by G R Jordan
‘Stewart, and this is DI Macleod.’
‘Delighted,’ said the man looking up at Macleod and shaking his hand with a passion. He ignored Stewart’s hand but instead asked, ‘How do you manage house and home with your job? You must have been up before the dawn? Children can be such a handful.’
‘I’m a career woman, sir, no husband, no children.’ Macleod saw the thick glasses being pushed back onto Stewart’s nose.
‘Well, maybe you’ll learn God’s place for you yet. Woman was made for man, Inspector, was she not? There to be loved and adored, cherished and used to satisfy the animal lusts inside us. A good woman knows her place and thrives in it.’
To her credit, Macleod thought, Stewart is holding her tongue and waiting for me to reply as her superior. Hope might have killed him by now. ‘I believe the translation in Genesis is a ‘helpmeet’, sir, which would indicate a partnership, not a servitude.’
‘Well, I’m sure your studies continue, Inspector.’
Cheeky swine. ‘However, we are not here to discuss the Bible, sir, or a woman’s place in the world, rather to ascertain your version of your role and movements in regard to the particularly nasty matter at the cricket club.’
‘That den of iniquity. God has spoken his wrath upon them, Inspector. They broke the Sabbath. Warned they were, warned from my deep love for every single one of them but still they flouted themselves on a Sunday before His presence. Well, He has spoken.’
‘Am I correct in thinking,’ said Macleod, raising his voice to try and bring the conversation into a more constrained form of enquiry, ‘that you attended the match on Sunday, conducting a protest against its occurrence?’
‘Indeed. One last attempt to bring them to their senses. I had spoken before to Mr Painter, alcoholic and wreck of a man as he is, to try and convince that American to stop sullying our community and bring it back to the Lord.’ Irvine was showing indignance, but Macleod saw he was well in control of his words.
Turning away from Irvine, lest his own anger mount, Macleod looked out of the window and saw the woman who had showed them in, struggling to get seven children into one of the larger cars. They were all small, surely under ten.
‘How long had you been petitioning them to stop their cricketing activities, sir?’ asked Stewart.
‘Since their arrival and first proposal.’ Irvine answered Macleod despite the question coming from Stewart. ‘It was not heeded. And the absurdity, cricket here on the Isle of Lewis. It took many a good person to their destruction, what with the alcohol that was consumed on the property. It had to be stopped. I asked Mackenzie from the national church, but they have long forsaken their call.’
‘Were you ever Church of Scotland, sir?’ asked Macleod.
‘In my infancy, but now I think like a man. They should be ashamed in how they lead their people.’
‘They seem to lead me all right,’ said Macleod, raising his eyebrows.
‘Well, it shows in your thoughts.’
Macleod’s fist clenched. ‘Where were you after your protests, sir, on Sunday night? I take it you made it back for the evening service.’
‘We cancelled it that night so we could make God’s word known to these foul sportsmen,’ said Irvine.
‘But after that, sir, I wish to know what you were doing for the rest of that night and into the next morning.’
‘I don’t see how any of that is any of your business. I understand you might want to know what happened at the match and how this abomination came to happen but the rest of my Sabbath is my own business; how I rest in the Lord is up to me.’
Macleod sniffed a rat, and a large one at that. ‘It is most definitely my business.’
‘Don’t think you can come here and laud your supposed rank over me. Your type act against His will these days, enforce the will of those who take our country and ruin it. This used to be a place of God’s people but even on this island those days are gone. What right have you to demand of a man his whereabouts? What right—’
‘It’s just routine, sir,’ said Stewart, ‘and a requirement of the investigation. Just a way to rule you out of enquiries. A help really to yourself, as it eliminates the need for further interruption of your business. I’m sure you are busy, so if you could just tell us, we will be on our way.’
Macleod eyes nearly exploded out of his head at the comment. Grasping control of the conversation back, he stepped forward, raising himself to his full height against the diminutive Irvine and said, ‘And if you won’t tell us here, you’ll be obliged to accompany us to interview, to make a formal statement.’
‘No, sir, you shall not take a man of the word and—’ began Irvine but was interrupted by the loud chimes of his doorbell. ‘Mairi, answer the door.’ There was silence. ‘Woman, the door!’
‘She’s dropping the kids to school, sir,’ said Stewart who was tutted at by Irvine. But his eyes never left Macleod until he walked from the room.
‘Don’t ever cross me in front of a suspect like that!’ Macleod barely held the level of the comment below the ears of the rest of the house and Stewart simply looked at him and pushed her glasses up onto her nose.
There was a commotion at the front door and then a quick ‘very good’ before the door burst open with Irvine helping a woman into a chair. The young woman seemed to be shifting awkwardly but her hair shone with its dark tones. Her face, although white in complexion seemed to be bright, almost effervescent despite her forced walk.
‘You’ll have to go, Inspector. This is one of my flock who needs me. I have work to do, more important than your prattle. Leave.’
‘Are you okay, ma’am?’ said Stewart dropping to one knee in front of the woman and offering a hand of assistance. ‘Mrs Macaulay, isn’t it. You dropped by for a quick interview yesterday. You were with the Rev. Irvine at the match, protesting if I’m not mistaken.’
The woman nodded but gave out a low moan, holding her side. Irvine stepped in front of Stewart and wrapped his arms around Katie Macaulay, in effect shielding her from the officers. ‘Stay back, this woman needs healing you cannot offer. Katie, just remain still while I escort these people from the house.’
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Macleod. ‘Can your husband not help?’
‘When one’s husband is the problem, no,’ replied Irvine before Mrs Macaulay could manage a word. ‘I’m afraid he’s rather rough with her.’
‘Mrs Macaulay,’ said Stewart, ‘if that’s the case we can help.’
Katie Macaulay remained quiet and then began to cry softly. Stewart remained on one knee in front of the woman and Macleod thought she looked weak. They needed to focus on Irvine, not this sideshow he had brought into the room.
‘Be at the community hall at one o’clock for an interview, Irvine, or I shall come and make you have one,’ said Macleod.
‘That I shall,’ said the minister, rather unexpectedly, ‘and I shall have representation with me as well lest you twist my words. Although maybe I shall remain quiet before the authorities of this world; maybe I should have to suffer in my innocence.’
Macleod walked from the room at pace. His fists were curled up tight and he did not acknowledge Stewart at all. How dare he? How dare he compare himself to Jesus? Silent before the authorities of this world. All I asked for was a statement and he tries to make me out to be Pontius Pilate, or Caiaphas. I’ll have him, lawyer or not.
As Stewart opened the car door and sat down to drive, Macleod turned and glared at her. She went to turn the ignition but then stopped, turning herself to him and pushing those glasses back onto her nose once more like she was squaring up for an argument.
‘Problem, sir?’
‘Don’t problem me. Since when do you cut across a senior officer? I had him ready to break, about to crack and you let him off the hook. The arrogant charlatan was about to break.’ Macleod’s voice was becoming louder and louder until he became acutely aware of it and dropped back down to a whisper. ‘Next time, stay quiet. Is that u
nderstood?’
‘Perfectly, sir!’
‘Now drive! Let’s get back to the hall and see where we go from here.’
‘Did you notice, sir?’ asked Stewart. There was no quiver in her voice, rather a challenge to her superior.
‘Notice what, Constable?’
‘Katie Macaulay, sir.’
‘Of course, I noticed her. One of Irvine’s mob but married to Declan Macaulay. Former girlfriend of Jackie who thinks he missed out big time. Yes, I have read the interviews, Stewart. I noticed her. What’s your point?’
‘Did you notice her?’
Macleod looked at the track leading away from the impressive manse and saw no car. He spun around in his seat but saw no bicycle. Had the woman walked here?
‘She inferred she was not in the best shape, her husband being the issue and yet she has walked here,’ said Macleod. ‘Well noticed, Stewart. I see you’re not just interrupting senior officers. Very good, Stewart.’
‘Yes sir, she didn’t have a bicycle and she most probably walked but before that, sir. In the room—did you see?’
‘Drive on,’ said Macleod, and sat back replaying the time in Irvine’s reception room. She had stumbled in with him; Irvine had cut her off from speaking. Wrapped his arms around her. One of his flock. ‘Do you think he was too familiar with her for a minister, Stewart? Subtle but a possibility.’
‘No, sir, not that. Her hair, her complexion, her overall colour. She was meant to be a battered woman, someone under the cosh, in trouble, stressed. That’s not how I would have described her.’
Macleod thought back to her looks. In truth, he had been so focused on Irvine, he had barely taken in the woman’s appearance. ‘So how would you have described her appearance?’
‘Flourishing, sir.’
‘What do you mean, flourishing?’
‘The richness of the hair, the brightness of her skin, despite being a pale-skinned woman, it still glowed. Her eyes full of colour, she was buoyant and could not quell it despite being oppressed or feigning injury.’
‘And,’ said Macleod, becoming tetchy.
‘I’d say she was with child, sir. I wonder if her husband knows.’
‘Why?’ asked Macleod, trying to keep up with the giant leaps being made before him.
‘Because few men take their pregnant wives to a celebration like they had after the match and then ignore their wives being sick. Was she even drinking? And if he doesn’t know, why not?’
‘And who does?’ said Macleod out loud.
Chapter 9
Macleod was reflective as he stepped out of the car and lagged behind Stewart so much in entering the community hall that Hope met him outside the building. She was dressed in a light brown pair of trousers with leather boots, the length of which was hidden beneath the trousers. Macleod saw she was looking less distressed this morning, possibly a bit brighter.
‘You all right, sir?’ asked Hope.
‘Just thinking. Don’t let Stewart fool you—clever woman. Sees the small things.’
‘Did I miss something? How did it go with the Rev. Irvine?’
‘The man’s a disgrace of a minister, Hope. Everything I’ve tried to step away from, that’s him.’
Macleod’s face was curled up and Hope decided to step lightly. ‘All right but with regards to the case, any real involvement?’
‘I’m not letting him away yet. He certainly hated the cricketing fraternity but there’s nothing linking him to the deaths so far. But he wouldn’t say where he was after the match that night. They cancelled the evening service to be at the match, which seems unusual to me. Services are normally sacrosanct. I’ve insisted he come in for a statement, but he wants his lawyer with him. He’s coming at one o’clock, so we’d better have had some lunch by then.’
‘Well, I have two more for you now: Big Jim and Gordy. They could be useful. You don’t mind them speaking together, do you? They seem to have seen everything together that night so I thought they would be a good recap.’
Macleod held an open hand to the door. ‘As you see fit.’
‘You go first, sir. Sometimes I think we’re too close in front of the troops. You’re the boss so you go first. I’m still only a DC.’
‘Well, that’s your fault. You’d make DS easily, and I need one. You’re basically doing the job anyway.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Hope stepped back allowing Macleod to walk ahead of her and leaving him with a bewilderment about why Hope instigated the conversation.
Big Jim was aptly named and came with a Glaswegian accent that could be spotted a mile away and that jovial countenance that suited it best. Standing some six feet two in height, he was broad shouldered and looked like a rugby player rather than a cricketer. Beside him sat Gordon Watts, a man of ruffled hair and the look of a terrier dog. He moved sharply and gazed everywhere at once like a canine searching for the next scrap of meat.
Hope sat down, waiting for Macleod to enter the room and smiled at the men in front of her. Within seconds, Macleod was sliding into the seat beside her and clocking the look of Gordon Watts, his head and eyes constantly returning to Hope. Big Jim, on the other hand, was watching Macleod, one hand on a rather large cup of coffee.
‘Thank you for coming in, gentlemen. My DC believes you can help us go over and clarify some of the actions of the cricket club members on the unfortunate night in question. All I ask is that you say only what you know. If you are not sure, say so, or if you are assuming, I want to hear it but please be clear it is an assumption. Can I start with you, Mr Calderwood?’
The Glaswegian giant held up a hand. ‘Please, just Jim, everyone calls me Jim.’
‘How long have you been on the island, Jim?’ asked Macleod
‘Ten years. Properly settled and that. I worked the fishing boats up here until I was laid off by a few skippers and now I am at the fish farms. I speak my mind, Inspector and that doesn’t always get appreciated.’
‘Any family here?’
‘No. I came away up after Mags died. Cancer. The kids are roaming the world, doing all right and I came here to be away in the quiet. I like my own company and the occasional company of others but I’m a bit of a recluse.’
‘So why the cricket club?’ asked Hope.
‘I just needed the exercise and the odd bit of company. Gordy here was recently divorced and rather than wallow we got together and gave the cricket a go. Gordy was a player before, and I used to golf and that. Got a big swing, or so Bubba said, God rest his soul.’
‘So, Bubba got you into the sport?’
‘Yes, the dear mad American; it seemed like a laugh and at first it seemed crazy. But he was true to his word, I mean, look at the club.’
‘Why did he start it?’ asked Macleod.
‘Well, he never told me direct,’ said Jim, ‘but I reckon he was bored, after being such a star in America. I guess that’s one of your assumptions, Inspector.’
‘And you, Mr Watts, why do you think Bubba was here?’ asked Macleod.
Gordon Watts heard the question, but his eyes remained firmly on Hope as he answered. ‘Jim’s probably right. He always seemed restless which was strange. He had Summer with him, which you would have thought would be enough for any man. I mean, when you’re without a woman that’s when you realise what having one means, don’t you?’
Macleod’s hand twitched but he continued to smile.
‘I mean, and call me Gordy, please, she probably wanted to settle down with him in that incredible house of theirs. But he has restless feet. If she’d left, he’d be looking around the house thinking, The club and all this is nothing without her. I know I would.’
‘Did you like Summer Carson, Gordy?’ asked Hope.
‘Lovely woman, and not just the looks. I mean I know us men will say lovely about a woman without even knowing them, but she was lovely inside and out, probably like yourself. When they had the club round at their place, she was so generous but was struggling when she was out in front. Unli
ke Bubba who loved the attention, she was a quiet beauty, but very homely.’
‘During the match there were a lot of protests from a small faction led by the Rev. Irvine. Was that common?’ asked Macleod.
‘That man,’ replied Gordy, ‘needs to get off his high horse and piss off somewhere else. When we first muted the idea, he was ringing Bubba, annoying us at practices. Bubba used to organise practice on a Sunday as well as during the week. And every time that man would be there. Off to hell you are, enemies of God, blasphemers. You can ignore it at first but then it gets to you.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, you shout back, you actively go over and tell him to sling his hook. But the only time he ever ran was when Big Jim here went over,’ he laughed, ‘which is ironic as this man wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
‘The man’s a nutter,’ said Jim, ‘first class clown. I’m no saint, officers, but I was brought up to show a little respect to people and to the church. But this man is way beyond anything I’ve seen. I go to the other church and he’s not liked there.’
‘And he drags the women into it,’ complained Gordy. ‘Jenny Painter, Alan’s girl, Irvine has her nagging him all the time, and then on Sunday, she was there giving Alan grief after we had won the damn game. I know he’s an alcoholic and that, but she drives him more to drink than saves him.’
‘And then there’s Katie; he tries to get her onto Macaulay but he has less success. She’s been in and around the cricket fringes, one minute on Irvine’s side and the next in with us. Same on Sunday.’
‘Except,’ Gordy took up, ‘that she’s normally switching between Irvine and Declan, her man. Well, Declan didn’t get a look in. She barely said a word to him. Back and forth to the toilet, she was, and then after Bubba gives Declan some post-match comments on Declan’s performance, she ignores him when he tries to cry on her shoulder. But she looked intense, Inspector. Not drinking either.’
‘And clears off at ten,’ said Jim.
‘And what do you think was up with her?’ asked Hope.
‘If you’ll beg the expression, officer, women’s things. At least that’s what I reckon, but I’m no expert. That’s why I sleep alone.’ He laughed and Gordy joined in. ‘Mind, something was up. Declan and Jackie had a blow out, though I never caught what was the main bit of that. Could be Alice or Katie.’
