Deadly Still

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Morag drove to the office of Beamish Solicitors and was told by Kathleen Peterson that Torquil had already been and gone and that he had taken the details of three properties.

‘Where are Cameron and Helen?’

‘Both out and neither left contacts. Shall I phone their home for you?’

Morag could see that the secretary was flustered, but she had no time to waste. She shook her head and gave her most reassuring of smiles. ‘No, it will keep for another time. I’ll maybe pop round tomorrow.’

She knew exactly where they lived and drove straight there, parking her car outside the high wall that surrounded their large seven bedroom home in the hamlet of Kylestradden, four miles from Kyleshiffin.

She saw Helen’s BMW parked in the circular drive and made her way to the front door and pressed the bell. A few moments later, Helen answered, smiling immediately.

‘Morag, what brings you here? Is the search over? Have you found poor Vicky?’

‘Oh, that’s a story in itself. My boss, Superintendent Lumsden, has come over from Stornoway to take over command. Could I come in?’

Helen hesitated, then stood aside. ‘Of course, come through to my office. But I have to say, I am running late and can’t spend much time.’

Morag followed her across the spacious hall, noting the packed suitcase by the wall.

‘Are you going somewhere, Helen?’ she asked.

Helen glanced at the suitcase and shook her head. ‘Oh that, it’s full of old clothes for the charity shop.’ She gestured to an easy chair and settled herself into a plush swivel chair behind her desk. ‘I just have an appointment with a client, that’s all. So, what did you want to know, Morag.’

Morag smiled back. ‘Your brother-in-law, you said he was a professor of chemistry in Bucharest, is that right?’

‘A strange question, but yes, he is.’

‘And he would have access to all sorts of chemicals, like the methanol you put into the bottles of peatreek. The one that the teenagers drank from and the other that certainly had a part to play in Robbie Ochterlonie’s death.’

Helen Beamish’s jaw dropped and then she gave a short laugh and sat forward, resting her hands on the desk. ‘I don’t believe you’ve just said that. It must be the strain you’ve been under, Morag. Your brain has blown a fuse.’ She shook her head, then added, ‘You do realise that I can take legal action for defamation?’

‘I’m right, am I not? That you obtained methanol from Romania.’

Helen frowned. ‘Where have you gotten this nonsensical idea?’

‘Is it nonsensical? All those times when you kept asking me how the search was going I had thought you were genuinely concerned. What you were actually doing was making sure that we were not getting close to finding Vicky. So, tell me now, where is she?’

‘You are mad, Morag. Why would I kidnap a teenage girl?’

‘That’s what I mean to find out and that’s why I’d like you to come to the station with me right now. Inspector McKinnon will want to interview you and take a statement.’

Helen stood too, but as she did so her hand darted into a drawer and pulled out a gun. She smiled. ‘How on earth you worked any of this out is irritating, but I really haven’t time to waste going to the station. I’m not going to make any statement.’ She nodded at the gun. ‘This, by the way, is far more lethal than methanol, so just sit down and have a drink.’

Morag sat as directed, warily eyeing the gun pointed at her chest. ‘I’m not thirsty.’

Helen gave a short laugh. ‘Oh, I insist. You see, I have some very good alcohol that turns peatreek into a very special drink.’

With one hand she opened the drawer further and took out an unlabelled bottle of clear liquid. She pulled out the cork and set the bottle down. She poured some into a tumbler and pushed it towards Morag. ‘There you are. Good Romanian pure methanol. It’s a little sweet, I understand, but mixed with peatreek it is apparently delicious. And very potent.’ Her expression hardened. ‘Now drink!’

‘I could tip it out.’

‘Then it will be a bullet through your head instead. Now drink.’

Morag lifted the glass and took a sip.

‘A proper drink. A good swig, Morag,’ Helen ordered, holding the gun firmly in her hand.

Morag obeyed and grimaced. ‘I don’t like whisky at the best of times.’

‘You’ll find this rather strong, but soon you’ll not care. It’s quite moreish. That’s what Robbie thought when he drank his peatreek that I added this to. He was a seasoned drinker and he loved it.’

‘Were you his secret lover?’

Helen Beamish screwed up her face. ‘I wouldn’t exactly say I was his lover. I had sex with him, but there was no love involved. I had no choice.’

‘I don’t understand. You had regular sex with him?’

‘Several times. Fairly kinky sex actually, but you don’t really need to know the details. Suffice to say that I insisted on only two things. No kissing and always with a condom.’ She waved the gun. ‘Drink again. Another big swig.’

Morag acquiesced, feeling the liquid burn the back of her throat and give a warm sensation as it hit her stomach. She started to feel light-headed.

‘I think if you had regular sex with him that makes you his lover?’

Helen shook her head impatiently. ‘Of course it doesn’t. The bastard was blackmailing me to sleep with him. He found out that I was syphoning off finances from some of the residents. He was quite shrewd actually. He worked out that I had been doing it for years, not just with them, but with lots of clients. All he wanted was for me to be his sex slave, so we would meet in his cabin, drink a little and have sex, however he liked it. He used to smirk and call me his dirty little secret, which I was. Then my actual lover started to get jealous.’

‘Cameron, you mean?’

Helen laughed. ‘Cameron! How ridiculous. We barely ever have sex.’ She pointed at the glass. ‘Finish it this time.’

Morag realised that her hand was starting to tremble. ‘Will … will this kill me?’

Helen shrugged. ‘Not straight away. But you’ll soon pass out, just like Robbie did. Of course, he didn’t know that I’d found where he had his peatreek delivered. The fool stored it outside in his old lobster pots. I obtained a good supply of methanol from my dear brother-in-law. You’ve no idea how simple it was to have it sent over to me. He was quite happy to let me have it from his lab, in exchange for sexual favours whenever I visit my sister.’

‘You are a truly disgusting woman!’

Helen laughed and nodded. ‘That may be true, but men seem to like that.’ Lifting the bottle, she refilled the tumbler. ‘Now drink.’

With a trembling hand Morag raised the glass and drank. She struggled to focus as her vision started to go slightly blurred. ‘But the peatreek didn’t kill Robbie, did it?’

‘No. He was pretty drunk already, but after we had sex he drank more until he passed out. That was when I injected all of his insulin. Then I dragged him through from the bedroom, shoved a nasogastric tube down his throat and poured the rest of the peatreek down into his stomach. There was a bit of regurgitation and then he had a spectacular convulsion. He may have been dead from that, but I like to think it was when I smashed his face on the floor that he actually shuffled off his mortal coil. Then I cleared everything up.’

‘Like his laptop and the used condom?’

‘Of course. There was nothing on the laptop, but I couldn’t risk it falling into anyone’s hands.’

‘And how did the teenagers get hold of it?’

‘Ah, that was a mistake, I admit. I had doctored three bottles and left them in his lobster pot. One of the kids must have found one and taken it, I guess. Otherwise, I have no idea.’

‘But when you heard about the teenagers at the pillbox you panicked?’

‘Bloody right I did. That’s why I sent lover-boy to search for Vicky Spiers. Fortunately, he found her and took her to one of our love-nests. We were planning on keeping her alive, just subdued with whisky until we decided where to take her and release her. Of course, that can’t happen now. She’s being terminated before we go.’

Morag gasped. ‘You murderous bitch!’

‘You just finish that drink. All of it this time.’

Morag raised the glass again. ‘You’ll never get away. This is an island and we’ll block any route.’

‘You mean you would if you were alive. Which right now is not looking likely.’ Helen pointed the gun at the glass. ‘Down the hatch. You know, you really shouldn’t drink on duty. That’s what they’ll say when they find you after the road accident, when you drive over a cliff into the sea.’

Suddenly the door burst open and Cameron Beamish rushed in, a shotgun braced against his shoulder. ‘You filthy cow! Put that gun down. You’re even worse than I thought you were, but I’ve heard everything.’

Helen Beamish did not seem at all fazed. She continued to point the gun unwaveringly at Morag.

‘Well, well, Cameron. Some gumption from you at last. I thought your little fling with Kathleen would be the limit of your capability, but here you are with your father’s old Purdey. It hasn’t been fired in thirty years, so put it down before you hurt yourself. You wouldn’t have the nerve anyway.’

‘Why, Helen?’ he demanded. ‘Why all this, when I gave you everything.’

She laughed. ‘Because I hate you, you snivelling worm. I was going to leave you and let you see how you got on with that tart Kathleen, but I see that I’ll have to —’

She spun round and fired, hitting him in the chest.

Cameron’s body jolted backwards but he kept his feet. He lowered the shotgun and stared disbelievingly at the expanding patch of blood on his shirt. Then he staggered back against the wall and started to slide down.

Helen stepped towards him. ‘You fool! You ruin everything. Now I’m going to have to make this look as if you lost your bottle and turned a shotgun on yourself. If only —’

She didn’t finish for Morag launched herself at her, grasping her arm and slamming it down on the desk, causing the solicitor to scream in pain and release the gun. Morag followed it up with an elbow to her face that broke her nose and caused blood to gush from her nostrils.

But Morag’s movements were slow and she was staggering after her exertion. Helen Beamish punched her in the face, causing her to fall back into the chair. Then Helen grabbed the gun and swivelled to point it at Morag’s face.

‘You interfering bloody —’

There was a sudden explosion and Helen was thrown across the room in a huge shower of blood as Cameron discharged both barrels of the Purdey.

Morag stared in horror at the mangled body, knowing that the woman was dead. She stood and turned to see Cameron’s head slump down as he passed out, the shotgun falling across his lap. After staunching his wound as best she could she ran through into the sitting room and by the fireplace she shoved fingers down her throat to make herself sick. She heaved copious amounts into the empty fireplace and then pushed herself up and made for the side table upon which were several decanters of spirits.

‘God, please make this work,’ she muttered, pulling out the stopper from the whisky decanter and drinking mouthful after mouthful.

Staggering back to Helen Beamish’s office with the decanter in one hand she felt for a pulse on what was left of Helen’s body, but was unable to detect one. Picking up the telephone on the desk she called the station.

‘Kyleshiffin Police Station,’ came Calum Steele’s voice. ‘How may I help you? I’m afraid all of our officers are busy at the moment.’

‘It’s … me, Calum,’ she said, her voice heavily slurred. ‘Is Torquil there?’

‘No, it’s just Cora and myself. It’s — er — not been busy, but your Superintendent phoned. He wasn’t too happy that I was left in charge. He said he’d have —’

‘Never mind that, Calum. I … need you to ring … Doctor McLelland. And ring the others. I … I need help. One death … one badly wounded patient … and me.’

‘Where are you, Morag. I’ll come myself.’

‘At the … Beamish house. You … stay and mind … the station. You’re very special … you and Cora...’

Morag hung up and took another hefty swig from the decanter before slumping into the chair and passing out.

Vicky swerved to her left, expecting the advancing figure to try to block her so that the man she was fleeing from could catch her. Together they would drag her back to that place and…

But the figure passed her and went straight for her pursuer. She stumbled through a puddle in her bare feet and slipped, landing on her face in the water. She pushed herself up and turned just in time to see the figure from the mist punch the other several times, causing him to fall down in a crumpled heap.

‘It’s all right, Vicky. It’s me, Inspector McKinnon,’ said the man, turning. ‘Just stay there a moment while I handcuff this swine. Don’t worry about him, he’s out cold and can’t hurt you.’

Scarcely believing that she was out of danger, Vicky sat up in time to see Torquil handcuffing the unconscious gallery owner, Nathan Westwood.