The Rat Stone Serenade

by Denzil Meyrick

  ‘He telt me never tae be afraid tae shout for help, no matter what the situation was.’ He looked Scott straight in the eye. ‘I’ve seen good men go doon tae the bevy, Brian. Don’t be one of them. There’s nothing tae be ashamed of. If you’re at the stage where you’re seeing stuff, well, you need help, my friend.’

  ‘Listen. Thanks for pulling me oot that Land Rover and getting us here. And as I says, I’m sorry for, well, the accident. But dae me a favour, don’t listen tae any gossip aboot me, Willie. The only thing I can see right noo is a warm bed, aye, wae me in it.’

  ‘As you wish, Sergeant Scott, as you wish. I’ll put our wee skid off the road down tae the conditions, so there’ll be no repercussions, you can trust me on that. And remember, if you need tae talk about anything, I’ve a listening ear.’ And with that, Pollock turned and trudged back through the snow towards the farmhouse.

  Daley stood at the door of the communications office with two armed members of the Support Unit, Inspector Aitcheson and a worried but irritable Maxwell Shannon.

  ‘I don’t know why you need to see in here. The place is locked up and has been since the early hours of this morning. I turned the lock myself and I can assure you that there were no missing police officers to be seen,’ said Maxwell, glaring at Daley.

  ‘We have to make sure this location is as secure as it can be, Mr Shannon. I don’t have time to argue with you about this. Unlock the door or I’ll instruct my men to force it open.’

  Reluctantly, Maxwell fumbled with a bunch of keys, selecting one and opening the heavy door. He flicked on a switch and stood, wide eyed, for a few heartbeats.

  ‘You look surprised,’ said Daley, studying the businessman carefully. Maxwell had now composed himself, but the detective had seen the bewildered expression on his face as the panel lighting hummed and flickered to life, illuminating the large room.

  Daley looked around. The space was not unlike a modern CID room – all large screens and computer keyboards, with a projector screen at the far end of the room. Expensive paintings, polished wood floorboards and deep, comfortable chairs, however, marked it out as something altogether more luxurious.

  ‘Not at all, just stunned to be back in here at this hour. I have a very important meeting this afternoon. I had hoped to get some sleep, not chase about after police officers in places they couldn’t possibly be.’

  ‘What happened to your chin?’

  ‘I was playing with the children last night. Got caught with a toy truck, if you must know.’

  ‘Nasty colour,’ observed Daley, certain that Maxwell was lying. He walked around the room, moving from desk to desk, studying the large bank of screens. ‘So this is where you run the company from when you’re here?’

  ‘Yes. Nowadays, a business can be run from just about anywhere in the world. Not my first choice of HQ, mind you.’

  ‘You were the last in here, then?’

  ‘Yes. Switched off the lights and hoped to go and get some sleep, as I said.’

  ‘Muddy boots, I see,’ said Daley, looking at the dirty marks on the floor.

  ‘With all this snow and slush about, is that a surprise?’

  Daley sniffed the air. ‘Someone’s been smoking in here, too. You’re not a smoker are you, Mr Shannon?’

  ‘No, just the occasional cigar. I had one earlier – to celebrate the New Year.’

  Daley bent down and lifted something from the floor, tucked behind the corner of one of the large desks. ‘But you don’t smoke these,’ he said, holding up a cigarette butt.

  Maxwell shook his head, shrugging off the question. Daley moved closer to the company boss, looming over him.

  ‘If I discover that you know something about what’s been happening here and haven’t seen fit to pass this information on to me, all the money in the world won’t save you.’

  ‘Interesting, Mr Daley,’ Maxwell replied with a sneer. ‘What could you possibly do to me, as a retired police officer, washed up, overweight and unemployed? Your job is to catch whoever is perpetrating these awful crimes against my family. By placing the focus of your investigation on me, you are giving the real culprits a free hand – a mistake that I will be informing your Chief Constable of as soon as I can raise him today.’ With that, Maxwell walked out of the room.

  ‘I want someone following him – subtly – from now on,’ said Daley to Aitcheson. ‘I’m going to head up the glen and check out whatever it is that Jock Munro’s seen.’ He took one last look around the room before leaving, catching sight of a mark low down on the wall beside the door. He kneeled down to take a closer look. ‘Blood, wouldn’t you say, Inspector?’

  28

  Scott was lying in a private room in Kinloch hospital, having been delivered back to town, with PC Pollock, by a snow-plough. Though a paramedic had examined him, the busy nursing sister wanted him checked over by a doctor prior to his being discharged.

  He had dozed, but this fitful sleep had been populated by bad dreams, the face of the boy haunting him.

  As he stared at the ceiling, he wondered whether or not this was the time to confess to the hallucinations and his struggle with alcohol. Time to end the hell he was going through and get help with the problem before it consumed him wholly.

  But then what would he do with the rest of his life? Would this new, shiny police force want anything to do with a foot soldier who was capable of putting his own and other people’s lives at risk? He wasn’t like Jim Daley; he wasn’t willing to abandon the only career he’d ever had just because he liked a drink or two too many. He’d known a battalion of police officers in his time who had fought similar battles with booze and won, surviving to spend happy days in retirement in Spain on a pension provided by a grateful nation. Mind you, he’d known many others who had succumbed, their reward a hospital bed to lie in and wait as their livers faltered then failed in tandem with the death of their brain cells.

  He didn’t need to put his future in jeopardy just because he was experiencing this temporary crisis in his life. Ride out the storm, his father had told him years before. Hang on until the wind changed – it always did.

  The phone on his bedside table rang and he answered without checking who the caller was.

  ‘Brian, where the hell have you been?’ Daley’s voice was loud in his ear.

  ‘Stuck in a snow drift, Jimmy. Me and Willie Pollock put the Land Rover off the road. Aye, lucky tae walk oot o’ it,’ he said, hoping that his colleague would stick to his promise and put the accident down to the weather conditions.

  ‘Where are you? I called the station and they said you were going to the hospital.’

  ‘I’m here noo. Waiting for a doctor tae gie me the all clear. I was having a wee doss when you phoned, Jim,’ he lied, hoping Daley wouldn’t question him about his insobriety the previous evening.

  ‘One of the SU guys is missing and I’m sure Maxwell Shannon has an idea what’s going on. He knows something anyway. We’re just heading up to have a look at some kind of encampment old Jock Munro spotted up the glen.’

  ‘Well, you be careful, Jim. I tell you, I cannae see how they’ll manage tae clear that road any time soon, even wae a whole army of snowploughs. We were lucky they got as far as us, and that was just a mile or two outside Kinloch.’

  ‘We’ve got a few bodies here, so we should be OK. When they give you the all clear, I want you to dig up John Campbell, you know, the lawyer from the lifeboat. He has information from years back about the history of the Shannons. I’d like you to get your hands on it, as soon as.’

  ‘Will do,’ said Scott, but Daley had already ended the call. ‘Oh, I’m feeling fine, how are you?’ he muttered to himself, as a youthful doctor, accompanied by an equally young nurse, knocked on the door and entered the room.

  ‘Now, Sergeant Scott, I hear you’ve been in the wars. Nearly went up in flames then in a car crash, I believe.’

  ‘Aye, happy New Year, son. If it carries on like this, I’ll no’ make February.’

/>   He winced as the doctor placed a cold stethoscope on his bare chest, asking him to breathe deeply.

  ‘Now, since these incidents, have you experienced anything odd – confusion, feeling that all’s not well? You know what I mean.’

  ‘No, son, nothing like that. I’ve got too much on my plate tae have time tae get confused. And as for feeling that all is not well, I’ve been experiencing that since the day I joined the polis.’

  Today was not the day that Brian Scott would introduce his demons to the world.

  Bruce sat at the traditional early breakfast, taking in the scene at Kersivay House. There was no sign of Lars Bergner’s wife or children; they were still waiting for the body pulled from the bonfire at the Black Wherry to be formally identified. His mother was there and his daughter, Mrs Watkins in tow to keep her on an even keel. A host of nieces, nephews, cousins, aunts and uncles, plus lawyers, accountants and the senior executives of the company all orbited around the main power bases, namely Ailsa Shannon and her nephew Maxwell, locked in the struggle for control of the company.

  As was tradition, breakfast would begin with a few words and a prayer. This was normally conducted by the company chaplain but he had recently retired, so the Reverend Ignatius More had been tasked with the job. He was looking nervously about the large ballroom, stripped down after the festivities by a team of hired help from the village.

  Ailsa stood up from her seat and moved round the table towards Bruce, who steeled himself for yet another dressing down. He was surprised when she held his hand and looked worriedly into his eyes.

  ‘Mum, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Oh, Maxwell has just told me that Percy is unwell; confined to his bed, apparently. He seemed fine when I talked to him last night.’

  ‘I wouldn’t spend too long worrying about Percy, he’s as tough as old boots. More likely he had too much whisky last night and needs to sleep it off. He still tries to drink like a twenty year old. Daft old bugger.’

  ‘You’re probably right, Bruce. I’ll pay him a visit once this little charade is over.’

  It was Bruce’s turn to look concerned. He had heard nothing from Trenton Casely and feared that his attempt to wrest power from Maxwell would come to nothing, despite his plotting. As though she had read his mind, his mother caught him by the sleeve of his jacket and leaned in closer.

  ‘You must promise me that you’ll let events here take their own course, Bruce. This isn’t the time for you to tilt at another windmill. I want you to have a word with Charles, he may want your help when it comes to voting.’

  ‘He’s a good guy, Mum, but don’t you think we’d be in a better position now if he had any real influence over Maxie?’

  ‘Maxwell is greatly disadvantaged by Lars Bergner’s absence. An awful situation, but it has worked to our advantage.’

  ‘Why is Maxwell going ahead? I mean, Lars’s disappearance is the perfect excuse to postpone. Aren’t you concerned?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ replied his mother, regaining some of her poise. ‘Maxwell thinks that it’s just a matter of time until his father dies, so we should all tread water and watch the rise of the new regime. He’s very confident.’

  There was something about the look on her face that troubled Bruce. In fact, she was more serene than he had seen her for years. She and her brother-in-law had navigated a steady, if unspectacular, path to greater success, based on the foundations laid by her late husband. But since her nephew had inherited his position, a silent battle had raged. Maxwell plotted and schemed, waiting for the day his father would die and the real power would be his and his alone.

  At the moment, he ran the company as a weakened regent, with Ailsa, supported by other family members, able to veto plans as they chose. The pall of young Archie’s disappearance hung even more heavily over proceedings. When his father died, Archie should have been the one to take over the reins of the organisation, not his uncle, and Maxwell would have been reduced to the same powerless position Bruce now so reluctantly occupied.

  ‘As long as we have our fifty-fifty veto, nothing can happen that will ruin us, Mum. We’ll just have to settle for that,’ he said, smiling at her. She didn’t reply, but he followed her eye line to where Brady was sitting across the table.

  A strange look passed across Ailsa’s face.

  Daley knocked on the door of Percy Williamson’s cottage. He could see a candle flickering in the window, almost obscured by thick snow on the sill. He shivered in the thin morning light, then the door opened a crack, revealing the old man’s face.

  ‘Mr Williamson, just checking that everything is OK.’

  ‘Yes, good morning, Chief Inspector. Don’t come too close – my wife and I have an awful bug. We’ve both been very sick over the last few hours. Nasty germ.’

  ‘I was wondering if you’d noticed anything unusual across at the office block?’

  ‘What do you mean, unusual?’

  ‘You know, lots of comings and goings, people you don’t know and so on.’

  ‘I stopped recognising who was coming about this place more than twenty years ago. There are so many of them now, how could anyone keep track? Sorry I can’t be more helpful.’

  ‘Do you need anything?’

  ‘No, no, you’re very kind. We’ll battle on here. Never died a winter yet, Mr Daley. Mrs Shannon is very kind, I’m sure she’ll see to any needs we have.’ Percy stared at Daley, then tossed his head to one side – a nervous twitch, Daley thought. His pallor was grey, his cheeks hollowed. ‘If you don’t mind, I have to go – call of nature. Please excuse me.’ He slammed the door shut; Daley could hear him hurrying along the hall, no doubt to the toilet.

  ‘Doesn’t look well, sir,’ observed Aitcheson. ‘Hope it’s not one of these winter bugs that will floor us all. Last thing we need, stranded here.’

  Daley hesitated for a moment. ‘Better get up the glen and see what we can find. It’s light enough now.’ There was something about the old caretaker’s demeanour that troubled him. He filed the thought away, resolving to talk to Ailsa about it at the first opportunity.

  29

  Scott stamped his feet to keep warm as he stood in front of the solicitor’s office in Kinloch, waiting for John Campbell to arrive. The town’s Main Street was barely recognisable under the largest accumulation of snow anyone could remember. Hard-working council staff had managed to dig a pathway up the street, so cars, in single file, could navigate their way through the town.

  He watched as an expensive 4x4 made steady progress up the hill, stopping outside the gates to the office. It was an old building, just down the road from Kinloch Police Office and across from the Sheriff Court – in the heart of the town’s legal quarter, as Daley put it.

  ‘Morning, DS Scott,’ said John Campbell, easing his large frame from the passenger seat. ‘Thought it wise to have my good lady take the wheel this morning. She doesn’t drink and I’m afraid I rather made up for our shortfall in consumption last night.’

  He waded through the deep snow and shook the detective’s hand. ‘Did you have a decent Hogmanay? Probably on duty so on the bloody wagon, eh?’

  ‘Something like that, Mr Campbell,’ said Scott. ‘I can’t say I wouldn’t rather be in my scratcher, mark you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get inside and grab a cup of coffee before I dig out old Dryesdale’s files. Years since I last looked at them, but very interesting, as I recall. We wanted to archive them at the local museum but the Shannons would have none of it. Blast this snow,’ he added as he struggled to push open the front door of the office. ‘I’ve never seen the like, not here at any rate. Only a matter of time until the natives get restless and start worrying about food running out.’

  ‘Is that likely?’

  ‘Well, even though there are two decent supermarkets in the town, people start stockpiling. The last time we had anything like this, I was a young solicitor, just qualified, in fact. Bloody war zone in the town. The amount of assaults and breaches of the pe
ace I dealt with in the weeks after was monumental. Still, I’m sure civility will have improved now we’re in the twenty-first century.’

  ‘Doon here? I’m no’ so sure,’ replied Scott.

  ‘For ever and ever, amen,’ said the Reverend Ignatius More, standing at one end of the long boardroom table in the ballroom of Kersivay House. A few echoed his amen, but most simply sighed and got stuck into their breakfast, glad the Minister had finished.

  ‘Well done, Reverend,’ said Bruce, smiling up at him. ‘I apologise for the lack of respect from some around this table. We really appreciate you taking the time to be with us this morning.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ replied More. ‘I wonder, any chance of me and you having a quick chat once you’ve eaten? In private, if that’s OK?’

  ‘Sure. Needing some funds for the church roof again?’

  ‘No,’ replied More, leaning his head closer to Shannon’s. ‘Mr Casely sent me. I’ll meet you on the terrace in about half an hour?’

  Bruce watched him walk away, admonishing himself after a few seconds to try and not look so shocked.

  Campbell pulled an extending ladder from the loft hatch and climbed up it somewhat unsteadily. ‘If I’d known I was going to be as active this morning, I’d have consumed rather less of the amber nectar last night. We have the Shannon papers in a stout old trunk, shouldn’t be too hard to find.’

  Scott looked around Campbell’s office. Stacks of leather-bound books sat in a huge case behind his long oaken desk. All was polished wood, green leather and dark panelling. A laptop on Campbell’s desk looked out of place in a space that Torquil Dryesdale of a hundred years before might well have found familiar.

  ‘Ah, here we are,’ called Campbell from the loft. ‘It’s a bit awkward, can you help me down this bloody ladder?’ Scott heard something being pushed across the floor above his head then Campbell appeared, a wooden casket at his feet.

  After much straining and no little profanity, the two men managed to manoeuvre the box down the ladder and onto the floor of Campbell’s office. Scott studied it, noting the brass strips that bound the casket together and the stout lock just under the lid. ‘Hope you’ve got the key, Mr Campbell.’