Dead at Third Man

by G R Jordan

  Macaulay stopped crying and looked up into her face. His hands suddenly reached forward, and Macleod stepped towards Hope, but she held up a hand. With an awkward delicateness, Macaulay reached his arms around Hope, his face right before hers so that he could kiss her easily if he wanted. But instead he pulled off her hair tie and started splaying her hair over her shoulders.

  ‘I said it, Jim; didn’t I say it? She needs her hair down on those shoulders. Amazing.’

  Macleod stared at Calderwood who simply shrugged his shoulders. ‘New one on me,’ he whispered.

  ‘Listen to me, Declan. Were you up at Bubba’s? Tell me what you were doing,’ said Hope, her face showing a smile that beamed from ear to ear.

  ‘Just a moment, I need to tell you something.’ With that he reached forward and whispered in her ear before leaning back and laughing.

  ‘What did he say?’ asked Macleod.

  ‘He was just paying me a compliment,’ said Hope.

  ‘A rude one,’ laughed Macaulay, ‘I was saying about her—’

  ‘I don’t think we need to share that,’ interrupted Hope before Macleod could get in first. ‘Tell me about Bubba’s, or I’ll need to go.’

  ‘No, no, no, stay! I was at Bubba’s, and he has pictures. And he has bats. And he had Summer. Lovely woman, just lovely. Not just her boobs, I mean she’s a lovely person. Like you are. But Bubba, he didn’t see that. He could have had Katie. She’s a liar, and never does the dishes. That’s her job because I can cook. I do Italian food. It’s incredibly good. I could make you a meal, and you could get all dressed up for me. But you pick the wine because I am crap at picking wine. Don’t even like red. Katie likes red but she’s gone off it. It used to work on her, get her in the mood but not now.’

  The neck rolled and Calderwood had to move to stop Macaulay falling off the seat again. Hope stepped away and whispered in Macleod’s ear, ‘What do you think? Is it worth continuing this?’

  ‘Try another round of questions. He’s well gone but we might get the truth while he’s this drunk. It just might not come out very coherently.’

  ‘Stop you talking to her. She was with me,’ shouted Macaulay, pointing at Hope.

  ‘And you were telling me about Bubba’s.’

  ‘Yes, I showed the smug bastard. He got it in the face, right in the kisser as he would say. Bloody yank should have kept to himself. Did I say he had Summer? I saw her, you know, being naughty in her bubbles. Do you like bubbles?’

  ‘Summer!’ said Hope.

  ‘Yes, she was in her bubbles but not with Bubba. I could see, anyone could see. Come and have a look, they’d shout. I wouldn’t let them look at you.’

  ‘Good,’ said Hope, ‘but what about Summer and Bubba. Did you do something?’

  ‘Yes, I told you, I smashed his face in.’

  Macleod’s neck was sweating, and he rubbed it with his hand. There was something not right here; he certainly had not put Macaulay down as the killer—the man just did not have the look. But then again, what was that look? He had been fooled before.

  ‘How did you smash his face in?’ asked Hope.

  ‘A baseball bat thingy. The American one, round, not flat like ours. How do you hit the ball right? Seems bloody stupid to me.’ The man swayed and Hope stepped back quickly as he convulsed and spewed up on the floor.

  ‘Someone get a basin,’ shouted Macleod. As Macaulay continued to spew, there was a commotion outside before Stewart appeared with a basin and handed it to Hope. Stewart’s face never flickered as she looked at the remains of Macaulay’s last meal. Turning to Macleod, she pushed her glasses back and said, ‘I’ll get a mop,’ before disappearing out of the room.

  ‘Where did you hit Bubba with the bat?’ asked Hope, firmly.

  ‘I told you,’ said Macaulay, spitting out the remains of his vomit, ‘in the face.’

  ‘No, whereabouts, what place were you in?’

  ‘I said. I was at Bubba’s. He was so lucky. I’d have shown Summer a good time in her bubbles. And kill him at the fire. Bash his brains in.’

  Macleod stepped out of the room and collected a packet of photographs from his desk. When he returned, Hope watched him flip through the pictures until he held up one before Macaulay. ‘Is this where you attacked Bubba?’

  ‘That’s him, that’s the bastard. I smacked him with the bat, right in his face. He’s all broken now.’

  Macleod left the room and scanned the hall before him. ‘Mackintosh! If you would please, come over here.’

  There was an air of indignation at the calling from across the room, but she strode to Macleod and gave him a grin. ‘Do you need me?’ Her eyebrows raised up, but Macleod ignored it.

  ‘Not the time,’ he said. ‘Go to the Carson house and see what’s there. It’s been broken into and I think this man,’ his finger pointed at Macaulay, ‘has wrecked some pictures. But you might find one of the baseball bats.’

  ‘Okay, Inspector, I’m on my way.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And let me know when it is the time.’ The sentence was whispered, a low husky statement he was meant to hear but not acknowledge, like a flag of intention delivered in the dark. Not the time, Hazel, not the time.

  Back in the rear room, Macaulay had fallen asleep. Jim Calderwood was behind him propping him up while a uniformed officer was mopping up the puke. Shaking his head at the smell, Macleod indicated that Hope should come with him. Outside the building, he turned to his colleague. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Sounded like an admission until you showed me the picture. Do you think he suspects Bubba of being the father of Katie’s child? And he has a go at what’s left.’

  ‘Or did he know before? I still don’t believe he’s the type, but he got a baseball bat from somewhere and I want Mackintosh to try and trace it to the fragments on the bodies.’

  ‘Well, he’s too pissed at the moment to be of any further use, and besides, I’ve had enough comments about what he wanted to do with me.’

  ‘Sorry about that. You did well with him; I was getting nowhere.’

  ‘Well, sir, you don’t have the weapons, as he put it. And actually, one of his ideas was quite interesting.’

  ‘I don’t want to know,’ said Macleod. ‘Let’s send him back to Calderwood, see if he’ll give him a bed until he’s sober, rather than the station. But we’ll put someone there with him.’

  ‘Good idea, sir,’ said Hope, acknowledging a uniformed officer as they passed by.

  ‘And now I need coffee because I can still smell that puke.’

  Twenty minutes later, Macleod was sitting behind his desk, sniffing in the aroma of his freshly made coffee. There had been no further report of Katie Macaulay, so he was in a waiting game, for one half of the family to sober up, and the other to wake up. His mobile rang and he saw the legend. Mackintosh. If she starts this man hunt again, I’ll swear at her.

  ‘Macleod.’

  ‘Evening, Inspector. I have had a quick recce of the Carson house and it looks like someone took a baseball bat to every picture on the wall that included Bubba Carson. Any containing just Summer, which is actually a low number as I think Mr Carson was quite the narcissist, are perfectly intact except one which seems to have simply fallen from its mount.’

  ‘Are there any baseball bats?’

  ‘Yes, I have found a wooden one and superficially it has damage and missing wood, but I need to be a bit more thorough to be positive it’s the bat used to kill the Carsons. As soon as we clear from here, I’ll get on it. I’ll pull an all-nighter to get you the results, Inspector.’

  ‘Thank you, Mackintosh, it’s appreciated.’

  ‘I still want that dinner though. God knows I deserve it for the hours I work for you.’

  The comment out of context was fun, a bit jovial perhaps but suggested nothing untoward, but Macleod found that every statement that was not strictly business coming from Mackintosh’s lips appeared tainted to him.

  ‘You certainly do, i
n fact you all do, so maybe I need to book a table for you all.’

  ‘Yes Inspector, maybe you do.’ Macleod thought he heard the appreciation of how he had untangled himself from her cleverly worded trap.

  Chapter 21

  It was three a.m. when Macleod reached his hotel room after waiting for news from the hospital. Katie Macaulay was in a worse state than the doctor had hoped and was being kept hydrated and given plenty of rest. When they had arrived from Bhuinaig, Hope had made for the hotel gym, saying she needed to blow off some steam. He was not sure, but Macleod thought he heard her talking to Allinson and the conversation had seemed heated. Still, he had never felt the need to blow off steam at this time of the morning.

  Lying in his bed he tried to sleep but found his mind wandering. He thought about ringing Jane, but it was a stupid time to call and there was really no need. It was just the case running through his mind. Still, today would be easier. Declan would be sober and could be questioned in a sensible fashion. They should get a chance to find out from Katie what was really going on with her pregnancy and who she had been having relations with.

  Macleod had never understood why people wanted to play around. Jane was enough for him as his former wife, Hope, had also been. Two women at once always seemed confusing. As for Dickie Smith, that must be an illness. No man needed that much sex.

  There were footsteps in the hall outside and Macleod heard the door next to his open and then shut. A shower was turned on and he realised Hope had finished her workout. He had wanted to be asleep by this point but instead he heard her singing in a low voice. It was a side people rarely saw. As a police officer, Hope was professional and efficient but outside of work, at least the little he knew of her, she was a much lighter person, incredibly fun loving and jovial. She was a bit of a tease in a lot of ways. Allinson was an idiot if he screwed this up with her.

  The light of dawn was starting to come through his window and Macleod decided that his effort at sleeping had failed. Throwing back the covers, he took himself to the shower and stood for a good twenty minutes, letting the water revive him. Irvine’s face kept coming back to him. The man was involved. But what was he doing at the christening of Katie Macaulay? Was he putting too much together to think he might be the father? There was no real evidence, just circumstance.

  After dressing, Macleod then shaved and finished the rest of his ablutions. His limbs felt tired, but his mind was a fresh as anything and the hunger for the chase was upon him again. But first, breakfast. Stepping outside of his door, he found Hope in the corridor.

  ‘Couldn’t sleep either?’ she said. ‘Breakfast?’

  ‘Yes, that’s where I was heading. Was it personal or the case?’

  ‘Bit of both. I kind of told Allinson I would have to be me, and he’d have to accept that.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Macleod, and stared down the hotel corridor.

  ‘You don’t approve?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ Macleod quickened his pace.

  ‘No, you said nothing. That’s when you disapprove. And stop running.’

  This was not the time for a debate on a subject he did not want to express any more opinions on.But Macleod stopped in his tracks and turned to Hope. ‘It’s between you two but don’t simply put down a demand. You will lose him if you do that. Give a little, you might find he gives a little back.’ With that, Macleod turned back again and continued his brisk walk.

  During breakfast, which was Continental style as the kitchen staff had not started their day, Macleod got the feeling he was being watched. Whenever he looked up from his croissants, Hope was furtively looking the other way, but he felt the stare. There was little talk between them, and Macleod thought he might have a walk before the day started, shake off the aches and pains a bad night’s sleep had brought.

  ‘Is five o’clock too early to ring someone?’ asked Hope.

  It really had knocked her for six, this whole argument. His partner was normally assured, but over the last few months she had been hit with one broken relationship only to find someone different. And now, Allinson seemed like he was going to be another short and passionate liaison.

  ‘Just ring him,’ said Macleod. ‘And back down a little, not the whole way, don’t cave in. But show him some understanding and then stick to your guns. And ultimately decide what’s more important; how you sunbathe or if he’s in your life.’

  Hope stood up and walked away to the door of the restaurant area before turning back to look at Macleod. He simply nodded and off she went. His hip felt sore, so he decided that another ten minutes with coffee would be a good idea before he took in a short walk. Pulling out his mobile, he activated the photos function and looked through pictures of the Carson house that Mackintosh had sent over. Declan had done an excellent job of breaking just about everything in sight.

  Then he continued to flick through the pictures before arriving at some of his personal ones. A smiling brunette woman stood before their new house just north of Inverness. His heart sank at being here unable to sleep when he could be home, slowly awakening to the dawn, his arm around her and tussling that hair. Sometimes retirement sounded good.

  The screen changed to a picture of his newest DC and the mobile vibrated in his hand. He glanced up looking for Hope, but she was out of sight.

  ‘Macleod!’

  ‘I hope I haven’t woken you, sir. Alan Painter has been attacked and rushed to hospital. His daughter found him an hour ago.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘She found him on the cricket square. He’d been beaten and then had the roller left on top of him. His legs are in a bad way and they’re not sure if he’s going to survive. He’s also a mixture of in pain and blindingly drunk.’

  ‘Where’s his daughter? Did she go with him?’

  ‘Yes, she’s at the hospital, sir.’

  Macleod picked his coffee and polished off the remaining liquid. ‘I’m off to the hospital with McGrath. Get a sweep of the area and see if anyone saw anything. It can’t have been Declan as we had a man there at Calderwood’s. Make sure everything is okay there too. Ring Mackintosh and get her on the scene, we might get a lucky print this time. I’ll be in touch once we see how things are at the hospital.’

  The smell of cooking wafted through from the kitchen, the morning staff starting their preparations, and Macleod hear the sizzle of sausages. Despite his croissants, his stomach tightened, begging him to stay. Ignoring the pangs, Macleod marched out of the dining area and looked for Hope. She was in the corner of reception, mobile sitting on the table in front of her.

  ‘Car, now!’ said Macleod. ‘Alan Painter’s been attacked.’

  Closing her mobile, Hope leapt up and made for the door followed by Macleod. They could have walked to the hospital from their hotel so close were they. The street was deserted but as they drove into the car park, they saw the red and white helicopter landing at the helipad to the north side of the hospital. It had a ring of blue-suited Coastguards around it who then assisted the hospital staff and a man in orange, to lift a patient into the rear of the helicopter. A few moments later it was airborne. On the edge of the ring, Macleod spotted Jenny Painter, her head bowed and looking very alone and worried. Her hair was a mess, and she was dressed in only t-shirt and jeans against the chill of the morning.

  ‘Miss Painter, let me take you inside.’ Macleod nodded to Hope who took the woman by the hand and walked her inside the hospital where Macleod directed them to the canteen. While Hope sat the woman down, Macleod purchased three hot drinks and brought them to the table.

  ‘Such a shock for you, Miss Painter; where did you find him?’ asked Macleod.

  ‘Out on that damned cricket pitch. He was in a mess. They had battered him, battered him, Inspector. God, his face!’

  ‘Okay,’ said Hope, placing her arm around the woman, ‘take it easy, have a drink. Come on, there’s no point dwelling on what you saw.’

  ‘When had you seen him last?’ asked Macleod.


  ‘The previous night. I had gone to bed at eleven and he was sitting in his armchair, drinking. The television was on and I remember shaking him to tell him to switch it off when he was done. He was blind drunk and normally I don’t take that in my house, would throw him out, but after all that’s happened, I decided to just let him be. The drink ruins him, Inspector, ruins him. God gives me strength to cope but it drives me insane seeing my dad like that. And now look at him. If he’d been sober, he could have run from them.’

  ‘Who’s them?’

  ‘Whoever did this?’

  ‘Do you know who that might be?’ Macleod asked.

  ‘No,’ Miss Painter replied. ‘Dad was harmless enough; everyone was until this whole thing happened. Who murders someone over cricket?’

  ‘You think it was the cricket that caused all of this?’ said Hope.

  ‘At the funeral, Dad took such stick from some of the church. I was furious with Rev. Irvine. Dad’s just an old man who saw a bit of fun in the game. But they had to go and play on a Sunday and I got it from Irvine every time I saw him about how my father was blaspheming the Sabbath. And he was, that was the long and short of it. So, I told him, had rows with him about it. But he was just having fun, which is a blessing at his age. Isn’t it?’

  She looked at Macleod, but Hope answered, ‘Sounds like it to me.’

  Ignoring Hope, Jenny Painter stared at Macleod. ‘I remember you. I was not that old, but you were the man who lost his wife at Holm. They never found her, but everyone said how you were a man of God. So, you know like I do, they were breaking the Sabbath and they shouldn’t have.’

  Macleod hated the intrusion back to the time he lost his wife on the island, when she had simply walked into the sea, pushed by the pressure of a demanding society that forced you to be like everyone else, something her wild spirit could not handle.

  ‘I mean, this is his comeuppance, isn’t it? God striking back?’