‘Mainly that I need to build a reasonable case before I make any kind of judgement on what I’ve seen. When I’ve satisfied myself that what I suspect is, or isn’t, the case, I’ll be happy to speak further on the subject.’
‘So there’s something unusual, doctor?’ said Daley.
‘Yes, there’s something most unusual; in fact, if I’m right something quite barbaric. I hope I’m wrong.’
‘Can you no’ gie us something?’
Spence looked as Scott levelly. ‘You’re the officer who suffered the peanut injury, aren’t you?’
‘Is no one ever going to let me forget that?’ Scott looked exasperated.
‘I doubt it. Not in this hospital, at least. Now, gentlemen, if you don’t mind, I’ll get back to you with my findings.’
Scott watched Spence walk away and turned to Daley. ‘What was that a’ aboot, Jimmy?’
‘I don’t know, but it might be significant, by the sound of things.’
‘Mysterious bastards, these doctors.’
‘Good memories, though.’
‘Why do you say that, Jimmy?’
‘Nobody seems to have forgotten your peanut incident.’ Daley got up and walked off before Scott decided to swear. ‘Come on, I’ll take you to the County for a ginger beer and lime. I think we’ve earned it.’
‘Changed days, Jimmy. You and me would have been heading doon the street for a few drams, never mind ginger beer.’
‘We’re getting old, Brian.’
‘Tell me aboot it. Every time I see Symington I feel aboot a hundred and two.’
‘Oh, I don’t think it’s all been plain sailing for her.’
‘Why dae you say that?’
‘Just a feeling, Bri.’
‘Here, before I forget. You were wondering if those droopy eyes were genetic, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now, I’m nae expert in genetics, but is it no’ fair tae say that their eyes would always have been the same – you know, that hooded way – if that was the case?’
‘I suppose. Though some conditions may present themselves in later life. But like you, I’m no doctor. Why do you ask, Bri?’
Scott removed his mobile phone from his pocket. Not without some difficulty, he managed to find what he was looking for. ‘I took these in the bedroom at Doom Cottage – photos fae years ago. I’ll bet any money these are the Doig boys as kids, aye, and Alice Wenger, tae.’
Daley was handed the phone and scrolled through Scott’s images slowly. ‘Their eyes look perfectly normal on here.’
‘Just my point.’
‘Okay. We’ll leave the rest of the Doigs to stew overnight. I’ll give Shaw a quick bell. Ginny won’t be happy, but a pound to a penny she reckoned we’d bring in her daughter in connection with Thorbin’s disappearance. I must update Symington tomorrow.’
‘Wicked auld bastard, if you ask me.’ Scott plodded on in his wake.
28
Vito Chiase was tired, very tired when he reached the sign that said Welcome to Kinloch. He had wrestled with the stick shift for the first part of the journey, but eventually became proficient enough to be able to change gears without a sickening crunch. Why do they make cars like this still, he thought, as he drove into the town.
Though this was his first visit to Scotland, he was wise enough to realise that, having to sleep in the car and keep a low profile, he’d have to find a place to stop that was out of the way, unlikely to attract attention. Though he’d trusted the satnav to get him here, he pulled over now and consulted the map that had been left in the trunk, outlining his final destination, where his job was to be done.
He ran his finger through the streets of the town, roughly familiarising himself with the place. In his opinion, technology was okay as far as getting you from one place to another went, but it gave you no idea of your surroundings. A map, something you could hold, see and look around, gave a much fuller depiction of an area. And in his experience, the better you knew a place, the less likely you were to be trapped and caught.
He remembered being a kid on Bloomfield Avenue in Newark. He and his buddies had formed a youthful crew, lifting valuables from open windows, cars, shops – anywhere. They’d memorised every lane, escape routes through gardens, public buildings, stores; they knew the centre of Newark like the backs of their hands. The cops were too busy taking bribes and drinking coffee to get to know the area they policed. Even as children it gave them a singular advantage.
Chiase sat back. He could see all their faces now, those boys, his friends who had, in most cases, grown up to be his crew. Lenny had been the first to go, shot by the police during a robbery. Carmine was next, whacked by a member of his own family for bedding a made guy’s wife. These thoughts made him feel melancholy, so he decided not to think about the guys he’d never see again, not in this life, at least.
He remembered the first time he’d been taken home by the cops. He was only eight years old. Busted for stealing candy. He could see the anger and disappointment in his father’s eyes. The rage of a man who’d disavowed his family’s history of crime, working for a lifetime on the railroad.
‘You wanna end up like my old man?’
He was a kid back then, what could he say? He didn’t even know what had happened to his grandfather. He shrugged his shoulders for want of a reply. It had been the wrong decision. His father had slapped him on the head, catching an ear and making it ring.
‘Don’t you shrug at me! You talk, you say something, got it?’ His father had him by the collar of his shirt. ‘I wasn’t much older than you when my father just disappeared. He was there one day, gone the next. One minute we was happy, well fed, good clothes, nice house. Next I knew, we had to move to a crummy apartment. I could hear my mother – your grandmother – cry herself to sleep every night. And do you know why all this happened?’
Chiase remembered the slap on the head and replied with a quiet ‘No’.
‘Because he was a wise guy, that’s why. These men you admire so much – your uncle Tony, all those guys. They live on the edge, the high life one minute, lying dead in a gutter the next.’ His father enveloped him in a huge hug. ‘Do you know what that’s like, never knowing when the axe is going to fall, looking over your shoulder every minute of every day?’
Chiase remembered the tears falling down his face on to his father’s bare arm. As usual, when he came home at night, the man would strip down to his vest to relax. ‘I’m sorry, Pop,’ he managed to say. Then, ‘Did my grandfather die in a gutter?’
His father ended the embrace, leaned his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face with both hands as he stared at his young son. ‘Nobody ever knew. His brother – your great-uncle Johnny – told everyone that he ran off with some broad, but I never believed that. My mother and him, they was too close. All I know is I never saw him again. He walked out of the door and he never came back in. Is that the kinda life you want for yourself, kid?’
Vito Chiase remembered shaking his head tearfully. But even then he had known he was telling his father a lie.
He started the engine again, pulled away and made his way through the town under the glow of the streetlights. Already, having looked at the map, he felt he knew the area. He had found a likely place to pull over and sleep. He would eat what they’d provided, drink some coffee from the flask and make sure he was fresh for the morning.
Vito Chiase had things to do.
The County Hotel bar was warm and welcoming, despite the absence of a crowd. The fire glowed warm in the grate, and the familiar figure of Hamish sat at the table nearest the bar, with one or two other customers dotted around. Everyone seemed lost in their own thoughts; apart that was from Annie, who greeted them with a big smile.
‘Hello, boys. How are you both?’
Daley looked around. ‘Busier than you, by the look of things.’
‘Och, it’s always the same in late November – folk saving up for Christmas, an’ that.’
‘You’r
e mair cheerful than the last time I was in here,’ said Scott.
‘We’ve had some good news,’ replied Annie with a smile.
‘I heard they were going to turn the place into flats,’ said Daley.
‘That was the plan, Mr Daley. But as Rabbie Burns says, “The best laid plans o’ mice an’ men gang aft a-gley,” or something like that. Insna that right, Hamish?’
‘Aye, it is indeed. You’ve a great memory for poetry, right enough, Annie. No’ jeest as good for getting the change right, mind you,’ he continued more quietly.
‘Are you for a dram, Hamish?’ Daley asked.
‘Well, now, you see, that would be most gratefully received, Mr Daley. Yes indeed it would.’
While Scott sat down with Hamish, Daley went to the bar to place his order. ‘A dram for Hamish, a ginger beer and lime, and a coffee for me, please, Annie.’
‘You’ve no’ signed the pledge as well, have you?’ She looked at him warily.
‘No, not quite. But I’ve to be more careful. I’d like to see my son grow up.’
‘Ach, you’re havering. My auld faither has had heart problems for fifty years, an’ he’s still going strong.’
‘He doesn’t have my genes, Annie.’
‘No, but his might jeest fit you these days. Fair emaciated, so you are. Take a seat an’ I’ll bring your drinks o’er.’
‘Thanks. But I’ve got a wee bit to go before I’m emaciated.’
‘Here, this is interesting, big man,’ said Scott as Daley took his seat. ‘Carry on, Hamish.’
The old man drained what was left in his glass and licked his lips. ‘I was remembering aboot the significance o’ the name Jeremiah. Mr Scott was telling me that he’d come across it – in the line of duty, so tae speak.’
‘And?’ said Daley.
‘A long whiles before my time, right enough. But I minded that my faither had telt me the story.’
‘Hurry up before I have tae retire,’ said Scott.
‘Man, but it’s mair impatient you’re getting by the day, Brian. No’ good for a man o’ your age. Look at Mr Daley here, for example. Fair burdened wae care and ends up in the hospital. You should learn tae take life steadily – like me.’
‘If you were any mair steady you wouldnae move at all, Hamish,’ said Scott. Daley just raised his brows.
After narrowing his eyes at Scott, Hamish continued. ‘By all accounts it was one o’ the worst storms the west coast has ever seen. No’ today nor yesterday, mark you. Way back in the 1920s.’
‘So you’d be just leaving the school,’ said Scott.
‘I’ll ignore that an’ carry on.’ Hamish closed his eyes and raised his head, giving him the appearance of an oriental deity. ‘The Jeremiah was a steam puffer, no’ the brightest star o’ the coastal trade, but nae dunce, neithers. An auld boy called Donaldson was her skipper. One o’ the McMichaels fae Dalintober was first mate – fine seamen that whole family, even though they was fae the wrong side o’ the loch.’
Scott sighed.
Hamish opened one eye and looked at him balefully. ‘Noo the Jeremiah should have been safe at berth in Oban that night, as far as her owner, a man fae Glasgow wae five puffers, was concerned. But it appeared, even though the storm was getting its dander up, Donaldson took the notion tae leave port regardless. He had passengers, they say, and they were fair desperate to get tae where they were going, storm or no storm. Ach, I’m sure the old boy knew the waters like the back o’ his hand. For the coin, he’d likely have taken the risk – money was tight back then, nae social security, or the likes. A man had tae take a chance when he got one, an’ no mistake.’
‘How do you know about the passengers, Hamish?’ said Daley.
‘You hear all sorts. Even a place like Oban was tight-knit in they days. Damn near a metropolis noo. They tell me they’ve even got a cricket team. Can you imagine? In any event, such was the outcome of their mission – whootever that was – it stuck in the minds o’ folk for years.’
‘Why?’ said Scott as Annie sat his soft drink in front of him.
‘Well – as often is the case wae such a storm, it raged a’ night. But then as quickly as it had arrived, it was gone. The next day the sea was like a millpond, thon freshness in the air. To cut a long story short, the Jeremiah was reported missing. She was last spotted near the coast at Kilberry heading south, so the theory was she could only be heading tae Kinloch – there being no other place of any consequence in that direction. Well, unless they was heading for the Isle o’ Man, but that’s jeest fanciful.’
‘I’m losing the will tae live,’ said Scott.
Hamish carried on without comment. ‘A search was begun. The lifeboats fae Tarbert, Blaan, Kinloch – even Ballycastle across the water – were all launched. The crews were all fishermen in they days, and their knowledge o’ the tides an’ foibles o’ the coast surpassed any o’ the doctors and lawyers that parade aboot noo in a’ that fluorescent gear. Like great walking buoys they are.
‘So, they found something?’ said Daley.
‘They did that. Just on the shore o’ the island at the head o’ the loch, within sight of the toon and safety, there she was, the Jeremiah, a great gaping hole in her side.’
‘So that’s it?’ Scott sounded disappointed.
‘No, it’s not. On board they found four bodies – four, mark you. One o’ them was a stranger, so we can forget aboot him.’
‘You’re a’ heart,’ said Scott.
‘There was the poor ship’s boy – a wean fae Glasgow they said – lashed tae his bunk, dead as dead could be. McMichael an’ the stranger was lying below the bunks, och, jeest in a hellish condition. The engineer, whose name escapes me, was found at his station, deid as a dodo.’
‘What aboot the skipper?’ said Scott.
‘That’s where things get strange. He was found, washed up on Thomson’s Point. The window o’ the wheelhouse had been smashed in, and they reckoned, though I never quite understood it, that he’d been flung oot in the tumult.’ He paused dramatically. ‘But he wasna alone.’
‘Another stranger no’ worth mentioning, nae doubt.’
‘Not at all. The two other bodies just along the shore fae Donaldson were well quoted hereabouts. Fineas Doig – they all had odd names, that crowd – an’ his younger son.’
‘Wow!’ said Daley, genuinely surprised.
‘Aye, but there’s mair. Both he and his son had been stabbed; old Doig in the back, his boy right through the heart. As I’ve telt yous, they had a name for being wreckers. The story was that they led auld Donaldson ontae the point wae a false light, then when they managed to board the wreck the next day a survivor put up a fight. Donaldson himself, they reckon, but I’ve never found that plausible.’
‘How so?’ said Scott.
‘By all accounts he was a decent man, an elder in the church, no less, though he liked a dram or two. But any man can be forgiven for that wee indulgence. I’m sure the man above takes one or two himself, fae time tae time. Well deserved with whoot’s going on in the world these days. Anyhow, they reckoned that Donaldson would never have taken the boy’s life, even if he had been able tae get the better o’ the faither, which is doubtful, for by all accounts Doig was a right hard bastard.’
‘Were any of the remaining Doigs asked about it?’ said Daley.
‘They were. It was jeest the mother an’ the elder son, Thorbin Doig. The father of the man that took a dive off the cliff at Thomson’s Hill, as you well know. I mind o’ him in his auld age. A mair hateful man never walked. Cruel – wicked, many said.’
‘But nothing was ever solved?’ asked Daley.
‘No, never. Though when I thought aboot it a’ – remembering, like – after you seeing the bell, Brian, well, I must admit, my mind tumbled away . . .’
Scott looked at Daley. ‘Curiouser and curiouser, Jimmy.’
‘Never took you for a fan of Alice in Wonderland, Brian.’
Scott looked puzzled for a moment. ‘If
I knew how you came tae that conclusion I’d be able tae reply. But then we’ve got oor own Alice tae think aboot, eh?’
29
Blair Williams was uneasy, very uneasy. He’d been unsettled by Mike Strong’s visit; he remembered how his father had warned him about his old partner. There was no doubting his legal skills; Strong was well noted for his many successes in court. He had, though, had a darker side: malevolent and grasping, as Blair’s father had described it. The words had stuck in his head, and he’d wrestled with them all night.
Just as he resolved to call his retired father for advice, the phone on his desk rang.
‘It’s the police in . . .’ Karen Milne paused to check the name. ‘In Kinloch. A DCI Daley.’ It was clear that she had never heard of the place.
‘Give me a few moments,’ said Williams. He could feel his heart rate rise, and a cold sweat form on his brow. He’d only just found out about Kinloch, which hadn’t filled him with joy, and now this. ‘Okay, put them through.’ This was not how Blair Williams had planned to spend his morning.
‘You’re Mr Williams?’ said Daley, his voice loud over the phone.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘I wonder if you can help me? An old business card issued by your firm was discovered in connection with a case I’m investigating. I’m hoping you can throw some light on it.’
Williams gulped. ‘Oh yes? Where did you say you were from?’ He was playing for time.
‘Kinloch, in Argyll.’
‘Not exactly our part of the world, DCI Daley.’
‘No, but the business card was found among the possessions of a man who died the other day, Mr Williams. You’ll understand that I have to follow that up.’
‘Of – of course.’
‘Do you know if your firm has had any dealings with a Mr Nathaniel Doig?’
Williams hesitated, letting the conversation hang in the air. ‘Now, let me think, DCI Daley. I’ve been here for just about five years, and I can’t recall anyone by that name.’
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