by G R Jordan
‘Sir?’ shouted Stewart.
‘Him,’ said Macleod, pointing to the old man and watched Stewart race to the man. A hand then grabbed Macleod, helping him to his feet, and he looked into the eyes of an older woman, one of the bar staff if he remembered correctly. Everything was just a little unsteady.
A few minutes later, Macleod was sitting in the bar area, slouched in a seat, watching Stewart and one of the staff tending to the wounds on the old man. He had been cut and suffered some blood loss, but he was talking in a perfectly erudite fashion and any immediate alarm was definitely extinguished. When they had finished applying some bandages to the man, Macleod carefully made his way over to him and plonked himself on the seat next to the man. Stewart was kneeling on the floor before him, tending to a wound on the man’s hand and Macleod thought she looked different. Yes, she was in a dressing gown and sweating from her battle with the young assailant but there was something else wrong. Her glasses. She had no glasses on.
‘Are you up to a few questions, sir?’ asked Macleod.
‘I think so, sir. Thank you, I was properly getting my backside kicked there, wasn’t I? Until you came in, and then this, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, my dear angel arrived.’
Macleod watched Stewart’s face and swore he detected the hint of a smile. ‘Just doing my job, sir. That hand looks fine, but I think you should get to the hospital. I believe they have a small one here,’ said Stewart.
‘Don’t be daft. Had worse than this back in my fighting days. Maggie sent us out there and we did a job, did we not? Survived that and I’ll survive this. But your face is a healing balm that no hospital could supply, my dear.’
Macleod thought Stewart would start to find this creepy, but she smiled, albeit a brief movement of her muscles, almost short enough to be a spasm. ‘Where are you staying, sir?’ asked Macleod.
‘Oh, I have a small accommodation just up and round from here, I can walk back. But first let me buy the both of you a drink. Bloody good show from the pair of you. Many people criticize the police, but I never have; even when I’ve been on the end of the long arm, I’ve never said a bad word about them.’
Macleod noted the rather dapper suit of the man and the shoes that spoke of class, bought in some upmarket shop. His own were expensive for he was on his feet a lot, but these actually looked smart too.
‘Whisky all round, I think,’ he said and when Stewart put up her hand, he grabbed it, saying he insisted and kept hold of the hand. ‘An angel indeed. But a devil to fight, eh? Where did you find such a woman, sir?’
Macleod reckoned he was in a sitcom and this was the daft, rich uncle whose lurid words were tolerated and laughed at as he was a harmless fool. But Macleod knew nothing about this man.
‘What’s your name, sir, just for the record.’
‘Alan Dickerson, from Kent. Up here for a look round the fairer parts of this magnificent country. But I never expected to see such beauty as this. And a magnificent specimen like yourself, sir. Obliged to the both of you. Now, drink this with me.’
A tray of whiskey had arrived, double shots all round and Macleod was cajoled into accepting the glass. The man had bought a round for everyone in the room and looked to everyone to take their glass altogether. ‘Right, one, two, three, and down the hatch.’ The room as one dropped their drinks and the charismatic Englishman got to his feet.
‘Time for bed,’ he said, ‘but thank you all. And especially to you, my dear,’ said the man as Stewart stood up. He placed a hand on her cheek and then looked as if he was going to give her a kiss on the lips. Stewart dropped her head and he ended up kissing her on the forehead.
‘I’ll get someone to drop you home,’ said Macleod, ‘and then you can make a statement tomorrow at the station.’
‘There’s really no need,’ said the man.
‘Yes, there is,’ Macleod replied. ‘I insist.’
‘Have it your way, sir. I’ll be along tomorrow. Where is the station?’
‘The constable who drives you home will tell you.’ Macleod looked to the back of the room and the police officer who had been called by the bar staff. A simple nod came back, and Macleod indicated to the man that he wanted an address from wherever they ended up tonight.
And two minutes later the bar had almost emptied. Macleod had sat down and Stewart was beside him. ‘Time for bed, Stewart, long day tomorrow again.’
‘Yes sir, do you need any help?’
‘I’m not an invalid, Stewart. Just took a bad punch.’
‘Of course, sir.’
The pair made their way out of the bar and to their bedrooms which were beside each other. As they reached them, Macleod turned and looked at Stewart. ‘Are you okay? You took a few good hits out there.’
‘Nothing I don’t take in the ring. You know I do martial arts, don’t you?’
‘You certainly have the skills, Stewart. The man was extremely impressed anyway.’
He saw Stewart go to adjust her glasses but then refrain due to their absence. ‘Dirty old bastard, sir. He was looking right down my top when I was kneeling. I don’t normally go around like this, but he made sure he got his money’s worth for the view.’
‘You could have changed. Sorry, but I didn’t realise you were so uncomfortable. You seemed to be okay with it—I even saw you smile once.’
‘The man was in shock and beaten up. I didn’t need to give him a row about appropriateness.’
‘That was magnanimous of you, Stewart. What about your glasses?’
‘I have a spare pair, sir. I’ll bill the force.’ And she smiled, without any sign that it was forced. ‘As long as you are okay.’
‘I am. Thank you. I appreciate it, Kirsten.’ Macleod saw her face light up and she beamed before turning to her door.
‘Goodnight, sir.’ He watched her open the door, her gown now pulled tight around her and her bare legs underneath. He knew the feelings that were coming into his head and he rebuked them. Kirsten was quite something, and as a person he found her intriguing and refreshing despite her apparently closed nature. Until tonight he had not really noticed her figure. That was a lie—he had, but he had not dwelt on it. And he should not dwell on it now either. There was nothing untoward in his fondness for her as long as it stayed there. Get a grip, Seoras; there’s a killer to catch.
Chapter 5
Macleod rose early for breakfast, unable to sleep, and then stood outside the hotel in rather dreich weather for half an hour mulling over his thoughts. Contacting the local police, he found out the address that they had dropped Alan Dickerson off the previous evening. As he pondered if the incident was in any way connected to the body on Vatersay, he heard a cough behind him.
‘Ah, Stewart, up nice and early, or could you not sleep like me? I’m afraid once the bit is between my teeth, I don’t rest easy until we solve the case. Bad habit for a policeman, I know.’
‘Are you feeling okay, sir?’ asked Stewart.
Macleod saw the shiner just around her eye, hidden partially by the glasses. ‘Am I feeling okay? Well yes, but are you okay? I mean, that looks like quite a bruise around your eye.’
Stewart pushed the glasses back onto the nose. ‘I’m fine, get worse in the ring.’ Wearing a smart pair of black trousers, boots, a tight, thin jumper and a designer leather jacket, Stewart looked the part of a senior detective and much changed from Macleod’s first meeting with her. Maybe she was trying to copy Hope, which was a pity if correct, as she had no need, as her own style suited her well.
‘If you’re sure. I thought we should take a quick run round to Mr Dickerson before we start today. I have a nagging doubt about him, a little too keen to just go home, and also the round of drinks for everyone. Bit over the top for a man who’s been mugged.’
‘I was going to say, sir. By the way I have the hire car for us, not that the island is that large. Do you want me to drive? McGrath says you usually like your partner to drive.’
Macleod nodded and Stewart s
howed him to a small three-door car. ‘They didn’t see the need for something too large,’ she said, ‘what with our environmental considerations and that.’ Macleod did feel the need for more leg room but he said nothing and watched the green, undulating hillocks that they spun by, making the houses appear at odd angles perched at the roadside. Like his Lewis home, there was plenty of water around and they saw the iconic Kisimul Castle as they passed along the shore at Castlebay.
The lonely, stone fortress stood huddled from the misty drizzle alone in the bay. It was the sort of place Jane would like, somewhere to drag Macleod round and explain the history to him. History was inevitably filled with blood feuds and murder so Macleod had a natural aversion to these sorts of trips believing he saw enough of that type of carry-on in his own work.
A winding road ran for almost three kilometres before Stewart took a turnoff that led to the shore and a small bay. There were a number of houses, well-spaced apart and each plonked neatly beside the single-track road. The ground was full of wild and wet, green grass with the occasional rock jutting out through the lush vegetation. A power cable broke the idyllic picture-postcard image but Macleod thought it looked perfect. Solitude with just enough neighbours and the water to walk by at all times. It was like Lewis but had its own distinct character. And being further south, it might even get a touch warmer.
Small rivulets ran to the sea beside the houses and broke up their land, necessitating the erection of small bridges here and there. And Macleod thought the decision to have Stewart drive was a splendid one due to the narrow turns involved.
‘We’re here.’
How did Stewart know that? thought Macleod. He had not told her the address, so she must have been on the telephone to the local force too. The girl was too damn efficient. Woman, Seoras, woman! He was getting too old—they all seemed like boys and girls now in the force to him.
Striding up to the front door of the house, Macleod noted it was a holiday let, indicated by the sign adjacent to the driveway. With practised ease, he knocked politely but firmly with a sound that reverberated in the morning still. No one replied and he rapped the door again. It opened and a young man of over six foot looked down at Macleod. He was standing in a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else and had very bleary eyes.
‘God, what’s the crisis, skipper?’
‘DI Macleod and DC Stewart, sir. My apologies for disturbing you at this early hour but we are looking for a Mr Alan Dickerson who advised us he was living at this address. Is he at the house?’
‘Alan who? Never bloody heard of him.’ He turned round and called out. ‘Faith, you ever heard of an Alan Dickerson.’
A black woman walked down the hallway behind the man and stood at his shoulder. She was in a crop top and pants and Macleod felt he should look away but instead tried to keep the impassive police face that he had borne to many a situation in his life.
‘Never heard of an Alan Dickerson, Colin. Should I know him?’
Macleod focused on the man’s face. ‘Can I ask who you are and why you are here, sir? Just for the record.’
‘Colin Masterton and she’s Faith Keita, my partner. Just up to get away from things. We both work in London and this is a break from the grind. A little together time.’ The man passed his address to Macleod.
‘Well, sorry to bother you, sir,’ said Macleod, ‘I will leave you in peace but if a Mr Dickerson calls, please advise us on this number.’ He handed the man a card with his details on it. ‘Otherwise enjoy the day.’
‘Oh, we will do that,’ said Faith and stepped past Macleod into the drizzle. Her partner stepped forward and hugged her as they both smiled in the cool air. Stewart nodded towards the car and the two officers walked back to their vehicle. As they drove away, the young pair were still standing there in their underwear, eyes closed and smiling. Apparently, the accursed dreich weather, which so often annoyed islanders, was a welcome change to the London pair.
‘Nice body,’ said Stewart as she steered the car back to the main road to Castlebay.
‘Yes, she was quite lovely but she really could have worn a bit more.’
‘I was talking about him, sir.’
‘Of course you were, Stewart.’ An awkward silence reigned while they travelled the short distance back to the small police station. Inside, Macleod found the local constable and advised him of the deception carried out by Mr Dickerson, although Macleod now doubted that was his real name. The constable said he would look into it and Macleod turned to some reports he was given on the murder scene. As he was sitting reading, Mackintosh appeared before him, her eyes looking puffy with large bags beneath them making her look her years for once.
‘Mackintosh,’ said Macleod, almost proud of using her surname, ‘what’s the deal with the body?’
‘He was knifed in the back and it was done by someone who knew how, as well. Probably taken by surprise which would have been impressive on that beach. He was murdered there as far as I can tell although a lot of sand tracks were washed away by the tide and the body had been moved a short distance by the recovering team. I have DNA samples, and the usual, away for confirmation of identity but who knows.’
‘Thanks, Mackintosh, has it been an all-nighter?’
‘Yes, Seoras, it has, but happy to do it for you, as ever.’ There was a flicker of a smile but the woman looked simply shattered. ‘Heard you got a bit of a beating last night. Are you okay?’
Looking up, Macleod saw a genuinely worried look on the woman’s face. This was what was so difficult about Mackintosh. In his head he had an image of this lonely woman craving his body and attention but there was also a genuine care for him. He was certainly no piece of meat to her.
‘I’m fine. Stewart took the brunt of it but she can handle herself. Mixed martial artist, apparently.’
‘Well I’m glad you are okay. I’m going back to the hotel for a while but if you need me, just knock me up.’ There was a moment’s silence and they looked at each other uncomfortably. ‘I mean feel free to wake me up, Seoras. God, I’m wrecked.’
‘Thanks Hazel,’ he said as she left the room. Damn, I did it again.
About an hour later, the local sergeant came to Macleod with an address. ‘I’ve been checking around the local hotel and guest house owners and there’s one man matching Mr Dickerson’s description staying in a hotel just on the edge of Castlebay. I’ve told the owner to expect you for a chat. Mairi Macleod, funny enough, sir. Take it she’s not related.’
Macleod smiled but inside his mind was elsewhere. Why would a man of such an age need to lie about what he was doing? Only one way to find out and that was to find him, so he called for Stewart and they walked through the small village up to a house that sat on the edge of the bay looking out to Kisimul castle. It said hotel but really it was a large house which had been adapted and probably did not hold more than about eight guests. As they strode up the drive, a middle-aged woman with hair that was beginning to whiten opened the door and beckoned them inside.
‘Hi there,’ she said on their entry to the house. ‘Can I get you a tea or coffee?’
‘No thank you,’ said Macleod, ‘but you can tell me about the man the constable rang you about today, Mrs Macleod.’
‘No, it’s Mairi and bless my soul. I never seen one like as him.’ The woman crossed herself and then looked to the wall where there was a crucifix. ‘Who knows what the dear lord would make of him but I don’t know.’
‘Well. just start at the beginning, Mairi, and we’ll take it from there,’ said Macleod.
‘Okay, Inspector. I got a phone call from a Mr Drummer six weeks ago, saying he would be needing some accommodation while up here and would I have room. Well at this time of year, who doesn’t have room and I needed the money so I naturally accepted. He said he would pay cash and to add a little extra for that inconvenience.’
‘Did he say why he was coming up?’ asked Stewart.
‘No, Never. And I didn’t ask as I didn’t want to turn aw
ay someone at this time of year. Well, he arrived a week ago and then had promptly vanished this morning but with the cash for the stay left on the bed and a note saying he had been in receipt of some bad news and needed to leave. I can show you the room but it’s completely clear of all of his stuff.’
‘Is it locked?’ asked Macleod.
‘No, I was just going to give it a clean and change the sheets.’
‘Don’t. Leave it be; don’t enter it and lock it if possible. I’ll be getting my forensic officer, Miss Mackintosh, over directly to you. While he was here, did you notice anything strange about him?’
‘Well, no. He didn’t eat here and was out in the morning by nine and not back until after ten at least. Very easy guest to look after. In fact, there was only the once I saw him having a barny with someone.’
‘Who was that?’ asked Macleod.
‘Well, I didn’t know him but he was a young man. They seemed to be discussing the fact that the young man had not received something, at least that’s all I caught of it as they both clammed up once they saw me watching them. But it was about six at night and they disappeared off towards the harbour direction. When he came back that night, he had drunk a fair bit.’
‘When was this?’ asked Stewart.
‘Two days ago.’
Macleod asked the woman to describe the young man and struggled to contain his excitement as it matched up to the man who he had tried to prevent from attacking Mr Dickerson/Drummer. Further questions revealed nothing else and the detectives walked back to the station where Macleod asked Stewart to find out the drinking establishments in Castlebay and then meet him at the hotel. And then he walked to that hotel with an onerous task before him, the waking of Mackintosh.
Chapter 6
Hope stretched out her arms and yawned on the deck of the small ferry back to Oban. There was little else left to do on Canna now that the body had been recovered and was in the hands of the forensic team. All the islanders had been interviewed and little had been known of Jane Thorne on the island. There was also no help from the only tourists staying on the island—one of whom seemed more worried that their time away would get back to their university circle.