by John Carson
‘No, thanks.’ He closed his eyes. The sunshine outside didn’t make the flight any more fun. If it had been raining and thunder, he would have slit his wrists.
‘What’s that on the north island?’ Alex asked.
‘Some kind of funfair,’ the pilot answered. ‘I haven’t been over here in a while. Kind of reminds me of when I was flying over Afghanistan. God, I wish I had cannon fitted to this machine.’
Harry opened his eyes to see if the pilot was in a trance, and felt relief when he saw the man was taking them down.
‘No offence, pal, but I’m taking the ferry home.’
‘None taken,’ the pilot said, and Harry felt the little machine fall out of the sky. But it was only on the approach to the runway. He was sweating buckets by the time the wheels touched down.
‘There are scheduled flights out of the airport,’ the pilot said. ‘You might find a bigger plane more relaxing.’
‘God bless you, son, but it’s a boat for me.’ Harry hoped nobody saw him shaking when he got out of the aircraft.
Jimmy Dunbar and Robbie Evans were waiting with a car outside the small terminal.
‘They even have a wee control tower,’ Alex said, pointing.
‘Maybe we can send a postcard back home with that on it. That’s the only way I want to see it again,’ Harry said, lugging his holdall.
Alex swung hers and smiled when she saw the two Glasgow detectives.
‘Hello, sir,’ she said to Dunbar. ‘Robbie. You don’t look so good.’
‘What a nightmare,’ Dunbar said. ‘Robbie gives a whole new meaning to bring a bagged lunch. The fucking plane was stinking. Even the wee lassie pathologist who came over with us got the boak. And she cuts people up for a living.’
‘I told you I didn’t like those things,’ Evans complained.
‘I’ve seen bairns have a better time on a plane than you.’ Dunbar looked at Harry. ‘You’re not looking too hot yourself, Harry. Don’t you like the planes either?’
‘I just didn’t get much sleep last night. The flight didn’t bother me.’
Nobody fell for his lie.
‘Right. We’re not long here. The pathologist went to the hotel to dump off her stuff, then the patrol car was going to take her to the scene. The forensics team flew out early this morning before the crack of dawn. I got one of the uniforms to bring us a car and this was what they managed to muster.’ He pointed to the old Mondeo. ‘I’m sure they just bought it from the local scrapyard for us to use.’
‘At least it’s on the ground,’ Harry said.
‘Aye, that’s all it’s got going for it. But they’ve preserved the scene. Forensics have already made a start.’
‘Where’s the hotel?’ Alex asked.
‘In town. We haven’t been there, but reservations were made for us.’ Dunbar looked at the others. ‘Alex, you seem to be the only one who had a good time, so you can drive.’
Alex was looking across the airport out to the sea in the distance. The sun was shining off it, making it look pleasant. Behind them, hills rose up. She wasn’t sure if they could be called mountains or not, but they were relatively high.
Dunbar tossed her the keys and they got into the car. They sat back as Alex started driving.
‘Have you seen much of Chance?’ Harry asked. His son had recently completed basic training for Police Scotland and had requested to work in Glasgow with Dunbar and Evans, rather than in Edinburgh with Harry.
‘Aye, I have,’ said Dunbar. ‘He’s a great lad.’
‘Katie, his friend, would have joined him if it hadn’t been for her mother being disabled,’ Harry said.
‘He’s only an hour’s drive away. It will be good for them. I mean, it’s not as if they were officially dating or anything.’
‘Dating,’ Evans said. ‘Who uses that term nowadays?’
‘Shut your cakehole. For a wee Jessie who’s just been squealing on the wee aeroplane, you would do well not to invoke a ton of slagging while we’re here.’
‘Anyway, I told Chance we’d go out for a pint one night soon,’ Evans said, ignoring Dunbar.
‘Just look after him, Robbie,’ Harry said.
‘Will do, sir. He’s in good hands.’
‘There’re a lot of attractions on the islands,’ Dunbar said. ‘We were given a briefing, which I’ll go over with you. We have a makeshift incident room in the station, which is not too far from here. I haven’t been there yet, but I want to see the scene. We can meet the family first. Get a feel for them.’
‘Sounds like a crappy game show,’ Evans said.
‘Even crappier when you think one of them was murdered. Just keep that in mind.’
‘Aye. Sorry.’
‘Robbie’s upset because his holiday plans were cancelled,’ Dunbar said as they arrived at the hotel. They pulled their luggage out of the boot of the car.
‘Oh no,’ Alex said. ‘Where were you going?’
Evans managed to put on a disgusted, unhappy look. ‘Tenerife. A week away with my girlfriend.’
‘You sure you have a girlfriend?’ Dunbar said. ‘A real woman? Usually at the end of the holiday, you have to deflate her and pop her back in your suitcase.’
‘Bernadette’s real enough,’ Evans replied, making a face that suggested he shouldn’t even have had to explain that.
‘Aye well, if it’s any consolation, my weekend was buggered too. Me and Cathy were going to go down to Largs with her old man. Now it’s just the two of them and Scooby.’
‘Jesus. Even your dug gets a holiday.’
‘Never mind, Robbie,’ Harry said. ‘I’m sure your girlfriend will be happy to wait.’
‘Maybe she’s here with us now,’ Dunbar said. ‘You know, like one of those imaginary friends a kid has.’
‘Can we just get inside, sir?’ Evans said, eager to change the subject, as they looked at the outside of the hotel.
‘The Laoch Lodge,’ Dunbar said, shaking his head. ‘No expense spared. I hope it’s not one of those places you have to bring your own bog roll.’
‘What place have you ever stayed in that you took your own bog roll?’ Harry asked.
‘Well, not bog roll exactly, but the wife and I stayed in a shitty wee private hotel on our honeymoon night and I had to keep putting money in the meter to put the heater on. I kid you not.’
‘Why would you need a heater on your honeymoon night? Forgot your Wee Willie Winkie nightshirt?’ Evans said.
‘Why are your gums flapping? Besides, it was November. But it didn’t look too different from this place. The owner was a miserable bastard. Looked like he laid the fucking eggs in the morning.’
‘I’m sure this place will be different,’ Alex said. ‘It looks quaint.’
‘Quaint, Alex?’ Dunbar said. ‘Is that Gaelic for shitehole?’
The building could have been somebody’s house at one time, but now it was a small hotel. If it had any Michelin stars, they were well hidden.
‘I thought this would be a no-name place,’ Harry said sarcastically, some colour coming back to his cheeks. ‘Mind and tip the concierge.’
They went inside and were met at a desk that served as a reception counter. A man sat behind it, reading a newspaper. He was older, maybe in his sixties.
‘You the polis?’ he said, putting the newspaper down.
‘What gave it away?’ Dunbar said. ‘The fact that there’re four of us or…?’
‘Magic. The Fabulous Four, the travelling comedy act who moonlight as polis in their spare time.’ He stood up. ‘There’s a reason the missus doesn’t want any lippy bastards in here. We can do without your backchat.’
‘What lippy bastards?’ Harry asked.
‘Those hippies going to the music festival. It starts today. Friday through Sunday. The longest three days of my life. They get pished and start fighting, but by God do they spend their money. The wife won’t rent any rooms out to them. That’s why you have two rooms.’
‘Two?’ Dunbar
said. ‘Me and him are colleagues, that’s all. Those two are married, so it’s fine for them.’
‘What do you want me to do? Let you bunk in with us?’ the man said.
‘What’s your name?’ Dunbar asked.
‘Crail Shaw. But my friends call me Boxer.’
‘Why’s that? You used to work in a factory filling boxes?’
‘Aye, son, just you hope you don’t find out why they call me that.’
‘They call him Boxer ’cause he’s got a face like a dug,’ a woman said, coming through from a back door. She looked a good bit younger than the man.
‘Aw, nice, eh?’ Boxer said. ‘Just let them think a woman can talk to me any way she likes.’
‘I can, you old fool. Bloody Boxer.’ She grinned at him. ‘But I love him. Bless ’im.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ Boxer said, leaving the reception area.
‘I’m Nancy Shaw. I own this place, along with Old Torn Face there. My husband. He was right about those layabouts who come to the island every year. They use the High Street like a toilet and we don’t have a police force big enough to deal with them. I’m glad they sent reinforcements.’
‘We’re not here for the music festival,’ Alex said.
‘I know, love. Clive Wolf got himself killed yesterday. Well, I think it was yesterday. I mean, I don’t know for sure and I don’t want to be a suspect. You know how rumours get around.’
‘I do that,’ Dunbar said, eyeing Evans sideways.
‘Word gets around in a little place like this. It’s put the wind up us, especially since it was one of the Wolf family.’
‘What are the family like?’ Harry asked.
‘Salt of the earth.’ Nancy looked at him. ‘I know that’s a well-used phrase, but it’s true. Everybody calls this Wolf Island, because without the Wolf family, this place would just be another rock in the Atlantic. They live on the north island. That’s where the big house is. Some of their smaller properties are there too, and they have a couple over here on the south island. They own the boat charter company, and the land where the music festival takes place is owned by the family.’
‘What’s the carnival up there?’ Alex asked. ‘I saw it from the plane.’
‘This is the big holiday weekend, when the music festival is on, but the fairground is on six months of the year.’
‘It seems like such a small place for a carnival to make money.’
‘Oh, dearie, you wouldn’t believe the people who come here in the summer. It’s quiet in winter, so we make the most of it in summer. We have tourists all the time. Beautiful beaches, a lot of birds for photographers to snap, water sports. You name it, we have it. It’s a hidden gem.’
‘I don’t think we’ll have a chance to try any of it out,’ Dunbar said, taking the key from her.
‘I heard you telling my husband that you’re just colleagues and don’t want to share a room,’ Nancy said. ‘I have a spare room that’s nothing more than a box room really. If one of you wants that? It’s not a room I rent out; I keep it for my nephew. He can’t make the music festival this year, so you can have it.’
Dunbar turned to Evans when he saw he wasn’t moving. ‘Go on then, Sergeant. Take the key. Don’t keep the lady waiting.’
Evans took the other key from her. ‘Thanks.’
‘Dinner’s included. Six till seven-thirty. I know you’ll be busy, but you’re welcome to eat.’
‘Thanks,’ Harry said.
A younger man came through from the back. ‘Hello there!’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m Brendan Shaw. Nancy’s my mum. The grumpy old sod is my dad. Let me help you up with your bags.’
‘That’s okay, fella,’ Dunbar said.
‘You sure? No problem. If you need anything, just shout. I just help out round here; I don’t work here full time. But if you need me, give me a shout.’
‘Will do.’
After checking in, they went to their respective rooms, but Dunbar just tossed his small case on the bed and walked straight back out. He knocked on Evans’ door and entered after getting a shout. Evans had his case open on the bed. He took out a tennis racket.
‘What’s that for?’ Dunbar asked.
‘Protection.’
‘Protection? You’re a bloody copper. You’ve got an extendable baton.’
‘I keep the racket at the side of my bed. In case of a break-in.’
‘You’ll be fine if Cliff Richard comes in wearing a ski mask, looking to tan your room.’
Evans propped it against the wall. ‘That’s much quicker than reaching for the baton.’
‘I pity Bernadette when she’s lying in bed with you and she asks you if you have protection and you whip out your tennis racket.’
‘People have been mugged in hotel rooms.’
‘I wouldn’t know. We only go places we can take Scooby. Nobody would get through the door.’
‘You should have brought him then.’
‘Don’t think I didn’t give it some consideration. Cathy’s old man will be feeding him fucking doughnuts. Poor wee sod will be double his weight when he comes back. I wouldn’t mind, but I’m the one who looks after him. Cathy doesn’t have to take him out last thing at night when he’s burstin’ for a pish.’
‘You wouldn’t be without him, though, boss, eh?’
‘Not for anything in the world, pal.’
Six
‘A room with a view. What else could we ask for?’ Alex said, putting her bag on the bed.
‘Oh, I don’t know; how about a swimming pool?’
‘When’s the last time you were in a pool?’
‘Years ago when we took Chance to Majorca.’ Harry sat on the bed and ran a hand over his face. ‘I thought I was a goner when Biggles brought that pile of shite down.’
Alex laughed. ‘I thought it was a thrill.’
‘You said I was the only thrill you ever needed.’
‘Maybe I’m widening my horizons.’ She went over to him as he stood up and hugged him. ‘You’re the only human thrill I need, though.’
He kissed her and they stood apart.
‘I wanted to discuss where I was this morning.’ Her face took on a serious look.
‘Okay. I’m listening.’
There was a knock at the door.
‘Crap. Hold that thought. You can tell me later.’ Harry answered the door and Dunbar and Evans were waiting.
‘Ready when you are, neighbour.’
‘Ready right now,’ Harry said. Alex just smiled and they left the room.
Dunbar opened his phone and read out the directions to the Wolf estate.
It was indeed on the north island, on a road to the coast. A hill which might or might not have been part of a small mountain range rose up in the distance.
‘Just point the car towards Krakatoa,’ Dunbar said, pointing through the windscreen. ‘Then left down to the sea.’ Alex crossed the two-lane bridge and followed the road and the signs for the Wolf estate.
Fifteen minutes later, they were driving along the private road towards the big house. A parade of police cars were already there. A uniform stood on the driveway and approached the car as Alex pulled in. There was a large parking area in front of the house, with some private cars parked there.
Past the big house, they could see the ocean through the trees.
‘Not a bad spot to have a house,’ Harry remarked.
‘I could see myself retiring here,’ Dunbar said, as they got out of the car and walked into the large house.
A uniform let them through the doorway and they could hear a commotion from inside. A sergeant introduced himself and led them into a large living room.
A group of people were either standing around or sitting down. Some of them were arguing. A large man with a German Shepherd stood off to one side, a smaller man with him.
The big man walked towards them. The dog was wary, looking at the strangers, but Dunbar made a noise and held out a hand for the dog to sniff before rubbing the side of his head
below the ear.
‘You’re a dog lover, I can tell,’ said the man. ‘His name’s Sparky. And I’m Muckle McInsh. Formerly known as Inspector McInsh. This is my colleague, Wee Shug as he’s known. Formerly known as Sergeant Angus Kendal.’
‘That’s enough,’ the uniform said to Muckle. ‘You’re no’ polis now.’ He turned to Dunbar. ‘Hasn’t been for a long time either.’
Sparky growled, but Dunbar kept rubbing his head.
‘That’ll do, Sergeant,’ Dunbar said. ‘Just give us the gist of what happened last night. I’m tired, been flying inside a piece of metal that rattled like a bag of spanners, and if anybody here is going to be giving a reprimand, it will be either me or DCI McNeil there. Got it?’
‘Yes, sir.’ The uniform looked at Muckle, but the big man wasn’t intimidated in the slightest.
There was silence for a few moments as the Wolf family watched the tableau unfolding before them.
‘Well?’ Harry said, starting to feel irritated.
‘Oh, right,’ the sergeant said, as if his brain had just kicked into gear. ‘Right, McInsh there went creeping up to the house where young Clive Wolf was found.’
‘Keep to the facts,’ Dunbar said.
‘He went there and found Clive dead in the bedroom. There was a hole in the wall, and Old Man Murdo Wolf was in the wall.’
A young woman in the room started wailing. An older man was sitting next to her with his arm around her. Dunbar would have thought it was her father had he not known in advance that it was her husband. Twenty years her senior and he looked every inch her father.
Dunbar stopped petting the dog and looked at the family. ‘I don’t know any of you personally, so I’d like you to introduce yourselves, one at a time.’
‘I’m Brian Gibbons,’ the older bloke said. ‘This is my wife, Shona Gibbons.’
‘I’m Fenton Wolf, Oliver Wolf’s oldest son. This is my brother, Zach. Middle son.’ Fenton looked down at his shoes as he spoke again. ‘Clive was the youngest son and Shona’s twin.’
‘My name is Thomas Deal. Family solicitor. My assistant, Missy Galbraith.’
‘We’re going to need to talk to you all. I need you to stay here until we can visit the scene and talk with the pathologist.’
