Кит Мори - Flotsam and Jetsam

Through the glass they saw that the front room had been arranged as a sort of laboratory. There were various electronic gadgets and an assortment of glass apparatus stacked on a table, with a microscope and an array of chemical bottles and fixatives. It seemed untidy to say the least.

A bookcase against a back wall looked as if someone had pulled every book out of it and thrown them higgledy-piggledy on the settee.

‘Look at that great wet area over by that box thing.’

‘That’s not a box, Douglas,’ Wallace corrected. ‘It’s some sort of tank with pipes attached to it.’

The twins looked at each other.

‘Are you thinking what I am thinking, Wallace?’

Wallace swallowed hard and nodded. ‘I think so. I don’t know why he would have a tank of water in his front room, but he was a scientist. An odd one at that! But Dr Ralph McLelland said he was drowned, but not where he was found on the moor.’

‘We’d better let Torquil know pretty damned quick. He might just have been murdered in his own cottage.’

Morag had been on the telephone non-stop since the others had gone off on their various tasks.

First she telephoned Ralph McLelland and ascertained what personal effects of Dr Dent’s he had in his possession. And, of course, she asked him for a resume of his findings, so that she could start organizing the case file.

Calling the University of the Highlands had resulted in her being directed to various people including the university chancellor, the head of the department of biological sciences and then to the HR department. All of them had been shocked to hear of Dr Dent’s death, but were even more shocked to discover that the police thought that his death was suspicious.

She talked with Jenny Protheroe, the HR director, who gave her as much information as they had on Dent. That merely amounted to a run through his curriculum vitae, which she agreed to scan and send over by email, and an acknowledgement that he was alone in the world with no known relatives.

‘I can’t say that I liked the man,’ Jenny confessed. ‘He had a reputation, you see.’

‘A reputation? What sort of reputation, Jenny? Any information could be relevant.’

There was a moment’s hesitation. ‘He was a Lothario.’

‘A Lothario? You mean he liked the ladies?’

‘And how! Staff, students, anyone in a skirt, if you know what I mean.’

Morag noted the tone of bitterness in her voice and wondered whether Jenny Protheroe, director of HR at the university had been targeted at some stage.

‘Was he in a relationship recently, do you know?’

‘Not that I know of. Women were wary of him ever since last year. One of his students, Heather McQueen drowned when she was doing post graduate work with him on West Uist.’

‘Ah, of course. A tragedy.’

‘There were rumours about an improper relationship.’

‘But nothing like that came out at the Fatal Accident Inquiry,’ Morag remarked.

‘Well, it wouldn’t, would it?’

Morag made careful notes of the conversation and then made a list of bullet points to tell Torquil.

She was just about to phone Ewan to ask him to collect Dr Dent’s effects from the mortuary when she opened her diary and she saw Sandy King’s card inside the cover. She felt her cheeks warm and she smiled.

Before she knew what she was doing she had dialled his number. The call was answered even before she had time to change her mind.

‘Sandy King here.’

‘Oh – er – it’s Morag Driscoll.’

‘Hi, Morag, I am glad you rang. When are you free?’

‘It’s not so easy to say, er – Mr King, you see—’

‘My name is Sandy.’ She noticed the amusement in his voice.

‘Sorry – Sandy! It’s the police training. The formality, I mean.’

‘I was kind of hoping that I could get behind that. Find the informal Morag.’

Morag’s hand went to her hair and she started twirling a strand. Goodness, what am I doing here, she thought? I’m like a wee girl. I should just pull the plug before this gets out of hand.

‘Maybe you can,’ she heard herself say. She hesitated and then added, ‘I have to tell you that I was married. I am a widow.’

‘So I believe.’

‘And I have three kids.’

‘I know. I found that out for myself.’

‘And you still—?’

‘I really want to meet up with you, Morag. So, when can we fix it?’

She paused for a moment, then: ‘Tonight at eight. I’ll get my sister to baby-sit. Meet me at Arbuckle’s; it’s a little wine bar-cum-restaurant just off Deuglie Street which you’ll find at the top of Harbour Street. We can get a glass of wine or a beer.’

‘A meal sounds good to me. Eight o’clock it is. I can’t wait. Bye, Morag.’

‘Bye – Sandy.’

Morag stared at her mobile in disbelief. Was it true? Was she really going on a date with Sandy King, The Net-breaker?

She pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

Then her phone went. It was Wallace Drummond with news that brought her back to earth with a crash.

Ewan had taken details from Alice Rogerson at Aberstyle Farm. She had discovered the burglary herself two mornings previously when she came in from helping her husband with the morning milking. It had been a professional job, clinically performed.

‘They must have known precisely when we were out of the house,’ she told him. ‘And they took my grandfather’s collection of tobacco tins, including one that he had when he was in the trenches on the Somme. That was what hurt most. It was sentimental, you see.’

And apart from that they had taken all of her jewellery and her husband’s Omega watch.

After that he had ridden across to Strathcombe, a hamlet of five crofts where three of them had been burgled the night before. And, as in the Rogerson case, they had been niftily done when the owners were all out tending to their crofts.

‘Professionals are at work here,’ Ewan mused as he pedalled into action. ‘That strikes me that they are not local folk then. No one here on West Uist would have any idea about this burgling. I’ll get the others interviewed then get back and see if I can’t see some pattern that will lead me to the culprit.’

He glanced at his watch and decided the best route towards the next case, which was over on the west of the island.

‘Och it will be best to go past Sharkey’s Boot, I am thinking.’ Then he remembered that Rab McNeish lived on Sharkey’s Boot and he had been about to complain of a theft, until he had been scared away by Annie McConville.

‘Torquil is always going on to me about taking initiative. Well, maybe this is just the sort of thing he meant. Maybe Rab McNeish would like me to investigate his theft. He said it was at his house. Antiques!’

He patted the moped’s handlebars. ‘Come on, Nippy, let’s show that initiative. Sharkey’s Boot it is and McNeish’s half-complaint about burglary.’

He had only gone a quarter of a mile when his phone went and he had to stop to answer it.

It was Morag.

‘Ewan, we need you back right away.’

‘But Morag, I think—’

‘And on your way, stop at the mortuary and get a bag from Dr McLelland. He’s expecting you.’

‘But Morag, do you—?’

‘Be quick, Ewan, there’s a pet. Torquil wants me to meet him and the twins at Dr Dent’s cottage, so I need you to look after the station.’

Torquil tied Crusoe to the drain pipe then unlocked the front door with the key found among Dr Dent’s possessions. He patted the dog then stood and turned to the others.