Кит Мори - Flotsam and Jetsam

‘And so you came to West Uist, for what? To get even?’

‘To find out if he was responsible for her death. I was going to beat the hell out of him. And then I found out it wasn’t him. It was this specimen!’

Bruce McNab’s head had slumped on to his chest.

‘But I’m getting ahead of myself. I found out where she was buried after I burgled the local newspaper office. Fancy that, eh? Me a common burglar! But I needed to look through the papers without anyone suspecting what I was doing. And when I went to lay flowers on her grave, low and behold, who did I find doing the same thing, but Bruce McNab.’

At the mention of his name Bruce McNab looked up. ‘I deserved everything you gave me, King,’ he said through puffed lips. ‘Except I didn’t do anything to your sister. I loved her, you know. I really loved her. We had an affair, a lovely, special affair. But she had to keep it all secret because of Digby bloody Dent. Why, I don’t know.

‘But that night we went out in the boat and got drunk. Doped up and drunk. I passed out and found her gone. I just assumed she had gone for a swim on her own and swam ashore somewhere.’

Morag gasped and covered her mouth. ‘But instead, she drowned.’

Bruce McNab choked back tears. ‘And the useless idiot that I am, I didn’t have the gumption to come forward. I just kept quiet.’

‘Why did you wait to put flowers on her grave after so long?’ Morag asked.

‘We had a run in with Dr Dent the other morning. I suppose it unsettled me, brought it all back and I felt guilty.’

‘But what I don’t understand, Sandy, is why you didn’t just have it out with Bruce McNab? Why all this?’ She pointed at Bruce McNab’s bruised and bloody face and the water-soaked bathroom.

‘I wanted him to suffer a bit. I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t said anything. Especially when he had kept some of her things.’ And from a pocket of his track suit he drew out a locket and chain. ‘There’s a picture of my mum and Heather’s dad in here. My mum gave her that one birthday.’

Bruce McNab buried his face in his hands. ‘I loved her. I didn’t know who broke into my place and stole it, or why. Except that they had come looking for it. I thought you were coming to kill me.’

‘I didn’t know that would be here,’ Sandy said. ‘I was just looking for something of hers to confirm that you knew her. And the more time that we spent fishing and all that rot, when you didn’t seem bothered about anything, well, it just made me want to make you suffer. To understand what it must have been like for her.’

Morag stood up and looked Sandy straight in the eye. ‘Were you going to drown him, Sandy?’

He returned the look, his eyes registering nothing but sorrow. Then he shook his head. ‘No. I just had to make a gesture for Heather.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Family honour, I suppose.’

Torquil slowly turned round and looked at the gun held steadily in Alec Anderson’s hands.

‘Are you responsible for these bodies?’ he asked.

‘Only one of them, although I have to admit that I put them both in there.’ He smiled. ‘Oh and I would appreciate it if you would put your hands up. I haven’t decided on the best way of disposing of you yet.’

Torquil raised his hands. ‘I think you should put that gun down and we can talk.’

‘We can talk well enough like this, Torquil McKinnon.’ He backed across the room, all the time keeping the Glock pointed at Torquil’s head. He picked up the bottle of Glen Corlan and uncorked it with his teeth, then poured a hefty shot. He took a swig and then returned to face Torquil.

‘How long has Guthrie Lovat been dead?’ Torquil asked.

Alec shrugged. ‘About ten months. The old fool had to go and have a stroke or a heart attack as we were unloading the Sea Beastie. Just dropped dead at my feet.’

‘And why didn’t you just call for help?’

Alec Anderson laughed. ‘Are you kidding me? We had been business partners for five years. How would I explain the load of heroin in the boat?’

Torquil’s eyes widened. ‘Heroin? On West Uist?’

‘Aye, heroin on West Uist!’ he repeated sarcastically. ‘You may not think it, Inspector, but this idyllic wee island of yours is a sort of ‘traffic island’ ! How do you think old Guthrie became so rich? From his driftwood sculptures? Away with you. We collect the goods from the buoys that they fling off the cargo boats as they go up and round to Scandinavia. It has been the perfect cover all these years.’

‘And so Guthrie Lovat died and I suppose you have been pretending that he’s still here.’

‘That’s right. I’ve even wired up a tape-recording on the intercom system to discourage visitors. Only Alec Anderson ever visits here to deliver his supplies and to collect his packages of artwork to send all over the world. Only it is heroin not driftwood.’ He smirked and took another swig of whisky. ‘And I’ve been chained to this for the last ten months until I worked out the old fool’s account number.’

‘What account?’

‘His numbered Swiss account. The wee place that our suppliers post money into. The old sod would never give me that, he just gave me my cut. But after he died I couldn’t get at it at all, until I found the account number. Only by then that Digby Dent bastard was bleeding me dry.’

‘He was blackmailing you? About Guthrie?’

‘He was. He had seen me drag his body up the beach from the jetty. I don’t think I did it too gently, actually. But he had also seen me that other time, when Guthrie was still alive and I moved a dead body.’

‘That will have been Heather McQueen.’

Alec Anderson smiled. ‘Right you are. Although we didn’t know who she was. She complicated things by drowning and getting washed up like any old piece of flotsam and jetsam on Half Moon Cove. Well, anyway, Dent had been skulking about in the early morning, checking on midge swarms or something, and he saw me do it. Then after the Fatal Accident Inquiry, he started putting the finger on us. Nothing too serious, but enough to hurt. And then a month after Guthrie died he told me that he knew all about it. He even had photographs.’ He grinned. ‘The fool told me that he had them on his computer.’

‘You planned to kill him, then?’

‘He pissed me off! Then he implied the other morning that he was going to say something on the TV show – Flotsam & Jetsam. He demanded whisky, so I gave him a bottle loaded with a little heroin. I thought he wouldn’t make the show. But when he did and he seemed out of control, he had to go.’

‘And so you killed him?’

There was a crackling noise from a bench in the corner, then a tinny voice.

‘Alec, it’s me!’

Almost immediately there was a whirr and a taped voice spoke out: ‘No hawkers, sales folk or onion Johnnies, thank you.’

‘Piss off, Alec and let me in!’

Alec laughed and walked sideways to the bench. He pressed a button. ‘Come in, Agnes. We have company.’

‘Agnes is in on everything?’ Torquil asked.

‘Everything. She aspires to living somewhere hot, without having customers to serve. She distracted Digby Dent the other night and I bounced a gnome off his head.’

‘And did you both drown him in the tank?’

‘We did. And when she gets here we will have to decide how we are going to deal with one very nosy police inspector.’ He smiled. ‘After all, now that we have access to the account there is nothing to hold us to this god-forsaken wee island any more.’

The sound of the emporium van on the gravel outside was followed by the opening and closing of its door, then a few moments later Agnes Anderson came in. Her face was surprisingly unmoved by the spectacle of her husband aiming a gun at Torquil’s chest. There was annoyance rather than surprise.