Chiase thought for a moment. His plan had been to grab someone, attract attention, then do what he was being paid to do, but it didn’t look that easy. ‘Is anything ever fucking easy?’ he said to himself. Despite the chill, no smoke billowed from the cottage’s single chimney, and no shadows passed behind the small, dark windows.
Slowly, Chiase crept over the rise, crouching as he went, making for the back of the dwelling, trying to stay out of the line of sight of the windows. He needed the rest of that money, and anyway, in his experience, if you walked away from a job that job would likely come back to haunt you. The people who hired men like him didn’t mess about. If he didn’t do what was required, he’d likely become the hunted.
As stealthily as his aching knees and hip would allow, he crouched forward. In a few more steps he removed the pistol from the back of his trouser band and held it out in front of him with both hands.
Vito Chiase might be old, but he was a stand-up guy. He could do this.
‘I’m Diane Burton, the manager,’ said the smartly dressed woman behind the large desk in her big office in the Machrie House Hotel. ‘Please take a seat, gentlemen,’ she added without getting up. The office was plush, with a picture window framing the bay and paintings of local scenes around the walls. As in most hotels, everything was underpinned by the faint smell of disinfectant that battled for dominance with Diane Burton’s expensive perfume.
‘I’d like to speak to the person who disturbed the attack on Ms Wenger,’ said Daley once the introductions were over and he and Scott were seated.
‘Donnie – Donnie O’Hara – he’s only been with us for a week. He’s rather shaken, as I’m sure you understand.’
‘Of course, but still we need to get moving on this quickly.’
‘You’ve got CCTV, I hear,’ said Scott.
‘Yes, I’ll show you what we have while we wait for Donnie. He’s in the kitchen with a cup of hot sweet tea.’ Burton lifted the phone and spoke quietly to someone on the other end, arranging for O’Hara to attend her office. Ending the call, she typed on the keyboard in front of her, then angled a large screen towards the police officers so that both she and they could see it.
‘Mr O’Hara was delivering breakfast, I believe?’ said Daley.
‘Yes, he was. But first I’ll show you this.’
The hotel corridor looked empty, the image taken from the ceiling distorted, making everything look too close, or far away. They watched as numbers on the screen scrolled forward.
‘Now, there!’ said Burton, pointing excitedly at the screen.
A tiny hunched figure wearing dark trousers and a hooded top made its way towards the camera, face obscured.
‘Can you pause?’ said Daley.
Burton did as she was asked and the figure was frozen in mid-step.
‘Whoever it is they’re no’ very tall,’ said Scott. ‘That wooden panelling comes up to my waist. I noticed it on the way in. I’m right, aye?’
‘Yes, that is right,’ said Burton.
‘Look, their heid’s just above it. This looks like a wean, Jimmy.’
‘And this is the first image you have, Miss Burton?’ said Daley.
‘Yes, I’ve checked everything. There’s no sign of – whoever this is – apart from this of them heading to Ms Wenger’s room, then running back. Wait, I’ll show you.’ She let the tape run on. The small figure disappeared, there was a pause for just over a minute, and then a man in a white waiter’s jacket and dark trousers pushing a trolley appeared in the corridor, passing under the camera, as had done the hooded figure. After another pause, the same hooded figure passed under the CCTV camera, this time in the opposite direction, running.
‘So Ms Wenger’s room was at the end, just out of sight?’ asked Daley.
‘Yes, that’s right. As a group we feel it only right to balance the privacy of our customers against the requirements of security. I’m sure you understand, gentlemen.’
‘No’ quite got the right balance here,’ observed Scott. ‘How come this – person – could get as far as the room and only appear on one camera?’
‘We’ll have to establish that, DI Scott. I can assure you, the exterior of the premises is well covered by our cameras. I can’t imagine why we don’t have anything else.’
‘And everything is working?’ said Daley.
‘The first thing I had checked. Every camera was in perfect working order and has been for weeks.’
‘We’ll need to see the recordings, nonetheless.’
‘Sure. I’ll give you the footage from this morning.’
‘And last night,’ said Scott. ‘Nothing tae stop this person fae entering the hotel some time during the night then lying low until this morning.’
‘Ah, I hadn’t thought of that. Consider it done.’
There was a knock on the door. It opened slowly to reveal a thin man of average height. He had sparse red hair and a pockmarked complexion. His nose was long and bulbous, a shade of purple displaying a likely fondness for alcohol – lots of it.
‘Take a seat, Donnie,’ said Burton, pointing to a chair at one end of her desk. The man, still dressed in his waiter’s uniform, sat down. He eyed the detectives warily.
‘Mr O’Hara, it would appear you did Ms Wenger a great service this morning,’ said Daley.
O’Hara mashed his mouth before he spoke. ‘Aye, I suppose I did.’ He was wringing his hands, as though washing them in soap and water.
‘Can you tell us exactly what happened? From the moment you knocked on the door of Ms Wenger’s room, please.’
‘I didna; knock, that is. I jeest heard screams, so I opened the door tae find oot what was wrong.’ He glanced worriedly at Burton. ‘I hope that was the right thing tae dae?’
‘Of course!’ she replied. ‘I dread to think what might have happened if you hadn’t come along.’
‘I didna dae anything special, just walked in the room.’
‘What did you see?’ asked Daley.
‘This wee lad on top o’ Ms Wenger.’
‘A lad, as in boy?’
‘Aye, I think so.’
‘But you’re no’ sure,’ said Scott.
‘No, I didnae see a face, or that. I suppose I just thought it was a boy. He – it – had a hood up, but looked just like a young fella. You know, shape an’ that.’
‘So you never saw any features at all?’
‘No. The hood was up all the time. Ms Wenger was jeest lying there – like, oot o’ it. The boy – or whatever – jeest took off, pushed past me. I was going tae try and catch – it – but I thought I’d better look after Ms Wenger. I got on the phone as quick as I could. I’m sorry if I didna dae the right thing.’ He looked from the police officers to his boss.
‘You did exactly the right thing, Mr O’Hara. Your duty was to ensure the well-being of your guest. It’s our job to catch whoever did this,’ said Daley.
‘Is she going tae be okay?’
‘I hope so. We’ll be off to the hospital as soon as we finish here.’
‘Her face was bleeding – it looked nasty.’
‘Apart from Ms Wenger – helping her, I mean – did you touch anything?’ asked Daley.
‘The phone – the one on the bedside.’
‘We don’t permit our staff to carry their mobiles when they’re on duty, DCI Daley,’ said Burton.
‘Did the assailant leave anything behind, Mr O’Hara?’
‘Aye, something fell on the bed.’
‘You didnae touch it?’ said Scott.
‘No, I’m no’ that stupid.’
‘What was it?’ asked Daley.
‘Like a wee hammer – something you’d use for model-making, or that kind o’ thing.’
‘A wee hammer?’ Scott looked bemused.
‘Aye, jeest that.’
‘We sealed off the room as your desk sergeant advised. I think your team are up there now, Mr Daley.’
‘Yes; we’ll join them shortly. Thank you, Mr O’Hara.
If you remember anything else, you know where to find us.’
‘At the station in Kinloch, aye, I do. I hope the lady recovers okay.’ He stood and walked to the door. He turned to face them. ‘Aye, an’ I hope you catch her that did it, tae.’
‘Her? You said you thought it was a boy,’ said Scott.
O’Hara shuffled from foot to foot. ‘Boy, lassie – you know whoot I mean.’
‘Thank you, Mr O’Hara. Please go home, take the rest of the day off. I’ll pass your address on to the detectives here, just in case they need it.’
‘Aye, thank you.’ He nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.
‘Right, gentlemen, if you give me a moment I’ll take you to Ms Wenger’s room.’ Burton picked up the phone from her desk and spoke quietly to whoever was on the other end.
‘What did you make o’ this O’Hara, Jimmy?’ said Scott, leaning into his colleague’s ear.
‘A small wager, Brian?’
‘Nah, the odds don’t look too good. He’s at the madam, no mistake.’
‘We’ll give him some time to relax, then we’ll pay him a visit.’
‘Right, that’s me ready. I’ll show you to Ms Wenger’s room.’ Burton stood and held her office door open for the police officers.
Chiase was within a few yards of Rowan Tree Cottage when he heard the distant rumble of an engine. He threw himself to the ground just as a taxi turned on to the rutted lane that led to the dwelling.
Chiase swore to himself. He was partially hidden by a hummock of grass, but if anyone looked in his direction they’d be able to spot him. He considered trying to slither back the way he’d come, but reckoned that movement was more likely to catch the attention of those arriving at Rowan Tree Cottage. Things were most certainly not going the way he’d envisaged.
He squinted as one tall and one small figure emerged from the taxi. The shorter of the two looked like an old woman, the other a middle-aged man, though with his eyesight it was hard to be absolutely sure. He looked on as the woman handed money to the driver before both she and the other passenger made for the cottage. Neither of them looked in his direction. He lowered his head and sighed with relief. The taxi was reversing quickly back up the lane and on to the main road. Chiase remained still, observing Rowan Tree Cottage. The taxi disappeared back up the hill towards Kinloch.
He approached the corner of the house, hopefully out of sight of the windows. He held his pistol firmly now, and could feel his legs tremble. This was a sensation he’d become used to over the years. Whether it was down to fear or anticipation, he’d never been sure. The feeling had unnerved him at first, but now he realised that having a hit of adrenalin was essential if he was going to get the job done.
He was at the rear of the cottage, sliding his back along the rough wall. He had to think what to do for the best – how he was going to gain access to the place.
The waves hissed off the pebbles in the small bay and a gull cried mournfully overhead while Chiase worked things out in his head. He had been assured that the family barely left their home, yet he’d just seen two of them arrive in a cab. Just as he made up his mind, a noise from behind made him turn quickly.
Two shots rang around the hillside, sending a flurry of birds squawking into the sky.
32
Liz had left her son at nursery and she and Ella Scott were heading for lunch in the County Hotel. As she drove across the head of the loch she felt much better than at almost any point since returning to Kinloch. Though their relationship had often been a strained one, it appeared as though they had bonded over their mutual experience of being attacked by men. Ella chatted away cheerily as they drove up Main Street.
Liz parked in the patrons’ car park behind the hotel, and they made their way into the County by way of the back door, around which lay cigarette butts stubbed out carelessly by those addicted to nicotine and now banished to pursue their habit out of doors.
‘Would you look at that,’ said Ella Scott. ‘Dirty buggers. They could at least put them in that big ashtray.’
They carried on up a flight of stone steps and into a corridor. When they entered the bar there was a buzz that neither woman had expected. In fact, the place was busy, certainly for lunchtime.
‘What’s the occasion?’ said Liz, forcing her way through the bar to where Annie held court.
‘Lovely tae see you, Liz. You’ve not been in much – you know, since you came back,’ replied Annie, being as diplomatic as she could. Everyone in Kinloch knew what had happened to Liz, it seemed.
‘I’m feeling much better, Annie, thank you. Ella and I thought we’d have a bite to eat, but you seem rushed off your feet.’
‘It’s a big day. We’re jeest waiting for Charlie Murray tae come back fae the council meeting in Lochgilphead.’
‘Oh? I know he’s a pillar of the community and all that, but I’d no idea how important he was.’
‘This is a special meeting, Liz. No doubt Mr Daley will have telt you that the owners are wanting tae turn this place intae flats.’
‘Yes, he did as a matter of fact. I was so sorry to hear it. Here was – well, it was like a second home to us when I first arrived. In fact, Jim was living upstairs.’
‘Aye, that he was.’ Annie smiled.
‘You’re looking quite chipper on it, despite everything,’ observed Ella.
‘That’s why everyone’s here. Charlie Murray has raised an official objection. You know, for planning permission. This hotel’s been here for well o’er a hundred years. And being right in the centre of the toon, well, he thinks they’ll knock it back.’
‘That would be great,’ said Liz.
‘It would be bloody fantastic! Noo, whoot can I get you ladies?’
As the pair ordered drinks and perused the menus they were greeted by another familiar face.
‘Hamish, how are you?’ said Liz.
‘Mair tae the point, how are you?’
‘I’m fine. This is all very exciting.’
‘Aye, well I pray they get what they’re hoping for. I had a bad dream aboot a’ this last night. Just me sitting wae a dram amongst a pile o’ rubble.’
‘That must have been upsetting for you, Hamish.’
The old man nodded his head sagely. ‘It wisnae all bad. I’d a fair bumper o’ a dram, and every time I took a sip at it, damn me if it didna jeest fill itself right back up again. Canna say much for the surroundings, right enough.’
‘Oor Brian used tae have a glass like that,’ said Ella with a sniff.
‘There’s plenty o’ room at my table if you ladies would like a seat.’ Hamish pushed his way through the throng. ‘Jeest you move aside, Johnny Rocks; can you no’ see there’s ladies present?’
The younger man moved hurriedly. ‘I’m jeest making a wee post for Facebook, Hamish. So folk that’s no’ here can see the place getting its reprieve.’ Johnny grinned.
‘Well you’re in the way, Cecil B. DeMille. And I hope your phrasebook mates don’t get a fair gunker.’
‘No way, Hamish. You know oor Charlie, everyone on the council hangs on his every word. They’ll no’ stand up tae him, that’s for sure.’
As Liz, Ella and Hamish sat at the table, Ella leaned in so the old man could hear her. ‘Is that his real name, Johnny Rocks?’
‘No, no’ a bit o’ it. He’s been the skipper o’ two fine boats, and damn me, he’s sunk them both. Hence “Rocks”.’
‘You can find a name for everything in Kinloch.’
‘So we can, Ella. And this gathering, tae me, should be called counting your chickens before they’re hatched.’ He sipped on a dram that didn’t replenish itself.
*
‘This is what you’re looking for, sir,’ said the officer in the white suit, one of those examining the room where Alice Wenger had been attacked. He handed Daley a plastic evidence bag holding, as described by O’Hara, a small red hammer. ‘It was found on the bed, sir. Just here.’ He pointed towards the end of the bed. The
duvet had been messed up, and the light carpet stained with drops of Alice Wenger’s blood.
Daley held the hammer up to the light of the window. ‘No prints?’
‘No, sir. The assailant must have been wearing gloves.’
‘So you’ve nothing significant?’
‘We’re looking for fibres now, but it’s a long shot. You know hotel rooms, no matter how clean they look there’s bound to be contamination from previous guests.’
‘I used tae have a hammer like that,’ said Scott when Daley handed him the bag.
‘When you were studying gnome carpentry?’ said Daley.
‘Naw. It was part of my Meccano set. You must have had one. I made a lorry.’
‘Impressive, Brian.’
‘No’ really. The wheels fell off on the day I made it. I started tae build the Eiffel Tower, but my father had tae pawn the kit before I’d finished the base. The drunken auld bastard.’
Daley turned to his forensics man. ‘No sign of the blade, or whatever it was that caused the injury to Ms Wenger’s eye?’ ‘Nothing, sir. Though we’re pretty sure that was caused by something other than the hammer, as you say.’
Daley examined the bag again and stroked his chin, deep in thought.
‘What’s on your mind, big man?’
‘Just something the doctor said, Brian. We can’t do much here. We’ll get back to the office and start someone off getting this CCTV footage analysed. You never know. Then it’s off to the hospital again.’
‘We’re never oot o’ there, Jimmy.’
‘I know. I’ve read books like that – cops never out of hospitals. Think how poor Alice Wenger feels.’
‘The hotel should gie her a discount. She’s spent mair time in there than she has here.’
‘Let me know if you turn anything up,’ said Daley as the forensics officer went back about his business.
33
The old woman ran as fast as she could along the slick pebbles of the beach. As she panted with the effort the wheeze in her throat became more pronounced. She was fit for her age but too old for this, she had no doubt of that. As she ran, tears were stinging her eyes, her throat aching with the pain of shock and loss.
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