Point of no Return: A Scottish Crime Thriller (A DCI Harry McNeil Crime Thriller Book 7)

by John Carson

  Fenton looked at her. ‘I don’t know why you’re so happy; he left you that shitty little lodge up on Mount Arse Crack.’

  ‘It has a nice view,’ Shona countered.

  ‘So did Alcatraz, but you wouldn’t want to live there, would you?’

  ‘Unlike you, Fenton, I came here to celebrate Dad’s life and enjoy seeing his friends at the memorial, not blubber over who got what.’

  ‘Why don’t you just go out and mingle with the hangers-on and yes-men who worked for Dad then?’

  ‘I reckon you ought to watch your mouth, son,’ said Shona’s husband, Brian Gibbons.

  Fenton looked at him. ‘You’re an outsider, Gibbons, and the sooner you realise the dynamic of this family, the sooner you’ll learn to shut your mouth and just sit and observe.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Brian felt his cheeks starting to go on fire, and he debated whether he should just lamp the bastard or have a word with him on the QT later on.

  Shona’s hand on his arm decided for him.

  ‘Aren’t you a bit old for her?’ Fenton continued, the whisky fuelling his tongue.

  ‘Shut up, Fenton. Good God, it’s just gone nine o’clock and you’re already halfway to being drunk. Couldn’t you at least have pretended not to be an alcoholic until we all parted ways?’

  ‘Sociable, dear sister. It’s called being sociable. You should try it sometime. Unless you’re too embarrassed to be seen out and about with Grandpa there.’

  Brian got up and looked at his brother-in-law. He was about to say something when Shona stood up.

  ‘He lets his tongue run away with him sometimes,’ she said. ‘Just ignore him.’

  ‘Ignore him?’ Brian said.

  ‘I think we should just go to our rooms and look at the properties in the morning. We have all weekend.’

  ‘Nah. I’m going now,’ Zachary said, just as the door opened. A big man with a snarling German Shepherd walked in, followed by a shorter man. Wee Shug.

  ‘Nobody’s going anywhere,’ Muckle said.

  ‘Who do you think you’re talking to?’ Zachary said, curling a lip.

  ‘I’m talking to you, dafty.’

  ‘Cheeky bastard. You’re fired.’

  Muckle looked at his watch and smiled. ‘I’d watch your mouth if I were you. As of seven minutes ago, I am no longer in your employ. So if you want to get lippy, my boy here will be happy to rip your fucking nuts off.’

  ‘Aye, I finished at nine as well. Your man there will confirm that,’ Wee Shug said. He nodded towards the solicitor, who nodded in agreement.

  ‘So you can shove your job up your arse, pompous twat.’ Shug looked at Muckle and smiled as if they had rehearsed this routine before they came in.

  Zachary looked at the dog, who was now snarling and growling, sensing his dad was needing back-up. He didn’t look too sure of himself now. ‘What the hell are you doing here if you no longer work for us?’

  ‘I just told you, nobody’s going anywhere. I’ve called the polis and they’re on their way up here. One of you lot is fuckin’ deid.’

  Three

  ‘I’m thinking about getting a tattoo,’ Detective Sergeant Robbie Evans said as he and Detective Chief Inspector Jimmy Dunbar walked along the corridor to their boss’s office.

  ‘A tattoo? I thought you were feared of needles?’

  ‘Who said that?’

  Dunbar made a face. ‘The last time we had a blood drive, you passed out.’

  ‘I told you before, I hadn’t had any breakfast that morning.’

  ‘Pish. There were plenty of lassies there that morning, all giggling and laughing. None of them wet their pants.’

  ‘I think I had low iron or something,’ Evans said.

  ‘Low self-esteem more like. But they’re having a blood drive next month. You going?’

  ‘Naw. I think I have something on that day.’

  ‘Maybe I should just punch you in the face. You could donate blood that way, but they’d have to hose it off the floor first.’

  ‘I’ll go then, now you’ve convinced me.’

  ‘You’re going to call in sick that day, aren’t you?’ Dunbar asked.

  ‘Faster than a bullet.’

  ‘Fanny.’

  They went through a set of swing doors and headed towards Detective Superintendent Calvin Stewart’s office.

  ‘So what makes you think you can get a tattoo without skelping your face off the tattoo artist’s floor?’

  ‘It’s for my girlfriend. We just celebrated our second anniversary.’

  Dunbar stopped and looked at his younger colleague. ‘You’ve not been seeing a lassie for two years.’

  ‘Months, Jimmy, months. This is the real thing. Hence the tat.’

  ‘Aw, away, man. You’ve hardly had a chance to find out what toothpaste she uses, never mind getting a tat.’

  They started walking again. The sun was beating in through the windows on the long corridor.

  ‘What you having done?’ Dunbar asked. ‘Although I mentally kick myself up the arse for encouraging you. Let’s pretend it’s in the name of science.’

  ‘Her name. I’m getting her name tattooed on me.’

  Dunbar closed his eyes for a second. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Bernadette.’

  Dunbar burst out laughing. ‘What body part of yours do you think will accommodate that name?’

  ‘Well, not her name. I thought of just getting her initials.’

  ‘If you’re thinking of getting it on your tadger, that’s all you’ll be able to fit.’

  ‘Hilarious. How would you know anyway?’

  ‘Rumours isn’t just a Fleetwood Mac album, son. All those uniformed lassies you hang out with don’t seem too impressed.’

  ‘They’re just pals from work, Jimmy.’

  ‘Keep telling yourself that. I’ve heard some of those rumours for myself in the canteen.’

  They got closer to Stewart’s office.

  ‘It’s a pity her name isn’t Mum, then you could kill two birds with one stone.’

  ‘That’s not even funny.’

  ‘So where is this tat going?’ Dunbar asked.

  ‘On my arm, of course. Bernadette Irene Graham.’

  ‘Big?’

  ‘What?’ Evans asked.

  ‘That’s her initials: B.I.G. If she’s notorious, then you’re laughing.’

  ‘Aw, Christ.’

  ‘Better stick to Mum. I mean, that’s the real love of your life. You still live with her, don’t you?’

  ‘Only till I find my own place. Bernie understands. She said she’s quite happy to wait.’

  ‘What kind of a place does she live in?’

  ‘I’ve never been round to her house,’ Evans admitted.

  ‘She could be married with kids for all you know.’

  ‘She’s not,’ Evans said, making a face.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘She told me.’

  Dunbar laughed as they approached the office door. ‘What do those muppets say to you in an interview room? Honest, Robbie, I didn’t do it. And you just believe them.’

  Evans looked past him at the door, as if the answer lay there. ‘Crap,’ he said quietly as Dunbar knocked hard on the door.

  ‘I don’t mean to pish on your parade, son, but check her out before you go emblazoning her name in lights over your manhood.’

  ‘Come in!’ Stewart shouted from inside. ‘Oh, it’s you two,’ he said as he saw the two detectives come in.

  ‘You wanted to see us, sir?’ Dunbar said.

  ‘Wanted is stretching it a wee bit. Needed to, more like. Sit down. You’re making the fucking room look untidy.’

  They both grabbed a chair opposite the boss and waited for him to carry on.

  ‘You’ve heard of the Wolf family, Jimmy?’ Stewart asked.

  ‘Who hasn’t?’ Dunbar quickly looked at Evans to see if the younger detective was going to answer as well, but it was obvious his head was in
another place.

  ‘Wolf Paper. That’s what started the ball rolling,’ Stewart said. ‘Then the old bastard branched into other ventures: Wolf Publishing, Wolf Office Supplies or some such shite. Old Man Murdo Wolf. Owned half the properties on Laoch, or as the pompous old sod called it, Wolf Island.’

  ‘I thought Ulva was known as Wolf Island?’ Dunbar asked. ‘If I remember correctly from my history lessons in school.’

  ‘It is, but that’s some Norse pish. When those daft bastards with the long beards and funny boats came across here and started throwing their weight about. Old Man Wolf and his family named Laoch after themselves. But do you know what happened to him?’

  Stewart leaned back in his office chair and looked at both detectives.

  ‘You’re up,’ Dunbar said to Evans.

  Evans looked at him.

  ‘Have you been listening, Evans?’ Stewart said, his red face starting to take on the look of an erupting volcano.

  ‘Sorry, sir, I’ve been feeling a bit off-colour today.’ Unlike yourself.

  Stewart clacked his teeth together, mentally tossing a coin between going home and setting fire to his house or trying to keep his blood pressure down like his therapist suggested.

  His therapist won.

  ‘Murdo Wolf was having a party two days before Christmas, nineteen eighty-five. Some guests of his missed a ferry and were stuck on the mainland. So he decided to fly his own plane over to pick them up. The weather was shite, and not even Douglas Bader himself would have taken off in it, but old hardy baws gets behind the wheel or whatever the fuck it’s called and takes off. He’s never been seen again, him or his plane. Until now.’

  Both detectives sat up. ‘They found him?’ Dunbar asked.

  ‘Aye. Last night. The old man had been stuck in a wall in an extension that was being built back then. His grandson was found murdered in the room last night, while old Murdo was hanging out of the wall. I want you and Evans to get over to Laoch and take charge of the investigation. The Edinburgh crowd are going over too, since they need a Major Investigation Team on the island, and the four of you will be it. The forensics crew have already left. You’ll liaise with the local uniforms. And you’re flying over.’

  ‘Flying? Business class, I hope,’ Dunbar said.

  ‘You can call it any fucking class you want. It’s in one of those little flying crates that you couldn’t pay me to get my arse into.’

  Evans had gone pale. ‘I hate those things.’

  ‘You ever been up in one?’ Stewart asked.

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘First time for everything. Pack your bags and take plenty of spare underwear. Fuck knows how long you’ll be there. There’s some kind of family gathering and they’re all there on the island, clucking about like hens. Go find out who murdered one of them.’

  Four

  DS Alex Maxwell sat in the car with the windows rolled down. The summer warmth didn’t make her feel happy. The cemetery was peaceful, but the noise from the traffic on Drum Brae disturbed her thoughts.

  She held the little bunch of flowers, staring through the windscreen. She had told Harry she wanted to keep her maiden name after they were married just for professional purposes, and he had been happy with that, and now here they were, three months into their marriage, and she felt a little pang of guilt.

  Looking at Vanessa’s grave sent a shiver down her spine.

  The guilt stemmed from Alex being Mrs Harry McNeil, and the fact that it might have been Vanessa Harper who had married him if things had gone down a different path.

  But she was dead now, Vanessa, and her mother, buried in the same grave, and Alex couldn’t help but feel she was partly responsible.

  She stepped out onto the road that ran around the small cemetery in a square loop, put her sunglasses on and approached the grave with trepidation.

  She stood before the stone, not sure who was responsible for the marker. She hadn’t attended the funerals but had encouraged Harry to go.

  Now she placed the small bunch of flowers on the grave, reading the names over and over a few times. Then she stood back.

  ‘I just wanted to say how sorry I am, Vanessa. I was stupid and jealous and I’m ashamed of myself. You were worried and I mistook that for you wanting to get back with Harry. I’ll always carry this burden, no matter what anybody tells me. If you’re up there, please see that I mean what I say. I wish things had turned out differently, I really do, but I can’t change things. I hope you’re at peace.’

  Things had almost gone sideways with her and Harry. Alex hadn’t told him that before she died Vanessa had sent her a text message: You’re no good for him. When he dumps you, I’ll be waiting.

  The image of herself on her wedding day, walking down the aisle of the small church on the arm of Harry’s brother, Derek, still gave her a pang of guilt. Her own parents had refused to come; her sister, Jessica, had been the sole representative from her side of the family.

  Alex had felt a touch of guilt even on her wedding day. She and Harry had talked about getting married for a long time, of course, but the events leading up to their wedding day would always put a tint on the rosy picture she had painted of that day long before she had met the man she would marry.

  ‘Alex, sometimes you’re a stupid bitch,’ she whispered to herself. And the tears rolled down her cheeks, for her own selfishness, for a woman who didn’t deserve to die that way and…what? Her parents’ refusal to attend her wedding? She shook her head. No, it wasn’t that. She’d come to terms with that.

  Maybe it was just being in this place. Surrounded by dead people.

  She jumped a little as her mobile phone rang, breaking her reverie.

  ‘Jesus,’ she said, fishing it out of her pocket.

  ‘Alex? It’s me,’ Harry said.

  ‘I know, dear husband. Your name came up on my screen. Talk about taking the mystery out of marriage.’

  ‘I hate to rush you, honey, but we got a shout.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘Take a deep breath and sit down if you’re not already sitting…the Isle of Laoch.’

  Alex took a breath and wiped the tears from her face. ‘Where in God’s name is that?’

  ‘Off the west coast of the Isle of Mull. It’s a little island. Population two thousand people or so. Somebody’s been murdered. They want us to go over there with Jimmy and Robbie.’

  ‘Okay. I’m on my way home to pick you up. I’m assuming they have a ferry service?’

  ‘They have, but that would take too long by the time we got to Oban. We’re flying over.’

  ‘Please tell me British Airways?’ she said, getting in behind the wheel of her Audi.

  ‘I could tell you that, but I don’t think it’s fair to start off married life by lying.’

  ‘Oh, God. A nice big luxury helicopter?’

  ‘Yeah. Something like that…’ His voice broke up and the line suddenly went dead.

  She tried calling back through the car’s system, but Harry wasn’t answering.

  She drove down Drum Brae and connected with Queensferry Road and headed home to their flat in Comely Bank.

  Harry was in the living room with his holdall packed.

  ‘Please don’t leave me, Harry. I promise I’ll be a good wife from now on,’ she said, grinning.

  ‘You wish. You’re stuck with me now. Till death and all that. There’s an empty one on the bed for you.’

  ‘Boy, when you tell a woman you’re going to spoil her, you really know how to do it in style. And tell me more about this luxury helicopter.’

  ‘It’s huge, luxury seats. But more on that later. We have to get going. One of the Wolf family has been murdered and they want us to get there before the small ferry gets in and people can leave.’

  ‘They’re going to stop them leaving?’ she said.

  ‘Not exactly. It’s not a huge vessel. So they’ll be able to note who leaves. But get a move on, love. Jeni Bridge already gave me an ear-bashin
g and the plane is waiting at a hangar at the airport.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll get going. Jimmy and Robbie will be there too, you said?’

  ‘They’re flying over.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Their plane is leaving in ten minutes. They’ll be there before us.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘A patrol car is going to take us to the airport. Don’t keep them waiting.’

  ‘When have I ever kept you waiting?’

  Sensing this wouldn’t end well, Harry smiled and shrugged. If in doubt, keep your mouth shut.

  The patrol car was waiting downstairs.

  ‘The airport, son,’ Harry instructed as he got in the back with Alex. ‘Private hangar down Turnhouse Road.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  They chit-chatted idly while the car sped along through Corstorphine, Alex looking up Drum Brae, where she had just been. She had been bracing herself for Harry to ask where she had gone that morning, but he hadn’t. She had told him she had to run an errand and he hadn’t questioned her.

  The patrol car slowed at the entrance gate and was let through by an airport security officer.

  ‘That was bollocks about a luxury helicopter, wasn’t it?’ Alex said as she saw the little plane sitting outside the hangar.

  ‘To be fair, I did ask Jeni Bridge, but she laughed. I wanted to break it to you gently.’

  ‘You couldn’t pay me to go up in one of those things,’ said the uniform in the front passenger seat. ‘When they go down, there’s nothing left of them.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Sergeant,’ Harry said.

  Alex stood looking at the coffin with wings as Harry got the bags out.

  ‘Fun weekend, you said.’ She shook her head. ‘You’d better have something good up your sleeve.’

  Five

  Harry was pale and his eyes were wide. ‘We’re going to die,’ he said yet again, much to Alex’s amusement. She was smiling, having the time of her life.

  ‘The island is below us now,’ the pilot said. ‘The airport is on the south island. The north island is connected by a bridge, as you can see below.’

  ‘Look, Harry,’ Alex said, pointing out of the window.

  The headsets they were wearing didn’t make Harry feel any safer.