by G R Jordan
Walking over the field, squelching through various boggy patches, he came to the edge of some small cliffs that overlooked the entrance to Stornoway harbour. The sea was lapping up against rocks that were below his feet and he could see the mark where high tide would have been. Right there, all those years ago, she had jumped.
The tears rolled down his face as he remembered standing on this cliff. They had tried all day to find her. Their faces as he watched them come back to the harbour, the crew of the lifeboat, dejected and exhausted.
Macleod sniffed. Here on his own, and only here did he ever show his anger. Where was your bloody ineffable plan in all this? His heart shook a metaphorical fist at the Creator and he turned away. He knew how families felt at the pointlessness of death. That’s why he drove so hard for answers.
His mobile interrupted him. “Macleod,” he announced, answering it.
“McGrath here. I thought we were briefing everyone this morning. And where are you with the car?”
“McGrath, I’ll be there presently. I want briefed on your morning before we talk to everyone. I’ll be ten minutes. And get scenes of crimes to talk to you before we brief everyone too. I think we have quite a girl on our hands.”
“I agree,” said McGrath. She sounded ominous and he wondered what else Sara Hewitt could have been getting up to.
“Ten minutes.” He closed the call. Turning back to the sea, he watched the waves roll up and down, and he could see a head bobbing, a head that looked peaceful, accepting of its fate. He had never comprehended how she could have been so at ease doing it when he was right there, watching. It was the only thing in his life he had ever hated his wife for.
Chapter 10
Macleod entered the room his team had taken over at the police station and made instantly for the kettle. Having just left McGrath with the job of running the briefing, he was giving her a little private time to prepare. He had never enjoyed running briefings and had taken on board his predecessor’s advice and got his junior to do it. It had been dumped on him enough times in the past.
As the kettle boiled, he looked around the room. Different police officers were heads down at computers or reading reports. The windows had their blinds pulled and the greyness of the day meant that the lights were required even at this hour. Lewis summers could be like a winter sometimes.
Actually, that wasn’t true. What was true, was that May was usually a better month up here than June or July. Similarly, September was often better than August. His favourite was when the north or north-easterly winds came in January and February as the days would be cold but clear. With a decent coat, you could walk until your heart was content up through the grounds of the castle and along some of the coast. You might even get a little snow.
He heard the flick of the kettle switch and realised he had still to put any instant coffee into his cup. Seeing Hope walk through the door, he asked with his hands if she wanted anything. She shook her head and walked to the front of the room. Macleod watched her attend to one of the mobile boards in the room, placing photographs onto it, some with faces, some with excerpts from the book in the massage parlour. As he finished stirring his coffee, he heard Hope bringing the room to order.
“Morning everyone. Thank you for your efforts so far but we have just begun. There’s been a lot of footwork done but there’s more coming so let’s get cracking.” Hope grabbed a bottle of water Macleod had not seen and greedily gulped down a swig.
“Sara Hewitt,” she continued, “throat cut on a pier up from the place where her body was discovered. There is no doubt she was murdered and not by someone professional. Forensics say it was a kitchen knife, serrated edge, similar to that in many kitchens. She would have had to have been held whilst it took place and that she was likely to have struggled whilst dying. So more than one perpetrator is not unreasonable but there’s no evidence to say there is definitely more than one.
“Sara, from investigations, ran a massage parlour and something more. Although it seems she had genuine massage clients, some of her clients were taken upstairs for extras. The book where she recorded her clients has a number of details. She recorded every client that came to her shop so there are plenty of names. DC McKinley will organise you all into teams to track down these names. Most are written in full. We believe these are the people who just got a massage. Those who got into her pants are written in abbreviations, or code.”
Macleod shook his head. Into her pants. She was quite crass.
“Check up on their kitchen knives as a matter of course and their whereabouts. We are currently working on who were the lucky few to bed Sara and we need to get to them fast. Her boyfriend, Iain MacDonald, says he was unaware of the clients going upstairs for extras. However, he doesn’t have an alibi. His mother Councillor Smith has also admitted to being one of the extras crowd. With where we are make sure we keep information like this tight.
“Sara also had a girlfriend, Donna Mackenzie and possibly the true light of her life. The boss and I will be going to see her presently. We have a team tracing bank receipts on Sara’s business but no doubt the extras crowd paid cash. Sara also had a stepdad, her mother’s deceased, so we’ll be looking at him for information too.
“We continue with the stopping of cars near the murder location and we are going to do a canvas in town as well. Also kitchen knife purchases locally, we try to trace those to tie to anyone in the book.
“That’s it from me. Boss?”
Macleod stepped forward and looked at the expectant faces. He needed to give a pep talk, stir up the troops but inside he was struggling. The island was bringing back a lot of memories of which only some were good. Seeing the place again this morning, he was starting to feel a permanent chill.
“Thank you, McGrath. Keep on it because someone knows something. Men, and women, who are paying for this sort of thing will often boast and pass it on to their friends how good an experience a girl like this was. Sara Hewitt seems to have tried to get on in life using her sexual powers, and there’s no denying she had them.
“But she’s dead. So someone was worried, someone was panicking that their dirty little secret was coming out. We need those secrets, we need the dirt. Don’t be afraid to push. This place is like any other. People have secrets and want them kept down. The carpet needs cleaning and we will have to pick it up and give it a good beating to get the dust out. Okay, go to it.”
Macleod wondered how many of the people before him realised that people used to beat carpets to remove dust. Still, none of them flinched. Macleod met McGrath in the car park ten minutes later.
“You have the address?” he asked as she approached the car.
“Yes, here.”
Macleod took hold of the piece of paper she was offering and scanned it. Marybank, a sort of township on the edge of Stornoway. Never sure if the word village that was used by everyone about these different areas was correct, Macleod had taken to the word township, a term he picked up from a trip to South Africa. A lot of the villages on Lewis were spread out with crofts on the rear of houses causing a greater separation between the buildings. Marybank was a sort of combination of classic village and township. The address he was looking at was at the rear of the village.
The car took its way out of Stornoway town centre to the north of the town. After passing the hospital, it was not long before they had cut into more open moorland and found a small rundown house with drab grey walls but bright curtains in the windows. The car was parked at the top of a steep drive and together the pair of detectives approached the front door. Macleod looked for a door bell but instead ended up knocking the door hard with his fist.
Waiting a few seconds, Macleod rapped again when no answer was forthcoming. Again there was nothing. He tried the door handle and found the door to be open, a trait not unusual in Lewis.
“Police! Anyone home, this is a routine call. This is the Police, anyone there.” He stepped inside the front door and was greeted by a bright carpet and a hallway
that was plastered with pictures taken from a home printer. Glancing at them, he quickly noted most were of Sara Hewitt and the woman they were looking for. He waved McGrath in behind him.
Again he let out a call for anyone inside but got no response. With a silent hand, he sent McGrath up the stairs that were before him and he took the door to his left. It led into a cosy living room with a stove that still had heat coming from it. There was a blue sofa with a small coffee table before it on which sat a single mug of coffee. Macleod could see the steam still rising from it.
Quietly, he made his way back to the hall and took the next door. The small kitchen looked drab and was only spiced up by the addition of yet more photographs. There was little room to move about and the space was also eaten up further by the clothes horse stood in the middle of the space. An array of underwear, tops and trousers hung from it, all belonging to a woman from the look of them. Macleod wondered where she could be. Maybe she was hiding upstairs.
The blow to his head came from behind and as it drove him to his knees and into the clothes horse, he realised someone had been at the back door of the kitchen which he had not seen properly due to the space constraint. Tumbling to the floor he saw a frying pan, a heavy duty one, fall to the ground beside him. And then there was footsteps, fast and disappearing.
“McGrath!” he called out in pain. “McGrath!”
He heard her come running down the stairs and then into the kitchen.
“Sir? What the hell hap..?”
“Out the door. She went out the front door. Go!” McGrath did not hang about but turned straight away. Groggily, Macleod struggled to his feet and tried to follow but his head was swimming and he clattered into the wall as he tried to move forward. He became aware that he was still entangled in clothes and his feet seemed stuck to them. Dropping back to his knees, he tried to focus but his head rang with pain.
After a minute he raised his hand to the back of his head and when the hand returned he saw red. The blow had been a good one but he was still surprised he had been cut rather than just bruised. Again he tried to get up but realised the pointlessness of his efforts when his legs yielded again.
McGrath returned a few moments later out of breath and red in the cheeks. “Sorry sir, I never even saw her. I tried checking the area but she’s probably cut through the back of another house or down a drive.”
“Okay, but call it in and get people on the lookout for her. She can’t go far in a place like this without someone knowing where she is.”
“What the hell? She’s pasted you good. We’re going to need to get you to the hospital, that’s bleeding, and fairly badly. I’ll get the first aid kit.”
Before he could object, McGrath was gone. Macleod felt useless. They entered the house of a woman, and not a physically strong one judging by her pictures, yet here he was lying on her floor having been battered by her. This was not how he imagined himself. Maybe he would get knocked down by large thugs or criminals but not young girls.
Returning, McGrath dropped a first aid kit beside him and donned some surgical gloves. She then took a large pad and placed it on to his head before arranging strapping around it. She was on her knees in front of him and close up to him meaning her torso was right in Macleod’s face. He felt awkward again as this was no position for them to be in but he could do nothing. At least McGrath was quick.
After he stood up, leaning on McGrath to steady himself, Macleod indicated they could try for the car. Hobbling along, his eyes swung along the pictures in the hall. There were pictures of Sara on the grass, Sara walking, Sara in a bikini, Sara with a group at the pier, Sara with an older man...
Macleod pulled up suddenly causing McGrath to almost trip. “There. Take a picture of that one, McGrath. And then find that man.”
“Okay sir,” she replied, and took out her mobile. “Any others?”
“No. Look at the pictures. All Sara or young people on occasion. There are no other older people. Only this man. Why?”
“Okay, I get you, boss. But we need to get you to the hospital and checked out. I’ll drop you there and get on with things. But you need to take it easy, she gave you quite the blow. And I’ll get SOCO over here too and see what we can find.”
They made their way back to the car, a broken three-legged team and set off for the hospital. The drive was only a few minutes and it was no time before they had checked Macleod into Accident & Emergency. Annoyingly there was a queue and they took a seat. A small television in the corner of the room was showing the news channel and Macleod saw a brief image of the island and then the lochside where the murder had taken place.
“Get going McGrath, I‘ll be alright here. Go see the stepdad.”
“Do you think the girl did it?”
“What do you think?”
“Maybe,” said Hope, “But she looked pretty small in the pictures to have held Sara. And she also seemed pretty in love.”
“Yes, but domestic issues are often a good reason to kill. But she doesn’t seem the type. Maybe she was scared. That’s why she ran. But I want to know who that man is. His being on the wall just seems wrong.”
Chapter 11
Hope drove through the moorland, along the main road that cut across the Isle of Lewis. All around was bog, with occasional clumps of bags. Peat cutting apparently, but Hope had really lost interest once they had started talking about running around in bogs. Some things she just was not cut out for.
Her boss had been dropped at the hospital and he was annoyed at her leaving on her own to go to this next call. Well, it was his own fault getting clobbered by a frying pan by a small girl. Not exactly the stuff of heroes. Hope smirked as she drove the harsh bends.
A flash of white caused her to slam on the brakes and the car rolled up just short of a sheep in the road. The animal simply stared at her before trotting off slowly to the edge. Looking around, Hope could not see where the animal had come from and thought about getting out to get some assistance to remove the animal from the roadside. But the drizzle had started again and she had work to do. Shrugging, she opened up the throttle on the car again.
Ness was a decent twenty miles from Stornoway and Hope felt it was tucked away, as far as possible from the main town. As she drove the long road through other villages, she saw how the houses hugged it, crofts lying out behind them and to her left a view of rain clouds dropping their wares in lines to the horizon seemed strangely impressive. But the wind was strong now.
Arriving in Ness, it took a local man to help her find the house in question and she pulled up in front of a small cottage with fading white walls and an overgrown garden. Leaving her jacket, she knocked on the door of the house and then started swearing under her breath. Damn, it was cold, she could have done with her jacket. Come on, come on.
The door opened and a tall man in jeans and a brown jumper looked her up and down. He was clearly enjoying the view as he didn’t stop looking or break the silence.
“Mr Smith?”
“Yes, that’s me. Who’s asking?” replied the man, still looking Hope up and down.
“Detective McGrath.”
“Have I done something wrong? Because if I have, you can arrest me anytime.”
Hope was taken aback. Surely he must have heard. “I have some bad news, sir. Can we go inside?”
The man’s face became less jovial and he pushed back his black hair revealing some grey underneath. Nodding he turned and walked back into his cottage. Hope followed and he led her into the kitchen and pointed to a single wooden chair.
“I’m fine, sir, but you may want to.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Do you know Sara Hewitt?”
“Of course, she’s Carol’s daughter. I try to see her every month but it’s been a few weeks now.”
“I’m afraid to inform you, she’s dead, sir.”
“Dead? No, she’s not. She can’t be.”
“I’m afraid so, sir. Died in the early hours of yesterday morning.
I know this may sound insensitive but where were you at that time, sir?”
“Dead? Where was I? God, you don’t think I did it.”
Hope held up a hand. “I need to ask. Standard procedure.”
“Okay. Well, I was in bed. Right in the other room.”
“Can anyone confirm that?”
The man looked out the window to the ocean beyond and simply stared.
“Can anyone confirm that, sir? Sorry to press you.”
“No. It’s been a while since someone was sharing my bed. Oh God, not Sara. She was like her Mum, in fact more so.”
Hope grabbed the thread. “In what way, sir?”
“Bloody gorgeous and a total flirt with it. She knew it too. She used to tease me when she was growing up. That age when they have found they can attract but too young to have the sense not to flaunt it. But dead? How the hell? How?”
“We believe she was murdered.”
“God, no. She always played too close to the fire. I warned her. I had seen it up close and she was just insatiable. She loved to tease men. Weird considering her real preference was women.”
“You said up close,” Hope said, her eyes narrowing, “How close?”
“Very, Detective. We were having a BBQ at her mothers and Carol had popped out to get some charcoal or something. Sara was sunbathing in her bikini and I was just lounging on a chair. And then she starts taking clothing off. And she comes right up to me, propositions me right there.”
“And?”
The man stood up and snorted. “And what? I damn well slapped her right on the cheek. She freaked and hit me back. Hard too. Started a nose bleed.”
“You felt bad about hitting her? What age was she then?”
“Sixteen. But I didn’t feel bad at all. I had to, otherwise I might have done something worse, like taken her to bed. She has a power. Sorry, had a power. Shit, dead?”