The Darkness and the Deep (7 page)

Bill wasn’t amused. ‘She can’t let her get away with that! If she doesn’t start the way she means to go on she’ll have a delinquent dog on her hands.’

‘Don’t think I didn’t tell her. Daisy was having a wonderful time when I saw her, on and off the chairs, racing round the furniture when Laura tried to catch her. And of course Laura thought it was terribly funny that she was so cheeky.’

‘And her a psychologist!’

‘Only human. I don’t think her training extended to dogs. I had a little word with Daisy myself and she was a bit chastened after that. I’ve told Laura she’s to leave her in the kitchen no matter how she screams and I’ve told her I’ll be able to tell from Daisy’s behaviour whether she’s done it or not. And I’ve also told her she’ll have you to answer to if she ruins the dog.’

‘Good. I suppose if the worst comes to the worst we can bring Daisy back here for a bit and Meg’ll knock some manners into her.’ Meg, at the sound of her name, raised her head.

‘Look at that, now you’ve upset her. She’s been revelling in her regained freedom.’ Marjory took a sip of her Scotch. ‘Laura’s good about people, though. You know I told you about this new man, Jonathan Kingsley?’

Bill nodded. ‘And you were worrying about how to handle Tam.’

‘Right. Well, I tried to do it in a jokey way, and all I managed to do was put his back up. I was telling Laura, and she thought joking about it might have put the whole thing in the wrong context. If I’d said to him that this guy was going to be an important member of the team and I was worried about how other people might react, I’d have been more likely to get him on side.’

‘We-ell.’ Bill was uneasy. ‘He’s the one who was going to be the biggest problem – we all know that. Isn’t what Laura’s suggesting a bit underhand?’

‘Manipulative, anyway,’ Marjory agreed. ‘It’s a damning word, but isn’t that what management has to be about? The humorous approach was manipulative too, it just wasn’t successful.’

‘So did she have a suggestion for what would work?’

Marjory sighed. ‘20/20 hindsight’s easy, but it’s never as simple as that, is it? It was a help to talk it over with Laura but where you go from where I am now—’

‘If all else fails, you could try saying you weren’t straight with him and you’re sorry.’ Bill finished his whisky and got up abruptly. ‘I’m just going to do the rounds. You’ve shut in the hens, haven’t you?’

With Meg, galvanised into activity, at his heels, he went out, leaving Marjory to stare into the fire where the logs were burning away to ash. That was all she needed – for the man she loved and the woman who had become her good friend to be at odds. But then, of course, it was notoriously hard to forgive someone for doing you a huge favour.

Bill still wasn’t the cheerful, easy-going fellow he had been before the foot-and-mouth epidemic had taken its toll. He was better, much better, so that a lot of the time she could convince herself that everything was back to normal, very nearly. But perhaps ‘normal’ meant something different now, and tonight Bill had almost sounded jealous. And perhaps, since he had always been her confidant and adviser, she had been insensitive in admitting that she had another counsellor.

Marjory sighed. Somehow she’d managed to upset the most important man in her personal life and the most important in her professional life at the same time. Not a good day. She finished her drink, barely tasting it, and got up. The room felt cold now and it wasn’t entirely due to the dying fire.

Anyway, she’d have to see to it that Laura got a grip on training Daisy. Bill would never forgive her if she spoiled a good dog.

4

A breath of fresh autumn air gusted into the reception area of the Galloway Police Headquarters as Marjory Fleming swung open the door on her way into work. It was well into October now and a clear, cold morning with a strong wind blowing and the brown and russet leaves, lying in deep drifts on the pavement outside, were being snatched up to dance in crazy spirals.

She nodded curtly to the desk sergeant and the young constable on duty behind the counter, then headed for the stairs to her office, the heels of her plain, low-heeled court shoes clicking briskly on the tiled floor.

PC Langlands, looking after the tall retreating figure of the DI, now taking the stairs athletically two at a time, pulled a face at Sergeant Naismith. ‘Who’s stolen her scone? Big Marge is usually cheery enough unless she’s on the warpath. And I’ll tell you who else is going round looking like a wet weekend in Rothesay – Tam MacNee.’

Naismith, with fifteen years of police experience, not to mention a fair few Scotch pies, under his expansive belt, was always a reliable source of station gossip. ‘Ah well, you see, there’s this English lad just come as a DC, one of those fast-track, high-flyer types out to make a bit of a splash, no doubt, and show us teuchters where we’re getting it wrong, so Marge has her knickers in a twist about that, seemingly. And Tam’s fallen out with her – he’s not saying why but he’s called her “ma’am” twice in Macdonald’s hearing.’

‘Bad as that, eh? Heavy stuff. Best keep our heads down till it blows over then.’

The sergeant gave the benign nod of a teacher with an apt pupil. ‘Oh, you’re learning, laddie!’ Just as he spoke, the outside door burst open again on a savage gust of wind and a flurry of dead leaves was swept in. He tutted.

‘See that woman – she’s never shut the door properly behind her. Away and close it, Sandy, and try and hoosh those leaves back out. The wind’s fair getting up out there.’

Detective Constable Tansy Kerr, standing uneasily in front of the DI’s desk, bit her lip and studied the twizzled laces of her deck shoes. Under her urchin-cut hair, tinted dark red with a blonde streak at the front, her naturally pale skin was a shade or two paler than usual. ‘Yes, ma’am, sorry, ma’am,’ she mumbled.

‘As somebody said to me once, Kerr, “Damn your sorrow, just don’t do it again.” You weren’t on top of the facts of the case when you went into the witness box and the defence agent had you for breakfast. There’s the Fiscal snorting flames and we’ve got Hughie Fowler back on the streets. Not only has the cost of a court case been wasted, it’s going to cost police time to bang him up again when he commits his next offence, which should be any minute now. Anything you want to say?’

Tansy Kerr swallowed. ‘No excuse. I was just careless. Sorry.’

Fleming’s stern expression relaxed a fraction. ‘All right, Tansy. We all understand that sort of mistake can happen. Once. Now get back to the coalface.’

‘Thanks, boss,’ she said fervently, and went out. With the door shut behind her, she collapsed against the wall just as PC Macdonald appeared, coming along the corridor escorting a good-looking, fair young man in a city suit.

‘Phew!’ Kerr said. ‘I got out alive. Do the teeth marks show?’

Andy Macdonald grinned. ‘Only round the jugular. This is Jonathan Kingsley, the new DC. Jonathan, Tansy Kerr.’

She regarded him with some curiosity. There had been quite a bit of talk about him in the CID room, with Tam MacNee noticeably tight-lipped. He looked a bit of a stuffed shirt but that was maybe just the suit. They shook hands.

‘Well, good luck,’ she said as Macdonald knocked on DI Fleming’s door. ‘Maybe now Big Marge has had her fix of blood she’ll be sweetness and light.’

Looking at the young man waiting to be invited to take a seat with an air of calm self-possession, Fleming could understand why the ACC, a susceptible lady, had been impressed.

Jonathan Kingsley. His CV was on the desk in front of her: age twenty-six, school in Derbyshire, good degree in chemistry from Edinburgh University, three years’ police service. He’d had an early success, playing an important part in busting a drugs ring by going undercover and passing himself off as a student.

It wouldn’t have been difficult. He looked much younger than his years, being slight and fair, with a sharp-featured, intelligent face; his grey eyes were, at the moment at least, cool and watchful. There was something about the set of the mouth she couldn’t quite read – arrogance, cussedness perhaps? The smart suit he was wearing looked expensive and she could only hope this was in honour of his interview with her. He’d stick out like a sore thumb if he went around here looking as if he was trying to find a Starbuck’s.

Fleming came round the desk to shake his hand. He was fractionally shorter than she was.

‘DC Kingsley. Good to have you join us. I hope you’re not going to find it too quiet here in the sticks, after the big city.’

Damn, why had she said that? It sounded touchy, defensive.

He had a pleasant smile which gave absolutely nothing away. ‘Not at all. I like the area – I’ve sailed a bit down here.’

At least he spoke the flat, Estuary English standard with the young and not with a ‘plum-in-the-mouth’ accent, but even so Fleming groaned inwardly. A yachtie as well as a graduate and an Englishman who looked as if he’d be as much use as a schoolkid if things turned nasty – how was that going to play with the lads downstairs?

She made the usual perfunctory enquiries about accommodation and other practicalities, then moved on to his experience of the Edinburgh drugs scene and found herself, like the ACC, impressed. He knew his stuff. She’d read endless papers and reports on the subject, of course, with increasing concentration lately as drug-taking, once seen as an urban blight, had taken deep and deadly root in her own patch. She’d even attended a course on the problem, but that was no substitute for hands-on experience. Kingsley’s scientific background, too, was clearly an advantage; he was outlining some of the lab procedures now.

‘You mean,’ she asked, ‘that given two samples of a drug it would be possible to state categorically that they came from the same source?’

‘Pretty much. Under analysis there would be features – a comparable level of adulteration, for instance – which would indicate they were at least from the same batch.’

‘Right. So say we had three drugs finds in different places in the district, we could expect the labs to tell us whether they all came from the same supplier or from three different ones? Establish a sort of tracking pattern?’

‘It could do. You just need to get your hands on the stuff.’

‘Which was presumably where your undercover work in Edinburgh came in? Unfortunately, you’d find that a bit tricky here.’

He looked a surprised enquiry.

‘In a rural community, where everyone knows everyone, you tend to be a marked man. The criminal fraternity will make it their business to clock you as soon as possible, though you’ve probably got a few weeks’ grace. But then of course the other thing – I hate to be personal, but it’s your accent. It’s not like Edinburgh where they’ve almost as many English students as Scots ones – you’d stick out like a sore thumb if you started hanging about in the bars here.’

Kingsley smiled. ‘Oh, I don’t have to talk like this. I’ve been assured that my Scots accent is pretty convincing.’

Fleming tried not to wince noticeably. She’d heard too many Englishmen smugly doing a ‘see-you-Jimmie’ and never would be too soon to hear another one. ‘I’m sure it is,’ she said hastily, ‘but I think we’ll pass on that one.’

He gave a shrug. ‘Suit yoursel’. It’s no’ a problem.’

She stared at him. He’d got it absolutely right: not implausibly broad, the merest hint of a sing-song intonation and those lazily dropped final letters. ‘You’re good,’ she admitted.

‘Self-protection. It saved a lot of hassle in the Edinburgh pubs on an International Saturday when England had won, kept me out of quite a few fights, I reckon, and then of course it came in handy professionally as well. I was always a good mimic – got into a lot of trouble that way when I was at school.’

‘Did you, indeed?’ Fleming said dryly. ‘I can imagine a “Big Marge” impression going down very well here. Did you know they call me Big Marge?’

For the first time he showed signs of being rattled. ‘Er – er,’ he stammered.

She enjoyed that. ‘I like to tell myself it’s affectionate. That’s affectionate as in, “She’s OK unless you screw up when there was an alternative.” All right?’

He nodded slowly. ‘Message understood.’

‘Thanks, Jonathan. Now, can you find your way back to the CID room? Good. I’ve had them sort out some files for you to read to bring you up to speed. Oh, and by the way – I wouldn’t go displaying your linguistic skills until they know you a bit better. They might think you were taking the mickey.’

And was she entirely sure that he wouldn’t be? When he left, Fleming got up from her desk and walked over to the window of her office. It was on the fourth floor; she had a view out over the roofs of the market town of Kirkluce and down into the main street. The sun was still shining, but now it was a troubled sky with gold-tinged, purplish clouds massing over to the west, and a blustering wind was stripping the dying leaves from the branches of the trees lining the pavement below. In farming, you lived close to the weather; Fleming could see now all the signs of a gathering storm. She tried to resist the temptation to see it as symbolic.

It wasn’t easy to know what to make of the new officer. He was highly intelligent, that was for sure, and he’d come from a specialist drugs unit, something they didn’t have the manpower to run here. He might bring a more cutting edge to the drugs operation which was presently at the head of her agenda, and he was undoubtedly a very cool customer, not the sort to allow himself to be riled by the more abrasive members of the team. Like Tam.

Tam was still standing on his dignity. She’d tried to frame a suitable apology but it was difficult; it wasn’t the words she had used which had caused the trouble, it was Tam’s inferring from them that she was accusing him of being unprofessional. She’d told him she hadn’t meant that and received only an uncompromising ‘No, likely not,’ in response, but she couldn’t say she’d been wrong to think his treatment of an English colleague might be insensitive. She knew damn well it would have been, and so did he; he would see an apology of that nature as despicably insincere. And he’d be right. Stalemate.