Кит Мори - Flotsam and Jetsam

‘No need to say it,’ Lorna interrupted. ‘I agree, but we also both know that he has it in for us. Let’s just take it on the chin for now. I’ll be back soon enough.’

Torquil pulled a face. ‘Just what is so important that he needs you there now?’

‘It is important actually, love. A big Customs operation. He wants it to go well so he can add it to his CV.’

Torquil could barely disguise his contempt. ‘Public-spirited of him, with other people’s time.’

‘It would be more Brownie points for him towards some honour or another. I think he is hoping for an MBE or an OBE.’

‘I would love to give him an honour,’ Torquil said sourly. ‘The grand order of the boot. And I would happily give it to him personally.’

Lorna laughed. ‘Just make sure that your foot isn’t inside the boot when you do, or he will have you for assault.’

They both laughed, and then fell into their usual exchange of endearments and lovers’ talk.

The bleep on Torquil’s phone went off to alert him that another caller had tried to ring him.

‘Someone is being persistent,’ he said between gritted teeth. ‘But it could be an emergency so I had better go.’

Reluctantly they let each other go, then he pressed the answerphone function to find that Dr McLelland had left three increasingly terse messages. He called him straight away.

‘Ralph, sorry I couldn’t answer straight away, I was—’

‘Torquil, I won’t beat about the bush. I think I have bad news about Dr Dent?’

‘Oh Lord! I was hoping it wasn’t going to get any worse. I am worried about Morag as it is.’

‘I just talked to her. But it wasn’t her that I was concerned about.’

‘Oh no, not Ewan then? Don’t tell me that it was his hammer after all?’

Ralph growled irritably. ‘If you would let me get a word in, Torquil! I have just finished his post-mortem and I am going through some of the laboratory work right now. I don’t like what I am finding.’

‘Tell me, Ralph.’

‘Murder, Torquil. I think you have a murder on your hands.’

Calum had listened as Cora had whispered what she knew about Dan Farquarson and his dealings in Dundee. One of her tutors on the Abertay University journalism course had a second job on one of the Scottish dailies and had been involved in an undercover investigation into crime in the city. On a couple of occasions she had even gone drinking with him in a couple of the watering holes where some of the local bad boys hung out. She had even seen Farquarson and his main henchman, Wee Hughie. It was only an outline of the dealings that she had gleaned, but they were enough to make her cringe when she saw the two men in the corner of the bar.

‘So what are we going to do?’ Cora whispered to Calum, as they stood at the bar.

‘Just wait until one of them comes to the bar to buy a round, then I’ll engage them in conversation.’

Cora suppressed one of her giggles. ‘Sorry, boss,’ she said as he raised an eyebrow at her. ‘I’m just a bit excited. It’s like real journalism.’

‘What do you mean real journalism?’ Calum replied nonplussed. ‘I’ll have you know—’

But he did not finish the sentence for he had seen Bruce McNab gather a batch of empty glasses and start to move across the crowded bar. ‘Watch me and wonder, lassie. Opportunity is on its way. First, we make room.’

And Cora watched as Calum casually straightened and turned, just as Bruce McNab approached the bar to give his order.

‘Bruce!’ Calum cried, as if greeting a long-lost friend. ‘Why, fancy seeing you here. Come on, there’s space here with me and my new reporter Cora Melville. Let me buy you a drink.’

Bruce McNab eyed Calum warily, then his eye set on Cora and he smiled. ‘You are not related to Miss Bella Melville, are you, Cora?’

Cora shrugged her shoulders and smiled demurely. ‘My great-aunt’s reputation proceeds her everywhere I go.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Bruce said. Then, nodding at Calum, ‘But I’ll have to resist your kind offer, Calum. I’m with a party.’

‘Oh aye,’ Calum said, matter-of-factly, peering past Bruce as if seeing his party for the first time. ‘Oh goodness me, is that Sandy King, I spy there?’

Bruce nodded to the barman and pointed to the empty glasses. ‘Same again, Tam. And whatever Calum and Cora here would like.’ As the drinks were being dispensed he placed a large hand firmly on Calum’s shoulder. ‘My clients are here on holiday, Calum. Do you know what I mean?’

‘Oh aye, I know, Bruce,’ Calum replied, tapping the side of his nose. ‘Discretion. Don’t worry, it’s my middle name.’

‘That’s funny, Calum. Most folk around here think it is Nosy-Parker!’

Calum’s cheeks reddened, but he said nothing. He merely grinned.

But this time Cora was unable to suppress one of her rippling giggles. It rose above the hubbub of the bar and almost every head turned to see the source of the laugh and to try to discern the cause of such hilarity. Wee Hughie stopped with his pint halfway to his lips and his eyes lit up. Seeing that Bruce McNab seemed to be having a joke with them he signalled them all over, much to Dan Farquarson’s disdain.

‘Hughie, what do you think you—?’ Dan Farquarson began, then seeing that Bruce McNab was returning from the bar with drinks, helped by the giggling girl and a short tubby fellow in a yellow anorak, he scowled and said in a short aside to Wee Hughie, ‘We’ll have words later, pal.’

But Wee Hughie gave no sign that he had heard his employer. He was on his feet immediately, pulling out a chair for Cora. ‘Come away and sit down,’ he cooed. ‘Any friend of Bruce is a friend of mine. What was the joke?’ He tapped her arm with his elbow. ‘It wasn’t anything smutty, I hope.’

Cora giggled again. ‘Oh no, it was just that—’ She looked at Calum’s raised eyebrows and then at Bruce McNab’s stern mouth and hesitated. ‘It was just something that my boss, Calum here, said. You tell them, Calum.’

‘Well—’ Calum began.

‘Calum Steele is our local newspaper editor,’ said Bruce.

‘A journalist?’ queried Dan Farquarson, guardedly.

‘Aye, Calum Steele, editor-in-chief of the West Uist Chronicle, at your service.’ Despite himself, Calum’s chest swelled slightly beneath his anorak. ‘And this is Cora Melville, my – er – cub reporter.’

‘A cub reporter, eh?’ said Wee Hughie, unable to tear his eyes away from Cora. ‘You mean like an assistant? Well, what I’d like to know is what’s a bonnie lassie like you doing wasting your time on an island out here?’

‘I am a Hebridean,’ Cora replied immediately. ‘I love the islands. I belong here.’

Wee Hughie grinned. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Cora, I like them myself. See, I think I like them more and more all the time.’

Calum took a seat next to Bruce and sipped his beer, then automatically wiped froth from his upper lip. He beamed at Dan Farquarson, then at Sandy King. His eyes opened wide with almost pantomimic effect and he clapped a hand to his mouth. Then as if recovering, he leaned across the table and asked, almost conspiratorially, ‘Is it true? Am I really sitting at the same table as Sandy King, The Net-breaker?’

‘That’s me, all right,’ Sandy replied. ‘But I’m not looking for publicity. I’m just here for the fishing and hunting.’ He grinned and slapped Bruce on the back. ‘That’s why we have engaged the services of the best fisherman on West Uist.’

Calum grinned. ‘Aye, Bruce is famous around here. Not as famous as you of course, Sandy, but in West Uist he’s a sort of celebrity.’