Whisky from Small Glasses

by Denzil Meyrick

  Liz and Glynn Seanessy were standing in the Machrie car park studying an Ordnance Survey map spread over the bonnet of the Land Rover. He had donned a pair of old-fashioned thick glasses, and his hair was now flying up in strands in the light sea breeze. Already, on a rock in the small bay, Liz had spotted a colony of common seals basking in the spring sunshine. The sea made the air fresh and new, and with the sun on the back of her neck, she was beginning to enjoy her trip, despite her unusual guide and the state of his transport.

  ‘I thought we could try up here first.’ Seanessy was pointing at a location on the map with a chewed pencil. A small ridge was located behind the bay, from which she could take some good panoramic shots and possibly catch sight of a pair of golden eagles that were nesting not far away. Now there was an image that Liz would love to capture.

  Seanessy pored over the map, then scratched at his behind, only stopping when he noticed the curl of disgust on Liz’s lips. ‘Eh, sorry, I’m afraid I’m not so used to company these days, especially of the female variety.’

  Liz noticed that his ears had become very red. ‘I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m too used to nagging my husband when he does things like that. Go on, scratch your arse whenever you want.’

  Seanessy resumed his deliberations with an awkward smile.

  ‘I canna believe it, Jimmy. He wiz a good lad, ye know? A bit o’ a lassie when it came tae the bevy, but a good lad a’ the same.’ Davie Fraser sounded frail over the phone.

  ‘I know how you must be feeling, Davie. I’ve not even been able to phone his folks yet. Everything’s just been . . .’ He didn’t get time to finish.

  ‘Well, that wiz kinda why I wiz phoning, Jimmy.’ Davie Fraser still used the diminutive with which he had addressed Daley when he was a young probationer. ‘They’ve had that prick Donald on the phone, and Mary’s quite upset.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Daley could feel his hackles rise.

  ‘Och, you ken that one. It wiz a’ “noble sacrifice”, an’ “for the greater good” stuff. He’s forgettin’ I kent him when he wiz a two-shilling bully fae the slums. Fuck me, ye wid think ye were talking tae the prime minister noo, the way he goes on . . .’

  ‘You still there, Davie?’ Daley was doodling with a pen on the large deskpad. Speaking to bereaved relatives was arduous at the best of times; even more so when you shared a past with them.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jimmy,’ Davie Fraser said, his voice breaking. ‘I had a lot o’ time fir the boy – like a son tae me, ye know? I mean, look at the state o’ me noo. I can hardly walk the length o’ myself, an’ I know it’s a’ cos o’ the bevy. I’m a fuckin’ waste o’ space. The boy wiz worth somethin’, ye know?’

  Daley agreed, but said nothing.

  Liz and Seanessy were scaling the ridge that overlooked Machrie Bay. The climb was steeper than it had looked from the car park, and she could already feel rivulets of sweat running down her back. She wondered how Seanessy must be feeling; he was still wearing a waterproof jacket and now looked extremely hot. Despite this, he kept up a commentary on the visual pleasures of their trip; they had already seen numerous seabirds, small mammals and plant life, about which Seanessy seemed to be well informed.

  ‘Ah, look, a heron. Beautiful bird, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, they’re wonderful, so majestic in flight,’ Liz replied.

  He peered at the bird through a pair of old binoculars. ‘They only nest in two places in the world, you know. Here and the African savannah. Incredible, isn’t it? I’ve always thought of them as a little bit of Africa here in Scotland.’

  After much exertion, they reached the summit of the ridge. Before them, at this elevated height, lay the full panoply of the bay. Immediately below, arable farmland gave way to patchy machair, then on to the sandy bay, fringed by the breaking waves of the restless Atlantic. In the distance, the islands of the Inner Hebrides loomed.

  Liz looked to her left, training her binoculars on what seemed like the closest visible landmass. ‘Which island is that, Mr Seanessy?’

  ‘You’re right to say it’s an island, technically that is. However, it’s a much larger one than the others.’ He had that perambulatory way of explanation peculiar to the enthusiast. ‘That is the wonderful island of Ireland.’

  Liz looked again, amazed at the proximity of it. ‘Wow, I can see a car! Look over there to the left – it’s quite clear.’

  ‘It’s only twelve miles at the closest point, not far from where we are looking at the moment, in fact. That’s the coast of County Antrim.’

  The pair continued to take in the view for a few minutes. Magnified, the Irish coast looked blue. A lighthouse flashed white every few seconds, wavering through a heat haze.

  ‘Of course that’s still the UK we are seeing, but look there – to the right. Do you see that faint shape in the distance?’

  ‘Yes, it’s pretty clear.’

  ‘That’s County Donegal, in the Republic, a foreign country to all intents and purposes now. Where my grandfather came from, actually. We haven’t strayed far as a family, come to think of it.’

  Liz breathed in deeply; the mixed scent of land and sea was heady in the spring heat. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll get one of my lenses and try to get a few shots of the Emerald Isle,’ she said, fumbling in her backpack and eventually extracting an expensive-looking piece of equipment.

  ‘Be my guest. We’ve got all day,’ replied Seanessy.

  Liz looked up and smiled in response, but his gaze was cast far away, his expression unreadable. She busied herself attaching the lens, found her portable tripod, and then looked around for the best image.

  Daley had just received a report from the pathologist: still no matches for the unidentified semen samples found on both Watson and Ritchie’s bodies. They would have to consider extending the criteria from just the sample group in the local community. Action like this was always controversial: people became concerned about a Big Brother state. But a modern police force had to use everything it had to hand in order to catch criminals: that was the pay-off.

  Forensic examination of Mulligan’s cabin cruiser, Russian Gold, had proved more fruitful. SOCO had found a number of fibres not belonging to the vessel or victims; more work was being done.

  Scott arrived back in Daley’s glass world to let him know that Donald was back in the office after his ‘doss’, as the irascible DS termed it.

  Daley walked along the corridor to what had been MacLeod’s office to find Donald sifting through a mountain of paperwork which had been deposited on the hitherto immaculate desk.

  ‘It’s you, Jim.’ Donald had been caught off guard, and he looked flustered at the DCI’s arrival. ‘Just getting down to some investigation of my own.’ He furrowed his brow to indicate sincerity, which always had the opposite effect. ‘Hopefully find what else this Highland rogue was keeping hidden. He’s coming in later for an interview with discipline and myself. I wouldn’t mind a few lines from you on what took place between you both, say in the next couple of hours?’

  ‘So you’re basically rifling through his drawers.’ Daley’s statement was flat, just the way he felt.

  Deciding to ignore the remark, Donald changed tack. ‘I’ve spoken to young Fraser’s parents, thought I would take some of the weight off your shoulders.’ Donald raised his eyebrows, looking, no doubt, for an expression of gratitude from Daley.

  ‘I heard,’ was his only response.

  ‘They were upset, as is to be expected.’

  ‘I’m going to call them myself, this evening.’

  ‘I’m sure there isn’t any need. I think I covered our response to the tragedy adequately. They’ll get a letter of condolence from the chief constable, and of course the First Minister.’ Donald smiled with satisfaction, as though, in his mind, the intervention of such exalted figures more than compensated for a dead son in a mortuary drawer.

  ‘Please ensure that no one else talks to them before I get a chance to. Enough damage has
been done already.’ Daley was emphatic.

  ‘Meaning what, exactly?’

  ‘Meaning I’ve talked to another close relative, who thought that your call was disgraceful, that’s what.’

  Donald put down the silver quaich he had been examining and glared at Daley. ‘Whatever it is that’s eating you, please excise it by bouncing it off your halfwit DS, not me. I’ve still not forgotten that we have a growing number of unsolved murders, with no solution in sight. Neither have I lost sight of the fiasco that was the last press conference you and that fuckin’ idiot presided over. If you’ve come to chastise me, think again, and get your head back into the job in hand.’ He picked up the quaich and turned it over in his hands.

  Daley ignored his boss’s outburst. ‘I need to extend the local DNA sample. Every man in the area between sixteen and forty. Is that possible?’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s possible, but is it desirable? These “human rights” things are a pain in the arse. Endless paperwork and . . .’

  ‘The Latvian skipper wants to do a deal on behalf of himself and his crew, in return for information about the drugs supply here. I’ll need an answer to both these questions within the hour.’ Daley turned on his heel and left the office, slamming the door in the process.

  Liz had managed to capture some good images, including a stag, a hare, some fantastic landscapes, and even a distant, yet clear, shot of a golden eagle soaring high over the escarpment. She had enjoyed herself, though her guide had become more and more introverted as the trip had gone on, despite her frequent attempts at small talk. True to her nature, she decided to ask why. ‘I hope everything is OK? Sorry if I’ve been blethering on. You must be used to this wonderful scenery, but it’s such a novelty for me.’

  Seanessy looked blankly at her for a moment. ‘I apologise. Been a bit off colour today. I can’t help thinking about these dreadful murders. I hear a policeman was killed last night, at least that’s the local gossip.’ He suddenly looked embarrassed. ‘I’m not fishing for information or anything . . . I mean, I know who you are. I hope you don’t think . . .’

  ‘Not at all, it’s OK. It must be such a shock to everyone, especially in a quiet little place like this.’ She decided to change the subject. ‘You were a teacher here, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, served before the mast for much longer than I care to mention. I always wanted to be a scientist. You know the type of thing: research, Oxbridge, a comfortable life as a don. Not to be, I’m afraid.’ A shadow crossed his face.

  ‘You can’t complain about where you live now, though? It’s absolutely glorious. You somehow never think that places as beautiful as this exist in Scotland. Do you know what I mean?’ Her husband would have winced at the inflection in her voice.

  ‘Yes, I suppose I have much to be thankful for.’ Seanessy looked dreamy and preoccupied.

  ‘Oh, wow!’ Liz’s shout made Seanessy jump. She was looking excitedly through her binoculars. ‘I think I’ve just seen a whale out in the bay! Surely not.’

  Seanessy took a look in the same general direction, just as the creature ejected a telltale plume of water from its blowhole hole. ‘A minke whale, if I’m not mistaken. They’re the most common here, though we occasionally get others. I’ve seen a couple of orcas, but that was further out, from a boat.’

  ‘You have a boat?’ Liz took her excited gaze away from the whale.

  ‘Well no, not exactly. I have a loan of a small vessel from some local fishermen should the need arise. Helpful for spotting the more unusual. I bagged a Manx shearwater recently – the world’s most travelled creature, you know.’

  ‘That’s fantastic. I would love to see a killer whale, or a Manx shearwater come to that. I have a friend who works as a picture editor for a wildlife magazine. I’m sure he’d be interested in unusual specimens like that. Maybe kickstart my career again.’ She looked wistfully for the whale.

  ‘Tell you what – if you’re interested, I’ll try to get the use of the boat tomorrow, if the boys aren’t using it. Unofficially, you understand, I’m not licensed to conduct nautical tours, and neither is the boat for that matter, but I do have a maritime certificate. Just don’t tell that husband of yours.’ He grinned nervously.

  ‘He’s got more than enough to worry about just now. That would be fantastic if you could manage it. I’ll pay the going rate, of course.’

  ‘I’m sure we can work something out to our mutual satisfaction, Mrs Daley.’ He gazed at her as she scanned the bay for another sight of the whale. Holding the binoculars made her white T-shirt ride up, exposing her flat tanned stomach.

  Daley and Scott were discussing just how easy or not it would be to round up the entire target male group for DNA samples to be taken: not was the general consensus they reached. For Daley, it was all a bit like wading through treacle at the moment. He couldn’t get Archie Fraser off his mind, and there was nothing worse than being emotionally preoccupied when trying to fathom a difficult case.

  ‘I’m the same as you, gaffer.’ Scott was chewing gum to stave off his nicotine craving. ‘But if it’s no’ the Latvians who’re responsible for our three murders, then who is?’

  ‘I want to take another look at all the CCTV footage.’ Daley stroked his jawline; he was badly in need of a shave. ‘There must be something we’re missing around the time Izzy left Pulse. How did she get from Main Street to the bay at Machrie? I’m sure there must be something on the CCTV.’

  Scott looked at his boss wearily. He knew the man inside out. He could see how badly Daley had been affected by the young detective’s death and how horrified he was – they all were – by the violent way that he and the other three victims had met their end. He also knew how this determination was most likely to manifest itself: painstaking reworking of all possible evidence, re-examination of all potential witnesses and those close to the victims – anything that would be likely to churn up a vital clue to break the case. It was quite unusual to have this amount of forensic evidence, and for it to have made so little difference. Yes, they had managed to expose an Eastern European gang doing a roaring trade in narcotics in this isolated community and who knows where else, plus a morally corrupt police inspector: that, though, was not the point. They had failed to come anywhere near to solving any of the three original murders, and to compound this failure had managed to lose a young colleague in the process. In short, Scott knew it was time to burn the midnight oil, time for his boss to become unbearably intense in a concerted effort to solve the crimes.

  ‘Dae ye want me tae send oot fir pizza?’

  Daley smiled weakly. Not for the first time, his DS had read his mind.

  The Land Rover was hot and stuffy inside when they opened the doors. Liz could again smell the fruits of the sea gone bad. The old diesel engine rattled into life, then they began the short drive back to Kinloch. Though she was tired, she was in high spirits. The little excursion had seen her get some good images, and she now couldn’t wait to get them onto her laptop and then Photoshop them into saleable work. She felt a sense of pride that she was, once again, doing something positive, something she knew she was good at, and something to make it worthwhile getting up.

  ‘I hope seven’s not too early for you? I have to fit in with when I can get the boat. It’s a bonus that we can sail from Kinloch, and it’ll probably take about an hour and a half to get to where we want to be. However, it’s a stunning sail, especially if this weather holds.’

  Seanessy changed gear, and Liz noticed how the sun had burned the back of his hands into an angry red, matching his forehead, unprotected by his receding hair. ‘I love being up early, and thanks for today. It’s been fantastic. I’m really looking forward to tomorrow. What do you think the chances are of seeing an orca?’

  Seanessy turned his head towards her. ‘Good, I’d say. It’s the right conditions and time of year. They tend to come a bit closer to shore during the better weather. Our friends the common seals get a bit lazy in the sun, take their eye off the
ball, and before you know it: bang! He thumped the steering wheel, making Liz jump. ‘The orca is a highly intelligent creature, you know. They’ve developed a number of really effective strategies with which to capture prey.’

  ‘I would’ve thought that swimming as fast as possible and having big teeth was all that was required.’

  ‘A good start, but not enough for these killers.’ Seanessy chuckled. ‘Do you know, sometimes they hunt in pairs close to the shore? Recently, in Sweden, I think, a woman was walking her dog along the beach and spotted one about fifty yards offshore, jumping from the water and doing tumbles – you know, the way they do in these dreadful Florida shows?’ Liz nodded for Seanessy to continue. ‘Well, of course she went a bit closer to the water’s edge to get a better look, and then from nowhere another killer whale launched itself out of the water, onto the beach, grabbed the dog, pulled it from her grasp, and waddled back into the water, quick as you like.’

  ‘Really?’ The story made Liz shudder.

  ‘Oh, yes. To an orca, you see, a dog and a seal look much the same. They use that strategy all the time with seals. The poor things get mesmerised by the antics of the orca doing tricks and forget to look out for his mate slinking through the shallows with murder in mind. Clever, eh?’

  Liz silently resolved not to walk too near the sea again.

  The flickering images on the screen were from the five CCTV cameras that covered Kinloch town centre. The detectives had seen better quality footage, but it was monochromatic and mostly in sharp focus, which made a significant difference.

  Daley was desperately going through all he knew about the murder victims: they were friends who moved in the same social circle; they all used illegal narcotics and were involved in the purchase and distribution of said substances within the community; and, lastly, they were all dead. Mulligan was from Glasgow, where background work by colleagues in the city had shown him to be a petty criminal with two charges of shoplifting, three breaches of the peace and a minor assault charge against his name. Hardly a Mr Big in the fetid world of organised crime. However, he did associate with a few key players, men whom police knew to be at the heart of Scotland’s criminal underworld. Unfortunately, coming from the housing scheme that he did, almost everybody qualified under the ‘associates’ banner, so numerous were the criminals from that area. No direct connection could be found between Mulligan and any existing crime family, and how he had managed to fund Pulse remained a mystery.