Кит Мори - Deadly Still

‘There is Maisie McIvor on Harbour Street. She makes artisan gin. It’s not an illicit still, though. She has a rectifier’s licence as its all small scale. Lorna and I were talking about wedding favours only the other day.’

Torquil grimaced as he recalled the phone conversation he had with Lorna. He had not realised that Morag and she had already been talking about it. He forced himself to keep his mind on the important matter in hand and not be diverted. There would be plenty of time to think about the wedding later.

‘Aye, Lachlan also mentioned her to me. He said she makes fragrances. But how about anyone else?’

Morag shook her head. ‘I don’t know, I’m afraid. Is there anything else you want me to do?’

‘No, you’ve got your hands full there. Leave the trainer with us to identify and just let us know if anything else turns up. Hopefully it will be when we find Vicky alive and well.’

Penny had gone out of the office to answer her phone during the skype session. She came back in eager to tell the others her news.

‘That was Ian Gillesbie,’ she said. ‘More results. Firstly, the fingerprinting at the pillbox only showed up three sets of prints. It looks likely that they were only from the teenagers.’

‘And the second thing?’ asked Torquil.

‘They tested the bottle of whisky residue from Robbie Ochterlonie’s cabin. It is exactly the same composition as the stuff in the bottle from the pillbox!’

Torquil sat back in his chair and blew air through his lips. ‘That’s no coincidence, then, is it? They must be from the same source.’ He drummed his fingers on his desk. ‘And Vicky Spiers worked part time at the Hydro along with Catriona McDonald. Task number one is to see if the trainer is Vicky’s. Then the second task is to find out exactly where these bottles of peatreek came from.’ He allocated tasks to them. ‘OK people, let’s get started.’

The Spiers lived in a prefabricated bungalow on Kincardine terrace at the top of Kyleshiffin. It had a fine view of the harbour and had been converted with ramps and widened doors for Brock Spiers’ wheelchair.

Mist was still hanging over the town as Torquil walked to their house after the meeting at the station. He was met at the door by Jeannie Spiers. A small, pretty woman in her late forties, her face was haggard.

‘What news, Inspector McKinnon?’ she asked as she held the door open for him. ‘Just go through, Brock is in the living room. He’s — having a drink.’

Torquil gathered her meaning and went in ahead to find Brock Spiers by the window staring out over the harbour, a large glass of whisky in his hand.

‘Good morning, Brock. I’m afraid that we still haven’t found Vicky, but we —’

‘Then what the hell are you doing here?’ Brock snapped in a slurred voice. He turned his self-propelled wheelchair and moved it forward over the linoleum to within a couple of feet of Torquil. ‘Our daughter has been missing since Sunday night and you lot have done nothing.’

‘We’ve got search parties out at this moment, Brock. We’ve got an army of volunteers — your neighbours, friends and old workmates. They are all —’

‘Workmates?’ Brock repeated belligerently. ‘That’s right! Remind me that I’m not able to be out there myself, but my old workmates are.’ He took a hefty swig of his whisky. ‘Damn few of my workmates ever come near this place, you know. Scared, I reckon, in case their boss the spider woman thinks I’ll get at them.’

‘Brock, please. This isn’t the time,’ Jeannie remonstrated.

‘After seven years you’d think that some of them could be counted as friends. Well, no way. Oh, I have a couple of good pals still, but they are also considered deserters from the high and mighty Glen Corlins. Keith Finlay and Jerry McColl both work for Hamish McNab now. They come, they have a drink with me. They care!’

‘We care about Vicky, Brock,’ Torquil said.

‘You care, they care! We had that slip of a lass, Cora Melville from the Chronicle . As nice as ninepence, sympathetic and all that, but we know she just wants a story. What do you expect when she works with that Calum Steele.’

‘Brock!’ Jeannie persisted. ‘Inspector McKinnon is here about Vicky so just hold your tongue and let him speak, will you.’

Torquil held up the briefcase he was carrying. ‘We’ve found a trainer and we need to know if it is Vicky’s. We think she may have been stumbling around and it got stuck in the mud. If we can establish that it is hers then we’ll know that we are in a better place to search from.’

‘Let’s see it then, please,’ said Jeannie, sitting on the settee pushed up against the wall so that Brock had maximum room to manoeuvre his wheelchair.

Torquil opened the case and took out the trainer, still in the polythene specimen bag.

Jeannie’s reaction told Torquil what he suspected. She clapped both hands to her mouth and suppressed a shriek. Tears welled up in her eyes and she nodded her head emphatically.

‘It’s Vicky’s right enough,’ said Brock, sounding more sober. ‘Please find her for us, Inspector McKinnon.’

After leaving the Spiers’ house Torquil walked to the West Uist Chronicle offices, and was pleased to see Calum’s yellow Lambretta was parked against the kerb. Torquil pushed open the door and triggered the bell in the office above. Taking the steps three at a time he bounded up and found both Calum and Cora hard at work on their computers.

Cora, always full of verve rose instantly to greet him, while Calum wheeled round in his swivel chair and leaned back.

‘Welcome to the press room, Piper,’ Calum said, picking up a pencil and tapping his desk with it. ‘Any fresh leads?’

‘As a matter of fact that’s why I’m here.’

‘Has the post-mortem on Jamie Mackintosh been done?’

Torquil had worked out how he was going to play it with Calum. ‘We are waiting for the official report. It should not be long. But we found this.’ He opened his briefcase and took out the polythene bag containing the mud-covered trainer. ‘I’ve just been round to see Brock and Jeannie Spiers and they conformed it belongs to Vicky.’

Cora bent down to look at the trainer. ‘I went to see them earlier. They are totally cut up. The poor man was drinking whisky this morning. I could see that his wife was worried for him as well as for their daughter.’

‘We’re all getting worried, Cora,’ said Torquil.

‘And I can tell that you’re worried what we’re going to write,’ said Calum. ‘Well, don’t worry, the West Uist Chronicle is here to help not hinder.’

‘Exactly the spirit I was hoping for, Calum. Can you take a photograph and get it out there? Ask if anyone has seen the other one?’

‘Leave it with us, Piper. We’ll put it on the blog and we’ll send out one of our digital bulletins. We’ll get it across the island as quick as you can say Jack Flash.’

‘You are a couple of stars,’ Torquil said as he set the bag on the table for them to photograph.

From the Chronicle offices Torquil went back to the station, picked up the Bullet and rode up to the Old Hydro Residential Home. Doreen McGuire greeted him at the door and asked him a barrage of questions about the terrible situation as she led the way along the corridor to the manager’s office where Norma Ferguson was sitting behind the desk making out worksheets. Torquil could see from the patina of perspiration on her brow that she was feeling stressed.

He refused the offer of tea and before she too hit him with the same questions he took the initiative and told her about the finding of the trainer, now identified as belonging to Vicky Spiers.