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

by John Carson

  She took her phone out. There were no bars out this far. They were working on getting a new tower up, but not fast enough, obviously.

  Shona came through a line of trees, and a few minutes later she was at the bottom, her boots crunching across a gravel car park, the grey stones spoiling what had once been a lush, green park. ‘Plenty of parks on the islands,’ Brian had said. ‘People need houses, somewhere to sleep. To entertain. To stay while they’re having a good time.’

  She ran across the gravel towards their car. Not the flashy new one from back home, but the shitey old Volvo that Brian insisted on driving while they were up here.

  ‘If the bastards want something and break into it, they’ll find fuck all,’ he said. Maybe he was right, but it didn’t matter because the old estate car was waiting for her on the edge of the building site.

  Her breath was starting to tear at her lungs now and her legs were starting to burn. She looked round and Roly-poly was nowhere to be seen.

  She got the keys out, keeping a firm grip on them. This wasn’t a pathetic film where the daft lassie drops her keys and the vampire steps round the car and bites her. The key was into the lock in one smooth motion and the door was open.

  The engine started first time. There was a big JCB in front of her, a few car lengths away. She squinted through the windscreen at the cab of the big yellow machine as its engine revved hard and black smoke chugged out of its exhaust.

  It was facing away from her, its back bucket suspended in the air like a cat that had lifted a paw and was about to strike.

  Before she could wonder any more, the machine was moving towards her, the bucket rising fast. She panicked and put the car into reverse, but it stalled.

  She looked up and saw the machine coming closer. Her last thought on earth was of her dad. She shouted out for him in the confines of the car, knowing she wasn’t going to get away.

  The metal sliced through the windscreen of the car, ripping away the A pillar on the side, and ended Shona Gibbons’ life.

  Ten

  Thomas Deal leaned back in the chair and smacked his lips together. ‘Damn fine cup of tea that.’

  ‘Glad you enjoyed it,’ Harry said to him. Dunbar was making notes on a pad. This station didn’t have a camera recording system, nor an audio system for that matter.

  What they did have was an old tape recorder that Dunbar had asked about, assuming it had been rejected by Noah before embarking on his trip on the ark.

  The room was small, with a window set up high. The beige walls had scrapes on them like battle scars. There was a stale smell about the room, as if nobody had been questioned in here since the Kray Twins ruled London.

  ‘Right then, Mr Deal,’ Dunbar said, putting his pen down and looking at the old man. ‘We need to know why somebody would want Clive Wolf dead.’

  ‘I agree, but where to begin? I haven’t a clue.’

  ‘You were the family solicitor in all personal matters?’ Harry asked. Already his back was starting to bother him, and his arse was about to follow suit. The chairs in this little room had been found by a surly uniform who looked like he could have carried them on his forehead.

  ‘I am indeed.’ Deal sat up again. ‘I am totally shocked by Clive’s death.’

  ‘Did Clive leave a will that you know of?’ Harry fidgeted in his chair.

  ‘Yes. He left everything to Shona. Now that he’s dead, I will have to execute that will.’

  ‘Did Shona know that she was the beneficiary?’ Dunbar asked.

  ‘I haven’t a clue. If she did, she didn’t hear it from me.’

  ‘Did Clive Wolf have enemies?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of. He lived here on the island, in the big house with his father, before Oliver passed on. He ran the hotel. It was a simple life, but he enjoyed it. I can’t think of anybody who would have wanted to harm him.’

  ‘The problem we have,’ Harry said, ‘is this: did Clive interrupt somebody who was breaking the wall to uncover old Murdo, or was he doing it, and somebody else interrupted him and killed him?’

  ‘I can see the predicament.’

  ‘If it was Clive who was there breaking the wall, how did he know old Murdo was buried there?’ Dunbar said.

  Deal hung his head for a second before looking at both men. ‘I was a young man back when Murdo disappeared. I was good friends with Oliver. He was only two years older than me. We’d met at university; hit it off right away. I became a friend of the family after that, and Murdo welcomed me with open arms, especially since my own father was dead. When he disappeared that night, Oliver and I were both gutted. It was unreal. The kids were little, all of them under the age of ten.’

  ‘Do you remember what happened that night?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Like it was yesterday,’ Deal answered.

  ‘Why don’t you tell us about it.’

  Thomas Deal looked past the two detectives for a moment, staring at the wall as if a film were being shown there.

  ‘Everyone was excited about Christmas…’

  Eleven

  1985

  ‘Oh, bugger, it’s a cold one, alright,’ Murdo Wolf said, rubbing his hands in front of the log fire in the great room. ‘Where’s that lazy bastard with the wood?’

  Oliver Wolf, his son, sat in one of the luxurious leather wing chairs with his friend, Thomas Deal, on the other side, each of them straddling the large fireplace, a drink in their hand.

  ‘Is that a hypothetical question?’ Oliver said.

  ‘No, it bloody well isn’t,’ the old man snapped. They all looked as the door at the side of the fireplace opened and Crail Shaw came in with an armful of wood.

  ‘Boxer! Where the hell have you been? I’m freezing!’ Murdo said, his face contorting into a look of disgust. ‘Is that what I pay you for? To slack off? Get those bloody logs on the fire. It’s already dark and I don’t want this place getting cold while we’re over at the hotel.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,’ Boxer said, walking forward with the wood. He knelt down and began putting the logs onto the flames, sparks spitting back out at him.

  Murdo stepped back and addressed his son again. ‘The guests will be getting ready for dinner. We should get over there. Are you fit, Thomas?’

  ‘I’m raring to go, sir.’

  ‘Good man! My son is a lightweight when it comes to drinking. Maybe a good steak inside of him will fill him up enough to make him go the full night without falling over. What say you, Oliver? Think you can drink like a man tonight instead of some pansy?’

  ‘For God’s sake. This is not dinner with the Borgias.’

  ‘No, but I’ve invited my friends over from Glasgow and I don’t want them seeing my son flopping about trying not to puke over his shoes.’

  ‘You would think I was sixteen again, not a thirty-two-year-old man with a family,’ Oliver said.

  ‘Some people never rise up to the Wolf mantle. I’m afraid to say, my son is one of them,’ Murdo said. He turned to face Boxer again. ‘Unlike this fine young man. He was out in the blowing snow, getting us wood. That’s a real man. Good job there, my friend.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘There will be a hefty bonus for Christmas.’

  ‘There’s no need, sir,’ Boxer said, standing up.

  ‘Of course there is. You work for me. That makes you family.’ Murdo smiled at his son, but there was only malice there. He had made the comment to Boxer just to rile his son.

  ‘Come on, let’s get along to the hotel.’ He turned to Boxer again. ‘Bring the family, Crail. I’d like to see your wife again. And those little boys of yours. How old are they now?’

  ‘Just turned five months, sir.’

  ‘Bring them along, have some dinner with us. There’s going to be a lot of people there.’

  ‘I think the wife is going to be putting the babies to bed shortly.’

  ‘Okay then, my friend. But you bring them around here any time. You’re always welcome here.’

&
nbsp; ‘I will, sir, thank you.’

  ‘Right,’ Murdo said to Oliver, and he threw back the remains of the whisky in his glass. ‘Let’s get moving. This is going to be one night you’re not going to forget.’

  The car was waiting outside. Murdo’s wife had been dead for two years and he felt it at this time of year. Birthdays too, but that was more personal.. Christmas was a family thing, and he felt her absence more with each passing year.

  The hotel was down a snow-covered road. Boxer was driving the lead car. He was a driver for the family, amongst other things. The wheels slipped but Boxer kept control.

  ‘See that lad? Keeping it together,’ Murdo said.

  Oliver and Deal were sitting in the back of the big car.

  ‘It’s not a long drive,’ Oliver replied.

  ‘And? You would have had us through a fucking hedge. Boxer there is the main man. Eh, son?’ Murdo smiled at Boxer, who didn’t reply but kept his eyes on the road ahead.

  They turned into the big car park at the front of the hotel. Christmas lights were on a tree at the front window and strung across the façade.

  ‘Beautiful. I love this place. There’s nowhere else like it on this earth,’ Murdo said to no one in particular.

  They got out of the warmth into the falling snow. Whoever had ploughed the front had done a good job, but the snow was coming down faster than anybody could keep it clear.

  ‘Right, let’s get inside. And remember, Oliver: try to keep it together, son.’

  Oliver and Deal followed the old man into the hotel. Boxer parked the car and followed them in. They shook off the little bit of snow that had fallen on them.

  ‘Now, then, where’re my friends?’ Murdo said as the hotel manager came across to greet them.

  ‘This way, sir. In the ballroom.’

  The room was filled with people, while a band played at one end. The drinks were flowing, there was a buffet set up and the guests were all having a good time, with Murdo footing the bill.

  They were pleased to see him.

  ‘Drunken old sod,’ Oliver said.

  ‘Don’t take it to heart, old friend,’ said Deal. ‘You know what your father is like. Besides, he’s not had that much to drink.’

  ‘Enough to make his mouth rattle.’

  ‘Come on, I think I see a couple of women we know. Let’s have a dance and something to eat. I’m going to enjoy myself.’

  While Oliver and Deal went to talk to their friends, Murdo was pulled aside by the hotel manager.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but two of your guests can’t make it. The ferry was cancelled and they’re stuck in Oban.’

  ‘What?’ Murdo said, his voice just a little too loud. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Major Deacon and his wife, and Mark Ferrier.’

  ‘Deac and Ferret? Jesus, no. That’s not acceptable.’

  ‘What is it, Dad?’ Oliver said, coming across to his father, thinking that he had received bad news.

  ‘Nothing. Just a couple of friends of mine can’t make it.’

  Oliver saw it was nothing important and went back to dancing.

  Murdo strode out of the room and nobody gave him a second glance.

  He was fuming, just like he always was when he didn’t get his own way.

  He left, walking into the snow.

  ‘What happened next?’ Dunbar asked as Thomas Deal seemed to have stalled in his story.

  He looked at the two detectives. Then seemed to sense he was back in the here and now. ‘What? Oh. Yes, well, there was a lull in the music when we all heard the small plane fly overhead. It was so low, I thought it was going to crash into the roof of the hotel.’

  ‘How did you find out it was Murdo flying the plane?’

  ‘We went out, Oliver and I, and saw the car we had come in sitting at the end of the airstrip with its lights on. God knows how he had done it, but he’d got that plane lifted off the airstrip in heavy snow. I didn’t even know how the wheels managed to get through, but then somebody told us that Murdo insisted that the airstrip was kept clear of snow all the time. It hadn’t long been ploughed.’

  ‘You were sure it was Murdo in the plane?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. He asked the control tower over at the airport for permission to take off. It was granted, then off he went. The plane was only on radar for a few minutes before disappearing. It was at first light that they could start a search. Nothing was ever found.’

  ‘Basically, the only one who was at odds with him that night was Oliver, his son?’

  ‘Yes. But if you’re thinking he had anything to do with his father’s disappearance, then think again. Oliver and I were in a ballroom with more than a hundred other people when the plane went over.’

  ‘Can you tell us who was left what property in Oliver’s will?’

  ‘Clive was left the log house, Shona the lodge, and Fenton and Zachary were left a house each. Nothing that will make them rich, but they do share the hotel, the big house. And the business, of course, which will make them rich.’

  There was a knock on the door and a uniform poked his head round. ‘Sorry to disturb you, but we’ve had a phone call that you should know about.’

  Dunbar terminated the interview and let Thomas Deal leave before talking to the uniform.

  ‘We’ve just found Shona Wolf dead. In her car.’

  Twelve

  Debbie Comb and Lillian Young were at the scene of the crash, along with a fire engine and an ambulance. Several patrol cars were in the mix.

  The back of the car was draped with a tarpaulin to keep prying eyes away, if there were any, but Harry couldn’t see any thrill seekers. Except for a man with a dog who, they had been told, had come across the scene and called it in.

  ‘Hello again,’ Debbie said, coming across to the two detectives. ‘Nasty one. Her upper torso and head are crushed.’

  ‘She rammed into that JCB?’ Harry said. ‘How the hell did she manage that?’

  ‘That’s what we thought when we turned up, but Lillian came along, simply because of the case with Shona’s brother, Clive, just to have a once-over, and…well, I’ll let her explain.’

  Both Harry and Dunbar walked past the fire crew and stopped at the front of the car. What was left of the front end had blood spattered on it and they could see a form under a sheet that the fire brigade had put over the victim to stop prying eyes.

  ‘This is not what it seems,’ Lillian said.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Dunbar said.

  ‘Look into the car from here.’ She was standing on the passenger said, so they both went round to look. ‘See anything obvious?’

  Both men looked in, but nothing jumped out at them.

  ‘Go on then, give us a clue,’ Harry said.

  ‘This is a manual gearbox car,’ Lillian said. ‘It’s in reverse. She was trying to reverse the car when the machine hit her. She was trying to get away and it looks like the car stalled. She didn’t hit the digger, it hit her. Somebody drove it into her as she tried to get away.’

  Harry took in a deep breath. ‘Somebody murdered her.’

  ‘Unless somebody was driving it, and she tried to get the car out of the way, and he didn’t see her and hit her, then panicked and ran off.’

  ‘That doesn’t even sound right, does it?’ Dunbar said.

  ‘Not at all. First of all, the building site is closed down until Monday. Nobody was working here, and we can check with site management, but it doesn’t look like there is, or should be, any activity.’

  ‘Somebody was waiting for her,’ Harry said. ‘Waited until she got in the car and then killed her with the machine.’

  ‘That’s what I’m thinking.’

  Dunbar nodded to the older man with the dog. ‘I think it’s unlikely he’s the culprit.’

  ‘Agreed. But it’s somebody who knows his way around these machines,’ Harry said.

  ‘Where’s the husband?’ Dunbar said. ‘What’s his name again?’

  ‘Brian
Gibbons,’ Harry answered.

  ‘Aye. Let’s find him and have a word. Meantime, I want to talk to the old bloke with the dog.’ Dunbar turned to the pathologist. ‘Have you started the post-mortem on Clive Wolf yet?’

  ‘I have. The cause of death was blunt-force trauma to the head.’

  ‘Okay. We’ll let you deal with this and talk to you later.’

  Dunbar and Harry walked over to where the man with the dog was standing talking to a uniform.

  ‘I’m DCI Dunbar. This is DCI McNeil. We’d like a word.’ Dunbar nodded to the uniform to leave, which he did. The dog was medium sized and friendly, just like Dunbar’s own dog.

  ‘What’s your name, for the record?’

  ‘Arthur Mortimer.’

  ‘Can you tell me what happened, Arthur?’ he asked the man.

  ‘I was walking my dog, like I do every day. This is one of our routes. We walk past the fairground, come round the hill and go through the park. Or what used to be a fucking park.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Harry said.

  ‘This,’ Mortimer said, sweeping his free arm around, ‘this was just a park at one time; the dog could run about. But some bright spark decided to build houses on it. The land was owned by the Wolf family, and they wanted to be greedy and build houses. There’s even going to be a marina over there. God almighty, there will be nothing left soon.’

  ‘Was there anybody about when you got here?’ Dunbar asked, looking at the half-finished houses.

  ‘No one. I could faintly hear the music from the festival over there, but there was nothing going on round here. It was all peace and quiet. I thought there had been an accident, so I went over to look. I thought the lassie had run into the digger thing there.’

  ‘How many ways in and out of here?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Just the one. The way you came in. The park ends over there with the trails that lead up into the hills. It’s a great walk. You can go up there and come round at the other side. There’s a car park down there.’