by G R Jordan
“Sir?” questioned Hope.
“Carol Hewitt, Sara’s mother died while on holiday after she took off from her partner without notice. I thought I’d make sure that story was accurate and as of now I cannot collaborate the story at all. We’ve been checking the tour company and no one remembers a death or a funeral out there at that time. A former colleague who ran the small investigation into this also believed that Carol was a rather promiscuous individual and was involved with others. I’m beginning to think the past has a lot more to do with this.”
“The men,” said Hope, “you’re thinking that Sara might have been doing some investigating in her own way about this. That would explain why she changed her tune with her stepdad. But what did she know? What got her killed?”
Macleod shrugged his shoulders. “Did she find the truth? Or was she just too close for comfort? Either way, we need Macaulay and Smith as there’s too many questions left that I need answers for. And I think they can give me those answers.”
Hope slipped off the edge of the desk she was sitting on. “Key thing is to find our girl first before whoever gets to her. I’m going to run over to her house again, in case we missed anything. Where is she hiding? After all she’s been off radar in a place like this.”
Macleod smiled. Hope’s sudden perking up was good news, and he was not going to curb her ideas. “Good. Let me know if you find anything.”
He watched her turn and walk off and realised Allinson was watching her too. A wave of tiredness swept over Macleod and he found himself just staring at Hope leaving. Her figure was certainly pleasing but there was something else as well. Well, everything’s bound to be scrambled up in my head with all that’s happening, he thought. But he did not stop staring until he saw her turn the corner out of the investigation room.
Wearily, Macleod turned back to the team in the investigation room. They were buzzing away on different jobs, a hive of activity, and a prime example for himself. But he was feeling bruised and battered. Sleep had not been plentiful in recent days and the bruising from the scrap in the castle grounds was telling on him. Unlike Hope, he seemed to feel the damage a lot more. But then she was young and he was past his prime. At least physically.
Standing at a wall which housed the photo board from the investigation, Macleod gave the impression he was standing and staring in deep thought. As long as the rest of the team believed this he could take a break. His eyes did not see the pictures before him and his only real sensation was when he felt the warm liquid of the coffee run down his throat.
Although his eyes were not registering anything, his mind was on a long sandy beach watching a woman enter such perfectly clear water. Running away from him, she splashed into the water only to shriek and then turn and run back toward him. His eyes swept her bikini clad body, before he ran forward and swept her up in his arms, charging back into the surf and throwing both of them under the water. Rising up he looked into the eyes of the woman he was holding and spoke two words.
Luskentyre beach had been where she had said yes. Maybe he needed to get to a better memory. When this was all over he would take a few days and try and piece back some happier times on the islands.
“Sir, we believe Marie Smith may have hired a van. One of the team was checking through and the clerk at the car hire said it was last minute and matched her description. However the name’s wrong. They are sending over a scan of her signature that we can match to some council paperwork to see if it’s accurate.”
“Good work, Allinson. But where is she going to go? And who for?” asked Macleod. It was clear that Marie Smith and Macaulay were the main players in this game but how it all fitted was just beyond him. His mobile vibrated in his pocket. From habit he looked at the number but it meant nothing.
“Macleod?”
“Sir, it’s Hope. I’ve been looking through the young woman’s stuff and there’s a photo album here with a lot of pictures of Sara. She’s in a den of some sort with green vegetation around it. I’d don’t recognise any of it but I’m going to bring it back. One thing I do see in it is that she has a sort of keepsake box. In a few photos her lover has it.”
“Where was the photo album?” asked Macleod.
“Stored away, sir. But not in the sense of being archived as the access to it had been opened recently and it was separate to the other photo albums. Seems they liked their pictures.”
“Get back here with it. Maybe Allinson and the team can tell us where it’s from.”
“On my way but there’s something else, sir. At the rear of the album there’s pictures of a lot of men. I recognise three of them, Macaulay, Youngs and Fraser. There’s also Marie Smith. I’m sure the photos are from the upstairs at the massage parlour. There’s nothing candid about them but the subjects look unaware.”
Macleod waved a hand at Allinson who was talking to a colleague across the room. “Okay, McGrath, get back over here.” Closing the call on the mobile, Macleod looked up to see Allinson arrive before him.
“McGrath’s found some pictures of a possible location for our young woman. I want your best people for knowing your locations and get them in a room. Where she returns, I’ll get McGrath to show them all the photos, and then I need a place. This may be what we need to understand what’s going on. So get me your best, Allinson.”
Allinson smiled, “Yes, sir.” With a bounce in his step he set off to talk to different people in the room and Macleod watched his renewed vigour. He should have been feeling this pick-up himself but inside he was still thinking of Luskentyre. It started at the water and at the water it ended. It dawned on him that since leaving the island for Glasgow he had never gone to the beach. Maybe he should have because for years her body, poorly covered by her bikini, in the cold water had never come to mind.
Chapter 23
Macleod waited outside the rear entrance to the station, taking in some fresh air, glad to step out from the stuffy rooms inside. Sometimes it was hard to concentrate when the rooms got hot, an issue caused by the sheer amount of people working hard in a small space. But the industry shown was pleasing to him. It would not be a lack of effort that let this investigation down.
The door behind him opened and Allinson drew up to his shoulder. The man’s tie was now loosened and his top collar button undone. There was an impatience in the man, a need to get going which pleased Macleod. You never quite knew how more remote stations would be, or what resources they really had. But then again, Stornoway was hardly a village, a population of at least ten thousand in the town and surrounding area, over twenty thousand in the Outer Hebrides. And things seemed to be changing here, despite his memories.
“She should be here any minute, sir. I have them assembled in the annex room, maps and paper, ready to go,” said Allinson. Macleod noticed he was hoping from foot to foot, not in an exaggerated form but he was doing it. Maybe he should go in and give the team a pep talk before they looked at the pictures. No, they know what to do. And what would he say? Look carefully? Rack your brains? No, they knew this was important, a good shot at catching up with the missing woman. Let them work.
“You’ve done well, Allinson, been a great help. But let’s get this closed.”
“Of course, sir. And thank you. Been good working with you. And with McGrath also, be sorry to see you go.”
It was the right thing to say but Macleod could tell who he was really sorry to see leave. But Hope was proving more complex than he had initially thought. The reputation did not match the woman, or at least not in the way he thought it would. You would have thought as a detective he might have guessed that.
The unmarked car drove into the car park and stopped in an empty bay. A long leg in jeans emerged followed by a loose blouse and then the swinging red ponytail. As Hope walked towards them, Macleod realised that the men were both staring, like a pair of dogs waiting for their master. Time to show a bit of professionalism.
“Well done, McGrath, let’s see them.”
Hope handed
over an envelope, and Macleod took out the photos inside, flicking through them quickly. There were close ups of men in the upper room, Marie Smith too. And there were other locations, or maybe it was the same one. But Sara showed in these, stretched out, or sitting up smiling. The whole feel of the photos changed from a feel of evidence to that of a lover’s record as the scenery changed. Sara had certainly been a looker. And she had used those looks to draw in so many.
Macleod handed the pictures to Allinson. “Go.” As Hope went to follow Allinson, Macleod placed a hand on her arm stopping her. “Wait a moment.”
“Sir?”
“How are you doing?” asked Macleod.
“It helps to stay busy. My jaw is stinging, hurts when I chew and I swear I have new bruises I didn’t know about.” Hope forced a smile.
“I meant upstairs. The incident at Ness. I saw something similar in Glasgow but I was a few minutes behind. The man had already gone under and we never saw him for two months when he suddenly washed up. It’s hard with no resolution, no understanding.”
“Yeah, it is. But I need to work. When we’re done, I’ll get on a plane, find a beach in the sun and get my bikini on and soak up some rays, and then let it all drift away with some ridiculous sized cocktail. You should join me, looking at you.”
Macleod laughed. “I don’t do summer shorts well.” But it would be so nice, he thought.
“Yeah, maybe not,” said Hope. She walked inside and Macleod was left looking at the quiet car park.
I haven’t had a holiday since she left me, either. Maybe that’s what I need, some time away, some beach with a set of stupid looking shorts, some sun and someone like Hope to talk to and look at. Would that be so wrong, God? Let these guys find something before it’s too late.
Following his team inside, Macleod stood at the door of the annexe, watching the feverish activities of the people inside. Allinson had separated the photos and had placed all those being pictures of Sara and her lover to one end of the table. At the other end pictures of the people who had been in the upstairs room were being identified.
Allinson watched Hope slide in amongst the team, casting a cautious eye across proceedings. There was excitement and questions flying back and forth about possible locations. Magnifying glasses were being used on some photos to try and spot anything in the background that could be something. A couple of computers were at the edge of the room, set on freely available mapping systems from the internet and one policeman was already finding a road and then getting the local image to try and tally it to a photograph.
Macleod watched the man shake his head and knew how he felt. So much of police work was a dead end. It was like an endurance test, piecing things together and then when you did, it turns out it has nothing to do with anything and you pick up the next strand. But he had a good feeling about this. Which in truth meant, he had no other options other than a needle being found from the roadside questioning still going on.
After twenty minutes of standing and watching, Macleod left the room and instead entered the investigation room. The room was quieter than usual but was still over half full. His arrival meant heads popped up over computers and he got several nods to acknowledge his presence. He smiled back but noticed one young policewoman was intense on the telephone. When she hung up the call, she waved Macleod over.
“That was the Coastguard, sir. There’s been a body washed up on rocks at Ness. It’s McKinney, sir. Positive I.D. from one of the Coastguards who knew him. We are getting the formalities done but it’s him.”
Macleod nodded and thanked the policewoman. Although he knew it was coming, the finality of finding a body after someone was already believed dead still gave him a jolt. It was like he could never believe and always sought that final chance that an escape was made. But it never was.
Another voice called him and he was directed to an office to take a telephone call from his boss in Glasgow. He always found her honest and straight, which is why he managed to accept her being so high up the organisation. Her mind was never that great when it came to detective work but then again that was not her role now. She did not get involved in the nitty gritty of crime but rather looked with a different view, dealing with the statistics, the budgets and the public perceptions.
“So, this is touch and go, Macleod. Do you need any more resources?”
“No, Ma’am. I doubt that by the time they get here they will be of any use. We need to know where to search. This will be one by brainwork rather than footwork.”
“Have you given any press briefings? I saw Allinson giving general statements but none from you.”
Macleod hated press briefings but they had to be done. Unless of course you looked like you had been kicked to pieces such as Hope and himself looked at the moment.
“I’m a little worse for wear after getting a beating when we rendezvoused with the woman. McGrath looks worse. She’s going to need some recovery when we’re done. She saw the man at Ness go down. It’s right there with her but she’s keeping going with the investigation. Once we’re done it’ll all flood back at her.”
His boss continued and Macleod discussed about when the press would be briefed of what and if it was worth putting out calls. When he had hung up, he returned to the investigation room.
“Sir,” called a police woman to him. It was the same one who had been working the angle about Carol Hewitt’s overseas death. “We have the scan of Marie Smith’s council documents and the hire form for the rental van. They are very similar in style. Look,” she said throwing two pieces of paper down before him. “The style is the same though the name’s different. Points to being her.”
“Good, as we thought,” replied Macleod.
“But there’s more, sir. Look at this document from the travel company from when Carol Hewitt died. The signature, sir. It’s the same fluid style. I’d say it’s the same writer. But that’s ridiculous as this is from a travel company.”
“No,” said Macleod, “it’s not ridiculous at all. You just confirmed my suspicions. Get a hand writing expert onto this, just to confirm it properly, but you’re right. Excellent work. Just excellent.”
There was a buzz in Macleod’s step as he returned to the annexe, but inside there was also a dread. If Carol Hewitt was actually disposed of rather than simply died on holiday, then there was a past to hide as well as a present. He needed a place to go to, he needed to know the woman’s hideout.
“Sir,” said Hope as he entered, “we have a possibility. It’s near a loch side and there’s no great access to it.”
“Is it definite?” asked Macleod.
“No, but we believe it’s at least an eighty percent chance of being the place. We’re trusting one of the team’s memories from two years ago but the spot is remote. If you look at this photo and see the slight piece of beach at the edge. Well that coupled with the corner of a rock structure here in this photograph and this hollow, here in this photograph, makes our man believe he knows where it is.”
Macleod struggled to follow the logic and deduction but frankly did not care. After all that was why he had brought them through here, for their local knowledge. “So let’s roll there.”
“That’s the thing, sir. It’s about a three hour walk across moorland. It really is out of the way. We could get a helicopter over to look and see.”
“There’s the Coastguard helicopter up here, try it,” suggested Allinson.
Macleod nodded. The arrival might be noisy but at least if the woman ran they would see her. He told Allinson to contact the Coastguard and then waved Hope over to him. Detailing the findings over the travel company and rental van, Macleod told Hope his theory. “I reckon Carol Hewitt was killed and put aside and I believe Marie Smith was involved in some way. You said Marie Smith preferred women. And she was with Sara, so is it possible that she was also involved with Carol. Back then being outed would have been catastrophic.”
“Possible, said Hope, “but it doesn’t change what we do. Find this si
te, find the woman, and keep her safe.
As they waited for Allinson to come back, Macleod felt a growing dread. McKinney had been pressured to his death, Carol Hewitt seemed to be murdered and her daughter certainly had been. Three killings to cover whatever up. The killer would presumably not stop if they felt threatened.
“The helicopter is away on a job. But I’ve gotten the lifeboat to help. It’s just round the corner, sir, we need to go now,” said Allinson.
“Good,” replied Macleod, “Allinson, get someone to show us the way and a few more. McGrath, you’re with me. Allinson, keep everything running here. And don’t let up on the rental van search, we need to find it and Marie Smith.”
Within ten minutes, Macleod was standing at the door of the lifeboat station and shaking the hand of the cox of the vessel. He was taken inside and kitted up with a life jacket before being led with his team to the range vessel on the pontoons at Stornoway harbour. He had never been on a lifeboat before and was surprised by the size of it and the multitude of screens and controls. After being strapped in at the rear of the front cockpit, he waited for the vessel to depart and they went slow until they cleared Stornoway harbour. The Severn class lifeboat then opened up its engines and Macleod was glad he was strapped in. As they bounced through the waves, a crewman advised Macleod on the location of a sick bag, in case he needed it.
“Don’t worry,” said the man, “there’s no embarrassment, everyone gets sick on here at some point.”
It took over thirty minutes to arrive at the right inlet and then to route along it to the beach in the photographs. The beach itself was obvious, the small sandy cove sticking out from the rocks and moorland behind it. As the vessel bounded towards the land, Macleod found it hard to focus and looked across at Hope who was gripping a stanchion.
