Castle Killings: A DCI Keane Scottish Crime Thriller (Deadly Highlands Book 4)

by Oliver Davies

  Inside, we found ourselves in a chilly echoing space filled with row after row of boxes of freshly landed, ice-packed fish. Shay, I noticed, was breathing carefully and as little as possible. Ice or no ice, it was certainly a bit whiffy in there.

  Apparently, the daily shout auction was due to start soon, and there were already a few buyers wandering around, inspecting the quality of the morning’s offerings. A helpful employee pointed out the man in charge to us.

  “Nick Albert?” he frowned, looking a little harassed and not too happy. “He didn’t turn up for work on Friday, and he hasn’t turned up again today either.” No, he hadn’t called in sick, and he hadn’t returned any calls. They’d been forced to call in substitutes, interrupting scheduled days off to cover for him, and it soon became apparent that unless Nick had a bloody good excuse to offer when he did turn up, he was in real danger of facing instant dismissal. The supervisor stepped outside with us to point out the office where we could talk to someone who could give us Nick’s employment details and went off, yelling at someone called Scotty to hurry up and get his arse over to the south pier to see what the hold up at the ice plant was.

  Shay and I exchanged equally worried glances. Missing Nick yesterday had been one thing, but if he hadn’t turned up for work on Friday, that put things in an entirely different light. My phone buzzed before we reached the door that had been pointed out to us. It was Caitlin.

  “Hi. We’ve just reached the car park, and I can see your car. Where are you?”

  “Down near the fish market. Just stay put for now, will you? We’ll be up there soon.”

  “Will do.” She hung up.

  The girl we spoke to in HR was both helpful and quick, once I’d identified myself, and she realised that all I wanted to know was who Nick’s listed emergency contact was. That turned out to be his sister, Chloe, and yes, they had her contact number. Would I like them to call her? I thanked her for the offer and told her no, we had Chloe’s details.

  It would be far better to have Caitlin call Chloe and explain the situation.

  Back at the car park, I made straight for Philips’ car, and he unlocked the back doors for us at a gesture.

  “Any luck?” he asked, twisting around as we climbed in.

  “Nothing at the house, and we’ve just been told that Nicholas didn’t turn up for work here on Friday. No sign of him here today either.”

  “Think he’s run off somewhere until he knows our investigation’s been closed?” Philips asked. “After all, he was the one who introduced that Anthony guy to everyone.” That was one possibility, but how likely was it?

  “As far as the general public knew last Thursday, Visser’s death was still being seen as accidental. I don’t see why Nick would feel any reason to worry, even if he couldn’t get hold of Anthony. Not unless he knew something the girls didn’t.”

  At that, Caitlin twisted around too. “You think he might have?”

  “We have no way of knowing right now,” I said to discourage time-wasting speculation. “Albert’s emergency contact is his sister Chloe. I think our next obvious move is to give her a call and find out when she last spoke to him and if she knows where he is. Maybe she even has a spare key to her brother’s house and would be willing to let us in if she became concerned enough.”

  Caitlin nodded. “And you think she might respond better to a female officer, given her history. Got the number handy?” Shay pulled it up on his phone to show her so she could tap it in. Someone picked up on the fifth ring.

  “Hello,” a soft voice came over the speakerphone.

  “Miss Chloe Albert? This is Detective Sergeant Caitlin Murray from the Inverness police. I’m calling about your brother, Nicholas.”

  “Nick? Has something happened to him?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out. I’m at Scrabster harbour and have just found out that Nick hasn’t been at work since Thursday. Can you tell me when you last heard from him?”

  “Not since I called him on Wednesday. Wait, did you say you were with the Inverness police?”

  “That’s right, Miss Albert. We’re trying to track down a friend of Nick’s. A man named Anthony? Late twenties, short brown hair, brown eyes.” There was a brief silence.

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant, but I know all my brother’s friends, and none of them are called Anthony. I think you may have made a mistake.”

  “He was with Nick when he met Julie, Meghan and Monica at Harpers a week last Friday. They went back to the girls’ house together with one other person that night, a man named Kaj Visser.”

  “Oh.” Chloe sounded a bit disconcerted to hear it. “He must be recent then. Nick’s never mentioned him to me.”

  “We’ve been told they hadn’t known each other long. The thing is, Anthony has become a person of interest in our investigation into the murder of Mr Visser, and we’re a little concerned about Nick disappearing like this. His car’s still at his house, but he’s not answering his phone, and he didn’t call in sick on Friday. His boss hasn’t been able to reach him either.” There was another short silence before Chloe spoke again.

  “Look, Sergeant Murray, no offence, but anyone can claim to be a police officer over the phone like this. I’m going to need to make a couple of calls myself before I say anything else. Can I call you back in a few minutes?”

  “Of course,” Caitlin agreed. “I think that’s very sensible of you, Miss Albert. But please, make it as soon as you possibly can.” After Chloe had hung up, we sat waiting for about fifteen minutes before she called back again. My guess was that she’d talked to at least one of the girls before getting back to us and maybe to someone at the harbour too. That she’d also have tried Nick’s phone herself was a given.

  No, she didn’t know where Nick was, and yes, she had a spare key and agreed to meet us at her brother’s place. It would take her about forty minutes to get there, as she had to nip home to pick up the key first. That being the case, I decided that we might as well visit the nearby café for a drink and a pit stop before driving back there. We all got coffees except Shay, who only wanted a glass of water. Philips shook his head slightly as my cousin dropped his pack by my feet and nipped off to the toilet.

  “Does he ever leave that thing unattended?”

  “Away from home? Not very often. It’s a custom-built laptop, not the sort of thing you can replace quickly.”

  “Fastest I’ve ever seen,” Caitlin agreed cheerfully. “Not that I’m very clued up on all the tech stuff. I bet my brother would go mental if he saw it, though. He’s always going on about how good his gaming one is.”

  I managed not to laugh out loud at the comparison. The fact that the thermal hardware for the cooling system made Shay’s laptop a weighty beast to lug around was a small price to pay for the sheer power of the thing. I didn’t see any need to mention that Shay had two of them either. The reserve was not only a necessary backup but also a useful twin unit to test out newer, better replacement parts on. He was constantly upgrading them both.

  The coffee wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t fantastic either.

  Back at Nicholas Albert’s house, twenty-five minutes after Chloe had called Caitlin back, we ended up waiting a little longer than expected before she finally showed up. Chloe Albert turned out to be a very attractive young woman who appeared to be doing her best to hide that fact from the world. The hat, the baggy clothing, the lowered head as she walked. I doubted she’d always felt the need for those, but I wasn’t particularly surprised to see it. I happened to know someone who used similar attention deflecting strategies themselves. Nothing too obvious, but enough to avoid a lot of unwanted stares as they walked around in public.

  So as not to overwhelm her, Philips and Shay stayed in their respective cars, as agreed, whilst Caitlin and I got out to greet her. Chloe took care to examine our warrant cards carefully, but I think one of the girls must have already described us to her because she didn’t look at all surprised when I introduced myself. She soon
confirmed that by telling us she’d heard all about yesterday’s ‘goings on’ before letting us into the house.

  I made sure she kept us both in clear sight as we went from room to room, and neither Caitlin nor I touched anything until we’d both gloved up. The place was empty. Nicholas had left his bed neatly made and his phone charging on the bedside unit. When asked to examine his wardrobe and his dresser, once we’d opened them up, Chloe told us it didn’t look to her like her brother had packed for a long trip. No, she really didn’t have any idea where Nick might have gone, and we could tell that she was worried.

  “Where would he go? His car’s still here… and it’s not like Nick to just disappear without telling anyone. He’s a lot more considerate than that.” I felt sorry for her as she stood in the middle of the bedroom, anxiously hugging herself. “And why would he leave his phone here unless he was worried about being found? This Anthony guy… do you think he killed Kaj Visser?”

  “He’s the last person, at this point, known to have been with Mr Visser before he died,” I told her. “I’m afraid that isn’t enough for us to jump to any conclusions just yet, but he is certainly our strongest suspect at the moment.”

  She wilted even further. “Nick didn’t say anything about any of this to me. He sounded perfectly normal on Wednesday.” She sighed. “He would, though, anything not to ‘bother’ me with his problems. I wouldn’t even know about all his run-ins with your lot if someone else hadn’t told me about them… sorry. I suppose the local police are nothing to do with you, really, are they?”

  I thought it wisest to treat that as a rhetorical question. It was a yes, and no issue, much as I’d have liked to deny any link whatsoever to the uniformed officers who I believed had deliberately harassed her brother.

  “We’ll need to take Nicholas’s phone and computer with us to examine properly. We may find some clue as to where he’s gone and where to find Anthony on one of them. I’ll be happy to give you a receipt for them, and they’ll be returned to you as soon as that becomes possible.”

  “I suppose that’s alright,” she said doubtfully, “but I’d better leave Nick a note in case he comes home and finds them gone.”

  We’d already had a look through Nick’s car window earlier, there had been no GPS system to be seen, so there was no way of finding out where he’d driven to over the past couple of weeks. I bagged the phone, and we all trooped downstairs again. Chloe wrote her note whilst Caitlin went back to the car to sort out an official receipt for her. She came back with a bag big enough to seal the laptop into, and Chloe locked up again behind us once we were all outside again.

  “What happens now?” she asked as she folded and pocketed her receipt.

  “We’ll keep trying to find Nicholas ourselves, but I’ll also report his disappearance to the local Missing Persons Coordinator and make sure to give them a recent picture of him too. Does your brother have any health conditions we should know about?”

  “Yes, he’s a haemophiliac. Mum’s brother was too, but he died before either of us were born. Nick has Advate on prescription and an implanted port in his chest to inject it into. He wouldn’t go anywhere without his injection kit, and I didn’t see it in the house. He always has his treatment card and MedicAlert tag on him too.” Shay had climbed out of the car whilst we were all inside and was listening intently, so I glanced at him for clarification.

  “Advate is a brand name for octocog alfa, the factor VIII clotting protein which people with haemophilia A can’t produce themselves. If Nick’s self-administering preventative doses at home, he’s been instructed on how to mix and inject it. ”

  “How often will he need that?”

  “That depends on what his specialist has recommended for him. Dosages vary, depending on a lot of different factors, but if he’s got a Port-A-Cath fitted, that indicates pretty frequent doses.”

  Chloe nodded her agreement, staring curiously at my cousin. Shay had ‘not a cop’ written all over him, from his casual clothes to his non-regulation haircut. None of the girls had even seen him yesterday, so they wouldn’t have mentioned him to her either.

  “Is Nick registered at the haemophilia centre at Raigmore Hospital in Inverness?” he asked. “That’s the closest one, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, looking a little surprised that he’d know that. I was used to that happening, too, although I was always more surprised when Shay didn’t know something. I suppose I took it for granted that he could effortlessly store endless amounts of random information.

  Cuts that could bleed out weren’t the biggest danger to haemophiliacs. Internal bleeding from knocks and falls could be far more dangerous and painful. How much of a blow would it take to kill Nicholas if he missed an injection? Was it possible he’d just gone for a walk and tripped and banged his head, with fatal consequences? No, surely he’d have been found by now if that were the case. I handed Chloe one of my cards.

  “If you could email me a list of the people Nick would be most likely to contact or stay with, that would be really helpful. A lot of the people on his phone might not be a top priority, so anything you can do to make sure we reach his closest friends and relatives first could really speed things up.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll do that now before driving back. You might try the local taxi people too. Maybe he booked a ride to the station or something?”

  “We’ll be doing that,” I assured her. “And I’ll make sure the Family Liaison Officer gets your contact details too. They’ll keep you informed of any updates as they occur until we find your brother. In the meantime, if you think of anything else that might be helpful, you can call me directly.”

  “I will. Thank you, Inspector.” No wonder she’d looked so worried in the bedroom earlier. Blood clotting medications might make haemophilia a manageable condition these days, but that didn’t mean sufferers could live a perfectly normal life. Contact sports, for one thing, were a definite no-no.

  Shay was very quiet for a while as we began our drive back to Wick. “I should have looked into Nick’s medical history yesterday.” He said apologetically.

  “Why?” I asked. “That’s not part of your standard background check. You usually only do that if we want to dig much deeper into someone. It’s not your fault that there was no mention of his condition in his social media or anything else you came across.” It seemed safe to say that Nicholas had preferred to keep it private whenever possible. “Those police reports didn’t mention it either, and if Nick always carries a card and wears a MedicAlert tag, they damned well should have. How many haemophiliacs do we have in Scotland, anyway?”

  “Over three thousand, the last time I came across any figures. It’s not a common condition, and a lot of the women who know they carry the gene don’t want to risk having kids. That might change if gene editing becomes widely available on the NHS.”

  “How does that work?”

  “A single infusion to introduce the corrected gene. They ran a trial on fifteen patients at five sites across the UK in 2016, and their livers all started producing almost normal levels of Factor VIII clotting protein after the treatment, making further injections unnecessary. It’s pretty expensive, though, and they’re still waiting to see how long the effects will last, so I don’t know how widely it will end up being offered, if at all.” That seemed to be an all too common problem these days. Cures were being found for all sorts of formerly untreatable illnesses, but a hefty price tag could ensure that they only remained available to those able to pay for them privately.

  I dismissed that depressing thought from my mind. At least Shay had stopped kicking himself for no reason. Prying into someone’s medical records wasn’t something we did lightly, especially without sufficiently good reason.

  Our number one priority was still finding Anthony, but that wasn’t the only reason I wanted to find Nicholas now. Wherever he was, I really hoped he was okay.

  By the time we got back to the station, Chloe had emailed me the promised list of names
and contact numbers. Closest friends, an aunt down the coast in Dornoch, a paternal cousin at St Andrews and another working in Edinburgh. No parents or grandparents, though. I knew from my earlier reading that Nick and Chloe had lost both of their parents in a car accident five years ago. He’d been his sister’s legal guardian for over a year after that until she’d turned eighteen. I sent the list to Philips to divide up and asked Caitlin to get on to family liaison whilst I called the missing persons coordinator.

  “Email me the details as soon as you can, please,” she asked me once I’d explained the situation.

  “I will. And we’ll let you know immediately if we have any luck with the calls we’re making.”

  “Aye, we’d appreciate that. Include your list, please, so we don’t reach out to the same people ourselves.” By the time I got off the phone, Mills was hovering in the doorway.

  “Just a head’s up, Sir. I just sent you both a new photo file. More pictures from Harpers. We were just about to look through it ourselves when you got in.”

  “I’ll look at it now, thanks,” Shay told him without looking up.

  “Thank you, Mills.” I could already hear the other three busy on the phones out there. Message delivered, Darren was quick to close the door and go to join them. I set about compiling the requested email and attached a couple of information files, including a good photograph of Nicholas, before sending it off.

  “Any sign of Anthony in the new photos?” I asked, glancing across to Shay’s screen where one little window in the top corner showed a flickering, heavily pixelated blur. He clicked a tab, bringing up a fullscreen photograph. A group of four smiling faces posing for the camera, none of them anyone I remembered seeing before, just two middle-aged couples. He zoomed in on the background, where a good dozen people standing around the bar had been caught in the shot. He pointed to an out of focus, poorly lighted figure carrying a drinks tray, head turned towards the camera.