Кит Мори - Deathly Wind

‘Could Ewan have been meaning this family , McArdle’s family ?

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Piper?’ Ralph asked.

‘Maybe! If you are thinking the word – mafia ?’

Everyone started speaking at once, as the possibility hit home. But Torquil had been scrutinizing the ever-more complex spider web diagram that had been gradually developing. ‘There is something here,’ he mused, tracing out lines in his mind.

‘Look there!’ he cried, tapping the board under Rhona’s name. ‘CARD IN! We’ve assumed she had written a message about a card. I reckon she was writing Cardini! But why? What else was she trying to write?’

The phone rang and Morag answered it. ‘That was Calum Steele,’ she said a few moments later. ‘He was wanting to tell us to turn on the television. Scottish TV have a bulletin scheduled for the next few minutes.’

And as Wallace switched on the station television and found the channel, they found themselves confronted by Kirstie Macroon sitting at a desk behind which was a picture of the Kyleshiffin harbour. In a small square at the top of the picture was a smiling photograph of Calum Steele, to whom Kirstie was talking over a phone link.

‘And have we any idea who the dead man was, Calum?’

‘We have indeed, Kirstie. It was a man called Danny Reid, and he was in the employ of Jock McArdle, the Glaswegian millionaire who bought himself Dunshiffin Castle.’

‘And you say that the wind towers around the house were burning, as well as the cottage?’

‘It was awful, Kirstie. They were burning like beacons all night. It must have been a brighter sight from the sea than the old lighthouse itself. An inferno! And arson, without a shadow of doubt.’

‘And are the police treating the death of Danny Reid as suspicious?’

‘They have launched a murder investigation straight away. My old schoolfriend, Inspector Torquil McKinnon is leading the inquiry.’

‘Thank you, Calum. I am sure we will be in touch.’

‘My pleasure, Kirstie. I just view it as my duty to make the public aware of the news and do what I can to help the police.’

‘Thank you again, Calum.’

Calum Steele’s voice was heard again, but immediately cut off as Kirstie Macroon deftly continued with her bulletin.

‘That was Calum Steele, the editor of the West Uist Chronicle who has been keeping us up to date on the current story about the windmills of West Uist. So now—’

She stopped in mid-sentence and touched her earpiece.

‘Ah, I am just informed that we have been able to contact Mr McArdle, the new laird of Dunshiffin, and the man at the heart of the wind farm scheme.’

A picture of Jock McArdle on the day that he took possession of Dunshiffin Castle appeared, replacing that of Calum Steele.

‘McArdle, we understand that tragedy has afflicted you twice lately and we offer our condolences. Regarding the wind towers—’

She never finished her sentence. Jock McArdle’s thick Glaswegian accent broke out and continued in a staccato barrage of anger.

‘My wind towers have been criminally burned down and two of my employees have been murdered. This island should be called the Wild West, not West Uist! I am under attack here, and I have a pretty damned good idea who is behind it all – and why! I have been on the telephone this morning to the highest police officer I could contact and I demand police protection straight away. Meanwhile I am locking myself away in Dunshiffin Castle, and then I’m going to put the police straight. I’ll get justice for my boys.’

The phone went dead and Kirstie Macroon picked up again, as a photograph of Dunshiffin Castle now took up the backdrop behind her.

‘As you have just heard, Mr McArdle feels that the situation in West Uist is becoming highly dangerous and he has asked for police protection. This is Kirstie Macroon for Scottish TV. We hope to have more information on the lunchtime news.’

Wallace turned the sound down.

‘The wee fool,’ cursed Douglas, his brother. ‘What does Calum Steele think he’s playing at, giving out information like that on national news?’

‘Och, he’s a journalist, Douglas. You know well enough what he’s like.’

‘Well I think he’s a pain in the backside,’ persisted Wallace.

‘He’s worse than that, I’m afraid,’ said Torquil. ‘He may not realize it, but he may have just signed someone’s death warrant. Jock McArdle sounded as though he was preparing to pull up his drawbridge against a siege.’

Nial Urquart’s hair was dripping wet from his shower as he came into Katrina’s small sitting-room, a towel wrapped around his waist. Katrina was sitting in a silk dressing-gown with a mug of coffee in her hand as she watched the news flash on Scottish TV.

‘I thought you were going to make a great big fry-up after all our exertions of the night?’ he asked with a grin, as he slumped down beside her and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. ‘And right afterwards I’m going to sort things out with Megan.’

‘Just a minute, Nial,’ she said, raising a finger, her eyes wide with alarm, ‘This is important. There was a fire on the Wee Kingdom last night – and a death.’

‘A death? What? Who?’

Together they watched and listened to Kirstie Macroon’s conversation with Calum Steele.

‘Thank God it was none of the Wee Kingdom folk,’ whispered Katrina. She turned and looked at Nial. ‘This isn’t good, Nial. You ought to be there for Megan.’

But he was still watching the news as Kirstie Macroon talked to Jock McArdle, before signing off. ‘The bastard!’

‘Who?’ Katrina asked, bemusedly. She noted the sudden gleam of anger in his eyes.

‘McArdle! Him and his kind who profit out of suffering. It’s all his fault. And now he’s wanting police protection. Bastard!’

‘It must have happened very late last night. I think you had better get in touch with Megan. She’ll be frantic – as well as furious with us.’ She bit her lip. ‘It must have been awful. What did Calum Steele say, it was like a beacon, like the—’

She suddenly stood up and switched off the television. ‘Come on, Nial, we’ve got to get going. I’ve got a couple of visits to make then I have an operating session scheduled for this afternoon, and you need to go and talk to Megan.’

She disappeared into her room returning a few moments later after having thrown on a jumper and pulled on jeans and trainers. Nial watched her gather her case, a water bottle and then open a cupboard under the stairs and pull out a rifle bag.

‘Crikey, have you got to put some poor beast down?’ he asked with a humourless grin.

‘She nodded. ‘Always a possibility. Look Nial, could I borrow your boat?’

‘Sure, the keys are on the bedside table. It’s in the harbour, well-fuelled and ready.’

Katrina ducked back into the bedroom returning swiftly. She leaned over and kissed him on the lips. ‘I need to rush. You talk to Megan. No, better still, you go and see her.’

He watched her through the window as she drove off in her van. He started humming as he flicked on the electric kettle and loaded a couple of slices of bread into the toaster.

‘But first things first,’ he mused to himself, as he reached for his phone.

Torquil finished his call then pocketed his mobile phone. ‘That’s Calum Steele sorted,’ he said with a scowl.

‘How was he?’ Morag asked.

‘Peeved and a bit non-plussed. He feels that he has pulled off a major coup and performed a public service, and he was surprised to hear me say that I may be pressing charges on him as a police nuisance.’