So it was that a comatose Chipchase was borne away to fight for his life in a distant hospital ward, while Harry remained on Barra to answer any questions that might be put to him by the small team of detectives helicoptered down from Stornoway to investigate three violent deaths at the normally uneventful southern extremity of their command area.
Ailsa, after making a statement to the Stornoway team, had retreated to the house of a family friend. Harry had barely spoken to her since their arrival in Castlebay aboard the launch. They had radioed ahead and been met halfway by the lifeboat, so that Chipchase could be rushed to the hospital. Only the resident officer at Barra police station had been waiting for them at the pier, in a strangely low-key start to what was to become a multiple homicide inquiry.
One of those homicides had been an act of self-defence, of course. Harry had stressed that at every opportunity. The detectives, however, led by a dour and inscrutable chief inspector called Knox, had given the circumstances of Murdo Munro’s death far more attention than those of his killers’. There was an unspoken implication that they had got no less than they deserved for descending on such a peaceful little island set on mayhem and murder. The scenes of crime – the launch, the Munro croft on Vatersay and the inshore waters of Haskurlay, where there was a body still to be recovered – had become the focus of their activities. The tangled connections between what had occurred that day and the deaths of two other members of the Munro family fifty years before had barely been addressed.
They would be eventually, though. Harry was well aware of that. There would be a combing of old files. There would be consultations with the Grampian and Tayside forces. There would be a lot of assimilating of information and assessing of evidence. And it would all take time. Nothing would be concluded quickly.
The intelligence dimension to the case would be a further complication. With the original version of Maynard’s disk lost, the true purpose of Operation Clean Sheet remained unprovable. And Harry felt sure it would be officially denied. The role of MRQS as a memory-wiping drug was no better than a rumour in the pharmacological world anyway, according to what Samuels had told Donna – something the US Army might or might not have tried out on some of its own men back in the fifties. This had nevertheless been sufficient to convince Donna she could no longer sit idly by in Vancouver. Her discovery upon arrival in Swindon that Harry had omitted to mention to her the small matter of the destruction of his old home had only heightened her alarm. And the cryptic message he had left for her with Jackie had done nothing to lessen it.
At least she now knew he was safe and well. Harry walked slowly up from the playing field to the Castlebay Hotel rehearsing in his mind various ways to explain to her why he had misled her and reckoning that an abject apology would probably serve him best. A blue and white police launch was heading in fast across the bay towards the pier, perhaps bearing some of the investigating team back from Haskurlay. If so, they might have more questions for him. But they knew where to find him. He was going nowhere without their consent. He had given them his word on the point and meant to stick to it. It was the best demonstration of his innocence he could devise. And there remained the possibility that his innocence might still be questioned in some quarters. Ailsa had said she did not care who among the Clean Sheeters had killed her father and brother and hired Frank and Mark. But Harry cared. And so would a good few others when they heard what had happened.
Harry’s earlier call to Donna had been from the police station. Now, in the privacy of his hotel room, he was able to speak to her more freely.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything that was going on. I knew you’d be tempted to do what you did in the end anyway – fly over. And I didn’t want to expose you to the danger I was already in. It really was as simple as that.’
‘We’re man and wife, Harry. We’re supposed to be a team.’
‘I know. But it’s a team of three. Someone had to look after Daisy.’
‘While you looked after yourself?’
‘Well, I didn’t do such a bad job, did I?’
‘You’ve been lucky. That’s what it amounts to.’
‘Unlike Barry.’
‘Yeah. Sorry, hon. How is he?’
‘Not good. The doc muttered about his unhealthy lifestyle catching up with him.’
‘How long will the police want you to stay on Barra?’
‘No idea. There’s a lot for them to get their heads round. It could be a few days. More, even. I just don’t know.’
‘I reckoned not. So, I’ll join you there tomorrow.’
‘You will?’
‘I’m booked on an early flight to Glasgow. Jackie’s going to drive me up to Heathrow at the crack of dawn. The connecting flight to Barra gets in at ten.’
Harry had not expected to be reunited with Donna so soon. The prospect of seeing her again in a matter of hours rather than days suddenly reminded him how much he had missed her. ‘Ten tomorrow morning? That’s great.’
‘You’re not going to try and put me off again?’
‘Absolutely not. It’ll be—’ A sharp rap at the door sounded in his other ear. ‘Hold on.’ He covered the receiver and called out: ‘Yes?’
‘Chief Inspector Knox, Mr Barnett. I need a word. Urgently.’
‘Just a minute.’ Swearing under his breath, Harry went back to Donna. ‘I’m going to have to ring off. The police want to speak to me. I’ll call you again as soon as they’ve gone.’
‘Make sure you do. I’m still worried about you.’
‘Don’t be. ’Bye for now.’ Harry put the phone down. ‘Come in.’
Knox entered quietly, closing the door behind him. He was a short, squat, sandy-haired man in his forties or early fifties, with a guardedly polite manner and an unreadable demeanour. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ he said, though it was impossible to tell whether he genuinely was or not.
‘My wife,’ Harry explained.
‘Relieved you’re in one piece, no doubt.’
‘Yes. Naturally. She’ll be joining me here tomorrow, as a matter of fact.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Knox frowned.
‘Is that a problem?’
‘I’d have to say it is.’
‘Why?’
‘Because … I’m hoping you’ll agree to do something for us, Mr Barnett. And if you do … you won’t be here when she arrives.’
Chapter Fifty-nine
KNOX PROWLED BRIEFLY around the room before settling in its only armchair, facing Harry, who was sitting on the bed nearest the telephone.
‘You were sharing this room with Mr Chipchase, I think you said,’ Knox remarked, apropos of nothing as far as Harry was concerned.
‘That’s right.’
‘How is he?’
‘No one seems too sure. He’s on his way to Glasgow for specialist treatment. But … he hasn’t regained consciousness since he passed out on the launch, so …’ Harry shrugged helplessly. ‘It’s touch and go.’
‘I expect you’d like to follow him to Glasgow. Be on hand for, er … any changes in his condition.’
‘Of course I would. Are you saying I can?’
‘I’d better explain, hadn’t I? To be honest, I’d rather have got more of a grip on the case before considering any moves like this, but … the timing leaves us little choice. I’ve spoken to Chief Inspector Ferguson in Aberdeen and Inspector Geddes in Dundee. They’ve filled me in on the background and I’ve brought them up to speed with what’s happened here. They agree with what I’m proposing.’
‘Which is?’
‘I’ll come to that in a moment. Let me start by saying I’ve no doubt of Mrs Redpath’s truthfulness or the accuracy of her statement.’
‘What about mine?’
‘In effect, she’s your guarantor, Mr Barnett. She’s why we now also regard you as a truthful witness.’
‘Thanks very much,’ said Harry levelly.
‘We had to take account of your status as a suspect in a parallel inquiry.
I’m sure you understand that.’
‘I … suppose so.’
‘Good. Now, I propose to leave the whole matter of the deaths of Hamish and Andrew Munro on Haskurlay fifty years ago and the alleged military exercise there—’
‘It’s a bit more than alleged, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know. And neither do you, according to your own statement.’ Knox’s gaze hardened briefly before he continued. ‘At all events, I propose to leave that matter till another day. My priority this day is finding out who hired the two men who killed Murdo Munro and attempted to kill you, Mrs Redpath and Mr Chipchase. As it happens, we’ve made some progress on that score, which is what brings me here. Frank was obviously the one in charge. Yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘And obviously intended from the outset to eliminate Mark at some point.’
‘Yes.’
‘After killing you all aboard the launch, he must have planned to make his escape in the inflatable. He could hardly have crossed to the mainland in such a craft, but it would have done him for a return trip to Barra. We found the Ford Fiesta parked on the verge further along the road from the Munro house. That’s presumably where he meant us to find it. So, the question is: how did he plan to leave Barra? The next ferry to Oban’s not till tomorrow morning. Nor is the next flight to Glasgow. You came over by ferry yourself, so you may not know the airport here on Barra is simply a beach, albeit a grand wide one, away on the north coast. It’s an afternoon high tide just now, so it’s a morning service only. That’s why we had to come down by helicopter ourselves.’
‘So he would have been trapped here?’
‘Ah no. We’ve good reason to think not. Our theory is that he actually planned to take the inflatable a little further, to Eriskay, the next island north of here. That’s linked by causeway to South Uist and Benbecula. If he had a car waiting for him on Eriskay, he could have driven to the proper tarmac airport at Benbecula and caught the five-thirty flight to Glasgow from there. There are several single male passengers booked on it. We expect one of them to be a no-show.’
‘Frank.’
‘It makes sense. The inflatable would have been a safe distance from the scene of the crime. And with Mark identifiable as the man who hired the launch here on Barra this morning, he’d be in the clear. Not to mention Glasgow, where we’re certain he planned to be tomorrow morning.’
‘What makes you so certain of that?’
‘You didn’t search the body, did you, Mr Barnett?’
‘No.’
‘If you had, you’d have come across nothing to put a name or address to him. Maybe he left his credit cards and so forth in the car on Eriskay, if our theory about his method of escape is correct. But it might take us a few days to find the car. And we can’t wait till then. Because what he did have in his pocket was a mobile phone, on which he’d recently recorded – but not yet sent – a text message. Did he strike you as a vain man?’
‘Vain?’ It was not something Harry had considered before. Frank’s capacity for murderous violence had been of more immediate interest than whether he habitually admired his reflection in shop windows. But, now the question had been posed … ‘Well, he was certainly no shrinking violet.’
‘Only there’s a hint of vanity to my mind in drafting the message before the event.’
‘What was the message?’
‘“Contract executed. Confirm Blythswood Square for settlement, 8 a.m. tomorrow.”’
‘Where’s Blythswood Square?’
‘Central Glasgow.’
‘I see.’
‘A pay-off in Glasgow fits our theory rather neatly.’
‘Do you know who he was going to send the message to?’
‘No. But we have the mobile number it was destined for. We’ve traced it, naturally. A phone bought in the West End of London – O2 in Oxford Street, to be precise – twelve days ago. Pay as you go. And a cash sale. So, we’ve no idea who made the purchase.’
‘Twelve days?’ That took it to the period between Askew’s meeting with Ailsa in South Kensington and his departure for Kilveen with Harry and assorted other Clean Sheeters later in the week. ‘It has to be whoever Askew was threatening to expose as the Munros’ murderer.’
‘But who was that, Mr Barnett? According to your statement, several of those still in the frame live in London. And those who don’t could have gone there for the day. Well, there’s really only one way to find out which of them it is, don’t you think?’
‘Send the message.’
‘Just so.’ Knox paused and gave Harry a long, scrutinizing look. ‘As we already have.’
‘You’ve sent it?’
‘The media only know about a murder on Vatersay. Nothing about two dead hit men. We’ll keep it that way for the next twenty-four hours. So, the recipient of the message has no reason not to present himself in Blythswood Square tomorrow morning at eight o’clock to pay Frank whatever he’s due. But Frank won’t be there. We will.’
‘A trap?’
‘One our man may slip through, unfortunately. Given that we don’t know who we’re looking for. What we need is someone able to recognize the person who turns up.’
‘Ah,’ said Harry. ‘You mean me.’
‘I do, Mr Barnett, yes. We’d have you under surveillance throughout. And miked up into the bargain. You’d be running no risks. Anything you drew out of him could be valuable.’ A hint of a smile quivered at the edges of Knox’s mouth. ‘A full confession would be ideal.’
‘What if he just legs it as soon as he spots me?’
‘We grab him. At least we’ll know who to grab. So, will you do it? We have to get you to Glasgow and set everything up. It can be done, but we’re sorely pressed for time. I’d like to be able to give you a while to think it over, but …’
‘You can’t.’
‘I’m afraid not. I need your answer … here and now.’
Chapter Sixty
EVEN DONNA AGREED Harry had to do it. This was a chance to end the uncertainty: to nail the one among the original fifteen members of Operation Clean Sheet guilty of murder – in the past and the present; to look him in the face and to know he would pay for what he had done – then and now. This was a chance Harry had realized at once he was bound to take.
So it was that Tuesday morning found him sharing the cramped rear of an unmarked white Transit van parked on the western side of Blythswood Square, Glasgow, with a battery of electronic surveillance equipment and an overweight, shaven-headed technical expert overly fond of Danish pastries called Dylan.
‘Sure you don’t want one?’ Dylan enquired, wafting a cinnamon-scented bagful in Harry’s direction.
‘Sure, thanks.’
‘Have you had any breakfast?’
‘Just coffee. It was, er … an early start.’
That was something of an understatement. Accommodated overnight in the Milngavie Travel Inn on the northern outskirts of the city, Harry had been woken at dawn by one of Knox’s junior officers and transported to Strathclyde Police HQ for final briefing and microphone-fitting. Handily, Blythswood Square lay close by. In the quadrangle at its centre, trees and bushes shaded a circular path round a flower-bedded lawn, with benches spaced at intervals. The square was overlooked by elegant Georgian buildings mostly occupied by the offices of solicitors, recruitment consultants and financial advisers. One of those offices had been temporarily converted into Knox’s observation post. Policemen in white-collar-worker disguise were on patrol around the square as eight o’clock approached, while Dylan shuffled a pack of CCTV images on his monitor screen and chomped remorselessly through his supply of Danishes. ‘You should still have had breakfast,’ he said, inadvertently spitting a pastry flake onto Harry’s shoulder. ‘It’s the most important meal of the day.’
‘I had a fry-up yesterday morning. Plus porridge.’
‘I bet your day went all the better for it.’
‘Oh, definitely. Found some poor bloke shot dead in his
garage. Got taken prisoner by his killer. Narrowly avoided a similar fate myself. Witnessed a couple more fatal shootings. Assisted the local constabulary with their enquiries. Hung around hospital corridors waiting for news of a critically ill friend. Volunteered to take part in a police stake-out. Then … I got an early night. It was a breeze.’
‘You’re a dry one, aren’t you?’ Dylan grinned, which was not a pretty sight. ‘How’s the friend?’
‘Still critical.’
‘Not so bad, then.’
‘As what?’
‘As dead.’ Dylan swallowed the final mouthful of his latest Danish and squinted at the screen with sudden intensity. ‘Hold up … No, I don’t think so. Too young. And … he’s moving on.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Seven to eight. Won’t be long now. Where are they treating him, then?’
‘Who?’
‘Your friend.’
‘Western General. Here in Glasgow.’
‘Oh dear. Western General.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘My uncle went in there a few months back for a hip replacement. Caught some superbug the minute his bum touched the mattress. He’s in the cemetery now. A real waste.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’
‘Don’t be. He was a miserable old sod.’
‘I thought you just said what a waste it was.’
‘Aye. Of a brand-new artificial hip.’ Dylan squinted at the screen again. ‘Hold up. I think … we might be in business. Take a look.’ He made as much room for Harry as his bulk allowed, which in the confines of the van was not a lot.
A blurred and flickering black-and-white picture of the centre of the square, captured from a camera mounted on one of the surrounding buildings, presented itself to Harry’s view. A couple of people were moving across the square, using it as a shortcut to their places of work, but there were two stationary figures, one seated on a bench, reading a newspaper, the other bending over something at the side of the path. The picture was far too fuzzy for any details of clothing or appearance to emerge. But it was only a few minutes short of eight o’clock. Harry supposed they both had to be candidates.
Never Go Back Page 28