Shadow of the Castle

by Matthew Macleod

  There was a twinkle behind her eyes now and a smirk on her face. He clasped his hands together behind his head and stretched them upwards, barely stifling a yawn.

  'Neither of us like your boss that much.' He finished his stretch and covered his mouth after he had finished yawning. 'Excuse me, I was round the Bull last night seeing Grant. Ended up staying until after closing.' Trying and failing to flatten a particularly rebellious clump of hair, he held his hand hard over it for a moment before it sprang immediately back up. There was little reaction from the other side of the table.

  'Did you find out anything worthwhile? If anyone knew about Rab it would have been Grant.' She leaned forward and pretended to study his face closely. 'I can see you didn't annoy him in any way at least. Still got all your teeth?'

  'All the ones I turned up with anyway.' Grinning wide and long, he tilted his head from side to side as if to prove his point. 'Strikes me as a nice guy if you stay on the right side of him. I'm sure he's a menace once he starts swinging though.'

  'Yeah, I like Grant.' She looked downwards quickly as if she'd misspoken and there was the start of a blush on her cheeks. 'I don't know him that well or anything, he's just always been nice to me.'

  'I can believe that.' Luke scratched his cheek and felt the prickly hair thoughtfully. 'Reckon I should jump in the shower and head round to see what the script is on Arthur's Seat eh? Can't sit and speak to pretty girls while I'm half naked all day now can I?'

  'Aww, why not?' came the pouty reply from the hallway. They both turned.

  The barmaid from the Bull had appeared in the doorway clad in one of his basketball tops and nothing else. She too was trying unsuccessfully to flatten her shock of red hair with her hands. It hung in tight little ringlets that fell all around her bare shoulders and cascaded down her back. A tiny little thing to begin with, she seemed even smaller in the long, loose top as she crossed to the table and helped herself to a smoke from Luke's pack before sitting down on the couch beside Claire and lighting up. Luke laughed.

  'Claire, this is Jen. She works at the Bull. Jen, this is Claire, she works for the guy I work for. Apparently neither of you are capable of buying your own tobacco so you should get on fine.'

  The two women shared a look of mutual disdain for their ungracious host before they shook hands briefly and awkwardly. Luke was collecting up the two empty mugs and gestured with one towards Jen. She shook her head.

  'None for me thanks, I've got to go.' She blew smoke upwards in an attempt to get a particularly persistent ringlet out of her face. 'Better get home and sorted.'

  Claire stood up and took the mugs out of Luke's hands. She carried them through to the kitchen before he could protest and returned with a business card in her hand.

  'I'd better be off too. That's my number if you find anything out.'

  He took it from her and placed it on the table. Jen reached forward and took the card and his pen from on top of the notebook. They both watched her scribble on it briefly before returning it.

  'And there's mine just in case you forget where the pub is.' She winked at him from behind Claire's back. 'You usually in the habit of getting two women's numbers before 9am?'

  Luke smiled broadly at them both and held up his hands in an apologetic gesture. 'We all have our slow days I guess....'

  Claire thumped him in on the shoulder. 'That's from both of us.' He thought she looked genuinely amused despite the violence. 'Now try and be a gentleman for ten seconds and show me out if you think you can muster the decorum.'

  Jen rose from the couch and rushed past them both towards the bedroom.

  'Wait a minute and I'll come out with you.' She thumped his other shoulder on the way past. 'I doubt he has two bouts of manners in him.'

  'Abused in my own home by two strangers.' His head shook slowly. 'What is the world coming to?'

  Jen reappeared shortly, dressed and hopping as she got her second shoe on. He held the door open and bowed deeply from the waist with his arm across his body. Jen went out first and pecked him on the cheek as she passed.

  'See you later, your idiot.'

  Claire was hot on her heels and stooped down to kiss his other cheek so as not to appear rude. And maybe just a little bit to noise him up.

  'I agree. You are an idiot.'

  He watched them disappear down the first flight of stairs, laughing together. Women made absolutely no sense to him. Shutting the door, he flicked the switch for the shower and crossed to the living room where Jen's cigarette was sat smouldering in the ashtray. Finishing it off, he put it out and went to the bathroom. Turning on the water and undressing he stepped under and let the heat wash over him. There would be time to think once he was clean and dressed.

  The phone rang just as he was doing up his shoelaces sat on the edge of the bed. Dark jeans, a white t shirt and a woollen style jumper were his fashion choice of the day from his sparse selection. Answering the call from the “office” he straightened and left the bedroom, picking up his house keys from a hook in the hallway.

  'Luke's Antiques and Curio Emporium. How may I help?'

  Laura did not sound too impressed. It was a seemingly endless battle to get her to lighten up; she took her very serious job very seriously and Luke didn't seem to have it in him to respect that.

  'Good morning Mr. Calvin. We've received information regarding remains found...'

  The phone was cradled between his left shoulder and the side of his head as he struggled to exit his flat and double lock the door. 'Yeah, I know. Arthur's Seat.' The lock finally clicked home. 'A day late and a dollar short as ever dear.'

  'Who have you been talking to this early?'

  Taking the phone and switching it to the opposite shoulder he began to descend the staircase. 'Just attractive women who won't stop stumbling into my life.'

  'I see. Sounds like a rough existence to lead.'

  Her voice sounded tight: she was apparently in no mood for their usual back and forth. He pictured her at her desk in moccasins and a home knitted sweater, surrounded by pictures of her many many cats.

  'I'm just going to jump a taxi the now and see what's what.' Reaching the ground floor and exiting into the street, he saw a cab passing and hailed it. 'I'll call you with what I know as soon as I know it.'

  Clambering into the back seat before it had barely stopped he held a hand to the receiver and asked the driver to get him as close to the cordon on Arthur's Seat as he could. Clearly confused, the driver was about to ask which police cordon but Luke had returned to his phone and was talking once more.

  'Everyone's slow off the mark now and then. Don't beat yourself up.'

  'I'm not beating myself up.' was the instant reply, in a tone that deeply suggested the very opposite. She paused a second. 'Did an attractive woman really drop in on you with this news?'

  'Yup. And scared off the other one that was already round.'

  It was clear she didn't believe him and her tone was slowly adjusting to become as playful as his.

  'I'm sure you're keeping quite the collection. And your wallet is too small for your £50's. Poor Luke Calvin.'

  'Jealousy does not become you Laura. You know you're the only woman in my life.'

  The driver made brief eye contact in the rear view. Luke moved the mouthpiece slightly away and pointed at it with his free hand while executing a loud whisper -

  'The wife. What can you do?'

  Instant anger down the phone: - 'I am not your wife! Don't tell people that, it isn't funny...'

  Widening his eyes in mock exasperation, he received a sympathetic and knowing glance in return from the driver.

  'OK dear, see you at home tonight.'

  'I've told you, I'm not...'

  'No, I love YOU more.'

  'LUKE'

  'Goodbye love.'

  Hanging up the phone and watching the buildings pass, he replaced it in his pocket beside his trusty notebook and pen. There'd be hell on when he phoned her back. He found himself imagining
her in an apron in his kitchen with dinner for them both on the table. Sitting on his sofa watching a film that she liked and he hated. Sleeping on opposite sides of the same bed. Shaking his head quickly to dislodge the offensive imagery, there was only one conclusion that a reasonable man could draw - Yup; he was definitely going soft.

  Chapter 11

  Claire Davidson had left Luke's flat and despite strict instructions to the contrary, had gone to the gym after all. It wasn't more than a five-minute walk from where she stayed and maintaining some form of routine was the only thing that kept her vaguely on an even keel. Depositing her gear in the locker, she plugged in her headphones and jumped on the treadmill. Setting the speed and incline, her legs began to rise and fall faster and faster until it reached its desired pace and she settled into a rhythm.

  The music in her ears pounded in time with her feet as she ran and she could feel the disconnect from reality that she craved. Slowly, the sweat began to seep out from her pores as her heart-rate peaked then settled. Her breathing became briefly ragged before that too settled out: in, out, in – in out: over and over. Every time she became too comfortable with the pace she increased the speed slightly until she was at the most she could manage where she rode it out as long as she was able. The burning in her lungs and the lactic acid building in her thighs and calves were beginning to become excruciating – the last five minutes of her half hour run were the only time she was ever mentally in the moment. A million excuses to hit the “cool down” button and just call it a day ran through her mind and were each dismissed in turn as the counter ran up and up until it hit 30:00 and she slapped the control panel in the general vicinity of the button. Obediently slowing down to half speed and reducing the incline, the machine began the 5-minute cool down period which she skipped by hitting the stop. The belt beneath her trainers wound down to a complete stop and she stepped off, dripping with perspiration and attempting to get her breath back.

  Wiping her face with the towel, then the machine she went straight back to the empty changing room and stripped down naked. Glimpsing herself in the mirror, she turned to her left, then to her right, inspecting carefully from every angle. Her stomach was flat and toned and the running had left her legs lean rather than muscular. Turning her back to the mirror and looking over her shoulder, she found no signs of cellulite: the squats she was doing every other day were definitely paying off. Facing to the front again, she cupped her breasts with her hands and lifted them up. Letting them drop she was satisfied enough that there was still enough bounce for someone her age. OK, so her face was bright red and strands of hair were stuck to her face with sweat but she was happy with the overall look. She entered the shower stall and turned on the water. Standing under the powerful stream with eyes closed and both hands braced against the wall, she felt the sweat of her daily penance being washed away and felt a million times more human.

  By the time she was dressed and leaving, it was approaching 10am. There were no missed calls from Magistrate Reid so she could only assume that his early morning call demanding her to make a visit in person to the Victoria Street flat came with a certain amount of leeway in terms of her normal work day. She began the walk upwards to the top of the Mound up the Royal Mile enjoying the crowds of people and the mid-morning sun that still somehow felt cold.

  Arriving at the offices, she entered the so-called “ante chamber” where her desk sat. It was less grand than the Magistrate's by a long way but sufficiently elegant that people would still be impressed with it. That was Geoffrey all over – appearance above substance and above all else. She had dressed in a simple white blouse and tied her hair back with a small black bow. Once you added in the flat black shoes and the light grey skirt, even her solid black rimmed glasses couldn't pull this ensemble back from looking demure. She was secretly happy with it – this did not feel like a day for going to war with everyone. No sooner had she settled herself in behind the desk than the mobile rang inside her handbag. Looking at the screen, she sighed audibly and slouched back into the seat before answering.

  'Magistrate Reid. What can I do for you?'

  Despite the heavy door that separated them she could hear him pacing up and down on the wooden floor. There was a bizarre echo and delay response between the phone and the real source ten feet behind her which was unsettling.

  'Claire. Did you see him? What did he say? Has he gone up there?'

  This was new: he sounded almost frantic and that made very little sense to her.

  'Yes sir, I went as soon as you called and updated him with the new information.' Pre-empting the next question, she continued. 'And he left to go up to see for himself just as soon as I left.'

  'That's good. That's good. Did you actually see him go? When is he going to call in? Did you tell him that I wanted to be kept up to date?'

  She reeled off the answers to his stream of questions in order and counted them down on her fingers with a bored air. 'It is good. Yes. When he knows something. And Yes.'

  Mercifully there was a silence on the other end of the line. The sound of endless pacing had disappeared from both the phone and the room opposite. The way his mind was wired it wasn't just that you could hear the cogs turning – you could actually hear the fuses blowing. When he finally did speak again it was back to the cool and measured tones which he used both for giving his lunch order and for describing heinous crimes in extreme detail.

  'OK Claire. Thanks for that.' There was another pause. 'I know it probably isn't anything to do with Rab but you can't stop yourself thinking.'

  She was busy smoothing her skirt over her knees with her free hand and couldn't really think of an appropriate response to this sort of personal revelation. This was not how their interactions usually went. He spoke again.

  'Thinking about it, I've disturbed your morning. I don't think I need you to come in today.' It sounded like he was attempting to be nice. 'Maybe take the rest of the day off. There is one more visit I'd like you to make on my behalf though.'

  She stopped smoothing her skirt. In all the late night and early morning demanding phone-calls, she had never once elicited an apology from Geoffrey Reid. No doubt this little favour he wanted would be for her to call on his elderly aunt in Outer Mongolia to drop off a pint of milk and a loaf.

  'Go and see Grant for me. Just let him know about the developments and remind him how much any information is worth to me. Let me know what he says and how he reacts.'

  Subconsciously, she had reached up and felt her little bow to make sure it was straight. She was glad she wasn't in her full business attire for some reason. All her anger at the disturbed morning seemed to have disappeared.

  'Certainly sir. I'll be in touch.'

  He hung up without saying goodbye but that was no surprise. Resisting the temptation to press the intercom just to let him know that she had already been in at work, she gathered her things and made for the door. Her flat shoes were ninja-like in their silence compared to the heels and she thanked whatever ridiculous notion caused her to alter her usual dress this morning. For a disaster of a day, it was actually threatening to go rather well.

  The police had closed the road around the sight of the find and placed a barrier to keep the public at least 100 feet away at all times. Steve and Dave, the two first responding officers had handed over what they knew to the forensics’ guys when they arrived then promptly been relegated to standing at the border of the tape barrier to keep people away. Even though they both expected it, it wasn't ever easy to just roll over for the self-proclaimed big boys of policing. The younger man, Dave, stood straight with his arms clasped behind his back and his head forward. Not yet 25, he was still at the stage of being in love with the force and its ideals. His partner was past 40 and was probably born with a cynical smirk on his face: – he was facing inwards towards the crime scene and his grey eyes were fixed on the men in slicker suits and face-masks struggling to erect the plastic tent that they used to preserve the scene.

  'Look Dav
e, the clowns are getting the high-top all set up.'

  The younger man ignored him and only attempted to stand straighter. Steve sighed and turned back around to retake his position beside his partner. Dave had wisps of blonde hair peeking out from underneath his cap and was clean shaven. He shined his shoes every single morning without fail, even if they were just going to sit in the car all day. When they were on a quiet patrol, Steve would ask him about obscure crimes both real and fictional to “test” his knowledge and to his credit he never failed to reel off the correct handbook response or state with definite assurance that “wearing purple on a Tuesday” was not technically against any laws of the land.

  Steve had initially resented their pairing, not because he was keen or tried too hard, but because it felt like he was being plonked firmly into the role of “veteran”. That had stung and his bitterness had been projected onto the young man who had all but bounced into the break room in his perfect uniform and shaken his hand so hard he practically got nerve damage. Despite himself, he had found himself warming to his new partner and even beginning to enjoy his company. Sure, he was a jobsworth but he was funny and seeing someone actually care about the job that he used to love himself was bizarrely refreshing. Once the initial phase had completed it was Steve's turn to be surprised when he was informed by the Sergeant that he had received a request from Dave to continue their partnership.

  He had fully expected a reaming for smoking on duty, napping in the patrol car or generally winding up the younger man but instead he received a vote of confidence. The unlikely duo continued in their unlikely friendship. Looking down at his own scuffed, muddy boots and the shirt he had worn yesterday he wondered if he could put the same effort into improving himself instead of trying to drag Dave down to his level. When he looked up again, there was a familiar man approaching the cordon with a cigarette in his lip and his hands stuffed in his jean pockets.

  'Morning Officers. How's it going?''