Dead at Third Man Page 5

  Turning around, Macleod said, ‘Thanks, Mr O’Neil, for coming, that’s all I have at the mo—’

  Jackie O’Neil was flat out on the chair, snoring away. You can smell the booze from here, thought Macleod.

  Chapter 7

  Macleod took the coffee cup offered by DC Stewart and drank half of it before saying a heartfelt ‘thank you’. The day had been long and it was still not finished. Having completed all of their statements from the team, he had decided that before going to bed, he would bring his senior team together to run through what had happened during the aftermath of the game and to decide what their next course of action should be.

  If Macleod looked rough, then Hope was suffering more. He was unused to seeing her in such a state of tiredness but he knew he could count on her professionalism despite whatever had happened on holiday to make her so grumpy. When she had left Glasgow, all had seemed to be sweetness and light between herself and Allinson. Not so now.

  ‘Okay, let’s pull together a timeline from our various interviewees. I have all the statements now out on the desk thanks to our typing pool godsends. All we need to do is piece it together and then plan tomorrow before we go to our beds.’ He smiled at Stewart. ‘And you need to get us a night manager.’

  ‘I think we start with the game, sir,’ said Hope. ‘Alice and Jackie arrive early for practice. Then the team arrive one by one, including Bubba. The opposition arrive and the match starts. It’s a Sunday and kicks off at eleven.’

  ‘First inning is opened, McGrath. There’s no kick off.’ He got a not-undeserved glare. ‘So match underway, away team batting first and off to a great start until Alice rips them apart.’

  ‘And then the church mob turn up,’ said Stewart.

  Macleod glowered. ‘The Rev. Irvine and his cronies arrive, Stewart. Let’s not sully the rest of Christianity.’

  Stewart glanced at Hope who lowered her shoulders and pretended to shelter her head from an airborne attack. Macleod gave a look of disgust and continued on with his summing up.

  ‘There’s a bit of agro when Irvine arrives—placards and the like.’

  ‘Psalm singing, sir,’ chirped Stewart, trying to make up for her previous faux pas.

  ‘Indeed. Big Jim said there was a row as well between Bubba and Irvine, one during which Summer Carson was called a harlot. Not very ministerial,’ said Macleod. ‘The second inning finds our home team struggling until Alice pulls them up and Jackie strikes the winning runs to give them a great victory.’

  ‘Yes, but one that their great benefactor misses a significant part of,’ said Hope. ‘Gordon Watts said that Bubba was away from the pavilion about half an hour before the end of the game. Why? This was the big game they were all hoping for and they were in with a shout of winning it. So why leave?’

  ‘And who was he with? Anyone else missing?’

  ‘Nothing recorded, sir,’ said Stewart.

  ‘Except we know Summer is there. Big Jim said that in his statement,’ said Macleod, ‘but no one else is noticed as missing. Is it because he didn’t meet one of the team so the person may have left without being thought of as missing? Or were they just clever? Or was Bubba truly alone?’

  ‘Alone for what?’ asked Hope. ‘He was with someone; alone doesn’t make sense with what was happening on the pitch.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Macleod. ‘Then Jenny Painter comes to take her Dad, Alan, home, due to his delight in alcohol. She’s part of Irvine’s group and interrupts the celebrations to do it but Alan is having none of it. And everyone repairs to the changing rooms for a celebration.’

  ‘Got a bit frisky in there, according to Jackie and a few others.’ Stewart was keenly offering what she could and seemed disappointed at Macleod’s less than encouraging replies.

  ‘Okay but let’s slow down. Champagne flowing, Jackie trying to be indecent with Alice who is having none of it. He hears Katie Macaulay throwing up in the toilets. Was she drinking? Is she a novice when it comes to alcohol?’

  ‘Jackie was still keen on her,’ said Hope.

  ‘And there’s history there, I’m sure of it,’ said Macleod. ‘She leaves at ten p.m. on her own, no alibi after that but also no reasons to harm Bubba and Summer other than she’s Irvine’s church.’

  ‘I don’t see how a minister or church person is going to kill someone over playing on the Sabbath,’ said Stewart. ‘Seems a little over the top.’

  ‘Depends on your viewpoint, Stewart. Never underestimate passionate people. We have Alice and Jackie not getting on, and Gordon Watts possibly being involved with Alice.’

  ‘Denied by both, sir. Probably Jackie’s imagination, or the booze.’ Hope was responding but her enthusiasm was low. Macleod thought she was simply exhausted so he decided to speed through the rest of the timeline.

  ‘Alice and Alan Painter leave about one, Painter struggling to stand. Then Declan and Jackie nearly come to blows over something. Seen by others and Jackie firing off at most people. Declan leaves and Jackie collapses under a table and falls asleep.’

  ‘At least that’s what he says; he could be feigning the sleep,’ said Stewart.

  ‘Big Jim and Gordon leave about two a.m. and see Dickie Smith and Summer in a close union. Dickie says he left a half hour later, not confirmed. Between then and the following morning, Bubba is battered to a pulp and zipped up in a bag. Summer is beaten and killed, dumped naked in their Jacuzzi.’

  ‘Why was she taken elsewhere?’ asked Hope.

  ‘Why was Bubba stuck in a bag?’ aske Macleod. ‘We seem low on information about the early hours of the morning. Alan arrives back to find the blood. Again, why move Bubba?’

  ‘Knock-knock,’ said a sharp voice and Macleod turned around from the board he was writing on to see his forensic lead, Mackintosh. ‘Sorry to bother you but I have some information you might find useful.’

  ‘Please,’ said Macleod, ‘join us.’

  ‘Just five minutes and then I need to get onto the autopsy of Summer Carson.’

  ‘Not Bubba?’ said Macleod.

  ‘I’ll get to him as well but I think she has more to tell. I’ll let you know when I have confirmed it. In the meantime,’ said Mackintosh, ‘I can tell you Summer Carson was also on the pitch where her husband was beaten. The weapon was something thick and hard, swung with force and pretty accurately. I’m thinking baseball bat or something similar. The way the face was deconstructed it looked like blunt force trauma. Tallies with Summer’s wounds.’

  ‘No weapon found at the house or club though?’ asked Macleod.

  ‘None. We’ll keep looking but I doubt it’s here. And that’s it; I need to get off to the morgue at the hospital to carry out my examination. You’ll have the results by morning, Inspector.’

  ‘I appreciate it, Mackintosh,’ said Macleod with a smile.

  ‘You better had. I want donuts when you see me.’ And with that she was gone, leaving Macleod scrambling for where he was with his thoughts.

  ‘Why was he moved? Why were they moved, sir? That’s where you were,’ said Stewart and got a grumpy glance for her trouble.

  ‘I was getting there, Stewart. Also, this minister, Irvine. I think I need to see him in the morning. There was obviously serious tension, so we need to see just what he is about. Who else do we go back to?’

  ‘Jim and Gordon,’ said Hope. ‘They seem to be knowledgeable about the whole team, especially Jim, seems like a watcher. And Dickie Smith. I’d like to know if his flirting with Summer was a one off.’

  ‘Good, back here then at eight. You can clock off once you have our night watchman, Stewart. Tell him nothing fancy, no outrageous shots, just hold his ground.’

  ‘He’ll get me if there’s anything and I’ll contact you if needs be,’ Stewart said.

  ‘I was making a joke,’ said Macleod, his hands open in frustration. ‘Get sorted and get home, Stewart. And Kirsten, thanks for your help today—you did well.’

  Pushing her glasses onto her nose, Kirsten Stew
art smiled for the first time that evening. ‘Go lighter on her,’ said Hope when Stewart had left, ‘she’s not been here long. I think she’s intimidated by you.’

  ‘I was very encouraging. And besides, she’s learning.’

  Hope tutted and grabbed her jacket before letting out her hair from the ponytail she always wore on duty. Macleod, seeing the action, advised that he would drive. As the road disappeared under the car, Macleod struck up a word in the silence.

  ‘Been a while since that first case, Hope. I always wondered what Allinson said to you when you first met him at the lochside and I sent the two of you on to the jetty.’

  ‘Are you fishing, Seoras?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Macleod felt the heat of a stare but used the road as an excuse not to turn round.

  ‘Yes, you do. I’m too tired to play games so out with it. What do you want to know?’

  Macleod coughed and debated whether to leave his curiosity alone, but then realised it was more concern. ‘What happened on the holiday? You guys seemed so good together and then you come back with a face like—’

  ‘A smacked backside?’

  ‘Thunder was what I was going to say. It’s none of my business—’

  ‘Agreed!’

  ‘But if you want to talk about it, then we can.’ Macleod let the silence hang until he thought he should offer the branch a little further. ‘I know Jane would be better as she understands more than me how you work.’

  ‘Me or just women in general?’ retorted Hope.

  ‘I don’t mean to say—’

  ‘Then don’t. Seoras, just shut the f—just say nothing.’

  The lights of Barvas gave way to the dark of the moor and the conversation gave way to silence. Macleod fixed on the road ahead as Hope turned over and stared out of the window into the dark. He heard her breathe deeply like she was trying to exorcise something from her chest and then caught a mutter about men.

  ‘Tell me this, Seoras, cos you’re a man. If you were out in the Greek sunshine with me, down at the beach, blue water before us, hot sand and baking, and I decided I wanted to strip off to tan myself, would you stop me?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ asked Macleod quietly.

  ‘How do I mean? Bikini on one minute, bikini off the next. How would you feel about me lying there with just bottoms?’

  Macleod gulped. He had always enjoyed Hope’s figure but he was in a place where she was his work partner, someone not to think about in such ways. ‘Well, I guess, that is . . .’

  ‘Okay, bad question. If it was Jane? How would you feel? Would you be okay with it?’

  ‘Well, honestly, yes. I guess I would be. Hadn’t really given it any thought. But it would be her choice.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Hope, ‘her choice. He just starts trying to dress me there on the beach. Bloody embarrassing. There was at least another five or six women the same. He had no problem with them, did he?’

  Macleod was regretting bringing up the subject. I only wanted to help, only wanted to see if I could pep her up. I mean, blimey. Can’t believe we actually agree, although maybe a year ago I wouldn’t have.

  ‘And that was the row?’ said Macleod. ‘Seems minor to me.’

  ‘Yeah, well you weren’t the one being accused of being a showpiece to the natives.’

  Macleod stared ahead, looking into the dark of the road as the rolling hillocks meant the lights showed everything for a few moments before showing next to no road at all. Needing inspiration and a calming word of comfort, he cast out his line, hoping against hope that he might find the words of genius he knew he lacked. But when nothing came he said the only thing he knew.

  ‘I doubt I’d be a showpiece to any native.’

  Hope laughed. ‘No Seoras, I doubt you would.’

  Chapter 8

  Standing on the wooden bridge at this hour of the morning gave a sense of calm and escapism to Macleod. At least that was what he was telling himself but with his jacket off, he felt cold. Was there a nip in the air? No, he had just been a fool to go out this early without more than a shirt. When he had risen, the golden rays of dawn had seduced him into ‘taking a chance’, one of those moments Jane always went on about. ‘Go on, Seoras, what’s the worst that’ll happen?’ Catch cold, that’s what.

  It was still before six in the morning and he pondered on whether he should call his partner languishing in their new house without him. She had warned him previously about early calls, advising him to let the other men leave before he disturbed her. Her irreverent jokes made him smile but he also remembered the woman who turned up in an Inverness car park at three a.m. just because he was alone waiting for his chance to interview a suspect. He had landed on his feet with her.

  No, he was not the stuffy, religious brow beater he had been when growing up on the island. Glasgow had beaten some of it out of him but really it was Jane who had set him free. And Hope, too. Poor woman, he had not clocked Allinson for a conservative type of man. God help him with Hope.

  It was a half hour later when Macleod crossed back over from the Lews castle grounds to the hotel where they were staying. Hope should be down for breakfast and he wanted to know she was better, not that he had any influence over the result. Had she even called Allinson? But as he approached the window of the restaurant, he saw her sitting with her coffee and a bowl of fruit before her.

  ‘Ordered you some scrambled eggs, Seoras, if that’s okay. Jane sent a text saying you weren’t to have too much greasy food.’ Hope appeared sullen behind the jokey exterior and Macleod decided to play along.

  ‘You don’t have to mother me, either of you.’

  ‘And if we don’t, who does?’

  ‘I’ll have to take hold of that woman of mine when I get home,’ said Macleod with a smile.

  ‘Lucky her.’

  The comment rang in his ears as they drove back across the Barvas moor, the heather topped peat banks looking more inviting than he remembered from his days on the island. But then, he was not going to be spending a day cutting and throwing the black tarry slices. Arriving at the community hall where the team had set up their base, Macleod took a handover from the night crew as DC Stewart made her entrance five minutes later.

  An hour later, Macleod had Hope running through statements again, while he took Stewart aside and told her to prepare to come with him and interview the Rev. Alasdair Irvine. Watching her push her thick glasses up in a trait he was becoming used to, he was struggling to warm to the younger officer. Hope was so much more open and convivial whereas Stewart seemed locked down, hiding something. And he recognised his bias towards Hope’s looks. Maybe it was a natural thing, but he needed to overcome it, as it was wholly unfair to promote someone in your mind just because their body attracted you.

  The road to the manse led past some crofts before becoming a mere track. Unlike the Church of Scotland manse, which had been built beside the church it was attached with, this house was somewhat of an outlier. Indeed, Macleod gasped when he saw the building.

  ‘What do you reckon to that, Stewart?’

  ‘Seems ostentatious for the house of a minister, sir,’ replied Stewart.

  ‘Are you a woman of faith, Stewart?’

  ‘Does it matter, sir?’

  ‘I was just going to say,’ Macleod mused with a sigh, ‘that if you are, and I am, we must not let any opinion of the post of minister affect how we judge the person.’

  ‘I’m aware of that, sir. But I’m not that religious. You don’t have to worry.’

  ‘Maybe not about you, Stewart, but I was raised here, so keep me in check.’ With that Macleod exited the car and walked the driveway up to the pillared entrance to the house. He saw the three cars in the drive, one admittedly smaller than the other two but all looked relatively new. The garden, which had a well-decorated border, seemed to have more life than most gardens on the west side of the island and Macleod knew the difficulty of cultivation and the work that must go into this offering to the
eyes.

  Macleod allowed Stewart to press the brass doorbell and simple chimes sounded out round the house. The hour was just past nine and Macleod wondered how they would be received. The door swung open and a tall elegant woman, dressed in a plain blouse and skirt smiled and gave a simple ‘hello’ before waiting for their reply.

  ‘DI Macleod and DC Stewart to see the Rev. Alasdair Irvine, please. It’s about the issues up at the cricket club, ma’am.’ His tone was measured, almost subservient and it suited Macleod to go in like an islander. This should be territory he knew well.

  The woman, who didn’t introduce herself, led them through to a sitting room with an immaculate sofa that could seat four people and which faced a single leather chair, like an interview panel, except the chair put you under no illusions who would be asking the questions. The woman asked if they would like tea and then disappeared, giving a gentle call out to her husband. In the background, Macleod swore he heard children.

  After waiting for five minutes, Macleod stood up and looked around the room. On the wall were pictures of family and Macleod counted at least six different children. He guessed the woman was only in her early thirties at best and he wondered if they were all her children, or had the man had a previous marriage. Adoption was another option. Here and there, there were also quotes from the Bible in various forms, tapestries, scenic photographs with print over the top, and items with the legends printed on them.

  ‘Bit over the top, sir,’ said Stewart quietly.

  ‘Indeed, but not so far from the norm, I’d say. Still, I think this room is here to impress. I reckon he conducts church business in here, interviews, chatting to the congregation. I wonder if the rest of the house is in the same mould.’ A door opened behind them and Macleod spun around.

  ‘Detectives, my apologies but I was just concluding my morning petitions. I hope Mairi has looked after you; she has the children to take to school as well but we must attend to our guests, that’s what I tell her. She runs the house so very well, as you ladies can only do, Detective . . .’