Deadly Still

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘Talk about a baptism of fire,’ DC Penny Faversham said over a mug of Ewan’s stewed tea late that night in the station restroom. ‘Three teenagers go drinking overnight, one ends up dead, another is in hospital and the third is missing. And then that poor man dying suddenly.’

Ewan was pouring out tea for the other members of the West Uist police. ‘It’s not always like this,’ he told her with a smile. ‘It’s normally a happy wee island.’

‘I feel bad giving up on the search for Vicky Spiers,’ said Wallace, spooning four sugars into his mug.

‘We had to stop for the dark and the rain. It was starting to get dangerous for the searchers,’ said Morag. ‘We had a quarter of the island out and we didn’t find any trace of her. We’ll start again first thing in the morning though. Then we’ll have uniformed officers from Lewis on the next ferry and we can be more organised.’

Torquil nodded. ‘It shows how the island can work together. Calum and Cora did a sterling job mobilising folk to help with the search, even though we’ve been unsuccessful.’

‘Do you think she could be dead, Piper?’ asked Douglas Drummond.

Torquil felt a shiver run up and down his spine. ‘I certainly hope not. I’m banking on her having found somewhere to crawl into and fall asleep.’

‘Will we alert the television and radio tomorrow, Torquil?’ asked Morag.

‘Aye. I’ll do that. And I promised Calum that I’d let him have a statement first thing. We have to play ball with him. It’s going to be a busy day tomorrow for all of us.’ He turned to DC Penny Faversham. ‘I’m sorry that I had to give you a sudden death as your first job.’

She nodded and gave a wan smile. ‘Dr McLelland said he couldn’t issue a death certificate and so I had to contact the Procurator Fiscal’s office, which I did. That’s the second thing I’ve found quite different up here in Scotland. In England we call in unexpected deaths to the coroner.’

‘Aye, they have a similar role,’ Torquil replied. ‘You’ll have to read up on the differences between Scots law and English law. What was the other thing, Penny?’

She gave a short laugh. ‘Language. I don’t mean accents, but the Gaelic. Will I have to learn all this Gaelic? On the drive up the west coast to Oban I saw that all the road signs had both English and Gaelic names.’

‘It is pretty controversial actually, Penny,’ Morag explained. ‘It is been a political issue for a few years, especially in the mainland parts where Gaelic is not spoken, or hasn’t been spoken for centuries.’

‘Here on West Uist you’ll get by fine in English,’ volunteered Ewan.

‘What were your impressions about the scene, though?’ Torquil asked. ‘You’ll need to write up your report in the morning, but just give me your overall impressions. You took photographs, didn’t you?’

‘I did. I know that the Senior Scene Examiner who came over from Lewis is going over the place again first thing in the morning, so I was careful not to disturb things more than I could help.’

She pulled out a pocket book from her waterproof jacket and opened it where she had made copious notes. ‘The subject, known as Robbie Ochterlonie was a man of thirty-seven years, according to Dr McLelland’s case notes. He is the manager of The Old Hydro Residential Home and he was found by Norma Ferguson, his assistant manager. She had gone there after she had finished supervising breakfasts for the residents, because he hadn’t shown up this morning to take over his duties. He is a known type 1 diabetic, which means he uses insulin.’

‘We used to know Robbie. He was a fisherman before he became a confirmed landlubber and found easier ways to make money running the Hydro,’ said Wallace. ‘He liked a drop of the hard stuff as well.’

‘Not the real stuff either,’ added Douglas. ‘He was a peatreek man.’

‘Peatreek?’ Penny repeated.

‘That’s the name for illicit whisky, Penny,’ said Torquil. ‘The Irish have potcheen, the Americans have moonshine and in Scotland it is referred to as peatreek.’

Penny hummed interest. ‘Well, there was certainly whisky around. He’d dropped a glass of it when he fell on his face. And there was an empty bottle that had rolled over to the wall.’

‘What did Ralph think about the death?’

‘He wouldn’t commit himself. He seemed incredibly knowledgeable, though.’

‘Ralph is a qualified pathologist as well as a GP,’ Morag informed her.

‘That explains his reticence then, I suppose. He said there were several possibilities.’ She consulted her notes. ‘First, he could have had a heart attack or stroke and collapsed. Second, he could have had a problem with his blood sugar, either hyperglycaemia, that’s means a high sugar level, or hypoglycaemia, which is when it’s too low. The latter would mean he’d overdone his insulin.’

‘And was there any evidence of that?’ Torquil asked.

Penny nodded. ‘On his kitchen table there was a syringe and several bottles of insulin. They all seemed to be empty.’

Torquil nodded. ‘The Senior Scene Examiner will record and tag everything.’

‘I took a few photographs myself, boss. Dr McLelland didn’t object,’ said Penny, picking up her mobile phone and accessing her photos. She crossed the room and showed him the scene of the body lying face down, with the whisky glass and bottle nearby. Another was of the sitting room with an open roll-top desk and various notebooks and sheets of paper, one of the kitchen table with the syringe, medication and empty bottles of different types of insulin, then finally the empty bathroom, and the bedroom with a neatly made bed.

She went on: ‘The other possibility was that he’d drunk himself senseless and fallen. Whichever it was, he seemed to have broken his nose and possibly also fractured his skull, according to Dr McLelland. A post-mortem will tell which.’

‘That’s a good job, Penny,’ Torquil said. ‘We’ll review it all when we have the Scene Examiner’s report and the results from the post-mortem.’

‘There was something that did really concern me, though, boss,’ she said, using the informal title for the first time.

‘Tell us,’ said Torquil.

‘I interviewed Norma Ferguson, of course. She was also worried this morning that two of her care assistants hadn’t shown up.’

‘Did she say anything else? What were their names?’

‘Vicky Spiers and Catriona McDonald.’

Torquil frowned. ‘Well, we know where Catriona is and we know where she and Vicky were, but not where she is now. We better be ready to muster the search party at first light.’ He took a hefty sip of tea. ‘And the other search will be for Angus Mackintosh. I need to talk to him and give him the bad news as soon as possible. Anyone have any idea of where he could be?’

‘I’ve tried everywhere, boss,’ said Ewan.

Torquil nodded. ‘Then I suggest we all sleep on it.’

To everyone’s dismay the new day had not brought an improvement in the weather. If anything, the clouds had descended further, causing dense fog, and on the ground the mist was as thick as it had ever been. The weather forecast was for more of the same for the whole week.

Morag organised the search team at dawn. It consisted of the six uniform police constables from Lewis, about forty islanders who had helped the day before and the two Drummond twins. Ewan was left to man the station, and while Torquil wanted nothing more than to help, he had to contact the Procurator Fiscal and the labs on the mainland. As DC Penny Faversham had experience of attending scenes of death he sent her to work with the Senior Scene Examiner from Lewis.

Morag split the searchers into groups, each under the supervision of a uniformed police officer and gave them photocopied maps marked out with the areas that she wanted them to comb, using the cordoned off pillbox as the starting point to spread out from.

The Senior Scene Examiner had set up a tent with all the forensic kit needed and could be seen working, accompanied by Penny, both dressed in white crime suits.

Calum and Cora had gone out to Harpoon Hill to interview some of the searchers as they prepared a special edition of the West Uist Chronicle and recorded little video clippings for the newspaper’s blog. Morag spotted them immediately and discouraged them from going near the police cordon tape. She promised that Torquil would brief them as planned when he was able to.

Ian Gillesbie, the Senior Scene Examiner was a forty-five-year-old man who had seen every imaginable crime scene and could not be flustered by anything. He detailed every step of what he was doing into a hands-free headset microphone recorder.

Penny watched and noted everything down, from the meticulous photographing of the body and the site, the taking of samples and the bagging and labelling of the bottles, packets and debris of the teenagers’ overnight activity.

When finished he clicked it off and stood up to talk to Penny.

‘A grim business, Detective Faversham. By the smell of the bottle its alcohol related, probably methanol adulteration as you said. There doesn’t seem to have been any sexual shenanigans going on among them. His clothes are relatively undisturbed, no love bites on his skin and no sign of used condoms.’

‘Will it take long to get the samples tested?’ Penny asked, lowering her mask.

‘The lab will get the whisky bottle done straight away and see precisely what it contained, and they’ll also check to see if the bottle itself can reveal anything. The bloods that Dr Ralph McLelland took we’ll also get analysed quickly. As for the body, well, it will all depend on a post-mortem by the pathologist. I’m no doctor, but I’m wondering if this young man had an underlying medical condition.’

Penny nodded. ‘I understand Dr McLelland also sent blood off from Catriona McDonald. It will be interesting to compare them.’

Ian clicked his tongue. ‘Whoever supplied them with this stuff is going to be hot under the collar. I can’t say I have any sympathy with them either. One young life snuffed out and another maybe maimed for life.’

Penny peeled back one of her gloves from the wrist and glanced at her watch. ‘And a third teenager still to be found. Are we about finished up here? Because we have the other case to see. The boss wants me to assist you there, too.’

Ian bowed with a show of old world gallantry. ‘I’ll be as swift and efficient as I can. It’s not often I get two separate jobs so close together. If the next is as your report suggests it will be a snip.’

Torquil’s phone went off early that morning. To his surprise it was Dr Ralph McLelland.

‘I think you’ll be wanting to come down to the hospital, Piper. I’ve got Angus Mackintosh in the accident room. He’s pissed as a newt and he’s lost a lot of blood.’

‘Does he know about Jamie?’

‘He does. I thought it was my duty as his family doctor, especially as I had confirmed his death. He found it difficult to take in, of course, what with the booze he’s had and the blood that he’s lost.’

‘So he’d been on a bender? Did he fall and injure himself?’

‘Like Robbie Ochterlonie? Actually no, he hadn’t. It’s a strange tale, I’ll fill you in when you come in. Anyway, I’d better go. I need to stitch him up. I’ll have finished by the time you get here, so you can talk to him then.’

‘Did he drive himself in?’

‘No, it was our local good Samaritan once again. Stan Wilkinson delivered him in his Royal Mail van.’

Torquil was relieved that Ralph had broken the bad news to Angus Mackintosh. He did not know him well, but he had encountered him professionally on a few occasions in the past, mainly as a result of being drunk and disorderly. And on two occasions of common assault, both while under the influence of alcohol. Allowance had been made because he was a widower and a single parent. Ralph had passed on the information that he was not a habitual drinker, but more of a toper who went on binges when black depression overcame him. It was not an easy situation, since he refused the offer of antidepressants or counselling.

Ralph was entering his case notes as he told Torquil the details.

‘Stan Wilkinson found him crawling up a track from one of the old crofts beyond the Wee Kingdom. He was drunk, confused and injured. He’d apparently been doing up a cottage and somehow put a nail-bolt through his thigh. It hit a blood vessel and he lost a lot of blood and passed out.’

‘Had he been drinking?’

Ralph shrugged. ‘I don’t know if he had before the accident, but he told Stan he came round, used a belt as a tourniquet and then drank near a bottle of whisky to get the courage to pull the bolt out. He couldn’t just pull it out, though, he had to cut it out, which is why I’ve had to clean the wound up, stitch it and leave a drain in. Anyway, he collapsed, woke up hours later and dragged himself out, hoping to see someone.’

‘Why did he not take his vehicle.’

‘He couldn’t remember where it was and he doubted that he could get in it, let alone drive.’

Angus himself virtually reiterated the whole story when Torquil saw him in his bed in a room on his own. His right leg was heavily bandaged and a drainage tube hung from it over the side of the bed.

‘It isn’t real,’ Angus said, his face buried in his hands. ‘My boy Jamie, he’s doing his Highers. He’s a clever lad and he’ll be off to uni soon.’

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Mackintosh. But we will need you to identify his body later this morning.’

Angus slowly raised his head and stared at Torquil. His eyes were bloodshot and tears had moistened his stubbly cheeks. He took a deep breath and nodded his head. Then: ‘And the other two? Vicky and Catriona, was it?’

Torquil put a hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘I’m afraid that Catriona has been transferred to the Western Isles Hospital in Stornoway. She’s got visual problems and is being dialysed.’

‘Dialysed? What does that mean?’

‘It’s a treatment to use a machine to work like the kidneys to clear the poison out of her system.’

‘And Vicky?’

‘She’s missing and we’re searching for her.’

‘Good God! This is an island. How can you still be looking for her?’

‘We were looking for you too, Angus.’

‘What did you say about poison?’ he asked, shaking his head as if to clear his mind.

‘We believe they’d been drinking peatreek with a high quantity of methyl alcohol in it.’

Angus’s jaw muscles tightened and he clenched his fists. ‘I’ll find out who gave them it and I’ll bloody kill them.’

His eyes blazed with fury for some moments and then the enormity of what had happened seemed to dawn on him again and he dissolved into tears. He dropped his head and his sobs racked his body.

‘I … I’ve lost them both, now. It’s not fair! it’s not fair.’

Again Torquil put a hand on his shoulder and waited until his sobbing settled. ‘Angus, as soon as the Scene Examiner has completed his investigation I’ll arrange for you to see Jamie to identify him.’

Angus nodded his head but said nothing.

Later, over the phone, Torquil gave Calum the full rundown on the three teenagers and the current state of the investigation.

‘The Stornoway Coastguard Rescue helicopter has joined the search, scouring the sea and the coastline,’ Torquil told Calum. ‘Hopefully, with so many people involved, it will not be long before we find her or some track that will help us.’

‘And dogs?’ Calum asked. ‘I contacted the Strathshiffin estate’s gamekeeper, Guthrie Frazer and he said that he and his underkeeper would turn out with their dogs.’

‘Aye, Guthrie was out yesterday, but I guess it was too wet to pick anything up. Rain dampens the smell, of course. Let’s hope for a different result today.’

‘Cora is going to interview the Spiers, since she knows them and already has a good rapport with them.’

‘We have to be as reassuring as we can, without being unrealistic, Calum. We can’t promise them anything other than we’ll do our best to find her unharmed.’

‘Aye, Cora’s intelligent and sensitive, so don’t worry.’ Then he said what Torquil was dreading to hear: ‘As for me, I’ll be having a chat with Angus Mackintosh.’

‘Not yet, Calum, please. The Senior Scene Examiner has only just taken all the samples and assessed the scene, and Ewan has arranged for Allan Moorhouse the undertaker to bring the body back to the hospital mortuary. We’ll be able to get Angus to formally identify him there, before we transfer the body to Lewis for the post-mortem.’

‘In that case, I’ll leave it a day or so. And will you be talking to television or radio?’

Torquil knew that Calum wanted to be assured of his scoop. ‘I’ll have to soon, Calum. This is too tragic a happening to delay, you know that.’

‘I’d better get back to the office and start writing then. How long will you give me?’

‘An hour, then I’ll be calling in to BBC Scotland.’

The phone went dead as Calum switched off. Torquil heaved a sigh of relief. Clearly, Calum hadn’t heard about the death of Robbie Ochterlonie and he saw no reason to inform him as he’d find out soon enough. Besides, he had enough to fill several newspaper editions as it was.

Vicky Spiers slowly felt herself rise to consciousness after what seemed like hours of a stupor that she could not waken from. Her head hurt more than she ever thought possible. Worse than the pain, though, was the nausea.

Where am I? she thought. Where are the others?

Then she realised that she could not see, nor even open her eyes. Something was holding them shut and it hurt to even attempt to move her eyelids.

Oh God! What’s happened to me? I’m sitting on a chair, I think, but I can’t move a muscle. My hands! They’re tied behind me!

There was not a sound. No breathing. No Talking. Nothing.

Panic set in when she tried to open her mouth, only to find the same constriction about her mouth and face. Something had been wrapped around her head, over her eyes and over her mouth. The nausea welled up inside her and she felt bile in the back of her throat.

No! No! No! Don’t be sick.

Her fear-stricken mind tried to piece together her last memories, but it was all a haze.

Jamie! Catriona! The old pillbox.

A dim recollection of waking up somewhere outside came to her. It was misty and it made her cough and splutter. She was stumbling around and seemed to hit a track of some sort. Then she heard something, but what was it?

Then she recalled an explosive pain in the back of her head and felt herself hurtling forward, diving into a deep dark pool of unconsciousness.

And then waking up now — in hell.