Strong looked at O’Neil blankly. ‘You’ll do as I say, or you won’t get anything. Let’s not forget our little arrangement, Declan.’
‘You’re still holding that o’er my heid, eh?’
‘One word from me, and you’re in a nice cell for a few years. You won’t have to worry about electricity bills, or food. Shit, I might be doing you a favour.’ Strong grimaced.
‘Right, we’ll dae it your way, big man. You know me, easy-going an’ that.’
Strong reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a bundle of notes held together by a thick elastic band. ‘You don’t have to count it. As soon as the thing is done, you’ll get the rest. You have my word. A small bonus, if you keep your head down and don’t get into any trouble in the meantime.’
‘You’re a gentleman, so you are,’ said O’Neil, just before he was taken by a paroxysm of coughing, his throat rattling like a machine gun.
‘Right. For the time being, that concludes our business, Mr O’Neil. I have to get back to Edinburgh. Good day to you.’ Strong nodded to the passenger door.
‘Aye, and tae you, big man. Just give me a bell when – well, you know.’ O’Neil smiled broadly and began to cough again.
Strong waited until the wreck of a human being had left the car. Between thumb and forefinger he removed the plastic sheet from the passenger seat, wound down his window and dropped it into the space between his car and the next. In a few seconds he was reversing out of the parking space, glad his latest dealing with Declan O’Neil was at an end. Though the man stank to high heaven and looked like a benighted skeleton swaddled in rags, he was one of the best fixers that Strong knew. Had he not fallen victim to drug addiction, he would now likely be worth a small fortune. But such was life.
O’Neil looked on as the Bentley swished off, passing him without so much as a nod of the driver’s head. ‘Aye, fuck you too, you arsehole,’ he muttered under his breath as he watched the vehicle disappear down the ramp. However, he had money in his pocket now. He pulled an old mobile phone from his pocket. He pressed a button and waited for a few seconds. ‘Hey, big Donnie, man, how’s it hanging? I need some shit. Where are you, big fella?’ He listened for the reply, muttered a few words and shuffled off in search of the next chemical release from his miserable existence.
A line of police officers and some hastily gathered volunteers were making their way up the hill behind Rowan Tree Cottage. Likewise, a string of others walked along the beach and searched the machair banks for any sign of the missing Thorbin Doig. The fields were still stiff with ice, and the boulders on the beach were frosted like cakes. In the cold clear air, the Ayrshire coast looked almost close enough to touch, making a backdrop for the dark shadow of Ailsa Craig, silhouetted by the bright sun. All of the searchers were wrapped up warmly against the elements in gloves, hats and thick coats. If Doig was to be found, he must be found soon or risk freezing to death when night fell and temperatures dropped even further. It would seem he’d already had to suffer one night out in the open.
Scott and DS Potts had been assigned to search the cottage itself. Knowing this would be an unwelcome intrusion, Daley had made sure they were equipped with a warrant from the local JP before they broached the subject of entering the domicile with Ginny Doig.
Scott stubbed out a cigarette in the ashtray and turned to his younger colleague. ‘Right, son, no time like the present. Let’s go and see the wicked witch o’ the west in there and get this o’er with as quickly as possible.’
They stepped out of the car and made their way to the by now familiar rickety front door. Scott knocked hard with his gloved fist and the pair waited for a reply.
Sure enough, Ginny Doig appeared, staring up at them with her piercing green gaze. ‘Have yous found him?’
‘No, no’ yet, Mrs Doig. As you can see we’ve an extensive search on the go. The police helicopter will soon be here tae help, so we’re pulling out all the stops,’ said Scott, his frozen breath billowing before his face.
‘Aye, well I’ll leave you to it, then.’
‘As part of procedure we need tae search your home.’
‘O’er my dead body. Dae you no’ think if he was in here I wouldna have noticed him?’
‘That’s no’ the point, Mrs Doig. You might have missed something; a note, some clue or other.’
‘A note? You surely don’t think my boys can read or write?’
‘Well, that’s as maybe. We need to come in and have a look, just the same.’
Ginny Doig stood stubbornly in her doorway, arms folded across her tatty apron. ‘You can bugger off. You’re no’ wasting your time in my hoose when you should be away searching for my son and bringing that cow o’ a daughter o’ mine tae book for killing my husband.’
Scott sighed and produced a document from his overcoat. ‘Mrs Doig, this is a warrant to enter and search your domicile. Noo, I’d much rather you cooperated, but if you don’t we’re coming in anyway, and if you try to hinder us you’ll be detained under the terms listed here.’ Scott handed the warrant to her.
‘This is a travesty o’ justice! There’s my daughter sitting in the lap o’ luxury oot at Machrie while instead of you arresting her you’re persecuting me.’
‘Can we come in, then, or do we go the other route?’
‘You can wait until I’m good and ready!’ Without warning she tried to slam the door shut.
Scott was too quick for her and stuck his foot in the crack, stopping it closing. ‘Your attitude is beginning tae worry me, Mrs Doig.’ He pushed past her and into the cottage, Potts following in his wake.
Standing at the table, the remaining Doig sons looked on confused as their mother tried to pull Potts back out of the door.
‘Come on, you useless articles, help me!’ she shouted.
As though whipped into action by her words, both men lumbered out from behind the table. They were big, tall and strong, but with empty eyes.
Scott held out his hand. ‘I’m a police officer. Don’t come any nearer.’
‘Ignore him. Get them oot o’ the hoose!’ shouted Mrs Doig, as she continued to wrestle with a flummoxed-looking DS Potts.
The larger of the two men made for Scott, while the other lumbered off to help his mother.
‘I’m warning you. If you lay one finger on me, you’ll be arrested!’ shouted Scott.
As though he hadn’t heard the words, the youngest Doig son grabbed Scott’s throat with a vice-like grip. The policeman made a fist and punched him hard on the arm, but to no avail. Scott felt his feet being pulled up off the floor, and soon he was being propelled the way he’d come, towards the door. As he struggled to breathe, he heard Potts yelp in pain.
In seconds, Scott felt the pressure on his throat disappear as he was thrown bodily through the air and out into the yard. Potts lay bleeding near to where he’d landed. The door to Rowan Tree Cottage was slammed shut, locked and bolted.
‘Are you okay, son?’ said Scott, his own head spinning as he tried to pick himself up from the filthy concrete.
‘No. I think he broke my arm,’ replied DS Potts, grimacing in pain as he tried to get up.
‘Stay there, don’t move. I’ll need tae get some help here.’ Scott reached into his pocket and pulled out the airwave radio. ‘DI Scott tae all stations. Urgent assistance required at Rowan Tree Cottage. And get an ambulance. Over!’
In Kinloch police office, Daley heard Scott’s appeal over the radio. He flung his jacket over his shoulders and hurried out to his car. He’d thought that Mrs Doig would be difficult but he’d hoped that the warrant would be enough to persuade her to let Scott search the cottage. Then he remembered her sons. They looked placid enough, but they also looked big. As he started the car, Daley cursed himself for not being more careful.
‘DCI Daley to all stations involved in the search. Make your way immediately to Rowan Tree Cottage!’ he yelled into his radio as his car swung out of the blue gates and down Main Street.
24
Liz was getting James junior ready for nursery. He hadn’t been the day before because of the abortive visit to the dentist, so she really had to take him. Her throbbing head, parched mouth and queasy stomach, though, made the task feel almost impossible. But nonetheless she dressed her son, who because he enjoyed nursery was luckily in a cooperative mood.
‘Where’s your other boot, James?’ she asked after an exasperating search for her child’s wellingtons.
‘I don’t know, Mummy. Maybe Daddy put it somewhere.’
Daddy. Liz only vaguely remembered him arriving back after work the night before, but she needed no reminder of what had passed between them earlier that morning. It was clear that his return to duty had brought her burgeoning problem with alcohol into sharp focus. While he’d been convalescing at home, she’d been able to please herself. Get up when she wanted, do as she pleased, safe in the knowledge that her husband was on hand to look after their son. Now she’d have to clean up her act.
Part of her wanted to go back home, let her mother take the strain while she tried to come to terms with what had happened. But that would come at a price, and that price would be to let her mother in, to tell her what had really taken place within her relationship with ‘that rich dentist’, as her mother called him.
Of course, her parents had seen this man as the kind of partner for life she should have chosen from the off. To them Jim Daley was of a lower class, and no matter what he achieved as a police officer it would never be good enough. He would always be a plodding millstone round their daughter’s neck, stopping the rise in social status they so craved on her behalf. They’d wanted her to leave him for years, and were delighted when she had. But then, they were blissfully unaware of her many infidelities – well, she thought they were. If they did know, they were tactful enough not to mention it. More likely too ashamed, she thought.
Liz Daley needed someone to talk to: but who? Not her husband – she couldn’t be as frank as she needed to be with him, and in any case he was consumed by his health problems and the return to work. She had no real friends in Kinloch besides Annie, but didn’t know her well enough to share what she needed to.
There was really only one person to whom she could turn. But Liz was aware that even though she’d known the woman for so many years, it was by no means certain what reception would greet a cry for help.
She picked up the phone, after sending her son in search of his missing welly.
‘Hello, is that you?’ Liz listened for the reply. ‘Are you doing anything this morning? I’d like to come over for a chat, if that’s okay?’
The woman was as she’d always been: kind, but with a reserve Liz knew stemmed from her intimate knowledge of the state of the Daley marriage over the years. But sometimes it was better to be told what had to be heard rather than a sugar-coated version of the truth. She was undoubtedly the right person for the job.
When she had dropped James off at nursery, Liz Daley would pay a visit to Ella Scott.
Scott sat on the edge of the hospital bed as a nurse attended to a deep graze on his arm, the result of being pitched out of the Doigs’ rundown cottage.
‘Oh, ya . . .’ He managed to contain the oath as Staff Nurse McGeachy applied some iodine to the injury.
‘Try to be a brave soldier, shall we? If I remember rightly, you don’t have a high pain threshold.’
‘Eh? What dae you mean? I can take pain better than maist folk. I’ve had plenty o’ it – been shot twice, you know.’
‘Yes, but you didn’t do too well with a peanut in your eye the last time I saw you, Sergeant Scott.’
Scott paid no attention to the mistaken rank. ‘Oh, here, that was a sore yin! You see it’s no’ just the dunt o’ the peanut you’ve tae consider, but these bloody things are coated wae salt. See the stinging, it went on for aboot two days, man.’
The staff nurse raised her brows. ‘Well, I’m just pleased to hear you came out with your sight intact.’
Scott thought for a moment. ‘You mean it could have blinded me?’
‘Very easily, I would have thought. We’ve had some really nasty incidents with peanuts here. People scarred for life. The damned things should be banned if you ask me – like motorbikes and heroin.’ A smile played across her lips.
‘Here, you’re jeest taking the pish, aren’t you?’ Scott grimaced again as she dabbed more iodine on his wound.
‘I sure am.’
‘Huh, what happened tae the spirit of thon Florence Nightingale, eh? I bet she wisnae cloaking aboot making a fool o’ her patients.’
‘No, indeed she wasn’t.’
‘See.’ Scott nodded with pleasure at his little victory.
‘She killed more people than she saved. Well intentioned, of course, but they just didn’t have the knowledge back then.’
‘Just as well there wisnae any dry roasted peanuts on the go, eh? We’d never have beaten they Zulus.’
‘She worked in the Crimea.’
‘Aye, whatever. I’m sure Michael Caine was in both films.’ Scott chuckled to himself.
‘Just as well you chose the police as a profession, sergeant.’
‘Why?’
‘Because your patter’s shite.’
Scott was about to protest when Daley appeared in the ward.
‘Right, Brian, I see you’ve survived.’
‘No thanks tae Florence here. Ouch! You did that on purpose,’ he squealed as the staff nurse applied a particularly large dollop of iodine.
‘We have to make sure that infection doesn’t set in.’
‘Aye, right.’
‘How long before DI Scott is ready to leave, staff nurse?’ asked Daley.
‘I’ll just dress this and bandage him up, then he’ll be good to go.’ She looked at Scott. ‘You never told me you were an inspector now. Well done you!’
‘Aye well, it was touch and go. It was awarded for bravery in the face o’ peanuts.’
*
Sergeant Shaw struggled with Ginny Doig as he took her from the van into Kinloch police office. She was to be charged with assaulting a police officer and obstructing the police in the course of their duty, as well as refusing to abide by the terms of the warrant to search her home. Under the circumstances, she’d probably never be brought to court, but it would give Daley enough time to search Rowan Tree Cottage unhindered. It had taken six officers to subdue her two younger sons, delaying the search for her eldest. And Mrs Doig wasn’t happy about it.
‘Yous think I’m jeest pure shite, don’t you? I can see it plastered across your ugly coupon,’ she said as Shaw and PC Janice James managed to get her into a holding cell.
‘You’ll have access to a lawyer soon, Mrs Doig,’ said Shaw, out of breath after his exertions with the old woman.
‘Yous are a’ in the pocket o’ that daughter o’ mine!’ she roared as the cell door was firmly shut. ‘My husband deid, my son likely lying murdered tae, an’ this is how you treat me and whoot’s left o’ my family. Yous are nothing but corrupt bastards!’
‘Everything going okay?’ asked Daley, newly returned from the hospital with Scott, as Shaw emerged from the custody cells.
‘Just peachy, sir.’
‘We should get an electric chair and fry that auld bitch while we’ve got the chance,’ said Scott, nursing his bandaged forearm as the roaring protests of Ginny Doig echoed around Kinloch police office.
‘Another PR success for Police Scotland!’ said Daley. ‘I can see the papers now: “Demented police inspector electrocutes elderly woman after she beat him up”. Just the thing.’
‘She never beat me up. That was her boy.’
‘Come on, get a cup of sweet tea down you and we’ll go and give this cottage a thorough search.’
‘Are you sure I should be going there?’ Scott was holding up his arm. ‘I mean, the chances of infection, an’ that. I could end up wae thon bucolic plague.’
‘Bubonic, Brian.’
‘Aye, that
tae!’
‘Have you charged them, Sergeant Shaw?’
‘I have, sir.’
‘Right, hold them until I give you a shout, then we’ll let them off with a caution.’
‘You are kidding, big man,’ said Scott, looking exasperated. ‘They broke Potts’s arm!’
‘Think about it, Brian: recently widowed elderly wife, mother of a missing son. Get into the new century. It’s all about optics these days.’
‘Huh, the only optics I’ve ever been bothered aboot had whisky in them.’
‘Well, times have changed.’
‘Says you!’
‘If you have any problems with my decisions, I’m sure you can write them in your report, DI Scott.’ Daley smiled mirthlessly.
‘Noo, just you wait, Jimmy. You don’t know the circumstances . . .’
Daley didn’t let him finish his sentence. ‘Don’t worry, Brian. I get it. Just get some tea and we’ll head back down.’
Daley strode off to his glass box, leaving a sheepish-looking Brian Scott in his wake.
*
The pair travelled in near silence the few miles to the Doigs’ cottage. As they laboured up the last hill on their journey, Scott spoke. ‘Listen, Jimmy, I had no choice but tae open that report on you. Trust me, I wouldnae have written anything detrimental. You must know me well enough by now, surely?’
Daley was focusing on the road. It was getting dark now; the bright blue of day was giving way to a dark velvet, star-twinkling sky. It would be as cold as it had been the previous night, and single-track roads like this were not a council priority when it came to gritting.
‘Come on, Jimmy. Gie us a break, eh?’
‘Forget about it, Brian. I have.’
‘You still don’t get it. If I hadnae agreed tae write this damned report they wouldn’t have let you back tae work. That was the ultimatum.’
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