Dead at Third Man Read online

  ‘Do you drink, Alan?’

  ‘Aye, whenever possible.’ The man laughed before starting to cough and then cleared his thought with a hard rasp. ‘Jenny’s mother died in childbirth and I brought her up. Wasn’t easy and I’m not suited to it. But she’s reared and she’s doing good. Just hates her father and his little tipple.’

  ‘Was she in the crowd picketing the match yesterday?’

  ‘Oh yes, started on her old man she did. She’s got her mother’s dark hair, but she’s also got her wicked tongue. The things she says to me,’ sniffed the man, ‘it’s not right for a girl to talk to her father like that. Shameful! And that Irvine encouraging her. He’ll ruin her. Ruin my hard work.’ Alan’s hand was now shaking and Hope swore it was trying to reach for a glass or bottle that was not there.

  ‘Easy, Alan,’ said Hope and watched the man look at her and smile. He seemed to sink into a stupor gazing at her hair. ‘Autumn, that’s you. She was Summer but you’re Autumn. As the Winter approaches you ease away the pain as everything dies, giving out one last fanfare of colour, one last hurrah to the gods.’

  Pisshead, total pisshead, thought Hope, but a dammed endearing one. Autumn indeed. Allinson never compared me to any season. He’d wrap me up and hide my colours.

  Hope realised her focus was waning and reached for her coffee, taking a long drink. ‘Alan, I need you to focus and tell me what happened after the game yesterday. As much as you can.’

  ‘Okay, love, but it’s hazy. I had a wee bit to drink after the game. You see Alice had been a star with the bowling and then she held us together with the bat too. Bubba and she made the middle of the innings count before Jackie plays a great wee cameo at the end, cracking a six off the last ball to stick it right up them. Thought they had us. One wicket left and fifteen runs. But Jackie-boy got us through. And Big Jim of course. He never scored a run, but you can’t move Big Jim once he’s in.’

  ‘After the match, Alan, please.’

  ‘Well, we go crazy. There’re handshakes and that. Irvine looks like his face is a smacked arse because we won. He’d given Bubba an earful at the tea interval but now Bubba can’t be put down. Jenny came up to me and tried to get me home, complaining about my wee tipple I have but the hell with that. We won and there was celebrating to do.

  ‘So, once we had shaken hands and been good sports, we saw the Paisley scum back onto their bus. There was few I remembered, you know. Well it’s into the changing room and Bubba’s got champagne like he knew we would win. Everyone’s in there.’

  ‘Including Alice?’

  ‘Yes, and a few other women too. Summer, Katie—’

  ‘Katie?’

  ‘Katie Macaulay, Declan’s wife. He’s not a great bat, Declan, but he’s very keen. She’s a church member, like my Jenny but she never gets any grief from Irvine. Guess he blames it all on Declan. There were other women too. It was manic. Guys getting changed, handshakes, kisses and general happiness. I got a peck from Summer and a heck of a hug. Nothing funny mind, just excitement.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Gets a bit more blurred. I remember hearing someone throw up in the toilets and went to see if one of the lads needed help. But it’s Katie Macaulay. Irvine would go spare. She’s pale as a ghost and I ask if she wants anything. I got her a pint of water, but she refused. I think she thought it would be vodka. Maybe it was vodka, I can’t remember what I had in my hand. Anyway, she heads home but Declan stays. I had a drink with him—he was a bit down. Bubba had had a bit much and I think he gave him a word about his batting.’

  ‘Is it bad?’

  ‘Total crap. But he’s a trier so I consoled him with a few pints. We’d flaming won; why Bubba had suddenly got moody I don’t know. And then I remember watching Summer. She was with Dickie Smith. Now that’s a man that can move, and at his age too. Best man in the field. Good hands too. Maybe he was explaining that to Summer.’ He laughed, in a ridiculous fashion.

  ‘You think he was trying something on?’ asked Hope.

  ‘I don’t know, I was pissed, girl. But I know that I thought Summer looked radiant, like Katie Macaulay had been looking before she was sick. Maybe it’s the bottle and a dirty old man talking. Have to enjoy ourselves, don’t we, love. It all ends too soon.’

  Sometimes drunks notice things more than other people, or rather certain things in incredible detail while missing what the person beside them was saying, so Hope wanted to mine as far as she could.

  ‘Anything else happen?’

  ‘Just Alice and Jackie having words. I reckon she was too sober for Jackie.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ asked Hope.

  ‘Well, she wasn’t drinking. She’s too focused on the career. Cricket mad to the point where Jackie has to stay on the edge. And he wants to be on the inside. Good friends but he wants more. I reckon he tried for more, but she wasn’t having it. They were spitting bullets at each other but that’s not unusual for them. Alice took me home when she’d had enough.’

  ‘Had you had enough?’

  Alan became tense and looked Hope in the eye. ‘I’m an alcoholic, signed up volunteer to the stuff. How would I know if I’d had enough?’ And then he softened. ‘Autumn indeed, could see you in a black dress swirling in the falling leaves, girl.’

  Flattery was one thing, but this was going to be a long night and Alan was becoming a little tiring, so Hope moved the conversation on.

  ‘And the following morning—when did you get there?’

  ‘Oh, about eight. Walked down. Walk most places, don’t have a licence anymore. Was a bad boy with the car.’

  ‘And you found?’

  Alan laughed. ‘A damn mess, bottles everywhere. And then Jackie under a table, fast asleep until I woke him. And then I went to look at the pitch because we celebrated quite hard on it after the match. And it looked like the ground had spurted blood. Caked masses of the stuff. At third man, too. Imagine that. Do you think that’s significant?’

  ‘Did Bubba play at third man?’

  ‘It’s not a position, love. Well, not a permanent one. It’s just where you can stand on the field, anyone can.’

  ‘And then what?

  ‘I came inside when Jackie called me. Tried to help him move the kit bag. It was bloody heavy.’ Alan’s eyes started to water. ‘We unzipped it. God preserve me. It was a mess. I ran off to get someone. Jackie says he puked in it.’ And with that the man dropped his head to his hands and cried. ‘Is it Bubba?’ he fought through the tears.

  ‘We can’t find him. Did he wear a wedding ring?’

  Alan nodded. ‘Wrong hand though. Right finger, wrong hand. An ex-wife but he didn’t like to talk about it.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Hope, ‘I want to show you this and we’ll finish, Alan, I can see this has been rough on you. Do you recognise this woman?’ Hope showed the man a photograph of the woman in the Jacuzzi but showing only her head and shoulders.

  There was a silence as he stared, tears slowly dropping onto the table where they accumulated until you thought someone had tipped a drink. When he spoke, it was slow, and every word forced. ‘Autumn has come when everything dies. Summer has gone. Farewell to dreams, farewell to the golden-haired beauty from across the seas. Goodbye, Bubba, my friend.’

  Chapter 6

  Macleod stared at the man in the blue and yellow cricket strip before him. He looked sober enough but he stank of last night’s alcohol and had ruffled black hair and a cheeky grin on his face. Not that he gave off the air of someone associated with mirth, rather it was like his mouth was an affliction to his face, a comic tableau on a depressing day. But the gaudy outfit combined with his grin set Macleod’s mind racing about what deviousness this character had been up to, a prejudice he was fighting to prevent.

  Hope had taken the older alcoholic, as Macleod had an aversion to drink, and especially to those who abused it. But looking at the man before him, he reckoned he may have had more sympathy for the alcoholic rather than the binge drinker. The man bu
rped as Macleod sat down and the waft of oppressive vinegar reached his nostrils.

  ‘Jackie, isn’t it? DI Macleod. What is your surname?’

  ‘O’Neil.’

  ‘Irish?’

  ‘Irish father, Lewis mother. One of the underground Catholics here.’ There was a grin before Jackie tilted his head, averting his eyes from Macleod.

  ‘Well, your religious stance is not important to me unless it is part of the case. Are your parents still alive?’

  ‘Yes, but Dad’s off sailing on an oil tanker somewhere. He’s a steward. And Mum’s a . . . well, let’s say Mum is looked after by someone in Liverpool.’

  Macleod nodded. ‘Well, let’s stay focused on Lewis, shall we? How long have you been involved with the cricket club, Jackie?’

  ‘Since we started,’ sniffed the man. ‘I was one of the first people Alan grabbed to come along and try out. I got on well with Bubba. He had mighty arms, could flick a ball over the boundary, barely looked like he was hitting it. Despite how he talked, he was a decent guy.’

  ‘How did he talk?’

  ‘American, wasn’t he? He had that bright optimistic outlook on everything, always banging on about hard work. Not very Scottish really. Although you get it from the church mob sometimes, but they wouldn’t splash the cash the way Bubba did.’

  ‘Generous, was he?’ asked Macleod.

  ‘Bought us all the gear. Bought the ground, too. Not a lot of people would have done that. He also paid for Alice to go away for trials and that. Not on the ferry either—she flew.’

  Macleod coughed. ‘I noticed Alice and you have some sort of relationship; how would you classify it?’

  ‘Classify it?’ Jackie looked puzzled.

  ‘Are you going steady? Just friends? Intimate?’

  ‘We’re not sleeping together if that’s what you’re asking. Not that I haven’t tried. It’s not that she isn’t willing but she’s so damned focused on the cricket. In fact, I’m not sure what she wants from me. She wants the shoulder and the ear but not any of the other parts, especially fun bits.’ There was a brief smile and then it seemed to fade, or at least turn down to a more moderate grin.

  ‘Was that a problem?’

  ‘What do you think? We all want a bit of that side, don’t we? Bet you want that from your missus.’

  Macleod conceded the point in his mind. Certainly, he wanted Jane in that way; what man didn’t want his woman like that? But it didn’t mean you pushed her if you didn’t get what you wanted.

  ‘Were you ever overbearing? She looked like she took exception to you today.’

  ‘Alice and me are good. It’s others that have a problem. Even Bubba said a few words to me. Sort of father figure, you see. He meant well but he got it wrong. Alice and I are cool.’

  ‘Okay, so let’s run through today and what happened. In fact, start yesterday. From arriving at the match, in your own time.’ said Macleod.

  ‘Well, I got there with Alice first thing, as she wanted to warm up in the nets. So I faced a few deliveries from her before everyone arrived. Then we played the game, a tight one but we got there. Alice ripped them to shreds, bat and ball. I managed to hit the winning runs and we sent those gobby twats back down to Glasgow. Alan was over the moon; Bubba too.’

  ‘Was anyone not happy?’ asked Macleod almost laughing.

  ‘Well, yes, we had those God freaks on at us. Bloody Irvine and his cronies. He’s a right bastard.’

  ‘I thought he was a minister,’ said Macleod. ‘I grew up here and people don’t usually talk about their ministers like that, Jackie.’

  ‘You’re not one of them as well, are you? Bloody hell. Well, I tell you he was bang out of order. People trying to play shots and he’s giving it right welly, singing psalms and that, waving placards. It’s a bloody Sunday; he should be at home resting—that’s according to his own words.’

  Macleod ignored the slurs to his faith, eager to get to the meat of the story. ‘Go on; what happened after the match?’

  ‘Well, we went mental, as you can imagine. Bubba had champagne available and I downed it. No idea if it was any good but it went down nicely. I was singing on the pitch with Big Jim and that, gave Alice a wee snog when we won too. She didn’t turn that down—she was over the moon. After we put the Weegies on the bus, we went into the changing rooms where some guys got dressed and showered.

  ‘But everyone was in there, including quite a few of the girls. Remember seeing Katie, which was unusual as she’s one of Irvine’s crowd these days. She wasn’t like that at school I can tell you. We had some good times if you know what I mean.’ A thrusting of the hips conveyed to Macleod just how good the times were. ‘Katie has been looking especially radiant of late and no thanks to that Declan.’

  ‘Declan?’ asked Macleod, flicking through his papers.

  ‘Yeah, Declan Macaulay, her husband and the wee shit that stole her from me. She’d not be in Irvine’s clan if she were still mine. Right babe she was. Still is. Don’t know where she came from exactly as she never knew her father. But man, she has a figure.’

  Macleod decided the fantasising could wait until Jackie returned home. ‘So everyone’s getting drunk in the changing rooms then?’

  ‘Not everyone; Alice didn’t. She needed a wee drop of something too, she was too quiet. And she was with that Gordy. He was holding onto her. She didn’t even react to me whipping my towel in front of her, like a dance of those seven veils, only with one towel. Budapesque, isn’t it.’

  ‘Burlesque,’ said Macleod, ‘so I believe.’

  ‘Aye, that. Anyway, Bubba wasn’t happy and he had a word but she loved it really. She’s no good in public, doesn’t like to be the centre of attention. I told Bubba that Summer was being a bit forward that night. She was all over Dickie Smith. Not that Bubba seemed to care. It was all very free and easy, if you catch my drift.’

  ‘Did Alice come over to you later or did she stay with Gordy?’

  Macleod saw the eyes narrow. ‘Had words with her but she wasn’t for being told. She ended up pissing off with Alan about midnight. Like Alan was pretty pissed, as ever, so good job she saw him home. After that it’s all a bit hazy. Might have told Declan he was an arse and that his wife needed some proper handling. A man-to-man conversation.’

  Macleod wondered if he needed to let Hope have a word with Alice and sort out why she was with this idiot. It was all he could do not to call the guy out for the clown he clearly was. But he was also the man who had found the body so he needed to hear it first-hand. Anger in check, Macleod continued. ‘So, if you can’t remember anything more about the night, tell me about the next morning.’

  ‘Not a lot to say. I spent the night under a table until Alan disturbed me. I went to get cleaned up and there was the kit bag in the middle of the floor. Then Alan calls me. He’d found all that dried blood out on the pitch. He’s spouting on about it being at third man. I mean how does that work, no one’s batting. And then he asks me to move the kit bag but it’s heavy. So, we open it and then I saw him.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Well, I take it it’s Bubba. God the face of him, smashed to pieces. I couldn’t hold it and just puked all over the bag. What a mess. I was shaking and that but we rang your guys.’

  ‘Did you touch anything else?’ asked Macleod.

  ‘No. I needed air and quick. I think I was still half cut. Probably a good job too.’

  ‘Any ideas about who would want the Carsons dead?’

  ‘You mean from the team?’ asked Jackie.

  ‘No, anyone.’

  ‘Well Irvine might but then, he’s always saying God will have his vengeance, so maybe not. All the team loved Bubba and how could you not have loved Summer? Total peach she was. Not that she ever looked my way. Bit young for her but I wouldn’t have said no.’

  The man’s crass attitude was slowly overcoming Macleod’s tolerance and he excused himself for a moment. Outside of the room, he grabbed another coffee and took a quick step
outside sucking in the cool night air. There would be more interviews and he hoped he didn’t end up with such an arse next time. When he returned to the room, Jackie O’Neil was asleep in the chair.

  ‘Mr O’Neil,’ shouted Macleod, delighting in his interviewee’s sudden bolt upright response. ‘Can you tell me about Bubba and Summer? How was their relationship as man and wife?’

  ‘Oh, not man and wife. They weren’t married. I don’t know why but I asked him once about his ring, why it was on the wrong finger. He muttered something about a divorced wife and said Summer didn’t want marriage, she was happy just being them. But that was back towards the start.’

  ‘Why do you say the start? Had something changed?’

  ‘Well,’ said Jackie, ‘I might be wrong but in the last three months she was wearing outfits that were a little more provocative. Nothing dirty or slutty mind, but a bit more leg, a bit more cleavage. I tend to notice these things.’

  I bet you do, thought Macleod. ‘Had Bubba changed at all?’

  ‘Well, they weren’t so close. She used to hang off his arm when they first got here but gradually she drifted off it. Maybe she just got comfortable being here. After all, we have a right few arseholes of our own, like Irvine.’

  Macleod stood up and turned away, drifting in his own mind for a moment. Surely a minister wouldn’t kill. They were playing the game on a Sunday but that wouldn’t justify murder, or the brutality he had witnessed. Maybe he needed to get a read on this Irvine in the morning, pop along and see just how hardcore he was. Growing up on Lewis, he had known a good number of serious faces but no minister he had come across would have murdered for his God. And anyway, he needed to work out the denomination and where it stood. He’d never heard of it before.