Death Parts Us

by Alex Walters

  ‘Ach, awa’ and boil yer heid, McKay,’ Horton said in a bad Scottish accent.

  ‘By George,’ McKay said, pushing himself to his feet, ‘I think she’s got it. Welcome home, girl.’

  45

  Outside, the rain was falling harder than ever, and McKay scurried to his car, head bent low against the freezing wind. He threw himself into the driving seat and dragged out his phone, thumbing for Helena Grant’s number.

  She answered almost immediately. ‘Grant.’

  The weather at her end sounded even worse than it was in Raigmore, her words muffled by the roar of the wind. ‘Jesus, Helena, where are you?’

  ‘Still up at poxing Munlochy Bay,’ she said. ‘Waiting for the ambulance to come and collect Ally Donald’s body. Thought I might as well send the uniforms on their way so they can go and deal with drunks on Union Street or whatever’s next on their list.’

  ‘It is Donald, then?’

  ‘We’re pretty certain. He’s been in the water a bit, but the ID checks out. Looks like we might have some worrying developments, though. Carrick reckons this one might be more than just murder. Reckons some pain’s been inflicted on the body. Some form of torture.’

  ‘Christ. Where the hell’s this going, then?’

  ‘You tell me. How’s your evening been? And, more importantly, how are Ginny and Isla?’

  ‘Ginny seems fine, and it looks like Isla will be, too, assuming the tests don’t reveal anything unexpected. And my evening’s been – enlightening. Has Ginny ever told you anything about her background?’

  ‘Not really. From somewhere down south, isn’t she?’

  ‘As it turns out, no.’ He repeated what Horton had told him.

  ‘She’s really Scottish? You’re going to have to start treating her with some respect, Alec.’

  ‘Aye, right. And when have I ever treated my fellow Scots with any kind of respect?’

  ‘True enough. So, this stepdad, or whatever he was, was David Kirkland?’

  ‘Ring any bells with you?’

  ‘Vaguely. The one everybody reckoned must be Special Branch or some such. I assumed he’d been sucked back into the mysterious world of spookdom.’

  ‘Turns out he was being an abusive stepdad to our DS Horton,’ McKay said. ‘Who knew? Maybe he was just a fantasist prick after all. Though, given someone had a reason to kill him tonight, maybe not.’

  ‘I suppose he was a member of Galloway’s team as well,’ Grant offered. ‘Notionally, anyway. Maybe this is part of the same deal.’

  ‘He was barely part of Galloway’s team. They stuck him there for the headcount, but I don’t recall him having any operational contact with Galloway. Or much other kind of contact, for that matter.’

  ‘If our killer’s reaching those parts of Galloway’s team, you and I can’t be too much further down the list, Alec.’

  McKay thought back to the hands tightening around his throat a couple of nights earlier. He needed to tell Grant about that, but the moment didn’t seem right. Apart from anything else, if she was stuck out by herself in the wilds of Munlochy Bay, it wouldn’t help to give her another reason to worry. ‘Aye, that thought had occurred to me. I guess we need to take a bit of care.’

  ‘Trust me, Alec, I’m taking as much as I can at the moment.’

  ‘What about Ginny’s father?’ McKay asked, looking to change the subject. ‘Her real father, I mean. This Peter Horton. That name mean anything to you?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Yet, he was supposedly killed in service. You’ve think that would have snagged in the mind.’

  ‘I’d have thought so,’ Grant said. ‘I don’t remember anything like that. You’re sure he was based up here?’

  ‘That was Ginny’s understanding. I suppose, after all these years, she might have got the details wrong or misremembered what her mother said.’

  ‘That’s not usually Ginny’s style. Worth looking into?’

  McKay was silent for a moment. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I mean, I’d say it was Ginny’s business. I can’t see how or why it would have anything to do with what we’re investigating.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘It’s just that something’s telling me that it might.’

  ‘The old copper’s intuition?’

  ‘Aye, and I’m getting to be a very old copper. But you know how it is with these things. You just pull on threads in the hope one of them might lead you somewhere.’

  ‘I’ll look into it myself,’ Grant said. ‘Don’t want to risk setting any hares running where Ginny’s concerned.’

  ‘Thanks for humouring me, hen. Speaking of which, am I off the job again now?’

  ‘Let’s play it by ear, shall we, Alec? I’m trying to look after both our interests. It’s the weekend now, so you don’t need to come in ‘til Monday. Who knows how many corpses we’ll have by then?’

  ‘That’s what I love about you,’ McKay said. ‘Your unbridled sense of optimism.’

  ‘Aye,’ Grant said. ‘It’s part of my Scottish character. You’d better break that news to poor Ginny.’

  Grant finished the call with McKay and sat staring into the windblown night. She’d found a garden chair and made herself as comfortable as she could in the shelter of the unoccupied holiday cottage. Carrick had wrapped the body in a substantial body bag and then, with the help of the two PCs, carried it up out of the rain. So here she was, all alone in the pitch-black night, with nothing but a corpse for company. And people say policing isn’t glamorous, she thought.

  She wondered whether she should have left the two PCs to babysit the body. But they’d both got a full list of call-outs, whereas she was planning to do nothing more than head back for a whisky and a long hot bath. Carrick had offered to wait with her, but she couldn’t see much point in both of them being cold and wet, and as the senior officer present, she felt an obligation to see this through.

  She’d been told the ambulance would be there as soon as possible, but that had been nearly forty-five minutes ago. In the adjoining cottage, she could see the flickering of a television screen. She wondered about asking the Renshaws whether she could shelter inside, but felt reluctant to impose on them any further.

  She wasn’t by nature a nervous person, and she’d faced more than a few hairy moments in her police career. Even so, the conversation with McKay had left her uneasy. It was difficult to imagine why anyone should bear a grudge about her or McKay’s involvement as junior officers in Galloway’s team twenty years before, but whoever was behind this was playing by no normal rules. It felt as if that team, for whatever reason, was being picked off one by one.

  The only reassurance was that, unlike Galloway, Crawford and Graham, she and McKay had never received any threatening letters. But she didn’t know whether Ally Donald or Davey Robertson had received letters either, and both of them had ended up dead. Now Donald’s body had been found, they’d at least have an opportunity to check through his possessions.

  She’d turned off her flashlight to save the battery. The darkness closed in within a few metres, and it was impossible to make out anything other than the bulk of the trees along the shoreline.

  There was no reason to think anyone was out there. No one could have known Donald’s body would be washed up here tonight. No one could have known she’d end up sitting here by herself. Even if someone really was out to get her, she was arguably safer here than in her own home.

  She forced her mind to focus on the case. Five deaths now, at least three of which they knew to be unlawful killings. Galloway’s and Robertson’s were still, in effect, open verdicts, but Galloway’s at least was an unlikely coincidence. As for Robertson’s death a few weeks earlier – well, who knew? The case notes had told her little. Robertson had lived alone, separated from his wife who was living in Inverness. He seemed to have no close friends, but neighbours had thought he seemed anxious and distracted in the weeks before his death. They’d have to do some more digging there, talk to the wi
dow. But without some evidence to link it to the other deaths, it was likely to be a dead end.

  Finally, she saw a glimpse of blue light hazed by the rain and the trees. She hadn’t realised until that moment how tense she’d been feeling. She stepped over to the edge of the decking, holding her flashlight ready for the ambulance’s arrival. The throb of the blue light was growing closer. She assumed they’d turned on the lights to alert her to their arrival.

  The ambulance headlights appeared on the road along the shore. She turned on the flashlight and waved it to attract their attention. As she did so, she glanced down. The land to the right of the cottage was largely grassed over. At this time of the year, it was soddened with rain, patches of mud visible among the grass.

  She held the flashlight steady and directed it back towards the ground, wanting to confirm what she thought she’d seen a second before.

  She was oblivious now to the sound of ambulance pulling up, the shouts of the paramedics as they climbed out.

  Her eyes were fixed on the ground.

  On the trail of clear, apparently new footprints leading from the edge of the veranda away into the darkness.

  46

  They usually served food until around eight-thirty, the pub staying open until eleven. Kelly had finally passed her driving test on the second time of trying and had received an aged handed-down car from her parents as a late Christmas present. It meant she could work the evening shift at the Caledonian Bar, without worrying how to get home. Callum generally let her go a little before closing time, unless they were unusually busy.

  Tonight had been relatively quiet for a Friday, maybe because the weather had closed in. Around eight-fifteen, Callum had poked his head out of the kitchen and said, ‘No sign of anyone else looking to eat?’

  She was feeling uneasy about their earlier exchange, even though nothing had really happened. Nothing more than her own post-adolescent imaginings, a momentary schoolgirl crush. He was a decent-looking man, Callum, but he was hardly her type, even if Maggie hadn’t been in the picture. Kelly might be looking for someone with more maturity than Greg, but not that much more. She forced herself to turn and smile. ‘Doesn’t look like it.’ There was a family finishing eating, but the other occupants of the bar were regulars more interested in the beer than the food.

  ‘Think you can hold the fort for an hour or so?’

  ‘Don’t see why not. Doesn’t look like there’s going to be a sudden rush.’

  ‘Hope it doesn’t stay like this,’ Callum said. ‘We were building trade nicely, but now it’s stalled a bit.’

  ‘It’s still early in the year,’ she said. ‘And rubbish weather. You wait ‘til the season starts. They’ll be queuing outside.’

  ‘I hope you’re right. I’m just popping out for a bit, if you’re sure you can cope. Maggie’s having a lie down. One of her migraines.’

  She thought she detected a slight disapproving emphasis on the last word, as if he were dismissing it as a bad habit that Maggie indulged in.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll be back by ten,’ he said. ‘Then you can get off early, if you like.’

  She’d coped perfectly happily. Callum reappeared just after nine-thirty, looking wet and dishevelled. ‘Cats and dogs out there. Miserable night.’

  ‘Have you been far?’ she said.

  ‘Just to see one of the suppliers. Guy who sells us meat and game. Gets some grand stuff at a good price. Never like to enquire too closely where it comes from.’ He laughed. ‘But he reckons it’s legit. He’s in with the local farmers.’

  Kelly thought was talking a little too quickly, sounding nervous. Maybe he was hiding something, she thought. Maybe he was having an affair. She’d assumed, when she started working here, that Callum and Maggie had the perfect marriage. They always seemed to get on well enough in her presence. But lately, she’d seen the odd crack in that façade. Maybe things weren’t quite as smooth as they appeared on the surface.

  Or maybe, she added to herself, that’s just your own wishful thinking.

  ‘Hope you didn’t get too wet.’

  ‘My own fault,’ he said. ‘Took a jacket without a hood. Got soaked just getting from the car.’

  He joined her behind the bar, though none of the remaining regulars showed much sign of needing another round in the foreseeable future. It was at times like this, despite the refurbished decor, that the place felt most like it had in Denny Gorman’s day. She glanced towards the passageway to the cellars, hoping that none of the barrels would need replacing tonight.

  ‘I meant what I said earlier, you know,’ Callum said.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘About you needing someone to look after you.’

  She turned away, conscious she wanted to avoid his eye. ‘Did you have anyone in mind?’ She’d finally brought herself to say the words and was aware that they sounded on the verge of flirtatious.

  ‘Not really. But you deserve someone decent. Someone with a bit about him. Not like that young toerag the other day.’

  ‘Ach, well. He’s well and truly out of the picture. I guess I’d rather find someone –’

  ‘Someone what?’

  He was standing closer behind her than she’d realised. She turned, flustered. He wasn’t exactly crowding her, but he’d never stood this close before. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, scarcely conscious of what she was saying. ‘Someone a bit more sensible. A bit more mature.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘I –’ She stopped, seeing that Maggie had entered the bar behind him. ‘Oh, hi, Maggie. How are you feeling now?’

  Callum had already turned to face his wife so Kelly was unable to read his expression. ‘Oh, you’ve risen. How’s the head?’

  Maggie was regarding them both curiously. ‘Not so bad,’ she said. ‘I can usually shake them off as long as I can get some rest. Thanks for looking after the place.’

  ‘No problem,’ Kelly said. ‘It’s been pretty quiet.’

  ‘I was telling Kelly she should get off early,’ Callum said. ‘It’s pouring down out there.’

  ‘Don’t suppose you could get me a coffee, Callum,’ Maggie said. ‘I need something to get my brain into gear again.’

  ‘Aye, of course.’

  Maggie watched as he disappeared into the kitchen, then turned to Kelly. ‘Was that him up to his old tricks again?’

  ‘I don’t know what –’

  ‘Don’t worry, Kelly. I’m not blaming you. I know you’re not leading him on. If you were, you wouldn’t be still working here. You’re a decent kid. I just know what he’s like.’

  Kelly could think of nothing to say. She was feeling – well, her age, she supposed. Smart as she might be, she knew she was little more than a kid. More than vulnerable to being exploited by someone better versed in the ways of the world. Her first feeling was embarrassment, but her second was anger, though she couldn’t have said whether it was directed at Callum or at Maggie. ‘He hasn’t tried anything on,’ she said finally. ‘Really.’

  ‘He will,’ Maggie said. ‘I can see the way his mind’s working. Except it’s not his mind that’s mainly in charge. And when he does, don’t be fooled. Tell him to bugger off, and then, tell me.’

  ‘I –’

  ‘Don’t trust him, Kelly. If you’re not careful, he’ll tell you night is day, and you’ll end up believing him. Now, get off home for the night, and we’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Kelly nodded, conscious she was on the verge of tears. She turned, grabbed her coat, and made her way out into the night.

  47

  This isn’t me, Helena Grant thought. I don’t get nervous. I don’t get scared. Not like this. Not after all these years.

  She was clutching the steering wheel tightly, head forward, staring out into the rain. She must be almost back up to the main road by now, but an anxious part of her was still expecting that the car would stick, wheels spinning vainly in the sodden ground. The last thing she wan
ted was to be stranded out here tonight.

  She saw the glow of a street light up ahead and realised she was at the junction. Relieved, she paused to turn left on to the main road back towards home.

  It was only then she admitted to herself that she didn’t want to do it. That she was afraid to go home. That if someone really had been watching her tonight, that person almost certainly knew where she lived.

  She turned right instead, heading further down the Black Isle towards Fortrose. She reached over, flicked through her phone’s address book and dialled the number.

  ‘Alec?’

  ‘Helena? You okay?’

  ‘Aye, I’m fine. Well, fine-ish.’

  ‘Thought you’d have had enough of my blethering for one night.’

  ‘Actually, I was wondering if you were still up to receiving visitors at your palatial new residence.’

  ‘Tonight? Aye, well, I’ll have to tell all the other guests at my Friday night soirée to clear out, but I don’t suppose Nicola and Alex will be too offended. Don’t know about Ruth and Kezia, though. They look settled in for the night. Where are you exactly?’

  ‘Not far,’ she said. ‘Just past Munlochy.’

  ‘My door’s always open to you, hen. You know that.’

  ‘See you in ten minutes then,’ she said, when he’d told her how to find the place.

  ‘The kettle will be singing on the hob for you,’ McKay said, then added for the avoidance of doubt, ‘Metaphorically speaking, that is.’

  The rain had slowed by the time she reached McKay’s bungalow, though there was still a fine drizzle misting the street lights. McKay had heard the car and was standing in the doorway.

  ‘You must be freezing,’ he said, bustling her in. ‘You definitely drew the short straw tonight.’

  She followed him through into the living room. ‘You weren’t kidding about the shabby and soulless bit, were you?’ she said.

  ‘Ach, I’m warming to the place.’