The old oak was a prominent feature of the house. It stood in the front garden, its leaves providing a patch of shade on the few days a Scottish summer warranted such a thing. It did not stand alone; nearby were a weeping willow, a few Scots pines, and the dangerous abomination of a monkey puzzle tree.
Josh looked at that thing and made a mental note to get a tree surgeon to trim it before one of its spiky branches fell on him. He hated those trees. He had nearly walked away from buying the house because of it, but the old place had won him over despite that flaw. The high ceilings, period features, polished wooden floors, marble and tiled entrance, and grand fireplaces—altogether it was just too beautiful and impressive to turn down.
If Josh had had his way, he would have chopped the tree down on the first day. Unfortunately, there were laws about that sort of thing, and if Josh was anything, he was a law-abiding citizen. Well, he should be—he’d been a detective for over twenty years before taking early retirement last June.
He glanced at the Rolex on his wrist, a reminder of that day. He’d been presented with it along with an unusually heartfelt card; the whole department had chipped in, the chief inspector included. It wasn’t particularly expensive—nothing gold or flashy—but it was the best watch Josh would ever own, and it kept perfect time. No complaints.
So there he sat in a deck chair on the lawn, nursing a G&T, staying well clear of the monkey-puzzle death trap and enjoying the rare sunshine, when a small red car trundled up the driveway.
It was a Fiat 127, an old 1980s model. It screeched to a stop, and he could hear the creak of the handbrake being yanked tight to stop it rolling back down the hill. The house stood high on a slope in a couple of acres of garden, the only access a steep driveway. There was nowhere to park outside the property, so vehicles coming up were normal enough—but a beat-up little car like this was an oddity.
Josh found himself intrigued to see who would emerge from it… and, more importantly, what they were selling.
Josh watched as the figure unfolded itself from the small car. He was an unfeasibly tall, gangly individual, with a mop of ginger hair and skin so pale it looked almost luminous. A blush coloured his face—more embarrassment than weather, Josh guessed.
Mr Gangly was wearing a cheap black suit, too short at the arms and legs. He closed the car door and awkwardly began climbing the short run of steps to the front entrance. He was completely unaware he was being watched from the shadow of the old oak.
Josh, feeling a little guilty, ended his covert surveillance with a friendly, “Can I help you?”
Mr Gangly looked up, trying to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. Josh stood and stepped out from the shade of the tree.
The man replied, “I hope so. Are you Mr Josh McTavish? I hope I’ve got the right house—my mother wasn’t sure of the address.”
Josh looked the odd fellow up and down.
“What’s this about?”
“My mother said you could help me.”
Josh looked at him, intrigued. “Why? Who are you? Who’s your mother?”
Mr Gangly gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry—my name is Angus.”
Josh thought to himself, With that complexion, I bet it is. He allowed himself a quiet internal chuckle but kept listening.
“My mother’s name is Grace McLean.”
Josh recognised the name immediately, though at first he couldn’t place it. Angus continued, giving him the piece he needed.
“You helped her when her father went missing years ago. She never forgot. She remembered your kindness and hoped you might help me.”
Josh felt the memory slide into place.
The case had been strange. A man disappearing while walking along a busy Glasgow street—never reaching the end, no witnesses, no explanation. His wife, Grace, had been beside herself with worry; he’d only just been diagnosed with early-onset dementia.
He’d been found a few weeks later when a couple returned from a long holiday to discover a ginger-haired old man living in their flat, as if he belonged there.
Josh had helped Grace through the worst of the worry. She’d reminded him of his little sister, who had recently passed away from an embolism. They had comforted each other. There had been nothing inappropriate between them, but there had been a closeness. That had been over twenty years ago, back when Josh had still been a constable.
“Okay, Angus, I remember your mother,” Josh said. “But I don’t know how I can help you. I’ve been retired for a couple of years now. Still… I’ll listen to what you’ve got to say.”
Angus’s eyes widened. “Thank you, Mr McTavish.”
Josh waved a hand dismissively. “Just Josh.”
Angus nodded, then stumbled over his words. “Okay—Mr… sorry, Josh. This is going to sound odd, but I’ve lost time. Two days, to be precise. I don’t drink, don’t do drugs, I’m not on any medication, and I’ve no injuries—but I have no recollection of the 11th and 12th of March. Can you help?”
Josh frowned. “Are you sure? I’ve had days where I can barely remember what I’ve done. Is there a reason those dates matter—something you think you should remember?”
Angus met his gaze. “It was the last two days of my holiday. I’ve no recollection of what I did, or even how I got home. I woke up in my own bed, all my luggage neatly put away. Nothing missing. Just… the days.”
“Okay… that does sound a bit odd,” Josh said. “I don’t want to alarm you, but you don’t have any new scars anywhere?”
Angus knew exactly where Josh was going with that and cut him off. “I’ve had that checked. I’ve still got all my organs. And I was only in the Lake District for a couple of weeks—I don’t even have a passport.”
Josh gave an apologetic nod. “Sorry. I had to ask.”
He paused, thinking it through. “As I said, I don’t know what I can do. I don’t have access to police systems anymore. I could ask a few former colleagues, maybe—but I’m assuming you’ve already been to the police and had no joy. That’s why you’re here.”
Angus nodded. “They were no help, I’m afraid. I don’t think they believed I was on holiday for two weeks and didn’t drink or take drugs. The only thing that makes any sense is I was spiked somehow… or abducted by aliens.”
Josh noted the grin as Angus said the last part—clearly sarcasm.
“Alright,” Josh said. “You’ve got me intrigued. And for your mum’s sake, I’ll look into it. I’ll need the name of the hotel you stayed at—and a number so I can keep in touch.”
Angus relaxed a little, relief visible in his face.
“Don’t worry,” Josh added. “We’ll get this sorted.”
They said their goodbyes, and as Angus’s little Fiat rattled back down the driveway, Josh found himself already planning the trip. A few days in the Lake District wouldn’t hurt. It was summer—the lakes would be stunning.
Stupidly busy… but stunning all the same.
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