Dead at Third Man Page 3

  ‘And he had his wallet in there?’

  ‘We didn’t change out of our kit, even when the boys went for their showers. They stripped off and washed before donning their kit again. I didn’t change but they dragged me into the changing rooms for some champagne even while they changed. Shit, it was a hell of a party. I wasn’t the only woman in there.’

  ‘Okay, breathe easy. How far did Mr Carson live from here?’

  ‘Just over that hill,’ she said, pointing to beyond the pavilion. He brought his car but its windscreen got smashed with Jackie’s winning six.’

  ‘Okay, I want you to stay here and say nothing to no one until we verify who it is. Can you do that? Go home if you must. I’ll get a car to take you, but stay quiet until we know.’

  Macleod led the girl back and spoke to Stewart about what had happened. Leaving her to keep Alice and Jackie quiet and occupied, he looked for a car to run him to the nearby house. But an unfamiliar one drove up in front of him. Inside he saw McGrath, face tanned and looking like thunder.

  ‘Good, you’re here,’ he said, then felt obvious.

  ‘Yeah, it’s me. And don’t ask, okay. None of your business. I’m here, I’m fit and able, so can we get cracking.’

  ‘Sure, get back in the car, we’re going to look at a house.’

  On the short two-minute trip to the Carson residence, Macleod quickly ran through what he knew. As he arrived breathless from talking, Hope hit him with a sucker punch. ‘Did he have any keys on him?’

  ‘Blast, I didn’t even think. Turn around.’

  ‘Hang on; I thought we were on Lewis,’ said Hope. ‘Don’t you guys leave your doors open?’

  ‘Yes, but we don’t all come from here.’ Macleod pointed to the log cabin before him, except it was no hut. From the outside, he could see two levels and enough space for at least three to four rooms on each floor but there may have been more. The front face was immaculate, real wooden logs, glazed in a hazel effect that shone in the sun. This was no house that followed a design for repetition—this was a one off. And before the house sat a Ferrari in the driveway.

  ‘So, he had money, this Bubba Carson, then,’ said Hope. Dressed in a tight t-shirt, Macleod saw the deep tan on the arms and the few freckles on her neck. How she managed to produce such a rich colour, given that she was a redhead, was beyond Macleod’s understanding. He simply burned in the sun, appearing as red or white only.

  ‘If he set up the club, he must be worth a bit. Let’s try the door before we drive back for the keys, but this place probably has an alarm system of some sort.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Hope, exiting the vehicle and marching straight to the large wooden door. It swung open at a touch. ‘Hello,’ called Hope, ‘anyone in?’

  There was silence and Macleod followed Hope into the house. The hallway was vast and had a series of pictures hung on the wall, every one depicting a baseball scene.

  ‘Was he American?’ asked Hope.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Macleod, ‘and he certainly liked his baseball. Judging by the close-up shots, I’d say that was him back then. He saw a blond-haired blue-eyed young man who had seen the inside of a gym. In each photograph, his perfect teeth shone, and his hair seemed to be blown recklessly, but attractively, across the top of his head.

  ‘Can you hear something?’ asked Hope. In the distance, there was a bubbling sound, like a babbling brook or a river for the fish. It was coming from the rear of the building and Hope started in that direction while Macleod took in more photographs.

  ‘Seoras!’

  Macleod raced through to the back of the house and found himself entering an open but covered space at the centre of which was a sunken Jacuzzi. In the Jacuzzi was a woman, fully naked and almost floating on her back. But she was not breathing, her blonde hair lying on the water fanned out in all directions.

  McGrath jumped into the Jacuzzi and checked the woman’s pulse and breath but there was nothing. ‘She’s gone, Seoras, rigid too; it’s been a while. Think her feet are jammed against the other side and that’s why she’s floating like that. I’ll get out and leave it for forensics.’

  ‘A stunning looking woman, Hope.’

  ‘Trust you to notice.’

  ‘I’m serious, look at her, she’s no local woman. The body is so well toned, and the make-up is applied even though she’s in a Jacuzzi. And she’s had work done.’

  ‘Botox?’

  ‘Maybe, but those are not real.’

  ‘Her boobs?’ asked Hope.

  ‘Yes, tell me I’m wrong. She’s had work done.’

  ‘I didn’t realise I stood in the presence of such a connoisseur.’

  ‘Not funny, Hope. I’m being serious. She’s no local. Maybe a wife. Girlfriend?’

  ‘One thing, Seoras, where’s the clothes? If some people got frisky, there should be clothing somewhere. I don’t see any.’

  ‘Check upstairs, and the rest of the house, see if there’s been any disturbance.’ Hope nodded and walked off while Macleod continued to look at the body. He was sure he must look like a pervert, but he was trying to ascertain if she had been in a struggle. Hope must have freed the legs to some degree because the woman rotated and her back turned to face upwards. Across her back was severe bruising like someone had given her a good beating, possibly with something more than fists as well.

  There were recliners around the pool but there was nothing on them and a quick search of the open area provided nothing but a stunning view out to the ocean. When Hope returned, she indicated she would ring someone to get more bodies to the house.

  ‘Who’s the DC you got doing the spadework?’

  ‘Stewart,’ said Macleod. ‘She seems competent.’

  ‘Number?’

  ‘Oh, not yet. Run round and tell them. Mackintosh is the forensic bod, so let her know. She’ll love this. Oh, and did you see the bruising, Hope?’

  ‘Hell, that’s a pummelling. Poor thing, she got it bad. You staying?’

  Macleod nodded and set about the rest of the house as Hope left. The ground floor consisted of a large kitchen, living room with a real fire set in the middle, a sun room, and a games room that had real arcade machines in it. The games room drew Macleod’s attention as it had more pictures on the wall, but this time they included recent photographs of people in blue and yellow cricket outfits. In one, the man he presumed to be ‘Bubba’ was holding a white cricket ball and smiling with Alice. She had a determined look on her face. In others there were full team pictures, all neatly set out in rows with assistants and coaching staff. Macleod counted a total of twenty people in the team photographs.

  And then he clocked some pictures of the woman who now lay dead in the Jacuzzi. She was holding pompoms in one picture, waving them above her head as she wore a uniform that consisted of shorts and a half jacket that gripped her body. The image was from a few years ago, Macleod reckoned, as she had a younger visage, but it was her. Another picture had a younger ‘Bubba’ and the woman, arm in arm, the blond-haired man in his small swimming trunks and she in a green bikini. So, a partner then but no wife as he had seen no rings or wedding photographs.

  Macleod heard a car outside as he climbed the impressive wooden staircase to the top floor where he found four rooms. A master bedroom which ran through to an en suite was first in view and Macleod saw a bed that was immaculately made, and which had not been slept in. The shiny black sheets had barely a ruffle in them and perfect clothes hung in the built-in wardrobes. There were suits and dresses, giving the impression of a smart pair of working people.

  A second room was a rather sterile bedroom, probably for guests, while an office and a bathroom completed the floor. The whole house gave off an air of money but of money well-spent. There was nothing particularly ostentatious about the house, but it was classy. Macleod had an envy for the house if not for the state of its occupants.

  ‘Anything in the office?’ said Hope as she walked into the generous room.

  ‘Just got in here,
’ replied Macleod. ‘This whole place is fantastic, so neat and yet homely in its way. There’s a large number of photos of themselves on the walls but there are no portraits by some artist, just memories. I almost like these people already.’

  ‘Pity they’re dead. Anything shedding any light. Mackintosh is coming directly so she’ll be throwing us out soon.’

  ‘No. There’s this computer and laptop in the office. Otherwise, no. The whole place looks undisturbed too from normal life which is a bit of a surprise. I mean she’s naked in the Jacuzzi, naked and dead. With the bruising, you would have expected a struggle. But there’s none.’

  ‘Not done here, then,’ said Hope as she scanned the neatly stacked papers on the desk. As she worked her way through them, Macleod swore she seemed agitated. But then Hope held up a piece of paper and began to study it further. And then another.

  ‘Seoras, there’s correspondence here, a bit crappy really.’

  ‘Who from?’ asked Macleod.

  ‘The church.’

  ‘Which one? We’re on Lewis.’

  ‘Presbyterian of some sort. Here, you’ll know them better,’ she said handing over the documents.

  Macleod read the banner at the top. ‘The Reformed United Presbyterian Church of Lewis and Harris’ read the legend.

  ‘Bit feisty, the letter, isn’t it? I take it your normal church wouldn’t send something like that.’

  ‘Fire and brimstone, Hope. Fire and brimstone. The wrath of God promised to the vile perpetrator of the Sunday-blaspheming game. No Hope, it’s not one of the normal denominations.’

  Hope stared hard at Macleod. ‘You know their type; you grew up here. Is it serious?’

  Macleod stared around the room, looking at the filing cabinet he had not yet examined. ‘Yes, it could be. We’d better check it out. And get someone to get the files from that cabinet.’

  ‘So, what’s the plan of attack, Seoras—where to first?’

  ‘Stewart’s getting the team together, so we’ll interview them tonight. And if there’s time, I’m going to see the Rev. Alastair Irvine. A man of God doesn’t write venom like this.’

  Chapter 5

  Hope scratched at an itch, a piece of skin where she had failed to cover up with suntan lotion and had picked up a small burn. It was hard to notice being just beside her chest and well hidden under her clothes, but that also meant it was hard to get to without being obvious. She wanted to be lying in bed, under the covers where she could attend to this matter of personal discomfort without anyone seeing. Stripping down in the local community hall was not an option and she had only disappeared to the bathroom some twenty minutes ago when the itch had become unbearable.

  Macleod had decided that an overall picture of what had happened was necessary, and quickly, so he had organised his team to initially take statements singularly and then, once they had conferred, they would go back in more detail to those they needed to see again. Hope had drawn Alan Painter as her first interviewee, and she knew why. The man was in his fifties and Macleod had obviously thought that a young female face would encourage more forthright comments than a man of Alan’s age and his set of tired looks.

  The community hall had a series of small rooms, set out for groups and Hope was sitting in a room that could comfortably hold ten to twenty people but had a single table and her cup of black coffee. The day had started at four in the morning somewhere warm and despite the stunning day the Hebrides was experiencing, she was still feeling the chill, the drop in temperature from the last two weeks being more than a touch. Standing as Alan Painter was shown into the room, she shook his hand and asked him to sit down, indicating the only other chair in the room apart from her own.

  ‘Alan Painter, secretary, coach, and stalwart of the club, that’s what I’m hearing,’ said Hope cheerfully. ‘Is that you?’ The question was a tribute followed by a sucker punch, deliberately unsettling.

  ‘Yes, I’m Alan Painter.’ The statement sounded like the man did not understand the full complexity or nuance of the question and he sat staring at Hope with a smile on his face. ‘You’re not local, love, are you?’

  ‘No, Alan, I’m not. I want to talk about what has happened today at the cricket club, and what happened yesterday as well. I’m not a cricket devotee, so you’ll have to explain to me what the big deal was with the match.’

  ‘Ach, why would you know? It’s not a woman’s game, or rather it wasn’t. You probably missed the boat. I thought I had until Bubba came here. You see I was born in Glasgow, in Paisley. And if I’m not mistaken, your accent is from there as well but not Paisley. Your voice is too posh.’ Hope failed to stop herself looking offended. ‘No, not posh, just cleaner.’

  ‘My parents were not from the city, but I grew up there.’ And then Hope refocused. ‘So, when did you come up here, Alan?’

  ‘Twenty years ago, when they threw me out of that posh pile of shit they called a cricket club in Paisley. I told Bubba all about it. You see, they didn’t like me because I was scum, but scum who could bowl a mean delivery. We bounced about the bottom of the league and they needed me to haul out a few results, and so I was tolerated. But then Danny Houghton moved into the area. Nice lad, good bowler. I got on well with him. But I was out, now surplus to requirements. Danny was the new king of the pitch.’

  Hope was struggling to keep her smile and she yawned mentally at the rambling man. Two weeks ago, it had been great, sitting up on the beach, Allinson in his trunks, she in her bottoms and t-shirt. And within two minutes, he had ruined it. Any normal man would have been happy. But not him.

  ‘And so, I moved up here,’ said Alan, and smiled broadly at Hope. ‘Lovely tan, have you been somewhere nice? It’s been lovely here but that’s too deep for a Hebridean colour.’

  ‘Yes, I have, thanks,’ said Hope snapping back to the room. ‘Would you say Bubba Carson was your friend?’

  ‘I’ve not had many better friends, certainly not up here. He came over about a year ago. No, a little more, and I met him on the road. He was asking directions, that woman of his beside him in a convertible. I don’t remember the type of car, but it had those hoods that drop down. He was asking directions, which I passed. I didn’t mind him much at the time, but she was unforgettable. Not a Scottish beauty like yourself, but a little bit more plastic, tall, tucked in at the waist, like a magazine cover. But she was pleasant with it when I got to know her.’

  ‘How did you get to know them?’ asked Hope.

  ‘Well, I offered him advice with building his house. I used to work in planning in the council you see, and then he invited me over with my Jenny.’

  ‘Jenny, your wife?’

  ‘No, my daughter. I’m sure you’ll be talking to her too. I think you have everyone here by the looks of outside. Well, we get to talking and he’s a big baseball star, part of a team that won the World Series as he called it. Turns out it was the national championship in America, but they only see the world as themselves and Canada. And I tell him about my cricket, you see. Well, he falls for the game straight away when I bring over a few DVDs. Next thing, he’s starting a club.’

  ‘From scratch? Is there any other cricket around here?’

  ‘Does this look like a place for cricket?’ laughed Alan. ‘Off his rocker, he was. But he wanted my help. And I gave him it. I pulled together a team after trials and he built a ground, all from his own funds mind. No kids you see. That’s what I reckon did it, he was bored. She got involved too, Summer, his wife. What did you say your name was, love?’

  ‘Hope, Detective Hope McGrath.’

  Alan seemed to drift away to his memories as he spoke. ‘Hope, that’s delightful. I liked her name, Summer. She was and all. Lit up the room when she walked in. When you’re alone like myself you enjoy the company of a woman like that.’ He looked at Hope seriously. ‘Not that I’m saying it was anything more than enjoying company. I mean at the club, not alone. Just the warmth of her voice. Summer she was. I’d say you were Autumn, especially wi
th that red hair. You were blessed when given that, girl, or at least mankind was.’

  Hope was becoming annoyed with the man’s rambling but could not help feeling a sense of endearment. It was always a boon to be praised for your looks, especially if you knew the man was not wanting something or trying to get you into bed. Yes, you wouldn’t have minded what I wore on the beach.

  ‘So, that’s how the club came about. Bubba provided the money and the drive, and I dealt with all the local difficulties.’

  ‘Local difficulties? Such as.’

  Alan grinned. ‘All the council paperwork. I knew them all from my time there you see, had them over a barrel when they tried to object. Of course, it wasn’t the council objecting, it was that wee bugger up the road. Irvine!’ The soft features had become suddenly hard and the name was spat out.

  ‘Irvine?’

  ‘The Rev. Alastair Irvine, God’s own snake. He’s not like that Rev. Mackenzie. One of the better Holy Joes. No, Irvine has a vendetta for anyone who doesn’t follow him. Got my own flesh and blood ensnared. Jenny’s one of his flock.’

  ‘And Rev. Irvine has been against the club since its formation?’

  ‘Oh yes, totally. Which is weird if you knew Bubba. He was a man of God, a lovely man but also very catholic, if you understand the word. He believed in one church, not these fractions. But he also believed in playing on a Sunday. American you see; it was perfectly normal to him and he could not see the objections he got up here. Now most people might tut and maybe tell Bubba that Sunday’s not a good idea, and that’s all well and good even if it’s none of their business. But Irvine was at everything he could to bring the man down.’

  ‘Such as?’ asked Hope.

  ‘Objections to planning, all along the lines. Getting his church folk to picket our practices and sign ups. Turning up with placards at our first game.’

  ‘He was at the match?’

  ‘Maybe ten of them. Singing psalms and crying out as Alice was trying to bowl. He didn’t like her playing a manly sport as he put it. Disgrace, that what the man is. Alice is a gem, ready to go places. She’s already had trials with the national team. Once she’s clear of exams she’ll be off to somewhere to ply her trade. And Irvine can shove that right up his arse.’ Alan belched and then swayed slightly. His eyes were blurring and had been for the whole conversation, now that Hope thought about it.