Deadly Still

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ewan arrived at the station at a little before half past seven the next morning. He was surprised by the silence when he unlocked the front door.

‘Creideamh! Did I forget to switch on the alarm last night?’ he muttered to himself. ‘That’s careless, Ewan. You’ve too much on your mind.’

He grinned to himself as he thought of DC Penny Faversham. He was determined to ask her to go for a drink with him soon. But as he opened the cupboard containing the alarm control box he found that it was flashing. Puzzled, he looked up at the siren and saw that the wires leading to it had been cut.

‘Stop! Police!’ he called out as he flicked up the counter flap and went quickly through to the corridor and then noisily checked each room, ever ready as he did so in case the intruder was still on the premises.

The back door was closed, but the lock was damaged. Before he did anything else he pulled out his mobile phone and called Morag. She answered almost immediately.

‘Sergeant Driscoll, it’s me, Ewan.’

‘It must be more bad news if you are using my rank. What’s wrong, Ewan?’

‘The station has been burgled.’

‘Are you on your own? Are you safe?’

Despite himself, Ewan smiled. It was typical of Morag that her foremost concern was for him rather than the building. ‘I’m fine, Morag. Whoever did it knew what they were doing. They forced the back door and then went straight for the alarm and cut the wires to the sirens. The alarm must have gone off for just a few seconds.’

‘I’m on my way, Ewan. Have a look round, but don’t touch anything. I’ll need to dust for fingerprints. Meanwhile, call Torquil.’

It was just a matter of minutes before Morag arrived.

‘Piper is on his way, too,’ Ewan told her. ‘And DC Faversham. I thought I should get her in to check her office.’

Morag nodded as she looked around. ‘Has anything been taken that you could see?’

‘A few things, but I haven’t opened any cupboards or drawers in case I smudge any prints.’

‘There should just be ours then. I have all of ours in my files, so I’ll just need to get Penny’s when she comes in. I’ll get on with dusting for prints.’

She went through to the rest room and opened the cupboard where she kept the forensics kit that she used in the days before all forensics were farmed out to the Scene Examiners. Pulling on latex gloves and taking out her equipment, she asked over her shoulder, ‘So what things have been taken?’

‘The petty cash tin has gone and as far as I can see also the stuff relating to the teenagers. All the things that had been found on the search including the bag with the trainer that was found. And my new murder shoes, as well.’

Morag stood up and eyed him quizzically. ‘Your what?’

‘You know, my hammer boots. My murder shoes. And I’ve not even worn them yet.’

The station phone rang and Ewan went to answer it while Morag began her investigations. He was still speaking when Torquil arrived.

‘I see, thank you Mr Corlin-MacLeod. We’ll get someone out to you straight away. If you could just stay exactly where you are and don’t disturb the ground near it that would be very helpful.’

‘Is Morag in?’ Torquil asked, lifting the counter flap.

‘Yes, boss. She’s started dusting for fingerprints, I think. But I think you need to hear this first. That was Mr Corlin-MacLeod. He was heading into Kyleshiffin to catch the early ferry when he saw something beside the road. It’s an Adidas trainer.’

‘So is he on the Strathshiffin Road?’

‘No, he’s on the west coast road.’

Torquil raised his eyebrows. ‘A curious way to go, unless he wanted to go by McNab’s Abhainn Dhonn distillery.’

‘Do you want me to go out there?’

‘No, leave this to me. You help Morag.’

Torquil rode over to the west, going past the Abhainn Dhonn Distillery and then along the West Coast Road as it chicaned before hitting a long straight section that cut through crags and gullies towards the south of the island. Up ahead, he saw the red Lamborghini Aventador Roadster SV with the personalised number plate GCM 1 parked by the side of the road with its hazard lights flashing. As he rode alongside it the doors slid open, lifting upwards like dragon wings.

Pure ostentation and totally impractical for the roads of the Western Isles, thought Torquil.

George Corlin-MacLeod got out of the supercar and waved. ‘I hope this isn’t a fool’s errand I’ve brought you out on, Inspector McKinnon. I saw this and thought it looked like the trainer I saw on the West Uist Chronicle blog.’ He led the way back down the road as Torquil pulled the Bullet onto its stand. ‘There it is on the other side of the ditch.’

Torquil took off his helmet and goggles and followed. He jumped over the ditch to look at the shoe.

‘It’s covered in mud and seems to be soaked through. It’s probably been there quite a while. I’m pretty certain that’s the other one, Mr Corlin-MacLeod. And it looks like there is scuffing on the wall of the ditch.’

‘As if she stumbled into it and it came off when she climbed out?’ the distillery owner suggested.

‘Possibly,’ Torquil replied, pulling out his phone and taking photographs of the trainer, the disturbed mud in the ditch and the ditch itself. When he finished, he stood up, and said, ‘This could be a big help. Thank you for calling it in.’

‘I couldn’t do anything else. Poor kid. The whole island is praying that she’s all right.’

Torquil nodded and took a polythene bag out of a pocket of his leather jacket. ‘I’ll need to get it back to compare with the one we have at the station.’

Once he had bagged the trainer he went back to the Bullet and deposited it in a pannier, then took out a roll of police tape.

‘I’m just going to mark this area as a scene, if we need to get further tests done. No need for you to stay any longer. I understand you’ve got the ferry to catch.’

‘Aye, I have some business on Lewis.’

‘You’ve taken the long way to Kyleshiffin though.’

George Corlin-MacLeod nodded. ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind, Inspector. I thought a longer drive might clear my head. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. Escaping, you might call it. Like playing golf with your uncle.’ He pursed his lips and nodded as he got back into his car. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better go and catch that ferry.’

With a press of his key fob the supercar’s wing doors closed, the engine fired and the distillery owner accelerated away, leaving Torquil with the distinct impression that he wanted him to know that he’d been playing golf with the Padre.

The station was full of uniformed officers when Torquil arrived back. They had been staying at the Commercial Hotel in between the daytime searches. All of them knew Torquil and they exchanged greetings with him as he let himself through the counter-flap.

Suddenly a familiar voice began shouting from the rest room.

‘Superintendent Lumsden is not in a good mood, Piper,’ said one of the officers, a fellow piper who played with the Lewis Pipe Band. ‘He’s dressing down Morag and Ewan.’

‘Aye, he gave us much the same last night when he arrived at the hotel and found us having a pint in the bar,’ added another, a burly officer who usually came second to Ewan in the hammer throwing events in the games circuit.

‘Thanks, lads,’ Torquil said, going through to find Superintendent Kenneth Lumsden addressing Morag and Ewan, who were both standing to attention. Penny Faversham was standing apart, clearly feeling very awkward.

‘Never in all my years have I come across such a shambles. Your station has been burgled?’

‘Good morning, Superintendent Lunsden,’ Torquil said calmly.

The uniformed officer spun round, his eyes flashing at sight of Torquil. ‘Ah, Detective Inspector McKinnon, you do know that you’ve been burgled?’

‘I do, although I had to go out urgently. We’ve found another trainer.’

Superintendent Lumsden looked down at the bag containing the trainer. ‘You’re sure it is a match?’

‘That’s what I’m about to find out,’ Torquil replied. ‘I’m going to compare it —’

‘Good luck with that, then. Were you listening when I said your station was burgled?’

Torquil ignored the heavy sarcasm he was used to from all his past encounters with his former superior officer. Since he was moved over to join the Criminal Investigation Department after the changes of 2013 it had been a relief to no longer be under his command.

‘The trainer was among things stolen, sir,’ said Morag in her best diplomatic tone. ‘Along with the petty cash tin, a mobile phone, a couple of old tennis balls and various debris produced by the search. Then some torches, a couple of tins of baked beans from the kitchen, a loaf of bread and a bottle of lemonade.’

‘And my murder shoes, I mean, my hammer boots,’ added Ewan.

Torquil held up the bagged trainer. ‘But we have photographs so we can still check it.’

He told them all where it had been found by George Corlin-MacLeod.

‘Well, I’ve made a decision,’ went on Superintendent Lumsden. ‘I’m personally taking over the search. Where is this library van you say you’ve been using as an operational base?’

‘It’s parked behind the station, sir,’ replied Morag.

‘Right, give me a map and the exact location of the second trainer. I’m going to use that point as the new base and we’ll spread out from there.’

‘I’ve put a police tape around the area in the ditch where the trainer was found on the West Coast Road,’ Torquil informed him. ‘You cannot miss it.’

Lumsden snorted derisively.

‘The map is in the library van, sir,’ said Morag. ‘I’ll show you on the way.’

‘You’re not coming, Sergeant. You can stay here and supervise this station. Sort out this burglary and find the nutter who robbed you of your petty cash tin and the constable’s hammer boots or whatever.’ He looked at Ewan and shook his head. ‘Constable McPhee, you’ll stay, too. You can look after lost kittens and things within your capability.’’

‘Sergeant Driscoll has done a good job and Constable McPhee is highly capable,’ Torquil said quickly. ‘Don’t you think you should have people who know the island?’

‘The girl is still lost, isn’t she?’ he returned bullishly. ‘It looks like she hasn’t been found because you’ve been looking in the wrong place. I just hope it isn’t a corpse that we find. You’ve already lost one teenager.’ He turned to Morag, whose eyes were moist from holding back tears. ‘Come on, Sergeant, show me that map and give me the keys of this vehicle. My officers will follow. Lastly, how have the civilians been notified?’

‘We’ve been helped by the West Uist Chronicle, sir. They have been sending out emails and blogs.’

‘The local rag and social media! That’s how you run this place, is it? Well, if that’s the best there is get onto the editor and tell him to get a message out about the new location. I’ll be directing the search from there. Have we got dogs?’

‘We will have, but they are civilian animals,’ replied Morag. ‘It was one of our islander’s dog that found the first trainer.’

‘Well, I’ll need the second trainer to see if they can pick up a scent,’ returned the superintendent.

‘I need to check it first, Superintendent,’ said Torquil, holding the bag firmly by his side. ‘Once I’m sure it’s a match I’ll get it out to you.’

Lumsden’s jaw muscles twitched and he seemed on the verge of erupting, but instead he snapped, ‘Do that.’ He gave a bullish call to the constables waiting in the front office and then nodded at Morag to lead him out to the library van. The uniformed officers marched through quickly to follow them, grimacing sympathetically at their West Uist colleagues.

‘Bloody fool!’ Torquil exclaimed, after they had gone.

‘I’d heard all about him from Detective Superintendent Ross,’ said Penny. ‘He’s a typical bully boy.’

‘I’m afraid he’s transferred his antipathy towards me onto Morag,’ said Torquil. ‘But let’s have a look at the photographs of the other trainer. Let’s make sure it is Vicky’s. If it is it gives some hope that she may still be wandering around out there.’

When Morag came back some minutes later Torquil put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Don’t let him get to you, Morag. You’ve done all that you can and we all support you.’

‘I’ve not found her, Torquil. If she’s lying dead in a ditch I’ll never forgive myself.’

‘Hush now, the best thing to do is to get down to the work. So let’s have all we know about this break-in.’

‘I’ve dusted and there are our prints all over, but nothing new. I don’t think Penny can have been near the things that were stolen.’

‘So whoever did it wore gloves and they knew what they were doing,’ said Torquil. ‘Quick entry then straight to the alarm and cut the wires to the sirens. The things that were stolen, do they make any sense?’ He looked at the list of things that Morag and Ewan had compiled before Superintendent Lumsden descended upon them. ‘It seems a pretty eclectic mix. The worrying thing is that the stuff found on the search has been taken, especially Vicky’s trainer.’

‘Aye,’ said Ewan. ‘Is Superintendent Lumsden right? Have we some nutter on the island? I can’t really think of who else would do such a thing.’

Torquil moved towards the corridor. ‘I’ll give Calum a ring about sending one of his emails out to tell folk that the search has been moved six miles away and ask him to tell folk where to go for the start of the new search. While I do that, Ewan please get the photographs and let’s make sure about the second trainer.’

Penny knocked on Torquil’s office door and came in upon his call.

At his invitation she sat down and opened her notebook. ‘I’ve spoken to Ian Gillesbie as you told me to. He’s had most of the results back and he’s going to email them to me. He also said that Dr Lamont had done the histology on the tissue samples and looked over all of the results on the body fluids, so he suggested that I speak to him directly, which I did. To be honest, he was a bit curt and started off saying that he had wanted to talk to Sergeant Golspie, since he liked to have continuity.’

Torquil shrugged. ‘I guess that you need to like method and order if you are going to be a good forensic pathologist.’

‘Well, he said he’d give me his overall assessment, but would be writing up a detailed report for the Procurator Fiscal. Further to his post-mortem findings he said that Robbie Ochterlonie died as a result of a fall while under the influence of alcohol, both ethanol and methanol. The level of methanol in his blood was really high, probably lethal. The levels in his aqueous and vitreous humours in his eyes were also high. The stomach had probably contained a whole bottle of whisky, of high methanol content. His blood sugar was in his boots, as the result of insulin, since he was a type 1 diabetic.’

‘So he’d injected himself, thinking his sugar was too high and that he could fall into a coma?’

Penny nodded. ‘Possibly injecting too much and then either fallen after having a fit, or had a fit and fallen, sustaining the facial injury and the contrecoup head injury when he hit the floor.’

Torquil whistled. ‘A grim way to go. So what about the peatreek samples from the stills. Did Ian Gillesbie have any information there?’

Penny turned the pages to a marker. ‘Yes. None of them had anything but a negligible amount of methanol. They bore no resemblance to the liquids from the two bottles. Ian didn’t think there was any chance that they came from any of those stills.’

‘So it looks like the deadly still is still out there?’

Penny nodded. ‘Yes, boss.’

‘Ok, let me see the forensic reports when Ian Gillesbie sends them over.’

Calum and Cora wasted no time in writing another digital special, which found its way into the inboxes of people’s emails all over the island.

It read:

THIRD DAY AND STILL NO VICKY

SECOND TRAINER FOUND

SEARCH MOVED

Then followed details of the trainer and its location on the West Coast Road along with the invitation to join the search under the direction of Superintendent Kenneth Lumsden.

One of the first to read the blog, the killer smiled.

Torquil refused Ewan’s offer of tea.

‘I think I need some air, Ewan. I’ll go for a ride on the Bullet and I’ll be back soon. I’m on my phone if you need me.’

It was not long after he had gone that Penny came out of her office, only to be greeted by Ewan bearing a tray with mugs of his strong, near stewed tea. She suppressed a grimace and accepted it with a smile.

‘Did I hear the boss go out?’ she asked.

‘Aye, Penny. He’s gone for some air.’

Morag came through and took a mug. ‘He had that look on his face,’ she volunteered. ‘You’ll get to recognise it, Penny. It’s a pensive one, so I expect he’s gone to do what he does when he has a problem.’

‘What exactly is that?’

‘He’s gone to play his pipes,’ Morag replied.

Which is exactly what Torquil had done. He had ridden the Bullet out to St Ninian’s cave and crunched his way over the shingle to play in the cathedral-like cavern. He was troubled. More troubled than he had been for a long time, not just because of the pillbox tragedy, but because something was not right.

In the cave he began to play his pipes. He played a number of his favourite pieces, just as they came into his head. And as he played snatches of music, almost stream of consciousness fashion, he ran through the words of the songs in his mind.

Then he started to play Loch Lomond:

By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes

Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomon’

Where me and my true love were ever wont tae gae

On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomon’

And as he played, the lyrics running through his mind, he started to get a strange prickling feeling run up and down his spine.

Oh you tak’ the high road and I’ll tak’ the low road

An’ I’ll be in Scotland afore ye,

But me and my true love will never meet again

On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomon’

He suddenly let the blow pipe drop from his lips and he chopped the bag to silence the instrument. ‘That’s it. The high road and the low road. High and low!’

He left the cave, muttering his thanks to it for granting him enlightenment as he played and jogged across the shingle and seaweed to climb up onto the roadside and the layby where the Bullet was parked.

Stowing his pipes in the pannier he straddled the machine and pulled out his phone to make an urgent call to the station.

‘Morag, I’m coming in shortly, but I just need to go somewhere first. Get the twins to come in, I need the old team together. Let’s do what we do best.’

He hung up before she could question him further. Moments later he was opening up the throttle and accelerating along the headland road, the noise of the engine sending flocks of herring gulls seawards towards the safety of the familiar stacks and skerries.