Death Parts Us

by Alex Walters

  ‘Body found up at Chanonry Point. Looks like it was washed up there this morning.’

  ‘Recent?’ She wasn’t aware they’d had any reported mispers in the area over the last few weeks.

  ‘That was what the officer who called it in thought. Didn’t look as if it had been in the water long. Guess we’ll find out more when we get there.’

  ‘No one reported missing?’

  ‘I checked the system just before you got there. Nothing showing up. But might not yet.’

  He was silent for a few moments, staring out of the window. They were crossing the Kessock Bridge, the expanse of the Beauly Firth stretched out on their left. It was another half-decent day, plenty of blue sky visible between the scudding clouds.

  They’d made this same journey up to the Black Isle at the start of their last big case. A case that had, if only indirectly, resulted in the crumbling of McKay’s already fragile marriage. A case that was still dragging its way through the judicial process, leaving McKay seeming increasingly anxious, for reasons Horton didn’t entirely understand.

  ‘I’m assuming we’re taking the Munlochy turning this time?’ she said. She glanced across at McKay, wondering whether his thoughts were occupying the same territory as her own. But his face showed nothing, his eyes fixed on the road.

  ‘Aye, that’s the quickest,’ he said. ‘You know the way?’

  ‘I know the way,’ she confirmed. ‘We’ve been dolphin spotting at Chanonry Point.’

  ‘See any?’

  ‘Quite a few. They were amazingly close to the shore.’

  McKay was still staring morosely out of the window. His earlier excitement seemed to have dissipated. ‘I’ve lived in these parts most of my life. Only seen them a couple of times.’ He paused. ‘Mind you, I’ve mostly not been looking.’

  She turned the wheel to take the road towards Munlochy. ‘We know anything more about this body, then?’ she said.

  ‘Fairly elderly looking, according to the uniform. Male. That’s about all, as far I’m aware. The uniforms were leaving it all be until the Examiners get there.’

  They passed through Munlochy and joined the coastal road through Avoch and along the edge of the firth to Fortrose. A few minutes later they reached the turn off down to Chanonry Point. There was a new housing estate on their right which seemed to have expanded further every time Horton came down this road. As they passed the entrance to the golf club, the road narrowed to a single track with passing places as it crossed the course itself.

  In the summer, the road would be busy with tourists heading down to try to see the dolphins often visible from the Point. Even this early in the day and in the season, there would usually be a few vehicles coming and going.

  At the end of the road, however, the uniforms had set up a roadblock with their own marked vehicle parked sideways across the road. As they approached, Horton pulled to a halt and peered out of the window, waving her warrant card. ‘DS Horton and DI McKay,’ she said.

  The uniformed officer, a middle-aged man with ginger hair who looked vaguely familiar to Horton, crouched and peered into the car. ‘Morning, Alec. Morning –?’

  ‘Ginny,’ she said. ‘Ginny Horton.’ She suspected all the uniforms knew who she was. It wasn’t as if the place was overrun with female detective sergeants. But she always seemed to have to go through this ritual. ‘I think we’ve met before.’ In fairness, she thought, she had no idea herself where or when that might have been.

  ‘Aye, maybe, ma’am. Good to meet you, anyway.’ It was impossible to tell whether there was a satirical edge in his tone.

  ‘This one look interesting, then, Andy?’ McKay asked. ‘I could do with an interesting one.’

  ‘Who knows? Examiners have just got here.’

  McKay raised an eyebrow. ‘Quick for them. Not Jock Henderson, then, I take it.’

  The officer grinned. ‘No, the other guy. Carrick.’

  ‘Well, let’s be thankful for small mercies.’

  They pulled into the car park. There was another marked car, an ambulance and the plain white Examiners’ van parked in the spaces more usually occupied by sightseers. At the far end of the car park, there were a couple of large camper vans, both with German number plates.

  McKay climbed out of the car and walked to the edge of the shingle beach, gazing out along the spit of land stretching out into the Moray Firth. To his left, there were a few houses, and set above the beach, the squat white-painted lighthouse that overlooked the Point and the bay. At high tide, the seas came up to the walls below the lighthouse, and it was necessary to take a footpath around to the end of the Point. For the moment, the tide was still low, and it was possible to walk along the rough beach. There was a uniformed officer standing twenty or so metres ahead of them to deter any pedestrians who might have bypassed the roadblock. Beyond that, a white-suited Examiner was crouched over an unidentifiable grey heap on the shingle.

  McKay nodded to the uniformed officer as they passed. ‘Morning, son. Grand way to start the day.’

  Carrick looked up as they approached. His metal box of equipment was sitting on the ground beside him, and he had a digital camera in his hand.

  ‘Morning, Pete,’ McKay said. ‘We okay to come closer?’ His tone was noticeably less acerbic than when in Jock Henderson’s company.

  ‘Aye, close as you like,’ Carrick said. ‘Come and join in the fun. I’ve done all the important stuff.’

  ‘Anything of interest?’

  Carrick shrugged. ‘Hard to say. White male. Mid to late sixties, I’d say. As far as I can judge, not been in the water long. Maybe twelve to twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Any signs of foul play?’ McKay leaned forward at peered at the body lying face down on the shingle. He could see grey hair, a sodden raincoat, a pair of black trousers and polished black shoes. Not a free swimmer, then.

  ‘Nothing obvious,’ Carrick said. ‘There’s some damage to the face and hands, but my guess is that was probably done by the impact against the shore. You’ll need the Doc to confirm, though.’

  McKay straightened and looked about them. Across the water, there was the imposing edifice of Fort George, built after the Battle of Culloden yet still operating as a working garrison, and some of the buildings in Ardersier. To their right, there were the coastal villages of Fortrose and Avoch. ‘If he’s not been in the water long, where might he have come from?’

  ‘I’m no expert,’ Carrick said, ‘but I’d guess somewhere fairly close by. Drifted up the firth a bit, that’s all. I don’t think it would even have got over the water from the far side in that time, especially as the weather’s been pretty calm. But, like I say, I’m no expert.’

  ‘Sounds sensible enough to me, son. Wonder if anyone’s missed him yet?’ He turned back to the body. ‘Any ID?’

  ‘I’ve not checked yet. Was just about to turn him over and have a look at the other side.’

  ‘I’ll leave that task to you, son. I’m wearing my best shirt here.’

  They watched as Carrick slowly eased the body over, then stepped back as he took more photographs and made brief notes in a pad. Finally, he finished and sat back. ‘I’ll check the pockets,’ he said.

  McKay had been walking slowly around the body and now stopped to peer at the corpse’s grey features. He took another few steps back and crouched down on his haunches, staring at the prone body. Finally, he looked up at Carrick. ‘Aye, you do that, son. But I don’t need the ID now. I know precisely who the fuck this is.’ He paused and pushed himself slowly to his feet. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to Mr Billy fucking Crawford.’

  9

  ‘Okay,’ Horton said finally, ‘I’ll bite. Who’s Billy Crawford?’

  ‘Former DI Billy Crawford, to give him his full title,’ McKay said. ‘Former deputy and chief bag carrier to none other than equally former DCI Jackie fucking Galloway.’

  Horton and Carrick were both staring at him. Carrick said, ‘Galloway was the body over in Rosem
arkie?’

  ‘One and the same,’ McKay said, beaming widely. ‘One and the very same.’ He appeared a changed man from the morose figure sitting beside Horton in the car earlier. ‘Now isn’t that an interesting coincidence?’

  ‘You’re certain it’s him?’ Horton said. She leaned over and examined the colourless, battered face.

  ‘Oh, aye. Absolutely certain. I’d know that old bastard even if he had a stocking pulled over his head.’ He paused. ‘Which, at one time, wouldn’t have surprised me.’

  ‘Do you know where he lives?’

  McKay gestured up the coast. ‘Fortrose, somewhere, I believe. Couldn’t bear to be too far from his old boss, even when it became crystal clear that his old boss wanted nothing whatsoever to do with him.’

  ‘Do we know if he’s been reported missing?’

  ‘He wasn’t on the system when I checked this morning,’ McKay said. ‘Maybe we should find out, eh?’

  Horton extracted her mobile phone and dialled back to the office, wandering away down the beach in search of a stronger signal.

  ‘If you’re right,’ Carrick said, ‘that’s a bloody odd coincidence.’

  ‘I’m right, sonny, don’t you worry about that. But, yes, bloody odd.’

  ‘Did this guy have – well, medical problems like the other one?’

  ‘Alzheimer’s, you mean? Not that I’m aware of. Word on this one was that he had a bit of a thirst, if you get my drift.’

  Carrick nodded. ‘Well, that might explain how he came to be in the water. Wouldn’t be the first drunk we’ve had to fish out.’

  ‘True enough. Still, like you say, coincidence.’ McKay looked up as Horton approached.

  She nodded. ‘Reported late last night. Had apparently been to the pub – the Caley Bar in Fortrose, would you believe? Didn’t return home at the usual time. By eleven, wife got worried and went to look for him. He’d left the pub around nine-thirty. She tried phoning ‘round various drinking buddies, but no sign of him. Eventually, around midnight, she called us, but no one got around to dealing with it properly ‘til this morning.’

  ‘Don’t imagine there’s anything that could have been done last night, anyway,’ McKay said. ‘He was probably already in the water by the time she reported him missing.’ He frowned. ‘Did you check where Crawford lived?’

  Horton pulled out a notebook into which she had scrawled some details, and read out the address she’d been given.

  ‘Interesting’, McKay said. ‘If Crawford had just been weaving his way back home, however pissed he might be, what would have taken him down to the sea?’

  ‘People do stupid things when they’re drunk,’ Horton said. ‘Or so I’ve been told.’

  McKay peered at her with interest. ‘You’ll have to share some of your experiences some time, Ginny. Aye, you’re right, but it’s still a funny old route to take. Not something you’d do by accident, I’d have thought.’

  ‘Maybe he walked back with someone?’

  ‘But you wouldn’t normally walk them home if it took you out of your way.’

  ‘Unless it was a woman, maybe?’

  ‘You think Crawford was playing away? It’s possible, I suppose. Even at his age. Can’t see many women drinking in the Caley, though, even though it’s coming up in the world. Maybe he wanted to pay someone a visit.’ McKay was looking thoughtful. ‘All avenues to explore, anyway.’ He peered back up the beach towards the car park. ‘Who found the body?’

  ‘Couple of German tourists, apparently,’ Carrack said. ‘Those two camper vans in the car park. They’ve been asked to stay put until you’ve spoken to them.’

  ‘That would be the car park with the sign saying “no overnight parking,”’ McKay said. ‘We’d better get a statement from them, I suppose. Then we can go and break the bad news to Mrs Crawford, if nobody has already. What a job, eh?’ He managed somehow to imbue the final question with an unexpected note of satisfaction.

  Despite his disregard for the local parking regulations, the elderly German witness lived up to the national stereotype in the detail and precision of his account. He had described in perfect, virtually accentless English how he had taken an early morning walk down to the Point in the hope of seeing the dolphins. ‘The low tide was early this morning,’ he said. ‘I understand that it is good to seek the dolphins an hour or so after the turning of the tide. It was a fine morning, so I went down to see.’

  ‘You were alone?’

  ‘Yes, my wife and our friends –’ He gestured towards the second camper van. ‘They were still asleep.’ His tone implied that this constituted some moral failing. ‘It was a fine morning. Six-forty. I know this because I had set my alarm for six-thirty. I spent ten minutes dressing.’

  ‘When did you see the body?’

  ‘I saw it when I reached the edge of the car park, above the beach. But, of course, I did not know what it was. It was just, you know, a grey heap. Something washed up by the sea, I thought. Which of course is what it was –’ He trailed off, as if the reality of what he had found had only just struck him. ‘I even thought it might be, well, a dolphin. But then I walked a few more metres and I realised.’

  ‘You didn’t touch or disturb the body at all?’

  The man gave a visible shudder at the thought. ‘No, of course not. I just went close enough to be sure what I was seeing. And also, to be sure that he was definitely dead.’ The second sentence was added as an afterthought. McKay suspected that the man had gone no nearer to the body than he had needed to. Not that he blamed the man for that.

  ‘We think he’d been dead for some hours,’ McKay said. ‘There was nothing you could have done.’

  ‘I came back here to the van and woke my wife,’ the man continued. ‘And then our friends. Then, we dialled your 999. I think that is all I can tell you.’

  The witness statement added little to their knowledge, other than to confirm that the body had been there first thing, presumably dumped on the shore as the tide receded.

  He thanked the German and took contact details just in case any further questions should arise. They were heading further north, the man told him, wanting to explore the coast and maybe some of the islands.

  ‘One word of advice,’ McKay said, gesturing towards the signs at the entrance to the car park. ‘Obey the parking restrictions. Some residents are less tolerant than we are.’

  The German stared at him blankly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘My English is not so good.’

  McKay nodded and turned away. ‘If you say so, pal. If you say so.’

  Horton was waiting by the car. Down on the beach, Carrick had finished his work and was packing up. The two paramedics were hoisting the body on to a stretcher.

  ‘We’d better go and track down Mrs Crawford,’ McKay said. ‘My second grieving widow of the week.’

  The Crawford’s’ house was a sizeable Edwardian detached villa, set a little way back from the main road in a leafy garden. It was clear that Crawford had emerged from the South Kessock enquiry much more favourably than his boss. When the shite had hit the fan, it had become clear very quickly that Galloway had few real friends.

  ‘Decent place,’ Horton said, as they walked down the short driveway.

  ‘The fruits of a life’s honest toil,’ McKay said. ‘So they tell me.’

  The door was answered almost immediately. Mrs Crawford was a slight, grey-haired woman who blinked up nervously at McKay. She took in Horton’s presence behind McKay and her face dropped. ‘You’ve come about Billy.’ It wasn’t a question.

  ‘DI McKay and DS Horton. May we come in, Mrs Crawford?’

  She led them through to a tidy living room. There was a general tartan theme to the carpets and decor. To McKay’s eye, the place carried the ambiance of an upmarket Highland steakhouse.

  McKay gestured her to take a seat on the well-stuffed leather sofa, then sat himself down on an armchair opposite. ‘I’m afraid it’s bad news, Mrs Crawford.’

  Mrs Crawford looke
d around at Horton as if seeking a second opinion. ‘What’s happened to him?’

  ‘I’m sorry –’ When it came to it, there was never really any way to soften the blow. You couldn’t afford to be ambiguous. McKay knew only too well that, given half a chance, people would cling on to any last shred of hope. ‘I’m afraid he’s dead, Mrs Crawford. He was found this morning.’

  She was staring at McKay as if she hadn’t understood what he’d said. There were no immediate tears, simply bewilderment. ‘But how –?’

  ‘We don’t know exactly yet, Mrs Crawford. His body was found washed up this morning at Chanonry Point.’ He didn’t know whether she was ready for this detail yet, but he could see no way to keep it from her.

  ‘Washed up?’

  ‘We don’t know how or why he entered the sea,’ McKay said. ‘It may be that he was taken ill or –’

  ‘But why would he be anywhere near the sea?’

  McKay glanced at Horton. ‘We were hoping you might be able to give us some ideas about that, Mrs Crawford. We’ll need to ascertain the cause of death and try to find out exactly what happened. But that can wait. I’m very sorry, Mrs Crawford. I appreciate this must be an awful shock for you.’

  ‘Jackie Galloway,’ she said unexpectedly.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  She looked up at him. Her eyes were glazed, as if she were staring at some point in the distance. ‘I saw on the news. Jackie Galloway. He’s dead, too. That’s right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Mr Galloway’s body was found yesterday, yes. At his house in Rosemarkie.’ He paused, unsure how to proceed. ‘I believe your husband worked with Mr Galloway?’

  She seemed about to answer, then she stopped and peered more closely at McKay. ‘I know you, don’t I? You used to work with Billy, too?’

  ‘I did, Mrs Crawford. You’re right. I should have said, but it was many years ago. I was a very junior officer. He was very well respected.’

  ‘But why is this happening?’ she said. ‘Why now?’

  ‘I understand your concerns, but this is most likely just a sad coincidence. As far as we can judge at present, Mr Galloway died from natural causes. An accident.’