Кит Мори - Deadly Still

Reaching into his Gladstone bag he drew out his ophthalmoscope and spent some time examining the inside of each eye through it. ‘There is cattle-trucking all over.’

‘What’s that mean, Ralph?’ Torquil asked.

‘It means that the blood in the retinal blood vessels have lots of little bubbles in them. It makes the vessels look like lines of cattle-trucks.’

‘Does that tell us anything?’

‘Just that he’s dead. Gas is released from the blood after death as tiny bubbles.’

‘What about rigor mortis?’ Morag asked.

‘It’s developing. So, I am afraid that I can certify that life is extinct.’

‘How long has he been dead, can you tell us?’

‘Some hours, that’s as much as I can say. It will be a Procurator Fiscal case and then a forensic post-mortem. That’s out of my remit, though.’

‘Has he inhaled vomit, do you think?’ Morag asked.

‘Possible, but the post-mortem will tell. He reeks of booze and from all the facts it is likely that he had a convulsion. He could have inhaled vomit as a result of that and asphyxiated.’ He rose to his feet, winding his stethoscope up. ‘So, I suspect that it was death from a convulsion and an overdose of methanol. That’s methyl alcohol. One thing that would be worth doing and which would help the forensics and the pathologist would be for me to take blood now. The longer you leave it the more inaccurate the readings can be because of post-mortem changes. Shall I do that? It would need to be your decision.’

‘Please, go ahead, Ralph,’ Torquil told him. ‘Then I’d better go and find his father to tell him the bad news. The trouble is that Ewan hasn’t been able to contact him yet.’

‘And someone had better go and see Vicky’s parents,’ said Morag with a sigh. ‘Ewan contacted them to say that we’re looking for her. Her mum wanted to come up and search herself, but he told her to stay and look after her husband in case she turns up there. Poor Brock Spiers can’t walk, of course, after his accident. He’s in a wheelchair and his wife Jeannie spends her time looking after him. They must be going frantic.’

‘Better get Wallace or Douglas back here to look after the site, Morag,’ Torquil replied. ‘Now that Ralph has confirmed death you and I need to get back and get onto the Procurator Fiscal. We badly need more folk up here to look for Vicky and we need the Scene Examiner as soon as possible.’ He looked at his watch. ‘And for starts I’ll need to get the new DC onto the job.’

Ewan had been busy telephoning round various people as he followed the instructions given to him by Morag. He had still been unable to locate Jamie Mackintosh’s father, which troubled him considering the enormity of the situation. It didn’t surprise him though, as Angus Mackintosh was well known for going off on benders ever since his wife had died three years before. Young Jimmy Mackintosh had virtually brought himself up.

The bell went off as the outer door of the station opened and Stan Wilkinson came in carrying a parcel and a wad of mail. Gone was his ready smile, replaced by a glum and shocked expression.

‘You’ll know all that’s happened, Ewan?’ he asked as he deposited the parcel and the mail on the counter.

‘I cannot say how sad I am about this, Stan. It’s a tragedy, losing a young island lad like that. Morag told me you took Catriona McDonald to the hospital.’

‘I did, and I left her in the doctor’s care. She was in a right state, Ewan. I didn’t know how to comfort her. I just drove as fast as I could.’ He leaned his elbows on the counter and cupped his bearded chin in his hands. ‘Any news on the third teenager?’

‘We’re looking for her.’ Ewan shivered. ‘Let’s hope she’s OK.’

Stan sighed and stood upright again with a sigh. ‘It looks like your murder shoes have arrived.’

Ewan opened and unwrapped the parcel to reveal a large shoebox. He opened it and pulled out two heavy brown lace-up boots, with additional leather wraparound straps and buckles above the ankles. They had been specially made with four inch steel blades protruding from the front of the toes.

Stan whistled. ‘Wow! I see why you call them murder shoes. May I have a closer look? I’ve never seen anything like them.’

Ewan shrugged and handed them over for the postman to inspect.

The bell went as the outer door opened and a tall woman stepped inside. She was about five ten with auburn hair cut in a short natural style. She was wearing smart jeans, trainers and a light blue quilted waterproof jacket. Ewan thought he had never seen anyone so pretty in real life.

He put on his customary welcoming smile. ‘ Madainn mhath , a good morning to you. Can I help you, miss?’

She smiled and advanced to the counter, nodding at Stan before turning her attention to Ewan. ‘I’m DC Penny Faversham,’ she said, showing him her warrant card. ‘I was supposed to meet DI McKinnon when I got off the ferry, but somehow he —’ she shrugged and stowed her warrant card in a shoulder bag. ‘He didn’t show.’ She gave a nervous little laugh. ‘Could be the story of my life. Men not showing, I mean.’

Ewan wanted to say he found that hard to believe, but his natural shyness prevented the words from coming. Instead, he raised his hands apologetically.

‘Pleased to meet you, DI Faversham. I’m Constable Ewan McPhee. The thing is we’ve had an emergency this morning.’ He leaned closer and spoke in hushed tones. ‘Three teenagers had been out drinking dirty alcohol all night. One’s dead, one’s missing and one’s been taken to hospital. The boss is still up at the scene.’

Penny gasped. ‘That’s terrible!’ She turned to Stan who was still holding one of the boots and rubbing the blade between his fingers and thumb. ‘That’s a lethal looking boot you have there,’ she said.

Stan looked up at her with a start, his face like a frightened rabbit caught in the headlights of a car. Then, as if suddenly snapping out of a trance he looked down at the boot and hastily handed it back to Ewan as if it had suddenly become electrified. He stood staring awkwardly at Penny.

‘I’m sorry, it’s been a hell of a morning and when you said that word “lethal” — well, it gave me the willies.’ He ran a hand over his beard and pointed at the door. ‘I’d better be on my way, though. I’m still nowhere near finished my round.’ And he abruptly turned and headed for the exit.

Once he had gone Penny pointed at the boot in Ewan’s hands. ‘What is that? Why has it got a blade sticking out of it?’

‘Oh, these are my murder shoes.’ Then seeing her eyebrows rise quizzically: ‘Sorry, we call them that in the hammer-throwing fraternity. The proper name for them is hammer boots. We dig them into the ground when we throw the hammer, you see. I was explaining that to Stan, because he’s English like you and didn’t understand about the highland hammer.’

Penny was still looking puzzled.

‘Are you OK, Penny? I mean, I hope it’s OK to call you Penny?’

She shivered and then smiled. ‘Sorry, I just had a strange sense of déjà vu. It was something about your murder shoes.’

‘Maybe it was because we’ve had this death?’ Ewan suggested. Then, raising the counter flap: ‘Come on through. We’ll have a good mug of strong tea while we wait for the boss to come back.’

‘Have I got an office somewhere?’ Penny asked doubtfully.

‘Oh aye, its — er — not very big, but I think it will have all you need,’ Ewan said, opening a door next to Torquil’s office to reveal what was once literally a broom cupboard. ‘No window, I’m afraid, but you have a desk, filing cabinet, computer and a bookcase for your files.’ He went in and clicked on an old fashioned green-shaded desk lamp. ‘I went out and bought this to make up for the lack of a window. It sort of gives it a real detective feel, I think.’ He beamed at her and added, ‘I was tempted to get a big magnifying glass to leave on the desk, but thought that was maybe going too far.’