by G R Jordan
‘I’ll be in presently and then for the plane. Who’s over there?’
‘DC Stewart, Kirsten Stewart, sir. Been over in Stornoway for a few months. She’s your contact.’ There was almost a fear in the voice of the caller. He could see them now, vying for any job except calling the boss in on his day off. It was not a bad feeling and it meant they never called unless he was really needed.
‘Tell her to expect me this afternoon and I’ll go straight up to Bhuinaig on arrival. And McGrath should be flying home today. Find her and tell her she’s over first thing tomorrow morning, earlier if she can.’
Macleod hung up and felt another squeeze from Jane. ‘Lunchtime? You need to go now?’
Turning around Macleod wrapped his arms around her. ‘Sorry, duty calls, as they say. You can run me in to the station. In fact, if it’s quick, I’ll come to your appointment with you.’
‘Don’t be daft. You go into work and if you’ve time, I’ll see you off at the airport. That way I’ll know you’re really gone before Fernando my twenty-year-old fitness instructor comes over for the week. It’s what happens if you leave a woman standing, you just get usurp—’
His kiss stopped her talking and despite her teasing, he knew she was gutted at him going. After a few intimate moments, they broke off and quickly changed. Macleod threw some items into a large holdall and Jane quickly swapped some clothing for him, made sure he had his wash bag and second set of shoes. Within twenty minutes they were on the winding road that led to the A9 and Inverness.
As Jane dropped him at the station, his mobile rang again and he heard the tone for McGrath on his personal number. It sounded like a looney tune but at least it was distinct.
‘How was the holiday?’ asked Macleod.
‘Don’t go there. I’m in Glasgow so I’ll fly over direct. Should see you this afternoon.’
There was a solemn mood to her voice and Macleod believed it was not the situation she was being called to that was causing it. Hope had an upbeat manner on the job but she sounded frustrated, possibly even angry.
‘You can take a day, Hope. I can hold the fort until then. Come over tomorrow; get unpacked and sorted out. These things can often take a while.’
‘I’ll be there this afternoon, Seoras. I’ve got enough with me.’
‘I doubt you have your work gear with you on holiday. Go home and get sorted. I don’t want you arriving on scene in a sarong, sandals, and a bikini.’
Macleod thought he had been suitably flippant to make his point but then he heard that silence, the one where you know Hope is about to fume.
‘Maybe over there they would actually enjoy me in a bikini.’ Macleod just stayed quiet. Whatever had happened between Hope and Allinson must have been bad and he was not putting his head above the trench.
‘Okay, see you when I see you.’
‘This afternoon, Seoras.’
Macleod sat through a short brief from his team in the office before being driven to the airport. As he checked in he saw the smiling face of the assistant and the deceit in her eyes.
‘It’s going to be late, isn’t it?’ he enquired.
‘Just an hour, sir.’
Nodding, he made his way to the departures gate but heard a shout behind him. As he scanned the terminal, he saw a woman in a pair of jogging bottoms and a green t-shirt waving at him as she fought for breath.
‘We got an hour,’ said Jane as she reached him. She was sweating profusely. ‘I had to park quite far out. I’m knackered, Seoras, right knackered.’
Macleod helped his partner to a seat by the coffee bar and ordered for both of them. It was when she sat down he saw Jane’s face take the serious look, where the eyes peeled back demanding honesty and the eyebrows were poised to be raised at any sign of a lie.
‘You okay flying in? I know it goes past where you lost her. I’ll come too, if you need someone.’
Macleod smiled and looked at the woman in front of him. At first, she had been feisty and a lot of fun to be around. She looked great, could pull his strings better than anyone since his wife, and had been a breath of fresh air sweeping aside the intransigence he had succumbed to in his mourning. But this was why he loved her. Jane could see things from a person’s point of view. Not the logical arguments but how they were feeling, how they would react, and how they would break down.
‘I’m good, Jane. Hope’s coming this afternoon, too. My wife is gone but she’s always there. But now it’s like she was a chapter, a stunningly big one in my life. Now I have a new one being written, one that’s being steered by you. I’ll be fine but you’re such a woman for asking.’
He hoped it was a good speech because he often struggled to match his feelings with his words. But he saw the face before him become less intense, the eyes softened, and the shoulders sank back down.
‘So, I ran all that way for nothing,’ she teased.
‘Not quite. We got a half hour together. But that’s my flight.’
‘So where is it on Lewis you’re going?’ asked Jane
‘The Westside, up from Carloway. And to a cricket club. You’d better pray for me, I know nothing about cricket.’
‘Was it not big up there?’
‘Unheard of,’ said Macleod. And then he paused as something struck him. ‘They said they found him this morning after yesterday’s game. But today’s Monday. So, they played on Sunday. That’s not going to be good!’
Chapter 3
The water gleamed up at the aircraft as the Saab 340 settled into its approach to Stornoway airport. With almost a total lack of wind, the pilot had opted to route for the northerly runway and that brought the aircraft in over the sea. Sitting on the port side by the window seat, Macleod was offered the view of that piece of the sea by Holm that had changed his life twice; once when his wife jumped in and never came back, and the second time when he had jumped in with Hope to save a victim. The chill of the water had never left him.
Maybe it was a trainee pilot for the aircraft bounced twice on landing before coming to a stop on the runway, turning around, and taxiing in to the small terminal. As he stepped off the plane, Macleod felt a warmth he did not associate with the Isle of Lewis and he wondered where the ever-present breeze of his memories had gone.
A uniformed officer caught him in arrivals and whisked him to the awaiting patrol car. The trip to the cricket club, located north of Barvas on the west side of the island took forty minutes and Macleod sat back to enjoy the view. Moorland passed by with peats stacked, a result of busy endeavours in April and May that were now coming to fruition. Looking at his hands, he remembered how sore they were after several days cutting, in the days when he would help others cut their bank as they joined in with his. The sticky black mud that you had to fight off your hands, the smell of the heathery turf that gave way to the coarse bite of the gloopy black which the peat knife cut so easily. They were good days.
But there were not so many peats being cut these days and he saw many banks now overgrown, a hanging Babylon of heather that would be difficult to cut again. The moor rose and fell in steps where banks had been abandoned and he always felt sorry for any wandering hiker across this strange terrain.
As they passed Barvas, he saw the ocean disappearing to the horizon but without a single cloud interrupting the view. Gardens were filled with keen folk eager to hack a proper lawn from the uneven, often rocky pieces of land that defined Lewis. Thick sweaters and coats had been swapped for t-shirts and light blouses and on the odd occasion, a bare chest. He never went bare chested as Macleod always felt embarrassed by his grey hairs and lack of muscly physique, but it was good to see the island getting a dose of sunshine instead of a battering from Mother Nature.
The cricket clubhouse appeared like an oasis in a mass of undulating hills. Although the terrain change was small, it did enough to hide the building until the car swung around a dip and then he was confronted with the fantastically white structure, complete with a small pavilion at the front. A levelled
and tarmacked car park sat to one side and the immaculate field of green seemed so out of place compared to the rugged, uneven nature of the surrounding land.
At the far end of the pitch stood a row of four nets, set aside for batting practice and now lonely as the main activity took place on the pitch and at the pavilion. Macleod exited the car and made his way to a short, brunette woman who seemed to be holding court amongst several uniformed officers.
‘I’m looking for DC Stewart,’ Macleod announced to the crowd but his eyes were on the woman.
‘DI Macleod, I presume,’ replied the woman turning around and looking at him with her thick set spectacles. A large bun of hair had been evident and as she responded to Macleod he had expected an older woman but was surprised to see someone younger than Hope, maybe mid-twenties. She wore no make-up and had a demure visage, making him feel he was being scanned by a school mistress. ‘Okay, everyone, hop to it. I’ll be updating the Inspector if you need me.’
With an open hand, DC Stewart indicated that Macleod should follow her to the side of the pavilion where they stood in the welcome shade. Although the sun was a blessing, standing in a suit before it was not. Stewart was dressed in a serious black pair of trousers but had forgone her jacket, now having rolled up sleeves giving a look of someone deep in her work. A contrast to Hope, Macleod was already beginning to like this DC as she pulled out her notebook to brief him.
‘First of all, welcome, sir. What we have here is a case of suspected murder as two men have discovered a body in a cricket kit bag inside, smashed into bloody pieces. I have asked forensics to see if they can determine exactly what did the damage and also who is the deceased. The damage is that bad, sir. Wedding ring though, but it’s on the wrong hand, so maybe a divorcee, or widow starting again.
‘Apparently the club has not been going long; the clubhouse just finished at the end of January and the team has been getting the pitch ready for its first match. They have gained acceptance into the senior league, a first for the island, as is the club, but they are only playing friendlies this year. And starting next season with a full list of fixtures.’
‘Who were they playing?’ asked Macleod.
‘Paisley, sir, one of the top amateur sides and in the top division, three above the league the club will be joining next year. Rumour is they were paid to come up and play. It’s not one of their players though as they are all accounted for in a Stornoway hotel. And they all left together on a bus about an hour after the game. Seems like they were sore losers but good suspects as I don’t see how they were involved. People have said they were on the pitch until ten and Paisley had left by then.’
‘The pitch? What’s the pitch have to do with it?’
‘We believe that is where the damage to the victim was done,’ said Stewart, pushing back her glasses after she had looked over them at Macleod. ‘There’s a tonne of dried blood out there which I have asked forensics to match to the body. Apparently, it’s at Third Man, a cricketing position but not one I’m familiar with.
‘Alan Painter, who is the coach and someone who has invested a lot of time making this club happen, found the blood and then the body, with a Jackie Anderson, one of yesterday’s stars. Alan had come in to start the clean-up, and it does need a clean-up, sir, stale beer and spirits—it frankly stinks. So he comes to clean up, finds Jackie Anderson still intoxicated from the previous night and asleep in the main bar. They move the kit bag as Alan makes a start and it’s heavy. They open it and then Mr Anderson promptly threw up into the bag. Mackintosh is not happy about that.’
DC Stewart was about to adjust her glasses again when Macleod interrupted. ‘Mackintosh? How long has she been here?’
‘Barely two hours, sir, came on the boat this morning.’
‘Okay I’ll need an update when she can. Don’t demand it of her; she’s experienced enough to know what needs passed on and when. And she’s got the wrath of a thousand angels if you push her. How long have you been in the job, Stewart?’
‘Seven years, sir. Became a DC two months ago and I have been posted out to Stornoway, a quiet place to cut my teeth, they said.’
Macleod felt the indignation and he chuckled inwardly. Young officers were always so keen to get stuck in. After what he had been through, he would take a quiet day at the office anytime.
‘Here’s the deal, Stewart. I have DC Hope McGrath arriving soon, and she’ll be your go-to for any administrative questions. I realise this is probably your first serious crime in your position and I need you to run the operations side, keeping the day-to-day happening and leaving McGrath and myself free to do the thinking. You’ve made a good start though. When are we getting the full team in to interview?’
‘I have scheduled a five o’clock start, sir. We are based in the local community hall and there’s food coming. Everyone’s being traced and I’d like to discount some people as soon as possible because there are a lot of people in the frame as potential suspects. At least fifteen to twenty associated with the team. I thought that—’
Macleod held up his hand as there was a commotion behind them. A girl with blonde hair and wearing a trim tracksuit and cycling helmet, was dropping her bicycle and shouting at someone. Macleod walked out from the shade and saw a young man holding his hands up in defence.
‘Where you involved?’ shouted the woman. ‘Seriously, Jackie, what the hell? All he did was look at me? I left because you were so pissed your hands were getting frisky; you were trying to undress me in front of everyone. I hope that’s not Gordy in there!’
DC Stewart went to walk past Macleod but he held his hand up and whispered, ‘Let’s see his reaction.’ The man simply shrugged his shoulders, started crying, and fell to his knees.
‘Don’t give me that, Jackie; is that Gordy in there? Tell me—is it bloody Gordy?’
And Macleod dropped his hand, allowing DC Stewart to step forward. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, who are you? And what accusation are you making exactly?’ The woman looked over at Stewart and her face went tight, her eyes withdrawing. ‘I asked who you are,’ said Stewart.
‘Alice,’ came a quiet voice, ‘Alice Degg.’
‘And you are what to this team?’
‘Main bowler, spin. Fourth batsman.’
‘You play?’ asked Macleod.
‘Of course, I play. Hold the damn team together. I’m going to be a Scottish International.’
Macleod was aware he had broken into that realm of sexism where he was always putting his foot in it. I mean cricket on Lewis to begin with, but a female player? How was I to know? ‘And why do you think Gordy is in there?’
‘Because Jackie was annoyed last night when Gordy looked at me. Really annoyed but he was blind drunk.’
‘And who is Gordy?’ asked Stewart.
‘Gordon Watts, came up from Yorkshire last year, divorced man who is bloody nice, and that’s all.’ Her voice had risen to a crescendo before cracking all in one sentence. ‘And Jackie’s done him in,’ she croaked.
‘Okay, slow down,’ said Macleod, ‘let’s get this straight.’
‘Sir,’ interrupted Stewart, ‘I think Mackintosh wants you.’
‘Well, she can wait, Detective Constable; this is important.’
‘But you said—’
‘Well, go and see what she wants, then. Now Alice, did you see Jackie do anything?’ asked Macleod, fuming over his DC’s interruption.
‘No, but he was angry—he’s been angry for months. He thinks I’m seeing someone, thinks I’m with someone else,’ the girl said in a whisper.
‘Are you?’ asked Macleod. It was not subtle but sometimes in the heat of the moment people snap.
‘No! I told Jackie, no! Look at me Jackie, fucking no!’
‘And last night, Jackie, do you remember what you did?’
The man was on his knees weeping. ‘I don’t remember anything after she left. Sorry Alice, sorry. I didn’t mean to do it.’
‘Inspector, I need a word.’ It was the stern voi
ce of Mackintosh.
‘I’ll be with you directly.’
‘No! Now!’ And then in a whisper, ‘Before you make an arse of yourself.’
‘Everyone, stay put,’ said Macleod and turned around to face Mackintosh, dressed in her white smock and with the hood of the coverall still up but with the blue face mask pulled down. ‘What the hell’s so important?’
‘Your body, Inspector. I can’t confirm it is him but once I got past the puke and into his clothing, I found a wallet with a multitude of cards for one Bubba Carson. I think your young lovers may be getting a little too excited.’
And Macleod saw a quick win disappear out the window.
Chapter 4
‘Bubba Carson?’ said Macleod. ‘Who’s that? Ring a bell to anyone?’ Macleod spoke the words out loud so that Alice and Jackie could hear and was stunned when Alice simply wailed and fell to her knees. ‘Who is it?’ he asked again.
‘Bub,’ replied Jackie slowly, ‘Bub was the owner of the club. Bub bought everything. Bub made this place. Bub was the man around here.’
‘And he was here at the match?’ asked Macleod.
‘Of course, he was,’ wailed Alice. ‘Dear God, not Bub. Why the hell was it Bub? Who would want to hurt Bub?’
Macleod watched Jackie step over to Alice and place his arm around her, but she threw him off before storming away to the gathered throng beyond her. Macleod raced over and grabbed her arm, pulling her to one side.
‘Don’t, not yet. We need to know it’s him before we tell everyone. All my forensic expert and I know is the man in there has the wallet of Bubba Carson, nothing more. Can you remember what he was wearing last night?’
‘Wearing?’ The girl looked incredulous. ‘What the hell do you think he was wearing? A bloody blue and yellow cricket outfit like every other member of the team.’