by G R Jordan
‘Lie down on the bed,’ said Jona, the grin returning to her face. ‘Of course, I can. You had me worried. I’m not into girls that way.’
Hope lay on the bed and found her gown being removed before a pair of angelic hands performed a massage that went from brutal to relaxing in a matter of minutes. It was so good. Imagine her thinking I was coming on to her. And Hope remembered how she had sat with her wine watching the car park for Jona’s arrival. And then listening to every word at dinner. And a thought struck her. There was something in what Jona said; she had come on but not intentionally. She’d need to make sure it did not happen again. Jona was ready to be a proper friend by the look of it, and she did not want to blow that.
Chapter 9
‘Are they all gathered?’ asked Macleod looking at Stewart with ever increasing tiredness in his eyes.
‘Just rounding up the last of them, sir, but they will be there by the time you’ve been through the others.’
‘Just make sure they are.’ He snorted in frustration but then saw Stewart slowly move her glasses up her nose and fix him with a steely eye. ‘Sorry, Kirsten. Of course, you’ll have it sorted. It’s just this damn case. Three dead and we have nothing, just about nothing. Except a dead local who didn’t deserve to die. I’m just tetchy.’ He grinned at her and saw the eyes soften. ‘This is what McGrath deflects away from the rest of you,’ Macleod said in a conciliatory gesture.
‘I’m sure you’re right, sir,’ replied Stewart in a voice that said she was not.
Stewart left Macleod alone in the back room of the small police station and he picked up the file in front of him. The scene at Barra airport was there in a collection of photographs that seemed grimmer every time he looked at them. Poor man, deliberately used. That’s what I’m here to stop, that’s my job. If these animals want to kill each other that would be one thing, but this man had nothing to do with it.
Stewart arrived back in the room with a steaming cup of coffee and placed it in front of her boss. Thanking her, Macleod lifted it to his lips and took a long slow drink while ignoring the scalding effect on his tongue. Yes, that was the one. A cup never goes amiss when the pressure’s on. Setting the cup down and looking back up, he saw Stewart watching him, her smart black jacket lying open and a cream blouse neatly worn underneath gave no indication of the fight she had been involved in two nights ago. But the bruising on her face did.
‘Just doing what McGrath would do, sir. Need to keep you on the boil.’
Smiling, she turned away and Macleod felt that fondness again that struggled to stay on the side of appreciative boss and not descend into a more primal feeling. It was easier in the old days all right; he had never had these feelings about his staff and colleagues then. Except Mrs Gordon in the typing pool, but he was in his twenties then and she was a mature older woman whose marriage was on the rocks. Her eyes had said all and he enjoyed the feeling, but he had never once said anything to her or anyone about what had gone through his mind. Changed days. My mind might still think like that but I doubt the body could handle a Mrs Gordon. Macleod laughed to himself and then felt guilty; his mind should not be on such frivolous things when there was a murder hunt to conduct.
The customers from the bar, who last night were enjoying a quiet drink or two before finding out that their friend was dead the following morning, were assembled in the same locale. The smell of stale beer and the previous night’s sweat in the small room hung like a testimony to the worst hangover they had ever experienced, one alcohol was not responsible for. Macleod saw sullen faces and even the odd tear being cast. This was not going to be an easy session of interviews. Macleod asked the assembled crowd of eight people not to talk to each other but to wait in the bar while he called them through one by one. After being spoken to they would be free to go, for the local constable had vouched that all of the customers were locals from the island.
Macleod walked through to a second room and sat behind a desk Stewart had laid out before the woman walked through with their first witness, an elderly man of maybe seventy. His hair was not white but grey and maybe that had been his good fortune because otherwise he was a perfect cover for the man with a thousand names, as Macleod was starting to think of their suspect.
‘James Smith,’ said Stewart who, after offering the old man a seat, sat down herself beside Macleod. The interview lasted less than ten minutes. He had seen the white-haired stranger and the description given matched perfectly. The man had moved around the bar, talking to everyone, offering drinks that were duly accepted. The same story came from the next five customers as well. Then came a young man of sixteen.
‘This is Iain John Mackenzie,’ said Stewart, after bringing the nervous young lad through.
‘Hello, Iain,’ said Macleod, trying to appear relaxed, but his unease at such a young lad being caught up in the affair was palpable. ‘What were you doing in the pub last night?’
‘I popped in to pick up a tipple for my Gran. It was late and she wanted something before she went to bed. She lives with us, you see, and Mum was already in her dressing gown, so I got sent out.’
‘Dad not around?’
‘Fishing on a trawler, not due back until Friday.’
‘Did you see anything unusual last night? I assume this is not the first errand like this you have run for your Gran.’
The boy coughed. ‘I usually end up popping in for her two to three times a week. She could get something from the shop to keep her going but this is the only place that does her brand of milk stout. I don’t get it because there’s hardly any alcohol in it, but she insists. I don’t mind because I get a wee drink while I’m here.’
Macleod raised his eyebrows.
‘Nothing like that, mister. Just a wee coke or an Irn Bru. Once I did get a beer. Well, a shandy. Seemed like a lot of lemonade.’
‘That’s fine, Iain, but did you see anything unusual?’ asked Stewart, focusing the boy.
‘Well, that bloke was in, the white-haired oldie. Bought me a drink actually. He was talking with everyone, seemed quite happy. That’s all I saw except for the envelope he gave Dennis.’
‘Envelope?’ started Macleod. ‘What envelope?’
‘It was really subtle, like in the movies but I was looking at him directly and saw it being passed just under the table. I doubt you would have seen it from any other direction, but he saw me looking at him, the white-haired guy and he put his finger up, telling me to shush.’
‘And then what?’
‘Then the milk stout was placed on the bar and I left.’
‘And did you see what was in the envelope?’
‘No,’ said Iain, ‘but it was brown, and seemed pretty packed.’
‘What size?’ asked Stewart.
‘Not the letter type. About twice that size but not massive. Like half a piece of paper.’
After checking his statement again, Macleod asked the boy to wait with the constable on duty and turned to Stewart. ‘You need to keep an eye on him; he’s seen the exchange and our Mr Dickerson or Drummer knows. It links Drummer to setting Dennis up to be killed. Makes whoever did it think it was Drummer and not Dennis. The kid could be in danger.’
‘I‘ll sort it directly after, sir. I’ll get the last one, shall I?’
Macleod nodded and Stewart brought through a nervous woman. She was wearing an opened overcoat, but underneath was a dress that fought against the gloom of the outside weather. About two seasons out, thought Macleod. The woman’s blonde hair was in a mess, tangled, and looked as if it had not been brushed this morning and her make-up was smudged, and if he was not mistaken given he was no expert with this sort of thing, it looked like last night’s.
‘Miss Elaine MacIver, sir.’ Looking up at him, the woman nervously pushed at her hair revealing a lazy eye and a scar across her cheek. It was old but deep.
‘So, Elaine,’ said Stewart, ‘tell us what happened last night.’ The woman was shaking and began to look around her before starting to sniff
. ‘It’s only an interview,’ said Stewart, ‘no need to get upset. Just tell us what happened here last night. Was Mr Parsons your friend?’
Breaking down completely, Elaine swooned and then fell to the floor. Macleod was out of his seat and began to lift her up but saw the eyes rolling in the woman’s head. With Stewart’s help, they got her back in the chair, but she then leaned forward and began to throw up. Macleod stepped to one side but his shoe was caught in the flow of puke and he reared at the smell of it.
‘I didn’t know,’ Elaine spat through her rapid gulps for air, globules of stinking spit falling from her mouth. ‘He didn’t say. I was just lonely.’
‘Who?’ asked Stewart, but the woman vomited again, this time hard and dry as the stomach fought to find something to eject.
Macleod grabbed Elaine’s shoulder and shook her gently. ‘Who?’
‘Eric Drummer!’ she yelled. ‘I fucking shagged him!’ Again, the woman started to fall and Macleod reached forward ignoring the vomit and general mess of the woman and caught her. ‘Constable!’ he cried, seeking assistance. After a moment’s spitting and then an attempt to wipe her hair with a puke covered hand, Elaine seemed to focus for a moment.
‘You said to come here. When I told him, he never said, just lay there, telling me how beautiful I looked as I got changed. Let me walk out the door and never said about Dennis. Sweet Dennis.’
‘Is he still there?’ Elaine said nothing but started sniffing again. ‘Is he still there?’ shouted Macleod at the woman. Raising her head, she nodded. ‘What’s your address?’
‘I know the house,’ interjected the local constable and Macleod turned to Stewart.
‘Hold the fort here, Stewart.’ With that Macleod pointed at the constable, his finger wagging in a go motion. The smell of puke followed Macleod, mainly due to it being on his arm and shoes but he was suddenly alive, like a young one again. He followed the constable through the bar and out into the street with the smell of the sea rolling into his nostrils. The younger officer stretched the gap somewhat as they ran uphill and around a corner to a small cottage.
‘Go,’ shouted Macleod. The constable tried the door which was open and stepped inside. Macleod followed and together then raced through the house but there was no sign of anyone still being there. In the bedroom, Macleod bent over and tried to catch his breath while he looked around. The only clothes were female. He saw no bags and nothing that said anyone but Elaine McIver lived here. But then he looked at the bed with its disturbed undersheet and the smell of sweat coming from it. Looking closely, he saw stains although he could not identify exactly what they were. But they were of last night, he was sure of it.
Grabbing his mobile, he tapped Mackintosh’s face on the small icon and held the device to his ear.
‘Can you not let me get a moment’s peace?’ said a voice that was being playfully annoyed.
‘I have something for you, Mackintosh,’ he said, ‘the trail just warmed up again.’
Mackintosh stood in her white coverall looking down at the bed. With a pointed finger, she motioned to the dressing table and wardrobe, sending one of her colleagues towards them while another brought in evidence bags. Standing beyond the bedroom in his own coverall, Macleod saw the woman’s exhausted face, the features taut where they were usually rounded if a little worn. One hand was on her hip which was popped out to one side. Although not tall, the woman had presence in abundance but now her shoulders were slumped. It made him wonder about her life outside of work; did she have one? She never mentioned anyone else, and only referred to her younger colleagues.
Having instructed her team on their jobs, Mackintosh walked past Macleod with one finger held up, curling it in a follow-me motion and walked out of the house. Outside the drizzle had given up for the moment, but the sky was still grey and a light breeze blew.
‘Semen, sweat, hair of all the varieties. I should be able to get you some DNA and then we can see if we can get a match. Bit sloppy of him really, don’t you think?’
Mackintosh breathed deeply like today was an effort just to keep going. Along her forehead there were lines of worry that did not belong and Macleod wondered if she was a little distracted.
‘So how long do you reckon?’
‘Give me a pissing chance, Macleod. For frig’s sake, I’ve only got the team here.’ The reply was brutal, the eyes wild as she said it and Macleod actually recoiled a little.
‘Okay, calm down. I know we’re in a race what with the number of bodies but keep your head, Hazel.’
‘What would you know? Perfect little wife at home, second chances just fell your way. I don’t even have time for mine.’
Macleod felt angry that Jane was being brought into the conversation, but his instincts said something was wrong. In the old days you would have just coughed and stepped away but today you had some sort of right to pry, to make sure your colleague was okay.
‘Come over here,’ said Macleod, and took Mackintosh by the arm to the side of the house away from all eyes. ‘What’s the matter, Hazel? This is not you. I know we’re busy, but this is not how you tackle work. What else is happening?’
The woman stared up at Macleod, her eyes gazing on his face like he had just asked the one question no one knew to ask. A hand was raised and touched his cheek as her eyes began to blink before tears started.
‘Cancer, Seoras, they found cancer. Confirmed it today. I don’t want to die, Seoras. Not yet—I’m not ready.’
He grabbed her and pulled her close letting her head rest on his chest. Feeling her shudder and let everything out, he gripped tight whispering, ‘It’s okay; I’ve got you.’ The drizzle started again and he wondered how long they would stand there. Then he felt her arms wrap around him.
‘I need someone to help me through this. I have no one, Seoras, no one. You understand?’
His mind returned to the water just outside of Stornoway, to his wife disappearing below the surface having stepped out into the blue of her own free accord, leaving him. With the nature of her death and the belief at the time surrounding those who took their own lives, he had been pitied but not supported in the way he needed. No one had mentioned her actions or where she would go on to. Discussion of heaven had gone quiet when heaven itself had fallen silent and he needed someone to share it all with. He had never had cancer or seen any loved one taken by it, but he understood pain and loneliness combined, and he understood that panic, that fear of not knowing.
‘I’ll help you,’ he whispered; ‘you have me.’ He held her for a moment longer until they heard someone just around the corner of the house. Mackintosh straightened up and wiped her eyes dry just before one of her colleagues brought her an evidence bag to look at. When they had departed, Mackintosh stared at Macleod, her eyes still sullen but there was a faint smile on her lips.
‘Thank you. I won’t ask for more than a friend would ask for. I understand you are attached. But I need someone, Seoras. It’s . . .’
‘Terrifying.’ She nodded and walked away. Macleod stood and felt a tear forming in his eye. All his life he had seen death and misfortune, but Mackintosh’s plight was cutting him to the core. Yes, she was a colleague and that was painful, but he understood she was under his skin in other ways. He would have to tread lightly, not that he thought she would deliberately take any liberties. But he understood how emotions ran riot when pressure was on, when the world went to pot. And Mackintosh’s world would struggle to seem any worse.
‘Sir,’ said Stewart. It was like she had appeared from nowhere. Macleod panicked inside and wondered if she had seen Mackintosh and himself. Would he have to explain? Stewart was so good at seeing through the trees. ‘Sir, I did some checking up on Karen Gibbons, our first informant. While she has a clean bill of health, her mother is more of a dark horse. She has previous for theft, quite a long record in fact, caught up in some large heists usually working as a team with several others. I know she’s seventy plus now, but I thought given the age of some of the ot
her characters we are looking for, it was worth investigating.’
‘Absolutely, go and see if you can get any more from them directly, Stewart. Also chase up with the local force whether anything has come from checks around our first victim’s known acquaintances and life on the mainland. There’s a connection we are missing here, Stewart.’
Macleod saw the glasses being pushed up onto her nose and wondered what was coming next.
‘I’d like to make a request, sir.’ Macleod nodded. ‘I want to go to the mainland to see if I can track down something in the mainland lives of these people myself. I reckon that’s where the real tale is, sir. Whatever’s happening is happening here but the story is not; it’s in the past and on the mainland. Let me go and chase it up.’
‘Why, what do you have?’ asked Macleod.
‘Just suspicions, sir.’
‘Not until McGrath gets here, Stewart. Then I’ll consider it. There’s going to be more media coming and I need a team right here. We’re stretched as it is.’
‘Sir,’ and the glasses went back up again.
Kirsten Stewart was a little ferret, Macleod knew that and to let her loose was an idea that had merit but Kirsten was also raw, inexperienced and she needed to be careful when going into the past, especially if it was a secret the treasure seekers intended to keep. It was hard to think as Mackintosh’s face—the pain of her eyes—was still burning in his mind. His mobile rang. Not the boss, there’s enough to do!
Chapter 10
Hope cursed the rain as she stepped from the car and made for the hotel where the team were staying. Jona Nakamura followed in behind her and the two women stood at the reception desk before hearing a shout from a short distance away. Macleod was waving her over and she saw the usually bustling figure of Mackintosh beside him, but she was rather subdued. Pointing them out to Jona, Hope walked over to the small table and sofa the pair were sitting at and noticed the whiskey in front of Mackintosh. There were two glasses as well as Macleod’s coffee.