Кит Мори - Deathly Wind

‘So, Mr McArdle, it’s not just the king of ice cream that you are, is it!’ he grinned to himself as he printed out his findings. ‘Let’s see what Kirstie Macroon at Scottish TV makes of this.’

And he reached for his mobile telephone.

Alistair McKinley lowered his shotgun.

‘Lachlan McKinnon, what in the blazes are you doing up here?’ He flicked his eyes at his shotgun. ‘You shouldn’t sneak up on a man with a shotgun. Accidents have been known to happen.’

The Padre waved a finger. ‘Alistair McKinley, I was not sneaking up on anyone. If you must know, I came up here for inspiration. I am having trouble writing sermons and eulogies lately and I was preparing one for Kenneth. I thought that if I came up here, where he had his accident, I might get a sense of how he died. I imagine that is pretty much the same reason that you are up here yourself.’

Then he pointed to the shotgun. ‘Or were you here in some misguided sense of revenge?’ He looked up at the misty Corlins. ‘Were you hoping to pot a golden eagle? That would be foolish, you know.’

‘Ach, maybe it would strike you as foolish, Padre, but you haven’t lost your son. And it is better than me taking my gun and doing away with the real villain of the piece. The man who caused Kenneth’s death and now Rhona’s – that bastard McArdle!’

Lachlan put an arm about the old crofter’s shoulder. ‘Alistair McKinley, you are an old fool. Look at you, up here in these conditions in your bare feet! Is that the action of a sober man? Come on now; let’s get you back safe and sound to your croft. I’ll come with you and we’ll have a dram.’

Despite himself Alistair gave a short laugh. ‘You are not the usual type of minister at all, are you, Lachlan McKinnon? Always encouraging me to have a dram. But I’ll come with you. Will you need a lift?’

‘I have my Red Hunter down below,’ replied the Padre. He looked at the cliff edge. ‘And if you will take my advice you will take the path down with me, and not make any more foolish attempts to climb in your bare feet.’

He waited while Alistair unloaded his shotgun and slid it into his shotgun bag.

As they made their way down the path Lachlan fancied that he heard the heavy flap of eagle wings overhead. He smiled to himself, for he had no doubt that he had at least saved one life that day.

Morag sent the Drummonds off and went back into Torquil’s office where she had left Megan Munro with a cup of tea.

‘I have sent my special constables onto the job,’ she said, sitting in Torquil’s chair opposite Megan.

‘He’s not safe, Sergeant. He says he’s off to start that hedgehog cull, but I don’t believe him. He said he was in a killing mood, and with that poor man falling and getting killed the other day I thought that I should report him to the police.’

‘Well, the Drummond twins will investigate and see if they can locate him. Just to be on the safe side.’ She produced her silver pen and her notebook and laid them on the desk in front of her. She had only met Megan Munro once or twice before, but she knew all about her and her hedgehog-rescue operation. A pretty girl, she thought. Pity that she has to cover up her hair in those beanie hats and wear those mannish dungarees. Could she be a lesbian, Morag wondered? But surely not. She was living with that bird protection officer, Nial Urquart.

‘I am afraid that I have to tell you, that death you just referred to – well, we are treating it as suspicious.’

Megan’s eyes opened wide. ‘Suicide, you mean?’

Morag shook her head. ‘Possibly murder.’

Megan let out a gasp and covered her mouth with both hands. ‘But it couldn’t be. I saw him myself yesterday afternoon. He was delivering those awful letters from the new laird, about the wind towers. I didn’t like him. He smelled of whisky and I had to stop Vincent from getting beaten up by him. I’m sure if I hadn’t been there he would have been violent.’

And as she recounted the meeting in Geordie Morrison’s cottage, Morag made notes.

‘Where is Geordie Morrison and his family?’ Morag asked.

‘We don’t know. I think with all the other tragedies that have been going on lately, we’re all a bit worried that something might have happened to them.’

‘What does your partner think of it all?’

At the question Megan suddenly burst into tears. Morag patted her hand and pushed a box of tissues across the desk to her. ‘I am sorry, Megan. Is there something upsetting you?’

‘It – it’s Nial. We had a row yesterday. Two actually, one in the morning and one when he got home last night. And he’s barely talked to me this morning. He was up and out before I woke.’

Morag made a note in her book. ‘Are you worried about him?’

Megan nodded. ‘Oh, I don’t think anything bad has happened to him. In fact, I think I know where he is. And who he’s with!’

Morag said nothing; experience having long since told her that people will often volunteer their information.

‘He will be with that vet, Katrina Tulloch. He drools over her. I know that now. He’s gone from my bed to hers.’

‘That isn’t something that I can do anything about, I am afraid.’

‘No, but perhaps you ought to know about him. He’s not exactly the harmless bird officer that everyone thinks. He’s opinionated and he gets a bee in his bonnet about things. When he does that he can be … tenacious.’

‘I don’t follow?’

‘We first met at an animal rights meeting.’

‘Go on,’ Morag urged.

‘He used to be an activist. He—’

‘Has he a record, Megan? Is that what you are saying?’

Megan bit her lip as if she was having an internal argument as to what she should divulge. Then, finally, ‘He told me that he once fire-bombed the warehouse of a factory that was involved in supplying a laboratory with animals for animal experimentation.’

Lachlan stood looking out of the window of Alistair McKinley’s cottage, a glass of whisky in his hand. ‘It is a magnificent view that you have here. I hadn’t realized that you had such a good sight of the old lighthouse.’

‘Aye, and from the other side of the house we’ll soon be able to see all these wind towers that fool of a laird is planning.’

‘Are you sure that it is all legal, though, Alistair? Have you had it checked out? I am no expert, but I would have thought he would have at least needed planning permission rather than just hoicking them up.’

Alistair sipped his whisky. ‘Rhona usually saw to all the business and legal side of the Wee Kingdom. I suppose one of us will have to see to it now.’

There was a knock on the open door and Wallace Drummond popped his head round the frame. ‘Ah Padre, we were not expecting to see you here.’

His brother Douglas appeared beside him. ‘It is Alistair McKinley that we are needing to see.’

‘Come away in lads,’ the old crofter urged. ‘We were having a dram. Will you have one too? In memory of my lad.’

Wallace shook his head with a pained expression. ‘I am sorry. We would have loved to join you, but we are here on duty. Our sergeant sent us on an errand. It’s a bit tricky.’

‘Out with it then,’ said Alistair.

Douglas pointed to the shotgun bag leaning against the wall. ‘We have been told that we are to confiscate your guns. Until further notice, the West Uist Police have put a ban on any hedgehog cull on the island.’

Jock McArdle and Danny Reid were watching the evening Scottish TV news in the large sitting-room at Dunshiffin Castle while they waited for Jesmond to call them to dinner.

‘See that Kirstie Macroon, boss,’ Danny said with a slightly lascivious tone as he handed his employer a whisky and lemonade. ‘Liam fair fancied her.’