Кит Мори - Deadly Still

Doreen’s eyes opened wide in surprise at the sudden change in questioning. ‘Yes, lots of time. He was always on about his writing. He said he expected to become a bestselling thriller writer one day. But I think it was just fantasy.’

Torquil drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘Did you see where he kept his memory sticks?’

She stared blankly at him. ‘No, I’m not that great on technology. Robbie used to take the micky out of me that way. I used to just trot his own saying back to him. A word to the wise.’

Now where did I hear someone else saying that, Torquil thought. And then he remembered. ‘I’d like to speak to Stuart Robertson now. Is he at the Captain’s table?’

Doreen frowned. ‘He’s having one of his siesta days. When he has those he stays in his room and just drinks and sleeps.’

‘Then show me to his room, please.’

Wallace and Douglas drove out to Lochiel’s Copse and parked up beside the trailer with Robbie’s boat and the pile of empty lobster pots.

‘It’s hard to believe that poor old Robbie was murdered in his own cabin.’

‘Poor devil. It’s all bizarre. Piper seems convinced he was killed by a secret lover, but I can’t see that happening to someone like him.’

They ducked under the police tape and, pulling on latex gloves, entered the cabin and began a thorough search, careful to avoid the chalked outline where Robbie Ochterlonie’s body had been, with the blood stains on the floor and the circled chalk marks where the glass and the whisky bottle had been found. After half an hour of thorough searching they found nothing amiss. No sign of concealed doors, cupboards or safe. No loose floorboards or hidden attic compartment.

‘Nothing! No laptop. No peatreek,’ said Douglas.

‘So let’s scout around outside.’

Back outside, they did a search of the area all round the cabin, again finding nothing. A look inside the old boat drew another blank. It was only a chance lifting of the topmost lobster pot that revealed the bottle of amber liquid inside the one behind it.

Gingerly, Wallace pulled the cork and sniffed. ‘Wow! Whatever it is, it has a powerful nose.’

‘Aye, but the thing is this looks like his post box, where he received his peatreek and where he kept it.’

‘The question is, who was his postman?’

Stuart Robertson was in a doleful mood. He was sitting by the window of his room staring out into the fog, a mug of tea in his horny hand. Torquil could smell the fumes and had no doubt that there was more than a teaspoon of whisky in the tea.

‘Stuart, why did you laugh when you told me about Robbie Ochterlonie’s saying, “a word to the wise”?’

The old trawler captain stared with bleary eyes at Torquil. ‘Because that’s what he thought I was. One of the wise. I warned him, but he wouldn’t listen.’

‘Warned him about what, Stuart?’

‘About lots of things. About his wheeling-dealing and his peatreek and his trysts. He thought of me as a father figure, you see.’

‘Can you explain?’

Stuart took a hefty mouthful of tea and then sighed contentedly, presumably as the spirit reached his stomach. ‘He liked to play with fire. He never told me exactly who with, or how, but I gather he was having a dirty affair with someone. Someone powerful, he used to suggest. Anyway, powerful enough to scare him, which is why he told me what to do if anything happened to him.’

Torquil drew up a chair close to him and leaned towards the old captain. ‘He’s been murdered, Stuart, you know that now.’

‘Aye, I know it. I heard from Norma. And I was just debating with myself who best to talk to. If he got himself killed, why should I think that I’m safe? So I’ll tell you now. He said, “Tell the police to go to Beamish Solicitors.” That’s exactly what he said.’

‘I don’t suppose he gave you anything, did he? Like a computer, or a laptop.’

Stuart’s eyes seemed to clear. ‘Aye, he gave me this gadget thingy for plugging into his computer. He called it his memory and said that he was trusting me, as I was his backup.’

‘A memory stick, Stuart. That’s what he meant. Where is it?’

The old trawler captain’s eyes seemed to glaze over. ‘Buggered if I can remember. I put it somewhere safe.’

Torquil silently cursed. ‘That memory stick is important, Stuart. I’ll need to send my Detective Constable over to search your room later. Now, you also smiled when your friend Norman said maybe you’d all find out where he got his peatreek. I think you already know who that is, don’t you?’

‘Ah, that is a closely guarded secret, because the distiller has kept his secret for more years than I care to think of. He supplies lots of folk here on West Uist and also all over the western Isles. In my working days I even used to help deliver them to the other isles.’ He grinned. ‘Now that’s not going to get me in trouble, is it, Inspector McKinnon?’

‘Not unless you persist in keeping it a secret.’

‘Well then, like his father before him did, Archie Many Hats is the best peatreek distiller in the Western Isles.’

Douglas had taken the call from Torquil and told him about finding the bottle in the lobster pot. He reacted with surprise when Torquil then told him that Archie ‘Many Hats’ Reid was likely to be the secret distiller. The DI then told them to drive to his smokehouse and bring him in to the station right away, while he went to Beamish Solicitors.

The fog was still dense as the two special constables drove to the end of Harbour Street and parked outside the shop.

‘Well, he’s probably not in,’ said Wallace. ‘Looks like the shop and the smokehouse are shut up for the day. Certainly, he’s not running the smokery.’

But when they went round the back they saw that the lock and bolt on one of the adjoining sheds to the smokehouse was broken and hanging down.

They both saw it and gestured at the same time to be silent. Tiptoeing to the door Wallace opened it a crack and looked inside.

‘You like that, do you, you miserable sod,’ said Angus Mackintosh as he poured more liquid into the mouth of Archie Reid, who was tied to the pot belly of his still, so that he was bent backwards over it. ‘You killed my boy with this poison of yours.’

Wallace threw the door open and both twins entered.

‘Stop right there, Angus Mackintosh!’ cried Douglas in alarm. ‘What are you doing, man?’

Wallace grabbed his arm and wrenched the half empty bottle from his hand.

Archie Reid gasped and laid his head backwards on the large copper spout. His cheeks puffed up and then suddenly his head shot forward and a stream of amber projectile vomit shot from his mouth, just missing the twins.

‘He … he’s tried to kill me,’ Archie moaned.

‘No more than you deserve, you bastard. You killed my boy.’

‘I … I don’t see —’ Archie Reid said with a slurred voice as his head slumped forward onto his chest.

‘ Creideamh! ’ exclaimed Wallace. ‘He can’t see.’

Douglas was already phoning Dr McLelland.

There was no way that the girl could be allowed to live now, the killer thought. The fog was a blessing, but for how much longer. It would have to be done quickly then cleaned up and all signs of restraint removed before dumping the body.

The right footwear was important on a day like this. So important not to leave any stupid clues.

Just one more risk before leaving the bloody island for the last time. But it would be worth so they could be properly together at last.

Penny had already sent an attachment about the census on an email to Torquil’s phone by the time he arrived at the Beamish practice.