Dead at Third Man

by G R Jordan

  Smiling, she left the car and Macleod wondered if he had played that right. If she was struggling, he wanted to help but not be something more than a friend. You were meant to be better at this when older. And working away from Jane never helped.

  Returning to the hall, Macleod called in Stewart when he saw Hope arrive and stood them both in front of the whiteboard which had been erected. On it he had scribed the names of various suspects beside the legend of second murder. ‘Okay Stewart, where have we got with the enquiries?’

  ‘Well sir, Dickie Smith says he was in his garden and we have a partial sighting during the time from a neighbour. Irvine says he was with some of his clerk session and they confirmed this. Alan Painter was rolling the wicket. McGrath’s just been to Alice Degg.’

  ‘And it’s not her,’ said Hope. ‘She’d everything to lose from this. Bubba was her future support and backer with her cricket and in Jackie she had a friend, only a friend though he wanted more. A big brother if you will. But she was very fond of him. It’s not her.’

  ‘But did she have an alibi?’ Macleod watched Hope shake her head. ‘Okay, so she stays on the board, but your opinion is noted and I tend to agree. What about the others, Stewart?’

  ‘Trying to get Jim Calderwood, Declan Macaulay. Gordon Watts was in his house, so no alibi. We’re struggling to eliminate people based on opportunity, sir. We seem to be hitting a dead end in trying to solve this one by elimination. I reckon we will need to get behind the motives more—there’s a link we’re missing.’

  ‘Get into their backgrounds, Stewart. Make sure they are who they say they are. Go deep. We’ll run over the initials coming from Mackintosh. McGrath, help Stewart look into this church of Irvine’s and his house sitter. We have this memorial service tomorrow for the Carsons and I want a presence there, see if we can pick anything up, but it would be nice to know who we are meant to be looking at. I feel behind the curve on this one, ladies.’ Team, thought Macleod, I should have said team. He saw Hope’s look and knew his words were wrong. Glancing back to Stewart, the glasses were on the move. Those specs are a weapon.

  At ten o’clock, one of the forensic team arrived carrying bags of small metallic food trays and placed them on a table in the corner. Several soft cans of juice were also supplied, and Mackintosh followed, announcing dinner was served. Aware of her eyes following him, Macleod kept a distance and picked up a plate of curry and some nan bread. He joined a group of his more senior staff and was joined by the senior forensic expert although she didn’t speak to him.

  As they were finishing up their meal, an officer approached Macleod and whispered in his ear. Jim Calderwood was outside and needed to speak to someone. Macleod advised Hope but told her to stay and finish her meal and brought the man into a side room.

  ‘Inspector, I thought I should come over with this before the night was out as I think some of your people were trying to get in touch with me.’

  ‘We were, sir, so please, continue.’

  ‘This afternoon,’ said Jim, ‘I had a visit from Declan Macaulay, and he stayed all afternoon until six when we went for a walk. I think that’s when your people missed me. I got back about nine.’

  That’s a heck of a walk,’ said Macleod. ‘Can I ask why he came to see you, and then decided to take you for such a stroll?’

  ‘The man’s a mess, Inspector. Even more now that he’s heard about Jackie. They were having issues over Katie, Declan’s wife, but that’s not anything new. It’s been like that since Declan bagged her and took her away from Jackie. Not that Jackie was something worth keeping.’ Jim shook his head like a disappointed father.

  ‘What was bothering him about Katie? Why’s Declan coming to see you? I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t seem the agony aunt type.’

  There was a grunt, one that may have meant to be a laugh but changed into something more reflective. ‘I’d surprise you, Inspector. These young whipper snappers come to us oldies for advice for time to time.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Gordy and me, bit of a double act at times.’

  ‘Have you ever been married?’ asked Macleod.

  ‘Yes, Inspector, but she’s long gone. Gordy has too but he doesn’t talk about it much.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he married the wrong side.’

  ‘Catholic?’

  ‘Male!’

  Macleod suppressed his surprise, but he got the point. Out in the sticks of Lewis certain people would not take kindly to that sexual persuasion. He wondered how many people knew. ‘Is that well known in the club?’

  ‘No,’ said Jim, ‘only me. And that’s because he tried to get close. All a bit of a misunderstanding and no harm done. He’s a good friend and we’re close but I prefer women, Inspector.’

  ‘Getting back to Declan, what was his issue with Katie?’

  ‘He said she was distant and moody, in short. Nothing too strange except they have been having difficulties in the bedroom too. She’s not been interested. I take it you will keep that under wraps, but I thought you would like to know. He couldn’t for the life of him work out why she was like this. Less than a year ago they were all guns blazing, apparently.’

  Macleod raised his hand to his mouth thinking how to put this delicately. Stuff it, he looks like a man of the world. ‘Jim, what sort of woman is Katie? Is she a good wife? Loyal, I mean.’

  ‘Someone told you different?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well,’ said Jim, ‘they aren’t wrong. Katie’s put it about, likes her sex, I’ve heard. She tried it on with Gordy, once and couldn’t get his resistance.’ The man chuckled and then became more serious. ‘Also tried it with me, quite persistent too. Well, I have taste and that sort of behaviour doesn’t wash. She was pissed at me, mind. But Dickie Smith has been with her. But then he’d climb into a pair of knickers however they were soiled, Inspector. Dickie’s quite the ladies’ man.’

  ‘Is he discreet?’

  ‘Oh, yes. No point getting caught, can’t move on to the next one if the husbands see you coming.’

  ‘Who else has he been with?’

  ‘Hang on and I’ll get the weighty tome of Dickie’s misdemeanours.’

  ‘At the club only, please, and anything to do with the church,’ said Macleod.

  ‘Well, most of this is rumour but it’s good rumour, if you catch my drift. Irvine’s woman, Mairi. Adopted kids, my arse. I reckon at least two of them are Dickie’s.’

  ‘And the others?’

  Jim stopped to think. ‘I’d say Irvine’s but I’ve not proof. Pity as she’s a nice girl, messed up but when you talk to her one to one away from him, she’s delightful.’

  ‘Who else has Dickie been seeing?’

  ‘Tried Jenny Painter but I think she gave him a slap. He also went after Alice, but Bubba warned him off. The girl didn’t need that kind of help. I think Bubba was pretty pissed about it. Nearly came to blows. And he may have tried it on with Summer. She was a prime candidate for Dickie. Bubba was always too busy to see what he had. There’s also a couple of women in the church congregation I know of, but they don’t frequent the cricket club. And one of the lifeguards in town. He got smacked for that one.’

  ‘Does Declan suspect his wife is playing around?’ asked Macleod.

  ‘Declan thinks the sun shines out of her arse and if she gives him anything, he’s grateful. He says she’s not been well either. She was certainly visiting the toilet a lot at the club the night Bubba and Summer died. But that can be a million things. I never asked when I was married about that. Best being ignorant.’

  Macleod was not sure he agreed but it seemed the man had said his piece. Shaking his hand, Macleod showed him to the door before re-joining his colleagues. He briefed his colleagues before stepping outside into the fading light. Summer brought a twilight during the hours of supposed darkness and Macleod watched the ocean in the distance gently roll.

  ‘All alone, Inspector. Do you take these moments too, Se
oras?’

  ‘There’s nothing like the sea,’ he replied. ‘especially when I feel stressed.’

  ‘I find that strange, considering you lost your wife to it.’

  ‘You do your research, Mackintosh.’ Macleod shivered as the memory of his wife’s death came back. Even with Jane and their new house it came back to him on occasion, the days looking out, the head disappearing below the surface.

  ‘I said call me Hazel, Seoras.’ She put her hands on his shoulders and started to rub them. He went to remove them but stopped. She was good, hands working into the pain and releasing waves of relaxation. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not seducing you, you don’t need to panic. I told you, I need someone older to talk to.’

  As much as Macleod enjoyed the working of his shoulder muscles, he felt a betrayal of Jane and so took Mackintosh’s hands from them. ‘So, talk then,’ he said.

  ‘She’s really got you, hasn’t she? If she ever strays, let me know.’

  Macleod’s defences went on high alert. ‘She won’t. Neither will I. And I don’t think you’re being appropriate.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ said Mackintosh, ‘but you are enjoying it.’

  He couldn’t argue though he knew he should have. ‘I have a case to run.’ With that he turned away only to have a hand grab his shoulder, maybe with a touch of desperation.

  ‘I’ll be at the hospital. If you get lonely or can’t sleep, you can always drop by and talk to Hazel.’

  And she walked off from him. He could not help but watch her get into her car and depart. Her eyes glanced up from time to time, and she smiled as she saw him looking. They said that stress and time away were what caused most men to cheat on their partners. Never did they mention the guile of the other woman, her ability to stimulate the very hungers, the stress built up.

  Seeing Hope come out of the hall, Macleod turned back to watch the sea. He heard her footsteps come up beside him and stop.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘just getting a bit of air. What do you make of Mackintosh, Hope? Do you find her very informal?’

  ‘No, the opposite, in fact. Stewart is formal but she’s fine. Mackintosh is very cold but professional. Why? Is she causing you problems?’

  He laughed and it was wholly forced. ‘No, it’s nothing.’ She’s just a female Dickie Smith.

  ‘Talk to Jane. Give her a ring.’

  And Hope was gone.

  I said nothing, how do they know? And he heard the voice saying it again. Ring Jane.

  Chapter 16

  Why did so many island churches look like they had been beaten into drab, grey pieces of stone, bastions of architectural horror? In Glasgow, his church had been a modern building, full of air and light. Even in Inverness, whilst the building was old, it looked welcoming from the outside, bright posters and new paint on the drainpipes. But here in Bhuinaig, the paint was flaking and black, there were lines of what looked like damp showing across the wall and a generally morose feel to the place.

  Macleod sat in the car, studying the arrivals for the memorial service for Bubba and Summer Carson, a small flask at his feet. He had already drunk half of it in the twenty minutes he had been here. Hope had suggested getting there early, perhaps an hour or so, but Macleod knew the island. People did not arrive early, they came on island time, usually further back from Greenwich mean time than the French.

  The first arrival had been a deacon of the church to open the building followed shortly by the Rev. Mackenzie. This was the main church belonging to the national denomination, Presbyterian, but a long way from any extreme doctrines and happened to be the same denomination that he had attended in Glasgow. Once in the Highlands, he had followed Jane to an Independent. But he could see himself in his Sunday best as a boy, dressed in his smart suit, and then sitting without a word for up to ninety minutes, having to listen intently to the white collared man at the front because his father would ask questions at the dinner table about what had been preached.

  The Painters were the next arrivals and Jenny had her father in arm. He had a grey suit on that looked as if it had been designed for a man of a different shape entirely and the tie that he was wearing was certainly the fashion of an earlier time. As others had arrived, Alan Painter had emerged from a rear door of the church and opened a small silver hip flask, before quickly drinking the contents. A quick wipe of the lips with the back of his hand was obviously meant to remove the evidence but Jenny Painter had followed him, and the daughter looked at her father’s back with disgust. However, on turning around, Alan only saw a smiling face as his daughter embraced him.

  As mourners gathered, Macleod saw Declan and Katie Macaulay, walking side by side but looking like there was an ocean between them. Alice came in the company of Big Jim Calderwood and Gordon Watts, whilst Dickie Smith came alone but stopped outside a while shaking hands with new arrivals. He looked like a man of the people, passing on the time of day and how this was a sad occasion, but Macleod followed his eyes.

  ‘Do you see, Hope? He’s clocking all the women.’

  ‘I thought that was natural for you men.’

  ‘Not to that degree. He’s positively brazen.’

  ‘No, he’s not,’ said Hope. ‘Watch him. He talks to the women as well as he looks. And watch her. The one with the black jacket. She flashed a look back. You see he’s up front but he’s charming with it. Not a sleaze ball. A charmer, one hundred percent gold charmer. No wonder he’s been around up here.’

  ‘That still sounds like a sleaze ball to me.’

  ‘Did you ring Jane?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Macleod. When he had first worked with Hope, she had taken his breath away with her physical form, but he had taken time to appreciate her mind and personality. Now she was like his mother at times when she kept chirping on about Jane. She was right but he didn’t need to be reminded so often. ‘And did you speak to Allinson?’

  ‘Touché, Seoras.’

  ‘The longer it’s left, the harder it will be to sort. That’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘Well you got one thing right,’ retorted Hope; ‘that’s all you’re saying.’

  Suitably chastised, Macleod resumed his watch until he realised the time was five minutes until the start of the service. They made their way together across the car park and as he let Hope walk in front of him, he thought he could barely recognise her. She had dressed in a black skirt, long and covering her working boots. A thick woollen cardigan covered her blouse and her hair was clipped back from her face but allowed to sit neatly, layering back down her shoulders. If she had worn a hat, she would have nailed the look.

  The inside of the church did not do much to cheer up Macleod and he looked at the heaters high above him. They were electric bar heaters, blazing down at you, secluded in covers that reminded him of the machines he had seen on the Open University productions at his school. Hope had sat down on the rearmost wooden pew and Macleod saw that the first five rows were empty, another trait he remembered well. Sliding in beside Hope, he gave the customary nod to those who had turned round to see who had arrived.

  As the sound of a clock ticking became the only backdrop, Macleod felt relief that Irvine had not shown up. Cleaning the nails of one hand with the nails of his other, he waited for the service to begin before hearing a small commotion outside. He thought better of getting up to see and then watched the wooden doors open and three men slide into the pews on the far side of the church. There were intakes of breath and even the odd finger pointed. Macleod looked over and recognised Irvine but not the two men with him.

  The Rev. Mackenzie then appeared from the rear of the church and mounted the high pulpit. In former days he would have been preaching to rows of people in the balconies that ran round the building, all seated looking at him, but now he only had to preach down to the much-reduced numbers.

  The service ran without a hitch, the minister taking most of it, and seemingly droning on in his prayers. A few men were asked to stand and pra
y too and then psalms were sung, some in Gaelic. And then Alan Painter was invited to come forward and say a few words.

  The man got unsteadily to his feet, half helped by his daughter, and stumbled to the low lectern at the front of the church. All eyes were on him and there were a few murmurings as well as a round of sweet wrappers being opened and then scrunched up and placed back into pockets. Alan cleared his throat, clearly swallowing some phlegm back into his throat and began to speak.

  ‘Good morning,’ he began. ‘I don’t normally get to do this and I’m sad to say I have to do it now. But we are here to remember two people who brought a light to my life and a light to this community. Bubba and Summer Carson came with a love of people and of a sport that’s dear to my heart. Who will forget those days of practice with Bubba swinging like the giant he was at the crease and his lovely wife, watching all from the pavilion as she served up such excellent scones and other bakes.

  ‘Many of you know that Bubba was a star in his native country of America, but he came here to settle down and bring a little something to people’s lives. He used his wealth to give us our first cricket club and ground, and he gave this old dog new life. He gave me a spring . . .’

  Alan Painter began to sniff and then started crying. Macleod saw the glances away, the occasional ‘poor man’ floated into the air and Jenny Painter then stood up, moving to her father’s side. He nodded as she held him, and together they got back into a speaking position behind the lectern. The woman didn’t move but instead supported her father as he continued.

  ‘He gave me a spring in my step. Together we built this club, we made a team, and then we demolished the best club in Scotland. He brought on Alice, our starlet, Scotland’s hope for the future. And for the rest of us, he gave of his all. And so, I will build this club back up and we will play again.’

  ‘He blasphemed the Sabbath! As did you all!’

  There was no doubting the voice. Irvine was now standing flanked by the two men he had come with and was marching to the front of the church. There was a low murmur from the congregation, but Macleod could sense the anticipation. How many were here for the memorial and how many for the show?