Кит Мори - Deadly Still

He was a forty-two-year-old bachelor who owned a fishing business and also ran a croft with his brother on the south of the island, having worked both with his father until his sudden death a couple of years previously. His complexion was ruddy from his outdoor life, albeit not weather-beaten as were so many of his age. When working on his boat or on his croft he wore the appropriate working clothes, but when doing council work, as he was this day, he dressed in a jacket, collar and tie.

Sitting behind his pine desk piled with paperwork from his work on the Sustainable Development committee, which oversaw and looked after matters to do with crofting, fishing, conservation and tourism, he was feeling more fraught than usual as he conducted his weekly morning surgery, when local residents and constituents either arrived for an appointment or dropped in on spec. Starting at his regular hour of seven o’clock he had seen and dealt with a dozen requests, enquiries and grievances by quarter past nine. As usual he had made copious notes of things that he would attend to later, whether by phone, letter or email. He prided himself on never being absent or late for surgery. Seven was a good time to start, he felt, even in the long dark days of winter, since no one could say he was not there for them.

His last client had really tested his patience and it had taken all of his political skills and considerable wiles to deflect the questions and his aggressive manner. There had been much finger-jabbing, desk thumping and more than a little cursing in both Gaelic and English. The case was more complicated than most, for it crossed the boundary between councillor and constituent and veered into the murky waters of personal business.

He was running his hands through his hair with his elbows on his desk when Archie Reid, his secretary, knocked and immediately came in. Archie was a wiry fellow in his early sixties with pebble-thick spectacles, wearing a cardigan over a grey shirt and a neatly pressed tie. He was known locally as Archie Many Hats, on account of the fact that he had several jobs and managed to inveigle himself into various odd job positions, such as the five hours a week he was paid by the council to look after Charlie McDonald’s surgery and sort his mail. Apart from that he had two businesses at the far end of Harbour Street. The first was a tobacconist and sweet shop and next door to it he had run a smokehouse. Archie Reid’s Smoked Kippers were highly popular on West Uist and on Barra, Eriskey and Benbecula.

Never one to stand on ceremony, Archie said, ‘It’s as well that I’m near as deaf as a post despite these hearing aids that Doctor McLelland arranged or I fear I’d be reporting the bad language coming out of this office. Yon Hamish McNab was fair shouting and cursing.’

Charlie McDonald nodded with a smile. He actually suspected that Archie heard well enough even without his hearing aids and he was not entirely sure that his vision was half as bad as merited his thick lensed spectacles. ‘Sorry about that, Archie, but you know that it was him doing all the swearing, not me. Was there anyone out there in the waiting room?’

‘Luckily not. He strutted out of here in a fair temper, though.’

‘That’s because he was cross.’

‘Aye, I gathered that. What was he wanting —?’

‘I cannot say, Archie, you know that.’

‘It’ll either have been about his distillery or the crofting, then,’ replied Archie. ‘By the way, your old wife rang.’

Charlie frowned. ‘You mean my ex -wife, Bridget. Although I’m not her biggest fan anymore, she’s only forty-two, and that doesn’t make her old, Archie. She’s still only about half your age.’

Archie eyed him distastefully. ‘ Contrachd ort! Curse you! Anyway, she sounded in a fair dither and wants you to call her back straight away.’ He jabbed a finger in the direction of the phone. ‘Urgent, she said. If I were you I’d make her your first call.’

‘Any mail?’

‘Not yet. It’s not like that new postie to be late, so maybe no one wants to write to you anymore.’

Charlie called his ex-wife Bridget, expecting that she wanted to harangue him about money.

‘Why didn’t you call me right away,’ she asked shrilly.

He sighed. It hadn’t always been like that between them. He had loved her once, even hung on her every word instead of cringing at the sound of her voice as he did now. He had to admit that he was no innocent, he had wronged her by having an affair. A stupid liaison that meant nothing to him, but unfortunately had meant everything to that stupid cow, Peggy, Bridget’s one-time best friend. She had thought that the best way to win him forever was to tell Bridget that they were having an affair and wanted to be together. Bridget was always one to fire from the hip. She went bananas and divorced him, and he duly ditched Peggy. He should have felt guilty, but he didn’t. He enjoyed being a relatively free agent.

The thing was he was only free half the time. He was still Catriona’s father and she was the apple of his eye. Acrimonious though the divorce had been both he and Bridget agreed to share custody and to bring her up and give her the best opportunities they could.

‘She’s not been home all night,’ Bridget stated sharply.

There was a moment’s silence which both he and Bridget expected to fill.

‘Well, where has she been?’ he asked. ‘She’s with you Sunday to Wednesday, and this is Monday.’

‘She said she was staying with you and that you said it was OK. She was going on from Vicky’s house.’

‘Vicky Spiers?’

‘Of course! What other Vicky does she know?’

Sarcasm, always sarcasm , he thought.

‘You’re hopeless, Charlie McDonald! So where is she? Did she even go to her job this morning? She’s only sixteen, for God’s sake.’

‘You don’t know if she’s gone to work?’

‘There’s no reply at the Hydro, it just went straight to their call-back message.’

Charlie sighed. He could see that she was in one of her ‘it’s your fault’ moods. ‘They’ll be busy, that’s all, Bridgie.’

‘Don’t call me that!’ she snapped. ‘Find out now.’

The phone went dead in his hand and he replaced it on the receiver. Almost immediately Archie tapped once on the door and came straight in.

‘While you were on the phone Mrs Esther Corlin-MacLeod rang me in reception wanting you to call her. She says you know her number. And just a minute later Mrs Helen Beamish the solicitor did the same as well.’ He stood on the other side of the desk with his hands deep in his pockets. ‘Was that about Catriona?’

Charlie frowned and declined to answer. ‘Not so much wrong with the hearing aids today, is there, Archie? Now, away and make some tea while I make a few calls.’

Archie gave him one of his sour looks. ‘You should have taken better care of your old wife. Bridget was a treasure, you ken.’

Charlie pulled one of his practiced smiles. ‘Tea, Archie?’

When Archie left he picked up the phone and smiled, debating with himself which call to make first. He was much in demand it seemed. He wondered what either of the women in question wanted. His lips curled into a leer as he imagined the two of them lying naked in the heather and him standing over them with a choice to make.

He dialled the number that immediately came into his head.

Torquil raced back along the road for a mile and then went off-road to weave his way along old rutted tracks through the gorse to reach the old road leading up to Harpoon Hill.

Morag was waiting outside, still just in her jogging kit, running on the spot with her arms crossed so she could rub her upper arms to keep warm. Behind her police barrier tape had been strung on canes around the pillbox and across the entrance.