Dead at Third Man

by G R Jordan

  ‘When was the last time you saw the Carsons?’ asked Macleod, his face deadly serious.

  ‘That night. Summer was telling me Bubba was distant, which was strange, because he always unloaded his issues on her. Never listened to her issues but unloaded his. But he was saying nothing but was clearly bothered. And this when we had just reached the pinnacle of his cricketing dreams.’

  ‘And what happened with Summer?’ asked Hope.

  ‘She was frustrated, angry. And she wanted to be held up as number one again, not be subservient to the club. She was usually so subtle around sex. But that night she simply grabbed my hand and led me outside, behind the clubhouse. Dropped the lot and offered herself. It wasn’t normal.’

  ‘But you didn’t refuse,’ said Macleod.

  ‘Who would have? I think that was her giving up on him. Quite sad really. When we came back in there is only Bubba left. Oh, and Jackie, but he’s unconscious under the table, blotto. Was about two-thirty, I think. Came home and then next day heard they were dead. And Summer in her Jacuzzi.’

  The man reached forward to pour more tea, but his hands were shaking now. Taking the pot from him, Hope poured out more for each of them before letting the man drink. When he replaced the cup on the saucer, she asked, ‘Was the Jacuzzi in any way important?’

  ‘She loved it. Her island of peace, she said.’

  ‘How many people knew that,’ asked Macleod.

  ‘I guess Bubba did. Me, although I was never in it. Can’t think of anyone else. No, wait. She did mention something once. Said she thought she was being watched once. Thought she caught the reflection of the sun on binoculars or something. Put it down to a rambling tourist or that. Only happened the once. But she bathed al fresco in it, you see, that’s what struck me about her being dead in her Jacuzzi. The rumours said she was naked when you found her.’

  ‘Definitely a tourist,’ said Macleod.

  ‘Well, they didn’t find whoever it was but that whole area is open to the rear of their house. You could look in easily and if you had a bit about you, I doubt you’d get caught.’

  ‘Did you ever look from a distance?’ asked Macleod.

  ‘No, have to admit, I did think about it when she told me about the Jacuzzi. But then, I got to know her better. She was quite special if a very lonely woman.’

  Macleod spent the next twenty minutes trying to see if Dickie knew anything about Bubba and his movements, but it seemed that Dickie had spent too much time with Summer to notice. As they left the delightful bungalow and walked back along the perfectly lined path, Hope turned to Macleod.

  ‘Was it like this in your day? People jumping to others outside their marriage?’

  Macleod focused on a flower for a moment. ‘You heard things but if it came out there would be hell, not the mixed reactions of today. You’d have been ostracised. I reckon it happened. But we only have Dickie’s word here. That could have been a great act from a man losing Summer back to Bubba. No one else was about. He could have finished them both. Strong arms on him.’

  ‘I get the scepticism, but I doubt it. But someone else could have been looking.’

  As they reached the car, Macleod saw a man in a white collar and black shirt, walking quietly along. He told Hope to follow him and intercepted the man, holding out his hand.

  ‘Hello Reverend, I’m DI Macleod and this is DC McGrath. Could I have a quick word?’

  ‘Inspector, I had heard you’re about. And hello, Miss. Rev. Mackenzie. Terrible business. What can I do for you?’ The squat man had a balding patch on top and then pushed back a pair of thick glasses. Macleod swore he was DC Stewart’s father.

  ‘I was just wondering your take on the competition, sir, namely the Rev. Irvine. He seems somewhat aggressive for a minister.’

  Macleod was sure the man swore under his breath. ‘Do you know until he came, we had three churches here, ourselves, and two other denominations, both more conservative than my own. And we got on, in general. We were civil and did the odd thing together, such as the war memorial service, Sunday School outings. And I met with my fellow ministers occasionally. Irvine came in with his own denomination and swept up half of my congregation and all of the other two by claiming to be the right way, the only way. Hellfire and damnation.’

  ‘Is that not what the church preaches?’ asked Hope.

  ‘No, miss, it is not. Love and peace, courage to follow, faith and trust in God, and service to fellow man. Those things are what we teach, or what we should.’ Hope felt Macleod’s glare as the answer was delivered. ‘The man has an iron grip on that congregation. I find him abusive and in error with his theology. But mostly he’s a brash and angry man. Very pitiable.’

  ‘A large family though,’ said Hope.

  ‘And a terrified housekeeper, a young girl who fell into daft love and is now trapped. She’s been to see me, that’s why I know.’

  ‘And what else has she said?’ asked Hope.

  ‘Ask her yourself. She spoke in confidence. And don’t mention to anyone she has seen me in private. He’ll tear her apart if it gets back to him.’

  And with that the man scurried on, legs flicking like a beetle. Macleod watched him go and then returned to the car. As they drove back, Hope was smiling.

  ‘What’s with you?’

  ‘I liked that Dickie Smith,’ said Hope. ‘A man who can appreciate a woman. Meet her needs.’

  ‘Parasite, more like. Homewrecker.’

  ‘What home did he wreck? He’s just a sweet Romeo. I wish Allinson was more like him—let a woman breathe.’

  Macleod coughed, a signal to kill the conversation. When he glanced back at Hope, she had a face like thunder.

  ‘So, you have a breakdown and I can help you, but if I’m struggling, we don’t talk about it because it’s a subject you don’t like. That’s not fair, Seoras, not fair.’

  ‘What do you want me to say? I find it awkward to talk about your relationship because your problem surrounds an area where you need me to comment on your,’ he hesitated, ‘sexuality.’

  ‘All I asked was if you would have a problem with me removing—’

  ‘I know what you asked. It’s just my answer implies something. Suggests I would enjoy you like that.’ His face was red, and Macleod was determined not to look at Hope.

  ‘I asked if you would let Jane do the same. Not me. Hell, Seoras, you’re a man, no doubt you would enjoy it. I asked whether you’d be happy with Jane, your partner, Jane, doing it.’

  ‘Okay,’ he replied sheepishly. ‘I would be okay with it. With Jane doing it. It’s not like I could stop her.’

  Hope laughed loudly which made Macleod smile. She didn’t suit serious too often.

  Chapter 11

  ‘It’s been very quiet, Stewart,’ said Macleod. ‘Usually there’s more commotion, people pulling each other apart, accusations. But there’s nothing at the moment. Just this sanctimonious minister bad mouthing everyone at the club.’

  ‘Well, he will be here soon, sir. Are you wanting me in on the interview?’ asked Stewart.

  ‘No, I want you to check up on the background of the Carsons in America. Why are they here? You just don’t spend your life in America and then plonk yourself on the Isle of Lewis. Londoners, Glaswegians, British city folk getting away in their later years, yes, that’s very normal, but Americans not so much. I want their background checked for any gremlins.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Stewart and Macleod watched the glasses being pushed back again. He wanted to suggest some sort of tight chain around the back of her head, or some sort of sticky pad under the bridge of the glasses. It bothered him how untidy they were, descending all the while and Stewart had a habit of looking over them at you, like an angry schoolmistress. As she was so much younger than himself, he felt he was in a poor amateur play. But give the woman her due, she was handling the everyday stuff well, and she had been the calm one at Irvine’s, not him.

  ‘He’s here,’ said Hope from across the room and Macleo
d made his way over to the window staring from behind her. Irvine had arrived in a Jaguar and his lawyer looked almost as swish as him in a grey dapper suit. Similarly dressed except for the white dog collar, Irvine seemed to be thrusting it out before him, like a leper’s bell warning all that trouble was on the way.

  Macleod allowed Hope to escort the man and his lawyer into the interview room, the former playroom at the rear of the community hall. Once they had settled, he sent Alison, one of the junior police constables in to offer tea or coffee before walking in with his own cup and one for Hope. There was no way he was going to serve that man.

  The interview started convivially, Hope clarified statements made at the house, and Macleod felt like the lawyer while Hope did most of the speaking. Having confirmed that the minister had remained at home after the match, Macleod asked him about his relationship with the Carsons.

  ‘So, Rev. Irvine, when the Carsons arrived and announced their plans to build a cricket ground here in Bhuinaig, I guess you were not in agreement. How did you advise them of their error?’

  The lawyer went to speak but Irvine held up a hand, silencing him immediately. ‘Error, sir? It was an affront to God. The sheer folly of it, a place to waste time in idle pursuits and a bar to boot with it. A place for drink, and no doubt drugs, and on the Sabbath too. He made that clear. For any man of God there was only one course of action.’

  ‘Which was?’ asked Macleod.

  ‘I wrote to the man. Advised him of his error. Told him, he was not welcome.’

  ‘And did he respond?’ asked Hope.

  Irvine ignored her, continuing to look at Macleod. ‘He invited me round, tried to charm me with his forked tongue. His wife tried to seduce me, dressed in her heathen garb, she offered herself.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Hope. ‘She offered herself? Actually propositioned you?’

  Again, Irvine looked at Macleod. ‘One can be offered things without words. The way that woman displayed herself it was clear what was on offer. She wanted to corrupt me. She took me around her house showing me the places where she would seduce me.’

  Macleod caught Hope’s glance, as the lawyer clarified that Irvine was not accusing Summer Carson of a verbal offer to take him to bed but rather had been inappropriately dressed which had led him to the conclusion that she wanted his body.

  ‘And what exactly was she wearing?’ asked Hope, remarkably relaxed considering the attack on another female. Macleod was waiting for her to leap on the man, and he would not have blamed her.

  ‘Her skirt for one, with those high heels. That blouse which was set precariously for me to feast on her flesh.’

  ‘Can I just clarify?’ asked Hope. ‘When you say her blouse was set precariously, what do you mean?’

  ‘Cleavage. Her ample bosom, Macleod, that was her type. Harlot, I told him he had a harlot for a wife, told him that day when they offended the Lord with their game.’

  ‘Again, can I clarify?’ asked Hope. ‘How many buttons undone on her blouse?’

  ‘Enough!’ cried Irvine.

  ‘How many?’ repeated Hope.

  ‘Two, but that was enough.’

  ‘And you called her a harlot for that,’ said Macleod, his face red with anger. ‘What gives you the right to wear that collar and spout such s—’

  ‘Sir! I think we need to focus on the issue.’

  Macleod retreated, having found himself with his fists on the table and his backside out of his chair. Hope was right. But the man was offending the dead woman, offending the church with his statements, and offending God. Before sitting down, Macleod stared at the man, trying to weigh him up. He received a snort from the flared nostrils across from him, and cold, fixed eyes.

  ‘I must say,’ commented Hope, ‘that your assertion she was flirting with you seems unsubstantiated with regards to her clothing. If anything, she seems to be wearing everyday clothing, normal office wear.’

  ‘Like yourself, girl,’ said Irvine. His lawyer swung an arm across to rebuke his client, but Irvine simply pushed it out of the way. ‘Your kind all dress like that. There to tempt a man, corrupt a man. Clothing based around curves to grab us poor souls. There’s no wonder your sort ate the apple. And now you play without thought to your maker on the beaches and resorts of the world, casting your clothing and tempting us all with your flesh.’

  Macleod saw the side of Hope’s face twitch, but he was too slow to stop her. ‘Are you calling me a harlot?’ she shouted at Irvine.

  ‘Harlot, whore, give yourself what name you will . . . your body talks more than your name.’

  Macleod grabbed Hope’s hand under the table and inside he was burning. He saw the place she was in, saw how this wicked man was winding into her mind, even though he did not know the button he had pressed. Macleod’s own fist was clenched, ready to knock the jaw clean off this arrogant, insulting ass but he needed to rescue his partner. Hope was in a strange place, a confused space with Allinson, and she needed no advice like this.

  ‘For the tape,’ said Macleod, ‘interview suspended. And I suggest you get hold of your client, sir. If his language continues like that, I will book him!’

  Macleod took his hand under the table away from Hope, looking for her to walk out of her own accord. He went first, not wanting to show he was protecting her any more than he had. As he exited the room, Stewart approached.

  ‘Not now, Stewart,’ said Macleod, turning to Hope as she left the room.

  ‘Give me five,’ said Hope and walked straight past him.

  ‘Looks like you can have me,’ he said to Stewart who nodded and led him to a quiet corner.

  ‘She okay?’

  ‘She will be, got a bit hot in there. What do you have for me?’

  Got a witness coming home from the pub, said he saw Jenny Painter at Irvine’s about one a.m. on the night of the murders. I thought since you had him here, you might want to ask about it.’

  ‘Good, Stewart,’ said Macleod. ‘Did they say anything about what it was about? Or how she looked?’

  ‘No, sir, nothing. But a bit weird at that time of night.’

  ‘And I think you may have loaded my gun, Stewart. Thank you, now go find me some detail on the Carsons.’

  Again, the glasses were pushed up onto the nose but this time a smile accompanied it. As she walked away, Macleod became aware at how he was admiring her efficient manner. There was no flair, no points being made, like Hope; instead, a quite determination and the occasional sullen look if she was maligned.

  Finding Hope outside, he gently tapped her shoulder. ‘You good to go?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thanks. I reckon I might have hit him. How did he know about that, about the beach with Allinson?’

  ‘He didn’t but he saw you rising to the bait. He’s been baiting us all. It’s what he wants, a show a standoff where he can spout his religious drivel.’

  ‘He has, hasn’t he?’ said Hope. ‘You must be feeling it. I know you have your faith, but this must be difficult for you.’

  ‘You have no idea, Hope. But if he does start that harlot nonsense again, I will book him.’

  ‘No,’ said Hope, ‘that’s what he wants. Get him on something tangible, something that would hurt him. If you nab him on anything else, it will be a rallying call for him. I’m good.’

  ‘And you didn’t do anything wrong out there, it’s Allinson’s problem.’

  ‘I said I’m good. And it’s our problem. Allinson and me. I still want him, Seoras, so it’s our problem.’

  Macleod nodded even though he disagreed. He mentioned the Jenny Painter incident to Hope and then re-entered the interview room. Irvine was sat smirking as Hope followed in behind Macleod, but the lawyer was sweating and looked rather dishevelled. No wonder, clients like this were a nightmare for his profession. Better to shut up and do as asked, not engage the police.

  ‘Jenny Painter, know her, Irvine?’ started Macleod.

  ‘Of course, I do; poor woman has an alcoholic for a father. I’ve j
ust about kept her going with the support our church has given her.’

  ‘She was at the game, giving her father a rough time. Did you put her up to that?’

  ‘Advised her to help him out, try to reason with the man before he started drinking again. She’s a good woman, had a rough time. But an angel, tying to care for him. Although, I doubt you would recognise an angel.’

  Irvine looked at Hope for the first time as he made the comment. His lips were wet from the thrill of the battle, looking to make a mortal wound on her mind. Macleod waited, looking for his partner to launch the counterattack, and he was not disappointed.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to cast aspersions on her character, Mr Irvine, but she was seen at one a.m. on the night the Carsons were murdered at a house in the village, visiting a man who was not of her family. I was wondering if you could shed any light on the matter?’

  Macleod watched Irvine sit back and scramble for a defence. Nicely played, Hope, he thought; he’s got to admit it, and he’s already said he had a quiet night.

  ‘She was in trouble, having difficulty, needed her minister.’

  ‘What sort of difficulty?’ asked Hope.

  ‘I cannot say. I don’t brandish my flock’s confidences around for all and sundry.’

  ‘When did she leave?’ asked Macleod.

  ‘Two o’clock.’

  ‘You allowed a woman in your house at that hour?’ said Macleod, edging forward on his seat. ‘No doubt your wife was up with you attending to her.’

  ‘I have no wife.’

  ‘But the woman in your house, Mairi,’ said Macleod. ‘Those are your kids, are they not?’

  Irvine smiled, his hands rubbing together, and Macleod felt like he was about to be put back in his place. ‘Mairi is a poor soul. Pregnant when young and without a husband or partner to help her. I took her in. She has her own life and it has been rough for three of those children are hers, fathers unknown. The other children are fatherless too, from mothers who did not want the shame. My lawyer can furnish you with the appropriate birth certificates and that.’