Deadly Still

CHAPTER TEN

The Spiers lived in a prefabricated bungalow on Kincardine terrace at the top of Kyleshiffin. It had a fine view of the harbour and had been converted with ramps and widened doors for Brock Spiers’ wheelchair.

Mist was still hanging over the town as Torquil walked to their house after the meeting at the station. He was met at the door by Jeannie Spiers. A small, pretty woman in her late forties, her face was haggard.

‘What news, Inspector McKinnon?’ she asked as she held the door open for him. ‘Just go through, Brock is in the living room. He’s — having a drink.’

Torquil gathered her meaning and went in ahead to find Brock Spiers by the window staring out over the harbour, a large glass of whisky in his hand.

‘Good morning, Brock. I’m afraid that we still haven’t found Vicky, but we —’

‘Then what the hell are you doing here?’ Brock snapped in a slurred voice. He turned his self-propelled wheelchair and moved it forward over the linoleum to within a couple of feet of Torquil. ‘Our daughter has been missing since Sunday night and you lot have done nothing.’

‘We’ve got search parties out at this moment, Brock. We’ve got an army of volunteers — your neighbours, friends and old workmates. They are all —’

‘Workmates?’ Brock repeated belligerently. ‘That’s right! Remind me that I’m not able to be out there myself, but my old workmates are.’ He took a hefty swig of his whisky. ‘Damn few of my workmates ever come near this place, you know. Scared, I reckon, in case their boss the spider woman thinks I’ll get at them.’

‘Brock, please. This isn’t the time,’ Jeannie remonstrated.

‘After seven years you’d think that some of them could be counted as friends. Well, no way. Oh, I have a couple of good pals still, but they are also considered deserters from the high and mighty Glen Corlins. Keith Finlay and Jerry McColl both work for Hamish McNab now. They come, they have a drink with me. They care!’

‘We care about Vicky, Brock,’ Torquil said.

‘You care, they care! We had that slip of a lass, Cora Melville from the Chronicle. As nice as ninepence, sympathetic and all that, but we know she just wants a story. What do you expect when she works with that Calum Steele.’

‘Brock!’ Jeannie persisted. ‘Inspector McKinnon is here about Vicky so just hold your tongue and let him speak, will you.’

Torquil held up the briefcase he was carrying. ‘We’ve found a trainer and we need to know if it is Vicky’s. We think she may have been stumbling around and it got stuck in the mud. If we can establish that it is hers then we’ll know that we are in a better place to search from.’

‘Let’s see it then, please,’ said Jeannie, sitting on the settee pushed up against the wall so that Brock had maximum room to manoeuvre his wheelchair.

Torquil opened the case and took out the trainer, still in the polythene specimen bag.

Jeannie’s reaction told Torquil what he suspected. She clapped both hands to her mouth and suppressed a shriek. Tears welled up in her eyes and she nodded her head emphatically.

‘It’s Vicky’s right enough,’ said Brock, sounding more sober. ‘Please find her for us, Inspector McKinnon.’

After leaving the Spiers’ house Torquil walked to the West Uist Chronicle offices, and was pleased to see Calum’s yellow Lambretta was parked against the kerb. Torquil pushed open the door and triggered the bell in the office above. Taking the steps three at a time he bounded up and found both Calum and Cora hard at work on their computers.

Cora, always full of verve rose instantly to greet him, while Calum wheeled round in his swivel chair and leaned back.

‘Welcome to the press room, Piper,’ Calum said, picking up a pencil and tapping his desk with it. ‘Any fresh leads?’

‘As a matter of fact that’s why I’m here.’

‘Has the post-mortem on Jamie Mackintosh been done?’

Torquil had worked out how he was going to play it with Calum. ‘We are waiting for the official report. It should not be long. But we found this.’ He opened his briefcase and took out the polythene bag containing the mud-covered trainer. ‘I’ve just been round to see Brock and Jeannie Spiers and they conformed it belongs to Vicky.’

Cora bent down to look at the trainer. ‘I went to see them earlier. They are totally cut up. The poor man was drinking whisky this morning. I could see that his wife was worried for him as well as for their daughter.’

‘We’re all getting worried, Cora,’ said Torquil.

‘And I can tell that you’re worried what we’re going to write,’ said Calum. ‘Well, don’t worry, the West Uist Chronicle is here to help not hinder.’

‘Exactly the spirit I was hoping for, Calum. Can you take a photograph and get it out there? Ask if anyone has seen the other one?’

‘Leave it with us, Piper. We’ll put it on the blog and we’ll send out one of our digital bulletins. We’ll get it across the island as quick as you can say Jack Flash.’

‘You are a couple of stars,’ Torquil said as he set the bag on the table for them to photograph.

From the Chronicle offices Torquil went back to the station, picked up the Bullet and rode up to the Old Hydro Residential Home. Doreen McGuire greeted him at the door and asked him a barrage of questions about the terrible situation as she led the way along the corridor to the manager’s office where Norma Ferguson was sitting behind the desk making out worksheets. Torquil could see from the patina of perspiration on her brow that she was feeling stressed.

He refused the offer of tea and before she too hit him with the same questions he took the initiative and told her about the finding of the trainer, now identified as belonging to Vicky Spiers.

‘So I need to know more about how Vicky settled in here.’

Norma leaned forward and clasped her hands in front of her on the desk. ‘She’s one of three part time girls who are all studying at the Academy, doing their Highers year. She and Catriona McDonald have been with us all this year.’ Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘Oh, Inspector McKinnon, this is so dreadful and what with finding Robbie dead like that.’

‘I understand, Norma. It must have been a dreadful shock.’

‘I’ll never forget it as long as I live.’

‘Did you touch anything when you went in?’

‘No, I told DC Faversham I just checked his pulse to see if he was alive. I knew he was dead. He was just like some of our residents when they pass away overnight and we find them in the morning. That’s a nice way to go I always think, but poor Robbie, that was horrible. No-one should die alone like that.’

‘Have you been in touch with Catriona or Vicky’s parents?’

‘Oh yes, it was one of the first things I did after I heard about what happened at the old pillbox. I went round to see them, actually. I thought it was the least that I could do. It … it’s what Robbie would have done.’

Unable to hold back the tears any longer she began to sob. Torquil reached over the desk and patted her hand.

‘Let it out, Norma. It’s natural that you’ll feel upset.’

‘I … I just feel so helpless. I don’t think I could have done anything to stop what happened to the girls and poor Jamie Mackintosh, but I can’t help thinking that I should have been able to help Robbie. I’m just so gullible and believed him when he told me he wanted to be a writer.’ She pulled out a paper handkerchief from the box on the desk and blew her nose. Then: ‘I think I loved him, Inspector. I think he liked me too, but neither of us have ever said anything. Maybe he’d still be alive if —’

‘Norma, there is no point in letting your mind do that to yourself. You have nothing to feel guilty about. But tell me, what did he write? I wasn’t aware that Robbie was a writer.’

She gave a brief smile. ‘I think it was wishful thinking, really. He always had a laptop with him and was forever tapping away at it in spare moments. He talked about his novel and how it was going, but none of us know anything more than that. He had a cheeky way of putting us off and said that one day we’d be able to read it, when he was on his way to being rich and famous.’

‘You said you were gullible, do you think he wasn’t telling the truth?’

‘It was Millie McKendrick, one of the older care assistants who told me. She’d known him for a lot longer than me. She used to roll her eyes when he went on about his writing, especially if he was going to spend his weekend off in his writing cabin. Then one day she told me he built the cabin not to write, but to drink his peatreek.’

‘Tell me about that, did he make his own spirits?’

Norma shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Inspector. You’d maybe be better asking Millie herself.’

Torquil nodded. ‘I will. But now about Catriona, she seems to be doing better in the hospital. Her vision is clearing, so I hear. Her mother is staying at the hospital with her. Catriona told Sergeant Golspie that Jamie Mackintosh brought the bottle of peatreek that they were drinking. Where do you think he got it?’

‘I don’t know that either, Inspector. I saw Jamie now and then, he was friends with the two girls, but he didn’t work here or have any connection with the Hydro.’

Torquil lifted his briefcase and opened it to show her the bag containing Vicky’s trainer. ‘Do you recognise this?’

‘Adidas! That’s Vicky’s right enough. She liked her trainers and she liked her shoes. She was always saying that she was saving up to buy some Alexander McQueen trainers or a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes. She liked her high heels almost as much as her trainers, you see. She and Catriona were quite similar that way and were always talking about what they would be wearing when they went to uni.’

‘What did they say about uni?’

‘Catriona is planning to go into nursing and Vicky was planning to do something with people, though maybe not caring specifically. She was talking about studying to be a dental hygienist. She had been looking at the University of Dundee or the University of the Highlands and Islands.’

He put the trainer away. ‘Norma, you’ve been very helpful. Now if you don’t mind I’d like to have a chat with Millie.’

‘Of course, she’ll be on the west wing doing the tea round, so I’ll give her a buzz and I’ll take over from her. You can stay here and use the office.’

Millie McKendrick had worked at the Old Hydropathic Residential Home for twenty-two years and was devoted to her job. She was about five foot two in height, fairly slim, but with forearms that were well developed from all her years of lifting residents. Torquil knew her as a stalwart of the church, ever ready to help out at St Ninian events. He also knew from his uncle that although she was not exactly teetotal she had strong views about alcohol.

After adroitly fielding her questions he asked her about Robbie Ochterlonie’s writing and his writing cabin.

Millie laughed. ‘Don’t tell me that Norma still has the impression that Robbie is any kind of a writer? I’m heartbroken that he’s dead, but he certainly never did any writing in that cabin. Oh, he was always on his laptop pretending to write, but he was a fantasist, was our Robbie. He liked to drink that filthy peatreek, which was stupid for him and his diabetes. Me and Doreen McGuire were always telling him to be careful with it. But oh no, he’d go to his place at Lochiel’s Copse and drink himself stupid. Not only that, but he supplied some of the residents with the stuff, the idiot. If the owners had ever found out he’d have been out on his ear.’

‘Norma Ferguson seem to have had a soft spot for him?’

‘Aye, well, Robbie was probably not the right sort for her. He was secretive, as you may have gathered. I think he was a bit duplicitous, too.’

‘What makes you say that, Millie?’

The care assistant scrunched her nose up. ‘I don’t know exactly, it’s just that he would have times when he was always making secret phone calls, shutting himself away in his office to do it. Like he was having an affair.’

‘So he was a ladies’ man?’

‘Not exactly. Oh, Norma had a candle for him, but he was no oil painting and he didn’t really put himself about, if you know what I mean. Not publicly. I’m sure Doreen and me would have known if he had a relationship on the island.’

‘Could he have been having an affair with a married woman? Or could he have been gay?’

Millie shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t think he was gay. I just think he might have been having a relationship he wanted to keep secret.’

‘You’ve no evidence though, have you, Millie? Is it just a suspicion?’

‘Aye, it’s a hunch. But my hunches are usually good.’

Torquil hummed and leaned forward and made a few notes in his book, then said, ‘So where did he get his peatreek, Millie? Did he have a still somewhere? Was that why he buried himself away in Lochiel’s Copse?’

‘That I don’t know and I don’t really want to know. I don’t like drink and I don’t like what it does to people. All that’s been happening lately must surely get the message through to people. It’s all just poison.’

Her mouth had been getting tighter as she spoke until it was now just a disapproving line. ‘Don’t misunderstand me, Inspector. I’m going to miss him, but I can’t help feeling he brought things on his own head. Ask Doreen McGuire, she might know more.’

Five minutes later Torquil was looking across the desk at Doreen McGuire. While Millie was on the petite end of the spectrum, Doreen was large and curvaceous. Like Millie she was a stalwart of the church and of the Mother’s Union.

‘Millie tells me that she thinks Robbie might have been having a secret relationship. Could that be true?’

Doreen shrugged. ‘I think she could be right.’

‘Any reason to suppose that?’

‘Robbie used to joke a lot. Banter, flirtatious stuff, you know. Never with any of the youngsters, just with me and Millie. You probably know that Millie likes to pretend that she’s a prude, but she has a naughty side to her. She likes the banter, too. We think he just did it with us because we were safe, he would know that was as far as it went. But sometimes his banter changed. Less of the innuendo and flirty behaviour to more of the “guess what I’ve been up to” sort of talk. But he would never elaborate. It was conspiratorial chatter, but he’d end it with a look that said “wouldn’t you like to know?” I would say he’d been like that for the last three months or so.’

Torquil jotted some of the things she said verbatim into his notebook.

‘But why would that matter, Inspector? Robbie was entitled to his private life, wasn’t he?’

‘Of course he was, except if he was seeing someone who could have been supplying him with peatreek. Especially if it was poisonous peatreek.’

Doreen gasped. ‘And you think it could be the same stuff as the youngsters had been drinking?’

‘We have to consider all possibilities, Doreen. Millie said that Robbie drank himself silly with peatreek at his cabin and that he also supplied some of the residents with it.’

‘Oh dear, Millie and I often thought he’d get in trouble over that. I think he was just being nice to them. Giving them wee bottles so they could have a dram in their rooms when they wanted. And peatreek would just seem a bit naughty, so it would give them a bit excitement in their lives.’

‘I need to know which residents he supplied, Doreen. I need to make sure that they haven’t got dangerous peatreek in their possession that could make them ill.’

Doreen looked worried. ‘Could we do his with Norma present? I don’t want her to think we’ve by-passed her.’

‘Of course. And once we have their names I’ll need to confiscate any peatreek in their possession and have it analysed.’

‘Oh Lord, we don’t want any of our residents getting poisoned.’

‘Just one more thing before we get Norma. Do you know if Robbie had access to a still himself?’

Doreen shook her head.

‘Any idea who supplied him?’

‘Absolutely no idea.’

Doreen led Torquil over to a group of the Hydro’s residents, who she suspected may have accepted whisky from Robbie. The group was headed by eighty-six-year-old Stuart Robertson. A retired trawler captain and ex-publican, he was used to being in charge, and he essentially dominated his little coterie of fellow residents, enjoying the company of a favoured trio who never failed to be amused by his anecdotes and tales of derring-do upon the sea. Husband and wife, Murdoch and Agnes Shand, both also lively octogenarians and Norman Kirk a seventy-seven-year-old former gamekeeper from Islay all joined Stuart’s protests when Torquil confronted them in their corner of the snug, the room where they sat round what they called ‘the Captain’s Table’ playing interminable games of whist, brag or poker.

‘Will we get out bottles back after they’ve been tested, Inspector?’ Stuart asked. ‘We pay Robbie good money for that, you know.’

‘I’m afraid not. It’s to be confiscated,’ Torquil replied. ‘I’ll give you a receipt, but that’s all.’

‘Are we in trouble, Inspector McKinnon?’ Agnes asked. ‘We don’t have much of it, just a wee tot at night and maybe a teaspoon in a cup of tea when its chilly.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s a terrible thing that happened to those teenagers.’

‘Terrible,’ her husband agreed. ‘A waste of life.’

‘Maybe we’ll find out where Robbie got the stuff from,’ said Norman. ‘He was always one for keeping secrets, that was our Robbie.’

Stuart Robertson was used to having the last word. ‘Aye, he liked his secrets right enough. He was always saying, “a word to the wise”. Never a truer thing spoken.’

He began to laugh and the other three residents followed suit. They were still laughing as Norma came with a bag of bottles that she had retrieved from their rooms.

Millie McKendrick was passing behind her and heard the clinking of bottles. ‘I knew you lot would get into trouble over that drinking.’

Angus Mackintosh was feeling emotionally numb. His leg hurt like hell, despite the painkillers, and he was limping with the heavily bandaged leg.

He had made a vow with himself never to drink again. The realisation that his son had died in that miserable Second World War pillbox had sent his mind into overdrive. He had not been as low since his wife had died after having a subarachnoid haemorrhage three years before.

I let him down again, he thought. I wasn’t there for him, just like I haven’t been there for him ever since his mother died. I crept into a bottle and he grew up himself. He did all sorts of little jobs for folk on the island and I just let him do it. I didn’t take near enough interest in him and I guess he resented me for it.

He dissolved in tears for the umpteenth time and sat with his head in his hands. It was only when the sobbing subsided and he looked up and surveyed the wrecked sitting room of his cottage that any semblance of forward action presented itself to him.

Someone’s going to pay for this. I’m not having Jamie dying for nothing. He had a future that has just been rubbed out.

He got up and went through to Jamie’s room.

It’s a midden, right enough. I’ll need to tidy it up soon, once the hurting reduces.

He picked up a discarded t-shirt, one of Jamie’s favourite’s, and held it to his nose. It smelled of Jamie and triggered another bout of sobbing as he buried his face in it.

Out of the corner of his eye he spied the pile of American comics beside the bed, next to a couple of ring binder files with his work for his Highers. What did McKinnon say he thought had happened? They had been celebrating and had been drinking peatreek and lemonade or stuff.

He limped over to the comics and knelt by the bed. Underneath it he saw the rucksack and pulled it out. It clinked as he did so.

What have we got here, Jamie. More of this peatreek?

But it wasn’t. It was an assortment of stuff, a bottle of lemonade, a new wristwatch, umpteen chocolate bars, some brand new unread paperbacks, packets of cigarettes and a couple of pouches of hand-rolling tobacco. Lastly, a box of condoms.

You were up to your old tricks, weren’t you, Jamie? Pinching things. And it looks like you were hoping to start some new tricks. Sex, is that what you were doing up at the pillbox with those two girls? Where did you get the peatreek that McKinnon said you had drunk?

He hefted the bottle in his hand and cursed as anger welled up inside him.

I’m going to find who you got it from and then I’m going to pour poison down their bloody throat.

As he stood up he noticed the diary on the shelf under the bedside table. He picked it up and ran his hand over the cover before opening it to read his son’s characteristic handwriting. He knew that Jamie had always kept a diary, but he had never thought to look inside. It would have been like spying on his thoughts. But now he wanted to know what he had been thinking. What he had been doing these last few years while he had been growing up, sharing the same house, but not really sharing anything important. And now it was too late.

His grip on the diary tightened and his eyes widened as he read.

The latest West Uist Chronicle email issue arrived in a multitude of inboxes all over the island.

The headline suddenly appeared: VICKY’S TRAINER FOUND

Bridget McDonald read the email as she sat by her daughter’s bedside. It had been a relief when the haemodialysis treatment was completed and the blood tests showed that Catriona’s life was no longer considered in danger, although the consultant nephrologist had told them that she would have to stay under observation for a few days to monitor her kidney function.

‘They have found one of Vicky’s trainers,’ she told Catriona. ‘Hopefully she’ll have been sleeping it off somewhere and they’ll find her soon.’

Catriona immediately burst into tears. ‘Please God, don’t let them find her dead!’