Death in the Black Wood, Oliver Davies [short story to read TXT] 📗

“I know.” He’d said the same thing at least a dozen times over the last couple of weeks. “I wish you’d stop worrying about us two Da. You can be back here in under a day, and we can reach you just as quickly if we need to.” It seemed like a good idea to remind him that he was as likely to find himself in trouble as we were. Accidents could happen anywhere after all.

He took the hint. By the time Shay came back with our teas, we were both busily engaged with our own projects again. After another hour I’d had enough of it for the night. I pulled up the STV player, ready for the Scottish news segment at ten thirty, but left it muted while I nipped off to the loo. Sure enough, our images and the contact phone number were run again. McKinnon had already emailed me to let me know they’d been shown on the six o’clock news. Well, we’d just have to wait and see if anyone recognised the poor devil and called in.

Surely, somebody in the area would know that face?

Seven

McKinnon’s hotline received a few calls about our victim, two of which he asked me to chase up on Monday morning. One had been from the foreman of a local construction company and the other from the Salvation Army Captain at their Community Centre on Tomnahurich Street. After phoning the supplied numbers to make sure that our contacts would be available to speak with us, Caitlin and I headed for Ness Bridge, the best river crossing for our first destination.

The Sally Army Community Centre was on the corner of Tomnahurich and Kenneth streets, with a curving brick section at the front, two stories high, and a long, single storey section running back along Kenneth Street. I managed to find a parking spot on the side road just after the adjoining pizza place and we hurried back to the entrance through an icy fall of sleet with the wind at our backs.

“Ugh!” Caitlin complained as we dove indoors, “I think this might be my least favourite kind of weather.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “Da timed his getaway pretty well. Makes you feel for the poor devils who are sleeping rough out there though doesn’t it?” I was looking around interestedly. “Still, at least organisations like this one are here to do what they can to help.” I pulled my warrant card out as one of the volunteer staff members came over to greet us.

“Hi, good morning, I’m DCI Keane and this is my colleague, Sergeant Murray. I called about twenty minutes ago. Captain Thorne is expecting us.”

“She is, Inspector. I’m Janet. If you’d both like to come with me, I’ll take you to her office.” We followed her up the stairs and down a short hallway.

“Come in,” a clear, warm voice invited when Janet knocked.

A plump, brown-haired woman in her late forties smiled up at us as we walked in. The captain was wearing her short sleeved white shirt but her jacket was hanging on a stand in the corner. It struck me as funny that she looked far more official than we did, with those starred epaulettes on her shoulders. Well, people might sometimes mock the Sally Army for their uniforms and their Christian fervour, but they did good and useful work. I knew from Shay that they had a contract with the government in England and Wales to offer support to rescued trafficking and slavery victims. Despite his reservations about the religious aspect of the organisation, he mainly approved of how they’d been handling things down there over the past few years.

“Inspector Keane and Sergeant Murray to see you, Susan,” Janet told her.

“Thank you, Janet. Do you think you could find Alan for me?” she asked as she gestured for us to sit.

“Of course.” Janet closed the door behind her.

“Alan Parker is one of our hard working volunteers. He had the most contact with Dominic when he visited us last year,” Captain Thorne explained. “It was Alan who called me on Friday evening, when he saw Dominic’s face on the news. A tragic business.” No details regarding the body had been given out, just the information that he’d been found near Dores and a plea for anyone who could identify the deceased to come forward. It was likely that she thought he’d simply frozen to death.

“Dominic, Captain Thorne? Was that the only name he gave when he came here?”

“As far as I know, Inspector. Perhaps Alan will be able to supply you with more information. I don’t recall the unfortunate young man myself, we see so many faces passing through our doors and Alan says he only came here a few times.”

Another knock announced the arrival of Alan, a skinny, pale faced man in his mid-sixties. Once he’d seated himself facing us, to the side of Thorne’s desk, he looked at us sadly.

“I’d like to thank you for reaching out to us, Mr Parker. I’m Inspector Keane and this is Sergeant Murray. Would you mind just looking at these images and making sure that our victim is the man you knew as Dominic?” I pulled out my folder and handed it across to him.

“Of course,” he agreed. He stared at the images for some time, a slight frown furrowing his brow. “Excuse me, Inspector, but these don’t appear to be actual photographs. The one on the news showed Dominic as a bald man but his face was unmistakable. This one here though, with the short hair and beard, that’s more what he looked like when I last saw him.” He indicated the fourth image. “The hair was slightly longer, but yes, that’s certainly him.”

Captain Thorne was frowning now too. “Those are computer generated reconstructions?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “I’m afraid that the body had been in a fire when it was discovered.” I saw the shocked look on both their faces. Well, burning to death was not