Кит Мори - Deadly Still

‘Millie tells me that she thinks Robbie might have been having a secret relationship. Could that be true?’

Doreen shrugged. ‘I think she could be right.’

‘Any reason to suppose that?’

‘Robbie used to joke a lot. Banter, flirtatious stuff, you know. Never with any of the youngsters, just with me and Millie. You probably know that Millie likes to pretend that she’s a prude, but she has a naughty side to her. She likes the banter, too. We think he just did it with us because we were safe, he would know that was as far as it went. But sometimes his banter changed. Less of the innuendo and flirty behaviour to more of the “guess what I’ve been up to” sort of talk. But he would never elaborate. It was conspiratorial chatter, but he’d end it with a look that said “wouldn’t you like to know?” I would say he’d been like that for the last three months or so.’

Torquil jotted some of the things she said verbatim into his notebook.

‘But why would that matter, Inspector? Robbie was entitled to his private life, wasn’t he?’

‘Of course he was, except if he was seeing someone who could have been supplying him with peatreek. Especially if it was poisonous peatreek.’

Doreen gasped. ‘And you think it could be the same stuff as the youngsters had been drinking?’

‘We have to consider all possibilities, Doreen. Millie said that Robbie drank himself silly with peatreek at his cabin and that he also supplied some of the residents with it.’

‘Oh dear, Millie and I often thought he’d get in trouble over that. I think he was just being nice to them. Giving them wee bottles so they could have a dram in their rooms when they wanted. And peatreek would just seem a bit naughty, so it would give them a bit excitement in their lives.’

‘I need to know which residents he supplied, Doreen. I need to make sure that they haven’t got dangerous peatreek in their possession that could make them ill.’

Doreen looked worried. ‘Could we do his with Norma present? I don’t want her to think we’ve by-passed her.’

‘Of course. And once we have their names I’ll need to confiscate any peatreek in their possession and have it analysed.’

‘Oh Lord, we don’t want any of our residents getting poisoned.’

‘Just one more thing before we get Norma. Do you know if Robbie had access to a still himself?’

Doreen shook her head.

‘Any idea who supplied him?’

‘Absolutely no idea.’

Doreen led Torquil over to a group of the Hydro’s residents, who she suspected may have accepted whisky from Robbie. The group was headed by eighty-six-year-old Stuart Robertson. A retired trawler captain and ex-publican, he was used to being in charge, and he essentially dominated his little coterie of fellow residents, enjoying the company of a favoured trio who never failed to be amused by his anecdotes and tales of derring-do upon the sea. Husband and wife, Murdoch and Agnes Shand, both also lively octogenarians and Norman Kirk a seventy-seven-year-old former gamekeeper from Islay all joined Stuart’s protests when Torquil confronted them in their corner of the snug, the room where they sat round what they called ‘the Captain’s Table’ playing interminable games of whist, brag or poker.

‘Will we get out bottles back after they’ve been tested, Inspector?’ Stuart asked. ‘We pay Robbie good money for that, you know.’

‘I’m afraid not. It’s to be confiscated,’ Torquil replied. ‘I’ll give you a receipt, but that’s all.’

‘Are we in trouble, Inspector McKinnon?’ Agnes asked. ‘We don’t have much of it, just a wee tot at night and maybe a teaspoon in a cup of tea when its chilly.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s a terrible thing that happened to those teenagers.’

‘Terrible,’ her husband agreed. ‘A waste of life.’

‘Maybe we’ll find out where Robbie got the stuff from,’ said Norman. ‘He was always one for keeping secrets, that was our Robbie.’

Stuart Robertson was used to having the last word. ‘Aye, he liked his secrets right enough. He was always saying, “a word to the wise”. Never a truer thing spoken.’

He began to laugh and the other three residents followed suit. They were still laughing as Norma came with a bag of bottles that she had retrieved from their rooms.

Millie McKendrick was passing behind her and heard the clinking of bottles. ‘I knew you lot would get into trouble over that drinking.’

Angus Mackintosh was feeling emotionally numb. His leg hurt like hell, despite the painkillers, and he was limping with the heavily bandaged leg.

He had made a vow with himself never to drink again. The realisation that his son had died in that miserable Second World War pillbox had sent his mind into overdrive. He had not been as low since his wife had died after having a subarachnoid haemorrhage three years before.

I let him down again , he thought. I wasn’t there for him, just like I haven’t been there for him ever since his mother died. I crept into a bottle and he grew up himself. He did all sorts of little jobs for folk on the island and I just let him do it. I didn’t take near enough interest in him and I guess he resented me for it.

He dissolved in tears for the umpteenth time and sat with his head in his hands. It was only when the sobbing subsided and he looked up and surveyed the wrecked sitting room of his cottage that any semblance of forward action presented itself to him.

Someone’s going to pay for this. I’m not having Jamie dying for nothing. He had a future that has just been rubbed out.

He got up and went through to Jamie’s room.

It’s a midden, right enough. I’ll need to tidy it up soon, once the hurting reduces.

He picked up a discarded t-shirt, one of Jamie’s favourite’s, and held it to his nose. It smelled of Jamie and triggered another bout of sobbing as he buried his face in it.

Out of the corner of his eye he spied the pile of American comics beside the bed, next to a couple of ring binder files with his work for his Highers. What did McKinnon say he thought had happened? They had been celebrating and had been drinking peatreek and lemonade or stuff.

He limped over to the comics and knelt by the bed. Underneath it he saw the rucksack and pulled it out. It clinked as he did so.

What have we got here, Jamie. More of this peatreek?

But it wasn’t. It was an assortment of stuff, a bottle of lemonade, a new wristwatch, umpteen chocolate bars, some brand new unread paperbacks, packets of cigarettes and a couple of pouches of hand-rolling tobacco. Lastly, a box of condoms.

You were up to your old tricks, weren’t you, Jamie? Pinching things. And it looks like you were hoping to start some new tricks. Sex, is that what you were doing up at the pillbox with those two girls? Where did you get the peatreek that McKinnon said you had drunk?

He hefted the bottle in his hand and cursed as anger welled up inside him.

I’m going to find who you got it from and then I’m going to pour poison down their bloody throat.

As he stood up he noticed the diary on the shelf under the bedside table. He picked it up and ran his hand over the cover before opening it to read his son’s characteristic handwriting. He knew that Jamie had always kept a diary, but he had never thought to look inside. It would have been like spying on his thoughts. But now he wanted to know what he had been thinking. What he had been doing these last few years while he had been growing up, sharing the same house, but not really sharing anything important. And now it was too late.

His grip on the diary tightened and his eyes widened as he read.

The latest West Uist Chronicle email issue arrived in a multitude of inboxes all over the island.