by G R Jordan
‘Sergeant! Well done, Hope. I was going to have a little celebration, but we need to move. My office in five minutes.’
And with that he was gone. Taking her bag from the boot of the car, Hope quickly went to her locker and then made a beeline for Macleod’s office. The door was open, and Macleod was behind his desk sipping a coffee as she walked in. Standing before the large solid fixture were Ross and Stewart. Ross turned to her as she walked in and offered a hand which she shook.
‘Boss, well done.’
‘No, Ross, never boss. I’ll accept Sarge, but the boss is behind that desk—isn’t that right, sir?’
Macleod looked up from his coffee. ‘And never forget it,’ he said with a smile. Macleod seemed to be waiting for Stewart to say her piece to Hope but the woman just nodded and gently slid the thick-rimmed glasses onto her nose once more. Kirsten Stewart, the newest member of the team after impressing on the Isle of Lewis was making her mark in many ways. Macleod seemed fascinated in the way the woman thought things through, and she had bonded with Ross almost seamlessly.
‘What’s the news, sir?’ asked Hope.
‘A body found on Vatersay off Barra. Stabbed on the beach, found by a woman he had picked up at a bar the previous night. That’s where myself and Stewart are going. You and Ross will be heading to Canna where a woman’s almost decapitated body was found by the shore. Although it was in the water, it was a recent kill, a large knife wound that almost took off the head, or at least that’s the initial thoughts but you’ll need a forensics team to confirm that.’
‘Have I got Mackintosh?’ asked Hope. Mackintosh was the senior forensics investigator in the area and was also extremely fond of Macleod. And she was not afraid to show it.
‘No, she’s going to Barra. We need to fly to Glasgow and then up to Barra. And don’t give me those eyes, Sergeant. Mackintosh made the decision; they are her people. I just need teams out and about from her; I don’t deploy her people.’
‘Of course,’ said Hope but noticed Stewart fiddling with her glasses.
‘The local coastguard has sealed off your scene, but they are going to need help, so we have sent some officers over via Mallaig. But it’s your case, Sergeant, just keep me informed. Ross has more detail, but you can read that on the way. So, a fair bit of travelling, everyone, and given the locations I say we are going to be fairly stretched, so keep in touch. Dismissed. I’ll see you outside, Stewart,’ said Macleod and then held up his hand to Hope.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said once the others had left.
‘You know how to do this, Hope. You might be nervous as I’m letting you run the job totally but remember if I didn’t think you could do this, you wouldn’t be here. And you have me on the end of a phone. Don’t be afraid to call.’
‘Yes, sir. Thanks for the vote of confidence. Good luck at your end.’
‘Oh, and Hope, how’s things at home with Allinson?’
‘None of your business, sir. But better.’
‘Only better?’ asked Macleod.
‘As I said none of your business.’ She smiled but Hope knew he could see the cracks in the relationship.
‘Okay,’ said a resigned Macleod, ‘catch me a killer.’
Vatersay was connected to the Isle of Barra by a single causeway and Macleod thought the place similar to Lewis, his place of birth. Wild to a large degree with houses hewn into the uneven terrain, there was also a sense of community in the few townships that were across the island. But the most striking feature was the sea air that filled his lungs. Yes, Inverness was by the coast, but this was the west side of Scotland, altogether more bracing, as you looked out towards the Atlantic with the wind blowing through your hair.
Their cases had been dropped at the local hotel and as the car pulled up beside Traigh Shiar, Macleod could see only green broken by rocky outcrops. The beach itself was hidden from the single-track road and as he looked for the sea in that direction, he could only see sky as the land rose slightly before presumably falling down to the beach.
There were a number of cars present, one a marked police car, and Macleod saw a number of locals standing around, surveying all that was happening. Hazel Mackintosh, the forensics lead who had travelled with them, took a bag from the car and made her way towards the beach, quickly followed by Macleod who feared she would quarantine the area before he got there.
Passing underneath a single overhead wire, Macleod heard what sounded like an angry teacher as Mackintosh disappeared down to the sand.
‘Has that body been moved? Tell me, Sergeant, have you moved that body? There’s no way that body is where you found it. Look it’s been dragged, clumsily too.’
As Macleod cleared the small rise of ground, he saw Mackintosh stabbing a finger into a uniformed Sergeant who looked like he was facing the hell of his nightmares. There was another uniformed officer standing close by, but he did not seem to want to come to the aid of his sergeant.
Stewart approached Macleod from behind and took in the scene before pushing her glasses up to her nose and murmuring in a low voice to Macleod, ‘They had to move the body because of the tide, Sir. Might have gone to sea.’
Of course, Stewart was right, and Macleod walked quickly over to the angry Mackintosh. ‘Mackintosh, a word, please.’
‘A word? You can have a word with these island clowns, wrecking my crime scene.’
‘Mackintosh, a word, over here,’ said Macleod, indicating they should step away to a discreet area. When she did not move, Macleod took her arm and wheeled her away.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ thundered Mackintosh.
‘Listen,’ said Macleod in a whisper.
‘Don’t listen me . . .’
‘Listen! Hazel, please listen. They moved the body because the tide would have swept it away. Hopefully, they have photographs, and if they don’t by all means continue to give them the rounds of the houses. However, we are a long way from home, and we need all the help we can get so let’s be a little more professional and demur when it comes to our colleagues. And they have an audience. They don’t have many officers here and they don’t need you making out they are incompetent to the general population. Understood?’
The woman’s eyes were all fire, but Macleod could see the brain ticking and realising his point. Hazel Mackintosh was a full-on charging rhino and got things done but here on the edge you maybe needed a little more tact.
‘I’ll make it right, Seoras. Thank you.’
‘It’s okay, just tread lightly, Hazel.’ And then he realised he had used her first name. The woman smiled before turning away and he knew he had been lured in by her show of vulnerability. The trouble with Hazel Mackintosh for Macleod was that she wanted him, she had made that much clear, but she had also not been so crass or rude as to make a direct approach for a man with a partner. Instead she lulled him into little conceits, such as using her first name in a professional capacity. Only Hope had earned that privilege, having been there for him. But even then, not in front of others.
‘Stewart,’ shouted Macleod and pointed to the Sergeant so recently berated. It was time to get a proper debrief on what had happened and not a simple report. And besides, he needed to mend a few bridges after that prominent display by Hazel. And there it was again. She’s Mackintosh, always Mackintosh. As if on cue, his eyes caught the sight of Mackintosh looking back and she gave him a cheeky smile, like the escaping captain of a pirate vessel letting the king’s own navy know that they have been licked.
‘Sergeant, I’m DI Macleod and this is DC Stewart. I read the report you sent over. Have you any more detail on the victim or who he may have been with?’
‘Sergeant McNeil, sir. You are looking at one of Scotland’s finest singers but maybe only known in the Gaelic world. He was a former Mod singer, a gold medal winner too but that was maybe thirty years ago. Today he was little washed up. His name is Alasdair MacPhail.’
‘A local?’ asked Stewart.
‘No, he resides on Harri
s according to the last address we have for him but he’s originally from Skye. He spent last night wooing a female on holiday with her mother, a Miss Karen Barton, from Coventry, who had sex with the man right on this beach before returning to her hotel. A right illicit affair, what with her sneaking out from her mother in the middle of the night.’ The Sergeant shook his head and scanned the length of the beach as if looking of the site of last night’s liaisons.
‘A young woman?’ asked Macleod.
‘Oh, no. Well, not a kid. She’s,’ the Sergeant flicked through his notebook, ‘forty-five.’
‘And she’s disappearing secretly from her mother?’
‘Not sure she’s doing this sort of thing on a regular basis, sir. There’s CCTV at the hotel that confirms her timings for her movements. And she says she had not met Mr MacPhail before last evening. She reckoned he was a fisherman and when he checked her out at the bar, her words not mine, she just took a chance. She has no record for anything, not even a parking ticket.’
‘Well, I ‘d like to see her,’ said Macleod, ‘do you have the name of the hotel?’
‘Of course, sir, and we can take you there directly. We have a hire car for you at the hotel and your office said you’d want a hall or space to work. We have commandeered a recreational hall in Castlebay for your team. Just ask if you need something but bear in mind, we are a little further out here so it may take time for certain requests.’
‘It’s been a while since you had a murder here on Barra?’ asked Stewart.
‘You could say that,’ the sergeant replied, ‘not within my lifetime anyway. In truth, it’s spooking out the local community, so I warn you to take it carefully with them.’
‘I understand, Sergeant—at least it was not a local man; then you really would see fear and maybe panic. And with an English lady being involved I guess she might get the blame amongst the local networks.’
The Sergeant tilted his head to one side almost apologetically and pointed to an officer who was standing at the edge of the beach. ‘That’s James, over here from Glasgow. He’ll sort you out when you want to leave here, sir.’
‘Very good,’ said Macleod. ‘I’ll take a look at the body and then we’ll interview our witness.’
‘Oh, if you do, sir, I’d take care. Don’t do it with the mother around. She’s something of a grumpy cow.’
‘I’m sure you mean she’s an obstinate or interfering woman, sergeant. Thanks for your help.’ The man’s face dropped as Macleod turned away and a push of the glasses from Stewart reinforced the point.
Macleod realised that Mackintosh was putting on her white coverall and was temporarily away from the body, so he quietly walked up as close as he could. There were a number of footprints and he could see where the body had been dragged until the markings stopped at what he presumed would have been where the tide last reached. Taking an acute angle, he walked closer placing his feet where there were no footprints.
The man was hunched over on the sand with the knife sticking out of his back and placed in up to the hilt. The knife was ornate, with a black handle and some gemstones. Whether they were expensive or not, Macleod had no idea.
‘Why leave that knife in his back, sir?’
‘Time, being seen, or worried that they had?’ mused Macleod.
‘No, sir, it makes no sense unless they wanted to leave a note to others. There’s a risk of fingerprints or material. From here it looks like he was stabbed more than once too. Seems a bit strange to me.’
‘Noted, Stewart, but we’ll leave the actual analysis of the method to Mackintosh.’
Macleod knelt and examined the body from a distance for another two minutes during which time Stewart left to walk along the beach. As he looked at the man’s face, he heard someone walk up behind him and then kneel beside him. He smelt the perfume and recognised the figure as Mackintosh even though she was just behind him.
‘Let me know how you get on,’ said Macleod. ‘I take it the team are here on the ferry as soon as.’
‘Yes, another hour maybe. But I’ll get started and have something for you shortly. From a distance it looks like that jacket was punctured more than once. And those positions say it was done by someone with the knowledge of which organs to hit. It looks like a proper take down, Seoras, not a random act.’
‘Unlikely to be a frenzy then, say from an embarrassed or scorned lover?’
‘No, Seoras, not at all.’
‘Well let me know what else you turn up.’
‘Seoras, what time shall I tell the hotel for dinner tonight?’ Macleod flashed a worried look. ‘I mean for all of us,’ said Mackintosh.
‘I wouldn’t book anything as I don’t know when we’ll be finished but thanks for thinking of it, Hazel.’ He had said it again. And she was smiling about it. Macleod shook his head clear and walked back to the green grass that was cut through the middle by the single-track road. Time to see our witness.
Chapter 3
The boat taking them across to Canna was a motor vessel and capable of holding around twelve people by Hope’s calculations. With the extra police officers and the forensic team, it was almost full, and she felt a little crowded and chose to sit at the rear of the boat on an outside piece of deck to get some air. Things moved so fast in this job. One minute I was happily enjoying the company of my man and the next we are likely to be apart for who knows how long. At least Allinson understood; he was a police officer, too.
Sometimes she wondered if she had dented his career by becoming attached to him. He had slid sideways to join another department and he was still a constable while she had climbed to Sergeant. But that was his fault, as he had concentrated on things outside of work. His band for instance, that he quietly disappeared off to, but then raised merry hell with in some random pub around the north of Scotland. Yes, she enjoyed watching him throw those drumsticks down onto the skins of the kit, but it got in the way of his promotion. She was three years behind him in terms of time in the force but already she was a rank above.
Ross sat down beside her and took out some of the case notes to go over. Everything was sketchy at this time, thought Hope, but once we get to the scene, that should be cleared up. Canna was one of the Small Isles, just south of Skye and was only four miles square. With a population of less than thirty, it was more of a place people visited rather than lived in, but a small band were trying to change that. Hope had also been advised that her mobile would not work although the island did have broadband and telephone access.
The sea spray kept her face chilled as she crossed over, but she preferred that to the claustrophobic conditions inside the main cabin. Looking around her, she saw faces occasionally glancing at her, knowing she was the boss today but not sure of who she was. Having Ross beside her was a comfort and the man was acting as normal, in his calm and methodical approach to policing.
‘When we get there, Ross, we get forensics to the scene and secure it fully. Then we grab our witnesses, after which we go round the islanders and see if anyone noticed anything untoward. I guess it’s important to establish who this is but also were they killed on Canna or did the body float there? And if Canna, why there? If this is a local issue, then that scares me frankly, a murderer running round such a small area with thirty people there for the taking. And no police presence once we exhaust what we can do.’
Ross nodded and then pointed towards a small harbour that was approaching fast. There were no other vessels there and Hope wondered how often the ferry ran to this place. A lack of vehicles was going to be an issue, but she had been assured that the local population would help, shocked as they were by this tragic death.
Stepping off the boat, Hope was met by a man in the distinctive blue of the coastguard and shook his hand.
‘Andrew Farmer, Station Officer Canna Coastguard. Welcome, Detective, but forgive me if I say we are not glad to see you. Terrible business. But we have kept it as best we can until your arrival. There’s a minibus here but I might need two t
rips as there’s a good few of you. This way please.’
He never even asked my name, thought Hope, never wanted to know who was in charge. In her head she saw Macleod step after the man and take him by the shoulder to let him know who the boss was. Well if it was good enough for Macleod. Hope strode quickly and tapped Andrew farmer on the shoulder.
‘Detective Sergeant Hope McGrath, Mr Farmer. I’ll be leading the team while here, but you can direct any queries to either myself or DC Ross, who is the rather tall and dapper man at the rear. We’ll need some transport later to go door to door and interview the island. There’s not many of you here, I take it.’
‘We’re all here,’ snapped the man. ‘This is where we make our lives; it’s not a holiday home.’
Hope sighed under her breath; she had not meant it that way. ‘I meant that no one was away on business, sir, or had left the island since this happened.’
‘No, no one has. In truth we are all a little shocked, so I think the sooner we get this cleared up the better. I reckon she might have floated in, but she hasn’t been in the water awfully long. Maybe dumped off a boat.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well, she was wet through but there’s not much change in the skin. They change, get bloated and that, go very white if they have been in the water a long time.’ Hope nodded; she was well aware of these sorts of occurrences. ‘But this woman had none of that. Of course, we did not go any closer than we had to. Except we did move her slightly in case the tide took her away.’
‘Did you photograph her before moving?’
‘Yes, we did ask the station up in Stornoway and they said they talked to your people who said it was okay to keep the body safe. And yes, they did ask for lots of photographs. The station will have them if your guys don’t. We sent them all.’
Hope climbed into the front seat of the minibus and watched Mr Farmer count all the forensic team in and a single uniformed officer. ‘Ross, stay here and get the other officers on a door to door. I’ll see you down at the scene when you have these guys going. I hope it doesn’t rain.’