Кит Мори - Deadly Still

‘Onto it, boss,’ said Penny, making for her office.

He snapped his fingers. ‘Ah yes, also do some research about methanol. Ralph McLelland said that a lethal dose would be something like 30 mls. And that 10 mls would be enough to affect vision. But normal alcohol counters it, so it would have to be a whole lot more in a bottle to produce that effect. Its making me doubt that these peatreek bottles just happened to contain an unfortunately large amount of foreshot. I’m thinking they were deliberately loaded with methanol. Find out where it can be obtained. Maybe look at where fatalities have occurred.’

Penny stared wide-eyed for a moment then nodded and turned on her heel to her office.

‘Wallace and Douglas,’ Torquil said, ‘I want you to check out Robbie’s cabin. I want you to look for any loose floorboards, hidden panels, anywhere that he might have stored his peatreek.’

‘OK, Piper. And if we find anything?’ Wallace asked.

‘Let me know straight away. I’m going to the Old Hydro to see if the laptop is there. I suspect it won’t be, though. I think the killer or the secret lover will have taken it to destroy incriminating evidence.’

The leg was painful, but Angus was in no mood to allow it to stop him. He’d swallowed several painkillers and washed them down with a mouthful of cold tea. By choice he would have done so with whisky, but he needed to be cold sober. Apart from that, he had lost the taste for the stuff after Jamie’s death.

He had wheeled out Jamie’s mountain bike and rode with some difficulty, but with less pain than he would had he walked. Walking had not been an option, of course, as it was too far from his cottage. The car was also not an option, even if he had gone to collect it, because he didn’t want the sound of its engine to alert the bastard that he was coming. Fortunately, the shop was at the far end of Kyleshiffin and the fog and mizzle were still limiting visibility.

As it was, he arrived at the destination and thought that it looked deserted. The shop had a closed sign on it as did the smokery next door. Nonetheless, he was determined to do what he had planned. He was wearing his work utility belt, with his chisels, screwdrivers and hammer.

He went round the back of the smokery to the sheds that adjoined it. In a matter of moments, he had opened the door and stepped inside.

So I was right! This is where you make the stuff, you evil bugger.

There was a crate of unused bottles and two crates of plain unlabelled bottles full of amber liquid.

He looked at the still and gritted his teeth. It was an old but clearly well worked apparatus, consisting of a large copper pot the size of a washing-machine raised up on a heavy trestle table. A bulbous section at the top led to the spout which fed into a coiled tube that connected with a collecting apparatus of some sort. Underneath the trestle was a large tank, which was itself connected to pipes leading into the shed from the smokery next door.

‘So this is how you heated it up, from the smokery. You clever sod, running a still in Kyleshiffin itself and disguising the smell of the distilling with the smell of smoking kippers.’

He pulled out a full bottle from the topmost crate and pulled out the cork.

It smelled good in one way, yet disgusted him at the same time, almost enough to make him retch.

But then he heard footsteps outside and immediately secreted himself in the shadows behind the door. He heard a curse and the door opened.

‘ Cò th’ann? Who’s there —?’ the man said.

He said no more as the handle of a hammer descended on the back of his head and he tumbled to the floor, knocked senseless.

Torquil was shown into the manager’s office at the Old Hydropathic Residential Home by Millie and asked to wait while she went to fetch Nora. Looking around the office that had been Robbie Ochterlonie’s place of work he noted that it was perhaps not as tidy as it could be. There were three large filing cabinets, presumably containing the resident’s records. An archaic looking safe stood in a corner, with the name Cartwright & Sons of West Bromwich embossed on a circular brass plate beside a large keyhole. A large pinboard was covered in resident’s dietary requirements and medication lists. Beside that was a board covered in hooks with keys hanging from them. One very large antique key hung from a piece of string at the side, which Torquil had no doubt fitted the safe, clearly a relic from the days when it actually was a hydropathic hotel in the nineteenth century. However, it begged questions about the Old Hydro’s approach to security. He made a mental note to tell Morag.

‘Inspector McKinnon, I’m sorry, I was in the west wing. What can I do for you? Is it about the girls, or about Robbie? I saw the West Uist email and I’m shocked and heartbroken.’

‘It’s about Robbie, Norma. You told me he was always writing.’

‘That’s what he said and what he seemed to be doing. He told me he had several short stories in the pipeline and he was writing a thriller. He was always tapping away here on his laptop in odd moments.’

‘What make of laptop was it, do you know?’

Norma pursed her lips. ‘A Samsung, I think.’

‘Did he leave it here?’ Torquil asked, looking round. ‘I can’t see any technology other than the PC on your desk.’

‘No, he always kept it with him. It’s definitely not here.’

‘I know it’s not easy for you, but was it in his cabin when you found him?’

Norma shook her head with grimace of sadness. ‘Honestly, I was too shocked to notice.’

‘I understand. Did he save his work directly onto the laptop, do you remember?’

‘Oh, he used memory sticks. That I definitely know.’

‘Any idea where he would have kept them?’

This time she shrugged her shoulders apologetically. ‘I … I didn’t know him well enough to know things like that.’

‘Did anyone else here see him writing, Norma?’

‘You might ask Doreen. I’ll go and get her, shall I?’

‘If you wouldn’t mind?’

Doreen was looking pale and nervous when she came in a few minutes later. ‘Norma told me to come in and see you, Inspector.’

Torquil gestured for her to sit down, which she did almost demurely. It was obvious to him that she was decidedly nervous and was avoiding eye contact more than she usually did. Her natural inquisitiveness had gone and she was not probing him for news, instead she was clearly guarded.

He leaned slightly forward and eyed her seriously. ‘Doreen, I want to know about the secret lover.’

To his surprise she suddenly leaned forward and almost whispered. ‘How … how did you find out? He’ll be angry with me.’

Torquil raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Who will be angry with you, Doreen?’

‘Hamish McNab. Him in his position, using me to spy for him on Charlie McDonald’s daughter.’

Creideamh! Torquil thought. Now there I’ve uncovered a hornet’s nest. ‘Hamish McNab is your secret lover and he’s had you spying on Catriona?’

She looked on the verge of tears, but somehow suppressed them. ‘He wanted to know anything at all about her father. Catriona liked to chat and I got quite good at probing, about his council work. I’m not sure she ever told me anything important, but Hamish liked to know. We weren’t doing anything wicked. He was divorced and I — well, I’ve been bored.’ Then she suddenly looked worried again. ‘You don’t need to make this public, do you? I … I’ll need to talk to Hamish and to Peter, my husband. I need to prepare before it all hits the fan.’

Torquil had decided to keep up his poker face. ‘I can’t promise anything, Doreen. This information does not need to be made public — at least not yet. But I’m going to need you to make a statement at the station. But right now I also need to know about Robbie Ochterlonie’s laptop. Did you see him writing with it?’