Кит Мори - Flotsam and Jetsam

‘Did Ralph say anything else when you phoned him?’ he asked Morag.

‘Just to take water specimens from this tank that the boys saw and any other possible places where he could have been drowned.’

‘In that case, don’t forget the garden pond there,’ suggested Wallace.

Torquil pushed the door open and gingerly stepped inside, carefully examining the floor for any signs of anything unusual.

‘There are scuff marks on the carpet,’ he pointed out. ‘Take care as you come in, folks, and walk round them. Morag you’d better photograph them.’

‘I have all the forensic gear with me, boss. I’ll start taking shots as soon as you say so.’

Torquil nodded and went into the front room that had indeed been decked out as a laboratory. In an umbrella stand were a series of sticks, canes and the broken gossamer insect net that he himself remembered Dr Dent complaining about.

‘Someone has been in here, right enough. They’ve been through his books,’ said Torquil. Then he pointed towards a desk that was littered with papers, journals and print-outs. ‘And it looks as if his paperwork has had a bit of a going through. The question is, was it before or after he was murdered?’

‘I don’t like the atmosphere in this room,’ Douglas said with a shiver. ‘It has an evil feel to it.’

‘And it sounds as if there is running water somewhere,’ added Wallace.

Torquil crossed to the tank and bent to take a closer look at it.

‘Well, this is the sound of running water. There’s a pump that is keeping water flowing. Look there is one pipe coming in and presumably one flowing out. What on earth can this be here for?’

‘Something to do with his midge studies?’ Morag suggested.

‘Maybe,’ Torquil replied and followed the pipes out of a far door that led into a hall.

‘Right enough,’ he said a moment later. ‘There is a pump here from the bath and back again. The bath is full. We’d better have specimens from both the bath and the tank, Morag. Make sure you label clearly which is which.’

‘What do you think, boss?’ Morag asked.

‘I think this is something to do with his midge studies, right enough. Possibly he needed to simulate flowing water, like a river or stream.’

‘Was he drowned here, do you think?’ Douglas asked warily.

Torquil knelt and looked at the pool of water on the floor round the bottom of the tank. He rubbed his chin.

‘It is certainly possible. The water is pretty near the top so if a body was held under the water it would displace it all over the floor.’

‘But wouldn’t it be everywhere?’ Morag asked.

‘It would if he struggled.’

‘He was quite a big chap,’ Morag pointed out. ‘It would have taken a lot to overpower him.’

‘It would if he was conscious and able to struggle.’

Douglas shivered. ‘Ugh! That sounds horrible. Holding an unconscious man under the water.’

‘That would be someone making no mistake about killing him then,’ Wallace ventured.

‘Aye, and that means that the scud on the head that he had could be more significant. He could have been knocked out and then drowned, before the murderer had a good skulk around.’

‘So you are not thinking it was a case of a botched robbery,’ Morag asked.

‘No, I think we need to have a good look about for something that might have been used to knock him out. I am betting that we won’t find it inside the cottage. You lads go and have a look outside. See if you can find anything that could have been used. It might have blood on it.’

When the twins had left Morag set about photographing the room as Torquil stood up, thinking.

‘I am going to switch that pump off, Morag,’ he said after a few moments.

‘Why, is the noise bothering you?’

‘No, it is just that if Dr Dent had been drowned in that tank, which I rather think he was, then there may well be blood cells floating about in it. And there might be some in the bath as well, since the pump is keeping up a flow. I may be grabbing at straws, but maybe Ralph could tell us if there are more in the tank than the bath.’

‘What do you think the murderer was looking for among his books and papers?’

‘I don’t know, Morag. But I am guessing that we won’t find very much, even after we have been through all of this. Which may take a long time, considering that a lot of it will probably be scientific jargon.’

‘Why don’t you think we’ll find much?’

‘Because I am more concerned about what isn’t here.’

‘I don’t get you?’

‘He is a scientist, yet there is no computer. There is a router on the desk, but where is his PC, or his laptop? I reckon that is what the murderer was looking for.’

There was a tap on the door and Wallace put his head round.

‘Do you want to have a look here, Torquil? Douglas has just fished a stone gnome out of that pond.’

‘A gnome?’

‘Aye, a garden gnome, one of those that looks as if he’s fishing. When we were crossing what was once the lawn we found the gnome’s fishing net. Then we saw its face and hands peeking up through the water lilies.’ He winced. ‘I bet the murderer grabbed that then threw the fishing net aside. After it was done he lobbed it in the pond. There looks to be blood on the little devil’s hands.’

‘And a broken fishing net. Just like Dr Dent’s,’ said Torquil. ‘There’s irony.’

After six paracetamol Fergie had finally managed to gain some ease from the stabbing pains in his head that had felt as if someone had stirred up a hornet’s nest. In its place he had been left with a bee in his bonnet. And this simply would not go.

The old bugger made a right mug of us, he thought to himself, as he drove towards Half Moon Cove. I’ll get him to come on the show if I have to kidnap him to do it.

He grinned. Chrissie would not be pleased if she knew what was in his mind. Still, if I bring off this coup, I’m sure she will be … grateful.

He parked the Mercedes off the track among sand dunes so that it would not be spotted from the house, then he made his way around the tall perimeter fence.

Sod the front gate and that blooming intercom of his. He will hardly be able to turn me away when I have shown such initiative.

He scaled the fence and made his way across the undulating sand dunes towards the house. To his surprise he found the back door standing ajar.

‘Anyone home?’ he called out, as he pushed open the door and let himself in. ‘Hello!’

But there was no answer.

He walked through a large clinically clean kitchen, then a hall, to enter a huge studio that looked outwards towards the sea. Lace curtains were draped across the large bay windows. In one of them a long telescope was set up and aimed seawards at a height that could be readily used from the high stool that stood behind it.

He wrinkled his nose at the all pervading smell of stale cigarettes.

‘You like your whisky,’ he said aloud, spying a side table with a half-empty bottle of Glen Corlan and an empty glass beside it.

Then his gaze took in the benches and tables of driftwood sculptures, many of them covered in dust, and dozens of packets and boxes.

You look like you are a busy bee sending stuff all over the place, even if you’re not so busy sculpting these days. Hello, what’s this for?

He crossed to the back of the studio where a large chest freezer hummed away like some weird futuristic sarcophagus.

I guess you have to be well-stocked up if you choose to live like a recluse.

Curiosity overcame him and he lifted the lid and looked inside.

His eyes gaped and a cry of alarm started to rise in his throat. But it died on his lips the moment a heavy piece of timber smashed into the back of his skull. His hairpiece flew off and hit the wall and was instantly spattered with blood.