by S L Beaumont
“Yeah, mate, they’re great,” said one of the men, a Yorkshireman by his accent, pulling his wallet from his back pocket as he approached the bar. He was a large fit looking man, tall as well as broad. He turned to his companions who were headed towards a table in the front window. “What do you want to drink?” he called.
“Brew Dog, Freddy,” one of the men answered.
“Four pints of Brew Dog, then please,” he said.
“Coming right up,” Alastair replied. “What brings you boys to town?”
“Ah, a bit of fishing, golf, few beers, ya’ know,” Freddy answered with a grin, handing over a £20 note. “Chance to escape the missus.”
Conversation resumed around the pub as the men took a table by the window. The chef gave a shout from the kitchen, my cue to collect the next meals that were ready to be served. I loaded a tray with cutlery and condiments and stepped backwards into the bar carrying the tray. I don’t know what made me glance at the table in the front window, but I did and almost dropped the tray as I recognized one of the strangers. Charlie was sitting with his back to the window.
I managed to hide my surprise by bending and setting the tray down again. Further down the bar, Alastair was chatting to a couple of the locals, whilst keeping a wary eye on the newcomers. He glanced at me and raised his eyebrows silently asking if there was a problem. I smiled at him and carried the tray to a table at the back of the room.
I was wiping down the bar a little while later, when a second guy from Charlie’s group came up to the bar. He was dark skinned with his head shaved.
“Another round of Brew Dog and whatever you’re having,” he said, giving me a cheeky wink.
“That’s very kind, thank you,” I said as Alastair came to stand beside me and started pulling the pints.
“I’m Sean,” he said.
“Hi, Sean, I’m Jess,” I replied, although since he was with Charlie, he would already know that.
“I’m sure our visitors would like to see menus,” Alastair said.
I gathered four laminated sheets of paper from a pile at the end of the bar and handed them across.
“Grand idea,” Sean said, accepting the menus from me.
I was on edge for the remainder of the evening, but they left at closing time, climbing the stairs to their rooms without Charlie even making eye contact with me.
Chapter 41
April 19
I expected to see Charlie the following day and hung around at the cottage in case he stopped by. But he didn’t and I chastised myself for being so lame. It wasn’t until the four of them breezed into the pub for dinner that I saw him again. As with the previous night, Sean ordered the drinks and collected the menus from me. Alastair took their dinner orders a little while later and it was only when I delivered their meals did Charlie actually look at me. He gave me a warm smile along with a polite thank you, as I placed his meal in front of him.
Douglas was propped up at the bar again. I was pleased, as I hoped to continue the conversation that had been interrupted the previous night by the arrival of Charlie and his mates.
As soon as Douglas’s glass was nearing empty, I pulled him another pint and placed it in front of him.
“On me,” I said in quiet voice. “Or actually on our visitors who bought one for me, but I’m giving it to you.” I smiled at him.
Douglas nodded his thanks and sank back into his reverie.
“I was sorting through some old photos after we talked last night,” he said the next time I came near.
“Was Colin’s mother in any of them?” I asked. “I would love to see, as I’ve never seen a picture of her. I don’t know if Colin even had one.” Douglas looked surprised. “You mentioned that you might know who his father was?” I asked. Douglas nodded.
“Can you tell me?”
“Jess, the table at the back needs clearing,” Alastair said from behind me. I jumped. I hadn’t even heard him approach.
“Sure, Alastair,” I replied.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I said to Douglas, turning towards the food hatch to pick up an empty tray and cloth.
“Do you have a pen?” Douglas asked. I dug my hands into the front pocket of my apron and produced one.
“There you go,” I said, sitting it on the bar in front of him and watched him turn over a beer coaster and start writing on the back.
“Now,” Alastair added. “Not next week.”
I spun around.
“Sorry? Remind me why I’m working here again? It’s not like I need the money and I certainly don’t need to be spoken to like that. You do that again and I’m done,” I snarled at him in a low whisper.
Alastair glared at me and for a moment I felt frightened. Then he sighed and ran a large hand through his hair. “Aye, you’re right. I’m sorry, Jess, it’s been a long day.” He gave me a sheepish grin and moved away to serve another customer.
I shot a glance at Charlie’s table. Charlie had a dark look on his face. He’d clearly overheard.
When Alastair called time, Douglas drained his glass and stood pulling on his coat and hat. He stopped beside me, as I loaded a tableful of empty plates and cutlery onto a tray, and reached out to give my hand a squeeze. As he did, I felt him press a round piece of cardboard into my palm.
“Come and see me in the morning,” he said.
I nodded, tucking the beer coaster into my jeans pocket. I carried a tray of dirty dishes into the kitchen and set them on the bench.
“That’s the last of them,” I said to the young guy loading the dishwasher.
“Thank God.”
Glancing over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t being watched, I pulled the coaster from my pocket and looked at it. Written in block capitals was an address two streets over from the pub.
I left the minute I could, still fuming at Alastair’s words, despite his apologies. I jumped into the Fiat and floored it out of the pub carpark. As soon as I turned onto the main road which curved around the harbor, I realized that I was not alone. I gave a sharp intake of breath and hit the brake. The car skidded to an abrupt stop.
“Don’t be frightened, it’s just me,” Charlie spoke from the back seat.
“For God’s sake, you almost gave me heart failure. Don’t ever do that again.”
“Sorry, Jess, but I need to discuss some things with you away from prying eyes.”
I nodded in the darkness and accelerated up the hill and out of the village. “I’ll park close to the door, so that you can get out under the cover of the porch.”
A few minutes later I let him into the cottage. The embers of the fire were glowing orange in the fireplace, so I added a handful of kindling to get it going again. I walked around each room, checking the window locks and closing the curtains before returning to the kitchen and closing the shutters.
“Tea?” I offered.
Charlie nodded. “I like your cottage. It’s cute,” he said.
“Thanks, I’ve been slowly doing it up. It had been pretty neglected over the years, but it’s the closest thing to a home that I have now.”
“Did you sell your London flat?”
“No, it’s rented out. Surprising what some people will pay for the privilege of living in the home once occupied by a notorious terrorist,” I said with a bitter laugh.
Charlie smiled and sat down at the wooden kitchen table. I poured the boiling water into a yellow china teapot and carried it to the table. I grabbed two matching mugs from the open shelves and a bottle of milk from the fridge.
“Do you want anything to eat? I have cake.”
Charlie nodded his head. “Cake sounds great. You appear to be doing well, Jess– most people would have crumbled after what you’ve been through,” he said.
“I nearly did.”
We looked at one another for a long moment before Charlie broke eye contact and looked around the room. His eyes came to rest on the rifle propped up beside the door. He looked back at me and raised an eyebrow.
&
nbsp; “Protection.”
“Do you know how to use it?” he asked, frowning.
I grinned. “I do now.”
“Do I want to know?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Probably not.” My voice caught as I thought about the manner of Buffy’s death and I took a deep breath, letting it out as I reached into the pantry cupboard for the tin containing the carrot cake that I’d made earlier in the day. I cut two wedges and laid them on matching plates with little forks beside them.
“Thanks.” Charlie smiled at me and reached into the pocket of the jacket he’d draped across the back of the chair.
“We’re obviously not just here for a few days of fishing and golfing,” he said.
I nodded and poured the tea. “Yeah, I figured that much.”
He laid several photos on the table. “Can I get you to identify each person?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. “That’s Alastair the publican, who you’ve already met, those guys are fishermen, I don’t know their names. There’s a fleet of around twenty boats which go out from here. That is the local cop, who’s a bit useless,” I said, tapping the next photo, “and that guy is a mechanic. He runs the garage out on the main road.”
“What about this man?”
“That’s Ewan Campbell, the Laird. He lives out on the island with the manor house just offshore. Wealthy gentleman farmer, from what I can gather. Owns most of the land around here. Colin knew him.”
Charlie nodded. “So we know that Colin’s mother is Catriona Mackie, do you know who his father is?”
I shook my head. “I’m working on that. She was still a teenager when she fell pregnant, so I guess it was a local boy, but as you have seen, she didn’t name him on the birth certificate.”
“This is the village that Colin came to for his golfing weekends, right?” I nodded. “Did you know that from the age of ten, he came back here every summer to attend a boys’ camp run on the estate?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah, his adoptive parents recently told me that it was a condition of his adoption that he came back here each holiday. I’m not sure why, maybe to keep the connection with his mother. But it seems that he knew the local lads really well, better than an occasional visitor would,” I said, suppressing a yawn that crept up on me. “Sorry, I think the stress of the last few days has caught up with me. I’m not sleeping very well without Buffy.”
“Buffy?”
“My dog.” Tears filled my eyes and I stood, taking my plate to the sink.
“Jess, I’m so sorry. Do you need anything?”
I held on to the bench and sighed. “Just answers.”
Charlie was silent for a moment. “You know what we had was real, don’t you?” he said. “I was never supposed to get involved with you. As soon as I did, I tried to get reassigned from your case, so that I could continue to see you. But it was too late to get anyone else involved.”
“And then Frankie came along.”
“No. You and I were found out by one of my bosses, who was furious with me. I was told in no uncertain terms to terminate our relationship in a way that there was no coming back from. Frankie was that way.” He put his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Jess, I hate myself for hurting you like that.”
I turned away from him, the tears I’d been holding back now rolling down my face. What a waste of lives and love this had all been.
“Well, I have no faith in my ability when it comes to men, one was a terrorist and I didn’t know, and the other was lying to me the whole time,” I replied, sniffing.
“Not the whole time, Jess.”
“Whatever. I’m involved in an entirely different relationship now.”
Charlie’s eyes flashed and he glanced down at the photos. “Are you dating one of these guys?”
I laughed without humor and shook my head. “No, what I mean is, I was in the middle of something before and I didn’t know. Now I know and I am really scared. Someone killed my dog, Charlie. Actually, I’m just going to call you Will, if that’s okay.” I shook my head. “You’re never going to be Charlie to me.”
He grinned. “That’s fine by me, Jessica.” He pitched his voice low.
It was my turn to smile. “Sorry, Will, I’m immune to your charm nowadays.”
He pulled a face. “Sorry, Jess. I wasn’t meaning anything.” He looked annoyed with himself.
“Can you answer some questions for me?” I asked.
“I’ll try.”
“What’s your full name?”
“Charles William Matheson.”
“Where did you grow up? How did you end up doing this job?”
“I grew up in Sussex until my parents were killed in a car accident when I was fourteen. I bounced around the foster system for a while before getting a scholarship to Harrow and the rest you know.”
“When were you recruited?”
“By MI5?” I nodded. “While I was at UCL.”
“So you’ve been doing this for years then?”
“No, this was my first full undercover assignment. Up until now, I’ve been working as an analyst. I can’t really tell you any more than that,” he said with a shrug.
“Or you’d have to kill me. It’s all very James Bond.”
“Well, Moneypenny, I must take my leave,” he said, putting on a terrible Scottish accent as he pushed back his chair and stood up.
This time I laughed for real.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He let himself out into the night and I bolted the door behind him. I checked the rifle but left it by the door. I felt safer knowing that he and his team were somewhere nearby.
Chapter 42
April 20
I woke to a thick misty rain the following morning. Without Buffy to nudge me out of bed to take her walking, I rolled over and tucked my duvet around me and thought about the events of the previous day. I understood Will a little more, although I would never forgive him for deceiving me. God, I had been so naïve. First Colin and then Will.
I finally forced myself out of bed and got ready to go and visit Douglas after breakfast. I pulled on my coat, put up an umbrella and walked into the village. Low cloud had rolled in overnight and it was only just possible to make out the outline of Campbell Island. Douglas’s cottage was two streets over from the pub. The front gate was open and I walked up to the door of the little stone house, admiring his well-tended garden. The front door was ajar and I lowered my umbrella and knocked. After several moments of silence, I knocked again and called out.
“Douglas, it’s Jessica, from the pub.”
There was still no response. I looked behind me at the quiet street. There was no one around. Perhaps he’d popped out to the shop. People in the village left their houses unlocked all of the time. It wasn’t like the city, here there was no theft.
I leaned my dripping umbrella against the doorframe, pushed the door open and stepped into a small reception area. In front of me a narrow flight of stairs led to the second floor. The walls in the hall and stairwell were covered in framed black and white photos. I recognized Strathgarvan Castle and the Campbell Island lighthouse in a number of them. The photographs were stunning capturing shadows and light. Whoever had taken them was very talented.
As I turned to admire the photos further, I noticed a pair of slippered feet in the front room. Peeking into the room, I could see Douglas slouched in an armchair. I smiled. The walls of this room were also lined with framed photographs.
“Good morning, Douglas,” I called. I didn’t want to frighten him by just appearing at his side.
When he didn’t respond, I walked further into the room and stifled a scream. Douglas had a pistol lying in his lap and there was a single bullet wound to his right temple. The back of his head was a bloody mess. At his feet, a large box had tipped over and photographs were strewn across the floor. On the table beside him sat a half empty whiskey bottle and a single glass. I forced myself to step forward and reached out to touch his hand. Cold. He was dead and had
been for a while. I shivered with unease. I stepped back and pulled my phone from my pocket to call the police, when I noticed a muddy footprint across several of the photos on the floor. Someone else had been here.
I raced outside and up the path to the house next door. A grey-haired woman wearing an apron answered my urgent knock. Her hand flew to her mouth when I explained what I’d found and she shouted out to her husband. They returned to Douglas’s house with me.
“Poor Dougie. He’s been a bit low, but I never thought it would come to this,” the old man said, stepping back out onto the porch taking deep breaths.
“Did you hear anything last night?” I asked the woman.
“No. I’ll go and call the police,” the woman said, hurrying back down the path and into her own house.
While she was gone, I looked at some of the photos on the floor. Whoever, the photographer was, he had a gift. Mixed in with beautiful scenic black and white photos were a number of pictures of people I didn’t recognize. I looked at Douglas again. He looked peaceful, his eyes staring into space, his features relaxed. Something wasn’t right, though.
Constable Jones arrived a short time later. His jacket was stretched around his wide girth and the buttons looked to be under enormous strain. He removed his hat and wiped the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead.
“Ms. Harley,” he said. “You’re not having a good week. Did ye find the body?” I nodded. “Suicide,” he stated and turned as Doctor Stevens, an older man in a dark suit whom I’d met on several occasions at the Gordons’, arrived carrying a black leather medical bag. He hurried over to examine Douglas.
“Looks that way,” he agreed. “Hi, Jess.”
“Hi, Doc.”
“Poor old Douglas. I didn’t think he was suicidal,” the doctor said.
I thought back to the previous evening. Douglas hadn’t wanted to talk to me in front of anyone else about Colin’s parentage, so he’d invited me here to show me something, but what? I recalled him writing before slipping me the coaster with his address on it. That was it. That’s what was bothering me. He wrote with his left hand.