Deadly Still

CHAPTER FOUR

The Old Hydro Residential Home stood on a rise above Kyleshiffin, reached by taking the first right on Lady Wynd and following a zigzag road up the hill. It had been a hydropathic hotel back in Edwardian times before the Great War, when hydrotherapy and the water cure were all the rage. Nowadays, like so many such establishments it had been transformed into a residential home catering for the senior citizens for West Uist.

Norma Ferguson was the assistant manager, a position she was extremely proud to have reached at the age of twenty-three. A homely young woman, she loved her job caring for the older folk, many of whom she had known all of her life. She felt part of living history watching them be admitted, nurturing their ailments and listening to whatever baggage they brought with them.

The trouble was she had to work such long and arduous hours, because getting staff and retaining them was never easy. The fact that several of the residents had mild cognitive impairment, or even Alzheimer’s disease or one of the other types of dementia, made it exhausting, because one had to be continually vigilant to keep them safe.

Breakfast was a demanding time and Norma was always relieved when the part-time girls called in to help her. There were currently three of them, all pupils at Kyleshiffin Community Academy studying for their Highers. Unfortunately, she knew that soon there was a good chance that they would all be off to university and then they’d have to start recruiting all over again.

‘Where’s the man himself?’ asked Doreen McGuire, one of the older care assistants, referring to Norma’s manager, Robbie Ochterlonie. ‘I know he’s had his two days off, but he’s always put in a show by now when he’s back on duty. I’m struggling a bit with breakfasts as it is. I hope his diabetes isn’t playing up.’

Norma shrugged. ‘He’s not been in touch with me.’ She glanced at the grandfather clock, its face being an old advert for a homeopathic chemist based in Oban. Doreen was right, Robbie was always on time. And she knew that they were also two care assistants down. Neither Catriona McDonald nor Vicky Spiers had shown up or even called in.

Millie McKendrick, another of the older care assistants, sidled past with a large teapot in each hand. She snorted derisively and whispered from the side of her mouth: ‘Or maybes he’s had a bit too much of that peatreek of his. You know, the stuff he peddles to old Stuart and his pals.’ She nodded in the direction of a table of four occupied by three elderly men and a refined looking lady with snow white hair.

Norma scowled at the older care assistant. ‘That’s enough of that, Millie. We don’t want any gossip of that sort.’

‘Please yourself,’ retorted Millie. ‘It’s just another possibility to think of. The boss knows what I think of strong liquor, for I’ve told him often enough.’

Norma felt a strange shiver run up and down her spine as she picked up a tray with four helpings of bacon and eggs.

‘I’ll need to check up on them all once we’ve got the breakfasts done and everyone sorted,’ she said pensively. ‘Maybe there’s just a bug or something going round.’

In his role as Cora’s mentor, Calum always emphasised that a good local journalist had to regard every conversation as a potential lead to a story. Which was why after leaving Nathan Westwood they had ambled up Harbour Street, engaging the various business and shop owners in conversation wherever the opportunity arose. However, Calum was not insightful enough to realise that sometimes a quick reversal of direction by folk upon seeing him could be due to avoidance behaviour.

Tam MacOnachie, the harbour master and proprietor of MacOnachie Chandlery, had no such opportunity to beat a retreat as the mist was particularly thick at the top of Harbour Street, and they approached him under its cover, appearing only when they were twenty yards distant from him.

MacOnachie Chandlery was an establishment that sold everything pertaining to fishing and sailing, as well as having a good supply of groceries. At the back was Tam’s workshop where he performed repairs on all manner of gear relating to the sea. He himself was a man of about seventy with weather-beaten skin and a ring of hair around his head that gave the bald dome above it the look of a boiled egg. Indeed, it was for that reason that some years before the Drummond twins had nicknamed him ‘Eggy’ MacOnachie, much to his annoyance and their glee. The name had stuck locally and everyone knew him as such when they were out of his hearing.

Tam was putting out a rack of assorted beach toys, junior fishing rods and crabbing nets in front of the chandlery. As usual he was wearing his brown shop-coat with an oiled apron on top and with his trousers tucked into his aged Wellington boots. About his neck hung a pair of binoculars.

‘Not much to see today, Tam,’ said Calum. ‘Not with all this mist.’

‘It’ll clear in an hour or so,’ replied Tam, phlegmatically. ‘The ferry will have come and gone by then. Let’s hope there are plenty of holiday makers coming.’

‘It’s a pretty dismal welcome to them though,’ Cora chipped in. ‘All this mist and fog.’

‘Aye well, it may be dreich, but at least it’s not chucking down.’

Cora laughed. ‘We were talking to Nathan Westwood earlier and he was sketching the mist. He was telling us that he finds it mysterious, not dreich.’

Tam snorted. ‘Anything that reduces visibility near water is just a hazard in my view, so I’m no fan of it. But its nature and we canna change it so we have to just live with it. As for mysteries, I prefer mine in paperbacks.’

They chatted for a few moments until with a glance at his watch, Tam removed his apron and went inside to deposit it on the counter. A moment later he returned wearing his white peaked harbourmaster’s hat and carrying a battered leather briefcase. ‘Right then, as I said, it’ll soon be time for the ferry so I’d better get down to do my duties.’

Suddenly, from the other end of the street came the sound of a vehicle. A red Royal Mail van came out of the mist with its headlights on full, its hazard warning lights flashing and its horn peeping.

‘Creideamh!’ exclaimed Calum. ‘That’s Stan Wilkinson, moving a bit fast for these conditions. It’s lucky for him Ewan McPhee isn’t here.’

The van came along Harbour Street towards them, its windscreen wipers moving furiously back and forth.

‘There’s a girl with him. I think its Catriona McDonald,’ said Cora. ‘Looks like she’s crying.’

‘I bet he’s heading for the hospital,’ said Tam. ‘That’s the only reason for the horn and the hazard lights, I think.’

The van whizzed past, accelerating as it went.

‘Aye, you are right, Tam,’ Calum cried with more than a hint of enthusiasm. ‘And that means we are needed, too. Come on, Cora. To the Lambretta!’

Eggy MacOnachie watched as the two journalists dashed across the street towards Calum’s yellow scooter parked outside Allardyce the Baker’s.

‘Now I’ve seen everything,’ he mused to himself. ‘The press chasing the post.’ Adjusting his binocular strap and setting his cap straight, he descended the steps to the quay.

The Macbeth roll-on, roll-off ferry, Laird o’ the Isles loomed out of the morning mist and manoeuvred into the crescent-shaped harbour of Kyleshiffin. Then followed a bustle of practiced efficiency as the vessel was secured and the great landing doors slowly descended to allow the walking passengers to disembark before the cavalcade of traffic tumbled down the ramps onto the quayside.

Minutes later, DC Penny Faversham parked her three-door Mini Hatch in the available space in front of the clock tower as she had been instructed to do in Torquil’s email. She switched off the engine, yawned and stretched her long legs as she prepared to wait for her new boss to come to meet her. She hadn’t met the West Uist Inspector before, but had heard about him from Detective Superintendent Ross when she reported to Stornoway Police Station.

‘He’s used to running his own show over on West Uist,’ he had told Penny in typical detective manner, as if he was giving a rundown on a suspect. ‘He’s into motorbikes, classic ones. Lives with his uncle, known as the Padre. Torquil is sometimes called Piper by his friends, on account of his being a champion bagpiper. He’s a good copper, though you wouldn’t know it from Superintendent Lumsden in the uniforms. He hates him with a passion, so it’s as well that he was moved to the detective branch, which is where he started in Dundee.’

‘A bit of a maverick, is he, sir?’ Penny had asked.

He had shrugged non-committedly. ‘He’s an islander, so maybe that makes him a natural rebel. His fiancée, Lorna Golspie, is a sergeant in uniforms. You might have a chat with her. She’ll give you the lowdown about the island.’

Which she did. Apart from making it abundantly clear in the nicest and most subtle manner possible that Torquil McKinnon was out of bounds, Sergeant Lorna Golspie had given Penny a complete outline of what to expect on West Uist. Lorna painted an attractive prospect, although she left Penny in no doubt about the weather.

‘It’s misty, rainy and windy,’ she had told Penny. ‘There isn’t the traffic, the noise or the commotion. You might get bored after the big city life of Leeds.’

Despite all that, Penny was really looking forward to it. The mist that had surrounded the ferry for the last couple of hours had started to lift and what she could see of Kyleshiffin she liked already. She thought Harbour Street could be a picture postcard with its sea wall and harbour, its crescent of differently coloured shop-fronts and businesses, its old town clock and the big red spherical Second World War mine at the top of the steps leading down to the quay. Blessed with good eyesight, even at this distance she read that this relic of war had been converted into a collection box for the Shipwrecked Fishermen and Mariners Royal Benevolent Society.

The word ‘shipwrecked’ resonated with her. Although she had much to be thankful about in her career as a detective constable in Leeds, her relationship with Barry Winder-Thompson had almost literally been a shipwreck. A Royal Navy officer, he had spent six months to nine months at sea during every one of their three years together. With her own busy life she had thought they could cope with that. What she had not expected was to discover that he, a warfare officer, had been sleeping with the ship’s medic. Apparently, she had not been the first of his conquests. Not so much a case of a girl in every port as one onboard as well.

Bastard!

Penny had wanted nothing more than to get away from Leeds with all its memories of his shore leaves and of his infidelity. When the opportunity of a job came up in the remotest place she could think of, she applied and was appointed. She had upped anchor and headed north by north west, first to Stornoway for a briefing and then to West Uist.

Wildlife — one of her passions —, plenty of fresh air, and time to lick her wounds and reflect, that’s what Penny craved.

The Laird o’ the Isles ferry had completed its function and loaded up with vans, lorries and a few cars, then manoeuvred out of the harbour heading out to open sea again. But still there was no sign of DI Torquil McKinnon.

A couple of men came up the steps from the quayside. Both were wearing caps, one dressed in a Macbeth ferries uniform and the other, an older man in a brown shop-coat, was carrying a briefcase. Penny got out of her car and crossed the road.

‘Excuse me, I’m expecting a Detective Inspector McKinnon to meet me,’ she said.

‘Oh, it’s Piper you want, is it? I’m Tam MacOnachie, the harbour master, and this is Willie Armstrong, the Macbeth representative.’

‘And I’m also the local butcher,’ Willie volunteered.

Penny smiled at them. She guessed that things happened at a snail’s pace on the island and she had no problem with that. ‘Is the police station nearby? I think he must have been held up.’

Tam MacOnachie clicked his tongue. ‘He could be. I’m thinking we may have had one emergency already this morning.’

‘A police matter?’ Penny asked.

Tam shook his head doubtfully. ‘More a postal problem.’

He gave her directions to Lady’s Wynd and she duly returned to her car and got in.

‘A postal problem is considered an emergency here?’ she mused to herself with a satisfied smile. ‘I think the pace of life on West Uist is going to suit me very well.’

Doctor Ralph McLelland was one of Torquil’s oldest friends. He was the third generation of his family to minister to the local people of West Uist. After reading Medicine at Glasgow University he had embarked upon a career in forensic medicine, having gained a diploma in medical jurisprudence as well as the first part of his membership of the Royal College of Pathologists. His father’s terminal illness had drawn him back to the island to take over the practice, which he had then run single-handedly for seven years. In that time, he gained his full pathology qualification, which along with his role as the police surgeon enabled him to perform occasional post-mortem examinations at the hospital. That, and all of the other tasks that fell to an island GP, like delivering babies and performing minor surgery, kept him busy most of the time.

Ralph had been about to start his morning surgery at the hospital when Torquil’s call came in and he had to announce to the waiting room that he had to go, offering first to see anyone whose condition could not wait. Fortunately no one needed his immediate ministrations.

He was waiting with Lizzie Lamb, the charge nurse in charge of the hospital in the accident and emergency room, which doubled as their admitting unit. With her staff of two others Lizzie was kept busy. Indeed, no matter how many patients they had under her care, she was always busy. She could have six extremely ill patients in the hospital and beetle about, coping admirably, or just one and be run off her feet. But patient care never suffered or was in any way compromised. She just liked her patients to appreciate that the nursing life was a busy one. What everyone knew was that she was dependable and would be there for her patients no matter what.

Both Sister Lamb and Ralph McLelland knew Catriona McDonald and her divorced parents, Councillor Charlie and Bridget McDonald very well.

Catriona was a good kid in year S5 at Kyleshiffin Community Academy, as the Kyleshiffin School was now named. She was always smiling and much given to changing her hair colour. She was in her Highers year and wanted to be a nurse, so had actually done work experience at the hospital, both on the wards and shadowing Ralph in the odd surgery. It was a shock to see her in the state brought in by Stan Wilkinson.

When Calum Steele and Cora Melville came rushing in shortly after them, Sister Lamb had adroitly side-lined them with her stock, ‘We’re unable to comment until the patient has been assessed by the doctor and permission to speak to the press has been given.’

Like Torquil, Calum was one of Ralph’s oldest friends. Indeed, as boys they had imagined themselves to be like the Three Musketeers when they were attending the Kyleshiffin School under Miss Bella Melville’s watchful eye. Then they had grown up and gone their separate ways; Torquil to study law and become a police officer, Ralph to study medicine and Calum to throw himself into journalism. As a kid Calum had been nosy and persistent, but as a newspaperman he had the tenacity of a bulldog and the guile of a fox.

Ralph was grateful that Sister Lamb had protected him from the journalist duo so that he could focus on the emergency case, although he knew that they wouldn’t be totally put off, so he told her to tell them that he would call if he was able to divulge anything later.

Diagnostically, Ralph had little doubt about Catriona’s state of inebriation and her visual trouble.

‘It’s just misty smoke and bright flashes and sparks that I see,’ Catriona had said, panic in her still slurring voice as he took her history. ‘I … I can’t breathe properly either.’

‘I’m going to put up a drip soon and that’ll help the breathing, Catriona. But first I need to know more. How much of this peatreek did you drink?’

‘A lot, but not as much as Vicky, and nowhere near as much as Jamie.’ She began trembling again and tears ran down her cheeks. She sniffed and panted. ‘C-Can you get my sight back, Doctor? Ha-Have you told my folks yet?’

‘The police have spoken to them and I understand that they are both on their way. I’ll need to speak to them as soon as they get here.’ He nodded to Lizzie who passed him an ophthalmoscope. ‘Now, let me examine your eyes a bit closer. When I asked you how many fingers I was holding up you said you couldn’t see anything, so I need to look inside your eyes. Sister Lamb is going to switch off the light and I’m going to shine this instrument into your eyes. It’s like a torch. You won’t feel anything.’

Sister Lamb doused the light and Ralph switched on the ophthalmoscope and leaned close to look through the series of lenses inside the instrument to assess the state of retina in each of Catriona’s eyes.

A few moments later after the lights were switched on again, Ralph told her: ‘We’ll need to take some blood for tests, Catriona. Now, answer me honestly, did you take anything else? Any drugs of any sort? I need to know.’

‘Just the whisky. Jamie brought it. We were … celebrating finishing our exams for the Highers.’

She began to sob and Ralph put a hand on her wrist.

‘OK, Catriona. I’m going to go and talk with the eye specialist and the kidney specialist at Stornoway and once I have I’m going to start treating you. We’re going to do our utmost to help you.’

Catriona sat back in alarm. ‘K-Kidney specialist. There’s nothing wrong with my kidneys is there, Doctor McLelland?’

This time Sister Lamb bent down and put a comforting arm about the youngster’s shoulders. ‘We’re going to look after you, petal. Don’t you worry.’

‘That’s right, Catriona,’ Ralph said. ‘The whisky you had must have been tainted with methanol, that’s —’

‘— methyl alcohol, I know that from chemistry,’ Catriona said. ‘But Jamie said it was good stuff and totally safe.’

‘Aye, well, clearly it wasn’t. I think it must have been illicit whisky. We’ll need to transfer you to Stornoway where they can dialyse you to get the poison out of your system. It can damage your kidneys and we need to make them safe.’

He left her in Sister Lamb’s care while he went to his office to phone the Western Isles Hospital on Stornoway. Before he reached the end of the corridor he picked up Torquil’s call.

‘Ah, Torquil, the very man. I’m waiting for Charlie and Bridget McDonald to show up. I’m going to need their permission to treat Catriona.’

‘That’s partly why I’m ringing. Ewan has just talked to them separately. He said you should know that there is friction between them.’

‘Aye, they are divorced. They’re both patients of mine, so I’m aware that there are — issues.’

‘And I’m afraid I’ll need you up here pronto to certify young Jamie. We’re stymied until you do and the Scene Examiner gets here.’

Ralph was used to pressure. ‘As soon as I can afford to leave my live patient, I’ll be there, Torquil.’

‘So what is your verdict with Catriona?’

‘Well, I’m virtually one hundred per cent sure its methanol poisoning. We’re taking blood for testing, but I can’t wait for the results. I’ll need to treat her as soon as possible before permanent damage sets in. I’m just about to check in with the specialists on Stornoway, but I’m pretty sure I know what I’ll need to do.’

‘Can you get her sight back?’

‘It’ll be touch and go. She’s lost her pupillary reaction and her optic discs inside her eyes are all congested. She has what we call optic neuritis.’

Calum and Cora were just about to get on the scooter to return to the office when Charlie McDonald’s Mercedes careered into the car park. A moment later the local councillor and his ex-wife Bridget McDonald got out and flounced towards the main door.

‘Ah, Charlie, could I have a word?’ Calum ventured.

‘No comment, Calum!’ came the curt reply from the councillor.

‘Come on, Charlie,’ snapped Bridget, giving Calum and Cora a disdainful look as she walked quickly past them. ‘Have you not dithered enough, you bloody idiot.’

Calum was about to follow until Cora put a hand on his arm. ‘I think we ought to wait for Doctor McLelland’s call this time, Calum. It sounds as if things are fraught enough right now.’

Calum tisked and absently reached into his anorak pocket for the bag containing his half-eaten mutton pie. He unwrapped it. ‘You see, the journalist’s life is never easy, Cora. We of the fourth estate are the most misunderstood of all the professions. People consider us pariahs, busybodies, when all we aim to do is keep people up to date and informed. Then when they need us —’ He gave a short laugh and took a munch on his pie.

Cora smiled and linked her arm through his. ‘You’re no pariah, Calum Steele. I think you’re the bee’s knees. Come on, it’s been a long night.’ She covered her mouth and gave an exaggerated yawn and then winked. ‘I could just do with a nap on the office couch while we wait for the news from Ralph.’

Calum beamed and took her hand. ‘It’s back to the office for us then. We must cater to the needs of the Press and of the journalists.’