The Swim: McLaren 'Crossed Paths', #1

By Jo A Hiestand

The Swim is  a prequel novella giving a picture of former police detective Michael McLaren's life from teenager to the strong man he is today. He's been through a lot from his ordeal beginning with the "swim", his move from the Force, and his cold cases. He's made enemies, friends, and he has loved and lost. Like many of us.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jo A Hiestand
• Release date: Feb 4, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224037667

Jo A Hiestand

A month-long trip to England during her college years introduced Jo to the joys of Things British.  Since then, she has been lured back nearly a dozen times, and lived there during her professional folk singing stint.  This intimate knowledge of Britain forms the backbone of both the Peak District mysteries and the McLaren cold case mystery series.  Jo’s insistence for accuracy, from police methods and location layout to the general feel of the area, has driven her innumerable times to Derbyshire for research.  These explorations and conferences with police friends provide the detail filling the books. In 1999 Jo returned to Webster University to major in English.  She graduated in 2001 with a BA degree and departmental honors. Her cat Tennyson shares her St. Louis home.

Book preview

1

They had set off from Sean Preston’s house. It was only right since he was the oldest of the group and had suggested the swim. Plus, he had his driving license.

The suggestion was brilliant, for the day was hot and dry, another stretch of seemingly endless hours to be endured in a month that had already seen ceaseless stretches of hot and dry. The suggestion also spoke of adventure. At least it did to the three teenaged boys. None of them had ever gone swimming in this lake. Who knew what they might find?

The lake lay just west of Hathersage, Derbyshire, a Medieval-era village in this land of ancient Mesolithic remains. Both the village and the lake were situated within England’s Peak District, a five hundred fifty-five square mile area of moorland, rivers, and caves. A section of the Pennines—the two hundred-fifty mile long mountain chain nicknamed the backbone of England—also began its run here and ended northward in the southern tip of Scotland. Additionally, the lake epitomized the boys’ idea of excitement.

It didn’t seem to disappoint on glimpsing it as they got out of the car that late July day in 1997. That expectation of adventure heightened as they rushed up to the shoreline. The lake occupied a slight depression in the flat expanse of scrub and heather. The clearing itself looked as though the surrounding forest had begrudgingly sacrificed a bit of its domain for something other than trees. Angling out several hundred yards from the edge of the wood, tall grasses waved at them from along two sides of the water, as if beckoning them to plunge into its cool depths. Cattails joined the person-tall grasses and a few of the plants migrated several feet into the lake, yet the mass of the vegetation hugged the shoals. Farther away, an area of the water’s surface was blanketed with some greenish flat plants. But the lake’s center was free of any obstacle, and sunlight winked sporadically at them and gilded the tops of the slowly undulating waves.

Sean peeled off his jeans and tee shirt, revealing his swim trunks beneath his clothes, and hurriedly kicked the unneeded clothing aside before he ran into the water. His shrieks and laughter echoed off the lake surface as he called, Hurry up! It’s the bomb! He shook the water from his hair, then stroked out farther into the middle of the water.

Jamie Kydd, at fifteen and the youngest boy of the group, was a bit slower in discarding his outer clothing. He stood by the edge of the lake, glancing from it to the sky. Is this a good idea? Looks like a storm coming in. Normally an easy-going lad, the tone of his voice mirrored the concern of his words. Grey clouds had built up along the western horizon and were crawling toward them, occasionally masking the sunlight.

Michael McLaren, a tall boy of sixteen, folded his cotton shirt and laid it beside his jeans on a large, flat stone near the shoreline. He jerked the top of his swim trunks, settling it around his waist. I shouldn’t think it’s a concern. We’ll be in and out before it rains. Anyway, it’ll be top-hole if it happens. The whole area’s begging for it. It’ll cool things off. You coming? He eyed his friend as Jamie remained by the fallen tree trunk that slanted out from the borderline of the forest.

Jamie shrugged, as if he still wasn’t convinced the swim was a good idea. Yeah. Sure, Mike. Give me a minute.

Mike nodded and waded into the water, but stood there, getting acclimated to the cooler temperature. Near the center of the lake, where Sean alternately floated on his back or jackknifed beneath the surface, the waves arched somewhat higher than those here at the shoreline. The water lapped lazily against the slant of land, as if it breathed in rhythmic cycles. When he peered at the surface from an oblique angle, he could see stems of submerged plants waving in the current.

Sean called again for Mike and Jamie to join him, and crawl-stroked farther out.

Well, this is what we came for, isn’t it? To cool off. Either swimming or the rain should do it. Mike grinned, waded up to his waist, then swam toward Sean.

Jamie stood at the edge of the lake, the water slapping at his feet. He was shorter than his two friends, and noticeably thinner, especially compared to Mike, who even as a teen had muscular shoulders. Physically, Jamie could never hope to match either of them for strength, so he made up for it in his quick wit. At the moment, neither were of much consequence. The weather was his concern.

Although the clouds had advanced only slightly farther east in the few minutes he had been speaking to his friend, the wind had kicked up. He frowned, but slowly walked into the water. He stopped when it was chest-high. The sunlight glanced more brightly off the surface of the faster moving waves, and he squinted.

By now, Mike had joined Sean, and the two were playing tag, with the winner getting to dunk the loser. Their laughter echoed off the lake surface and spurred Jamie into swimming out several yards.

But he stopped to tread water as he eyed the vicinity. A breeze swept through the gash in the grove of evergreens and skimmed over the surface of the water. Boughs bent slightly and the tall reeds along the lakeside rustled, filling the air with soft swishing sounds. A rook, dislodged from somewhere in a tree, flew off, voicing his opinion of the disturbance. Jamie turned his head as a wave smacked into his chest. Hey, lads. The sky’s getting darker. Don’t you think we should get out?

Mike sank the heel of his palm partway into the water and rammed it toward Sean, sending a spray of water at the teen. He sidestroked a bit away as Sean laughed and sputtered, Try that again, Mike. But only if you can find me! He took a gulp of air and submerged. A ring of waves marked the spot where he had been.

Jamie stared at the sky again. A handful of dry grass, pushed by the wind, skipped across the water before collapsing, becoming waterlogged and sinking. He waved at Mike and called loudly in his growing concern. Mike! We need to call it a day. The rain’s gonna start soon. He gestured toward the sky as Mike gazed at the clouds. He yelled again, more forcefully, as though volume would convey what his words couldn’t. It’s gonna storm.

Mike nodded and started back to the shore, but stopped. Sean had not surfaced. He spun around, thinking his friend had emerged in a different area and was sneaking up on him. No Sean. He shouted at Jamie. Sean’s not come up yet. God! Where is he? He’s been down... He broke off as fright washed over him.

Hold on. Jamie started swimming toward Mike but stopped as the water grew choppier. Mike. Sorry. I— The water’s getting too rough for me. I’m not that good of...a swimmer. I need to go back. He spit out a mouthful of water as he turned and headed for shore.

Ring up 999. Sean’s in trouble. Mike spun around again, hoping Sean had appeared by now. All he saw were dark clouds crowding out the sun and massing along the western hills and overhead. The breeze had picked up, and bent the reeds and tall grass in a show of its strength. Not really knowing what he hoped to accomplish or find, Mike swam to the spot where Sean had dived. A series of large waves slammed into him and he turned his head from the oncoming rush of water. As he tried to move off, he realized he couldn’t. Something underwater was anchoring him to the spot.

He thrashed his leg, needing to free himself of the thing that kept him from swimming away. A wave broke over his head as he took a breath, and he swallowed some water. He kicked his leg again as he tried to break the hold, but the plants held him fast.

He took a lungful of air and submerged. His fingers grappled with the vegetation, but the plant did not relinquish its grasp. If anything, other stems—stirred by his agitated trashing and the stormy water—twined around his leg. He kicked and clawed at the securing stems, but gave up as he pushed his way upward. When his head broke the surface, he gasped for breath.

Jamie had reached the shoreline by now and raced to the spot where he had disrobed. He grabbed his jeans and fumbled through the pockets, felt his mobile phone, and yanked it out. He punched in the emergency number. A handful of dry soil raced across the ground and slammed into his legs and the tree trunk. He pressed the phone to his ear. Nothing.

He glanced around the area. Were they out of phone area? Was his mobile’s battery too low to put through a call? He stared at the mobile’s face. There was just one bar indicating the strength of the signal.

He dropped the phone onto the ground and ran over to Mike’s clothing. He pawed through the neat stack of shirt, socks and shoes, throwing them aside, and finally felt his friend’s mobile in one of the jeans pockets. He yanked it out. The screen was dark. Was the phone shut off? He considered taking a few precious seconds to see how the phone signal compared to his own mobile’s when Mike yelled for help. Clutching the phone, Jamie ran down to the water’s edge, his heart racing. In the handful of minutes that he had been gone, the waves had increased in height and strength. They now crashed into Mike’s neck and head, and he fought to keep afloat.

Jamie turned on his friend’s mobile, panic now gripping him, and he stared around the area. He could see no one, but he yelled into the wind. Help! Help, somebody!

The phone was slow to power up. Slower yet to process the number he punched in. Jamie pushed the mobile against his ear, his heart threatening to burst, and prayed as he waited for an answer. A few seconds of static greeted him before silence welled up.

Throwing the phone down, Jamie turned toward the road leading to the lake. He screamed again, forcing all his breath and strength into his yell. "Help us! Please! Help!" The crack of a tree bough replied.

Jamie ran down to the water. He could still see Mike’s head, but it submerged sporadically, as if his friend’s strength was weakening from the fight to stay afloat. Jamie looked around for something he could tow out to shove at Mike. Surely, a large enough log would act like a life buoy until someone arrived, wouldn’t it? But the log he had commandeered to hold his clothing was too large. He could never wrestle that thing down to the water. Besides, it lay against a large rock. How could he wiggle it free from that?

He turned, near panic, and darted over to the road. No vehicles were anywhere in sight. He tilted his head back and yelled in frustration and anger before he gave way to tears.

2

Jamie stood on the verge, crying in panic and terror. The wind rushed down the tarmac and pushed spent grass and twigs before it. It bullied castoff leaves into the undergrowth where they would lie imprisoned between the dry stalks of vegetation. He was about to give up finding help, overcome by alarm and indecision, and turn back to the lake when he spotted a car coming toward him. Relief and hope washed over him, and he ran onto the road, waving his arms and screaming.

The car screeched to a stop within yards of Jamie and a fifty-five year-old man leaned his head out the car window. He frowned and looked as though he was about to ask Jamie if he was gormless, running into the middle of the road. But he must have sensed something was terribly wrong, for instead he asked, What’s the trouble, lad?

Jamie sprinted up to the car, squeezing out his words between sobs. My friend. He’s drowning. Please help. He pointed toward the lake.

The man turned off the engine, leaving the car in the road, and bolted out of the vehicle. Show me.

Jamie rushed ahead, still sobbing and praying they weren’t too late. The wind had picked up in these scant few minutes, stirring the treetops so they looked as if they were brushing the black clouds that hung menacingly overhead. A bough cracked and thudded to earth somewhere behind him. As he raced through the path in the forest and came to the lake shoreline, he could see Mike. He was still afloat but obviously struggling to stay up, for he was low in the water, his mouth barely above the surface. The curtain of waves rose and fell, giving Jamie and the man sporadic views of the immediate scene. Jamie turned as the man charged up to him and stopped abruptly at the water’s edge. Jamie needlessly pointed to the lake. See him? He’s caught in weeds. He’s... He broke off as he started crying.

As if underlining the seriousness of the situation, Mike disappeared below the water’s surface.

Jamie gripped the man’s arm as he screamed, "Mike? Mike!"

Mike struggled to the surface in a frantic splash of his arms and a gasp for breath.

The man shook himself loose of Jamie’s grasp and began disrobing. As he slid off his jeans, he handed his mobile to Jamie. Ring up 999. Tell them where we are and the situation. He waded into the lake.

Jamie shouted against the roll of thunder and the creaking of tree boughs. Mobiles don’t work here. I tried earlier.

"Might