Death Parts Us

by Alex Walters

  She couldn’t see any real alternative but to visit the two scenes herself. Attending the Ardersier scene was the priority, as that was a live crime scene with the body in situ. Ally Donald’s body, not to mention the PCs who were babysitting it, would just have to wait. She imagined the Examiners were under similar pressure.

  It was only as she was turning the ignition key that she finally thought, bugger it. There was one solution staring her in the face, though she’d be taking a risk. But if anyone challenged her decision later, she’d ask them what better ideas they’d have come up with. She hesitated a moment longer then dialled the number.

  The phone barely rang before it was answered. ‘McKay.’

  ‘You fancy getting back into harness, Alec?’

  There was a momentary pause as he processed the question. ‘You saying what I think you’re saying?’

  ‘I’m asking,’ she said, patiently, ‘if you want to get back on the job. If you’ll pardon the expression.’

  ‘If you’re serious, I’ll pardon you anything. Does this mean I’m off the hook?’

  ‘You were never on the hook, as far as I was concerned, Alec. I was just trying to do you a favour. Nothing’s changed, as far as that’s concerned. You’re still the last person to see Rob Graham alive, apart from whoever killed him. You were still seen talking to him outside the pub. You still don’t have any kind of alibi – Shit, I’m being an idiot. I hadn’t thought it through, Alec. I can’t bring you back yet.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything, Helena. You know that.’

  ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘I know that. But if I don’t play this by the book, we’ll both end up crucified.’

  ‘So, why did you call me?’

  ‘Ach, because I’m desperate, Alec. You heard about Ginny?’

  ‘What about Ginny?’

  She recounted what had happened at Horton’s house that evening. ‘Ginny’s off to Raigmore with Isla. And I couldn’t involve her in this anyway. I’ve no other senior officers available.’ She realised, with something approaching shock, that she was on the brink of tears. It was as if all the pressures had crept up on her, overwhelming her without her realising. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so far from being able to cope.

  She could tell that McKay could read at least some of this. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Alec, I can’t –’

  ‘Look, you need help, Helena. I can provide it. Simple as that.’

  ‘It’s not that simple, Alec.’

  ‘If there’s a problem, sling the blame in my direction. Tell them I went off piste. Against your orders. Mind you, I don’t know if the powers-that-be would believe that of me.’

  Suddenly, as unexpected as the previous moment’s near-tears, she laughed. ‘You bastard, Alec. You never change. I can’t allow you to take that on. If it came to that, it really would be the end of your career.’

  ‘At the moment, I’m feeling like it’s ended anyway,’ he said. ‘I can’t carry on like this, Helena. It’ll be the end of me.’ He hesitated again. ‘Anyway, it’s Ginny.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, finally. ‘But we might both end up falling on our swords over this.’

  ‘Well,’ McKay said, ‘if we’re going to do that, hen, let’s at least do it in style.’

  42

  ‘How are you doing?’

  It was the quiet time, late afternoon, before the dog walkers and the families came for a drink and a bite to eat. A couple of elderly men were having a blether in the corner, painstakingly working their way through a single pint each, but otherwise, the place was empty. Kelly was behind the bar polishing glasses.

  She hadn’t heard Callum emerge from the kitchen. ‘Oh. Fine. You know.’ She gestured at the empty bar room. ‘Not exactly rushed off my feet.’

  ‘It’ll fill up later.’ He’d been prepping some food for the evening menu and was dressed in his chef’s whites. They suited him, she thought. There were times – and increasingly, she was beginning to realise, these were times in the company of Callum Donnelly – when she thought she might go for an older man. Someone with a bit more maturity than the likes of Greg, anyway. It was a pity that Callum was spoken for.

  ‘You’ve not seen any more of that wee bampot?’

  ‘No.’ Kelly imagined that Greg would be steering well clear of her now. ‘I don’t think he’ll be back.’

  ‘He better not be.’ Callum had moved to stand beside her. He was holding one of the kitchen knives, twirling it casually between his fingers with practised ease. She knew its blade would be razor sharp. ‘If he shows his face in here again, I might have to start applying my knife skills.’ He flipped the knife into the air, allowed it to spin once, and deftly caught it by the handle.

  ‘You wouldn’t –’ She stopped, realising he was laughing at her.

  ‘Ach, of course not. But I’d kick his backside down the street.’

  Kelly realised she’d allowed herself to move closer to him. Suddenly self-conscious, she took a step away and resumed her industrious polishing. ‘I don’t think he meant any harm.’

  ‘It didn’t look that way to me.’ Callum leaned forward, and for a moment, she was convinced he was about to put an arm around her. Instead, he reached to adjust one of the beer pump clips. Kelly released her breath, aware she didn’t know how she’d have reacted if Callum had touched her. She stepped away along the bar, making a pretence of checking the row of optics, conscious he was still watching her.

  ‘You need someone to take care of you, Kelly,’ he said, after a moment.

  She didn’t look back. She wanted to ask him whether he had anyone particular in mind, but couldn’t bring herself to speak. Finally, she said, ‘I’m fine. Really.’ She forced herself to face Callum.

  As she had expected, he was watching her, his hands still juggling idly with the knife. She wanted him to say something more, but after a second, he shrugged and smiled. ‘I’d better get back to the kitchen. That veg won’t prep itself.’ He waved the blade in the air in the manner of a costume-drama swordsman.

  Kelly smiled back, feeling as if she’d lost the power of speech. She could hear movements from the kitchen, then the sound of Maggie Donnelly’s voice calling for Callum. Maybe, Kelly thought, Callum had heard those noises a moment before she had and knew his wife had returned from her trip to the cash-and-carry. Maybe that was why he’d said nothing more.

  The bar doors opened and the first of the evening crowd came in – a middle-aged couple with their dog. Kelly took a final glance towards the kitchen door and then moved to serve the couple, trying to stop herself from thinking about what, if anything, might have just nearly happened.

  ‘I see the walking cadaver’s already arrived, then?’

  McCann blinked as McKay’s figure loomed over him. With all other rooms currently being treated as potential crime scenes, McCann had been sitting on the stairs writing up his notes while he waited for CID to arrive. Now that CID had done so, in the intimidating form of DI Alec McKay, McCann wished he’d been standing to attention instead. ‘Sir?’ McCann knew McKay by reputation, but had never had any dealings with him. It seemed best to keep things on a formal footing until he received some guidance otherwise.

  ‘Yon Jock Henderson. Examiner.’

  ‘Oh. Right. He arrived about ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Punctual by Jock’s standards.’

  McCann had risen to his feet. ‘PC Billy McCann.’ He held out a hand for shaking, but McKay ignored it.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, son. So, what’s the story?’

  McCann glanced at his notebook, wondering whether he should retrieve it to support his account.

  ‘Just the headlines for the moment, son. You can save the details for when we’ve all got time to blether.’ McKay leaned against the wall and gestured for McCann to sit down again. ‘Mind you, if we’re waiting ‘til old Jock’s finished his perusals, we’ve probably got all the time in the world. Best make yourself comfortable.’

/>   McCann hesitantly lowered himself back on to the stairs and quickly summarised what had happened after his arrival at the house.

  ‘Ginny seemed okay?’ McKay asked.

  ‘I think so. I mean, she was obviously concerned about the condition of –’ McCann hesitated, clearly wondering what terminology would be acceptable to McKay.

  ‘Her partner. Aye, well, obviously. How did she react to the sight of chummie in the living room there? The body, I mean. Not Jock.’

  ‘Seemed to take it in her stride. Is it right it was her stepfather?’

  ‘Aye, something like that,’ McKay said vaguely.

  ‘She didn’t know he was here, though? Tonight, I mean.’

  ‘She hadn’t seen him for years,’ McKay said. ‘Then, he turned up out of the blue a few days ago.’

  ‘He’d been harassing her,’ McCann said. ‘She called us out the other night because he was prowling round the house.’

  ‘So I understand,’ McKay said.

  ‘When I first saw the body, I thought –’

  ‘Aye, son. I think we all did. But you reckon he was strangled?’

  ‘That’s what it looked like. I’m no expert, though.’

  ‘We’ll see what old Jock thinks. Not that he’s much of an expert either.’ McKay tapped his fingers on the wall. ‘You don’t strangle someone in self-defence, though, do you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ McCann agreed.

  ‘So, who the hell killed him?’ McKay sounded as if he was asking himself rather than McCann, so the young man offered no response. ‘Tell me again what Ginny said to you about what she saw when she got back.’

  ‘There wasn’t much. She said she’d been expecting her partner to be back first, so she was surprised the lights weren’t on. Then, she found the front door ajar. She came in, went into the kitchen first, and found her partner on the floor there.’ He pointed to the spot where Isla had been lying. ‘Then, she called us. That was about it.’

  ‘She hadn’t gone into the living room?’

  ‘No. She stayed in the kitchen ‘til we arrived. We were the ones who stumbled across the body when we went to check the rest of the house. Looks like the patio doors have been forced, so that’s presumably how he got in.’

  ‘You’ve checked out the gardens and the surrounding area?’

  ‘As soon as we could, yes. The two of us did a scout round. No sign of anything, but difficult to be sure in the dark.’

  ‘Your mate’s gone now?’

  McCann nodded. ‘We had a couple more call-outs. Routine stuff, but we thought there was no point in both of us sitting here. I said I’d stay as long as needed then get him to pick me up.’

  McKay nodded, his expression suggesting that while he’d been talking, his brain had been pursuing other avenues of thought. ‘Okay, son. That’s very helpful. You can get off when you like. I’ll finish up with old Jock in there and get this place sealed off. I’m assuming Ginny’s over at Raigmore?’

  ‘Yes. She left a set of keys over there. I said I’d leave them for her at HQ.’

  ‘Thanks, son. I’ll look after all that then. And now, I’ll go and chivvy old Jock along. He’s probably fallen asleep in there.’

  McKay watched Jock Henderson as he hunched over the body, clad in his rustling white protective suit. At times like this, he thought, you could almost believe the old bugger knew what he was doing.

  ‘Nearly done, Jock? That body’s cluttering up the place.’

  ‘Aye, well,’ Henderson said, without looking up, ‘some of us do a proper job, you know, Alec?’

  ‘Aye, so I hear. But somehow, I always get landed with you, Jock. How’s it looking?’

  ‘Not much to see, to be honest. At least I’ve not had to wade through pools of blood on this one.’

  ‘Must be a disappointment. Cause of death?’

  ‘Asphyxiation, I’d say. Strangled.’ He looked up and regarded McKay over the top of his face mask. ‘We seem to be having rather a lot of those lately.’

  McKay nodded, thinking back to the hands that had gripped his own throat in that dark corner of Fortrose. The way Rob Graham had been killed. It was hard to conceive of any connection between that and the body lying in front of him. But then, he knew almost nothing about this man. ‘Must be in fashion,’ he said. ‘Any ID on him?’

  Henderson held up an evidence bag containing a brown leather wallet. ‘Aye. Various cards, driving licence and so on. Name of David Kirkland. Address in Surrey somewhere. I wrote down all the salient details before I bagged it up.’

  McKay frowned. David Kirkland. The name rang a distant bell, though he couldn’t imagine how or why it should. Maybe Horton had mentioned it to him some time. It didn’t feel like that, though. It felt like something from further in the past.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Not obviously. I’ve dusted for prints, especially ‘round where the door was forced open. But there doesn’t seem to be much. We’ll get the clothing checked over for DNA traces. You never know.’ He pushed himself to his feet. ‘I’ll take a few photos, and then, we’re done in here. You want me to check the kitchen and the rest of the house?’

  ‘Probably worth checking whatever we can,’ McKay said. ‘As I understand it, nobody’s disturbed the place, except for the two uniforms when they checked it out.’

  ‘What’s the story, then, Alec? Word on the street is that this is Ginny Horton’s place. And that it was Ginny’s other half attacked in the kitchen.’

  ‘You frequent some dubious streets, Jock. But, aye, this is Ginny’s. My understanding is that yon corpse is Ginny’s stepdad. We’re assuming some kind of intruder. Maybe interrupted a burglary.’

  ‘What kind of burglar strangles someone?’ Henderson asked.

  It was a reasonable question, and McKay could offer no answer. ‘One who’s good with his hands? Christ knows, Jock. But we’ve had stranger cases.’

  ‘If you say so, Alec.’ Henderson was prowling round the room, taking an array of shots with his digital camera. ‘Your job to worry about that side of it, I’m glad to say. I’ll leave that in your incapable hands.’

  ‘Aye, you do that, Jock. Are we okay to call up the ambulance to take away our pal here?’

  ‘Whenever you like,’ Henderson said. ‘Though I don’t think he’s in any hurry.’

  43

  Perfect, Helena Grant thought.

  As she’d headed up the A9, the rain had begun to fall again, buffeted by a rising wind from the sea. The Black Isle often seemed to have its own weather, and she wasn’t surprised that the rain grew heavier as she passed through Munlochy and took the turn off to the bay. She was a skilled driver, but in the dark and rain, she found herself struggling to navigate the twists and turns of the single-track road.

  She’d been down here once before when there’d been a spate of burglaries and damage to holiday cottages in the area, and she recalled that the road deteriorated further as it approached the shore. It was nothing that her small four-by-four couldn’t cope with, even in bad weather, but it required all her concentration.

  It was another few minutes before she spotted the cluster of lights through the trees. The rain was lashing almost horizontally from the sea as she drew in behind the patrol car, its blue light still throbbing in the darkness.

  Ahead of her, there was a small cluster of holiday cottages. An idyllic spot in the summer, she thought, with views out over the waters. Cold and exposed on a night like this. Outside the nearest cottage, she could make out two figures obviously seeking whatever shelter they could find on a small roofed veranda. One of them was already moving to greet her.

  ‘DCI Grant,’ she said.

  ‘PC Tommy Burns,’ he said, reaching out a hand to shake.

  She recognised the man slightly. He was a red-faced figure, approaching middle-age and slightly overweight. ‘I hear you’ve found something.’

  Burns led her under the shelter of the veranda. ‘Aye, well, not us, really. Couple
renting the next place along. Must have fair ruined their holiday.’ Burns gestured towards the figure beside him. ‘My partner in crime, Andy Gordon.’ Gordon was a younger man, eyes blinking under a mop of blond hair. He looked anxious, Grant thought, though she couldn’t tell whether he was more intimidated by her or the nearby presence of a dead body. ‘Where’s the body?’

  Burns waved his hand into the darkness. ‘Down there. We didn’t want to move it ‘til the Examiners got here. Looks like he’s been in the water a while, poor bugger.’

  ‘You found some ID?’

  ‘Aye. He’s wearing a suit, completely sodden, but we thought we’d better give the pockets a quick check. There was a wallet. Cards, driving licence all that. Someone called Alastair Donald.’

  She nodded. ‘Aye. Reported missing in Cromarty a day or two back.’

  ‘Surprised he washed up here then, rather than in the Cromarty Firth.’

  It was a fair point. She was no expert, but the entrance to the Cromarty Firth was relatively sheltered. She’d have expected a body entering the water in Cromarty to be washed back into the firth rather than around the Isle into the Moray Firth to the south. ‘I suppose it depends on the tides,’ she said.

  ‘Or where the body actually went into the water.’

  Burns was clearly no numpty. ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘That too.’

  She could see another set of car headlights approaching along the track, the glare smeared by the steadily falling rain. The Examiner, she hoped.

  ‘Who are the people who found the body?’

  ‘Couple renting the cottage next door,’ Burns said. ‘English.’ He gave the word an emphasis which wasn’t exactly disparaging, but implied that only the idiot Sassenachs would take a holiday in this part of the world at this time of the year. ‘Nice enough, though,’ he added. ‘They’d been over to Fortrose to get some shopping. Came back to go for a short walk before the rain set in and found the body washed up down there. Bit of a shock, I imagine.’