Dead but not Buried

by Iain North

  ‘It was,’ Jim agreed.

  ‘What are you working on now?’

  ‘I wondered if I could have a quick word, about Bennet.’

  The guard looked round to see if anyone was watching them. The yard was empty of life, so it was unlikely.

  He pointed to an area of bare gravel. ‘Park your car there and come in for a cuppa.’

  His gatepost was sparsely furnished with a table and a couple of old lounge chairs. There was a kettle, a microwave and a small fridge mounted on a kitchen unit at the far end.

  ‘Excuse the mess,’ the guard apologised, stacking some newspapers and magazines to one side. ‘We’ve been promised a proper building when the work starts. Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Coffee, thanks.’

  He turned to Amber. ‘And you, lass?’

  ‘Tea, please.’

  Jim sat down in one of the chairs and Amber perched on the arm.

  ‘So what do you want to know, Mr Buchan?’

  ‘Just a bit of background, Mr...?’

  ‘Fraser, Donald Fraser. Donnie to me mates.’

  Donnie Fraser put three mugs of water into the microwave.

  ‘To be honest, I didn’t really know him that well. Our paths didn’t cross that often.’

  ‘But there must have been gossip,’ Jim prompted.

  His eyes lit up. ‘Oh aye, there was plenty of gossip. Everyone knew what he’d done. He started here a couple of weeks ago and not long after that the rumours began to do the rounds.’

  ‘Rumours?’

  ‘That he was a child molester. But he kept himself to himself. He didn’t say anything about it. It was a bit sad really. Then one of the women in the Kyle started handing out leaflets she’d run up.’

  ‘Have you got a one?’

  ‘Aye.’ The guard sifted through the magazines and newspapers on the table until he found a sheet of yellow paper. ‘She was giving them out to anyone who would listen, putting them through all the doors in the village.’ He handed Jim the photocopy.

  Jim examined the sheet. Emblazoned across the top was the word ‘Warning’, followed by a single exclamation mark. Underneath the picture of Bennet from an old newspaper was reproduced along with details of his crime and his address in Portree Place.

  ‘That must have got folk a bit worked up,’ Jim prompted.

  The microwave oven pinged and Fraser retrieved the steaming cups and plopped a teabag into each one.

  ‘Nearly caused a riot down here. That’s why the bosses put him on the nightshift. I don’t know why they didn’t get rid of him altogether.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘About a week ago,’ he paused to think for a moment. ‘It was just a couple of days before they found the lad in the dock.’

  Jim changed tack. ‘Did he have any friends?’

  Fraser shook his head. ‘Bennet? Friends? Nah, he was a loner. He didn’t talk to anyone and no one talked to him.’

  ‘No workmates?’

  ‘Nah. You want milk in that?’

  Jim and Amber nodded in unison.

  ‘Do the police have any idea who did it?’ Fraser asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

  Amber answered. ‘So many suspects.’

  ‘Aye lass. But he got what was coming to him. I’ve got kids. They’re grown up now. But if that had happened to them...’

  Jim broke in. ‘Have you heard anything about the night he found the body.’

  ‘The boy in the dry-dock?’ Fraser sought confirmation before continuing. ‘Rab – he’s one of the electricians – saw something floating in the water.’

  ‘Was there anyone else about?’

  ‘Bennet should have been here.’

  ‘In the yard?’

  Fraser paused again. ‘At the gates.’

  ‘Would the gates have been locked?’

  ‘Sometimes they are. Sometimes they’re not.’

  ‘Should they have been?’

  Fraser nodded.

  ‘The management are pretty strict about security. But at that time of night, when there’s no one they are often left unlocked when you do your rounds. It’s not like there’s much to steal.’

  ‘One last thing,’ Jim added. ‘Did Bennet have a car?’

  ‘I think so. He needed need one to get down here.’

  ‘Do you know what kind?’

  ‘Do I get paid for all this?’

  Canny Highlander, Jim thought. ‘If you can let me hold on to this leaflet, I’ll see you right.’

  ‘It’s yours.’

  ‘Bennet’s car?’ Jim pressed. ‘What kind was it?’

  ‘I dinnae ken the make or model. It was just an old runabout.’

  As they left the cabin, Jim noticed a battered old caravan pitched up behind it.

  ‘Was that where Bennet was staying?’ he asked.

  ‘Aye,’ Fraser replied. ‘That’s for the nightshift. It’s got a few more mod cons than our shed.’

  ‘Can I take a look?’

  The guard looked around again.

  ‘I can’t see it would do any harm, not now.’

  The caravan wasn’t locked. Fraser opened the door wide and stood back.

  ‘On you go. Mind, you’ll not find anything. The polis were down last night.’

  Jim stepped inside and made an initial scan.

  ‘It’s no’ very big.’ Fraser pointed out the obvious.

  Just a typical holiday caravan-cum-worker’s bed-sit; chipped Formica units, a tea-stained orange bed settee and grimy midge-encrusted nets on the windows.

  ‘You said you worked here in the seventies.’ Amber distracted the guard.

  Jim heard Fraser fill her in on the glory days of the North Sea oil industry and its benefits to the West Highland community of Kishorn and surrounding area.

  He quickly pulled open all the drawers and cupboards. A couple of adult magazines at the back of one, just the usual top shelf stuff, nothing illegal, a few old newspapers and a box of Co-op tea bags. Behind them he found a small plastic bottle of tablets. Providon. Jim picked it up and examined the typed label. Just the name and dosage instructions: one a day, before bedtime. No prescription details or address for the dispensing chemist. He slipped the bottle into his pocket.

  He looked around one last time, then rejoined Amber and Fraser on the gravel outside.

  ‘Thanks very much, Donnie.’

  ‘No problem. Just remember the cash.’

  They said goodbye and returned to the car.

  ‘Anything interesting?’ Amber asked.

  ‘No. You?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not unless you’re a fan of pre-cast concrete structures.’

  *****

  Before they reached the garage with the yachts, Jim slowed the car to a halt. There was a cottage up to the left.

  ‘The people who live there may have seen something,’ Amber suggested.

  Jim turned the car and drove up the track. He parked up front, they got out and he chapped the door. There was movement inside. The door opened. A young man, dressed in blue overalls and holding a paintbrush stood before them.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Do you live here?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’ The man spoke with a Glasgow accent. He was tall, heavy set with close cropped dark hair, flecks of blue paint splattered across his scalp.

  ‘I’m a journalist,’ Jim explained. ‘I’m doing a story about what happened at the yard the other night.’

  ‘I cannae help you, I’m afraid. This is ma maw’s hoose.’

  ‘Is she about?’

  ‘Naw. She’s awa’ for the day.’

  ‘Did you see anything?’ Jim persevered.

  ‘Like I said, it’s ma’ maw’s hoose. I’m only up for the day to do a bit o’ decoratin’.’

  Jim took a step back. ‘Thanks anyway.’

  *****

  They skirted back round the coast to Kyle of Lochalsh.

  ‘Have you seen a garage?’ he asked as they entered
the village.

  ‘There’s a Shell station there.’

  Amber pointed through the windscreen to a filling station approaching on the left.

  ‘I was thinking more of somewhere that does repairs.’

  They toured the town’s back streets for a quarter of an hour until they found something fitting the bill.

  ‘A problem with the car?’ Amber asked.

  ‘I just want to check something out before we go home.’

  Jim pulled the Insignia up on the forecourt and stepped out. A chubby man in a navy blue boiler suit wandered over, rubbing his hands through a black rag.

  He looked the car over. ‘Never done one of these before, mate.’

  It didn’t inspire confidence.

  ‘The car’s fine. I was looking for a car you have in for repair.’

  The mechanic eyed the Insignia again, noted Jim’s smart threads. ‘Are you from the insurance company?’

  Jim nodded. ‘Have you got a car in belonging to...’ He grabbed a bit of paper from the door bin and examined it. ‘A Mister Maurice Bennet?’

  ‘Aye, it’s on the ramp. But I wasn’t sure...’

  ‘Can I have a look?’

  ‘Mind you don’t get your suit dirty.’

  Jim folded the paper and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket. It was the invoice from the Travel Inn in Inverness, but it did the trick.

  He got out of the car and followed the mechanic into a large wooden shed. A couple of old Fords sat with their bonnets up, various engine parts stacked on the oil-stained concrete floor flanking them.

  ‘Here it is. Vauxhall Vectra. It’s in a fair state.’

  ‘That’s what insurance companies are for,’ Jim joked.

  ‘I suppose it is.’ The mechanic stopped and looked Jim over. ‘An insurance assessor with a sense of humour, that’s a new one on us.’

  The car was up on a hydraulic ramp. Jim wandered round. He had no idea what an insurance assessor actually did. But he was prepared to wing it. He took out a notepad and pen and scribbled.

  ‘Did you have to recover it?’

  ‘It was abandoned a few miles out of town. A motorist spotted it and contacted the police.’

  ‘On which road?’

  ‘The one to Inverness.’

  The right side headlight was smashed and the radiator grill was broken. The plastic bumper was pushed in, again at the right side, and the bonnet had buckled up slightly. The nearside wing was fine, but the front offside panel was dented.

  ‘Nasty,’ he observed.

  As Jim expected, the car was red and it didn’t take long to find a couple of tiny flecks of blue paint engrained into the scratches on the front wing.

  ‘Excellent,’ he whispered to himself. A blue Ford Mondeo was driving through his mind. The mechanic interrupted his journey along the A896.

  ‘Do you want me to lower the ramp so you can take some photos?’

  Luckily Jim had a digital camera in his travel bag. It was part of a good reporter’s kit. He reeled off a few frames; a picture of Bennet’s car would come in useful, even obtained by deception.

  The mechanic accompanied the couple back across the forecourt.

  ‘We’ll be in touch,’ Jim promised. ‘But we’re waiting for the outcome of the police inquiry before we proceed.’

  Back in the car, Amber grabbed Jim’s arm. ‘We’re in the insurance game now?’ she hissed.

  ‘It’s not something I’d normally do. But it got the result I wanted.’

  She was intrigued. ‘Which is?’

  ‘Bennet’s car put Samantha O’Brien off the road.’

  She considered this for a moment and then asked the obvious question. ‘Why?’

  ‘That, I’m afraid, I don’t know.’

  But Jim sure as Hell was going to find out.

  *****

  They were back in Inverness in time for lunch. A quick burger at McDonald’s and then it was off to see Katrina McBurney.

  Mrs McBurney answered the door. She was still in her slippers and dressing gown.

  ‘I’m sorry, she’s no’ in.’

  Jim’s heart fell. ‘When will she be back?’

  ‘You’ve no’ heard, have you?’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘You’d better come in.’

  Jim and Amber trooped down the long hall again and took their seats in the lounge.

  Mrs McBurney perched by the television. ‘She’s back in the jail.’

  ‘Why?’

  Mrs McBurney closed her eyes and Jim knew tears were on the way. ‘She was nicked on Tuesday night. The sheriff remanded her yesterday. Can you believe it?’

  He wasn’t really surprised. ‘What happened?’

  She started to sob. ‘She went out on Tuesday night with some of her mates.’

  A frayed paper hanky came out. She mopped her red eyes. ‘It was the drink again. I couldnie stop her. ‘

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘What she always does.’

  Disorderly conduct, breach of the peace and resisting arrest. But it went in her favour this time. It was the perfect alibi. If she had been locked up in a police cell on Tuesday night there was no way she could have had anything to do with Bennet’s death.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Jim succeeded in his effort to sound sympathetic. ‘How long is she in for?’

  ‘Two weeks. The sheriff said he wanted to get reports. I think talking to you brought it all back.’

  Jim half expected her to be angry with him. But she didn’t seem bothered one way or another.

  ‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’ he went on.

  She looked up from her damp hanky.

  ‘Has Katrina ever mentioned a girl called Samantha O’Brien?’

  Mrs McBurney pondered the question for a moment. ‘She’s never mentioned that name before. ‘

  He spotted a copy of the Daily Record on the coffee table. It was folded in half, but the headline was there for all to see. ‘Castrated,’ in big, black capitals.

  ‘You’ve heard about Bennet then,’ he said.

  ‘It was the best thing that could have happened,’ Mrs McBurney snuffled.

  *****

  Jenny called on the mobile as they passed by Aviemore on their way down the A9.

  ‘I’ll be back in a couple of hours,’ Jim told her. ‘Is everything ready?’

  For once, Jenny sounded happy. Relieved, probably, that Jim was coming home.

  ‘What time’s the flight?’

  ‘Half past eleven. I’ve booked a taxi to take us to the airport.’

  ‘I’ll see you in a bit then love.’ He hung up.

  ‘Two weeks in Majorca? Very nice,’ Amber purred enviously. ‘But what about the story?’

  ‘I think we can leave it to the police now. I’ll file a bit about the poster and then I’m off for two weeks of sun, sea and sangria.’

  He was really looking forward to it now. Jim needed a break. Three days of Highland mist and midges was as much as he could take. And if he didn’t go he’d lose Jenny forever.

  ‘So what’s your theory?’ Amber asked.

  ‘Samantha O’Brien?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Well, I think there’s no doubt she killed her uncle. She must just have had enough. Something snapped. ‘

  ‘And Billy Reid?’

  ‘He picked her up. I think he just got in the way.’

  ‘But they were at Kishorn at the same time as Bennet. Something must have happened there. ‘

  ‘It did,’ Jim continued. ‘Last night I checked the dates that Samantha and Katrina were in prison last night. They were both in together. Sam knew exactly what Katrina was going through. If she was able to kill her uncle, then she was more than capable of having a pop at Maurice Bennet.’

  ‘So she knew he was at Kishorn.’