Кит Мори - Deathly Wind

Katrina bent her head in embarrassment. ‘I had contacts from my time in the East. Dodgy contacts with people working in the animal trafficking black market.’

Morag made notes and said nothing, merely encouraging the vet to continue with a nod of her head.

‘In Thailand and China seal penises and genitalia are used to make virility medicines. In the Hebrides we have an almost limitless supply of them.’

Morag was unable to keep the revulsion out of her voice. ‘But you are a vet! How could you contemplate such a thing?’

‘I am a vet, but I eat meat. It is easy to judge me, but the seals were a rich source of revenue that I could tap into. I had a regular courier all lined up to take the stuff over on the ferry to the mainland along with my bona fide samples. From the mainland he would arrange to ship them abroad. His exact route, I don’t know.’

‘We’ll find out, don’t worry,’ Morag replied curtly. ‘And what about Kenneth McKinley, how did he fit in?’

‘He went out in his boat and shot them – procured their organs – then disposed of the bodies. He liked it, because he was a bit of a Walter Mitty. He liked to call himself the “assassin”.’ She leaned forward and pummelled her temples with her fists. ‘I was such a manipulative cow. I fuelled his fantasy.’

‘We know about his fixation with guns,’ Morag said. ‘And we are aware that Ewan McPhee suspected something about him.’

Katrina burst into tears. ‘I know and I hate myself for it. That was how Ewan went missing. Kenneth told me that he had taken out – that was how he described it, as if he was a hit-man or something – a family group of seals. Ewan must have followed him and Kenneth jumped him or something. He said he had him holed up somewhere, and that he was teaching him – and me – a lesson. I think he had some idea that I would sleep with him to get Ewan free. He wore disguises when he was out shooting and I think he meant to frighten Ewan.’ She bit her lip. ‘Then it all went badly wrong. I met him up on the ledge in the Corlins and I tried to get him to tell me where Ewan was, but he was obsessed with shooting the golden eagles. Anyway, I didn’t see it clearly in the mist, but I think one of them flew at him and seemed to hit him. He staggered over the edge and … fell to his death.’

She began sobbing again and Morag waited until she settled. Under other circumstances she would have made comforting noises, but she was feeling too angry and too revolted by the woman in front of her to do so.

‘I went down to him,’ Katrina went on at last, between sobs. ‘He was dead, of course. Then I – I scratched his face, to make it look as if an eagle had struck him with its talons. I didn’t know what else to do. I had to find Ewan, but I didn’t know where he could be.’

‘What about the rifle?’

‘I took that and hid it. You’ve got it now.’

‘And what made you go to the lighthouse-keeper’s cottage?’

‘I had scoured the whole island without luck over the last few days.’ She looked up at Morag who was staring at her with her best poker face. ‘I guess you probably know that I have just started an affair with Nial Urquart.’

Morag shrugged non-commitally. ‘Go on.’

‘Well it was this morning on the news. Calum Steele mentioned about those wind towers and the cottage burning like beacons – brighter than the old lighthouse. Then I thought that had to be it. Kenneth could have easily got to and from there from the Wee Kingdom. It is just below their croft. And, as you know, that’s where he was. The poor man could have been dead, all because of me.’

‘He could,’ Morag replied coldly. ‘And you can just thank your lucky stars that he isn’t. Ewan McPhee is one of my best friends.’

Douglas Drummond pulled up outside the Morrisons’ cottage just in time to see the family transporting bags from a huge wheelbarrow into the house.

‘Ah, the police!’ said Geordie, a well-built fellow with long hair and a full unkempt beard. ‘I have a complaint to make. Someone has been into my house and made an almighty mess. Someone is going to have to pay!’

Douglas could hardly believe his ears, but rather than cause a scene with the youngsters about, he smiled and got out of the car. ‘I was actually trying to find Nial Urquart, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone left on the Wee Kingdom except yourselves. Maybe it would be as well if I took you down to the station to have a chat with my boss, Torquil McKinnon.’

‘A good idea,’ replied Geordie. ‘I am not in a mood for shilly-shallying.’

‘No, I can see that,’ said Douglas. ‘Neither will my boss.’

Megan Munro stood at the door of Katrina Tulloch’s flat with the holdall and rucksack containing Nial Urquart’s clothes. She had rehearsed the speech she was going to make, but when Nial answered the door with contrition written across his face she merely dropped them on the mat.

‘Megan, I’m an idiot!’

‘You are.’

‘I have made an awful mistake.’

‘Me too.’

‘Do you think we could—?’

In answer she flung her arms about his neck and he hugged her as if he would never let her go again.

‘Of course we can!’

A week later, after an emotional rollercoaster trip things started to settle down. The whole story about Jock McArdle came out and was duly written up by Calum Steele in the West Uist Chronicle and in tele-interviews on Scottish TV with Kirstie Macroon. Giuseppe Cardini was transferred to a holding prison pending his trial, the windmills were taken down and the island saw a spate of funerals. Vincent Gilfillan was buried in the St Ninian’s cemetery next to Rhona McIvor, nearby the grave of Kenneth McKinley.

Ewan McPhee slowly pulled through and was discharged from hospital into the doting care of his mother, Jessie McPhee. The entire division of the West Uist branch of the Hebridean Constabulary as well as the full staff of the West Uist Chronicle, and the Padre descended on them and stayed far longer than they had intended, all eventually being ejected by Dr McLelland who gave them a lecture about over-tiring the patient.

Outside, Morag asked Torquil, ‘So now that the big one is back safe and sound, have you given any more thought about leaving the Force?’

Torquil grinned. ‘Of course I have. I am staying right where I am needed. With my friends.’

Calum Steele was still nibbling one of Jessie McPhee’s scones. ‘About that roving commission we talked about, Piper? You know, me being a special sort of police assistant. I have been thinking and there could be mutual benefits—’

Torquil groaned and put an arm about the local editor’s shoulder. ‘Let’s finish this at the Bonnie Prince Charlie, Calum. I’ll even let you buy me a pint of Heather Ale.’

The Padre followed suit and put an arm about Morag’s shoulders. ‘Does Heather Ale sound good to you, Morag?’ he asked.

‘It does actually, Padre. And I think that we should drink to Superintendent Lumsden’s fortune.’

‘Why’s that?’ asked Wallace Drummond.

‘Didn’t you know?’ Morag replied. ‘He’s been suspended, pending investigation of his association with McArdle.’

‘Well, it couldn’t happen to a nicer man, could it?’ said Douglas Drummond.

‘My sentiments exactly,’ said Torquil with a laugh. Then, turning to Calum with a mock scowl, ‘But don’t quote me!’

© Keith Moray 2007

First published in Great Britain 2007

This edition 2012

ISBN 978 0 7198 0561 5 (epub)

ISBN 978 0 7198 0562 2 (mobi)

ISBN 978 0 7198 0563 9 (pdf)

ISBN 978 0 7090 8299 6 (print)

Robert Hale Limited

Clerkenwell House