Кит Мори - Deathly Wind

‘Thank God for the West Uist police!’ came Jock McArdle’s voice. ‘You know, McKinnon, I think you’ve saved me a job.’

Katrina looked round as a floorboard creaked as Morag and Lachlan entered the ruined lighthouse-keeper’s cottage. Tears were streaming down her eyes, but her voice was instantly authoritative as she moved into clinical mode.

‘He’s alive! But only just. Phone for Dr McLelland and get him to drive his ambulance down to the Wee Kingdom jetty.’

‘Who is it, Katrina?’ asked Morag, screwing her eyes up as she entered the dimly lit ruin.

‘My God, Morag, it is Ewan!’ gasped the Padre. His look of amazement turned instantly to anger as he saw the stout ropes about his ankles and his wrists. ‘Who could have done this?’

But Katrina was not listening. She had her bag open and was making a quick examination of the almost comatose police constable. He was in a state of collapse and utter squalor, having clearly soiled himself several times over the last few days.

Morag went outside for a moment and called Ralph McLelland. She returned with her emotions in a state of complete turmoil. She was so relieved, yet like the Padre, so angry that anyone could have done such a thing to her friend and colleague.

A low groan escaped from Ewan’s lips as Katrina went over his chest with her stethoscope.

‘Oh Ewan, I am so sorry, so very sorry,’ she sobbed, as she slung her stethoscope round her neck and reached into her bag for an intravenous giving set and a bag of saline.

‘He’s dehydrated and looks as if he’s lost a couple of stone,’ she volunteered. ‘He needs intravenous fluids, cleaning up and a good work-up in hospital.’ She wrapped a tourniquet about his arm, found a vein and adroitly threaded a needle and cannula into it. With her teeth she pulled off the seal on the saline bag and linked it up to the cannula. ‘Hold that high would you, Sergeant?’ she said, handing Morag the bag, while she taped the cannula in place then applied a bandage around the site.

‘I am so pleased to see him alive,’ Morag said at last, tears steaming down her cheeks. She pointed to the large polythene water flagon on an old table with a tube that hung down near Ewan’s head. The flagon was empty but for about a few millitres of brackish water. ‘Whoever tied him up here obviously left water, but nothing else.’

‘And I guess they didn’t intend to leave him here as long as this. The monster!’ exclaimed the Padre. Then he turned to Katrina. ‘But how did you know he was here? You have probably saved his life; you know that, don’t you?’

Katrina bent down and kissed Ewan on the forehead. When she looked up her face was racked with guilt. ‘I didn’t save him, Padre. In fact it’s my fault that he’s here in the first place!’

Torquil looked up at the unmoving figure bent over the billiard table. He saw that although the figure was wearing a smoking jacket it was clearly not the stocky Jock McArdle. As he slowly straightened he saw that it was Jesmond, the butler.

A very dead Jesmond.

His cheek was actually lying on the table surface, his sightless eyes staring straight ahead. From his mouth a frothy trail of vomit had trickled over the green baize. Clearly he had not died a natural death, but his body had been arranged thus.

‘I can see why you look a wee bit shocked, Inspector McKinnon,’ came Jock McArdle’s voice from behind him. ‘He’s not a pretty sight, is he?’

Torquil turned round and found himself looking down the barrel of a short-barrelled revolver. The laird of Dunshiffin was standing behind the door with the gun in his outstretched right hand and a cigar clamped between his teeth. ‘I never liked the little pip-squeak,’ he went on conversationally. ‘He didn’t really hide the fact that he resented me and my boys.’

‘And so you killed him?’

Jock McArdle shook his head. ‘Oh no I didn’t! It wasn’t me; he did it himself. He was showing me how he poisoned my dogs.’

‘And he did this while he was playing billiards with you?’ Torquil asked, sarcastically.

McArdle laughed. ‘You’re having a wee joke with me, is that right, Inspector? No, you are right. He croaked in my office and I carried him here to bait my wee trap. And it was working fine, until you came charging in like the seventh cavalry.’

‘It looked as if you were about to be shot in the head,’ Torquil said, equally conversationally. ‘As a police officer I couldn’t allow that.’

McArdle nodded. ‘Oh yes, I should be grateful, shouldn’t I? And if you had just hit him a wee bit harder you would have saved me a job.’

Vincent groaned and put a hand to his head.

‘But you see what I mean,’ McArdle went on with a deep sigh. ‘I’ll have to finish him myself.’

Torquil stood straight. ‘I can’t let you do that.’

Jock McArdle sneered. ‘You are hardly in a position to do anything about it, Inspector. In fact, I didn’t expect any of you flatfeet to arrive so quickly. It would have been convenient if you had come along afterwards, but as it is, I’ll have to dispose of you as well.’

Vincent was trying to roll over.

‘Just stay where you are Mercanti!’ he barked.

At the mention of the name, Vincent went rigid, as if a button had been pressed. He slowly turned to face the laird. ‘Cardini! You murdering bastard. I almost had you!’

Jock McArdle waved the revolver in the direction of the snooker table and the propped-up body of Jesmond, ‘Actually, I’m afraid not, pal. You fell into my trap, hook, line and sinker.’

Torquil had edged slightly away from the table, but McArdle snapped at him, ‘Stay exactly where you are – both of you. This is a Smith & Wesson 360. It has a light trigger – which you might remember, Enrico. A quick move from either of you and I’ll cut you in half.’

Vincent looked up at Torquil. ‘He means it, Inspector. Don’t do anything stupid.’

McArdle guffawed. ‘Aye, Inspector. You see Enrico here – not Vincent as you know him – knows his guns. We were partners, you see. Comrades and punishers together.’ Then his semi-affable grin suddenly disappeared. ‘Until the little bastard betrayed me!’

Torquil nodded. ‘I know what you are saying – Giuseppe Cardini . I know all about you and the Dragonetti gang.’

Giuseppe Cardini stared at Torquil in amazement for a moment, then he laughed heartily again. ‘So you lot are not as stupid as I thought.’

‘And I know all about your prison stretch for culpable homicide, your petty little gang war and your change of name by deed-poll.’

Cardini pointed the gun at Vincent. ‘And how much do you know about Enrico here? He was supposed to be dead, you know?’

‘I know about the bullet riddled car in the Clyde,’ Torquil replied. ‘And I know that it was a piece of investigative journalism by Rhona McIvor that sent you to prison.’

‘The bitch!’ McArdle almost screamed. ‘I’ve wanted to get even with her for years, but she disappeared. It was only a few months ago when she started writing articles for the magazines that I realized where she was. I wanted her to suffer. And I have the means to do these things legitimately these days. I wanted an estate in the islands and this place came up. A snip for me. It was as if it was all meant to be.’

‘And this wind farm plan, that was all part of your way to get even with her?’

‘Of course. The stupid old bitch didn’t recognize me after all those years.’ He touched his cheek. ‘Not surprising maybe, since I’ve had a spot of cosmetic surgery, but she was going blind as a bat. That made it easier.’ He laughed. ‘A wind farm! I ask you, why would I be interested in anything like that? It’s pathetic. Give me the National Grid any day.’