In Dark Water (Detective Shona Oliver 1)

‘Oh, I know Mr Saltire, a wannabe local politician and small-time thug who the shit never sticks to. He pedals a particularly tasteless brand of right-wing ideology, the Sons of Scotia. That he’s Ryan’s father is very interesting, especially when you do the maths. Isla was twenty-one and Ryan is six years old.’

‘She had his baby when she was fifteen.’ Dan frowned. ‘How come Saltire wasn’t prosecuted?’

‘Maybe she refused to name the father. We don’t know for sure he is Ryan’s dad,’ Shona said. ‘But Saltire has political ambitions. A grubby story about underage sex and drugs looks bad, even if you’re a fascist. That’s certainly a potential motive. Time Mr Saltire and I had a chat.’

‘Want me to come with you?’

‘No, I’ll get Murdo to rattle his cage. You get back to Carlisle. Interview Jamie Buckland, check for sightings of Isla at his address. We need to fill in that timeline.’ They got out the car and said their goodbyes. As Dan walked away, Shona called after him, ‘By the way, you did well this morning. The hankie was a nice touch.’

He coloured slightly. ‘My old sergeant taught me that.’

‘Sounds like he knew what he was talking about.’

‘She,’ said Dan. ‘And yes, she did. So do you, ma’am. Thank you for this morning. I learned a lot.’

Chapter 12

Shona stood by the bedroom window, putting in pair of gold drop earrings Rob had bought her for their tenth anniversary. The early evening sun glittered on the Kirkness shore. A few dinghies and small yachts zig-zagged in the light breeze in front of the sailing club and she felt the familiar heart-tug of the water. The Scottish Trade Against Crime reception was taking place this evening at the Golden Eagle Hotel, a five-star establishment on Glasgow’s Clydeside, owned by TV businessman Kenny Hanlon. It was a couple of hours’ drive away from Kirkness. She knew where she’d rather be.

‘Thought you’d given up the undercover work when you left Vice.’ Rob came into the bedroom, struggling with the knot in his tie.

‘Very funny. Do you think this is too much? Too tarty?’ She spun this way and that before the mirror, suddenly unsure. She’d intended to buy something new, but Rob had discouraged her, pointing out she had a wardrobe full of clothes from London. The tight black vintage cocktail dress with its lace sleeves and beaded hem was his favourite. Maybe it was a little low-cut at the front, now she came to think of it. ‘Should I change?’

‘Don’t you dare,’ he said, his arm circling her waist. ‘I’m so used to seeing you in trousers or waterproofs, I just forget how lovely you look in a dress.’ He kissed her neck, nuzzling against her. ‘God, you smell so good.’

‘No, no, no.’ She wriggled free. ‘Mind on the job, Robert.’

‘My mind’s always on the job.’ He made a grab for her, but she easily sidestepped him. He fell sprawling onto the bed, then grinned invitingly up at her and patted the duvet beside him.

She shook her head, laughing. ‘Behave yourself. Your job is to get me through this STAC reception, stop me telling our host Kenny Hanlon what a total gobshite I think he is.’ She secured the second earring.

Rob lay back, watching her, his hands behind his head. ‘You never would. My Shona is never less than professional.’ He smiled. ‘But yes, The Enterpriser. Hanlon must be raking it in. BBC show, hotel group. Might put a business proposal to him myself. He’s got fingers in lots of pies. Could tap him for the local tourism group, or my restaurant idea.’

‘Well, if you’re sharing a pie with Hanlon I suggest you use a very long spoon.’

Rob laughed. ‘If you’ve already promoted him from gobshite to the devil himself I will need to watch you, lassie.’ He wagged a finger at her. ‘What’s the problem? Got a nice fat CID file on him, have you?’ He swung his legs out and sat on the edge of the bed.

Shona stepped into her heels and beckoned Rob towards her. ‘No, should I have?’ She unravelled his tie and started again. ‘What have you heard?’

He shrugged. ‘Nothing much. Has money to invest. He always turns the profit, others take the losses. Keeps on the right side of the law, just.’

‘Regular businessman then. He’s certainly keeping on the right side of the law with this STAC initiative. He’s the Money Messiah as far as Division are concerned. A million for community crime initiatives. Mind you,’ she said, patting his newly straightened tie, ‘he’s probably screwed double that out of his low-paid h

otel workers over the years, so he can afford it.’ She smoothed her dress and smiled at their reflections in the full-length mirror. They were a good match, a picture of respectable success.

Rob reached for his dark suit jacket and slipped it on. ‘Maybe I should ask him the question everyone really wants to know?’

‘Where he got his millions?’

‘No. Is that his real hair? It’s a very funny colour. Do you reckon it’s his own?’

‘No idea, but frankly, if that’s the basis of your business pitch to Kenny Hanlon, I think it needs work.’

* * *

Shona scanned the room. A string quartet played in the background. On the dark red walls hung landscapes in oil and portraits of Glasgow’s great and good, mostly white, mostly male, mostly dead.

‘A top-up?’ DCI Gavin Baird appeared at Shona’s shoulder.