Phosphate Rocks Chapter 27: Broken Sunglasses

In the police interview room, John provides a young constable with a detailed description of Fraser Docherty, erstwhile operator of the phosphoric acid plant at the Leith Fertiliser Works: a good-looking lad, nice physique, five foot ten inches or so, clean-shaven with short dark hair and blue eyes. In his early twenties when he started at the factory in 1983, he always wore funny clothes – pointy shoes with zips, drainpipe trousers with rips, PVC raincoat. Unhappily married to a lass called Moira who had an uncle in the lodge by the name of Robert, Fraser was last seen in February 1987. 

When the constable finishes her notes, Rose stands up, dusting down her uniform as if stray words of his have stuck and need to be removed. 

‘Lunchtime?’ John suggests, with a nod to the ticking clock. 

The passing of the hours and story of the seafood tagliatelle with Parmesan and dressed salad has made John hungry. Times have changed. He has changed. He relishes the sort of food that he would have spurned before. 

‘Can we take a break?’ He hopes that she cannot hear his stomach noises, embarrassing fizzing and gurgling from under the table. 

‘Not today,’ she says. 

Detective Inspector Rose Irvine asks John to remain seated while they check the records on Fraser Docherty. 

‘I can send out for a sandwich…’ the young constable offers, faltering under Rose’s hard stare. 

‘Egg mayonnaise,’ John says. ‘Thanks, doll.’ He reaches into his pocket for some coins. 

‘Check on Fraser Docherty first.’ Rose interrupts. ‘It shouldn’t take long.’ She sniffs, as if to tell him it’s a rotten lead. 

He tends to agree. Fraser might have abandoned his young wife and bairn, quarrelled with her parents, his parents, cut off all contact with them and the uncle in the lodge. But Fraser’s not on the misper list. And a nice boy like that would be missed if he disappeared out of the blue. 

Not like the rest of them. Poor buggers.