‘Okay.’
‘Just okay?’
‘Aye. You know.’
‘I do,’ said West. ‘It’s never easy, losing a friend.’
‘Well it’s her own fault.’
‘Is it? And why’s that?’
‘She was stupid. She should never have gone up there alone.’
‘You’re not wrong there,’ said Duncan. ‘Did you not try to stop her?’
‘Aye, of course we did,’ said Holly, ‘but Ella’s Ella. She’s as stubborn as mule.’
West sat back, crossed her legs and smiled.
‘She was single-minded then? The confident kind?’
‘No. Anything but.’
‘Really? Then why was she so determined to go it alone?’
Holly, her face devoid of emotion, stared at West and huffed a disgruntled sigh.
‘You seem angry,’ said West, intrigued by her ire, ‘is that because of what’s happened or, I don’t know, something else maybe? Did she upset you? An argument, perhaps?’
‘Not so much an argument,’ said Holly. ‘More a disagreement.’
‘About going up the mountain?’
Holly glanced furtively at Kirsty and Megan, and lowered her head.
‘Look, I know this can’t be easy,’ said West, ‘but I’ve been through the mill myself so, come on, what was it?’
‘If you must know, it was about this fella she’s been seeing.’
‘What about him?’
‘We’re not keen on him. He keeps turning up whenever we’re out, it’s like he’s following us around, he’s like some kind of stalker but Ella, she’ll not have a word said against him.’
‘So you’ve met him?’
‘We have, aye.’
‘And do you know his name?’
‘Alessandro Ricci.’
‘Sounds Italian.’
‘He is,’ said Holly. ‘And he’s old enough to be her father.’
‘I see. And you’re not happy about that?’
‘It’s pervy. He should be dating grannies.’
‘Takes all sorts,’ said West. ‘So where did they meet?’
‘Home. Irvine. That’s all I know.’
‘And what’s so bad about him?’
‘Everything.’
‘Everything? Are you sure you’re not just a teensy bit jealous?’
‘Are you joking me?’ said Holly, her lip curling with contempt. ‘Absolutely not. We’re just looking out for her, that’s all. We didn’t want to see her get hurt.’
‘It’s a bit late for that, hen,’ said Duncan.
‘See here, constable, he’s nice enough on the outside. He’s polite, a wee charmer, but he’s a control freak. He tells her what to wear, what to eat, who she can see and who she can’t. He’s trouble, I’m telling you.’
‘Is he married?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘So, let me guess,’ said West, ‘she had a cob on because she was here with you instead of being at home with him?’
‘Aye. Maybe.’
‘And you don’t like the fact that he’s coming between you and Ella. There’s nothing wrong with that, it’s perfectly understandable. I mean you’ve obviously known each other a long time.’
‘We have,’ said Holly, ‘since school. We were all in the same class, well, except me. I was the year above.’
West stood, pulled her phone from her hip and, ignoring the missed call from Dougal, stared at her reflection in the window and tousled her already ruffled hair.
‘Tell me, Holly,’ she said. ‘Why did you come to Arran?’
‘No reason. We just like the boats. Any excuse to ride a ferry. This year we’ve done Bute, Cumbrae and Jura, and next month we’re away to Lewis.’
‘Good for you. Must cost a bit, though?’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Holly. ‘It’s cheaper than a night in a club and you don’t have to put up with a bunch of neds off their heads on lager and laughing gas chasing you round the dance floor.’
‘Do you sail at home then? Is this some kind of hobby of yours?’
‘Do I look like I own a boat?’
‘Actually,’ said West, ‘I was thinking more a sailing club.’
‘Oh. Sorry. No.’
‘Still, it can’t be easy arranging time off together.’
‘It’s not that difficult,’ said Holly. ‘I’m the only one who works.’
‘And what do you do?’
‘McDonald’s,’ said Holly, clearly embarrassed. ‘It’s not great but it’s a job, right? Ella, Megan and Kirsty, they’re the clever ones. They’ve just started uni.’
‘I see,’ said West. ‘And do they teach communication skills at this uni?’
Megan looked up from the myriad of photos posted under the hashtag #instalove and scowled at the interruption.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said. ‘Why?’
‘Because you could do with some. You’re not saying much.’
‘Am I not? It must be the grief.’
‘Yeah,’ said West. ‘That’ll be it. So tell me, Megan, whose idea was it to go for a jaunt up Goat Fell?’
‘Who do you think? Ella.’
‘And she wanted you to go with her?’
‘Aye.’
‘So why didn’t you?’
‘Are you mad? Once that cloud came rolling in, that was us, gone.’
‘So you had a little disagreement,’ said West, ‘and left her to it?’
‘We did. It’s not a crime, is it?’
‘No, it’s not. But why did you leave it so late to call the rescue services?’
‘We were pissed off,’ said Holly. ‘We thought we’d let her stew a while. She was ruining the trip for all of us. We must have lost track of time.’
‘Exactly,’ said Megan. ‘We lost track of time because we were actually enjoying ourselves.’
‘And?’
‘And what? When she didn’t come back, I called 999.’
‘Did she take anything with her on this wee expedition?’ said Duncan. ‘Food? Drink? A hat? Gloves? A whistle?’
‘Aye, she did. A packet of cheese and onion, and a flask.’
‘And have any of you done any hillwalking before?’
‘Dream on,’ said Megan. ‘Even if we’d wanted to, frankly we’re just not fit enough.’
‘And is Ella?’
‘I’d say so, aye. She plays netball and hockey.’
‘Well that should’ve stood her in good stead,’ said West, ‘but there’s one thing I don’t get. If she didn’t want to be here, why was she so adamant about climbing Goat Fell? If anything, I’d have thought she’d be heading for the next ferry home.’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Megan. ‘She just said it was something she had to do.’
‘No,’ said West. ‘Everest was something Hillary had to do. The north face of the Eiger was something Bonington had to do. She’s not in the same league, is she?’
West stood with her arms folded and stared at Kirsty who, having successfully avoided eye contact throughout the entire proceedings, had stayed mute.
‘Kirsty,’ she said. ‘How was Ella just before you turned back?’
‘The usual.’
‘She didn’t seem distant? Distracted? A bit tired maybe?’
‘No,’ said Kirsty. ‘If anything, it’s like she couldn’t wait to get going.’
‘And before you set off, from here I mean, did any of you have a drink to perk you up? A bit of Dutch courage?’
‘No. Look, we like a wee bevvy, I’m not denying it, but not during the day. We’re not jakeys.’
‘Fair enough,’ said West. ‘Well I think we’re almost done here. Two more questions and we’ll be out of your hair. First off, whose room is this?’
‘Me and Megan,’ said Kirsty. ‘Ella’s next door with Holly.’
‘And number two, how did you get here from the ferry?’
‘Taxi,’ said Megan.
‘And do you remember the name of the cab c
ompany?’
‘No.’
‘The colour of the car?’
‘No.’
‘What about the driver? Do you remember what he looked like?’
‘Scottish.’
‘That’s incredibly helpful,’ said West as she turned for the door. ‘Thanks for that. Okay, I may need to have a word with you in the morning so no sloping off before you’ve seen me, got that?’
‘If you say so.’
‘Good. Now, we’re going to take a look at Ella’s room. Holly, is that okay with you? Do you want to come with us?’
‘No, you’re alright. I think it’s time we hit the bar.’
* * *
Ignoring the bed that appeared to have been occupied by someone with restless leg syndrome, Duncan turned his attention to a lilac rucksack atop the other whilst West, dropping to her hands and knees, searched underneath before standing and flipping the mattress.
‘Anything?’ she said.
‘The usual,’ said Duncan. ‘Clothes, toiletries, and a purse. There’s about thirty quid, some loose change, a provisional driving licence, and a bank card. That’s it.’
Feeling about as confident as Columbo in a game of hunt the thimble, a deflated West sighed as she turned her attention to the empty wardrobe before rifling through the dresser when Duncan, sounding surprisingly buoyant, yelped with the kind of fervour normally reserved for Celtic scoring an away win.
‘Get it up you!’ he said, grinning as he held a pillow in one hand and a bright yellow Nokia in the other.
‘Where was that?’ said West.
‘Pillowcase, miss. Looks like she was trying to hide it.’
‘Nice one, Duncan. Check the log, see who she was last in touch with.’
‘Someone called Al.’
‘Alessandro,’ said West. ‘Has to be. Any texts? Voicemail?’
‘Negative.’
‘Right, we’ll get Dougal to pull it apart when we get back. The question is, why didn’t she have it with her? Why was she hiding it?’
‘That’s a hell of a question, miss, unless…’
‘I’m listening.’
‘…unless she had two.’
‘Two phones? It’s possible.’
‘And she might have lost the other one on the mountain.’
‘Right,’ said West, ‘nip down to the bar and ask the girls what number they have for Ella. Better still, say nothing about the phone, get them to call her. If that doesn’t ring, then we’ll know she’s been up to something naughty.’
‘Roger that, miss.’
‘I’ll be along in a minute. How are you feeling now?’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Do you still feel like chucking up or shall we eat?’
* * *
Duncan folded his napkin, plopped it on the table and cursed the recurring bouts of queasiness brought about not by the mountain of macaroni cheese he’d forced down his neck but by the sight of West devouring a plateful of haggis nachos, the venison casserole, a side order of chips and a chocolate caramel tart.
‘So,’ said West, ‘did you check Ella’s number?’
‘I did and it’s not the Nokia. They all swear blind she’s got a Samsung. A Galaxy something or other.’
‘In that case let’s assume that Ella MacCall was using the new phone to keep her relationship a secret from someone other than the girls.’
‘Family?’
‘Maybe.’
‘So,’ said Duncan waving the Nokia, ‘will we give this Alessandro fella a wee call?’
‘God no,’ said West, ‘we’ll wait until Dougal’s ripped it apart, which reminds me, I need to give him a bell.’
‘Well, while you do that, I’ll fetch us a couple of goldies.’
‘You what?’
‘Whisky, miss.’
‘Nice one. Lochranza, please. And make it a double.’
* * *
West, one hand in her pocket, stood in the vestibule staring through the glass-fronted doors with the distant hum of the bar behind her and the sound of sleet lashing the treetops dead ahead.
‘Dougal,’ she said. ‘Tell me you’ve gone home.’
‘Not yet, miss. Something’s up.’
‘Anything juicy?’
‘As a peach. Have you got a minute?’
‘I certainly have but I’ve got a couple of things for you first. Number one, how’s Jimbo? Been and gone I suppose.’
‘Neither,’ said Dougal. ‘He never arrived.’
‘What? Why? Has something happened?’
‘No, no. He says a pal of his was worried about his daughter, she’s gone AWOL apparently and he said he was going to try and track her down.’
‘Typical Jimbo,’ said West. ‘I’ll give him a bell later and see what the old sod’s been up to. Right, next thing, I’m sending you the names and addresses of the girls involved with Ella MacCall. I want a background check on all three please, as quick as you can.’
‘A background check? Are they not as innocent as they seem?’
‘Far from it. They’re being cagey about something and I need to know what and why.’
‘No bother. Is everything else okay?’
‘Yeah, all good, apart from Duncan.’
‘How so?’
‘Let’s just say when it comes to sailing, he’s no Captain Birds Eye. So, what did you want to talk about?’
‘That fella on Sandgate, miss. The one who walked into a machete.’
‘What about him? Is he okay?’
‘Oh aye,’ said Dougal. ‘It’s a wee scratch. To be fair, I could’ve done more damage with a butter knife. Anyways, it turns out this fella’s a journalist by the name of Nick Riley.’
‘And being a journo, he’s rubbed someone up the wrong way?’
‘In one, miss. I’ll not bore you with the details just now but basically he wrote an article on how easy it is for folk in the EU with a criminal record to hop on a plane and get themselves over here.’
‘It’s not just the EU, Dougal, it’s the whole bleedin’ world.’
‘Right enough. Anyway, he came across this fella from Siena in Italy who’s been here for two years.’
‘And?’
‘And he’s got form,’ said Dougal. ‘He did six months for harassing, threatening and persecuting behaviour…’
‘You mean stalking?’
‘Aye, but that’s not all. He was also charged with three counts of manslaughter but released due to insufficient evidence. One week later he pitched up here, in Ayrshire.’
‘And this Riley bloke,’ said West, ‘he reckons he’s the one who boshed him with the machete?’
‘Exactly. It’s a fella by the name of Ricci. Alessandro Ricci.’
* * *
Content to bide his time savouring the spicy aroma of his single malt, Duncan sat staring wistfully into space opposite an agitated Mackenzie who, keen to clock off, breathed a sigh of relief as West blustered through the bar, snatched the tumbler from the table, and downed her whisky in one.
‘Are you okay?’ said Duncan. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘Well there’s something spooky going on, that’s for sure. I need a refill, do the honours would you?’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m positive,’ said West. ‘You won’t believe what I’ve just heard. Constable Mackenzie, have you knocked off yet?’
‘Not quite, miss. I’ve another half an hour yet.’
‘Too bad. You’ve just missed out on a free drink. So, what’s up?’
‘I just dropped by to tell you that the cab company’s dragging their heels. They’ll get back to me as soon as they’ve quietened down but it may a take wee while.’
‘Well, I haven’t got time to wait around for them,’ said West. ‘Get on to CalMac, I want a full passenger list for the ferry the girls were on and any CCTV they’ve got of the terminal portside. It’s the passengers disembarking I’m interested in and I also want a list of all the vehicle
s on the same crossing, got that?’
‘Miss.’
‘Oh, and before I forget, give Duncan the address for this McIver bloke. I’ll be at the bar.’
Chapter 6
Alone in the confines of the custody suite, Munro, hands clasped behind his back, stared solemnly at the bank of blue, steel doors and drew a short, sharp breath as his thoughts turned to his erstwhile colleague and friend Alexander Craig and the untimely death of his young daughter, Agnes, who was brutally slain by a sadistic psychopath as she lay sleeping in her bed. He thanked God that Sophie had not succumbed to a similar fate.
Still smarting from the psychological effects of leading an investigation so close to home, he cursed under his breath and spun on his heels as the door behind him creaked open.
‘Well?’ he said, his icy blue eyes glinting in the harsh overhead light. ‘How is she?’
‘Not great but she’s well enough to travel.’
‘Are there any signs of… you know, interference?’
‘I can’t say,’ said the doctor with a sympathetic shake of the head. ‘We’d have to give her a full examination to find that out but on the positive side there’s no sign of any bruising.’
‘Your optimism astounds me. And on the negative?’
‘Well, she’s clearly not intoxicated but she’s definitely taken something.’
‘Explain yourself man!’
‘She’s weak,’ said the doctor. ‘Physically weak. Of course that could be from of a lack of sustenance but her reactions are slower than I’d expect, her blood pressure’s a wee bit low, and she’s not been to the bathroom since she was brought in.’
‘Good grief!’ said Munro. ‘I’m not after a prognosis! What exactly does that mean?’
‘It means, and remember I can’t be certain about this, it looks as though she’s taken a sedative of sorts.’
‘As I thought. So, we need bloods.’
‘Aye, we do indeed.’
‘How long?’ said Munro. ‘For the results I mean. It’s urgent.’
‘I’ll send the sample by courier now but it’s normally a couple of days before…’
‘No, no, no! Did you not hear me? I said it’s urgent!’
The doctor, already miffed at missing his supper, checked his watch and, about to absolve himself of any responsibility when it came to sending samples for analysis, thought the better of it as his hapless gaze was met with Munro’s intimidating stare.
RANCOUR: A gripping murder mystery set on the west coast of Scotland (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 8) Page 5