The Pretender's Gold

by Scott Mariani

  ‘I don’t think that’s likely. We hit him pretty hard. He’s got something called an epidural haematoma. Bleeding on the brain. They’re operating on him even as we speak. Chances are, if he ever does wake up he’ll be a drooling vegetable, sucking on a tube for the rest of his life.’

  ‘You’d better hope you’re right about that. Because you’ve got just as much to lose as I have if he suddenly remembers who worked him over and starts blabbing. Next thing the trail leads back to me.’

  ‘That would never happen.’

  ‘Damn right it won’t. I want you to keep a close watch on things there at the hospital. If Ewan McCulloch so much as bats an eyelid or twitches a finger, I want to know about it. And then I’ll expect you to finish what you started. We’re not taking any chances here.’

  ‘Killing a man inside a hospital, that won’t be easy. Not with doctors and nurses coming and going twenty-four-seven.’

  ‘Don’t you watch the news? Medical staff kill patients all the time. If the National Health Service’s finest can do it, you can do it. I don’t care how it’s done. I just want him permanently out of the picture. Whatever it takes. Understand?’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘That’s wonderful to hear. Now stop wasting my time, and don’t ever screw things up again. Not while you’re working for me. Or you’ll end up in a lot worse state than Ewan bloody McCulloch.’

  Chapter 8

  Boonzie left Belford Hospital with the dreadful image of Ewan, lying crumpled and shrivelled in bed covered with tubes and hooked up to machines, deeply imprinted on his mind. Dr Fraser hadn’t permitted him into the intensive care isolation unit and strictly allowed him only a few moments to peer through the thick glass window at his nephew inside.

  A few moments were enough. He contained his rage as he walked outside into the windy, rain-slicked car park. Looking around for Duncan Laurie’s taxicab, he saw it was gone. The guy had obviously got tired of waiting.

  The time was approaching midday. Boonzie’s body told him he was hungry but he wasn’t interested. He was thinking about his next move, and that he’d need to rustle up some form of transport of his own, when someone called his name from behind. ‘Mr McCulloch? Hold on a minute. Can I talk to you?’

  He turned to see a woman emerge from the hospital entrance and hurry over to him. He guessed she was in her early or mid-thirties. She was wearing jeans and a rain jacket, and the cold wind blew her long dark hair in streams across her face as she approached. She brushed it away. Boonzie could see she was upset. He had no idea who she was, or how she knew his name.

  ‘I’m Boonzie McCulloch,’ he said. ‘How can I help ye, lassie?’ When you got to Boonzie’s age, everyone younger than forty-five was a lassie or a laddie.

  She introduced herself as Grace Kirk and said she was a friend of Ewan’s. ‘I came to see him, but they wouldn’t let me. They told me his uncle was here visiting. Family members only.’

  ‘There’s nae much tae see, lassie,’ Boonzie said gravely. ‘He’s in a bad way.’

  ‘Is he … will he …?’

  ‘He’s alive. Whether he stays that way, or whether he’ll have any kind of a life after this, is anybody’s guess. Dr Fraser seems tae know what she’s doing. I trust her.’ That was a big thing to say, coming from Boonzie McCulloch.

  Grace buried her face in her hands. ‘Oh, God.’ She fought with her emotions for a moment or two. When she looked up, her eyes were moist and pink. ‘I can’t believe something like this could happen to him.’

  ‘I need tae go and talk tae the police,’ Boonzie said. ‘Do ye know where the station is?’

  ‘I do. I work there.’

  ‘Ye’re a policewoman?’ Boonzie thought she didn’t look the type, but then again, what did he know?

  She nodded. ‘I’m off duty at the moment, but my shift starts in an hour. Now they won’t let me see Ewan, I was about to head back there. You could follow me in your car.’

  ‘If I had one, I would.’

  ‘Then why don’t I give you a lift?’

  Grace drove an ancient green Land Rover that was speckled with mud on the outside and as crudely minimalistic as a motor vehicle could be on the inside. ‘I’m afraid it’s not exactly luxury,’ she said as they climbed aboard.

  Boonzie liked it. ‘The hours I’ve spent in these things. Takes me back, I can tell ye.’

  She understood. ‘Military?’

  ‘Aye, long time ago. I live in Italy noo.’

  ‘Nice place to retire to.’

  ‘Retire? Me? Not on yer life.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I thought—’

  ‘Ye thought I was old.’ Maybe I am, he reflected.

  ‘I apologise. What do you do?’

  ‘Grow tomatoes,’ he replied, then changed the subject. ‘So I take it ye’re no one of the officers looking intae what happened to Ewan?’

  ‘I’m too close to it,’ she replied wistfully. ‘They wouldn’t have me on the case, knowing we were friends. Plus, I’m only a constable. DI Macleod and DS Coull are leading the investigation.’

  ‘That’d be who I need tae talk tae, then.’ He looked at her. ‘So you and Ewan must know each other pretty well?’

  ‘Once upon a time,’ she replied, a little evasively. ‘I’ve only just come back to this area after working away down in Glasgow for a few years.’

  ‘That’s where I’m from. Born and bred.’

  She flashed a sad smile. ‘No kidding? I never would’ve guessed.’ Then the smile was gone again, like a ray of sunshine swallowed up behind fast-moving clouds. ‘This place is heaven to me. I can’t believe something like this could happen here. Especially not to someone like Ewan.’

  ‘Aye, well, it did.’

  When they got to the police station, Grace led Boonzie inside and before long he was being shown into an interview room with the two officers in charge of the investigation, who introduced themselves as DI Fergus Macleod and DS Jim Coull. Boonzie thought that a Detective Inspector and a Detective Sergeant were a lot of horsepower to allocate to a simple assault and battery case, albeit a serious one. They invited him to sit, but Boonzie had done enough sitting on his journey to Scotland to last him a while, and remained standing. Grace hovered in the background, still out of uniform, while the detectives ran through their standard patter with Boonzie, designed to placate and reassure and instil trust, using phrases like ‘bring to justice’ and ‘leave no stone unturned’.

  Boonzie cut to the chase with, ‘So do ye have any suspects yet?’

  ‘Not at this time, Mr McCulloch. It’s still very early days.’

  ‘Seems tae me ye’re looking at two related crimes,’ Boonzie said. ‘Ewan had reason tae believe that what happened tae his business partner Ross Campbell was nae accident. Now someone’s oot tae get him, too.’

  ‘We know about your nephew’s suspicions regarding Mr Campbell’s death,’ Coull said. ‘He was here two days ago, telling us the whole story. I should say it was quite a tale. Something about a salmon poacher working the loch at the time of the alleged incident. Also about some gold coins that were in Mr Campbell’s possession.’ Coull added the last part with a raised eyebrow and an expectant tone.

  Ewan’s visit to Fort William police station was news to Boonzie. The gold coins were even more so. He said nothing for a moment as he wondered why Ewan hadn’t mentioned them. It could all have happened since they’d last spoken, while Boonzie was attending to certain matters before setting off.

  ‘I gather you and he have been in contact,’ Macleod said. ‘Just out of interest, he didn’t happen to mention anything about the coins to you, did he? Such as, where exactly Mr Campbell might have found them?’

  It sounded to Boonzie as though the cops were fishing for particular information here, though he had no idea what or why. ‘No, it’s the first I’ve heard o’ it. What’ve gold coins got to do with this?’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s a police matter,’ Macleod said, clamping on the lid wit
h something that looked a little too much like a satisfied smile. ‘Concerning a separate investigation.’

  Thirty-three years in the military, twenty-six of them as an NCO climbing up the ranks of the British Army’s most elite regiment, had honed Boonzie’s skill at reading people. Neither Macleod nor Coull was making a good impression on him. He sensed they were holding back. He didn’t like being kept in the dark.

  ‘A separate investigation? So ye’re saying ye dinnae see these two cases as connected?’

  ‘Again, it’s too early to say, Mr McCulloch,’ Coull replied in a smarmy, condescending tone that made the bristles on the back of Boonzie’s neck prickle even more. Coull added, ‘And as we’re not generally in the habit of divulging the details of our ongoing police investigations to the public, might I suggest that you go home and let us take care of it? Rest assured, we’ll find the men who did this.’

  Boonzie grunted. ‘Aye, we’ve heard that shite before.’

  Macleod said sharply, ‘Meaning what?’

  ‘Meaning that I havnae come all the way here from Italy tae be given the brush-off, while my nephew’s lyin’ in a hospital bed wi’ a face like raw minced steak an’ a stoved-in heid he might never recover from. Ye’ve had two long days tae investigate what Ewan told ye aboot the poacher, and it seems tae me as though ye’ve done bugger all but sit on yer big fat arse’ – pointing first at Macleod, then swivelling his accusatory finger like a turret-mounted fifty-cal Browning to aim at Coull – ‘and yer wee scrawny arse.’

  With the cops momentarily too stunned and outraged to utter a reply, Boonzie glowered at them both with steely disapproval and added, ‘There’s more tae this than meets the eye, and if the police cannae be bothered tae find out what, then I damn well will.’

  Standing in the background, Grace Kirk hadn’t spoken a word. Boonzie thought he saw a flicker of amusement curl her lip, but then she quickly suppressed it.

  There were no such smiles from the two detectives. Macleod was the first to bounce back. ‘You’re not showing a lot of respect for officers of the law, Mr McCulloch.’

  ‘Ye get what ye’re due, son. Nae mair, nae less.’

  ‘I hope you’re not getting ideas about pursuing any sort of private citizen’s inquiry,’ Coull said, with cheeks flushed the colour of cheap wine. ‘The police take a very dim view of that kind of thing.’

  ‘Then ye’d best stay oot ma road,’ Boonzie grated. ‘There’s nae room for amateurs in this kind of business.’

  ‘You’re warned, McCulloch!’ Macleod stood up aggressively from his chair. He was four inches taller and considerably wider than Boonzie, and was all hard-eyed and tensed up like a silverback gorilla ready to attack. It was a display of intimidation most men would have shrunk away from, but Boonzie did not shrink away. He stared at Macleod, calm and cold, and kept staring until the cop seemed to deflate and sat down again without another word.

  At which point, the discussion was over. ‘I’m sorry, lassie,’ Boonzie said to Grace, and walked out of the room.

  Chapter 9

  Grace caught up with him again in a quiet corridor as he made his way back towards the station reception. Boonzie said, ‘I suppose ye’re gonnae give me a hard time for what happened in there.’

  She shook her head, more in disbelief than in disagreement, and despite all the sadness of the moment he saw the same twinkle of mirth on her face as she’d tried to mask in the interview room. ‘Honestly, Mr McCulloch. What a way to speak to my superiors. Big fat arse and wee scrawny arse?’

  ‘Didnae take it too well, did they?’

  ‘You tell it like you see it, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Is there any other way?’

  ‘What was all that stuff about a salmon poacher? I didn’t understand.’

  Boonzie was often slow to trust people, but he got a good feeling about Grace Kirk. He briefly ran through what Ewan had told him about the strange phone call he’d received the evening of Ross’s funeral.

  ‘Do you think it’s true?’ she asked, deeply perplexed.

  ‘Ewan’s nae liar.’

  ‘But was the poacher telling the truth? What if it was just a stupid hoax? Some idiot calling to stir things up?’

  ‘I dinnae think so. Ewan thought he knew him.’

  Grace stared at Boonzie. ‘Knew him? From where? Who is this person?’

  ‘Ewan couldnae place the name,’ Boonzie said. ‘All we know is, the poacher is someone with a secret. Who needed tae get it off his chest and warn Ewan tae watch his back.’

  She shook her head in disbelief. ‘The whole thing is insane. This is Kinlochardaich. Murders don’t happen here.’

  ‘Until the day they do,’ Boonzie replied.

  ‘And what’s with the gold coins? I didn’t understand that part either.’

  ‘Nor me, hen. Ewan never mentioned anything.’

  ‘I don’t like this one bit. Please. I’m asking you. Won’t you just go home and let the police handle this situation?’

  Boonzie’s face hardened like granite. He replied, ‘I came here tae help Ewan. It’s too late for that. But I’m no leavin’ until I find the people who did this.’

  Grace could see that no force on earth could change his mind. She paused, glanced over her shoulder as though to check nobody was watching, then quickly took a slip of paper from her pocket and pressed it into his hand. It was a grocery receipt, on the back of which she’d scribbled a phone number.

  ‘That’s my personal mobile. Will you call me if you need anything?’

  Boonzie said, ‘Like what?’

  She flushed slightly, shrugged. ‘Ewan and I … we were close once, a long time ago. We weren’t much more than kids back then. Anyway, he often used to talk about you. Said you were like a father to him. After what’s happened I just thought – just between you and me, you know? – that if there’s anything I can do to help …’

  Boonzie was touched by her words. It didn’t surprise him to hear that she and his nephew had known each other better than she’d let on at first. He didn’t miss a lot, and had noticed the way she talked about Ewan. He also got the impression that she wasn’t overly impressed at the way her provincial cop colleagues were handling the case. But he kept all that to himself and replied simply, ‘That’s very kind of you, lassie. I appreciate it.’

  ‘Just please, don’t go poking around too much.’

  ‘Because of what those clowns Macleod and Coull might think?’

  ‘No, because you seem like a nice man, and there are obviously some nasty characters about, and I wouldn’t like to think of you getting hurt. There’s been far too much of that already.’

  He smiled. ‘I’ve come across a few nasty characters in my time, and I’m still here. Dinnae you worry aboot me, lassie.’

  A door swung open and a pair of uniformed officers stepped through it, talking. One of them smiled at Grace. The other just looked, then glanced at Boonzie. Grace said, ‘I’d best get ready for my shift. Where are you headed now?’

  ‘Back tae Kinlochardaich.’

  ‘Will you be okay? Not many buses go out that way.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘You take care, all right?’

  Boonzie thanked her again, and watched her hurry off. He was a straight-ahead kind of man who either liked people or he didn’t, and he’d decided that Grace Kirk was one of the good ones.

  She’d been right about the buses, too. It was nearly two hours before Boonzie finally got back to the village. On his way out of the police station he’d stopped at the reception desk and, as next of kin, been given an envelope containing some personal effects Ewan had had on him when they’d brought him in. There wasn’t much: wallet, loose change, keys. No phone. Boonzie guessed that the detectives were hanging onto that, for what it was worth.

  As he unlocked Ewan’s front door to let himself inside, it felt wrong to be here alone. Boonzie wanted his presence to make as little impact as possible on his nephew’s home. If he had to stay
here a few days, he’d kip on the sofa rather than use a bedroom, and wouldn’t use the kitchen. Boonzie had been trained to sleep rough, live off the land and leave no trace of his passing, and spent many years instilling those same skills into others. Old habits died hard.

  But the moment he stepped inside the house, such thoughts were forgotten as he saw the obvious signs that someone else had been here. Someone not as worried about disrupting the place.

  Ewan’s house had been completely turned over.

  Chapter 10

  Boonzie had seen burglaries before and knew immediately this was something different. Whoever had broken in had been searching for something. Drawers had been rifled, sofa cushions slashed and the stuffing pulled out. Even the carpets had been pulled up as though someone wanted to check the floorboards. It was a mess. This had been the work of more than a single intruder. More likely two or three, working in tandem to ransack the place and get out fast.

  Boonzie soon found the intruders’ entry point, a broken utility room window in the rear, overlooking a weedy yard filled with bins, junk and a parked camper van. Access was through a lane that cut between the backs of the houses. The intruders had reached through the smashed glass to open the window and climb in. He secured the window shut and then returned to the main rooms, where most of the damage was, to look for any clues.

  Ewan had used the small dining area off the living room as a basic home office, with a little workstation desk against one wall. Boonzie noticed the empty space on the desk, a rectangle of dust where something had been removed. There was a printer and scanner, a nest of tangled wires, a pair of disconnected computer speakers and a monitor screen, but the computer itself was missing. The intruders had taken it. But who were they, and what had they been looking for?

  Boonzie considered reporting this new development to the police, then changed his mind. Why complicate matters, especially with those two useless idiots in charge of the case? He already knew what he had to do, and they’d only get in his way.

  Saddened by the state of the place, he set about tidying up as best he could. As he worked he found a balled-up piece of notepaper lying in the corner behind a wastepaper basket. Uncrumpling it to see what it was, he found that it was covered in handwriting he recognised as Ewan’s.