Whisky from Small Glasses

by Denzil Meyrick

  ‘Fine, Hamish, fine.’ Daley noticed how Campbell, despite being a Scot, pronounced the name with a flat vowel, in the way of the Scottish upper classes; an unconscious imitation of their social peers south of the border. ‘More importantly, what can we do for you, old chap?’

  For a heartbeat Daley thought the old fisherman wasn’t going to answer; he wondered if he had even heard the coxswain. Slowly though, Hamish turned his head, and seemed to be sniffing the air. ‘Aye, there somethin’ no’ right, Mister Campbell. Can ye no’ smell the taint in the air?’

  Campbell raised his head, as though he too was about to carry out an olfactory assessment. He stopped though, thinking better of it. ‘What do you mean, Hamish? None of this mystic stuff. Have you seen something? We’re here to find a small cabin cruiser that’s been reported to be drifting unmanned off Thomson’s Point. Have you spotted it at all?’

  ‘No, no, canna say that I have. But ye don’t need tae see the moon tae know it’s there, dae ye noo?’ Hamish flashed the huge beaming smile Daley had first noticed in the harbour master’s office.

  ‘Eh, what do you mean exactly?’ Campbell looked confused.

  ‘It’s a black day, that’s a’ I’m saying. Ye can feel it in the air.’ He raised his head and sniffed, as though illustrating the point. ‘Aye, an’ the weather’s fair comin’ in tae.’ He turned to Daley. ‘I’m willing tae bet you’d still rather be cuddled up tae that lovely wife o’ yours in bed, eh, Chief Inspector?’

  Daley was stuck for words, however, Campbell saved the day. ‘Well, we have to get on, Hamish, and judging by that sky and the weather report we’ve just taken off the satellite, you’d be well advised to head back to Kinloch now. I don’t want to be diverted to come and rescue you, too.’

  Daley, who admittedly had little knowledge of nautical etiquette, thought Campbell was being a little high-handed. However, he should have realised that the old man would have a response to this.

  ‘I’ve spent mair time on the wan wave than you have experience on the sea. Aye, an’ I don’t need any fancy statalite neither.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to be the judge of that, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Come on, Chief Inspector, we’ll get back underway, and leave this old sea dog to his tricks.’ Campbell waved perfunctorily at Hamish and stomped off towards the bridge, with Daley following in his wake. The detective turned round to bid Hamish a farewell. The old man was standing proud at the wheelhouse of the small boat, his hand raised in a middle-fingered salute.

  ‘No’ you, Mister Daley. No, no’ for you.’

  Daley was being strapped back into his seat as he heard the loud chug of Hamish’s boat sailing away from the lifeboat and towards Kinloch.

  Their vessel was soon ploughing through the waves. From what Daley could see through the bridge windows, heavy rain had started to fall, and the yawing motion of the boat indicated that the sea was much more restless than it had been when they left Kinloch harbour.

  Presently, Campbell announced over the tannoy, ‘By my reckoning, gents, it will take us about another ten minutes to reach the last known location of the vessel we’re looking for. However, such is the fickle nature of time and tide, we are already on the lookout for her. As soon as we find anything, I’ll give you a shout, and then you three will come into your own.’

  Scott shouted over to Daley, ‘I wisna expecting tae be chasing the wreck o’ the Hesperus when I got up the morn’.’ He still looked bilious. ‘First that fuckin’ press conference, noo this. It’s like that Japanese game show – you know the one where they stick scorpions doon their troosers and suchlike. Aye, an’ before you get any ideas, you’re no’ pitting any dangerous insects anywhere near me, never mind my troosers.’

  Their laughter was stopped in its tracks by a sudden slowing of the engines and Campbell’s voice over the tannoy: ‘Gentlemen, we have reached our objective.’

  Daley released himself from the harness and walked forward to the bridge of the lifeboat, where Campbell was speaking into a radio microphone. ‘Vessel, Russian Gold, this is Kinloch lifeboat. Is there anyone aboard?’ Daley could see no movement on the small cabin cruiser.

  He looked at the coxswain, who tried again. ‘Russian Gold, if you can hear me please show yourselves. We are making ourselves fast to your port side, and will board unless we receive confirmation that all is well and that your vessel is appropriately manned. Over.’

  Nothing. Daley gave Campbell a questioning look. ‘OK, Chief Inspector, we’ve fulfilled our legal obligations. There’s no response from the vessel and we’re now at liberty to board, as I feel she may be a hazard to other shipping. Charlie, signal my intent to Clyde Coastguard, please.’ His crewman busied himself on the radio, while Campbell extricated his considerable bulk from his seat.

  ‘So, how do you want us to proceed, Mr Campbell? This is still your domain, after all. Though I’ll ask you and your crew to disturb as little on or in the boat as possible, in case it turns out to be a crime scene.’

  ‘Of course, of course. By the same token, I must ask you and your officers to follow my instructions as far as gaining this vessel is concerned. We’ll get you some more suitable footwear for a start.’

  The ever helpful Gareth appeared with a selection of bright yellow Wellington boots. The three officers donned the boots, and followed Campbell out on deck.

  The sky was a lowering grey, and although the sea was not showing itself in angry breakers, the swell was making the thin line of the horizon skew in an alarming way. A light drizzle had already coated their waterproofs. Scott’s hair had been pushed back from his face, and was now standing in salt-and-pepper spikes from his head. Fraser was looking at the grey water between the two vessels as three lifeboat men – one of them now on the deck of Russian Gold – secured ropes between the lifeboat and the cabin cruiser.

  ‘I’ll take the lead, Chief Inspector. I’m technically in charge of both vessels, unless, of course, something happens that should ensure that I relinquish that charge. The lads will secure both vessels as soundly as possible, but I should warn you all that getting down onto her deck will be tricky in these conditions. Are we good to go, gents?’ He looked at the three detectives, who showed various degrees of acknowledgement. Scott, unsurprisingly, looking the least willing.

  The main problem was that the cabin cruiser was a much smaller vessel than the lifeboat, which meant that each man would have to be lowered from boat to boat, as well as across a gap which, regardless of how well the lifeboat crew had made their lines, changed in width and height quite rapidly.

  Campbell explained: ‘I’m afraid that we can’t lash her right to our side, as we’ll end up doing damage to both vessels. Do you follow?’ Daley nodded. ‘What I recommend is that you watch me and then try to replicate what I do.’ With that he made his way to the lifeboat’s safety rail, stiffly hefted his left leg over it while leaning on a stanchion, then with equal lack of poise repeated the process with his right leg. ‘Now,’ Campbell said hesitantly, as he stared at the gap with concentration, perched on the narrow ledge between the safety rail and oblivion. ‘One judges the pitch and roll . . .’ He leaned forward, hand outstretched towards the grim-faced lifeboat man below. ‘And . . . off !’ He jumped clear of the lifeboat, while making a desperate attempt to grab the hand of his crewman below. Unfortunately, he misjudged his jump, the rapidly rising swell having propelled the smaller vessel upwards and towards him more quickly than he had anticipated. Despite the valiant attempts of his colleague to arrest the fall, Campbell’s large bulk hurtled onto him with some force, ending with both lifeboat men writhing on the deck clutching various parts of their anatomy, to many grunts and oaths.

  ‘Fuck me.’ Scott eyed the scene with a furrowed brow. ‘I’m no’ in a hurry to replicate that. If that’s the best he can dae, how the fuck am I goin’ tae manage?’

  ‘Are you OK, Mr Campbell?’ Daley enquired of the stricken coxswain, who was now being helped to his feet by his unfortunate crewma
n.

  ‘Ah, harrumph.’ He brushed himself down. ‘Well, you get the general idea. Who’s next?’ He looked up at the policemen.

  Jim Daley was not one to shirk the responsibilities of rank, so he stepped over the rail, positioned himself on the ledge, and looked down at the ever-changing gap. It reminded him of the penny falls he had played at the fair when he was young. Trying to calculate the optimum time to insert a two-pence coin in order that it would fall at the back of the pile, prompting the outpouring of financial reward. He had always been quite good at it. He held his hand out towards the crewman and took the leap of faith.

  He had always prided himself, despite his size, on being relatively graceful; he was a good dancer and golfer, and motor skills picked up during these pursuits saw him land squarely on the deck. He breathed out in silent relief.

  Fraser managed the jump with some aplomb, judging the rise and fall of the vessels relative to each other perfectly. He landed on deck sure-footedly, barely requiring the assistance of the crewman.

  Next, Scott. Daley caught him muttering something about Fraser being more like Rudolf Nureyev as he concentrated on the job in hand. ‘Are yous ready?’ He turned to Gareth, who was giving advice at his side, and then, without warning, he jumped. Not the exaggerated stride that the others had executed with varying degrees of success, but a full-blown spring, head first, towards the smaller boat. He landed, somewhat fortuitously, on the large bulk of the coxswain, and for the second time in a couple of minutes, the corpulent solicitor struggled on the deck of the cruiser, Scott on top of him muttering a sentence devoid of anything but expletives. ‘Well done, Detective Sergeant Scott. You reminded me a bit of a Rangers striker there – beautiful dive.’

  Campbell, now back on his feet again, gave the remaining lifeboat crew the thumbs up and surveyed the deck of the cabin cruiser. ‘Typical of its class, Chief Inspector. This is the flying bridge.’ He gestured at a level above the main deck, which housed a large wheel and was bordered on three sides by a slanted windscreen, giving it the look of an expensive open-top sports car. ‘Now, here’ – he pointed at a low door located on the base of the bridge – ‘is the access to the lower cabins: heads, bunks, galley, that sort of thing.’ He pushed at the door with the toe of his boot. It swung open with a high-pitched squeak to reveal a precipitous set of steps leading to the inner cabin, which was out of sight. ‘Be my guest, officers.’ Campbell made a sweeping gesture with his outstretched hand, as though showing them into his own home.

  Daley grabbed the handrails and gingerly lowered himself down the steps, the unfamiliar footwear making his descent difficult. Already, a sixth sense was telling him all was far from well. A few steps on, he realised why.

  The body of a woman was slumped forward on hands and knees over a table which was bolted to the floor. She was kneeling on an upholstered bench that served as a dining chair. She was naked apart from a bra, which had been torn in two and hung from her shoulders by its straps. Daley noticed her hair was tied back in a ponytail with a thick white bobble.

  The cause of death was sickeningly obvious. The handle of a stout wooden walking stick protruded from her anus, and had been inserted there with such force that a huge amount of dark congealed blood was visible down the backside and legs of the victim, and also in pools on the bench and the cabin floor below. Daley reckoned that the walking stick had been forced almost two feet into the body of the dead woman.

  ‘Only police officers down here, please,’ Daley shouted. He didn’t want Campbell and the crewman to witness or trample over the gruesome scene with their big boots.

  ‘Have you found something? What the fuck?’ Scott was now just behind his boss.

  ‘Careful, Brian. Archie, come down here, will you?’ The DC was descending the stairs. Fraser looked at the woman’s body, and then he and Daley edged around the pool of blood on the floor to look at her face. Her head was left-side down on the Formica table, her eyes wide open in an expression of abject horror; more dark thick blood issued from her mouth and pooled on the table.

  ‘Sir, that’s Janet Ritchie.’ Fraser was as white as a ghost.

  ‘Are you sure, son?’

  ‘Yes, no doubt.’ He turned away from the scene, desperately trying to swallow down the gag reflex.

  ‘Go back up and get yourself a breath of air.’ Daley nodded to the DC. ‘See if you can get a mobile signal and let me know. Don’t tell our lifeboat friends anything right now, or news of this will be back in Kinloch before we’ve had a chance to speak to the office. OK, on you go.’ He watched Fraser make his way back up top.

  ‘Fuck, Jim, that’s some mess.’ Even Scott, the hardened detective, was horrified by the level of violence on display.

  ‘I’ve a feeling there’s more. Come on, Brian.’ The two detectives walked towards a narrow wooden door. Daley took a hankie from his pocket and turned the handle. They found themselves in the sleeping cabin. On a double bed with raised sides lay the body of a man, stripped to the waist. His left arm had blackened due to a tourniquet having been applied just above his elbow. A large hypodermic syringe was still attached to his forearm, its needle thrust deep into the darkening flesh.

  Peter Mulligan. It was not the first time either of the officers had attended a heroin overdose victim, but it still shocked. The man’s bowels had emptied, and his head lay in a pool of his own vomit – the normal physical manifestations of a body desperately attempting to rid itself of the poison destroying it. A raw black gash ran along the neck of the victim. The corpse had been decapitated, then the severed head put back in place as a macabre resolution.

  ‘It doesna’ get any prettier, Jim.’ Scott held his hand over his nose. ‘What are these marks?’ He pointed to the victim’s chest, where the man’s chest hair had been singed away, leaving small brown burns to the skin.

  ‘Taser.’ Daley bent down low over the victim, without touching him. ‘He’s been tasered. I remember being on a tactical weapons course a few months ago, and they asked for volunteers. You know that bastard Phil Anderson from the crime squad?’

  ‘Aye, he’s a right prick.’

  ‘Well, they asked for volunteers, so he stuck up his hand and they tasered him. Took him the rest of the day to recover. He had two wee marks exactly the same as this on his stomach where the electrodes had attached themselves. Our man here’s been tasered, then the overdose has been administered, no doubt about it.’

  Scott peered at the corpse. ‘They’re no’ long deid, either o’ them. Whit dae you reckon, Jim? A few hours?’

  ‘Something like that. Late last night maybe.’ He stood up, almost hitting his head off the low cabin ceiling. ‘We’ll have to get forensics down here pronto and secure the crime scene. How the fuck do we do that out here?’

  ‘Can these bastards in the launch sail oot the Clyde? I’ve never heard aboot it if they have.’

  ‘I’ll have to get a hold of the supreme leader – he’s going to love this. Give Fraser a shout, Brian. See if he’s managed to get a signal.’ Scott ascended the steps gingerly, to be met by coxswain Campbell at the top.

  ‘Just what’s going on, Sergeant? This boy won’t tell us anything. I have a right to know. After all, I’m still in charge of this little party. So come on, spill the beans. If it’s legal consequences you’re worried about, remember I’m a lawyer.’

  Scott looked at him unimpressed. ‘The boy you’re referring to is a detective constable, and your being in charge has just come tae an’ end. Have you got a signal, Archie?’

  Fraser, still looking green, was making his way towards them from the stern. ‘Aye, comes and goes a bit, but it’ll do.’

  ‘I have a satellite comms link back on board. You can use that, but first you must tell me what the fuck’s happening.’ Campbell was doing his best to sound emphatic.

  ‘This boat’s a murder scene.’ Scott suddenly looked weary. ‘For the time being, however, I don’t want anyone from your lifeboat phoning hame tae tell the missus – is tha
t clear? The chief inspector will take charge from here.’ Scott looked to the heavens. The weather was deteriorating fast. His face was already soaking and the cabin cruiser was beginning to pitch and roll alarmingly, despite now being tethered at both bow and stern to the much larger lifeboat. ‘What’s the likely forecast, Mr Campbell?’

  ‘Grim, Sergeant. I’ve just had an alert from Clyde Coastguard – we’ve got a storm warning. I strongly advise we tow this vessel back to Kinloch before it becomes a Herculean task. Do you understand?’

  Scott went back below. ‘The weather’s getting bad. Yer man says we’ve got a storm on the way, and he’s advising us tae head back tae Kinloch wi’ this little boat o’ horrors in tow. What dae ye think, boss?’

  Daley thought for a moment. It was unlikely that there would be anything gained by maintaining the vessel in her current location. Even from his limited knowledge, he realised that the evidence would be at risk with a storm brewing. ‘OK, Brian, tell him to make arrangements to tow us in as soon as possible. I’ll need to get a hold of Donald, and we’ll have to get Flynn to find us a berth somewhere on the harbour where the whole of Kinloch can’t see what’s going on. We’ll have to have somebody down here for the duration too.’

  ‘Young Archie says he’s got an intermittent signal on the blower. Campbell’s got a satellite phone.’ Scott shrugged. ‘Your call, James.’

  Daley chose the satellite phone on the lifeboat, and after another undignified scramble from one vessel to another, made the relevant calls.

  Flynn, back in Kinloch, assured him that Russian Gold would be away from prying eyes on the second pier where the lifeboat itself was moored, which was currently closed to the public for health and safety reasons. The harbour master told him that the Royal Navy sometimes used the berthing for dignitaries coming ashore from warships moored further out in the loch and that the health and safety notice was merely a ploy – ‘anything to keep the locals at bay’. The harbour master also promised to provide plastic sheeting to cover the boat and help to preserve the crime scene.