by Alex Walters
‘That’s what we’re trying to ascertain, sir. Would it be possible to go inside?’
‘Yes. Of course.’ He led them through the half-open front door. ‘Can I get you some tea? My wife’s out at the moment, but –’
‘That’s fine, sir. Thank you. I won’t keep you long, I hope. We’re just trying to speak with those who saw Mr Graham yesterday evening.’ She paused as Craig led them through to the living room. It was a blaze of tartans, the pattern on the sofa clashing violently with that in the carpet. A stag’s head, apparently real, stared blankly down at her from over the fireplace. ‘Mr Graham’s body was found this morning just inside the entrance to Fairy Glen. We’re trying to understand the circumstances of his death.’
Craig blinked, clearly struggling to absorb this information. ‘Was he taken ill?’
‘We don’t know yet, sir. There’ll be a post-mortem to help us determine the cause of death. Did he seem well when you last saw him?’
‘As far as I’m aware. Just his usual self. Though, he’d perhaps had one or two too many.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well, he accosted this poor chap having a meal. Seemed to think he was a journalist. But it turned out they knew each other. Well, sort of. Both in your line of work.’ He frowned, and Horton could tell he was already thinking through the possible implications of what he’d just said.
‘So we understand, sir.’
‘Seemed a bit of needle between them. Not aggressive but a little tense. Rob went out for a smoke, and this chap went with him for a chat.’
‘Did Mr Graham return to the bar?’
‘No. We were a bit surprised. Seemed a bit rude, really.’
‘And you saw no more of him?’
‘Nothing. We left shortly afterwards, but there was no sign of him. We assumed he’d just headed off home. As I say, he’d seemed a little the worse for wear.’ Craig hesitated. ‘But then, he often was, if you know what I mean.’
‘Do you think he might have been sufficiently drunk to be a danger to himself?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ Craig said. ‘He could hold his drink. He was a bit unsteady, but I’ve never really seen him really drunk.’
Horton suspected that Craig’s definition of “really drunk” might be different from her own. ‘Is there any reason he might have gone into Fairy Glen?’
‘Not that I’m aware of. I suppose he might have just gone in there to take a – to relieve himself. I can’t think of any other reason. His house is the other direction.’
‘Was there anything else unusual about Mr Graham’s behaviour last night?’
‘Apart from accusing your colleague of being a journalist? No, I don’t think so. Wife was away for the night, which always made him more chipper. Cat’s away, and all that.’
‘Is it possible he had other plans for last night? After he left the bar, I mean.’
Craig frowned. ‘You think old Robbie might have had a bit on the side? Well, it’s possible, I suppose. I never saw any sign of it, but then, I wouldn’t necessarily. He was a pub buddy, mainly. Didn’t know much about his private life.’
‘We’ve no reason to think that, Mr Craig. But we have to explore every possibility.’
‘Well, as I say, anything’s possible. But I’m afraid I can’t help you on that front.’
Horton supposed that, if Graham really had been murdered, then Craig was another potential suspect. But he and Kenny Wallace had both left the bar about half an hour after Graham had made his exit, and had walked back together along the high street. They’d each no doubt be able to vouch for the other, and as things stood, there was no good reason to question their account.
She said her farewells to Craig and drove back down to the waterfront to find Kenny Wallace’s house. It was just gone five-thirty, and she half expected he’d still be at work, but she could at least leave a message for him to call her. Wallace’s house was a few doors along from the Grahams’, although that was hardly a major coincidence in a village as small as this. It was a recently built bungalow, with wooden decking to the front and sides and panoramic windows giving a view out across the bay. There was a newish Audi parked out front.
The door was answered by a harassed-looking woman, the sounds of shouting children rising behind her. She looked as if she’d made an effort to appear smart but events had somehow caught up with her. She blinked at Horton through a slightly over long blonde fringe, a disappointed expression on her face. ‘Oh, Christ,’ she said. ‘I was hoping you were a mother.’
For a moment, Horton was bemused by this apparent comment on her maternal status. Then, the woman jerked a thumb behind her and added, ‘One of their mothers, I mean. I was hoping you’d come early.’
‘Mrs Wallace?’ Horton held out her warrant card.
‘Jesus, what now?’
‘It’s really your husband I needed to speak to.’ The screams of children were growing louder inside the house. ‘Is he available?’
‘He’s hiding somewhere, the bastard. I don’t blame him, but he might at least have let me hide in there with him. You’d better come in while I track him down.’
As Horton followed Mrs Wallace into the house, the source of the noise became apparent. A host of small children were racing up and down the hallway, some carrying balloons and toys. Through the kitchen door at the far end, Horton could see a table laden with the remains of a birthday party tea – bowls of crisps, half-empty plates of sandwiches, an as-yet-untouched birthday cake. The party was reaching that manic point where the young guests were experiencing a sugar-rush with at least another half an hour to go before their parents arrived to collect them. No wonder Mrs Wallace had looked disappointed.
Mrs Wallace disappeared up the stairs and reappeared followed by a tall man who looked down bewilderedly at her. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Mr Wallace?’ He was probably mid-forties but looked younger, his light-brown hair swept neatly back from a clean-shaven face. He was dressed in a dark blue business suit that looked out of place among the domestic chaos.
‘That’s me.’ He reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Is there somewhere quiet we can speak?’ The noise of the children was reaching the point where she found herself having to shout.
‘You’d better come upstairs.’
She followed him back up the staircase, leaving Mrs Wallace to cope with the pandemonium by herself. Wallace led her into a room kitted out as an office. Silence fell as he closed the door behind them. ‘Sorry about the bairns. Ellie’s birthday. My daughter.’
‘Many happy returns to her,’ Horton said. ‘How old?’
‘Seven,’ Wallace said, with a slight air of regret, as though the years were already slipping away from him.
‘I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr Wallace. I believe you knew a Mr Robert Graham?’
‘Rob? Yes, they’re neighbours. Well, a few houses along.’
‘You saw him last night?’
‘In the pub, yes. For a while. What’s the trouble?’
‘He was found dead this morning. I’m sorry.’
‘Well, no. I mean, I didn’t know him all that well. Just someone to chat to, you know. But that’s a shock. He seemed fine last night. Do you know how –?’
‘We don’t, for sure,’ Horton said. ‘That’s why I’m making enquiries. His body was found just inside the entrance to Fairy Glen. By the burn.’
‘Fairy Glen? What was he doing there?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out. When did you last see him?’
Wallace ran through the same narrative she’d already heard from Craig. ‘I don’t think there’s much more I can add,’ he said. ‘Except –’ He stopped, as if considering what he was about to say.
‘Except?’
‘Well, it’s probably nothing. But not long after Rob went outside with this police officer, I went to – well, you know, spend a penny. The side door of the pub was open. That was
where Rob and the other guy had gone out. I didn’t see any sign of them out there. I was still expecting that Rob would be coming back, so I assumed they’d probably just gone ‘round to the garden for their chat. Anyway, as I was coming back, I heard this noise from outside.’
‘What sort of noise?’
Wallace frowned. ‘Like a shout or a scream, I suppose. I thought it came from the woods up towards the Glen. Assumed it was probably kids or maybe something like a fox screaking. They can make a racket, you know.’
‘What time was this?’
‘Don’t know for sure. Maybe fifteen minutes after they’d gone out.’
‘Anything else you remember?’
‘I don’t think so. Rory Craig and I left together. The night was as quiet as the grave then.’ He realised what he’d said and added, ‘Not the best choice of words.’
She handed him one of her business cards, as she had to Craig. ‘If anything else occurs to you, give me a call. We may need to speak to you again, but I’ll let you get back to the party now.’
Wallace showed no sign of moving. ‘Bit of a shock this, to be honest. How’s Shona taking it?’
Horton wasn’t sure whether to be surprised that he knew Shona Graham’s name. They were near neighbours, after all. But something in his tone made her wonder whether there might be more than that. Maybe another avenue to be explored.
‘She seemed to be okay,’ Horton responded. ‘But, like you say, it must be a shock.’
‘Aye, right enough.’ After a long moment, he pushed himself to his feet and moved to open the door. ‘I’ll show you out. I think we’re supposed to be doing the birthday candles.’ He smiled. ‘Then, I’m hoping we’ll get rid of the little buggers.’ The words were spoken as a joke, but it wasn’t clear how much humour was in them.
Downstairs, the chaos seemed to be mounting as Mrs Wallace did her best to corral the youngsters back into the kitchen. Horton was only too happy to say her goodbyes and step out into the chill evening air.
It was still a decent evening. The setting sun behind her was casting long shadows out across the bay. Across the darkening blue waters, she could see the battlements of Fort George, the first lights beginning to come on. Her own house lay behind that, invisible from this angle.
A stiff breeze was blowing in from the water, and she shivered. Isla had been meeting a client in Stirling and was unlikely to be back much before nine, the best part of three hours away. Horton realised that, after the previous evening’s events, she felt uncomfortable at the prospect of returning home alone. She’d managed, in the course of the day, to keep from thinking about David or what he might be up to. But now, as the evening shadows thickened around her, she could almost feel his presence. Almost as surely as if he was out there, staring back at her across the water.
Bugger him, she thought, as she unlocked the car. I’m not a child any more. I’ve dealt with bigger bastards than him. There’s no reason to be afraid.
But she knew that she was. And she suspected that, deep in that part of her mind where she was still a small child, she always would be.
19
Kelly Armstrong had noticed the changes when she’d passed by on the bus earlier that afternoon. On her return, curiosity getting the better of her, she’d hopped off the bus in Fortrose to have a closer look.
It was only her second day back and the first time she’d come through the village in daylight, so she hadn’t noticed before. Now, she stood and looked in slight wonder at the transformation that had been effected.
It wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d imagined that, after everything that had happened, the place would just be shut down and left abandoned. Maybe eventually turned into residential housing, like so many of the shop units out here. But instead, it looked as if somebody had bought the place and was trying to make a go of it. Well, good luck to them.
Still curious, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. The changes to the interior were even more impressive. What had previously been a dark and pokey bar, walls yellow with ancient tobacco stains and carpets sticky with spilled beer, had been stripped back to bare wood and whitewashed brickwork. The old bar had been renovated and now carried an array of polished handpumps and beer taps. The place wasn’t busy at this time in the late afternoon, but a couple were sitting at the far end with beers and ornate-looking sandwiches, and a small group of middle-aged dog walkers were propping up the bar.
‘You okay there?’
The man behind the bar had swept-back blond hair and angular features, and an easy-going manner which Kelly immediately found attractive. He was wearing a white T-shirt carrying the logo of a local craft brewery. Kelly remembered her own time working here and the grime and dust in the old cellar, and wondered how the man managed to look so smart. But probably the cellar, too, was a different place now.
‘I’m fine,’ Kelly said. ‘Just amazed by how much this place had changed.’
‘You knew it before?’ the man said. He had the trace of an accent, but Kelly couldn’t be sure whether it was a Scottish lilt or an Irish brogue. ‘You don’t look typical of the old clientele, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
Kelly laughed. ‘No, definitely not. I used to work here. Bar work.’
‘Ah, that makes more sense,’ the man said. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
Kelly hesitated. ‘Aye, why not? Just a Coke, though.’ She reached into her handbag to dig out her purse.
The man held up his hand. ‘No worries. On the house.’ He smiled. ‘You’re just the kind of customer we’re hoping to attract. Young, respectable – well, I assume you’re respectable. Tell your friends.’
Kelly was warming to the man. ‘How long have you been open?’
‘Only a few weeks. Moved up at the end of last year. We’d have liked to have gotten it open before Christmas, but you can see how much work was involved. And the backstage areas were even worse than we’d thought.’
Kelly recalled her own visits to the dusty, spider-ridden cellar. ‘You’re from England?’
‘Well, we lived down there for a long time. I’m Callum, by the way. Callum Donnelly.’
‘Kelly Armstrong.’
‘You live locally?’
‘My parents stay in Cromarty,’ Kelly said. ‘I’m away at Uni at the moment in Stirling. Just back for the Easter vac.’
‘Don’t suppose you’d fancy coming back and doing a bit of bar work while you’re here? We’ve got a couple of people working the odd evening, but we’re looking for another person to help out in the afternoons and give some cover. Hoping that trade will start to pick up over the holidays.’
Kelly lowered herself on to one of the tall bar stools. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, after a moment. ‘I mean, thank you. But I had a slightly traumatic time here before.’
Callum Donnelly nodded. ‘I’ve made a point of not enquiring too deeply into the background,’ she said. ‘But I know what happened to Denny Gorman. Were you involved in that? Not that it’s any of my business.’
Kelly shivered involuntarily even at the mention of the previous landlord’s name. ‘Not directly. But I had a – run-in with Gorman before that. He didn’t deserve what happened to him, but he was a creep.’
‘I can see you might not want to be reminded. Sorry for asking.’
‘But, actually, why not?’ Kelly said. There was already too much stuff she was trying to avoid. Her now ex-boyfriend, Greg, for example. She managed successfully to avoid him during those last few weeks at Uni, but she’d been constantly expecting to run into him back up here. She didn’t even know whether he’d actually come home for the vacation, but she still expected he’d be there around the next corner. It was going to take her a while to get over their split, but maybe one way was just to throw herself into new activities. ‘What are you looking for, exactly?’
They agreed on a couple of hours in the afternoons to start with, enabling the Donnellys to focus on preparing the expanding food menu for the evenings.
<
br /> ‘You’ll find it a very different place, I promise,’ Callum Donnelly said. ‘Do you want to come and say hello to Maggie? She’s out back.’
He led Kelly behind the bar into the rear part of the pub. A previously bleak-looking room which, as far as Kelly could recall, Gorman had used only for additional storage of his junk, had been transformed into a commercial kitchen. It was obviously still a work in progress, but a world away from anything that had been here previously. Maggie Donnelly, dressed in a chef’s apron, was standing at one of the worktops, chopping carrots. She was an attractive woman, Kelly thought, with long dark hair which contrasted with the slightly startling crimson of her top.
‘Maggie. You know we were looking for additional help over Easter?’
‘You’ve found someone?’ Her eyes swept over Kelly, and then back to Callum Donnelly. There was something in her expression Kelly couldn’t interpret. Her hands continued chopping with practised inattention.
‘Kelly Armstrong. She did bar work here before.’
‘Under the old regime? Bit of a change from those days.’
‘Just a bit,’ Kelly agreed.
‘Kelly’s back from Uni. Happy to cover for us for a couple of hours in the afternoons and when we need her.’
Maggie Donnelly nodded. Her expression had softened but still seemed less than welcoming. ‘Well, that’s good,’ she said finally.
‘It’ll be a great help,’ Callum Donnelly said. He gestured towards the vegetables arrayed on the work surface. ‘We want to start doing proper meals in the evening. Can’t afford more trained kitchen staff yet, so Maggie and I will have to do the prepping. When can you start?’
‘Soon as you like,’ Kelly said. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘If you can, that would be perfect.’ Callum Donnelly was beaming at them both as if they’d solved all his life’s problems. His wife remained expressionless.
Kelly looked at her watch. ‘I’d better be getting back,’ she said. ‘There’s a bus due shortly.’
‘See you tomorrow then.’
Kelly followed Callum Donnelly back out to the bar area. As they passed the open doorway leading down into the cellar, Kelly glanced involuntarily into the darkness.
