The Barbershop Seven (189 page)

Gainsborough took a long drink of tea and laid the mug down on a desk. Frankenstein looked round at Proudfoot.

'It seems, Sergeant, that we have a list of one thing to do,' he said, then he turned and looked out at the day turned dark. Almost seven o'clock, the roundup, despite its paucity of information, having taken much longer than expected.

'I guess you lot can go for the evening, wherever that is,' he said. 'I want you back here tomorrow at eight. We've got beaches to sweep and....' The thought drifted off.

'Come on, Sergeant,' he said, 'no time like the present.'

And the men and women of the Millport Incident Room began looking at watches and putting on coats and wondering, in some cases, how much of the football they were going to miss.

***

B
arney Thomson was out walking around the west side of the island. Had gone as far as the new war memorial and turned back, by Deadman's Bay. A dark night, but the memory of the shaggy guy who had disappeared from his shop had gone. Or at least, the fear of it had gone. In his head it had become just another unexplained episode that there was no use thinking about, no point in agonising over and, by extension, nothing to be afraid of.

A damp night, the rain not actually falling, but the air itself wet. The sea had finally settled to a moderate swell and the first signs of a mist had begun to develop over the firth. From where he walked, Barney could not see the lights in Kilchattan bay.

He was just coming to the point which is called on the old maps Sheriff's Port, when the first car in over quarter of an hour came round the far bend, its small round headlights infiltrating the dark night. Barney stepped off the road onto the grass verge and saw a bench, facing out to sea, north-west, looking across and up the firth. As the vehicle approached he sat down and watched the movement of the light of the headlamps as it swung over the grass and rocks.

The noise of the engine lowered. Barney thought it was slowing down to an unnecessary degree for the corner. He turned. Not a car, he noticed, an old white van. It turned off the road and parked on the grass next to where Barney was sitting. More ghosts he wondered, although he felt no trepidation or fear.

The doors opened and out piled two men, two women and a dog. The crew whom Frankenstein had met the previous day. Team building. MI6.

'Hey,' said one of the guys casually.

'Hi,' said Barney.

'Kind of a creepy night.'

'Like yeah,' said the other guy. 'Spooky.'

Barney glanced at him and then looked back out to sea. It had, he thought, been a little bit creepy until you lot turned up. The creepiness had gone, along with the solitude and the beautiful peace and quiet.

The dog came and sniffed at Barney's feet. Barney clapped his ears but it didn't seem too interested. It stopped for a second, momentarily enjoyed the ear scratch, and then bowed its head and moved on, smelling the grass.

'Nice dog,' said Barney. 'What's his name?'

'He doesn't have a name,' said one of the girls, the one with a short black bob. 'The Dog With No Name.'

Barney looked round at them. They were all standing still, staring out into the mist. They looked less friendly now. They seemed to be working. Maybe they were part of the police investigation. The island was full of them. Not that they looked like the police.

Barney followed their gaze out to sea.

'Police?' he asked.

'MI6,' said the bloke who had spoken to him first.

Barney nodded. In the distance he could just make out the lights of a small vessel, barely visible in the mist.

'Isn't that supposed to be a secret?' asked Barney, not taking his eyes off the light out in the firth.

'Full disclosure these days, my trusty amigo.'

'Yeah?'

'Too many lawsuits from people claiming entrapment. We're the security services for crying out loud! Anyway, the lawyers tell us that these days we have to declare ourselves to everyone we speak to.'

'Shop assistants?'

'Yep,' said one of the women.

Barney was still watching the distant dim light.

'I'm Fred,' said the guy who had been doing most of the talking, 'this is Deirdre, Selma and Bernard.' He pronounced Bernard with the emphasis on the second syllable, so that it sounded American.

A few nods.

'Like, hi,' said Bernard.

Barney turned and nodded. Bernard was now scanning the foggy sea with a large pair of binoculars.

'And a dog with no name,' said Barney.

They were silent, intent on looking out over the water. Barney turned back round and relaxed into the seat. The dog was sniffing frantically around, searching for something that no one else seemed interested in.

Silence fell again, a hush that grew every time they stepped back and allowed it in. Barney pulled his coat closer to him. Shivered, but it was from the cold. Took a quick glance back, wondering if one of these times he'd look round and they'd be gone. Yet he didn't get that feeling with these four. And their dog. Maybe because of their dog.

The vessel was becoming more distinct as it emerged from the fog. A small fishing trawler. No sense of peculiarity or danger, but Barney was not surprised. Life sometimes gets on a roll, the no-bus-for-an-hour-and-then-three-in-five-minutes syndrome. If that happens anymore. Fishing vessels, fishermen everywhere. Haunted.

He lost himself in the fog, thoughts meandering. The man from that afternoon came back to him. Had he dreamt him, the shaggy guy who had disappeared in a turn of the head? He had been sleeping just before it, maybe he had slept all the way through it.

The quiet crept over them, no sound but the lick of the waves against the rocks. The trawler moved silently through the fog.

Barney felt a tap at the shoulder and he turned quickly, drawn back to the misty night. Bernard was holding the binoculars out to him.

'Here, pal, like take a quick look before the thing gets shrouded in mist again.'

'This sure is a creepy night,' said Selma.

Barney took the binoculars from Bernard with some uncertainty, wondering why he was being drawn into their gang.

He looked through the binoculars into the mist, searching for the trawler. Found it eventually, although it took him a while. The mist was swirling around it, almost like it had targeted the boat and was closing in from behind. He focused the binoculars and got his first good close look at the vessel before the mist completely descended.

Somehow he wasn't surprised by what he saw, even though it should never have been out there. The mist swirled round, the boat moved silently through the water midway out in the firth, and then suddenly it was gone, once more enveloped in the thick soup of the har.

Barney kept the binoculars up for another few seconds, wondering if it would reappear, and then he lowered them slowly and looked round at the gang. He held out the binoculars for Bernard who took them back. The dog with no name sat in front of them and started barking, a few rough shouts at the fog.

'Just the same as last night,' said Deirdre.

'I think I need a burger,' said Bernard. 'With fries on the side, and pickle and ketchup and more cheese than you can shake a stick at.'

Barney turned round and looked at Fred.

'The Bitter Wind...' he said.

Fred nodded. 'We had reports that it was seen out here last night as well, thought we'd come and take a look.'

'Funny how you arrived just as it appeared,' said Barney.

They exchanged a glance. Fred put a hand on his shoulder.

'We're MI6 my friend,' he said, 'a lot of things about us are funny.'

Barney looked back out at the mist, wondering if the answer to this mystery was prosaic or supernatural.

'Another trawler with the name daubed on?' he asked. 'Although I have no idea why anyone would do that.'

Selma had taken a small box from her bag and was now using it to scan the firth.

'Jings,' she said, 'if it was that, it's disappeared awful quickly.'

'No sign of it?' said Fred.

'No sign,' said Selma.

They all looked out at the sea and the fog and wondered.

'Looks like we might have found ourselves a fully-fledged ghost ship,' said Deirdre.

'Zoiks!' said Bernard. 'Come on, Dog With No Name, let's get out of here.'

Fully-fledged ghost ship...

The possibility put into words, Barney finally felt the shiver that the sinister night and the eerie vision of the trawler demanded. He stood and turned, as the gang of four and a dog clambered back into their van. Fred climbed into the driver's seat, then wound down the window and leant on the door.

'We'd offer you a lift back into town, friend, but it's a bit cramped back here.' He saluted.

Barney nodded. Wouldn't have taken it anyway. Found himself returning the salute, and then the van reversed out onto the road and disappeared on the short drive back into town.

––––––––

P
roudfoot knocked on the door of the small wooden chalet. Frankenstein was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Six little huts in a semi-circle. Holiday homes. Only one of the other six appeared to be currently occupied.

Frankenstein turned and looked out at the misty sea. Noticed the lights of the small vessel out in the fog. Felt the fleeting flicker of uncertainty, but didn't want to know the feeling, so turned back to the house. The door opened and a man in his eighties stood framed against the light, staring angrily out into the night.

'What?' he said.

'Mr Koppen?' asked Proudfoot.

'I'd like to deny it,' he said, 'but I suppose I can't. Police?'

'Detective Sergeant Proudfoot, this is Detective Chief Inspector Frankenstein.'

The two men took each other in, neither liking what they saw. People with something to hide never liked staring at Frankenstein. He had a quality which made them think that he could see right through them. And he usually could. For his part, Frankenstein never liked anyone he went to interview in connection with a case.

'You're his monster, are you?' asked Koppen, without looking at Proudfoot. Eyes locked on the man he could see as his adversary.

'I've never heard that before,' said Proudfoot dryly. 'You're funny. This is the part where you invite us in.'

Koppen looked back at her, glanced over his shoulder, shrugged and then stood back to let them walk past him. Proudfoot led the way. They walked into the cabin. Koppen closed the door. Inside, the cabin had the feel of a mobile home which is on display in the caravan park. Immaculately tidy and clean. A small sitting room with a kitchen, two bedrooms and a bathroom leading off. Everything that a single man would need. He had eaten his dinner sitting in front of the television, but all that remained on the small table was an unfinished bottle of Lipton's Green Ice Tea. There was a copy of the Bible sitting on the table. Over the back of the slender sofa was a throw depicting Jesus the shepherd in gaudy Technicolor.

There was porn showing on the TV. Explicit. Three men, one woman. Proudfoot glanced at it, looked away in disgust, then she caught sight of the Jesus throw. Frankenstein folded his arms and watched the TV for a few seconds. Koppen sat down and made no attempt to turn the television off.

'Feeling lonely, Mr Koppen?' asked Frankenstein.

'It's a free country,' he said.

'For the moment,' Frankenstein muttered in reply.

'A life of piety?' said Proudfoot.

'Tell me which one of the Lord's blessed commandments I'm breaking and I'll turn it off,' said Koppen.

'It's a moot point,' said Frankenstein, glancing at the TV as the woman was rammed forcibly from behind, 'since I'm turning the damn thing off anyway, but from where I stand it looks like you're doing a fair amount of ass coveting.'

Koppen grunted. Frankenstein leant forward and turned the television off. The moaning was gone. Silence. Frankenstein re-folded his arms, intent on standing throughout. Proudfoot perched herself on the edge of a seat, not really wanting to give herself fully to furniture that Stan Koppen had anything to do with.

'Where d'you keep the chickens?' asked Frankenstein sharply.

'Watch therefore: for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come,' said Koppen, who was used to hiding behind biblical quotes in a tight spot.

'Depends when he's been watching his porn movies,' quipped Proudfoot, and then winced at the fact that it was her who had just said that.

Frankenstein stifled the laugh. 'Chickens, Mr Koppen, where do you keep them?'

Koppen stared ruefully at him.

'In the freezer,' he said.

'You and Ally Deuchar,' said Proudfoot, 'tell us everything.'

Koppen looked annoyed, stared at the floor. Squeezed his fingers together, let them all linger there in silence for a while. Frankenstein and Proudfoot let him stew, waiting for information or waiting for a lie. Koppen leant forward and picked the Bible off the table. He didn't open it, just leant forward tapping it between his fingers.

'For the Lord seeth not as man seeth: for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.'

'Enough of the mumbo, big guy,' said Frankenstein.

'And how is your heart, Mr Koppen?' said Proudfoot, before her boss could descend any further into name-calling.

'I have nothing to hide,' he said meekly, still looking at the carpet.

'Is your god forgiving of lies?' asked Proudfoot softly.

Koppen straightened up, not looking her in the eye. Staring at a point somewhere on her left shoulder.

'I wanted the boat, that's no secret. I thought I made him decent terms. It's no life for a young man, the fishing, not anymore. No future in it. So, to be honest, I was thinking of him, his crew. It was more for their benefit than mine. The Lord teaches us that we must put others first.'

'Very charitable,' said Frankenstein.

'What were the terms?' asked Proudfoot. 'You don't seem to have much that you could offer them.'

It was always the same. They didn't operate on a good cop, bad cop basis, it was more of a competent cop, comedy-grumpy cop routine.