Dead at Third Man

by G R Jordan

  Macleod shook his head. ‘If God works like this, then it’s a God that I don’t know. Tell me, Miss Painter, where did you go last evening?’

  ‘There was a short prayer meeting at the church. Rev. Irvine called it due to the difficult times we were experiencing. I wasn’t going to go but you know. I’m not sure I have forgiven him for calling out dad at the memorial service. But I guess . . .’

  ‘Guess what?’ asked Hope, softly.

  ‘I guess God has his agents.’

  Macleod looked at his empty mug and stood up, taking it in one hand. ‘Can I get you another drink?’ asked Macleod to the women. Hope shook her head and Miss Painter did not answer. So, he made his way back to the service area and asked for another coffee. I guess God has his agents. What did she mean? Again, he found himself seeing Irvine’s face. Was he angry at the man? The memory of what a zealous church did to his wife was all too strong and often blinded him to what was going on. Evidence Seoras, get evidence.

  Returning to the table, Macleod sat directly opposite Miss Painter and stared at her. ‘What did you mean by “I guess God has his agents”. It seems like you have suspicions about who God has used.’

  The woman started and then pulled her shoulders tight, dipped her head down and deliberately avoided eye contact with Macleod. ‘Just a silly comment. God sometimes uses people who don’t know they are being used, doesn’t he?’

  ‘And sometimes they do it and get his approval afterwards. Did your dad hear something?’

  She lifted her face and her eyes were red from crying. ‘He said someone was out to get him. But he was going to carry on. He was blind drunk, swigging from a bottle as he spoke. I thought he was delusional, just an alcoholic mess.’

  ‘Who did he think was after him?’ asked Macleod.

  ‘I couldn’t find out. He just referred to them as enemies of the club.’ Jenny Painter went back into her shell-like position with her head down and shoulders hunched.

  ‘Who do you think was after him?’ asked Macleod.

  ‘I just said he didn’t say.’ The reaction was furious, and she spat the answer at Macleod. Hope held up a hand, but Macleod gave her a stare.

  ‘I didn’t ask what he thought,’ said Macleod calmly. ‘I asked what you thought. Because you do think something, don’t you? This mulling over the issue, the debate with whether your faith, your church, your God is right, I recognise it. I had it when my wife died. I had it for years. You need to spit it out—you need to face it, Miss Painter, or it will eat you up. Who do you think was after him?’

  The woman stared at Macleod, and he held her look, knowing the pain she must be feeling, the conflictions in her mind. When you are brought up on a surety, the realisation that it is less of a concrete floor and more of a moving sea you have to walk on hits home hard.

  ‘I went to see the Rev. Irvine after the prayer meeting, but he had someone with him already. I didn’t see who it was and I didn’t hear them, but he said to this woman, ‘Your husband knows, and that’s not safe for you.’’

  ‘But you didn’t see her?’ asked Macleod.

  ‘No, I didn’t. She must have left by the other door of the office, quickly, when I knocked the front door. But he was earnest.’

  A member of the hospital staff came up to them and Macleod heard them advise Miss Painter that her father was going to Glasgow and that she could get a plane down to meet him there this morning. But Macleod wasn’t thinking about that. His mind saw only one person.

  Jenny Painter called a friend who arrived shortly at the hospital to take her to the airport. As Hope waited with the woman, Macleod put out a call to Stewart to find the Rev. Irvine for questioning. He also asked her to check up on Declan Macaulay.

  Hope joined Macleod outside when Jenny Painter’s friend arrived, standing beside her boss as he stood looking out across the helipad towards the bay beside the airport. The day was warming up and not just the weather.

  ‘Who was he talking to?’ asked Hope. ‘Did we miss someone? I’d say Katie Macaulay but she’s in here.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Macleod, ‘she is. But Jenny Painter never saw someone leave and neither did she hear someone leave. She surmised it. He might have been on the telephone.’

  As Hope’s eyes narrowed, Macleod’s mobile vibrated in his pocket and he grabbed it, seeing the bespectacled face of DC Stewart. He didn’t get a chance to announce himself.

  ‘Declan Macaulay is missing, sir. Left the house through a bedroom window. He’s gone.’

  Chapter 22

  The car sped across the Barvas moor, dodging traffic as Hope spurred it on to overtake the few vehicles travelling the same direction. It was the cars coming the opposite direction that were the problem and Macleod held onto the hand-hold above him, normally used to assist with exiting the car. Inside, Macleod had a sick feeling in his stomach, and it was not coming from the violent driving of Hope.

  Jim Calderwood lived on the very edge of Bhuinaig, close to the sea and Macleod could see the police cars gathered outside his house. There was an officer a little way up the narrow track to the main building who was holding back a few locals, impressed by the initial arrival of bright blue lights and the subsequent flurry of activity around the village.

  Having gathered his thoughts properly, Macleod had asked for the assistance of the other emergency services in tracking down Declan Macaulay, who Macleod believed was a target. He could not say it in public, but he believed that Irvine was the person likely to do the man harm. By the time they stepped through the door of Jim Calderwood’s house, Irvine had still not been located.

  ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I put him in the back bedroom. I didn’t think he would run.’

  ‘Not the time to apologise,’ said Macleod. ‘Where’s the bedroom he was in?’ Calderwood showed them to an upstairs bedroom. The house itself was neat and tidy and had a few scattered knick-knacks and pictures around it. But the bedroom was almost bare except for a number of cardboard boxes, clearly stored away and lacking a cupboard to conceal them.

  ‘And when was the last time you checked on him, Mr Calderwood?’

  ‘Two in the morning. After that I went to bed; your officer was sitting downstairs. When I came in with breakfast at ten, he wasn’t there. I did a quick search but found nothing and so alerted your man.’

  ‘Any ideas where he would go, Mr Calderwood?’ asked Hope, pulling back the covers of the bed and looking at the impression left by the previous night’s sleeper.

  ‘He was rabbiting on about peats last night when I went to bed. Cutting the peats—his brother required help. Otherwise, he was simply blubbering on about Katie and how he thought it would have been Jackie who took her from him. It was all a mesh of yesteryear and recent events. Bubba got a mention, Summer too.’

  ‘Where does his brother live?’ asked Hope.

  ‘No idea,’ said Calderwood.

  ‘Who would know?’

  ‘Katie, I presume. Jackie would have known. Alan Painter, he knows everything.’

  ‘Unfortunately, Mr Painter is on his way to Glasgow, having been attacked last night, Mr Calderwood,’ said Macleod and watched the man’s expression turn to one of horror.

  ‘Not Alan. He was a gentle soul, the bastards.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Macleod. ‘Do you know who would try it?’ Calderwood shook his head. ‘Stay here, Mr Calderwood, in case we need you in a hurry. Come on, McGrath.’

  Getting back into the car, Macleod grabbed his mobile as it vibrated in his pocket.

  ‘Where to?’ asked Hope.

  ‘Alice Gregg’s,’ he replied and then turned away to answer his mobile.

  ‘Macleod, it’s Mackintosh. I pulled an all-nighter for you and I can match the baseball bat Macaulay used in smashing up Bubba’s house to the murder of Bubba and of Jackie. I found traces of the same wood, matched it up. Looks like he might be your man.’

  ‘No, it’s not, but he is in trouble. I take it there were no other prints on the bat?’

>   ‘No. Probably wiped clean, that’s what I would do, or use gloves. Only Macaulay’s prints showed up, some traces of Bubba’s and Jackie’s hair. I’m on my way to the Alan Painter scene now. You sure owe me a dinner, Macleod.’

  Macleod felt a pang of guilt when she mentioned it, but he tried to remain professional. ‘I probably do, Mackintosh. The force owes you a lot; you certainly go above and beyond.’

  ‘I get paid for that, but this one’s for you, Seoras.’

  ‘Thanks, Hazel.’ As Macleod closed the call, he realised he had used her first name and for a moment he saw her determined face, seeking something out in his own visage. Not the time, Seoras.

  ‘Mackintosh?’ asked Hope.

  ‘The bat Macaulay was using at the house killed Bubba and Jackie. Where did he find it?’

  ‘Well, Mackintosh searched that house; it didn’t come from there. So, he must have picked it up when looking somewhere else.’ Hope stopped as her mobile rang. She grabbed it and then mouthed the word, ‘Stewart’ at Macleod. He watched her nod her head as she affirmed she understood what was being said. When she put her mobile away, he waited, hanging on for the development that had caused Hope to start chewing something over in her mind.

  ‘What?’ asked an impatient Macleod.

  ‘Stewart got hold of Mairi, Irvine’s housekeeper, childminder or whatever the hell she is. She hasn’t seen him since yesterday evening. He went out with a couple of deacons and hasn’t returned. But his car is still there.’

  ‘Alice Gregg’s, now. We need to find Declan Macaulay fast. Hope, he’s in trouble if they haven’t got him already.’

  ‘You think it’s Irvine? But why? The whole cricket thing was perfect for him, fuel to rant and rage over. Why would he kill everyone?’

  ‘Alice’s, now Hope.’ He saw the angry look she returned because of the tone of voice he used but his mobile vibrated before he had time to apologise. ‘Macleod.’

  A soft woman’s voice said, ‘I believe you have been looking for me. I’m Joanne Sloane.’

  ‘Mrs Sloane, I have indeed; thank you for getting back to me.’

  ‘Miss Sloane, Inspector. How can I help you? I’m going back out to the moor in a minute but the note you left said it was urgent, so here I am calling you. I’ll be incommunicado for the rest for the week.’

  ‘Your daughter is in hospital, ma’am. She was taken in yesterday and is not very well. I’m also trying to locate her husband who may be in danger. Now, I am about to ask a question which you may not want to answer but trust me, the answer to it is the piece of a puzzle that may save someone’s life, so please answer me truthfully. I need to know who Katie’s father is.’

  Macleod was aware of Hope giving him a look as he made his last statement, but he focused his attention on listening lest Miss Sloane replied quietly.

  ‘Someone’s life, Inspector?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, I’m most serious.’

  ‘Okay, but you let this go no further than you have to; can you promise me that?’

  ‘That I can, ma’am, but I must warn you that it may have to be revealed in court one day.’ He could hear the gulp on the other end of the mobile.

  ‘As it is important, Inspector, Alastair Irvine, that nut job up in Bhuinaig. I was lonely and desperate, and he wooed me into bed. I made the mistake of no precautions and the wee piece of detritus pissed off on me. So, I raised Katie until she left home. She gave me grief for twenty years about finding her father and when I eventually told her she ran off to him and his crackpot ideas, never once coming to see me. Is that enough, Inspector?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, thank you.’

  ‘If you want anything further, I’ll be on the moor, I need a bit of space.’

  Macleod eased the mobile back in his pocket and felt Hope look at him in short bursts as she drove. ‘Well?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m right. This has nothing to do with the church, God, and blasphemy of the Sabbath. Irvine has another reason to kill, Hope. He’s Katie’s father and someone got her pregnant. And then Bubba told her he wanted nothing more to do with her and she ran to her father. That’s the motive. And then they were worried Jackie had seen something. Maybe he hadn’t slept under the table all night. And then Alan’s also a possible witness because he spoke to Jackie and might know what he saw. He’s an alcoholic. It’s spiralling out of control, covering up to be sure because they didn’t realise how complicated it is to get away with murder. And then Declan finds out, and he found the bat—proof.’

  ‘So, they silence him, too,’ said Hope pulling the car up to Alice Gregg’s small house. Hope leapt from the car and ran to the door, banging on it furiously. But there was no answer. ‘She runs, sir. She might be out jogging.’

  ‘Okay, get in and let’s find her.’

  Macleod hung on as Hope spun the car out and back to the main road. As she drove along, he scanned for a young girl jogging along but then saw two people conversing, one in a car, and the other standing in jogging shorts and a crop top. ‘There!’

  Macleod raced from the car as Hope brought it to a halt. He saw the shocked face of Alice Gregg and then clocked the Rev. Mackenzie, who began to open his car door.

  ‘What the heaven’s the matter, Inspector?’

  ‘Declan Macaulay, he has a brother. I need to know where that brother lives.’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Alice, ‘I know he has one, but he’s never talked about him with me. Jackie would have . . .’ She tailed off and looked as if she would cry. Mackenzie stepped over to her and gave her a hug before looking at Macleod.

  ‘He married Donella Anderson, a Point girl, Inspector—Garrabost. Her father was Angus, but he passed away. Her mother, Donna, is still in the village; in fact, I saw her only yesterday.’

  ‘Would she know where her son-in-law’s peat bank is?’ asked Macleod. ‘And his address too?’ he said almost as an afterthought.

  ‘I can try and find out for you.’ The Reverend took Alice and placed her in the back seat of his car as she was now in tears.

  ‘Now please, Reverend,’ said Macleod. ‘It is important, possibly life-and-death important.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ The man took out his mobile and shook his head. ‘No signal.’

  ‘I have signal,’ said Macleod. ‘Dial her number, please.’

  After the Reverend dialled the number, Macleod held the mobile to his ear, anxiously waiting for someone to pick up. His stomach clenched tight as he reckoned every minute was precious.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Mrs Anderson?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector Macleod, investigating the deaths you may have heard about in Bhuinaig. I don’t have a lot of time, but I need your help, as your son-in-law may be in danger. What’s his address and do you know where his peat bank is?’

  ‘Danger, what sort of danger?’

  ‘I don’t have the time, Mrs Anderson. Can you answer the question, please?’

  She passed a Garrabost address and said the bank was up beyond the Free church, the one beside the Church of Scotland. Macleod indicated that Hope should get in the car. ‘One of my officers will be round to you very shortly, Mrs Anderson.’ He wanted to say do not worry but that would be a lie. He was worried sick that they might be too late. Cancelling the call, he turned to Reverend Mackenzie. ‘Get Alice home, Reverend.’ With that Macleod got into the car and Hope drove off at pace.

  The road back over the moor was busy and Hope switched on her blue lights sending cars scattering to the roadside. Macleod’s stomach felt the humps in the road, and he tried to call in and send cars on ahead to Point to find the peat bank.

  As they tore into Garrabost, the water to their left resplendent in the sun, Macleod saw a sheep-holding pen, one used for marking and washing of sheep. Beyond it was a gate where an officer stood waving him towards the track that led off it. Hope threw the car around the corner and set up the track faster than Macleod would ever have dared. On either side he saw the occ
asional peat bank, the heather stopping abruptly and a side of black tarry mud descending down to a watery channel.

  The car bounced over the rocky path and up ahead he saw flashing lights. When Hope stopped the car, Macleod jumped out and ran over to an officer who was speaking into his radio.

  ‘No one here, just a peat knife, spade, clothing, and a packed lunch. And some blood on the ground. Quite a bit actually.’

  Chapter 23

  Macleod stared at the implements on the ground. The peat knife had blood on its end which struck Macleod as strange for it was essentially a blunt instrument. There was a jacket on the ground, and he recognised it as one Declan had been wearing when he was in the community hall the night before. As the sun beat down upon him, Macleod felt a bead of sweat trickle down his neck and his shoulders tightened. Were they too late? Where would they go?

  ‘Sir,’ said Hope. Looking over, he saw Hope holding a pink top, a light fleece. ‘It’s not just his brother who was with him. They must have brought the wife or daughter.’

  ‘Get to the home address, McGrath, now! We need to know who’s missing.’

  He watched her run back to the car and turn it around before speeding off as fast as she could over the rocky track back to the road. Where would they go? Where would you take them? Surely, they would kill them, all of them, to keep them silent. This was a set of killers running scared.

  Pulling out his mobile, Macleod called Stewart. ‘Anything on Irvine? We have a kidnapping on the moor at Garrabost.’

  ‘We can’t find him, sir. He’s not been about this morning; I have someone over at the manse and Mairi his housekeeper has not seen him since last night. I’m still getting a search together and we have teams arriving from the other services. Where do we look, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know, Stewart,’ said Macleod and he spat on the ground in disgust at his own failure to see a cogent plan.

  ‘It’s a wide area to cover quickly, sir. I mean it’s one side of the island to the other. Do we have any idea what sort of vehicle they are in?’