Abduction in Dalgety Bay

by Ramsay Sinclair

  We shared a forced laugh.

  “Rebecca is good at babysitting. She has to be when working with Cillian. You should’ve let her take the Carling’s home,” I suggested distractedly.

  “She’s good with everything, as you’ve already told us,” McCall said, grimacing at the mess scattered across the floor. “I see our cleaning efforts were wasted on you. Your office is like a garbage heap already.”

  “I can’t help it,” I said in a high pitched tone. “And am I sensing a hint of jealousy about Rebecca’s skillset?” If McCall was getting jealous, I’d scarper as far away as possible and out of the firing line.

  “No, of course not,” McCall defended, molten hair tumbling in cascades. “It’s genuine awe. She could steal my job in a heartbeat.”

  Rebecca could easily apply for any job she wanted to and pass any exam she took.

  “And mine,” I told the honest truth.

  Pacing to stimulate any new thoughts, McCall gestured wildly. “Why do all our criminals love to be shrouded in mystery?” She wiped a food stain from the shoulder pad of her suit jacket. “For once, I’d love a criminal to admit they’ve done the crime without requiring our involvement to decode it all.”

  “That’s rhetorical, right?” I wondered. “They’re overly creative minds who have taken up the wrong occupation.”

  “Are you sure the term isn’t called irony?” She screwed her face up in thought, struggling to figure it out. “English language was never my best subject.” She gave up and pretended to nap.

  “Probably because you’re Scottish,” my witty sarcasm displayed itself.

  McCall couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Glad to see your dad jokes have returned,” she said, but I knew she’d missed them dearly. “What a team we are, eh?” She tutted as she diverted her attention to the various items of Sarah’s. “Is that everything from the school bag?”

  Double-checking by delving back into the bag, I pulled away in disgust as my fingers were coated in a brownish substance. I sniffed them apprehensively, much to McCall’s disdain.

  “Chocolate,” I confirmed and dug around for the culprit. It was a Mars bar, one of my favourites. “That should be the last of Sarah’s items that were on her person at the time of the kidnapping.”

  “You should save the chocolate for later,” McCall mocked, knowing that I probably would. “I have a feeling we’ll be doing overnight shifts for the next two days until the exchange is upon us. We may not have a chance to get food, and the entire office will be fighting over that very bar.”

  “This is potential evidence,” I reminded her, kind of upset that a perfectly good mars bar was going to waste. “You make the team sound like savage beasts.”

  McCall snorted. “They are. Especially Cillian. So, what are you thinking?”

  “You don’t want to know what’s on my mind,” I scoffed and accidentally bit my tongue whilst speaking.

  “I meant, what do you think about the school items?” She held Sarah’s painting up in the air to confirm that I’d taken her the wrong way.

  “Right. I knew that,” I lied and rifled through the stuff Sarah was taking home on the afternoon of the kidnapping. “Erm, I think that she’s a primary school kid that had a drink and did a drawing. She obviously forgot about the chocolate.”

  “Deep.” McCall stared at the scribbled drawing and twisted it in a multitude of angles to figure the depiction out. “Whatever would we do without the wisdom you bestow upon us?”

  “Thank you,” I fake bowed.

  McCall gave up on the artwork and let it float to the desktop. Still, she tried to be positive.

  “Well, they say art is subjective. Sarah’s on the right lines there. The drawing is practically indistinguishable. Picasso would be proud. As would my old art teacher, she was a cow.” It was no wonder. McCall had scribbled a few cartoons when she was bored once, and they were awful. “None of this stuff tells us anything new about Sarah nor the kidnapper. Can you pass me the bag? I want to take a look myself.”

  Letting go of the canvas, I watched as she ran her fingers across the circumference of the rectangular bookbag whilst frowning.

  “Do you need a moment to yourself, or--?” I offered.

  “Stop it,” she cocked her angular face in disgust. “It just strikes me as odd.” She hummed, inspecting the material twice over.

  “Odd?”

  “Odd,” McCall repeated, and the word was quickly becoming overused. “Mrs Carling said the bag was dropped in the struggle. I don’t know about you, but I’d expect a fray here or a tear there. A mark of some kind? Sarah’s books weren’t damaged, nor had the water bottle leaked.”

  “No…” I, too, touched the fabric. “But… the chocolate was ruined. Mrs Carling may have relayed the exact events wrong. She was watching her kid get snatched by a kidnapper,” I reminded my partner gently. “Things are bound to be foggy in her mind.”

  “You’re right,” McCall stood up decisively. “Grab your coat. Or whatever you need to take out with us.”

  “Where are we going?” A throaty whine escaped from my lips, having just gotten comfortable.

  “Market research or whatever you want to label it. We’ve got less than forty-eight hours until going against this criminal, so I suggest we make ourselves useful. I want to chat with Sarah’s teachers, see if any of them saw anything unusual about her. Find out who Sarah was speaking to on that day or if any of the parents have any interesting gossip. We’ll be inconspicuous but clever. Chop, chop.”

  Bossy as she sounded, McCall was right. The school could even help us find out if they’d seen anyone strange lurking outside the gates in the past few weeks.

  “Alright, so that isn’t a terrible idea. But give me a minute, I beg of you. My athleticism is in decline.”

  “Finlay, you never had any athleticism, to begin with.”

  14

  The once crisp skyline of Dalgety Bay had transformed in the past couple of hours, now tainted by smog-filled clouds and fumes from the fumes from cars whizzing by on the gravel streets. The rain was threatening to move in and fast. Vivid hues of cobalt and were coated in a light dusting of grey. The weather wasn't easy to gauge here, and we were never quite sure what it was going to do from day to day. Would it be crystal clear one day or thunderstorms the next?

  Great waves rolled and crashed on the lick of shoreline a few miles away, picking up in height and strength. We could hear them as we traced the road on which Sarah Carling was kidnapped. McCall held her hand out cautiously, palm facing the sky, to test whether the drops were falling yet. It’s like Chicken Licken when he was worried that the sky was falling down. We’re forever worried about the tumultuous Scotch mist. My smart shoe got scuffed on a loose stone, and I bent over to rub the scuff mark away without avail.

  Typical. The one decent pair of shoes I owned were already ruined by our neverending endeavours.

  Dalgety Bay Primary School rounded into our sights, chock-a-block with playful children. The iron playground gates were erected high and proud, though, from the inside, they probably acted as confines for the giddy children messing around on the playground as caged-up zoo animals would. It was all perspective, really, like anything in life. There were the optimists and the pessimists. Three guesses to which category I came under.

  There was a sheer abundance of screaming, yelling and happy children playing tag on the concrete, a few of which had grazed knees and snotty noses. I shuddered at the sight.

  “You alright?” McCall wondered.

  “I’m not the biggest fan of too many children at once. They're… messy.”

  “Whatever mess these kids could make, Cillian could double.” She grinned and nudged my ribs in jest. “They’re not so bad once you get used to them. Having kids of your own would be different to these. You end up preferring them to all the rest out of a sense of pride.”

  “You’re probably right about that,” I muttered and traipsed into the playground behind the sergeant. />
  Neither of us had stepped foot into a school for years, and this only reminded me why. The teachers reprimanded the kids for ‘playing too close to the gates’ or for being too noisy,’ and freedom was limited in these kinds of establishments. I hated school, especially secondary school. They limited our differences and expected us to learn in their set guidelines.

  As a practical kid, I felt restricted, especially when my parents would clip me round the ear for failing in school. It was a different era then, one where academics were praised and pursuing anything but could be seen as failure. That’s what nudged me into CID, the practicality of it all. Minus the paperwork.

  We could all live without that.

  Upon entering the brightly painted entrance to the school, a couple of stray parents checked us over suspiciously, having shown up to pick a few kids who had been taken ill before the day was over. A few sparse kids sat placidly on tiny seats, sick bowls held up to their chins or ice packs held flush to their scuffed elbows.

  “Can I help you?” the cheery receptionist wondered sweetly, poles apart from our station dynamics. Staring at the hundreds of pieces of children's art like Sarah’s adorning their walls, I left it up to McCall to take the lead here.

  “Excuse us for intruding upon you at a busy time, but it’s quite urgent. I’m DS McCall, and this is our DI, Detective Inspector Cooper.” She flashed our ID badges simultaneously. “We’re here on behalf of the young girl, Sarah Carling. She was kidnapped a few days ago.”

  The receptionist’s jaw dropped in awe. “We were told all about that. It’s absolutely awful. Have you heard any word about Sarah? We’re all terribly worried about her. She was such a bright girl.” The woman was extremely over the top, even from her wacky hairstyle to the seven gold rings I counted that adorned each finger.

  “Is.”

  “Sorry?” The receptionist turned away to face me, having misheard.

  “I said, is. Sarah is still alive.” I stressed the importance of using the correct tense. A few of the parents were eavesdropping on the conversation whilst filling out sick notes.

  “Of course, I’m sorry about that,” she apologised straight away. “How can I be of service?” She seemingly preferred to deal with McCall instead, knitting her overgrown eyebrows together in haste.

  “Well, we wanted a chat with those close to Sarah here. Teachers, friends, or anyone you can recommend in general.” McCall’s statement ended up being more of a question. “Parents even. We’ll try not to take up too much of your time, but I’m sure you understand that this is a serious inquiry.”

  The receptionist gaped like a fish. “That’s perfectly understandable. The person that could best help with your questions the most would be Lucy. She was hired to teach the children basic English, but she dabbles in some of our subjects sometimes and does the playground duties often. She’s close to everyone. I’d even go so far as to say she’s our pupil’s favourite teacher. I’ll call her down here, and you can speak to her privately if you’d wish? Away from any prying ears.”

  The receptionist hovered her hand above the plastic office phone, awaiting our confirmation. The parents, formerly known as those prying ears, glowed in embarrassment that they’d been caught out and bundled their flu-ridden children out of the premises.

  “That’d be great.” McCall nodded and took one of the miniscule chairs lined up next to the walls. “Thanks for the help. We’ll wait here. That’ll be fine.”

  I folded my arms and dug my hip bone into the wall next to her, preferring to stand up. If I attempted to squeeze into one of those midget seats, I’d cause an embarrassment for us all.

  It took a while for the receptionist to locate the teacher, so we had a while to awkwardly waste the ticking minutes. Running my tongue over my teeth, I noticed they had that remarkably furry texture to them. The daily glasses of wine I’d annihilated had many hidden sugars that weren’t doing my dental health any favours.

  “I hope we aren’t going to be waiting here long,” I huffed impatiently, never one for twiddling my thumbs. “It’ll set us back from other lines of inquiry we should be following.”

  “Apologies, DI Cooper. That wasn’t my intention, nor would it ever be,” a calm and collected, instantly recognisable voice grabbed my attention. A flush of pink instantly stained my neck, and I guess my cheeks didn’t escape the hot flush either. I was purely embarrassed and failed to hide it.

  “Lucy.” I recognised the name a fraction too late. “Hullo.” I rocked on my heels in an attempt to divert her shrewd gaze. She was a witness to us in the Paul Roberts murder case, and I’d offended her by being my brash, unthoughtful self. Now, I hoped I was a changed man.

  “Hello again, DI Cooper. It’s good to see you safe and well. And you, DS McCall.” Lucy greeted us politely.

  “This is a surprise. We should’ve put two and two together.” McCall genuinely smiled and shook her hand.

  “Usually, it would be a surprise, but I’m fairly up to date on the situation. I’m guessing you’re not here for biscuits and coffee?” Lucy continued to adjust her flowing blouse, which was made from fine silk. “Whenever I see you two, it’s usually bad news.”

  “We aren’t that bad, are we?” I threw a wry grin.

  “I said usually. Sometimes it’s positive,” Lucy said as she reciprocated the gesture. The glasses she wore were larger than most and only emphasised her elongated features. Too much reading had probably damaged her eyesight badly, to need glasses with a prescription so strong.

  “You’re right, although a coffee would be appreciated,” McCall articulated, and the receptionist scuttled away to keep us fulfilled and sweet. “We want to talk to you about Sarah Carling.”

  A moment of silence passed, and her shoulders drooped low. “Sarah is an amazing young girl. When I heard that a kidnapping had happened, especially to their family, and only a moment away from the school no less, the first thing I wanted to do was--” Her nostrils flared widely, and those tiny hands balled tightly in anger.

  “We know,” I helped her out softly. “Which is why some help would be appreciated.”

  “Always.” She gulped and sat opposite McCall.

  The receptionist handed us some coffee and then left us to it. I reluctantly pushed my cup over to McCall’s side as it was my least favourite beverage. She took the subtle hint and drank both cups to spare me the blushes.

  “We want to know what Sarah was like during her time here. Who she spoke to and who saw her the most. Anything off or not quite right about her daily routine. Did she mention anything about her home life at all?” McCall bombarded the teacher with questions, all of them leaving a sour taste in Lucy’s mouth.

  Lucy took a quick sip of her coffee and flinched when the liquid touched her nude tinted lips. She was a natural woman, yet quirky too. There was something poetic and graceful in the way she carried herself that no one I’d met could portray as unknowingly.

  “Hot?” I questioned lightly, often having similar experiences from our cups of tea at the office. The vapour steamed up her thick-rimmed glasses, setting off the studious exuberance that radiated from the teacher.

  “Yeah.” She chuckled in embarrassment. “Sarah was a bright student. We would chat for ages on the key stage two poems they were reading. For her age, she’s unnaturally interested in writing. Don’t get me wrong, it’s brilliant for me. It makes my job enjoyable to have a student actually interested in learning.” We paused dutifully to allow Lucy to continue explaining.

  “I can imagine this is a very fulfilling job,” I complimented, eager to prove I wasn't the obnoxious twat she's originally met. A lot had taken place in my life since then to shape me into a semi-decent and compassionate man. Or so I thought, but maybe I was pompous.

  Lucy stared up at me in surprise, and a delicate light hit her blonde locks in an oddly ethereal fashion. Something of an angelic figure, innocent and willing to do the right thing in a world full of wrong. I remembered her soft yet bold nature fro
m when we’d met for the first time.

  “I’m sure that your positions are equally rewarding, no?” She seemed excited by the very notion.

  McCall snorted and spilt her coffee in the process.

  “That depends on the situation. Unfortunately, it isn’t, more often than not,” I specified. “People aren’t the fondest of the force as a whole. We prefer to describe ourselves as marmite. Some love us whilst the rest hate us.”

  “Oh, I see.” Lucy blushed and recoiled in her seat. She distracted herself by taking another sip of her coffee. “What I was saying earlier is that there were a few poems that the class loved. We’d do these memory exercises where I’d give them a couple of lines to remember and get them to recite them to me the next day.”

  She must've noticed my grimace. “I know it sounds boring, but they had a lot of fun.” She laughed lightly. “At least, I hope they did.” She wiped her black-rimmed glasses clean.

  “And Sarah’s home life?” McCall tried again, her freckles standing out in the natural sunlight.

  “Relatively normal, I think. Nothing any of us staff members were concerned about. I mean, we knew that her parent’s business was shutting down, but that’s only because we do playground duty. The mothers all have their meetings out there, gossiping about the parents who aren’t there.” Lucy shook her head in disbelief, a tiny grin gracing us.

  “Who was she friends with? Anyone with dodgy parents?” McCall noted now that we were on the subject, much to the teacher’s horror.

  “Not that I know of. Sarah’s best friend has parents that are fine people. They own the cake shop in town.” Lucy was sharing everything she knew without filters. It was refreshing to gather a lot of information at once.

  “I know the one.” McCall nodded. “I brought John’s birthday cake from there last year. It was delicious.”

  We had clearly moved onto the subject of boyfriends and cakes.

  “You’re telling me,” the friendly teacher agreed. “I pop in there most weeks to treat myself even if it’s dangerous for my waistline. I won't fit into anything soon.”