approaching the runway at Stornoway. Beneath him, he saw only white clouds and wondered just what sort of day the island was having. Growing up, he remembered dreich days, days when the drizzle seemed to be a life constant and you never saw the sun. This was replaced by times of extreme winds and rain that he was sure did not fall from above but came at your face side on, driving into your clothing and seeping through to the skin beneath. That cold, damp feeling as you were buffeted along the street had never left him.
The cloud cover broke abruptly and he looked out of the window to catch a first glimpse of the island. But the aircraft was only a few hundred feet up and he could see the runway out of his window. Surely that wasn’t right. The blessed piece of asphalt should be ahead of the aircraft not at the side. His hands gripped the arm rests. Staring wildly, he felt exposed. There was nothing he could do. His life was in the hands of the pilots. He should have come by ferry.
A hand was placed over his and he turned to see Hope saying it was fine. She spoke loudly and he heard something about it being due to the cross winds and that the plane would soon straighten. Her free hand was making a flicking motion to help her explanation but in truth it was the smiling face, delightful scent and wide green eyes that was calming him down. He drunk in her visage as the aircraft made that slight adjustment and landed smoothly. Having landed, he removed his hand and felt embarrassed. He had behaved like some old man. And then the guilt of enjoying her looks struck him. A brazen woman, he silently requested forgiveness from above.
In the small arrivals hall, they were met by PC Smith, on detachment from Inverness who led them to one of the local cars. The drive into town was short and Macleod looked at the overcast sky and light drizzle that was falling. Yes, he remembered these days. No doubt those little fiends, the midges, would be out and about, eating the skin off everyone. For something so small they were ferocious in the damage they did to you. Hope’s white skin would be a prime target. Again he found himself thinking of the brazen woman.
The rest of the murder team would be arriving later that day but Macleod was keen to get on with business and insisted on being taken to where the body was found right away. PC Smith advised that they would have to drop by the station and pick up another driver, as he was required elsewhere. On arrival, and after the formal greetings, Macleod insisted on a car and he asked Hope to drive. But when he held the driver’s door open for her, she seemed affronted.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you want to drive? It’s just I want to think some things over
.”
“Sir,” replied McGrath, “you don’t need to open doors for me. I’m capable of getting about, I have driven before. And on the way up here, you offered me seats, you let me through first, you do minor things for me like I am incapable. You don’t need to.”
“I’m just being civil, gentlemanly. A man should afford a woman certain courtesies. It’s only right that...”
Hope rallied. “Courtesies? You mean I’m weaker. I think I would kick your arse any day. And I don’t remember me shitting my pants on the landing today.”
She was so coarse. Modern women spoke in such an ugly fashion. “Don’t use that tone with me, McGrath. I am your superior.”
“Sorry, sir!” Hope stood in defiance, daring him to say more.
He knew he had offended her but really she had no need to take offence, he was only stating the honest truth. When God had made man and woman, she had been made for him and so to protect her and look after her was only reasonable. But these days it seemed women wanted to stand on their own.
“Shall we get on?” asked Macleod.
“Of course,” Hope replied. “But kindly cut out the male chauvinistic bollocks. Sir!”
He found himself staring at her, not in anger but in admiration. He was used to quiet women. His mother had been one, strong at raising her family but quiet in the presence of his father. But Hope was the new breed and as he watched her unblinking face and taut shoulders, he found himself more than a little turned on by her attitude. Like a challenge. But that was wrong.
“Okay, McGrath. Let’s just try this again, we got work to do.”
Chapter 3
As the car drove smoothly along the single track road, Macleod saw the sheep casually lazing about, occasionally breaking into a hurried shuffle as the car got too close for comfort. Hope was cursing at the animals and inside he decided at some point he would need to rein in her language. There was no need to swear, no possible requirement that could justify the f-word. If she used the Lord’s name in vain he would most definitely pull her up for it.
