by Iain North
Jim nodded sympathetically. ‘Go on.’
‘That’s where my grandson is.’
Jim’s eyes narrowed. He couldn’t help it. He knew it was the wrong reaction, but he wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.
‘You grandson is in the dock?’
‘We only found out a few years ago. His grave is in a cemetery in Glasgow, with my husband. We had the funeral there. But the hospital lied to us. They organised the funeral, took care of it all.’ A trace of anger crept into her voice. ‘But we found out he was here. That’s why we moved here, why Andrew bought this cottage.’
‘How did this happen?’ Jim was puzzled.
‘Elaine had her baby at a special clinic. She was taking part in a medical trial.’
A light switch flicked on inside Jim’s head. ‘Have you ever heard of a man called Professor Gerry Gallagher?’ he asked.
There was surprise in her voice. ‘He was the one,’ she nodded.
‘And where was the hospital, can you remember where it was?’
‘I didn’t know at the time but we later found out that it was just up the road, on Professor Gallagher’s estate.’
Jim continued: ‘Did either Elaine or Andrew see the baby after he was born?’
Mrs Mackinnon shook her head. ‘No. They took him away. They wouldn’t let her see him.’
‘And you say Andrew is in the dock. How did you find that out?’
‘After the birth, Andrew just couldn’t let it go. He grieved like everyone else. But it was more than that. He found his son was here. I don’t know how, but he did. He used to put flowers out every week, at the edge of the water. ‘
‘Then they re-opened the yard.’
‘Aye. He couldn’t take that. He didn’t want them to disturb his son’s the grave.’
‘Did you consider telling the authorities when you found out about this?’
‘I told Andrew he should, but he just wanted his son to rest in peace.’
‘The fire on the oil rig and the other accident, they were meant to keep people away?’
Mrs Mackinnon dipped her head. She sighed deeply. ‘I tried to tell him it was wrong, hurting other people, but he wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t report my own son to the police, not after all he has been through. He was no’ well. What could I so.’
‘I’m going to have to tell the police,’ Jim said.
She nodded. ‘I know, son. It’s for the best. They can’t hurt him any more.’
*****
Jim drove as fast as he could to Kyle of Lochalsh, working through the conversation with Mae Mackinnon in his mind. He hadn’t taken any notes in the cottage but he had virtually written the story when he skidded to a stop outside the police station.
‘Is Inspector Macdonald in?’ he asked breathlessly, slapping his business card down on the counter. ‘I need to see him now. It’s very important.’
The desk sergeant lifted the white square, examined it briefly and disappeared into the back office. He returned a moment later with Macdonald.
‘Where’s the fire?’
‘No fire,’ Jim panted. ‘But I think I’ve got your motive.’
*****
The Royal Navy divers were in place by 3pm.
‘Is there no way of draining it?’ Jim asked.
‘There used to be,’ Macdonald replied. ‘But they took the pumps away when the yard closed. We’ll just have to be patient.’
The first black wetsuit slipped silently into the water, followed by two more. They swam out and disappeared under the inky black surface.
Macdonald stroked his beard. ‘If what you told me is right it could provide a few answers to the other deaths.’
‘I was thinking the same thing,’ Jim agreed. ‘Andrew Mackinnon must have been here on the night Billy Reid died.’
‘We know Billy Reid and Maurice Bennet were fighting near the dry-dock. Billy sustained a heavy blow to the back of the head. It wouldn’t surprise me if Andrew Mackinnon stepped in to deliver that. He probably chased Samantha O’Brien up the road in Bennet’s car.’
‘And Bennet?’
‘I don’t know,’ the inspector admitted.
Jim cast his mind back to the day they entered the cottage.
‘Damn it!’ he exclaimed.
Macdonald turned his head. ‘What?’
‘Bennet saw something in the water. A baby. Or at least something to do with a baby.’
‘How do you work that out?’
‘Remember when we found his body?’
‘How could I forget?’ Macdonald scowled.
‘There was a newspaper in his house, folded open at the crossword. The word ‘baby’ was scrawled on it. I didn’t give it a second thought at the time. I thought it was just an answer to one of the clues. But it makes sense now. The ashtray was overflowing with tab ends and the whisky bottle. He must have seen something in the water that really spooked him.’
‘Mackinnon must have known Bennet saw something. But it is a weak motive for murder.’
‘From what his mother told me, Andrew Mackinnon was several sandwiches short of a picnic.’
Macdonald examined his wristwatch. ‘My colleagues in Inverness should be picking Professor Gallagher up about now.’
‘How long do you think the divers will be?’ Jim asked.
‘They’ll be down there as long as it takes, ‘Macdonald said defiantly.
‘How’s your friend?’ Macdonald asked, changing the subject.
‘I should check,’ Jim replied, pulling out his mobile.
He called the hospital. A moment later he hung up and plonked the handset down on the dashboard of the police Land Rover. ‘Stable.’
‘Hospital speak,’ Macdonald observed.
‘Not very helpful.’
Macdonald lifted a Thermos flask out of the door pocket. ‘Coffee?’
‘Aye.’
He filled two plastic cups and handed one to Jim. ‘Mrs Macdonald makes a fine cup of coffee.’
A couple of hours passed, a couple more cups of coffee were consumed. Divers emerged and submerged, but nothing came out of the water.
‘It’s very murky down there, sir.’ The officer in charge of the operation was standing by the Land Rover, leaning in through Macdonald’s window. ‘There’s a hell of a lot of debris, old bicycles, cars, that sort of thing.’
‘Nothing else?’ the inspector asked.
‘Not yet.’
The rusty hulk of a car bubbled up under the surface of the water. A crane swung into action and slowly hoisted it aloft, the jib swinging round to deposit it on the bank above the dock. A couple of police officers gave it the once over. Jim saw them shake their heads in unison.
‘Carry on,’ Macdonald instructed.
‘More divers are on their way up from Faslane. They should be here in a couple of hours.’
Another old car surfaced.
‘It’s the biggest dustbin in Wester Ross,’ Macdonald laughed.
Jim couldn’t bring himself to respond. Every crossable part of his anatomy was firmly crossed and such a contortion of muscle bred unbearable tension.
The police radio crackled into life. Macdonald picked it up and responded. The message: Gallagher was nowhere to be found. His office in Inverness was raided, as was his flat in town and his Highland estate.
‘He’s gone to ground,’ Macdonald observed. ‘I guess we’re maybe on to something after all.’
‘You doubted me?’ Jim asked.
‘I needed confirmation, especially when I have an overtime budget to justify.’
A third car was lowered on to the dockside.
‘We’ll soon have a fleet,’ Macdonald said, stony-faced.
‘Might help clear up one or two...’
The radio burst into life again, interrupting Jim.
‘I think there’s something here you might want to take a look at, sir.’
Macdonald grabbed his cap from the dashboard, yanked open his door and set off across the flat expanse
of cracked concrete. Jim followed. The two officers were stood next to the open boot of the third car.
‘What is it lads?’ Macdonald boomed.
‘Skeleton, sir.’
Jim peered over his shoulder into the boot of the dented Morris Marina. A complete human skeleton lay contorted on the floor, arms behind the spine, knees pulled up towards the rib cage.
‘Bugger!’ Macdonald exclaimed.
‘Not exactly what we were looking for,’ Jim agreed.
‘I sense a can of worms opening.’
‘Do you think this is connected?’
Macdonald shrugged his shoulders. ‘I hope you haven’t landed me with another bloody murder inquiry.’
He poked the bones. All traces of flesh and clothing were gone, but the hoops of wire binding the wrists and ankles were obvious enough. Macdonald called the force photographer and forensic officers over.
‘It’s a Glasgow registration number,’ he observed, pointing to the front of the car. ‘Let’s hope we can pass this one on to our friends down there. We’ve enough to contend with here without this.’
He bounded over to the man in charge of the divers. ‘Bring everything you find up, okay? We need to empty that hole. God knows what else there is down there.’
Macdonald instructed one of his sergeants to trace the registration number, then disappeared into a police incident caravan newly arrived on site.
‘It’s going to be a long night,’ he remarked to Jim. ‘You can hang around, but I’d rather you stayed in here.’ Macdonald gestured to a plastic chair in the corner. ‘I’ll let you know if anything happens. ‘ He turned to a young constable, grabbing up a telephone at the same time. ‘This is a crime scene now. Make sure no one comes in through that gate without my permission. And where’s Dr Mackenzie when I need him?’
Macdonald punched in a number and tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk. ‘We’re going to need another crane. And get the dock ringed off’
He slapped the handset down and turned to Jim again. ‘Have you got a cigarette?’
Dr Mackenzie arrived an hour after the skeleton put in its impromptu appearance. He spent 10 minutes prodding the bones before joining Macdonald in the caravan.
‘No obvious cause of death,’ he sighed.
Dr Mackenzie was a big man – at least six and a half feet tall with a mammoth bulk to accompany his height. He squeezed his giant frame into a suit at least two sizes too small for him. The buttons on his frayed grey waistcoat were fighting a losing battle to maintain control of what was within – one had already given up the good fight and popped off to enjoy a peaceful retirement, most probably down the back of a pub sofa somewhere in Inverness.
‘What?’ Macdonald snapped, his mind trying to stay afloat above a swirling tide of information flooding in on all fronts. Telephones were ringing, radio messages were buzzing around and officers kept appearing and disappearing.
‘There’s no obvious damage to the skeleton - the skull and bones are all intact.’
‘Any thoughts?’ he asked hopefully.
Dr Mackenzie shook his head dolefully. ‘All I can say for sure is that it’s a man.’
‘Any idea when he died?’
‘It wasn’t yesterday.’
‘I think I worked that out without the benefit of a university education.’
Dr Mackenzie ignored the inspector’s sarcasm. ‘I should be able to tell you more after I’ve examined the skeleton in the lab.’
‘Okay,’ Macdonald said.
‘Can I go?’
‘Hang about. I’m hoping to have some more for you.’
‘Cheers.’ The pathologist didn’t sound enthusiastic.
*****
Chapter 22
A young constable was sent off for supplies at around midnight. Not vital police equipment, but the little things that are important to body, soul and sanity – Coke, crisps, chocolate bars and cigarettes.
‘Where’s he going to get all that at this time of the night?’ Jim asked.
‘We have our sources,’ Inspector Macdonald winked.
Jim didn’t doubt this was true as he tracked the lamps of the squad car skirt round the head of Loch Kishorn and over the headland towards Lochcarron. Back in the mobile control unit, the kettle was being switched on for the umpteenth time. Jim didn’t go back in. His body was swimming in caffeine. He needed a breath off fresh air, and some nicotine. Macdonald warned him not to wander too far, but he had itchy feet.
Over at the dock, halogen lamps powered by noisy diesel generators poured streams of bright white light on to the water. The crane was busy hauling up another broken car. He sensed the hulk of Dr Mackenzie behind him.
‘I’m told this is all your fault,’ the big man boomed, amiable enough but clearly someone who would rather be tucked up in his bed at such a late hour.
‘I suppose is it.’
‘It’ll be worth it if it does come off. Gallagher’s been riding for a fall for a long time now. I’d like to be around when the day finally comes.’
‘Oh?’ Jim was interested.
‘He’s always was a smart arse. Excuse my French. Thought he was above the rest of us because he had a big Highland estate.’ Dr Mackenzie didn’t mince his words.
‘You didn’t get on then?’ Jim guessed.
‘No’ really.’
‘And what do you know about his background.’
‘As far as I can tell he first appeared on the scene in the 1950s. He had his own drug company and a few early successes.’
‘And before the 1950s?’ Jim probed.
‘I’ve no idea where he came from. There was talk he’d come over from the States after the war. But if he did, he hid the accent well.’
Jim offered the doctor a cigarette.
He declined. ‘You’ve obviously no’ seen the inside of a smoker’s lungs.’
‘No.’
‘Ever seen the inside of a chimney?’
Jim nodded.
‘Close enough.’
He lit up anyway. Jim inhaled, held for a moment, and blew a cloud of blue-grey smoke out into the crisp night air. ‘What do you know about his work now?’
‘Is this an official interview?’
‘Off the record,’ Jim assured him.
‘Caleypharma is a tiny fish in a very big ocean but no one else will touch him.’
‘But that could change if he came up with a drug to fight HIV,’ Jim suggested.
‘It would probably make his fortune,’ Mackenzie agreed.
A second crane was lifting a large metal drum out of the water. Inspector Macdonald jogged past Jim and the doctor. ‘I think we’ve got something.’
‘I’ll get my bag.’ Mackenzie marched back to the caravan.
‘Can I come and have a look?’ Jim asked.
Macdonald paused a moment, then nodded. ‘Keep out of the way.’
It was an ordinary looking oil drum. Water poured from an assortment of jagged rusty holes on to the ground as it was lowered towards a large sheet of blue plastic.
‘Stand back!’ Macdonald ordered.
A couple of forensics’ officers, dressed top to toe in white hooded bodysuits, unhooked the crane chains and made a cursory examination of the metal tub.
Inspector Macdonald, Dr Mackenzie and Jim stood about 10 metres away. Radio messages revealed a second drum had just been located.
‘It was on the bottom,’ Macdonald explained, ‘Below a thick layer of mud.’
Heavy cutting equipment arrived on the scene.
‘Open it up!’ Macdonald ordered.
It took only three well-aimed hammer blows to crack the top open. The corroded metal pulled back, a torrent of mud and water spewed out.
A couple of rocks were lifted from the container – huge lumps of pink granite, then a selection of metal implements.
Macdonald nudged Dr Mackenzie’s arm impatiently. ‘Take a look.’
The big man wandered over and crouched down by a pile of what looked
to the untrained eye like scrap.