In Dark Water (Detective Shona Oliver 1)

‘Thinks he’s above the law.’

‘Exactly. So, let’s knock him down a peg or two.’

‘I’ll just finish typing up my notes,’ Murdo said. ‘I interviewed Isla’s brother Lewis last night on my way home. He works in a fast-food restaurant, perfect cover for dealing. I wondered if he’d joined some arm of the family business, but he wants nothing to do with the Corrs. Threw some light on their appalling home life. Gave me a number for Isla’s older sister, Eva. She’s twenty-four and lives in Australia. I came in early to phone her. She got out quick, did a nursing degree then bolted for the other side of the world.’ Murdo shook his head. ‘Thought since she’d been away for so long she’d take the news okay, but she was in bits. Burdened with guilt, said she should have protected her little sister and wants to come back for the funeral. I told her it might be a wee while ’til Cumbria release the body, but we’d let her know.’

‘Had she any recent contact with Isla?’ Shona asked. She took a multi-vitamin pill and two Ibuprofen from her desk drawer, swallowing them down with bottled water.

Murdo shook his head. ‘They didn’t speak. Eva’s first reaction was to ask if their father was responsible for Isla’s death. Tells you all you need to know about that family.’

‘Jesus.’ Shona rubbed her forehead and took another swig of water. ‘Did we confirm Paddy’s state of health with the doctors?’

‘Aye, he’s out of the picture. Can barely walk. Marie’s got a full-time job caring for the bastard. I wonder she can stomach it.’

Shona crossed to the whiteboard and erased Paddy Corr’s name with her finger, rewriting it at the bottom of the list. In its place she wrote Duncan Saltire. She replaced the cap on the marker and tapped the new name. ‘Okay, Murdo. Let’s see what this guy can tell us.’

* * *

Duncan Saltire’s address was a property tucked in a quiet street not far from the centre of Annan. The house was a respectable double bay-fronted semi-detached built of red sandstone, which he’d inherited from his parents. Around that time, he’d changed his name from Duncan Ferguson to the more patriotic Saltire, the name for Scotland’s national flag. The only sign of the house’s noteworthy occupant was the heavy locks and the CCTV on the solid Victorian front door. The letterbox was sealed. Mail could be deposited in a locked metal container by the front gate. The background checks on his recent activities had come up clean, not even a parking ticket.

Murdo pressed the doorbell. Somewhere a tinkling sound from another era echoed. A shadow moved behind the peephole and Saltire himself opened the door. Short and lean, he was dressed in a white shirt with a light red willow pattern, cuffs rolled back to reveal muscular forearms. He wore jeans and his feet were bare. His fair skin was rosy from the shower and his cropped blond hair and moustache still wet.

‘Yes?’ he said, his face expressionless. Murdo and Shona held up their badges. She saw a flash of annoyance. ‘Suppose you better come in.’ He stalked off down the Milton tiled hallway, leaving the officers to follow. ‘I’ve a meeting, you’d better be quick.’ Murdo closed the door behind them.

They found him seated on a brown leather Chesterfield sofa in a tastefully decorated room that looked out over a neat back garden. The lawn ran down to a high brick wall topped with razor wire. Saltire was not looking at them but pulling on black socks. ‘Our march permits are all in order. Or are the police wasting resources checking up on peaceful political campaigning while crimes committed by illegal immigrants go unsolved?’ A pair of polished brogues lay on the carpet. ‘What’s this all about?’ He didn’t invite them to sit down.

‘Isla Co

rr,’ said Murdo.

Saltire said nothing, but Shona saw the missed beat, the fraction of a second when Saltire hesitated. Eventually, he said, ‘What about Isla Corr?’ He finished with the socks and lifted the shoes towards him.

‘We’ve found her body,’ Murdo continued, sitting down on the matching sofa opposite.

Saltire took a moment to answer. ‘What does that have to do with me?’

‘We understand you were previously in a relationship with Isla. We’d like to know when you last saw her.’ Murdo took out his notebook.

Saltire shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t call it a relationship. I’ve not seen her for some time.’

‘If you could be more precise, sir? This is a serious matter.’

Saltire gave a quizzical tilt of his head. He smiled. ‘If this is official, maybe I need my solicitor?’

‘If this was an official interview, you’d be down the station,’ said Murdo flatly. ‘We could do that if you wish. I’ll radio for a squad car to take you in. Cancel your meeting. Call your solicitor if you like.’ Murdo got up and buttoned his suit jacket in preparation to leave.

‘Okay,’ said Saltire, glancing at his watch, then motioning Murdo to sit down. ‘I haven’t seen Isla for a good few weeks,’ he continued. Murdo raised his eyebrows, inviting him to be more precise. ‘It was the Sunday of the Electric Forest Festival at Lanrig Castle, I’d just got back. She was waiting.’

‘So,’ Murdo flipped to the calendar pasted in the back of his notebook, ‘Sunday, July 29th, that would be. What did she want?’

‘She just dropped in to say hello.’ Saltire slid one foot in his brogue and began tying the laces.

‘What did you talk about? Did she seem distressed? Worried? Anyone threatening her?’

There it was again, the shrug. Confident the crisis had passed, Saltire pulled on the second shoe. ‘Not that I know of.’

‘Was Isla blackmailing you?’ Shona had remained standing just out of Saltire’s eyeline. ‘Because you’re the father of her child?’ He turned and glared at her with such venom she knew she’d hit the mark.

He concentrated on his laces. ‘You’ll need a court order to pursue that misguided idea.’