A Dark Deception

When the body of a woman washes up on the coast of a small Scottish town in 1992, the residents prepare to mourn their local teacher. Only Clara Oswald is very much alive and John Smith, the new detective in town, knows that she is hiding something. Why else would she choose to live a hermit-like existence in a godforsaken place near Kirkwall? Just when he starts to believe that she is innocent, the whole world seems to turn against her and John finds himself in a race against his boss to find out what exactly happened that stormy January night, even though the truth might not be what he had hoped for...

First of all, a huge, massive THANK YOU to my dear friend Liz (universe-on-her-shoulders) for taking the time to proofread this story ahead of release. Second of all, another big thank you to everyone who waited so patiently for this fic. It's my first attempt at a crime story and I had a blast writing it - which is why it turned into my longest work to date which I will post on my usual schedule for basically the rest of the year. Don't want to wait that long? Eager to read it in one go? Check out my Tumblr or Twitter for details.

A second and third instalment is also in progress, so stay tuned ;) Now, I hope you'll enjoy this ride.

Chapter 1

The rough January wind stung as it whipped the air and caused the waves to crash against the coast with such force that it blew the spray against his numb face. Detective Inspector John Smith had only been outside for a couple of minutes and he had already lost the feeling in his lips and fingers. The memories of Scotland he had in his mind weren't particularly nice to begin with and this weather wasn't doing a lot to improve them. His childhood home was desolate, grey and brutal, much like the unforgiving waves that raged around his feet. John Smith looked down at the twisted body that had been washed up by the storm and now lay sprawled out across the stones below him like a cruel reminder of how fragile life actually was. While the rest of the team had rushed down to check for signs of life, John only needed to look at her to know that any effort to revive the woman would be futile. It was better to stay up here on the sea wall and wait for them to confirm what he already knew while remaining relatively dry. Down there, the waves had drenched the officers in a matter of seconds.

"It's a woman," a female voice called out to him and John Smith turned his head and saw that Kate Stewart had climbed back up and joined him on the cliff. She was his boss and had more brains than the rest of the team combined, but sometimes, John thought that after years of living here, the local stupidity had rubbed off on her.

The last time he had seen her, she had still been a child, a teenager, two years his junior. That was before he had packed his bags and fled this godforsaken island, not thinking that he would ever come back. John and Kate had been friends once, in another lifetime, but a lot had happened since then and he didn't think that she was very eager to revive their friendship, not after so many years, not after what had happened. Now, as he looked at her, John could see nothing of the child she had been. Age, the police force, two children and a nasty divorce had toughened her up to the point that he thought she wouldn't hesitate to break his neck if he stepped out of line and a part of him admired her for that. Kate had changed from a girl he used to protect to an authority figure that was not to be crossed.

"I know," he replied gruffly. He almost had to shout because the wind carried the sound faster than it was possible to pick it up.

"She didn't die here."

"I know," John repeated. "There's no blood."

Kate inhaled sharply and looked down to where her team were collecting all the evidence that they could, which was proving to be rather difficult, not least as the water had most likely already taken care of that and John Smith guessed that their fingers were as numb as his own. "They're going to take her to the morgue and Osgood will take a look. Have you met Osgood yet?" Kate enquired, but it seemed she was asking out of politeness rather than curiosity.

"Not yet, no," John replied and he wasn't actually eager to. Most of the people around here were pudding brains, dull and boring and empty-headed. He still missed London.

"Well," his boss said and took another look around. Her breaths were sharp because it was becoming difficult to breathe in the wind. "I'm guessing it was suicide. There's a cliff a few miles from here that's a popular spot. The bodies usually wash up around here and it's the season."

"Mm-hm," John hummed in reply even though he wasn't actually listening to what Kate was saying to him. He liked to keep his head clear of any speculation until he had gathered the facts and that was what his boss was doing, speculating. She had no idea how the woman had come to be down there, but he was going to find out. John Smith was, in his view, the best thing that could happen to the Police Service of Scotland.

Something moved below him and John leaned forward a little to get a proper look at what was happening down there. Apparently, they had finished collecting all the major evidence because the policemen set out to move the body and once more, John was glad he wasn't down there with them. Even though the woman was small, he could only imagine how heavy her limp, soaked body was by now. However, as the officers turned the woman over, ready to hoist her on a stretcher, the team suddenly stopped and even Kate stepped a little closer to have a look. From up here, John Smith couldn't say what made them pause, but he was curious to find out. There was nothing about the woman's pale face that seemed out of the ordinary to his eyes. The team and Kate froze for an awfully long moment and all John could hear was the sound of the waves.

"Oh my God," his boss uttered quietly and a small shiver ran across the back of his neck. It was horror: pure, unadulterated horror in her voice.

"What?" he barked at her. John didn't have the patience for this kind of agitation in the middle of a police investigation. His head shot around and he glared at Kate, but her eyes were fixed on the dead woman's body. The shock was written all over her face. John watched her swallow as she tried to regain her composure.

"I know that woman," she replied eventually and even though she was trying hard to hide the shock, her voice was still trembling a little. "She teaches my kids. She's the English teacher. Clara Oswald."

As he turned his head back towards the scene below him, John Smith wondered what had happened and how the local teacher came to be lying dead on the cold, wet stones near the sea. If Kate's theory was true, she had jumped off a cliff somewhere nearby and a part of him was curious to find out why before he had to remind himself not to give in to Kate's hypothesis too early.

"Was she the type?" he enquired and he realised that he should probably tread more carefully from now on. A woman they knew was dead. Everyone on the police force would be in shock. That was one of the many disadvantages of living in such a small village where everyone knew everything about everyone else. John hated it and it was one of the reasons why he had felt drawn to the anonymity of the city.

"The type for what?" Kate's voice was toneless when she spoke, her vacant gaze still fixed on the dead body.

"To kill herself," he replied impatiently. "Was she troubled? In a bad relationship? Lost someone? Did she seem unhappy?"

Kate Stewart didn't answer him immediately. Instead, she took a moment to ponder her reply and before she did, she shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "I hardly knew her. Miss Oswald moved here, I don't know, six months ago? She mainly kept herself to herself."

John made a mental note of everything Kate told him in case it would be important later on in their investigation and he had to investigate. Even if his boss was sure that they were looking at a suicide, he had to rule out other possibilities.

Knowing that Kate and the rest of the team probably needed a moment, he turned around and walked back in the direction of the lonely man who stood awkwardly on the edge of the scene, a few feet away from the rest of them. He seemed cold, but John couldn't allow him to go home just yet. First, they would have a little chat.

"You were the one who called us, right?" he asked the man and the closer John drew, the more familiar the stranger looked. Maybe it was only his imagination, but maybe Clara Oswald was the only new face that had come to this area in the past 30 years.

"Brian Williams," the man replied and suddenly put on a bright smile as he went to shake John's hand. His grip was firm and determined, maybe even friendly. "You're old Malcolm's boy, aren't you?"

In return, John frowned at Brian. He had hoped that spending his adult life in London would have made people forget about him and his connection to Malcolm Smith – also known as his father – but most of all, he hated to be called a boy when he was in his fifties and his hair had turned grey a good while ago. Nothing about him even remotely resembled a boy. Not the indomitable mass of silver curls on his head, not the wrinkles that lined his face or the nose that just seemed to stick out somehow, the one he had never known what to think of. No, John shouldn't allow people to call him a boy, especially not when they weren't much older than he was. He remembered Brian Williams now. He had been a young lad when John had left Scotland, but he didn't think they had ever talked.

"So, um, you found the body, is that right?" John repeated, not eager to be drawn into conversation about his father or the fact that he had moved back to Scotland. This wasn't the time for small talk, not when there was a dead woman just a few feet away.

"Aye," Brian confirmed with a nod. "I was out for a walk. I do that every morning, you know, when no one else is up yet. I usually take my camera, too, but it's too foggy for that today."

John made a dismissive gesture, telling him to skip the wittering and get to the point. "And while you were out on your walk, you saw the body?"

"That's right."

He looked around for a moment while he considered his next question when something dawned on him. "This is quite far from your house, isn't it? Is this your usual route for a short morning walk?" he enquired, then shrugged. "You must have walked for what, 45 minutes?"

"Sounds about right," Brian said and a shiver suddenly came over him as if he had only just remembered how long he had been out in the cold. "The seagulls were circling around the spot, so I went to see what they were so excited about. That's when I saw her."

"And then you rushed back to call us?"

Brian nodded.

"Did you realise who it was?"

In return, the man frowned at John as if he wasn't quite sure what his question was supposed to mean or why he was asking it at all. It was as if John could read the man's thoughts from his mind as he came to the conclusion that the dead woman was someone he probably knew.

"No, I just saw a woman," Brian replied eventually. "Why? Who is it?"

John granted him a polite, forced smile. "I'm afraid I can't say," he lied. He probably could, and knowing this place, they would have figured it out in no time when Clara Oswald failed to show up at work on Monday. Combined with the description Brian would without a doubt give them, and the entire area would know within a day. The longer her identity remained a secret, the better for him and his investigation. John Smith had better things to do than to deal with nosy parkers.

"You can go home," John told him and nodded towards the shivering man. "But stay close to the phone during the next few days. We might have more questions."

Brian nodded and smiled at him again. Somehow, John thought he didn't take the death very seriously. It was as if it was just a part of his everyday routine for him.

As he made his way back to Kate, John noticed that the team was beginning to emerge from the cliffs and they were carrying the stretcher holding Clara Oswald's body. He came to a halt next to his boss just as she lifted the sheet to see the woman's face. There was no doubt that Kate had needed to confirm her horrible conclusion, that the dead body indeed belonged to Clara Oswald. When she turned away, John knew that she had been right.

He took a closer look and immediately realised that Clara Oswald had once been a beautiful young woman. He assumed that she was in her thirties. The slightest wrinkles lined her face, now broken by a couple of scratches and on the spur of the moment, John reached out and stroked a strand of hair out of her face that had surely once been a healthier colour. Hopefully, she didn't have any relatives around here because John wasn't quite sure how he would break the news to her next of kin. He had always hated that part, especially with someone so young.

"Osgood will take a look," Kate said and her voice tore him out of his thoughts. "In the meantime, we should go and take a look around her house."

John nodded absent-mindedly, but his focus remained on the dead woman's face. He was sure that it would haunt him for the next few nights.

"She may have left a letter," Kate remarked and then turned around on the spot and marched off, leaving John alone with the dead woman for a moment. For some reason, he felt incredibly sorry for Clara.