The Pirate Club: A Highlands and Islands Detective Thriller (Highlands & Islands Detective Book 6)

by G R Jordan

  The younger man seemed to panic. ‘Pursued? Well then, end of the line, old man. Can’t have any witnesses.’

  Hope was already running from her position and threw herself at the younger man as a shot rang out in the night. But she must have caught him in time for she heard Dudley begin to run as she fell in a pile with the other man. Hope desperately got to her feet, scrambling for the gun that had fallen but could not find it among the rocks. Then she felt an arm around her throat and Hope clutched at it as she felt the breath leave her, not to be replaced. The grip was strong and she started to elbow him into his stomach with all she had. It took four blows before he backed off. As he did, they both saw Dudley grab the bag he had pulled from the rocks and start to run back toward the tender he had brought ashore.

  The younger man moved to intercept but Hope blocked his path. ‘Stand down. You’re under arrest.’ But the man did not wait and tried to run past Hope. She reached out for him and grabbed him by the arm spinning him round and forcing his arm up his back. But then her foot slipped on a patch of seaweed and she tumbled forward driving the man forward too but losing her grasp on him. The man reacted quicker and drove a foot at Hope’s head, catching her left temple and stunning her in her prone position.

  As she lay in the dark, the man ran off and she could hear another motor as he disappeared on another tender. Hope tried to stand but with the combination of her wooziness from the blow to the head and the seaweed covered rocks, she could only slip and slide until she fell down upon her bottom and chose to remain there. They were gone anyway; she’d never catch them now.

  It was over ten minutes later when she heard a new engine and looked up to see torches. Giving a hoarse shout, Hope waved attention to her and looked up to see Macleod standing in a long coat and tutting to himself.

  Kneeling down beside her, Macleod whispered in her ear, ‘What are you doing? These guys are murderers; you need to take backup with you. I nearly lost Stewart earlier today. I don’t need to lose you. Stop trying to impress; you are right where I need you, nothing more, nothing less. Now, report.’

  Hope filled in Macleod, advising of the map that Dudley had and how the young man who she suspected was Andy MacPhail, had tried to kill Dudley. Around her, Macleod set the accompanying officers on a search for the gun. Leaving one of the uniformed sergeants in charge, Hope and Macleod returned to the hotel where they questioned the barman about the client who had run.

  ‘Been here a few days but he doesn’t tend to be in the bar like that, often keeping himself to himself and then disappearing out.’

  Hope wondered if the man had been watching Macleod as he ate, or was it just chance he was in earshot of them when he ran? Either way, he was gone and their chance to grab one of the hunters of the treasure had vanished. Hope asked to see the man’s bedroom almost as an afterthought as she doubted there would be anything of use left behind. Surely, he would be too careful about that, and besides, he had the map.

  As they were shown to the room, Jona Nakamura appeared on scene dressed in a pair of jeans and a leather jacket. ‘If you are going to take a look in that room, then can I kindly ask that I do the searching.’ She threw them a pair of gloves each and then noticed that Hope had a badly bruised temple. ‘You okay?’

  Hope nodded and pointed to the now open door, allowing Jona to enter first. Macleod hung back and let the two women start to open drawers and wardrobes. There was a small amount of clothes in the room but that was almost the full extent of its contents. Macleod indicated that they should look in the en suite and Jona flicked the light switch. The room was clean and hardly used but there was an assortment of hygienic products for teeth and hair on the edge of the wash hand basin. Jona picked up each item turning it over before replacing it in exactly the same position. Until her photographer was here, she did want anything moved.

  Macleod returned to the room and turned his attention to a small suitcase in the corner of the room. Jona had opened it and examined the objects saying there was nothing of note, only a shaver and some nail clippers. When Hope left the bathroom, she saw him standing there focused intently on the contents of the case.

  ‘What, sir? What’s the matter?’

  ‘There’s a shaver in the case,’ said Macleod.

  ‘And?’ asked Hope in frustration at not seeing his thinking.

  ‘There’s a razor and shaving foam in the bathroom,’ said Jona.

  Turning back to the bathroom, Hope saw Jona bring out the items in her gloved hand and delicately set them on the dressing table in the room. She held them up before her, turning them over and over again. The razor was held up, shaken and then placed back down. Then the shaving can was shaken. This time she shook it twice, and then a third time. Delicately she squirted a little of the foam out.

  ‘That’s squirting well for the amount in it. I think you may be onto something, Inspector.’ Jona grinned and then pulled out a small knife from her jacket. Delicately, she examined the bottom of the can and then slid the knife along the edge before levering it against the bottom of the can. The bottom fell off suddenly, dropping with a clatter onto the table. A rolled-up piece of paper fell out too.

  Hope reached forward but had her hand tapped aside by Jona’s hand which held the knife. ‘Gently, don’t crease it.’

  Hope picked up the paper and unravelled it, setting the small paper on the desk. The image had obviously been shrunk but it showed a map of the Isle of Barra and its associated smaller islands with a number of crosses on the map.

  ‘It’s going to be a late one,’ said Macleod. ‘Miss Nakamura, kindly get your photographer and get me pictures of that map that I can use before you do any other searching in this room. And Hope,’ he said turning to his Sergeant, ‘go get a shower and a change. I’m going to need you at the station in half an hour.’

  With that Macleod walked out of the room, leaving the two women looking at each other. ‘He’s a bit sharp tonight,’ said Jona.

  ‘Not half, he gave me a bollocking at Kisimul Castle.’

  ‘Got something on his mind, then. Outside of this as if it isn’t enough. Let me get my team sorted and then I’ll come sort you out with that bump on the head. It’ll only take five minutes.’ Hope saw Jona looking at her with concerned eyes. ‘Are you all right, Hope?’

  ‘No, Jona, I’m not. And I don’t mean the bump on the head.’

  Chapter 19

  Stewart’s face was smarting, but she had managed a quick change and a shower at the police station before Ross and she returned to Simon Green’s home. His son was no longer there, having been taken away by the force to formally identify his father and there was a small crowd of locals hanging around. Several uniformed officers kept a guard line and let the highland pair through on production of their badges.

  Her replacement glasses, which Stewart always carried with her, felt slightly uncomfortable on her nose. The style was exactly the same, but she believed that her first pair had worn some sort of groove around the bridge of her nose, as she slid them towards her eyes. The replacement would have to do but when she returned to Inverness, a priority would be made of getting a replacement lens for the original pair.

  Ross strode up the driveway and noticed a lack of forensics but then again nothing had actually taken place at this run down semi-detached. Stepping into the hallway, Ross walked through to the kitchen at the rear of the house. Following him, Stewart saw the line of grease behind the electric hobs and a clogged-up extractor fan above them. There was an actual chip pan, complete with a depth of oil. Surely those death traps had been got rid of years ago, in a blast of healthy eating and a safety campaign to stop kitchen fires. Not here it seemed.

  From the kitchen, they walked around the ground floor and took in a small dining room and front lounge, complete with a television that could display actors in an almost life-size proportion. Several cans of some cheap lager were lying around the couch. It was not the classiest house Stewart had ever examined.

  After tak
ing the stairs with the peeling banister, Stewart looked through three bedrooms and a bathroom but found the same state of neglect to household cleanliness but little else. There was a distinct lack of photos in the house except for two pictures of different women. One was in the main bedroom and sat in pride of place on the dressing table. Maybe this was Green’s wife. They would have to ask the neighbours.

  The other photograph was hanging on the wall in the second bedroom. Stewart studied it as Ross joined her and he took an immediate step backwards as he saw it was surrounded by a large number of magazine cut-outs. Various women from what Stewart would have described as men’s magazines—and not the smart lads’ mags either—adorned the wall in a need to show off whatever was not normally shown, and it caused a small cough of propriety from Ross. Given his persuasion, this made Stewart almost giggle, but she was deep in thought about the photograph in the middle of the exposed women. A dark haired and dark-skinned woman in maybe her thirties was lying on a beach with a number of large buildings in the background. The sun was clearly shining, and she was dressed in a sarong with a large but loose white t-shirt covering her upper body. The photograph was in no way sexual, an island among the mass of pornography around it and it was this fact that screamed something at Stewart. Why have this? Who was this woman? Not a cheap throwaway thrill but someone who meant something.

  The woman was dark skinned but not so dark that you would think her to be from near the equator but rather a lighter shade of brown. Her curled black hair framed a gentle smile and she seemed to be at ease as she posed for this most innocent of photographs.

  ‘Who is that, Ross?’ Stewart asked her colleague.

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘A girlfriend. Not the mother as I think that’s her next door. You can see the resemblance to her son. But this is different. Maybe a girlfriend? Maybe an adopted sibling? Maybe a desired colleague given the smut that surrounds it?’

  ‘Whoever it is,’ said Ross, ‘it’s someone from at least twenty years ago if not more. Look at the cars, Stewart. Those are from a time; the styles are just not today. I’d say twenty to thirty years ago and that’s Spain. In fact . . .’ Ross held his hand to his chin and seemed to be drifting back to somewhere in his mind. Stewart did not interrupt him but instead turned to look at the bed of the room which was at such an angle that the sleeper would face this wall.

  ‘Magaluf! That’s where it is. The hotel in the background, knew I had passed it. In fact, we ate in there.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘John, before he had the accident. That was one of our last holidays. He wanted some sun and we got a cheap deal to Majorca. We got thrown out of a few bars.’

  Stewart watched the man’s face as it became a wash of delight followed by a sudden hollowness. ‘And you are sure that’s Majorca, Magaluf.’

  ‘Yes, got the photos at home. You don’t forget good times like that. But why have a twenty-plus-year-old photo of some random woman among all this sleaze? Doesn’t make sense.’

  Stewart stepped back to the wall and lifted off one of the sleazier pictures, discovering it was held on with Blu-tac. Taking the picture of the dark-skinned woman, she found it to be hung up with a nail and picture wire.

  ‘The woman was here first, Ross, there’s even a light stain behind it.’ A rectangle had been formed on the wall where the paint had not been deteriorated by the sunlight. ‘Must have been up here a while. But why?’

  Stewart walked out of the bedroom and stood between it and the main bedroom which backed onto it. In between was a wall but in the main bedroom that wall stuck out further at the far end of the rooms. There was maybe an extra foot and where the wall then moved back, a clever arrangement of shelves had been constructed that softened the harsh lines.

  ‘Ross, we need to go next door. There’s an addition here, I reckon, but if I see next door, we’ll know. These houses were all built in a mirror of each other. One side of the semi-detached would be symmetrical to the other. I reckon there’s been something placed behind that wall of posing women.

  Ross nodded and told Stewart to go and have a look. A minute later she was standing in front of a black door which opened to reveal a smartly dressed gentleman in the latter stages of life. Stewart made her apologies for disturbing him and asked to see his bedroom. The man was surprised but when she said she was investigating something next door he picked up and became incredibly helpful.

  ‘I knew there was something about them. You know Simon had some really dodgy friends, all through his time here. I kept clear of them, as you can imagine but he was up to his neck in it. And as for that boy of his.’ Hope reeled; the boy was a full-grown adult probably in his forties. ‘Pure filth. You can tell the boxes that are arriving are from those shops. Plain paper. But they dropped one off here one day when he was out. Well, really, no self-respecting woman would pose like that.’

  ‘You opened his mail?’ asked Stewart. The man went silent. ‘Or was it just ripped, sir?’

  ‘Yes,’ the man replied quietly, ‘ripped as you say.’

  The bedroom showed the same design as its counterpart next door except for one feature, that of the extended wall. Stewart smiled to herself, pushed her glasses back and then winced as her face felt a twinge of pain.

  ‘Are you okay, officer? That’s a heck of a bruise on your face.’

  ‘Fine, sir, but thank you. And thanks for your assistance.’ The man smiled and escorted Stewart to the door.

  Back in the Green residence, Stewart found Ross tapping the expanded wall she had found. His ear was hard to it and Ross was carefully sounding every square inch of the wall.

  ‘That’s solid, Stewart. I can’t find a cavity but we need forensics. Maybe they can peer into the wall.’ Ross peeled away to make the call and Stewart was left standing, her eyes on the opaque plaster before her. Maybe something was in there. It seemed strange having a perfectly normal photograph amongst the porn. Stewart stepped outside to make a call as well.

  When she got through to the Newcastle main station, it took her several minutes to track down and then get message to the officers who had taken the younger Mr Green to the mortuary to identify his father’s body. The forensic team had arrived by the time the answer to her question was answered.

  According to the younger Mr Green, the photograph was one of his father’s and had been in the room when the son had moved into that room. When he had tried to move it, his father had gone somewhat crazy and the son decided to simply leave it there as in reality, as he put it, she was a decent bird even if she did have her clothes on. The comment disgusted Stewart but it also gave her a little kick of excitement as she realised they may be onto something.

  Ross joined Stewart at the front of the house and took in a deep draught of fresh air. ‘They reckon something’s in there,’ said Ross. ‘I’ve left them to excavate it but they said they would be a while. You want something to eat? Could be a while before we get a natural break like this. Seems we are on a run today, though we did pay the price for it.’

  Stewart watched Ross examine her bruised face and then start to raise his hand to her cheek before he stopped. Almost embarrassed, he turned away but she spoke after him. ‘It is smarting, and I could do with a bite. One of us should stay though, shouldn’t we? Do you mind getting the food? I might frighten them with this face.’

  ‘I didn’t mean anything . . .’

  Stewart held up a hand and when Ross asked what she wanted, she merely replied, ‘Anything.’ When he returned with a fish supper, the great battered fish accompanied with chips that was a staple anywhere in the United Kingdom, she wolfed the hot fish into her. It was cod, not haddock, but then she was in England, was she not?

  The night was beginning to fall when one of the forensic team called them through to the upstairs room. The younger Mr Green was still helping with enquiries surrounding his father’s death and had not returned although he may have had a small fit on seeing his beloved wall of women now in ruins. The fo
rensic team had removed each crass photograph, bagging them for reference and then had broken the wall down slowly. As Stewart entered the room, she saw a plastic sheet hanging over where the magazine images had been.

  ‘Karen Sommes’, said an older woman, maybe in her late fifties, but dressed in a white coverall with her hood up and a mask across her face. The woman shook both their hands before turning to the plastic sheet and pulling it back. There before the detectives was a skeletal figure dressed in a jacket and jeans. The skeleton was only half uncovered, and the arms and feet were still encased.

  ‘We still have work to do but I thought you should get a quick look now in case there’s anything you can tell from the clothing. Also, we managed to get inside the jacket and to the interior pocket. We found this.’ Sommes held up a plastic bag containing a green piece of paper. ‘It’s a driving licence, old one from before the photographic ones, so it has full details. You are looking at Angel Jones.’

  Stewart felt that kick of excitement again—almost guilty—as she stared at the skeleton in the wall. But this was a name, and presumably there would be an address.

  ‘Can one of your team open that package up for us and we’ll get a photograph of it? Then I think we’ll be leaving you alone for a while as we have an address to investigate, Mrs Sommes.’ Ross waited expectantly and Sommes called out for a colleague and they duly allowed Ross to make a quick image on his mobile of the driving licence.

  Stewart was standing in a world of her own, thinking. Angel Jones, bit dramatic. But got in too deep and ended up in the wall. Someone to bury the treasure and then leave little clues with the group but none had a full picture of where it was unless they worked or shared together. Except for Angel. So, she was silenced.

  ‘Come on,’ said Ross, ‘we have an address, let’s get cracking.’

  The address was on the other side of Newcastle and Ross drove back around the city via the main ring road and out towards South Shields where they located a terrace house. The area was clean but the housing looked cramped and cars lined the road on both sides causing Ross to park some distance from the address.