In Dark Water

by Lynne McEwan

  Shona saw a flash of fear, then calculation in the woman’s eyes and she wondered how much Gavin had confided in Nicola and how far she herself was involved with Kenny Hanlon. Shona remembered the scene she’d witnessed at the STAC reception. Nicola Baird and Kenny Hanlon. Was it a drunken grope in the hallway of a posh hotel after too much champagne, or something more? An affair? An alliance? Shona guessed a bit of both, but she didn’t have energy to go softly-softly with Nicola.

  ‘Two options,’ Shona said. ‘I can come back with a warrant and this will be all over the media. Or you let him rest the gallant officer he was, and you stay the grieving widow.’ Shona had done her research. Nicola had political ambitions. At the polls she could turn her sacrifice into votes. ‘I’m not after you or Gavin. Think of your kids.’

  For a moment Nicola held the door firm, the gym-toned bicep taut beneath the year-round tan. She gave Shona a look of pure hatred, then allowed the door to swing open. Shona stepped into the hallway, the Edwardian quarry tiles clicking below her heels. Nicola, in her stocking soles, loomed over her. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Ten minutes in Gavin’s study.’ She calculated Nicola might agree to a short, timed visit just to get rid of her. ‘I’m not after Gavin, remember,’ she repeated.

  ‘Why? What are you looking for?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Gavin’s laptop isn’t here. He never kept anything at home. The guy who shot him is dead, so isn’t that the end of it?’

  ‘There’s a few details to clear up. Ten minutes.’

  ‘Okay.’ Nicola shrugged eventually. She waved Shona through a polished teak door behind the main staircase. ‘Then I never want to see you again.’

  As Shona went into the study, Nicola remained in the hall, her arms folded, watching her. Shona closed the door firmly and scanned the room. Old leather-topped desk, dark wood bookcases built into the alcoves beside the fireplace. From Shona’s brief glance of the rest of the house, modern and sleek, this room owed its décor to previous owners. Perhaps Nicola was right, Baird didn’t bring his work home. It didn’t look like anyone had spent much time in here.

  The box files on the shelf contained household receipts, a guarantee for the ride-on mower. The ten minutes were ticking away fast. What if Nicola phoned Hanlon? Shona needed conclusive proof of his involvement in the drugs operation. Murdo would warn her if anyone approached the house, but she wouldn’t get a second bite at this. Hanlon was wealthy, powerful and connected. She was, technically, a suspended police officer with a gambler husband and a daughter recently hauled in for drug possession. The lawyers, the media, her own force, would crucify her.

  Frantically she scanned the room. What had Baird said? It would be hard. He’d said the word ‘shared’. She saw again his bloody fingers grasping her own, the incredulity in his eyes that death was coming for him. Hard. Shared. She looked in vain for a hard drive. How would he share the information she needed? Not cloud storage, that wasn’t secure, Baird would know that.

  She flipped open cardboard storage boxes. Holiday brochures, books. In the corner, a plastic crate. Shona spotted the framed picture of Nicola and the children that had sat on his desk at Kilmarnock HQ. Kneeling on the carpet she emptied the jumble of personal items, stacking them one by one onto the desktop. An almost empty diary, Scottish police mug, pens, the glass tower of the Policing Excellence award, an A4 pad with jotted notes from a budgeting meeting. There was nothing.

  Outside in the hall she could hear Nicola’s urgent voice. She was on her mobile to someone. Baird had recruited his own team. Some of those officers might be in this up to their necks. They could arrive any moment to see her off the premises. Harassing the widow of a hero. Even her own colleagues would shun her.

  She checked her phone. Nothing from Murdo. The final seconds were tickling down until Nicola threw her out. Hard. Shared. Still kneeling, as if praying for a miracle, she looked up desperately at the personal items from Baird’s office now on the desk. Nicola opened the door and the light from the hallway reflected off the glass tower of Baird’s award.

  In a flash she saw it. She was back at Tower RNLI station on her final visit last year, standing on the pontoon on the Thames’ north bank, looking south at the night sky ablaze with all the life and brightness London possessed. She’d laughed as the skipper had said he loved coming to work because his office had the best view in London. On the eastern horizon the City pulsed with light. On the south bank, new skyscrapers were springing up, painting the surface of the river and the black sky behind the OXO tower with colour; the new Southbank Tower, One Blackfriars and between them the slim pinnacle of the Shard. Baird’s mouth formed the shapes. Not hard. Not shared. Shard.

  Shona snatched the glass tower of the Scottish Policing Excellence award from the desk. Nicola stared at her in astonishment. Shona turned away, her fingers found the hollow dip below the red felt cover of its base. She ripped it back and extracted a slim metal shape. A memory stick. She slipped it into her pocket.

  ‘What are you doing with his award?’ Nicola said between gritted teeth. Shona held it out and the woman grabbed it from her, cradling it against the dark front of her widow’s outfit. ‘He was going places, you know? Could have been chief constable one day.’ She stood looking down her nose at Shona as if she was a particularly disappointing domestic servant.

  Shona brushed past her. In the hall she stopped and turned. For a moment she was tempted to tell her what her husband really was but found she couldn’t. ‘Every day I will be thankful to DCI Baird for the life of my daughter.’ The woman stared back uncomprehendingly at her. To serve and protect. Baird had understood what it meant, even if Nicola couldn’t. ‘I’ll see myself out. Thank you.’

  Murdo had the engine running, the heater on full. ‘Did you get it?’ She held up the memory stick. ‘Bastard,’ Murdo muttered. Shona felt they wouldn’t be seeing that leather jacket again. He put the car into gear, and they drove away.

  They stopped in the car park of the first fast food restaurant they could find. Shona sat in the passenger seat, her laptop before her. She held her breath as she wondered whether she would need a password, but whether due to Baird’s arrogance or an oversight the memory stick was readily accessible. She quickly went through the files. Murdo returned with coffee and donuts.

  ‘It’s all there. Recorded phone calls, finance documents. Baird’s put together a good case.’ Shona took the coffee beaker, holding the hot cardboard gingerly between finger and thumb, and placed it on the dashboard.

  ‘How ironic,’ Murdo said, taking a savage bite from his donut. Shona watched Murdo chew gloomily. ‘I looked up to that guy. Thought he was sound.’ He shook his head.

  Shona sighed and closed the laptop. ‘This wasn’t about money. I think Baird genuinely set out to cut drugs crime. Maybe Kenny Hanlon persuaded him drugs was a business like any other. You can’t eradicate it, but you could run it cleanly. Hanlon might say he was just a service provider. Between them they could cut the violence, clear out the competition. Start fresh. They could keep the crime figures to a minimum. They’d both get what they want. The Enterpriser. He’s very convincing. Once Baird took the first step, he was hooked, there was no getting out.’ She took a sip of coffee. ‘Or maybe he thought he’d never beat them playing clean, that he’d give them a go at their own game. It just didn’t work out as he planned.’

  ‘Aye, I suppose,’ Murdo conceded.

  ‘But neither Baird nor Hanlon could control Evan Campbell. He killed Siobhan, Sami and Jamie Buckland because they’d set up a little enterprise of their own.’

  ‘Will we be able to link Hanlon to the killings? Conspiracy to murder?’ Murdo asked.

  ‘We’ll have a damn good go,’ Shona said. ‘We’ve no forensics. No witnesses, except Isla. There’s the risk a good defence lawyer will take her apart in court. Former addict, prostitute. The jury might not believe a word she says, but she’s bright and she might just sway them. She’s determined to testify, get justice for Siobhan and the
others, if she can.’

  Murdo nodded. ‘Good girl. At least Campbell won’t be troubling us again. Maybe that’s some justice.’

  Shona took another sip of coffee and swallowed hard. She’d already decided to get Becca into trauma counselling. Her daughter was having nightmares and was horrified by the part she’d played in Campbell’s death, even though she’d saved her mother’s life. The Procurator Fiscal had decided there was no case to answer but Shona didn’t want recent events, decisions made in a fraction of a second, to cast a long shadow over her daughter’s life. She knew how that could happen.

  ‘Anyway, let’s give Mars Bar Munroe the good news.’ Shona drained her cup and picked up her phone.

  Murdo chuckled. ‘It looked like it was killing him today at the funeral. Keeping a lid on this.’ He wiped the powdered sugar from his fingers and began clearing away the cups.

  ‘Well?’ Detective Superintendent Malcolm Munroe answered after the first ring.

  ‘It’s as we thought,’ Shona said simply.

  ‘Okay, bring Hanlon in,’ he said testily. Shona knew he was thinking of his retirement, his legacy. He wanted Baird buried a hero and Hanlon nailed with minimal fallout and no talk of police corruption.

  ‘So, I’m no longer suspended?’ Shona asked.

  ‘I never saw any paperwork, Oliver. As far as I’m concerned it never happened. Swing by HQ and collect your warrant card. Seems you left it on my desk.’ He ended the call.

  * * *

  When Shona and Murdo arrived at the TV studios, the bright block of glass and steel which sat on Glasgow’s dockside, crowds were streaming from its main entrance. Filming for The Enterpriser had just ended, the receptionist told them when Murdo showed his warrant card. The studio was on the second floor. Security would buzz them through.

  Kenny Hanlon, in his bright blue checked tweed suit and cockatoo quiff of stiff blond hair, was still on the set and evidently still on a high from his show. He bounced on the balls of his feet like he was about to take off, calling farewells and waving to the dregs of the audience as technicians packed up around him. The neon sign, Your Business is My Business, glowed a deep red behind him.

  Shona and Murdo stood for a few moments, assessing the layout, exits and potential risks to the general public should Hanlon attempt to flee. The floor manager, who’d frowned at them until Murdo flashed his badge, was looking at his watch. Hanlon showed no sign of winding down.

  ‘Mr Hanlon.’ Shona stepped onto the brightly lit stage. Hanlon turned, shielding his eyes. He saw Shona and without missing a beat came towards her.

  ‘Shona, I was so sorry to hear about your trouble. How is your daughter?’ He took in her dark suit, black coat and low heels and nodded soberly. ‘A sad loss of your fellow officer, I’m sorry I couldn’t be at the funeral.’ He spread his hands wide; it looked for one awful moment as if he might try to hug her. Shona knew the consequences for him would be brutal. Instead, he spun around, rotating through his kingdom. ‘Filming commitments. My fans. I have a responsibility to them all, you know.’

  ‘Aye, that’s you, pal. Scotland’s answer to Gandhi,’ muttered Murdo.

  Shona snapped a handcuff on Hanlon’s outstretched arm. Shocked, he jerked his head round to look at her, but his momentum kept him turning. Shona grabbed his other arm and spun it into the waiting metal link, which clicked shut around his wrist. He came to rest with both arms pinned behind his back.

  Heads began to turn among the backstage crew, who paused mid-task and gaped at Hanlon held securely between a small, dark haired woman and her companion with the rugby player’s scowl.

  ‘What are you doing? This is ridiculous,’ he blustered as Shona read him his rights. Supplying Class A drugs. Conspiracy to murder. ‘This is a prank. Is this for Comic Relief? The director never told me. Douglas, Douglas, you cheeky swine,’ he said into his lapel mic. ‘Just so we’re clear, what’s going on?’

  Shona reached across and pulled the mic from his chest. She turned him round to face the neon sign. Your Business is My Business. In the blood-red glow she put her mouth close to his ear. ‘This is no joke, Mr Hanlon. My daughter is fine, and Rob will be too, but a police officer and four other people are dead. You’ve made your business my business. Just so we’re clear, I’m going to nail your bollocks to the floor.’

  Chapter 36

  In Dumfries CID office, Ravi returned to his chair and sat down with a bump. DC Kate Irving glanced at his shocked face from her desk opposite. She swallowed a bite of her Kit Kat.

  ‘Well? You’re still in one piece.’ She grinned. Over his shoulder she could see the boss in her office, mid-call with the desk phone tucked into her shoulder and papers strewn around her.

  Ravi shook his head. ‘I can’t believe I forgot to DNA Marie Corr.’

  ‘Will you get an official reprimand?’ Kate’s expression turned serious. Ravi shook his head. ‘Well then,’ she continued, ‘you got off lightly.’

  ‘I’ve just been beasted by Wee Shona. You call that getting off lightly?’ he said, indignantly. ‘You wait till it’s your turn.’

  ‘Already been there,’ Kate replied. ‘Suck it up and move on, that’s what the boss says and it’s my advice too. Here.’ She held out a finger of her Kit Kat. ‘Get your blood sugar up, it’s good for shock.’ Ravi took the biscuit from her.

  ‘I know,’ Ravi sighed. ‘But a mistake like that? If we’d known it wasn’t Isla…’

  ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference, Rav,’ she replied, then paused. ‘Look, it’s my fault Baird knew we were still investigating. He came to the office one evening and I just let it slip.’ She decided to gloss over the full extent of their conversation, the drunken dinner and sexual near miss. ‘The boss thinks it was Vinny, I’m going to have to tell her. I can’t help feeling if…’

  ‘Don’t,’ Ravi said. ‘Vin’s the blue-eyed boy for trawling up CCTV of Evan Campbell and Kenny Hanlon, all is forgiven as far as the boss is concerned. Learn from it and move on, that’s my advice.’ Ravi looked past her at a new arrival. ‘Well, well. If it’s not our pal from the south.’ Ravi got up and shook DC Dan Ridley’s hand. ‘Nice to see you.’

  ‘Hi Kate.’ Dan gave her his shy smile. ‘Let me know if there’s anything you need to tie up the baby milk file. I’d be happy to help. Is the boss free?’ He pointed towards Shona, now replacing box files on top of the filing cabinets in her office.

  ‘Looks like it. Go and ask.’ Kate smiled back. ‘Oh, and thanks for the offer, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Looks like you’ve made a wee conquest there,’ Ravi said slyly to Kate as Dan tapped on the glass of Shona’s office and was waved in.

  ‘Jealous? What’s the matter, girlfriend? Can’t stand the competition?’ Kate shot back, arching an eyebrow.

  Ravi laughed. ‘Aye well, I’ll let you have this one, but I still think he’s too nice for a crabby tight-arse like you.’

  Kate balled the silver paper from her snack and threw it at him, earning a frown from Murdo in the corner. ‘Hoy, youse two. Back to work.’

  Shona pulled her navy coat over her dark suit. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure?’ She smiled at Dan. ‘You flavour of the month in Carlisle? You should be – all that evidence from Campbell’s flat. Linking the murderer of a police officer to a major drugs dealer. It was you knocking on doors in Jamie Buckland’s street that set us in the right direction. Well done,’ she said.

  ‘But I wasn’t quick enough to stop him getting to you and Becca, was I?’

  ‘Nothing you could do. Campbell came straight from Glasgow.’ Shona dismissed his guilt. ‘The fact you’re beating yourself up for it shows what a good cop you are. What are you here for anyway?’

  ‘Nothing, I just… tie up some ends.’ Dan shrugged.

  ‘I’m off to Kilmarnock. Walk me out.’ Shona grabbed her handbag.

  In the car park she stopped by the Audi. ‘Everything all right with DCI Lambert, Dan?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s busy claiming
all the credit he can. He hasn’t said a word to me but that’s a bonus as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘Good,’ said Shona firmly as she unlocked the car.

  ‘Boss,’ said Dan. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any vacancies coming up here?’

  Shona leaned on the half-open car door. ‘You want to work in Scotland?’

  ‘I want to work with you, boss,’

  Shona smiled. ‘We’ll that’s very flattering to hear.’

  ‘I mean it,’ said Dan with resolve. ‘I’ve learned more working with you than I have in the past five years in Carlisle. And we get on okay, don’t we?’

  ‘Yeah, we do.’ Shona had to admit she liked Dan a great deal. He had the makings of an excellent officer. Maybe an even better friend. He was clever and thoughtful, and she’d had no hesitation on calling on him when the chips were down.

  ‘Okay, here’s the deal. Stick in at Cumbria, build your skills. You’re good, and one day you’ll be very good. If there’s any cross-border stuff, I’ll make sure we give you a call. Okay?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Shona couldn’t help smiling at his enthusiasm. ‘I have to go. See you soon.’

  * * *

  Detective Superintendent Malcolm ‘Mars Bar’ Munroe beamed at her when she arrived at his corner office with its view over Kilmarnock. A cafetière of freshly brewed coffee sat on the low table in front of Munroe’s desk. Shona shot a surreptitious glance at the plate placed next to it. There were none of the eponymous chocolate bars, only biscuits. ‘Knew I did the right thing appointing you,’ he congratulated himself as he took her coat and bid her sit down. ‘Procurator Fiscal is beside himself with glee over that dossier of Baird’s you found. Looks like Hanlon will put up his hands, plead he was on a social mission to reform the drugs trade, or the like. Mind you, he’ll probably do his time, write a book and be on every chat show as soon as he gets out.’