Кит Мори - Deadly Still

‘Like his laptop and the used condom?’

‘Of course. There was nothing on the laptop, but I couldn’t risk it falling into anyone’s hands.’

‘And how did the teenagers get hold of it?’

‘Ah, that was a mistake, I admit. I had doctored three bottles and left them in his lobster pot. One of the kids must have found one and taken it, I guess. Otherwise, I have no idea.’

‘But when you heard about the teenagers at the pillbox you panicked?’

‘Bloody right I did. That’s why I sent lover-boy to search for Vicky Spiers. Fortunately, he found her and took her to one of our love-nests. We were planning on keeping her alive, just subdued with whisky until we decided where to take her and release her. Of course, that can’t happen now. She’s being terminated before we go.’

Morag gasped. ‘You murderous bitch!’

‘You just finish that drink. All of it this time.’

Morag raised the glass again. ‘You’ll never get away. This is an island and we’ll block any route.’

‘You mean you would if you were alive. Which right now is not looking likely.’ Helen pointed the gun at the glass. ‘Down the hatch. You know, you really shouldn’t drink on duty. That’s what they’ll say when they find you after the road accident, when you drive over a cliff into the sea.’

Suddenly the door burst open and Cameron Beamish rushed in, a shotgun braced against his shoulder. ‘You filthy cow! Put that gun down. You’re even worse than I thought you were, but I’ve heard everything.’

Helen Beamish did not seem at all fazed. She continued to point the gun unwaveringly at Morag.

‘Well, well, Cameron. Some gumption from you at last. I thought your little fling with Kathleen would be the limit of your capability, but here you are with your father’s old Purdey. It hasn’t been fired in thirty years, so put it down before you hurt yourself. You wouldn’t have the nerve anyway.’

‘Why, Helen?’ he demanded. ‘Why all this, when I gave you everything.’

She laughed. ‘Because I hate you, you snivelling worm. I was going to leave you and let you see how you got on with that tart Kathleen, but I see that I’ll have to —’

She spun round and fired, hitting him in the chest.

Cameron’s body jolted backwards but he kept his feet. He lowered the shotgun and stared disbelievingly at the expanding patch of blood on his shirt. Then he staggered back against the wall and started to slide down.

Helen stepped towards him. ‘You fool! You ruin everything. Now I’m going to have to make this look as if you lost your bottle and turned a shotgun on yourself. If only —’

She didn’t finish for Morag launched herself at her, grasping her arm and slamming it down on the desk, causing the solicitor to scream in pain and release the gun. Morag followed it up with an elbow to her face that broke her nose and caused blood to gush from her nostrils.

But Morag’s movements were slow and she was staggering after her exertion. Helen Beamish punched her in the face, causing her to fall back into the chair. Then Helen grabbed the gun and swivelled to point it at Morag’s face.

‘You interfering bloody —’

There was a sudden explosion and Helen was thrown across the room in a huge shower of blood as Cameron discharged both barrels of the Purdey.

Morag stared in horror at the mangled body, knowing that the woman was dead. She stood and turned to see Cameron’s head slump down as he passed out, the shotgun falling across his lap. After staunching his wound as best she could she ran through into the sitting room and by the fireplace she shoved fingers down her throat to make herself sick. She heaved copious amounts into the empty fireplace and then pushed herself up and made for the side table upon which were several decanters of spirits.

‘God, please make this work,’ she muttered, pulling out the stopper from the whisky decanter and drinking mouthful after mouthful.

Staggering back to Helen Beamish’s office with the decanter in one hand she felt for a pulse on what was left of Helen’s body, but was unable to detect one. Picking up the telephone on the desk she called the station.

‘Kyleshiffin Police Station,’ came Calum Steele’s voice. ‘How may I help you? I’m afraid all of our officers are busy at the moment.’

‘It’s … me, Calum,’ she said, her voice heavily slurred. ‘Is Torquil there?’

‘No, it’s just Cora and myself. It’s — er — not been busy, but your Superintendent phoned. He wasn’t too happy that I was left in charge. He said he’d have —’

‘Never mind that, Calum. I … need you to ring … Doctor McLelland. And ring the others. I … I need help. One death … one badly wounded patient … and me.’

‘Where are you, Morag. I’ll come myself.’

‘At the … Beamish house. You … stay and mind … the station. You’re very special … you and Cora...’

Morag hung up and took another hefty swig from the decanter before slumping into the chair and passing out.

Vicky swerved to her left, expecting the advancing figure to try to block her so that the man she was fleeing from could catch her. Together they would drag her back to that place and…

But the figure passed her and went straight for her pursuer. She stumbled through a puddle in her bare feet and slipped, landing on her face in the water. She pushed herself up and turned just in time to see the figure from the mist punch the other several times, causing him to fall down in a crumpled heap.

‘It’s all right, Vicky. It’s me, Inspector McKinnon,’ said the man, turning. ‘Just stay there a moment while I handcuff this swine. Don’t worry about him, he’s out cold and can’t hurt you.’

Scarcely believing that she was out of danger, Vicky sat up in time to see Torquil handcuffing the unconscious gallery owner, Nathan Westwood.

‘We are glad to see you out of hospital, Morag,’ said Torquil as the West Uist team sat in the rest room the day after.

‘I’m glad to be out, boss. I can’t say that I like this hangover, though. Why people willingly drink vast amounts of whisky is beyond me.’

‘You’ll be pleased to hear that Catriona McDonald is being discharged home from the Western Isles Hospital today. Her vision is almost completely back.’

‘What about Vicky? Her parents must be so relieved to have her home.’

‘Ralph says he’s going to arrange some counselling. She’s probably still in shock, but post-traumatic stress syndrome is common after false imprisonment.’

‘I can hardly believe that Helen Beamish could have been so evil,’ Morag said. ‘She had me fooled completely.’

‘And she had everyone taken in, Morag,’ Torquil replied. ‘We’ve looked at the memory stick that Robbie Ochterlonie gave old Stuart Robertson for safe-keeping in case anything happened to him. It was inside one of his ships in bottles on his dressing table. She’s been embezzling and exploiting clients right left and centre for years. She was the murderer all right, but she had her lover, Nathan Westwood, wrapped round her finger. They were stashing money away and he had no qualms about either imprisoning Vicky or indeed, killing her.’

Morag winced. ‘That cold-blooded monster, Helen Beamish, said Vicky was being terminated while she tried to poison me. And if her poor husband hadn’t come in when he did —’

‘He knew that she was having an affair, but he wasn’t sure with who,’ said Torquil.

‘I saw him on the moor on Monday morning,’ Ewan volunteered. ‘Wet weather gear and binoculars. He told me he was bird watching, but he must have been trying to spy on some of those cottages of theirs.’