The Rat Stone Serenade

by Denzil Meyrick

  ‘Brian, Brian! Are you OK?’ shouted Annie as she tried to rouse the detective, who was slumped face down in the snow.

  He jolted back into consciousness, gasping for breath. ‘Jim, Jim – what the hell?’

  ‘Eh? What do you mean Jim? He’s back up at the house, is he no’? Maybe you’ve had wan too many, Brian,’ she said, helping him to his feet. ‘You’ve been knocking them back since afore the bells.’

  ‘Quickly, please. I think somebody needs to take a look at the minister on the bonfire,’ shouted Bruce, his sobbing daughter at his side.

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’ asked Jessie. ‘He’s just a pile o’ auld rags stuffed intae John McEachran’s boiler suit.’

  ‘If that’s the case, his face is bleeding,’ replied Bruce.

  ‘Come on, Brian,’ said Annie. ‘You need tae get yourself the gither and take a look at this.’

  Scott stood, still stunned and breathing heavily as Annie did her best to brush the loose snow from his clothes. He was shaking from head to toe, desperately trying to compose himself. Bruce walked towards him, his daughter now being comforted by her nurse.

  ‘You’d better get over there, sergeant.’

  ‘Why, dae you reckon it’s a stolen boiler suit?’ replied Scott, doing his best to sound normal though he felt anything but.

  ‘No, but I don’t reckon it’s filled with old rags, either.’

  Scott was trembling. That latest episode was the worst yet. It all felt so real, like being flung headlong into another world while being slowly choked and deafened by that awful whine.

  The stench of petrol was strong as he stared up at the effigy on top of the bonfire. With most of the villagers gathered round with their torches and lanterns, it was much easier to see that the white bag that served as a head was now stained a dark crimson colour.

  ‘Right, I’ll need tae get up there and have a look,’ said Scott, his voice throaty and unsteady. ‘Can someone come up and gie me a hand?’

  ‘I’ll help you,’ said Mecky Deans.

  ‘Right, fine man. Come on.’

  The pair slowly scaled the mound of old wood and general rubbish that the bonfire was constructed of. Scott’s foot slipped through a rotten plank to a gasp from the crowd, but Deans, coughing at the stench of petrol, soon pulled him free, and in no time both men were perched, somewhat precariously, at the top of the pyre.

  As soon as Scott touched the sleeve of the old boiler suit, he knew it wasn’t filled with old rags. He took a deep breath and gently pulled up the white bag, now almost entirely stained a deep red.

  He recoiled in horror as a frantic murmur, then screams, spread through the crowd. Scott stared at the face before him, almost unrecognisable as a human, thick blood oozing from a dark wound that appeared to have been hastily stitched up with rough twine.

  A strand of pale hair not soaked in gore caught the light. Then Scott heard a deep thud, a puff of sound. There was a crackle, then a roar and suddenly the bonfire burst into life, blue flames devouring the petrol-soaked pyre.

  24

  Daley and Mary were in a small room, hidden down a long corridor that led away from the large ballroom in Kersivay House. She had taken him by the hand and led him through the first door she had found unlocked.

  They kissed passionately, then she slid her body down his and onto her knees. His fingertips grazed her hair as she worked slowly backwards and forwards, his legs trembling as he leaned against the wall of the dark room. He looked down as a narrow beam of moonlight illuminated her auburn hair and desperately resisted the urge to pull her closer.

  ‘No, stop,’ he moaned, pulling her to her feet, stroking her face.

  ‘I don’t want to,’ she whispered throatily as she undid the button of her jeans with one hand, caressing him with the other.

  Instinctively, desperately, he lifted her up by the thighs and turned so that her back was against the wall. She curled her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his back as he gently eased himself into her. Slowly at first, then frantically, they made love.

  He could feel her heart beating in her chest as their passion climaxed then subsided; they held onto each other, breathing in time, the smell of her hair and her perfume filling his senses.

  ‘I so, so love you, Jim Daley,’ she whispered, nuzzling into his neck.

  His phone rang, buzzing loudly against the floor where his trousers lay. He let her down gently, then pulled them up, searching in the pocket for the mobile.

  ‘Where are you, DCI Daley?’ He recognised Superintendent Symington’s voice instantly; he also noted the urgency in her tone. ‘We have to get down to the hotel. There’s a car at the front door. It’s DS Scott – he’s in trouble.’

  Maxwell stared from one man to the other, then back to the large computer screens in front of him.

  ‘If you think I’m going to be blackmailed in this way, you can fuck off,’ he said, his voice slightly slurred from the whisky he’d drunk. ‘Nothing in the world will make me do this.’

  The large man in the dark uniform of a police officer got to his feet. ‘You’re not understanding the situation, Mr Shannon. I’m here to help you,’ he said, his Irish accent strong.

  ‘You sound like a fucking double-glazing salesman. I’ll say it again – fuck off!’

  The big Irishman stepped forwards towards Maxwell, who was squirming uncomfortably on a swivel chair. ‘You’ve spent your life thinking the world should do what you want it to, haven’t you, Maxie, boy.’ He lunged forwards, grabbing Maxwell’s chin in his large hand and angling his head up so their faces were only inches apart. ‘You can’t be happy seeing your wee subsidiaries doing so badly, can you?’

  ‘How do you . . . What are you talking about?’ replied Shannon, cursing his mistake.

  ‘I would have expected better from a man like yourself, Maxie, I really would. The question is, why is it happening?’

  ‘Because you’re trying to paint me into a fucking corner so that I give you control of my company. Well, it won’t work. We have assets to burn; I already have a team of people working this problem. When they discover who’s behind it, you’ll find out what it means to be bullied.’ He tried to stand, but was pushed back into his seat by the big man.

  ‘That’s where you’re very wrong, Mr Shannon. Of course, my friends would love you to give us control of your organisation. Who wouldn’t want their hand on the tiller of the biggest private company in the world and everything that comes from that, eh? Aye, we had a nice plan – still have it, in fact – a plan to make you desperate to help us. But things have changed.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘We’re here to help you with the collapse of your associates, let’s call them. In fact, we want to be your new partners. So, would you not say that it’s time me and you tried to work together? Because I tell you, if you don’t do something quickly, there’ll be no such company as Shannon International by this time next week and you and your friends on the board will be behind bars for the biggest fraud in corporate history. How does that sit with you, Mr Shannon?’

  Maxwell’s face lost all colour as he sat back in the chair. He looked at the Irishman, his companions, then the huddle on the floor that was the family caretaker, Percy. ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘No, he’s not dead, just having a nap, so he is.’

  ‘Pity, he’s an irascible old bastard. He used to boot me in the arse when I was a boy. Do us all a favour and make him disappear, then we’ll talk.’

  The big man smiled at his captive. ‘You’re a real charmer, eh? Kill an old man because he kicked you in the backside when you were a sprog – a boot you no doubt deserved. Well, this is one wish that won’t come true for you, Maxwell. That old man seems to have friends in very unexpected places.’ Without warning, he swung his fist and caught Maxwell squarely on the jaw. ‘That’s for having no respect for your elders. And in any event, you’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that to you. Now, you get cleaned up and get back
to your party. And remember, one word to the boys in blue and you’ll be taking in the next New Year – and many, many thereafter – behind bars, my friend.’

  ‘And what will I say to the rest of the board, to my senior execs? I take it you have Lars Bergner?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something to say to those good old boys. That’s your strong suit – talking, cajoling, making folk do things they don’t really want to. And no, we have as little idea where Mr Bergner is as you do, nor are we responsible for everything else that’s happened in this village over the last wee while. It would appear that you’ve got enemies coming out of the woodwork. Trust no one, Maxie, do you get me?’

  ‘So I just do what you tell me to? I’m at a disadvantage here, but believe me, I’ll make sure you, and whoever is behind this, pays.’

  ‘You believe just what you want, Maxie. But I’ll tell you this: with the help of my friends, you can be one of the richest men in the world in your own right. No waiting for your old father to peg out or your hatchet-faced auntie tae give you the thumbs up before you can make a move. We’re going to move you along a bit more smartly. I think it looks as though we’re the only friends you have.’

  As the police car drove into the village, Daley could see flames leaping from the large bonfire in the field behind the hotel. People milled about, some being comforted by their fellow villagers.

  His chest was tight; that familiar feeling, like an old friend, or perhaps his worst enemy, always there when those close to him were in peril.

  The car skidded to a halt in the car park of the Black Wherry Inn. He jumped from the vehicle and raced towards the dancing flames of the bonfire, forcing his way through the crowd of people, many of them looking tearful and stunned.

  His heart lurched in his chest as he walked towards the smouldering remains of a man lying on the ground, covered by a singed overcoat. The weight at his core was impossible to resist as he sank to his knees on the hard snow.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Jessie, putting her hand on his shoulder. ‘We called you as soon as we could. Tried tae get the fire oot but we couldna get enough water ontae it. Turned oot there was a big hole in oor hose.’

  ‘What . . . I mean, how did this happen? Couldn’t someone have tried to pull him down? Tried anything?’

  ‘We’d put too much petrol ontae the wood. Wherever that stray spark came fae, a kid’s sparkler or whootever, the whole thing jeest went up – boom!’ She raised her hands to emphasise the event. ‘If it’s any comfort, we know he didna suffer, the poor bugger.’

  ‘How on earth do you know that?’ asked Daley, looking blankly at the smouldering remains under the old coat.

  ‘By all accounts he was in some state before the fire caught. He wiz well out of it before he started tae burn, probably deid. A blessing, poor man.’

  Daley looked again at the corpse, a mound under a heap of singed rags. Again, the cruel nature of fate clawed at him. The stench of burning flesh was strong. He wrinkled his nose. ‘How did he manage to get into such a state? I only saw him a few hours ago.’

  ‘Oh, I didna know that,’ said Jessie, looking surprised. ‘Well, he was sitting at the top o’ the bonfire wae John McEachran’s auld boiler suit on and his heid in a hessian bag the last time I saw him.’

  ‘He was what?’ Daley stared at the woman in disbelief. ‘Why wasn’t I told about this? I was up at Kersivay House when all this was going on!’ Daley turned to the woman, his eyes flashing with anger. ‘This isn’t just anyone; though for anyone to have died like this would have been a tragedy. What the fuck is wrong with you all?’

  Daley was breathing heavily, the world spinning before him. Superintendent Symington reached out to place her hand on his shoulder. Behind them, people moved aside to let a man with a blackened face, shoulders covered by an old blanket, through to where the corpse lay.

  ‘Aye, no’ a pretty sight, right enough,’ he said, before starting to cough.

  Daley turned to face him then jumped to his feet, eyes wide in disbelief. His mouth was moving but no sound came out.

  Symington, standing at his side, decided to break the silence. ‘I had a call to say that DS Scott had been set alight on a bonfire and to get here as quickly as possible. My colleague,’ she said, nodding at Daley, ‘obviously came to the same conclusion as me.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Jessie. ‘Och, it was one o’ the boys in the hotel that called you. Chinese whispers in this bloody place. But, right enough, he was up on the bonfire when it went up, but big Mecky Deans pulled him doon. The pair o’ them jumped clean through the flames. We couldna get this poor soul doon, mind you. Had tae wait until Erchie got here wae his earth mover an’ we kinda scooped him aff the top an’ doused him wae water.’

  ‘You thought it was me under that coat,’ said Scott. ‘Nae wonder you look like you seen a ghost!’ Despite the obvious tragedy, Scott stifled a laugh.

  ‘Since this clearly isn’t the last mortal remains of DS Scott, just who is it?’ asked Symington.

  ‘I think I know the answer to that, Superintendent,’ replied a well-spoken man. ‘He was pretty mangled when I saw him before the fire, looked as though he’d been hit by a train, but I’d swear that the man lying there is Lars Bergner,’ said Bruce.

  25

  More looked down at his wife as she slept on the couch by the roaring fire. He stroked his chin and sighed, reaching once more for the phone in front of him. He had covered her with a blanket and now stared, deep in thought, as her long dark lashes flitted in the light of the flames.

  The whisky he was drinking was straight, the undiluted spirit stinging his throat as he gulped another mouthful. Why did I agree to this, he thought, as he passed his hand through his greying hair, tugging at it in desperation. ‘You fucking fool,’ he whispered under his breath.

  He answered the phone almost as it rang, anxious not to wake her, but even more concerned to speak to the caller.

  ‘Are you alone?’ the man on the other end asked in a low voice.

  ‘Yes. Well, my wife is here but she’s asleep.’

  ‘Listen very carefully. The situation has changed. You will have to do what we talked about.’

  ‘But how? The place is crawling with police now – the whole village is.’

  ‘The cops are stretched. They can’t get more manpower to the area because of the weather. We’ve taken a few extra steps to keep them off our back and it’s about to snow again.’

  ‘Shit, mate. So me and the guys are stuck here with no way out?’

  ‘Come now, that’s not the kind of stuff I expect from a man of the cloth. There’s always a way out, trust me.’

  ‘Yeah, sure, but maybe not the way I want to go.’

  ‘Relax, Reverend More. Take another few glasses of whisky, but be ready for a call tomorrow. We can do this, but you’ve got to play your part.’ The call ended.

  ‘Shit,’ snapped More, making his wife stir again in her sleep. He put down the phone, picked up his glass and walked over to her. ‘I’m doing this for us, honey,’ he said quietly, stroking her hair. The whisky burned his throat as he drained the glass.

  Scott was in the passenger seat of a police Land Rover, Pollock at the wheel. Daley had demanded he go for a check up at the hospital in Kinloch after his brush with incineration. He was deep in thought as he stared through the window, watching large flakes of snow settling on the glass only to be brushed away by the windscreen wipers.

  The brief euphoria of being rescued from the flames of the Blaan bonfire had receded rapidly when the old coat had been removed from the charred body that Daley had thought was him. It had been surreal watching his friend begin the process of mourning his death – humorous, even. But then, as the adrenalin and whisky in his system had started to fade, the cold reality dawned that one day the man burned to a cinder or shot dead on the beach would indeed be him.

  ‘Penny for them,’ said Pollock.

  ‘Och, ever get the feeling that it was time
you moved on? How long have you been in this job – about the same as me, likely?’

  ‘Aye, I would say so. Not long till we both get tae retire, though.’

  ‘If we make it, that is,’ replied Scott with a shake of his head.

  ‘I’m surprised. Everybody tells me that you’re the joker in the pack. You’re no’ sounding too funny the night, Brian.’

  Scott gazed out into the darkness. ‘Some days it just doesn’t seem right tae be laughing.’

  They drove past tall banks of snow forced to the side of the road by the snowploughs. The Land Rover skidded slightly on the slick road. Snow, then ice, then more snow – it was a lethal combination. Pollock managed to keep the vehicle on the road, slowing down even further.

  ‘Bugger, we’d be able tae walk quicker. The bloody road’s in some state. If this is going tae be another heavy fall, I can’t see them being able to keep it open,’ said Pollock.

  ‘Don’t say that. If we cannae get to and from Blaan by road, the bastards will have me aboard a boat before you know it.’ He sighed deeply and fished in his pocket. ‘Mind if I have a fag? I hope you’re no’ one of these delicate flowers like the lads that brought me here earlier. You’d have thought I’d asked if I could piss o’er his heid when I went tae light up.’

  ‘As long as you gie me one as well, we’ll be fine.’

  ‘Good man,’ said Scott. Once the cigarettes were lit and sweet, blue tobacco smoke filled the cab. ‘How long have you been on the rural patrol doon here, Willie?’

  ‘Just a month off fifteen years. Tae be honest, I wouldnae be anywhere else. When I’m out here in the Land Rover, I’m away fae any trouble with the boys in braid, if you know what I mean?’

  ‘Aye, you can bet your bottom dollar I know what you mean,’ replied Scott. ‘What the fuck’s going on in Blaan? I’ve never seen the like.’

  ‘Well, tae put it in perspective, do you know how many arrests I made last year?’