Quintin Jardine: Skinner's ghosts

The pilot looked at the map, then at a larger chart spread out on the seat beside him. 'Okay, gentlemen,' he said. 'It looks simple enough. I'll file a flight-plan with Prestwick once we're in the air. I'd guess around an hour and a half, two hours. I should warn you, though there's a restricted area just to the north. That might be a problem, if there's military traffic expected.'

Skinner shook his head. 'I don't think so. Let's go.'

Conversation was difficult because of the noise of the engines, but Skinner managed to brief Martin on the intelligence gleaned by Mcllhenney on his visit to Leuchars. 'If the cottages are on Bal iol's land, as I think they are, he should be able to tell us who 262 the occupants are, and hopeful y some more besides.'

'Yes, let's hope so. Who's meeting us up there? A squad from Northern?'

The DCC shook his head. 'Nobody.'

'Eh?'

'This is down to us, Andy, just you and me.'

They sat in silence for the rest of the flight, looking at the scenery, as they crossed Stirlingshire to Crianlarich, then swung northward, skirting Ben Nevis and Fort William to the west, and following the jagged coastline. Final y, just before eight thirty, the pilot began his descent, until Balliol's castle came into view, a grey speck on the horizon at first, but growing larger and larger as they approached, along the banks of Loch Mhor.

'Set it down near Mr Balliol's own helicopter,' Skinner ordered, looking down and seeing two black-clad figures run out on to the castle terrace.

As the aircraft settled in the grass and as the blades began to slow in their rotation, the DCC saw Balliol himself emerge, from a small door not far from his study. He jumped down from the helicopter, and ran towards him.

'What the hell's this, Bob?' drawled the American, yet with the air of someone who had not been truly surprised for a long time.

Skinner shook his hand and introduced Martin, who had fol owed behind. 'Sorry to drop in unannounced like this, Everard, but this is important and we have to move fast. I need to know, does you estate include a place called King's Gully?'

The billionaire looked at him. 'Sure, and the land for ten miles north of that, five miles east and all the way west to the coast.'

'There are cottages in the Gul y – two according to the map. Who lives there?'

'Christ, Bob, I don't know that. My estate factor deals with all that stuff.'

'Is he here?'

'No, he lives on the far side of the loch. Come on in, guys; I'l call him, and tell him to get round here.'

'Thanks,' said Skinner, 'and ask him also, if he has any plans of the King's Gully cottages, to bring them with him.'

'Yeah, okay.' He led the way into the house, and through to the study. 'Set three more places for supper,' he barked to one of the Koreans. 'No, make that four: I forgot about the pilot.'

'No,' said the DCC. 'He has to stay with the chopper. I'm sure he'd be pleased if you took something out to him, though.'

They were still in the study, but ready to eat when the Estate Factor's Land Rover drew up outside the study window, twenty minutes after Balliol's telephone summons. A tall, grey, 263 weatherbeaten, tweed-clad man jumped down from the driver's seat and strode purposeful y into the house, carrying a briefcase.

'Hi, Don,' called Balliol, as the newcomer appeared in the doorway of the study. 'This is Donald McDonald,' he announced to Skinner and Martin. 'He was here when I bought the place, but if he hadn't been I'd have hired him anyway, for his name alone.'

The billionaire waved his employee towards a seat, as two Koreans fol owed him into the room carrying trays laden with hamburger rol s and jugs of coffee. 'Don, these guys are policemen. They need to know about the cottages up in King's Gully. Like are they occupied, and if so, by whom?'

McDonald gave a thin smile. 'I can answer those questions.' His accent, like his name, was pure Highlands. 'You may have seen two cottages on the map, gentlemen, but one has been derelict for years.'

He turned to Balliol. 'I've been meaning to talk to you, sir, about either demolishing it, or refurbishing it for rental.'

'Later, Don, later.'

'Very good. The cottage which is in habitable condition is rented to a single gentleman. His name is Gilbert Peters.'

'How long has he held the tenancy?' asked Martin.

'This time, these six months past.'

'This time?'

'Yes sir. A few years ago now, when my father was estate factor here and I was his assistant, in the time of Lord Erran, Mr Peters also rented the cottage. When he gave it up, we assumed we'd seen the last of him, but when he turned up again, I remembered him well enough.

'I had no hesitation about letting him have the place once more.

My father used to comment on how good a tenant he was. Always paid his rent on time, by bank transfer, and always kept the place spotless. He even made a few improvements.'

'Such as?'

'Well, when he was here the first time he had the telephone put in.

Since he's been back, he's painted the outside, and he's instal ed a television satellite dish.'

'What sort of car does he drive?' asked Skinner.

'Last time he came to see me it was a Subaru,' replied McDonald.

'Silvery grey in colour, four-wheel drive. You really need that here.'

'When did he come to see you last?'

'About four months ago, to ask if he could paint the place and instal the dish.'

'And when did you last cal on him?'

'I don't,' said the factor. 'My father and I have always held that good tenants have as much right to privacy as property-owners. I've seen the place from a distance, seen the repainting and the dish, but that's all. If Mr Peters invited me to call on him, I would, but otherwise no.

'Last time he was here, he used to invite my father and me up for a malt, on occasion, but that hasn't happened since he's been back.'

'What do you know about him?' asked the DCC.

'I know that he was a soldier, because when he rented the cottage the first time, my father took up the references he gave. I saw no need to do so this time.'

'Did he tell you where he'd been since he left?'

McDonald scratched his head. 'Not directly. But he implied that he'd been on service abroad. He did say that he'd retired from the Army, though. He didn't say what he's doing now.'

'I don't suppose that you'l know when he's there, and when he isn't?'

'No. The last time I looked into the Gul y I didn't see his car, but he could have gone to Fort Wil iam to shop.'

'When was that?'

The factor scratched his head a second time, as if to aid his memory. 'A week ago last Friday,' he replied at last.

Skinner nodded. 'Okay. One last question, Mr McDonald,' he said.

He reached into the back pocket of his jeans, and took out a small photograph, taken earlier from the folder on Peter Gilbert Heuer. He held it up. 'Is this Gilbert Peters?'

The grey man peered at the picture. 'Oh yes,' he nodded. 'It's not recent, more like from his first time here, but that's Mr Peters, all right.'

The two policemen looked at each other. 'Plans, Mr McDonald,' asked Martin. 'Do you have any plans?'

'Oh yes,' the factor answered, delving into his briefcase. He unfolded an old sheet of waxed paper. 'This goes back years, to the time that the electricity was installed, but it's still accurate. There have been no internal structural alterations to the cottage since then.'

He spread the plan on Bal iol's desk. The four men stood around it, studying the layout. Mr McDonald pointed to a direction symbol in the top right corner. 'The front of the cottage faces south, across the King's Gully,' he said. 'To catch the sun. It is built more or less on the Gul y floor.'

He took them through the layout. 'This is the front door, here, with a window to the left. There is a small entrance hall with a living room to the right and a bedroom to the left. At the back of the hall there are doors to the kitchen, bathroom and second bedroom.'