Broken Ground (Karen Pirie Book 5)

by Val McDermid

  ‘When it’s obviously a historic case, there’s no point in hanging around,’ Karen said. ‘It is unusual for us to be present at a fresh crime scene, though. Normally we’re working from old case files.’

  ‘A wee bit of a change, then.’ McNab laughed, a terrible phlegmy wheeze. ‘Does that mean it’s a murder?’

  ‘We’re treating the death as suspicious.’

  ‘What can you tell us about the circumstances of the discovery?’ Locke said.

  ‘You’d need to speak to the landowner about that,’ Karen said. ‘I’m sure Mr Mackenzie can tell you the full story. What I’m concerned with at this point is identifying the man whose body was excavated from the peat bog here.’ She turned her screen to face them. ‘I’m sorry I don’t have a printout, but if you give DC Murray your details, he’ll email a digital copy across to you.’ While they peered at the screen, she ran through the details on the press release.

  ‘Twenty years ago, you say?’ McNab sounded thoughtful.

  ‘Between twenty and twenty-five, we think.’

  ‘Based on what?’

  ‘His shoes. He’s wearing a pair of trainers that were first manufactured in 1995.’

  McNab scratched his chin and reached automatically for his cigarettes. He held the packet close to his stomach like a talisman. ‘I think I know who that is,’ he said slowly.

  ‘Honestly?’ Karen wasn’t sure what to think.

  ‘A big lad, you say?’

  ‘Aye. Really muscular.’

  McNab nodded. ‘I’ve been covering Highland games all over this patch for the last thirty years. You get to know the faces. If it’s who I’m thinking of, he was a heavy athlete.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Jason asked.

  ‘The big musclemen that do the strength events. Tossing the caber, throwing the hammer, throwing the weight-for-height.’ McNab drew the screen closer. ‘What was his name, now? Weight-for-height, that was his big event. Near the world record, he was.’ He sighed and stared out of the window at the restless sea. ‘Johnny … Joe … Something like that.’ He frowned. ‘Joey! That’s it. Joey Sutherland. If that’s not him, he’s got a twin.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Karen couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t how things panned out in her world. Sometimes it took months or even years to identify a body.

  ‘Like I said, unless he’s got a double, that’s Joey Sutherland.’ McNab leaned back in his chair, delighted with himself. ‘That’s a wee scoop for us today, Cathy. It’s not often we beat the police to an ID.’

  ‘It’s not actually an ID at this point.’ Karen wasn’t about to let this spiral away from her. ‘We need to confirm this with somebody who knew Joey Sutherland. A family member or a close friend. Do either of you know where he came from originally?’

  The two reporters swapped baffled looks. ‘No idea,’ McNab said. ‘Over to the east, I think. He wasn’t from these parts. Or from An t-Eilean Fada.’

  ‘Where?’ Karen asked.

  Cathy gave a weary sigh. ‘He means the Outer Hebrides. Duncan likes to confound those of us who don’t have the Gaelic.’

  ‘So not from round here. But before we go any further, what happened to this Joey Sutherland? Did he actually disappear?’

  McNab took a cigarette from his packet and rolled it between his fingers. Karen could sense the nicotine craving coming off him in waves. ‘I don’t recall anybody saying anything specific. You have to understand, these guys perform all over the world. There are more Highland games abroad than there have ever been in Scotland. America and Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa. And other places, they have these Strongest Man competitions. Big money, some of them. I hear tell that you can spend the whole summer moving from one to the other and living off the prize money. If you’re any good, that is. So not seeing one of them around didn’t mean anything sinister. It’d likely be a while before it dawned on anybody that he wasnae about the place. And there could be plenty reasons for that. Retiring through injury. Meeting some lassie and settling down.’ He shrugged.

  The missing missing, Karen thought. People who had fallen off the radar without anyone paying any heed to their absence. The reasons weren’t always sinister. But more often than not, there was pain at their root. She wondered momentarily whether that was what had happened to this victim. ‘Any idea where we might find somebody who could maybe tell us something about Joey Sutherland? Always supposing this actually is Joey Sutherland.’ The note of caution added in the hope it would give the journalists pause.

  Locke looked at McNab. ‘What about Ruari Macaulay?’ She sounded hesitant.

  McNab. ‘Big Ruari? Aye, he was on the circuit then. He retired in 2000. I mind, he said one millennium was enough for him.’

  ‘Ruari Macaulay was one of the stars of the nineties,’ Cathy said. ‘Face like a train wreck but a body like a god. When he retired, he set up a fitness camp in the middle of nowhere in the hills above Beauly. It’s a bit like a boot camp. You pay an arm and a leg and you get an individually tailored regime based on your fitness level, age and weight. Diet, exercise, well-being. No more than six people at a time.’

  ‘Rich fat bastards,’ McNab muttered.

  ‘Rich fat bastards who get hooked and come back time after time,’ Locke scoffed. ‘I get a feature a year out of Ruari. I cycle him through the glossies, the health magazines, the Saturday supplements. People will pay an insane amount of money rather than actually make a few crucial changes that would transform their lives.’ Like me hung unspoken in the air.

  Karen had never had much time for the self-righteous, though she acknowledged Locke had a point. But she wouldn’t wish on anyone the crucial change that had improved her own fitness. ‘And he would have known Joey Sutherland?’

  ‘Bound to,’ Locke said.

  ‘Well, that sorts out my afternoon. But until we get a formal ID, you’re going to have to keep the lid on this.’

  ‘But it’s a great story,’ McNab protested. ‘And we gave you the information. That’s not how a press conference generally works.’

  ‘I appreciate that. But go and talk to Hamish Mackenzie. There’s a great story that you can tell sitting waiting for you.’

  ‘We tried to talk to him earlier and he “no comment”-ed us,’ McNab grumbled.

  ‘Give me quarter of an hour to wrap up here and I will personally introduce you to Mr Mackenzie and ask him to tell you why he was digging a hole in the middle of his bog.’

  The journalists exchanged another look, calculating the relative value of what they had against what they might get.

  ‘OK,’ Locke said. ‘But it better be good.’

  ‘Trust me, it’s front-page good.’ Karen stood up. ‘I’ll need directions.’

  28

  2018 – Teavarran

  There were places in Scotland where satnav was as much use as a chocolate compass. Wester Fearn House was one of them. It was nominally part of a hamlet called Teavarran, which the officious woman who lived in the car’s computer believed she’d brought them to. But it wasn’t really a place, just a road through a wood that opened out on to high moor-land. They passed a beautifully renovated stone house and a writers’ centre before Karen was able to make sense of the map Cathy Locke had drawn for them.

  ‘There’s a track coming up on the right. Looks like a forestry road. We need to take that,’ she instructed Jason.

  As they turned, she saw a small metal sign fixed to a tree. ‘Wester Fearn. Private Road.’ Karen snorted. ‘Aye, right. Amazing how many landowners think the right to roam doesn’t apply to them.’

  They drove through the conifer plantation for a couple of minutes, then the track swung round to the left and a wide clearing opened before them with a stunning panorama north across the River Beauly valley to the mountains beyond. The view was so breathtaking that at first Karen hardly noticed the building that sat over to one side. At the heart of it was a traditional square stone house, substantial enough to withstand the winters at this elev
ation. Thrust out from either side were long low wings, timber clad with arrays of solar panels along the roofs. There were no windows to break up the wood, which gave the building a forbidding appearance. Set into the woodland itself was a stone shed that housed half a dozen cars and SUVs. Karen noticed security cameras mounted on the trees, covering the clearing and the house itself.

  ‘This must have cost a bob or two,’ Jason said. ‘I suppose there’s big bucks getting rich folks fit. Ever think we’re in the wrong game, boss?’

  Karen shook her head. ‘Never, Jason. Park up, and let’s go and see what’s what.’

  They walked up to the back door of the stone heart of the building. Before they could press the bell, the door opened and a barefoot young woman in yoga pants and a sloppy sweater greeted them with a broad smile. ‘Hi, how can I help you?’ Her accent placed her from the other side of the Atlantic.

  Karen introduced them. ‘We’re here to see Ruari Macaulay.’

  ‘Sure. He’s working with a resident right now, but you’re more than welcome to come in and wait till he’s done, Officer.’

  ‘How long will that be, do you think?’

  The woman glanced over her shoulder. ‘Let’s see. It’s twenty before the hour now. He should be through in about fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Thanks. In that case, we’ll take you up on your offer.’

  The house had been stripped back to its bare bones then replastered and painted a shade of off-white that probably laboured under a name like Rabbit’s Oxter. They followed their guide down a narrow hallway decorated with a couple of abstract paintings that Karen assumed were meant to induce a spirit of tranquillity. That would be a waste of money, then.

  Halfway along, they turned into a room that was half office, half sitting room. Expensively functional yet comfortable. ‘Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll fetch you something to drink.’ Another cheerful grin. ‘I’m Madison, by the way. Now, we have a range of fruit and herb teas, or there’s a variety of juices. What kind of thing do you like?’

  ‘I suppose a coffee’s out of the question?’ Karen tried not to sound grumpy.

  The corners of Madison’s mouth turned down in exaggerated disapproval. ‘We don’t do caffeine. Ruari likes our residents to have a real detox when they’re here.’

  ‘I’ll take a juice,’ Jason said.

  ‘Nothing for me,’ Karen said. Madison slipped out, leaving the door open. ‘My body’s a temple to a different god from hers.’ The room felt odd, and it took her a moment to realise that was because it had no window. Where a window ought to have been there was a huge flat-screen TV that appeared to be showing a live webcam feed from a rocky beach with a view over the sea to mountains. Unlike the paintings, this did feel tranquil.

  Madison returned with a tall tumbler of something green. Jason looked at it suspiciously. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Melon, kiwi, apple, cucumber and kale,’ she said brightly. Karen congratulated herself on dodging a Nutribullet. ‘I’ll make sure Ruari comes along as soon as he’s clear.’ And she was off again.

  Jason sniffed suspiciously at his glass then tentatively tasted it. ‘I’ve had worse,’ he said. ‘But mostly when my mum thought I was coming down with something.’

  Karen flipped open her laptop and jumped on board Wester Fearn House’s guest Wi-Fi. She’d hoped that the press release might have shaken some more information out of the trees, but so far Duncan McNab was still the only show in town. She was about to start checking the news sites to see who had picked up on the story when Ruari Macaulay strode in, directing a cautious smile at them.

  ‘Don’t get up,’ he said as Karen struggled to close her laptop and rise from the chair. He was wearing a muscle vest with a light cotton shirt thrown over it and lycra leggings that came halfway down massive calves. Although he was in his fifties, he still had the physical condition of a much younger man. There was no sign that Ruari Macaulay had come within a hundred-yard dash of running to seed. His shaved head was polished, a contrast to a face that looked as if it had been shaped more by fists than genetics. Karen imagined nobody messed with him.

  Macaulay sat down opposite her. ‘What brings you up here?’ he said. ‘What can I do for a detective chief inspector of polis?’ There was a teasing note in his voice. He sounded as if he had nothing on his conscience; he could afford lightness of tone with her.

  Karen opened the laptop again and clicked on the picture of their victim. ‘I’m hoping you can help me. I wonder whether you know this man?’ She turned the screen to face him.

  Macaulay’s face registered genuine surprise. ‘Joey Sutherland? Damn right, I know him. Used to be king of the weight-for-height in these parts. Let me see.’ He held out a hand for the laptop. ‘Aye, that’s definitely him. What’s he done now?’ he said as she passed it over. Then as he studied it more closely, he let out a low whistle. ‘I see it’s no’ what he’s done. It’s somebody that’s done him, right? That picture’s no’ been taken from the life, has it?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  Macaulay passed the laptop back to her. ‘So why are you here? It’s more than twenty years since I saw Joey. And to be honest, I wasn’t expecting to see him again.’

  ‘We had a tentative ID from someone this morning. They suggested you might be able to give us some more information. Why were you not expecting to see him again?’

  Macaulay looked startled. ‘I didn’t mean that the way you’ve taken it. I wasn’t expecting to see him again because when he took off he owed me a wedge of cash he didnae seem keen to pay back.’

  Karen felt a glow of satisfaction. It was a real bonus this early in the investigation to find a witness who really knew the victim. ‘Take us back, if you would, to when you knew Joey Sutherland. When did you first meet?’

  He ran a hand over his head, smoothing down his phantom hair. He drew in a whistling breath while he considered. ‘Must have been the late eighties. He showed up on the Highland circuit. He was only a boy, but he’d worked hard to get himself in shape. He was big, but it was all working muscle, you know what I mean? It wasnae for show. You get to know the other guys on the circuit when you’re doing the heavy events. You run into each other every other weekend right through the season. You watch them mature and develop, you watch them hit their peak and then decline. You go out drinking together, you eat together. Some you get to be pals with. Some you just know in passing, you know what I mean? Be a bit like that in the polis, I expect.’

  ‘A bit,’ Karen said. ‘So what kind of lad was Joey?’

  ‘The crowds loved him. He had something about him. Charisma, I suppose. Women wanted to take him home and the bairns hero-worshipped him. He was better looking than most of us – I mean, you see it all.’ He pointed to his face. ‘Most of the heavy guys look like me. Like we had a run-in with Chewbacca and came off worst. Joey never did any boxing or bare-knuckle. He was a braw fella. He had this wee cowlick that fell on his forehead, like Christopher Reeve in the Superman films.’

  Macaulay looked at the floor. ‘Some guys on the circuit like to take a shortcut to the muscles. They get into the steroids. That messes with pretty much everything in your body. Including your moods. So some of the guys can be quick off the mark when it comes to losing the plot. Quick to take offence, quick with their fists.’ He met Karen’s eyes. ‘Joey was never like that. He was an easygoing boy.’ His mouth twisted in a grimace. ‘Didnae stop him taking the piss, given half a chance, though.’ He sat back, lips pursed, waiting for the prompt, not wanting to be thought treacherous to a pal.

  Karen obliged. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘The reason I thought I wouldnae see him again? The money? Joey liked to look the part. Always dressed nice, always clean and well-groomed. He was doing well on the circuit, but not well enough to live the way he wanted. A lot of the guys, they live in their camper vans. That’s the only way they can afford the life. Joey’s van was pretty poor, you’d have to say. Not a place to take a lassie you were
trying to impress. He wanted to trade up. And he didn’t have enough ready cash. So he came to me for the top-up. I was doing well by then, and I had a wee gym in Inverness that washed its face and then some.’ Macaulay shrugged. That simple gesture probably used up all the calories in a Mars bar, Karen thought.

  ‘How much did you lend him?’

  ‘Five grand. It doesnae sound too much now, I suppose. Especially when you look at this place. But it wasnae a flea bite. He was due to pay me back in the September. This would be 1995. We were both at the Invercharron Games in the middle of the month and I reminded him the money was due. He was a wee bit shifty, wouldnae be pinned down. Anyway, later that afternoon, when we were all packing up to go, he comes up to me cheery as a Christmas card and goes, “Hey, Ruari, I’ll have that money for you at the end of the week.” Which I was very glad to hear, obviously. And that was the last I saw of Joey Sutherland and his top-of-the-range camper van.’ He shook his head, a rueful expression on his face.

  ‘What happened to change his attitude to the debt, do you think?’

  Macaulay shifted restlessly in his chair. ‘I don’t know for sure. What I do know is that he was hanging about with an American lassie that afternoon. I say American, but I suppose she could have been Canadian. And I wondered if that put the idea in his head to relocate, so to speak, rather than pay me back. There’s plenty of places for a lad with Joey’s talent and strength to make a living. Folk are fascinated by the like of us. It’s the nearest they get to superheroes.’

  He sighed. ‘And if he had’ve done a runner, owing me money like that, he’d know he couldnae come back and pick up where he left off. I couldnae afford to lose face like that. Friend or no, I’d have had to draw a line.’ He drew a hand over his face, suddenly struck by the enormity of what Karen had shown him. His eyes softened, gazing over her shoulder into the middle distance. ‘Listen to me, talking like he’s just stepped out the room. But you’re telling me he’s gone for good. Away the Crow Road. I cannae take it in. When he’s crossed my mind, I’ve always pictured him out in the world, being Joey. Not dead. What happened? Where did he die? Was it in America right enough?’