Кит Мори - Deadly Still

The twin pagodas of the Glen Corlin distillery protruded eerily above the thick blanket of ground mist that shrouded the buildings as Torquil rode down the long drive on the Bullet, the headlight cutting a swathe through the mist.

The Glen Corlin pagodas were distinctive landmarks on West Uist. Each of them originally housed a Chinese-style Doig ventilator, but when the distillery stopped malting its own barley they became redundant and were kept for their aesthetic appeal and because they were symbolic of traditional whisky distilling. A picture of them adorned every bottle of Glen Corlin single malt whisky that left the distillery.

George Corlin-MacLeod welcomed Torquil into the luxury kitchen of the mansion.

‘It’s really my wife that deals with the distillery processes,’ he explained as he poured coffee for them both. ‘She doesn’t exactly do any of the distilling, of course, but her family have been in the business for generations and she knows exactly how each whisky is produced. Me, I’m just the marketing man.’ He smiled. ‘And as your uncle may have told you, I’m also a golfer.’

Torquil nodded non-committedly as he accepted his coffee and sat down at the island in the centre of the kitchen.

‘Is Esther around then?’

George shrugged as he stirred his coffee. ‘We don’t really keep tabs on each other, Inspector.’ He gave a thin, unconvincing laugh. ‘She has her distillery team well trained and the place works like clockwork.’

Torquil looked through the large window. ‘The car park is pretty quiet today.’

‘The weather isn’t great and the whisky tours from the islands tend to be Thursday through to Sunday. This is the quiet part of the week.’

A large Land Rover Defender pulled into the private drive and Esther Corlin-MacLeod jumped out and walked briskly towards the house.

‘Ah, it looks as if I’ll be able to ask her soon,’ Torquil said.

The sound of a door opening and closing was followed by leather boots walking across a parquet floor.

‘Esther, I have Inspector McKinnon in the kitchen,’ George called out.

There was a pause and then the footsteps sounded again and Esther Corlin-MacLeod walked into the room. She kissed her husband lightly on the cheek and then beamed at Torquil as if he was a long lost friend.

‘This is an unexpected pleasure, Inspector McKinnon. What brings you to our humble abode? Is George looking after you?’

She looks flushed, Torquil thought. As if she has something to hide. And there is definite strain of some sort between them.

He smiled. ‘Some technical information actually. You know about the three teenagers?’

Esther looked suddenly pained. ‘Oh, I’m heartbroken about it. They’d been drinking, hadn’t they?’

‘Yes, peatreek, we think. Either that or whisky tainted with methanol. So, I just need to make sure that methanol from foreshots, either from your distillery or from Hamish McNab’s, couldn’t have found its way into the bottle they were drinking from.’

Both Esther and George looked surprised.

‘Utterly impossible,’ replied Esther. ‘At least, impossible to have come from here. Who can say about McNab’s tinpot outfit.’

‘Why is it impossible?’

‘Because we recycle it entirely. I can show you if you want to follow me over to the distillery.’

‘That would be very helpful,’ Torquil replied, standing and finishing his coffee. He decided he would explore why she referred to Abhainn Dhonn as McNab’s tinpot outfit. Clearly there was ill feeling between them.

Penny was first to arrive back at the station and was greeted by the aroma of cooking wafting through from the kitchen.

‘Hello, Ewan, something smells good,’ she called as she lifted the counter flap. ‘I’m starving. I’d better go and buy a sandwich from the baker.’

Ewan came out of the little kitchen with a wooden spoon in his hand. ‘You’re welcome to share some soup and oatcakes with me, Penny.’ Then eyeing her with concern, he said, ‘That is, if you’re not a vegetarian. It’s oxtail soup you see, but if you are vegetarian I could do you beans on toast.’

Penny laughed. ‘I should be vegetarian if I’m honest, especially as I’m a nature lover. I have a struggle with the moral issue about killing animals, but I do like meat. It’s not much of a compromise, but I avoid eating meat two days every week.’

‘Is today a meat day then?’ Ewan asked, hopefully.

‘It is.’

‘Good, I’ll have the oxtail whipped up in a jiffy.’

‘Add one slice of toast and some beans as well and I’m all yours.’

Ewan’s smile froze and colour rose in his cheeks. He shuffled from one foot to the other. ‘Aye, well, no bother — Penny.’

As he backed into the kitchen she screwed her eyes and punched the side of her head.

Shit! Me and my mouth. Do I tell him I didn’t mean anything or — do I just leave it at that?

She was about follow him to explain when the bell went and the door opened. She went back through to the counter as Wallace and Douglas came in, dressed in their fisherman’s waterproofs. Each was carrying a large fishing crate full of assorted bottles.

‘We’ve got a different catch today, Penny,’ Wallace said. ‘And we’ve another two in the van.’

‘Are these from the stills?’ Penny asked, lifting the flap for them to come through.

They put them through into the rest room and slid them under the table tennis table. ‘Aye, we confiscated bottles from four stills. We’ve got them all listed and labelled and the names of the distillers. You can have a look while we go and bring in the others.’

‘You haven’t tasted any of them, have you?’ Penny asked.

‘We’re not daft, Penny,’ Wallace replied.

‘Although Eggy MacOnachie might say differently,’ added his brother. ‘I have to confess though, we had a sniff. They all have a very different nose.’

‘A nose?’

‘Aye,’ said Douglas. ‘It’s fragrance or bouquet. These all vary as you’d expect, what with them being unregulated stills. That’s peatreek for you. Some are very peated, others quite seaweedy.’

Wallace raised his voice. ‘Is that you cooking, Ewan McPhee? You’ve got two starving men here, any chance of putting on more of whatever it is you’re cooking there?’

Ewan put his head round the door. He was still flushed. ‘I’ll open another tin of soup and another tin of beans. Penny and me were just about to —’

‘Oh, don’t let me and my ugly brother be gooseberries then,’ said Wallace with a grin. ‘We can go to the chip shop.’

‘We’ll just get the other crates and go,’ added Douglas, beaming suggestively at Penny.

‘Och, you scunner, don’t be silly. We were just having a bit of food together, as colleagues.’

‘That’s right,’ agreed Penny. ‘Just as colleagues, so please join us.’

As the twins went out for the crates Ewan smiled bashfully. ‘You’ll get used to that pair. They like a joke, you see.’

Penny nodded. ‘It happens in stations all over, Ewan. Women officers are used to it.’

‘Well, you won’t catch me making jokes like that,’ he said, returning to the kitchen.

Damn. That’s what I assumed , Penny thought, wistfully.

Torquil returned to the station to find Ewan, Penny and the Drummond twins eating and chatting in the rest room.

‘Would you like some food, boss?’ Ewan asked, rising from his chair.

‘I could pop out and get you a sandwich if you’d prefer,’ suggested Wallace.

‘Or I could go to the chippie,’ said Douglas. ‘It would be no bother, Piper.’

Torquil shook his head. ‘That’s kind of you all, but I need to get my reports down on paper before I forget something. I need to think.’