by G R Jordan
And yet Irvine kept coming to mind. Recognising his own prejudice against the rogue minister, Macleod sought to a reason beyond being a zealot as to why he would do this, but none was forthcoming. Irvine was in a better position with Bubba alive, the evil in the community to be fought. It lifted his status. He was missing something, and he could not put his finger on it.
Katie’s mother, a Mrs Joanne Sloane, lived beside a small loch at the far end of a village that Macleod was unaware existed, despite his days on the island. The grass was lush around the loch and across the hillocks that provided a cover from the outside world. Like his abode with Jane, which they had purchased to be away from onlookers, this was a remote site for a recluse.
The house itself was a small bungalow, having maybe four rooms at most. Walking up the steep drive which kept the house clear of the rise and fall of the loch, Macleod rapped the old wooden door and felt guilty when several flakes of paint fell off. ‘Hello, it’s the police. Anyone home?’
There was no answer and Macleod pushed the door which glided open. It might not look like much, he thought, but the fixtures work easily. ‘Mrs Sloane, Mrs Joanne Sloan? Anyone home, its Detective Inspector Macleod?’ There was only silence in reply and Macleod opened a door from the hallway into a small lounge with a multi-fuel stove at its centre. There was no television and only a small radio, battery powered by the look of it. He flicked it on. Radio 4, I might have guessed. A handful of pictures adorned the wall but three of the four were of a smiling child. The other was an older woman, maybe Mrs Sloane’s mother for the garb had a distinctly sixties feel.
Moving through to the kitchen, Macleod found a gas hob and only the most basic appliances. The fridge was small but there was a deep freezer and it was full to the brim. On examining the bedroom, Macleod found it to house a single bed and have minimal furniture. The one wardrobe it had contained a host of camping equipment and several jackets and other waterproof clothing.
‘Who’s there?’
The voice was elderly and high pitched. Macleod walked back to the front door where he found a white-haired woman squinting at him. It seemed wrong for the sun was shining through the door into Macleod’s eyes. ‘Hello, ma’am, I’m Detective Inspector Macleod, looking for Mrs Joanne Sloane.’
‘Were you expecting her to be in the bedroom? You shouldn’t be in a woman’s bedroom when she’s not there. Show me some ID?’
Macleod was stunned. The woman looked like she was about to collapse and die at any moment, but she was talking as if she were the police officer and he a dirty pervert found in a woman’s abode. Pulling out his warrant card, he placed it before the woman, but he was almost sure she could not read it.
‘That’s fine. But you can leave, you won’t find Jo-Jo here. She’s off wandering.’
‘Where?’ asked Macleod.
‘I said she’s off wandering; how would I know? But you can go.’
‘I’ll leave her a message.’
‘Give it to me,’ snatched the old woman, ‘I’ll make sure she gets it. What’s it about?’
‘Her daughter’s not well, ma’am; we need to get her mother to her.’
‘Her daughter? Not sure if she’ll go. That little brat hasn’t seen her mother in twenty years at least, surprised she has an address. Anyway, be off with you. Not right being in a woman’s bedroom. You look the sort.’
Macleod was going to argue but the woman had turned away and was hobbling back along the road.
‘Your name, ma’am, just for the records.’
‘Macleod,’ came the cold reply. I could have guessed that, he thought. If Joanne Sloane was off camping in the moors then it would be hard to find her and given, she hadn’t been with her daughter in twenty years, maybe there was little point rushing. But who else would know Katie’s father?
Back in the car returning to Stornoway, Macleod pulled over when his mobile rang. The image of the glasses-fronted Stewart grinned back at him.
‘Constable, what do you have for me?’
‘Possible information about Katie’s parents. I called the Rev. Mackenzie amongst other people and he was able to confirm that Katie was baptised in his church. He said he has some pictures buried away and I said you would pop over soon as to see. He’s expecting you at the manse whenever you’re ready.’
It’s like having a secretary shuffle you about. ‘Excellent, Stewart. McGrath’s in the hospital with Declan Macaulay and it turns out you’re right with the situation. Katie is pregnant, four months gone but hardly showing.’ There was a silence on the other end of the mobile. ‘Well done.’ More silence.
‘Anything else, sir.’
‘No, Stewart.’
‘Very good.’ And the call ceased.
Doesn’t do praise then. Macleod settled back in his seat with a feeling he might actually get somewhere today with his investigation despite being accused of being a pervert. Calling Hope on his mobile, Macleod advised her of his extra trip to the Rev. Mackenzie. When he enquired how Katie and Declan Macaulay were, Hope sounded bothered.
‘Katie is still recovering but Declan left. I went to the bathroom for two minutes and he was simply sitting down with his coffee. I came back and he’s gone. I’ve searched the hospital and we have some footage of him leaving on the CCTV. I was about to call you and see if you’ll pick me up.’
‘Five minutes, Hope. And we can’t make him be there; he’s free to go where he pleases at the moment. I’m not convinced he’s our killer—too many strange ends, especially the Summer Carson side of things; why remove her?’
‘I still think he’s a candidate,’ said Hope. ‘I’ll place someone on guard for Katie. I reckon that’s wise.’
‘Okay, I think you’re wrong, but a good idea given the circumstances. We need to know who the father is, but I have a good idea, just no proof. See you in five minutes.’
With Hope on board, Macleod let her drive back to Bhuinaig and to the manse of the Rev. Mackenzie. It was an aged building with grey pebble dash that reminded Macleod of the concrete estates of Glasgow erected in the sixties. It had taken a battering from the elements in its time but then again, which house on the Isle of Lewis had not.
‘Inspector, good to see you again. Please come in. My wife will bring you some coffee, but I think you will want to see what I have dug up for you. Please, we are through there, in the dining room.’
Macleod entered a perfectly neat room with a carpet the colour of a deep red wine. A glance around took in crystal immaculately paced in a wooden hutch and a number of family photographs, showing smiling children and delighted parents.
‘Just my brood, Inspector,’ said Mackenzie, ‘but the photographs you require are on the table.’
The dining room table could have sat twelve people and was covered with old pictures, taken with real cameras given the quality. There were some polaroid pictures as well. Macleod also spotted a register, with the legend ‘Baptisms’ on it.
‘If you’ll open up at the marked page in there,’ said Mackenzie, ‘you’ll find the name Katie Mairi Sloane. That’s Declan’s Katie and I remember it well. There was a bit of a hoo-ha around the time for Miss Sloane did not want to reveal who the father of the child was. Miss Sloane was, and I believe still is, a free spirit of sorts and I was shocked at the time to be asked to have the child for baptism.’
‘No father present would have been a real scandal back then,’ said Macleod. ‘And you were okay baptising a child in those circumstances?’
‘Hardly the child’s fault and I hoped it might make Miss Sloane think about bringing the child up in a more Christian way. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a perfectly pleasant woman, and a decent human being but she doesn’t see the point of the church.’
‘Many don’t,’ muttered Macleod. ‘Do you take pictures at every baptism?’
‘Oh yes, it’s a special privilege to be able to baptise a child. But of course, I take the pictures after the service. You can’t break that holy moment.’
‘Can you show us the photographs of the baptism?’ asked Hope, looking at the register.
‘Of course, there’s a small pile of them. I’m afraid it was a large congregation that day. The scandal over it was intense enough that some came from other churches, but Miss Sloane did not give two hoots about them. She just said to me it was the right thing to do. Katie’s father would have wanted it.’
‘But she never said who he was?’ asked Hope.
‘Never. Ah, here we are, I’ll spread them out on the table for you.’
Looking at the neatly arranged photographs, Macleod saw the new mother, proud and unashamed holding her child, generally alone with onlookers wandering in the background. Several photographs had the Rev. Mackenzie in them and then another woman, middle aged with a neat hat on her head and dressed smartly in a skirt and dress jacket.
‘Who’s that?’
‘My wife, Inspector. I’m afraid not many people wanted to be in the photographs, and it was all a bit embarrassing. But Catherine is a good wife and she doesn’t take the scorn of others. We brought Miss Sloan back here for a celebration afterwards, just a light tea and that. She was starting out on a rough and lonely journey. We were finding it hard enough with the pair of us trying to haul up our children, but on your own, it’s a real slog, I imagine.’
‘Very kind of you, sir. This photograph,’ said Macleod, picking up the only one which seemed to have a crowd in it, ‘who are these people?’ There were a number of children and a few grown-ups.
‘That’s the Sunday school kids. I was feeling for Miss Sloane and I insisted the kids gather. Of course, they were delighted to coo at the baby, but my leaders were not so impressed. That’s Anna, Donella and Karen.’
‘And who is the man peering over Anna’s shoulder?’ asked Hope. It was just a head, but the eyes were looking down at the baby, and the face bore a smile. It looked like a smile of satisfaction.
‘I don’t know,’ said Mackenzie, ‘but he looks remarkably familiar. It can’t be though, probably just a coincidence.’
‘I see it too,’ said Macleod. ‘Take the years off Irvine and that could be him. Was he around the village at that time?’
‘No, Inspector. I had never met him until he opened his church here. Surely it’s a trick of the light.’
‘The camera never lies,’ said Hope, instantly regretting the cliché.
‘But people do,’ said Macleod. ‘Thank you, Reverend, you have been most helpful. Can I take these photographs and the register? I will return them.’
‘As you need, Inspector. Do you know how young Katie is?’
‘She’s going to be fine, Reverend,’ said Hope.
Once they were back in the car, Macleod asked to go to the village hall. ‘Don’t we want to see Irvine?’ replied a surprised Hope.
‘And do what? Show him a photograph that may be him and insinuate he’s the father of a child with no proof. It’s just a theory, Hope. He gets Joanna Sloane pregnant and she brings up Katie. Then Katie finds her dad and stays close. But Katie then plays around, and father is unhappy with the man or men that did that. Or is Katie? Or does Declan protest too much and he actually sorted out any would-be lovers. And if so, why kill Summer? Why leave her in the pool? Just because he saw her there. We need to talk to Katie and put some pressure on her but that’s not going to happen while she’s still delicate.’
‘Maybe it was Dickie Smith. Maybe someone got their targets wrong,’ said Hope.
‘What’s for sure is that this is not over. They may need to silence more people. Alan Painter for one. He spoke to Jackie that morning. Who knows what a drunk knows?’
‘Where to next?’ asked Hope.
‘Declan Macaulay, let’s find him and bring him in. As much for his protection as anyone else.’
Chapter 20
‘I’ve tried all the numbers for Declan Macaulay, sir, but we can’t trace him.’ Stewart pushed her glasses onto her nose, breathed in deeply and let the air out with a disapproving sigh. Macleod reckoned it was not aimed at him but the general failure in finding their man.
‘Other contacts? Big Jim, Gordon Watts, Dickie Smith? Have you tried them?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Another deep breath and a look that said I’m not an idiot. ‘No luck with any of them but Jim Calderwood said he would try some of the haunts Declan might use.’
‘Well, keep me informed, Stewart.’
The woman turned on her heel and walked out of the room as Hope entered. ‘She’s in a happy mood.’
‘I think I may be beneath her in terms of brainpower,’ said Macleod.
‘Well, don’t let her lord it over you. I don’t.’
Macleod stuck out his tongue. But underneath he knew he was nervous. They had two bodies and he felt that with every discovery, someone would need to close the path down before they got there. Standing up he paced the room, pondering his next move. Hope stood to one side knowing better than to interrupt him when in this mood.
‘Alice Gregg to see you, sir,’ said a voice at the door.
‘Thank you, Constable,’ said Macleod to the uniformed officer at the door, ‘but you could have knocked.’
After the Constable departed, Hope said, ‘The door was open. No need to take it out on them.’
‘Indeed, there isn’t, but there’s no one else to have a go at.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, but you’re around me too much, you might sulk back.’
Macleod grinned but he was feeling the stress. In many cases he was chasing leads here and there, struggling to keep up. Today he felt he was not starting, never in the groove. It grated with him. And all the time he saw Irvine’s face, thought it was gloating. But was this instinct or just a hatred towards a man who wrecked Macleod’s idea of church and faith.
‘Hello, Alice,’ said Hope, ‘come on in and take a seat. What can we do for you?’
Macleod sat down and looked at the athletic star across the table. She had been crying, the red of dried tears surrounding her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I was out walking trying to get my head clear when I just kept thinking about Jackie.’
‘It’s okay,’ said Hope, ‘it doesn’t go away any time soon.’
‘But that’s not why I’m here. I was out on the coastal path, out beyond Bubba’s house when I saw someone. They were shouting and throwing things inside the house. They had a baseball bat and had smashed up the place.’
‘When was this?’
‘Twenty minutes ago.’
‘Come on, McGrath,’ said Macleod getting out of his seat.
‘Wait,’ said Alice, ‘there’s no point. He left when I went up to the house. It was Declan.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Hope.
‘Definitely, I called to him, but he ran off. He seemed very drunk, so I didn’t want to get too close—after all, he had that bat. But he was in a rage, cursing and shouting out at Bubba.’
‘Stewart!’ shouted Macleod. A few seconds later a pair of glasses appeared at the door. ‘Get some cars out and search the village for Declan Macaulay. He was at the Carson’s house twenty minutes ago and he’s drunk and violent.’
‘Sir!’ A push of the glasses and Stewart disappeared.
‘McGrath, get Alice a cup of something as I think she needs something to help her calm down. You’ve had a shock Miss Gregg; best to sit a while.’
Macleod walked out of the small back room and then heard an almighty voice, thundering at some unfortunate person.
‘Sit down and shut up. Don’t move or I’ll plant you so you can’t move!’
There was a sharpness in the voice and harsh Scottish twang that told Macleod the speaker was a Glaswegian. He strode out of the main hall and into the lobby where he saw Jim Calderwood towering over Declan Macaulay who was sitting on his bottom, back against the wall. A small crowd of uniformed officers surrounded Stewart who was staring at the scene hands on hips.
‘Mr Calderwood,’ said Macleod, ‘maybe we should speak somewhere less public.
Stewart, can you escort our guests to a room at the back? And get Mr Macaulay some water.’
‘He’s well pissed, Inspector, but I thought I’d better bring him to you.’
‘Thank you, Mr Calderwood, a good plan but let’s talk further in the back, not out here.’ After watching Jim haul Declan to his feet, Macleod led the way to the empty room at the back before asking an officer to fetch McGrath to him.
Macleod pulled up a chair for Macaulay and Jim Calderwood plonked the man into it. Macaulay’s neck rolled to one side as he struggled to hold himself upright and Calderwood had to support him.
‘Declan, can you hear me. Mr Macaulay, can you hear me?’ asked Macleod positioning himself in front of the man’s face. Seeing the eyes focus on him, Macleod’s hopes were raised, only to be dashed by the foulest burp he had encountered in a long time.
‘Come on, lad, the Inspector asked you a question.’ Jim Calderwood gently slapped Macaulay’s face but the man continued to sway on the seat. ‘He’s fair gone, Inspector.’
‘Why were you in the Carson house?’ asked Macleod as Hope strode into the room. Macaulay’s eyes swept past Macleod and focused on Hope.
‘It’s the PC with the tidy arse,’ slurred Macaulay. ‘Jim,’ he blurted, ‘Jim, it’s her. ‘Member I said about her arse. Look at it, Jim, fantastic.’
Macleod rolled his eyes and looked at Hope who was trying not to laugh. ‘Snap out of it, Mr Macaulay. What were you doing at the Carsons’?’
‘Bubba’s,’ said Macaulay suddenly, ‘yes, I was at Bubba’s. Big baseball fan. Pictures, Mr Policeman, he had pictures. Bloody loads of them.’
‘Did you take some of his bats, his baseball bats?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Macaulay, saluting. ‘Liked his baseball. Well he can shove it up his—’
‘What were you doing there?’ asked Macleod.
‘No! You don’t ask me nothing. Had my fill with questions. Bubba’s dead. Bubba’s dead.’ Macaulay started to cry and Hope stepped forward, placing a hand on Macleod’s shoulder and gently drawing him away.
‘I’ll have a go,’ she whispered. Kneeling down, she placed her face inches from Macaulay’s and tried hard not to baulk at the smell of his mouth. ‘Mr Macaulay, can I talk to you for a moment?’