Кит Мори - Deadly Still

‘The station has been burgled.’

‘Are you on your own? Are you safe?’

Despite himself, Ewan smiled. It was typical of Morag that her foremost concern was for him rather than the building. ‘I’m fine, Morag. Whoever did it knew what they were doing. They forced the back door and then went straight for the alarm and cut the wires to the sirens. The alarm must have gone off for just a few seconds.’

‘I’m on my way, Ewan. Have a look round, but don’t touch anything. I’ll need to dust for fingerprints. Meanwhile, call Torquil.’

It was just a matter of minutes before Morag arrived.

‘Piper is on his way, too,’ Ewan told her. ‘And DC Faversham. I thought I should get her in to check her office.’

Morag nodded as she looked around. ‘Has anything been taken that you could see?’

‘A few things, but I haven’t opened any cupboards or drawers in case I smudge any prints.’

‘There should just be ours then. I have all of ours in my files, so I’ll just need to get Penny’s when she comes in. I’ll get on with dusting for prints.’

She went through to the rest room and opened the cupboard where she kept the forensics kit that she used in the days before all forensics were farmed out to the Scene Examiners. Pulling on latex gloves and taking out her equipment, she asked over her shoulder, ‘So what things have been taken?’

‘The petty cash tin has gone and as far as I can see also the stuff relating to the teenagers. All the things that had been found on the search including the bag with the trainer that was found. And my new murder shoes, as well.’

Morag stood up and eyed him quizzically. ‘Your what?’

‘You know, my hammer boots. My murder shoes. And I’ve not even worn them yet.’

The station phone rang and Ewan went to answer it while Morag began her investigations. He was still speaking when Torquil arrived.

‘I see, thank you Mr Corlin-MacLeod. We’ll get someone out to you straight away. If you could just stay exactly where you are and don’t disturb the ground near it that would be very helpful.’

‘Is Morag in?’ Torquil asked, lifting the counter flap.

‘Yes, boss. She’s started dusting for fingerprints, I think. But I think you need to hear this first. That was Mr Corlin-MacLeod. He was heading into Kyleshiffin to catch the early ferry when he saw something beside the road. It’s an Adidas trainer.’

‘So is he on the Strathshiffin Road?’

‘No, he’s on the west coast road.’

Torquil raised his eyebrows. ‘A curious way to go, unless he wanted to go by McNab’s Abhainn Dhonn distillery.’

‘Do you want me to go out there?’

‘No, leave this to me. You help Morag.’

Torquil rode over to the west, going past the Abhainn Dhonn Distillery and then along the West Coast Road as it chicaned before hitting a long straight section that cut through crags and gullies towards the south of the island. Up ahead, he saw the red Lamborghini Aventador Roadster SV with the personalised number plate GCM 1 parked by the side of the road with its hazard lights flashing. As he rode alongside it the doors slid open, lifting upwards like dragon wings.

Pure ostentation and totally impractical for the roads of the Western Isles, thought Torquil.

George Corlin-MacLeod got out of the supercar and waved. ‘I hope this isn’t a fool’s errand I’ve brought you out on, Inspector McKinnon. I saw this and thought it looked like the trainer I saw on the West Uist Chronicle blog.’ He led the way back down the road as Torquil pulled the Bullet onto its stand. ‘There it is on the other side of the ditch.’

Torquil took off his helmet and goggles and followed. He jumped over the ditch to look at the shoe.

‘It’s covered in mud and seems to be soaked through. It’s probably been there quite a while. I’m pretty certain that’s the other one, Mr Corlin-MacLeod. And it looks like there is scuffing on the wall of the ditch.’

‘As if she stumbled into it and it came off when she climbed out?’ the distillery owner suggested.

‘Possibly,’ Torquil replied, pulling out his phone and taking photographs of the trainer, the disturbed mud in the ditch and the ditch itself. When he finished, he stood up, and said, ‘This could be a big help. Thank you for calling it in.’

‘I couldn’t do anything else. Poor kid. The whole island is praying that she’s all right.’

Torquil nodded and took a polythene bag out of a pocket of his leather jacket. ‘I’ll need to get it back to compare with the one we have at the station.’

Once he had bagged the trainer he went back to the Bullet and deposited it in a pannier, then took out a roll of police tape.

‘I’m just going to mark this area as a scene, if we need to get further tests done. No need for you to stay any longer. I understand you’ve got the ferry to catch.’

‘Aye, I have some business on Lewis.’

‘You’ve taken the long way to Kyleshiffin though.’

George Corlin-MacLeod nodded. ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind, Inspector. I thought a longer drive might clear my head. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. Escaping, you might call it. Like playing golf with your uncle.’ He pursed his lips and nodded as he got back into his car. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better go and catch that ferry.’

With a press of his key fob the supercar’s wing doors closed, the engine fired and the distillery owner accelerated away, leaving Torquil with the distinct impression that he wanted him to know that he’d been playing golf with the Padre.

The station was full of uniformed officers when Torquil arrived back. They had been staying at the Commercial Hotel in between the daytime searches. All of them knew Torquil and they exchanged greetings with him as he let himself through the counter-flap.

Suddenly a familiar voice began shouting from the rest room.

‘Superintendent Lumsden is not in a good mood, Piper,’ said one of the officers, a fellow piper who played with the Lewis Pipe Band. ‘He’s dressing down Morag and Ewan.’

‘Aye, he gave us much the same last night when he arrived at the hotel and found us having a pint in the bar,’ added another, a burly officer who usually came second to Ewan in the hammer throwing events in the games circuit.

‘Thanks, lads,’ Torquil said, going through to find Superintendent Kenneth Lumsden addressing Morag and Ewan, who were both standing to attention. Penny Faversham was standing apart, clearly feeling very awkward.

‘Never in all my years have I come across such a shambles. Your station has been burgled?’

‘Good morning, Superintendent Lunsden,’ Torquil said calmly.

The uniformed officer spun round, his eyes flashing at sight of Torquil. ‘Ah, Detective Inspector McKinnon, you do know that you’ve been burgled?’

‘I do, although I had to go out urgently. We’ve found another trainer.’

Superintendent Lumsden looked down at the bag containing the trainer. ‘You’re sure it is a match?’

‘That’s what I’m about to find out,’ Torquil replied. ‘I’m going to compare it —’

‘Good luck with that, then. Were you listening when I said your station was burgled?’

Torquil ignored the heavy sarcasm he was used to from all his past encounters with his former superior officer. Since he was moved over to join the Criminal Investigation Department after the changes of 2013 it had been a relief to no longer be under his command.

‘The trainer was among things stolen, sir,’ said Morag in her best diplomatic tone. ‘Along with the petty cash tin, a mobile phone, a couple of old tennis balls and various debris produced by the search. Then some torches, a couple of tins of baked beans from the kitchen, a loaf of bread and a bottle of lemonade.’