A Personal Agenda Read online

  G R Jordan

  A Personal Agenda

  A Highlands and Islands Detective Thriller

  First published by Carpetless Publishing 2020

  Copyright © 2020 by G R Jordan

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  G R Jordan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  G R Jordan has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

  First edition

  ISBN: 978-1-912153-87-9

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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  Contents

  Foreword

  Acknowledgement

  Novels by G R Jordan

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Read on to discover the Patrick Smythe series!

  About the Author

  Also by G R Jordan

  Foreword

  This story is set in the idyllic yet sometimes harsh landscape of the western part of Scotland. Although set amongst known towns and villages, note that all persons and specific places are fictional and not to be confused with actual buildings and structures which have been used as an inspirational canvas to tell a completely fictional story.

  Acknowledgement

  To Susan, Harold, Evelyn, Pete, Joan, Wendy, Jean and Rosemary for your work in bringing this novel to completion, your time and effort is deeply appreciated.

  Novels by G R Jordan

  The Highlands and Islands Detective series (Crime)

  Water’s Edge

  The Bothy

  The Horror Weekend

  The Small Ferry

  Dead at Third Man

  The Pirate Club

  A Personal Agenda

  A Just Punishment

  The Patrick Smythe Series

  The Disappearance of Russell Hadleigh (Crime)

  The Graves of Calgary Bay

  The Fairy Pools Gathering

  Austerley & Kirkgordon Series (Fantasy)

  Crescendo!

  The Darkness at Dillingham

  Dagon’s Revenge

  Ship of Doom

  Supernatural and Elder Threat Assessment Agency (SETAA) Series (Fantasy)

  Scarlett O’Meara: Beastmaster

  Island Adventures Series (Cosy Fantasy Adventure)

  Surface Tensions

  Dark Wen Series (Horror Fantasy)

  The Blasphemous Welcome

  The Demon’s Chalice

  Chapter 1

  The small cruise ship had been a great idea and John stood with a satisfied grin on the open deck behind the bar. The kids were not with them, placed with their grandmother for a week, and the peace and quiet was exceptional. It was not that he struggled to love them in any way, it was just that being a busy parent was full on everyday and there was no rest. Alison and he had lost each other in the maelstrom of family life and now they had a chance to rekindle some fires.

  The compact cruise ship was ideal, capable of sailing down the Caledonian Canal, taking them along Loch Ness and through Fort Augustus before arriving at the top of Neptune’s Staircase. This was a breath-taking series of locks that descended the hillside and would leave the vessel in the canal that led to the sea loch at Fort William. Looking down the locks, he saw other vessels already on their way down the staircase, dropping through each one as the water flowed out.

  Alison was showering and he had a gin and tonic ready for her. In fact, he was eagerly awaiting her arrival and the summer dress she had bought for the trip. Today was the first day without cloud and she had laid it out on the bed. Having just turned forty, she was not the youthful girl he had dated and married all those years ago, but she was now something different—even better, he thought, despite the markings life had made on her. In truth she had aged better than he but who really cared when the sun was up and the drink was ready to flow. Tonight would be good night, after a relaxing evening.

  Across from John was a German gentleman, named Klaus, who had spoken to John as they cruised along Loch Ness. Recounting the man’s tales of the monster, John chuckled inwardly at the German’s impression of a hulking beast with a long neck, his arms swinging out before him in something that looked more like a deformed elephant. Still the man had been good company and despite the language barrier, they had enjoyed the view and the tales of Nessie.

  A pair of arms slipped around John causing him to smile and he leaned his head back over his shoulder to give a kiss to his wife. Twisting out of her grasp, he gave a delightful look at her dress and even asked her to spin for him. A German voice from behind echoed his enthusiasm and John handed Alison her gin, stepping with her to the railing at the edge of the deck.

  ‘How long will it take us to go down this staircase?’ asked Alison.

  ‘Most of the evening, I reckon. Why? You going somewhere?’

  ‘Only with you.’ She took his hand and he ignored the cheesy comment and simply smiled. She did not have a way with words but that had never bothered him as her sentiments were always real. John invited Alison to sit but she insisted on standing at the railing and looking out over the town of Fort William below. Away to their left, John could see the impressive Ben Nevis and was glad he did not have time to climb it, despite Alison’s protests. He wanted all their physical activity to be in the bedroom and now looking at the landmark, he thought he could never make it that high up a mountain. Even with a cable car, he still found himself not relishing a walk.

  But Alison was looking on the other side, staring over trees that lined the staircase onto a rugby field and to the hills in the background. And then she stood back a little, almost reeling, as if she had seen something.

  ‘You okay?’ asked John.

  ‘Sorry, I just thought I’d seen a man with a gun. Well, more like the nozzle of a rifle. Just walking along down there.’

  ‘Where?’ asked John, more to entertain Alison’s fantastical idea than in any sort of apprehension.

  ‘It was that man … oh, blast he’s gone. I’m sure he was down there.’

  ‘Probably just a trick of the light; the
sun’s getting pretty low. Here, get some of this down you.’

  ‘Now, John,’ said Alison with a smile, ‘you’re not trying to get me drunk so you can get me back into bed, are you?’

  ‘Of course,’ he laughed.

  ‘I don’t need to be drunk, trust me.’

  The pair kissed like they were teenagers, without a care for anyone staring at them and John even reached round, placing his hands on Alison’s bottom. When they broke, he watched her take the glass to her lips and drink it quickly.

  ‘Here’s to getting me pissed!’

  ‘It going to be a good night, ja!’ said Klaus.

  ‘The best,’ said John and embraced his wife again.

  A deafening crack was heard and behind their heads a light smashed on the facia above their deck. Instinctively, John ducked before turning to look at the broken fixture which had rained plastic onto the deck.

  ‘Blimey, I didn’t realise you were that explosive, Ali.’ His wife giggled and held him tight.

  ‘Take it easy,’ said Klaus; ‘we want a ship by the end of tonight, not a smashed up one.’

  John grinned but then jumped as another thunderous crack rocketed through the air and a piece of plastic facia blew apart above Klaus’ head. This time John was not smiling, and he began to panic.

  ‘Gun—it’s a gun,’ screamed Alison.

  Behind Klaus, a waiter was yelling at the guests to get inside when he suddenly spun and fell off his feet to the floor. Blood began to seep onto his white shirt and a nearby passenger quickly knelt down and began turning him over, looking for a wound.

  ‘I’m a doctor. Keep down and get off the deck.’

  A third shot broke more of the facia above them and John heard screams from those strolling along the canal bank on what had been a perfect evening. John pulled his mobile from his pocket and dialled 999.

  ‘What service do you require?’

  ‘Police, get me the damn police; there’s shooting—someone shooting at us!’

  ‘Putting you through,’ came the calm voice of the operator.

  John then heard a broken voice, dropping in and out. Blasted signal, he thought and gingerly stood up trying to raise the height of his phone. As he did, another shot rang out and John felt his arm being pulled away from him, but he manged to steady it. Then in a delayed reaction, he felt pain shooting from his hand and looked to see a destroyed mobile phone in his hand. But he nearly puked when he saw only three fingers on his hand. Blood began to pour from the knuckles and he heard Alison scream.

  For a moment everything reeled, and he looked over at Klaus who was kneeling behind the railing, taking cover behind the solid body of the vessel. For a moment he saw Klaus hesitate, as if there was something he should be doing but was unsure of. And then the man stood up and began walking over to John.

  ‘No,’ John mumbled, his voice gone from him as his head felt woozy. But he manged to raise his left arm, indicating that Klaus should go back. Another thunderous sound and this time, John saw Klaus lifted off his feet, his head violently twisting backwards as he fell and blood spattering all around. Lying there, John watched the man’s head turn towards him as it hit the deck, one eye missing and the other without life. Klaus’ face was almost unrecognizable, and John felt the bile in his throat rise up before a little came out. Behind him, Alison was not so reserved and vomited profusely.

  ‘Stay down,’ John mumbled, unsure if he was echoing his instruction to Klaus or instructing his wife. Lying there, he saw the doctor still working on the waiter and others now crawling along the deck to reach Klaus. On the deck where the fading sun could not get past the height of the railings, it was cool, and a coldness set in on him. Whether this was real or a result of his wounds or shock, John was in no position to debate, but instead he simply stared at his recent German friend whose teeth had now formed a vague smile as he lay on the ground.

  On the top deck of the vessel, the crew manning the control room were all lying on the ground lest they were exposed by the glass wall that gave such excellent visibility. Many now thought that guiding a vessel by radar was preferable and they could be safely locked in, keeping low on the bridge. The captain was holding a microphone in his hands, simply calling out ‘Mayday’ as another crew member rang 999 on the ship’s mobile. Another pressed the secret button which would send an email message indicating distress and possible attack. But every crewman did these things hugging the floor.

  John lay where he was, slowly drifting away from the scene around him. Somewhere, he heard the sound of a bird, a shrill cry, and he wallowed in this, wondering what it looked like. Who cared what had happened; this was a most beautiful sound. The ideal was broken by his wife, slapping his face, asking him if he was okay. But John was struggling to speak and she screamed again.

  But as the sound of people scurrying about attending to screaming passengers filed the air, there was an ominous silence from the gun. Had it gone? Was the shooting over? John wondered this as he drifted off, wishing he could hear that bird again.

  Chapter 2

  Macleod watched the woman on his patio staring out at the Moray Firth. She was bald and he noticed that she had those ears that stick out. Usually they would have been covered by thick hair that rolled in waves to her shoulders. But that beauty was gone, as she frequently commented. He had told her it would return again but that had made things worse. He did not know why, in fact, from Macleod, it was an unusually positive outlook, but not for Hazel.

  Hazel Mackintosh had moved into Macleod’s home after returning from Glasgow and the cancer treatment that had changed her physically forever. Macleod had no idea how to approach the subject the first time he saw her, after the tumultuous case in Barra. He still struggled to mention anything about it but Jane had known what to say. His partner had been incredibly compassionate considering Hazel was a woman with an eye for Macleod. But there was no hidden agenda with cancer, only pain.

  A hand was placed on Macleod’s shoulder. ‘She’s doing okay, as well as can be expected. You’re a heck of a good man letting her stay.’

  He placed his hand on Jane’s and kept staring at Mackintosh’s back. ‘You’re the good one, knowing how she feels about me.’

  ‘Well, you can’t blame her; she doesn’t know you like me. I’ve made my mistake and she doesn’t have to.’

  ‘That’s wicked.’ Macleod managed a grin and rolled himself around Jane eventually holding her from behind. ‘How long do you think she’ll be here?’

  ‘As long as she needs, Seoras. The woman’s had one of the worst things happen to her I can imagine, so she can stay for as long as she needs.’

  ‘You’re something else, Jane.’ He hugged her tight but then suddenly let go as Mackintosh began to turn around. Wondering if she saw, he heard the telephone ring and turned away immediately to answer it. ‘Yes, Macleod here.’

  ‘Stewart, sir. There’s been a gun attack at Fort William. Some lunatic has let off a number of shots and a German’s been killed, sir. DCI wants you over there as soon as possible. I’m at the station in Inverness; shall I come get you?’

  ‘Yes, Stewart, I’ll be ready. Do you have cover for your brother?’

  ‘Yes, sir. We have an arrangement in place so Alasdair, the carer, will be over. I’ll see you shortly.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Jane as soon as Macleod put the telephone down.

  ‘Fort William. Someone’s shot a German. Hopefully, it won’t be that long.’

  ‘Don’t say that; you know how these things go. I’m under no illusions. Besides, I have my patient.’

  ‘I hope I’m a guest and not simply a patient,’ said Mackintosh, coming in through the patio doors.

  ‘A friend, Hazel,’ said Macleod. ‘But I have to run. Someone’s been shot in Fort William, so you two ladies will have to take care of each other.’ Macleod saw the hunger in Mackintosh’s eyes, the desire to race to the latest scene. He wondered if there really was anything else in her life; certainly nothing had come up
in their conversations. Such a pity for the woman.

  ‘Tell Jona I’m on the phone if she needs anything.’

  ‘I will, Hazel, but she’s doing well—clever girl.’

  ‘You can’t say that these days, Seoras, even if she is nearly thirty years younger than us.’ Mackintosh smiled and nudged Jane. ‘He can’t help it—sees them all as kids.’

  ‘Well, they are compared to us, Hazel, even Hope.’ Macleod saw the look on Mackintosh’s face and the tears forming in the eyes.

  ‘You’ll be back, Hazel; trust me.’

  ‘Don’t make promises you can’t cash, Seoras.’ The forensic chief turned away and walked back out to the patio, resuming her observations of the Moray Firth.

  ‘Not your fault,’ said Jane; ‘that’s her battle to believe. Now get your stuff and get out of here, Inspector Macleod. Go sort those young ones out.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Macleod and gave his partner a hug before heading for the stairs to his bedroom.

  The drive to Fort William took Macleod along the Caledonian Canal where the sun blazed on the water. On passing the Loch Ness centre, he saw the mass of tourists all desperate for a glimpse of the elusive monster. ‘Why would you spend your money on something that’s not even real?’ he asked Stewart.

  ‘Day out, sir. Keeps the kids happy.’

  ‘Look at that couple; they don’t even have kids.’

  ‘No sir, they’re having fun though. Maybe that’s worth the money.’

  Macleod watched a hand rise and the glasses on Stewart’s face were pushed back as they always were when she thought she had made a winning point. He was about to complain about a lack of respect for elders when he realised that he had been complaining about people’s holiday plans. He was moaning more and more these days, in a return to his days of bitterness in Glasgow. He’d have to stop that. Hazel’s troubles were bringing him down.

  The car crossed the bridge at the Ben Nevis Distillery and Macleod knew he was close to the canal’s end. Once they had crossed the bridge over the canal, Stewart swung the car round in the now-dying sunshine and drove up the side of the canal past a mass of emergency vehicles. The path was only infrequently used by vehicles but today it was like a car showroom. Parking up when they could get no further forward, Macleod exited the car and flashed his warrant card at the constable manning the cordon.