At eight the next morning, he stood shivering outside the bed-and-breakfast, hands in pockets and wishing he’d had time to dress for the Scottish temperature and weather. Watching low, grey clouds blow in from the sea like so much sky litter he wondered if this was Congrave’s punishment. Maybe the cop would turn up, take a photo of him looking like a lost sheep, and email it to Sheddlestone Hall. Then everyone could laugh at him before the cop drove him all the way back to Aberdeen airport.
At least thinking about that took his mind off the breakfast he’d been served. Ben shivered again, but this time at the memory of the Scottish black pudding that had occupied part of the plate. Homemade apparently. When the owner’s wife told Ben the ingredients, he stopped listening at four cups of blood. He was fortunate that the owners disappeared into the kitchen and he could palm the pudding off on their dog when they weren’t watching. He just hoped the mutt survived long enough so he wouldn’t be blamed for its inevitable demise.
A police car came into view on the road that passed in front of the B&B. Ben watched it slow and make the turn into the drive. He decided waiting in the chill wind was a dumb idea so went to meet the car and got in before the driver turned the engine off.
“Mr Scarrett?” the cop looked about thirty, sounded Scottish, and had dark hair cropped close to his scalp.
“Call me Ben.”
They shook hands in the tight confines of the car.
“John McGrath,” the cop smiled. “You’re American.”
“You make a good policeman.”
“Only the best make it through selection.” McGrath laughed. “I didn’t mean you were American. I meant it more in surprise. I was just told someone would be sent up to meet me.”
“Only the best get sent,” Ben said as they pulled out onto the road. “Problem is they didn’t tell me why I’m here.”
“Ah, well now, that’s down to me,” McGrath took them towards the town. “We had something odd happen here yesterday, and I wasn’t sure how to handle it.”
“What happened?”
McGrath paused to wave hello to a young woman walking a dog. “Well, it’s kind of awkward to talk about if they haven’t briefed you.”
“Try me.”
“About six months ago, we lost one of our local men when he was washed overboard from a fishing boat. Old Davey Cullen was sixty, and he was one of life’s characters. Lifeboats and air-sea rescue helicopters searched for him, but they never found his body. Everyone knew him, and his memorial service was one of those occasions that brought the whole town together.”
McGrath took a left turn and then swung the car a tight right into the car park of a pub called The Fisherman. He sat still for a moment before turning the engine off. Ben waited.
“He was lost six months ago, almost to the day. Then yesterday Old Davey turns up at the pub, wet through. He walked into the snug and ordered his usual drink. The landlord is ex-police, he closed the bar and called me. Davey is still in there. Just sitting and waiting.”
Ben looked at the pub. “How many people know about this?”
“In town? Just me and Murdo, the landlord.”
“And out of town?”
McGrath rubbed his hand around the steering wheel before he answered. “I did twelve years in the army before I joined the police. I guessed something like this would be best kept to the fewest number of people possible.”
“Why?” Ben asked. “He could have just tried a life insurance scam. People have done that before.”
“True.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“No. I stuck my head around the door to take a look, but the smell told me everything I needed to know. Kind of... fishy.”
“So, who did you speak to?”
“There’s an anti-terrorism liaison officer at headquarters in Tulliallan. I tried him. He called me back a couple of hours later and said someone would be up with me today.”
“Me.”
“Aye, you. Have you met many dead people?”
“Enough to know that a guy who sits in a pub with a drink is my kind of dead person.”
McGrath gave him a disbelieving look as he opened his door. Ben joined him in the now driving rain. McGrath took one look at Ben’s thin fleece and said, “I’ll get you to Drover’s shop in town. You need to be properly dressed, or you’ll get hypothermia.”
“I was hoping I wouldn’t be staying too long.” Ben ran to the door of the pub with a laughing McGrath following at a slow walk.
The landlord met them. McGrath introduced him as Murdo O’Connor, a big man whose grasp engulfed Ben’s as they shook hands.
“You’ve got yourself an odd job if it’s dead men who interest you,” Murdo said as he led them along a narrow corridor. He stopped by a black painted door with frosted glass inset into it. “He’s in there. I wouldn’t mind if you could take him somewhere else. Having this bar closed cost me money last night. I’ll be in the kitchen with John, just down there on the left.”
Ben nodded. The two men moved away, McGrath glancing back with a frown on his face. Ben waited until they disappeared before he checked his gun, holstered at the small of his back. He opened the door to the bar and walked in.
McGrath wasn’t joking about the smell.
Ben looked at the thin man sitting at a small, round table with a pint of beer in front of him. He wore the kind of waterproof clothing used by deep sea fishermen. A thick rubber that creased as Old Davey sat and stared at the wall opposite him. Ben rubbed his nose to prevent a sneeze forming as he stepped across the small room to stand in front of Davey.
“Hi,” Ben said with a smile. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”
No response. Old Davey stared right through Ben’s middle. Ben sat down anyway. He studied Davey’s face. The old man had seen some bad times. His pale flesh clung to a thin face, and in places it seemed to drip like melting wax.
“Are you local?” Ben asked. “I’m touring around and wanted to chat to a local. I think it’s the best way of finding out about an area.”
Silence. As far as Old Davey seemed concerned, Ben didn’t exist. Ben sighed. He settled onto the hard surface of the stool and waited. It took a minute or two to notice that Davey didn’t seem to be breathing.
Well, duh, he is dead.
Ben watched for a count of two minutes. Davey didn’t take a breath.
“Mind if I ask a question?” Ben asked. He waited for the expected no response before he added. “You see, I’ve been told the last time anyone saw you was when you went over the side of a fishing boat. Is that right?”
At last, Davey’s pale eyes focussed on Ben. A hand came up off the table, reaching out. Ben met him halfway, gripping the old man’s hand.
The cold hit Ben a solid blow. It drove the air from his lungs as water engulfed him. He lost all sense of motion, the sweep of the sea taking him up and down even as it turned him over in a never-ending roll. He saw the surface and beyond it bright sky and the silhouette of the boat. His waterproofs flooded and the weight of the water dragged him down. Ben reached out, desperate to maintain contact with the world of air. He sank deeper, the crush of the water squeezing his limbs as the water around him darkened. He felt the fire start in his lungs, twin spots that expanded until his chest screamed for release. The last of the light faded. The cold numbed him. Ben sank lower, and his last thoughts were like the weak flicker of a moth’s wings as it died against a flame.
Two spots of light drifted towards him, weaving through the dark. Ben fixed upon them, tried to identify them as he floated in the void. He saw the eyes come closer. Their light illuminated a face. A man’s face. He reached out to Ben, pulling him into an embrace that flooded Ben with warmth.
“Ben? Ben?” McGrath pulled at Ben’s shoulder and rolled him onto his side. Ben stared up, breathing hard. He still felt the cold of the water as a chill that seemed to sink to the marrow of his bones. McGrath looked genuinely frightened as he said, “Davey’s gone. We heard foots
teps in the corridor and Murdo glanced out to see Davey leaving the pub. Murdo’s followed him.”
Ben tried to sit up but his right hand, the one that had touched Davey, still held a numbness that left it weak and out of control. Ben cradled his left arm below his right and got to his feet. A wave of sickness washed over him. If it hadn’t been for McGrath’s strong hand holding him steady, Ben would have fallen.
“What happened?” McGrath asked.
Ben shook his head. He still needed to get all this straight. “I don’t know,” he said.
McGrath didn’t seem convinced. “Are you okay to follow them? Murdo went out in a hurry and isn’t dressed for the weather.”
“Sure.”
Ben followed McGrath back along the corridor and out into the rain. The temperature seemed to have lost a couple of more degrees and Ben sat in the police car with relief. McGrath swung the vehicle in a tight reverse sweep and then burned rubber out onto the road. They could see Murdo a couple of hundred yards away at an intersection. He waved to them, and McGrath pulled up hard alongside him.
Murdo squeezed into the back and said, “He’s heading for the harbour.”
“Through Grey Passage?” McGrath asked.
“Aye.”
McGrath got the car rolling again and said to Ben, “The Passage is too narrow for us. We’ll go through the High Street and see him on the other side of these buildings.”
“Lucky the weather’s so bad,” Murdo said. “It’ll keep folks inside and the less people who see him, the better.”
McGrath nodded. He slowed for a right turn and said, “Are you going to tell me what happened or is it something that only some kind of super spy who talks to the walking dead can know?”
Ben wiggled the fingers of his right hand. The feeling began to return with the sharp, almost painful, tingle of pins and needles. He watched the colour of the flesh rise from near white as blood circulated. He clasped his hand into a fist.
“Well?” McGrath asked.
“I’m sorry,” Ben said. “It’s need to know.”
“And what if I talk about it? Tell the press? Tell Davey’s family?”
Ben smiled. “They won’t believe you. And something like that can ruin your reputation, maybe even your career.”
McGrath slowed the car, looking hard at Ben. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” Ben shook his head. “It’s the truth. Look, I’ll see what I can do. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try to be honest.”
That seemed to satisfy McGrath, at least Ben hoped it did. They were on the road down to the harbour now, passing dead-end road signs as the road narrowed before it opened out onto a cobbled breakwater that formed one arm of the sheltered water. Only one rusting fishing boat clung to the harbour side like a drunk to a wall.
“There he is.” Murdo pointed between Ben and McGrath.
The stick thin figure in yellow and blue waterproofs stumbled and almost fell as he walked between stacks of lobster pots. Old Davey Cullen walked out onto the breakwater, and McGrath followed as far as he could before metre high metal bollards prevented the car moving any further.
“Out we get,” McGrath said.
At least the rain seemed to have eased off. Ben trotted behind the cop and the pub landlord, still holding his right arm. He worried that the lingering numbness wouldn’t leave. A shout made him look up. The harbour lay on the right-hand side of the breakwater, on the left was the sea, but the sea wall had been built two metres higher on this side to give some protection from prevailing winds. Now Ben could see Davey climbing a set of steps that led to the top of the wall. McGrath broke into a sprint as Davey reached the top.
Murdo let Ben take the steps first. When Ben got to the top, the wind almost knocked him off his feet. He saw the sea, a grey, miserable expanse of water that merged with the sky, its waves topped by white foam. Davey walked towards the end of the sea defence. McGrath had slowed, unsure of his footing as the wind gusted and the slick surface of the wall made his feet slip and slide. Ben caught him up, passing the cop as Davey reached the end of the wall.
“Davey?” The wind snatched the word and tore it apart. “Davey?” this time screamed.
The old man turned. He looked at Ben and almost smiled. A hand rose in farewell. Ben stumbled to a halt a dozen metres from the end of the wall and the beginning of the sea.
“Davey, wait.” Ben reached out a hand, his right hand, and prayed the old man would come to him.
He didn’t.
Old Davey Cullen turned and stepped off the edge. Ben saw him fall with the sudden swoop of gravity that plucked the old man from existence as he fell from view. Ben ran to the end of the wall, teetering for a moment before he got his balance. Cullen lay in the water, just below the surface. McGrath came to Ben’s side and then Murdo as the old man slowly turned in the water. A wave swept over him. Cullen seemed to grow, his body morphing into a mass that held fins as well as arms.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” Murdo whispered as he crossed himself.
Cullen, or what had once been Cullen, sank deeper beneath the waves. As he disappeared from view, Ben saw the glow of his eyes, a dull yellow that illuminated a bearded face before the sea claimed him once more.
Twenty minutes later the three men sat in the pub’s kitchen. Murdo had a double scotch in a glass resting in front of him. McGrath drank coffee, though he relented at Murdo’s insistence and allowed ‘a wee dram’ of whisky to be added to the mug. Ben had coffee, straight up, full fat milk and three sugars. His right arm was back to normal, but the chill in his blood still lingered as the wind roared around the pub.
“I’m sorry,” McGrath said, looking up from his drink at Ben.
“What for?”
“For threatening to take this to the press. I don’t think they’d believe this.”
Ben gave him a lopsided smile. “I could point you in the direction of a couple of websites that would take the story.”
McGrath shook his head. “I don’t think so. Even I wouldn’t sink that low.”
“Will you be staying around now Davey’s gone back to where he belongs?” Murdo asked.
Ben shook his head. In truth, he wanted to get the hell out of the town as soon as he could without causing too much offence. “I’ll head back south.”
“If you can wait until this afternoon I can drive you down,” McGrath told him.
“Thanks.” Ben sipped at his drink before he dug his wallet out and passed over two business cards, one to McGrath, the other to Murdo. “Any problems in the future, give me a call. If I don’t answer the mobile number, someone will be on the landline.”
“Are we likely to need this?” Murdo asked.
“I hope not,” Ben said.
***
The weather improved by the time McGrath drove Ben south. Bright blue sky made the hills and mountains look almost inviting as the sun illuminated the granite peaks. McGrath asked a few questions about Ben’s work but got little in the way of information. He did find out that Ben was just getting into a new relationship.
“Is she English?”
“No, American,” Ben said.
“Is she still in the States?”
“No, she’s over here.”
“That’s good. Most women liked the idea of having a man in the army until they disappear on a six-month deployment. It’s not too bad now but when we were serving in Iraq or Afghanistan the stress at home was too much to take for some, and the number of failed marriages rocketed.”
“You included in that?”
“Me? No. A few girlfriends Dear John’d me over the years but I’ve never been married.”
“Anyone significant on the scene?” Ben asked.
“I’ve been dating a teacher at the local primary school for a few months. Seems to be going okay.”
“I guess there’s not much to do back there. It’s on the edge of nowhere.”
“Aye,” McGrath laughed. “And winter starts in October and ends in May
if you’re lucky, July if you’re not.”
“Ever thought about moving south?”
“South as in England? Sometimes, but Scotland’s in my blood.”
Ben thought about that as they continued the drive south. He wanted to find out more about McGrath’s service record. Having to come up to Scotland whenever there was a paranormal event didn’t fill him with the joys of Spring. Maybe a chat with Congrave would see a potential recruit up here.
They arrived at the airport with plenty of time to kill. McGrath didn’t stick around, the short-term parking charges cost an arm and a leg. Ben found a coffee shop, bought a mocha and a chocolate brownie and fired up his phone.
The list of missed calls scrolled off the bottom of the screen. All from Kramer. Ben considered the best option; turn the phone off, wait for her to call again or call her and get an ear bashing for being out of contact. Well, he had the empty lands of north Scotland to blame for that, if she believed him. But would she believe him?
Ben tried the coffee and the cake. After all her flirting with Stanton, Ben didn’t want Kramer to think he was missing her. He thought about the problem for about ten more seconds and turned the phone off. He’d let her hang on a little while longer before returning her call.
***
Some days were better than others. Today would not be a good day.
Emily DeForrest tiptoed passed her mom’s bedroom door, made one exaggerated step to get over a creaky floorboard at the top of the stairs and then made her way down to the hall. She missed out step five because that one squeaked and then, with relief, she reached the ground floor. Now she paused again, listening to see if she could hear her mother moving around. Nothing.
Emily could move with more confidence now. The floor under the carpet was made from concrete, no creaks from that. She eased into the kitchen, gave the dining table a wide berth and stopped at the back door. Two bolts and a lock. She did the lock first, turning it as slowly as possible until the tumblers fell into place. Bottom bolt was easy, kneel and work it back into its open position. Top bolt, now that posed a problem but she’d figured it out before; it just meant climbing onto the work surface and making sure she didn’t fall off as she slid the bolt back. Now she could get out. She left the door slightly ajar and sat on the bottom step so she could look at the garden and the sun as it rose above the trees.
The Anomaly (Scarrett & Kramer Book 2) Page 4
