McKenzie smiled.
“Thanks, Ma’am. I appreciate it.”
“Take a sick bag with you. Apparently, it’s a rough crossing and I don’t want to have to fork out extra to clean the helicopter as well. When will you be back?”
“Tomorrow morning. I’m planning to visit McRae’s house. We can’t track down his brother yet, so the next of kin haven’t been informed. I’ve left that with McLeish.”
“Good. I hope you make progress with the Headmaster and get what you need.”
“So do I. I’m sure he knows what it’s all about. But if he doesn’t tell us, there’s going to be more deaths. And soon.”
McKenzie hung up, hugged his wife and stroked Little Bump, then left the house.
Brown was waiting outside in his car to escort him to the airport.
As they made their way through the Edinburgh traffic, McKenzie admitted that he was a little nervous.
He hated flying.
And he’d never been in a helicopter before.
He’d managed to hold his stomach down earlier that afternoon, but unfortunately, McKenzie’s instincts told him that this evening he might not be so lucky.
-------------------------
Sunday
Cramond
16.30
Marie McDonald relaxed back into the arms of Stuart Nisbet, and laughed aloud as the water spray splashed her face at over 40 miles per hour.
During a wonderful meal, Stuart had persuaded Marie to ‘live a little’ and step outside of her comfort zone.
“It’s a surprise!” he’d said, and next thing she knew, she was standing on a beach in Cramond, wearing one of Stuart’s spare wetsuits and just about to climb on board a jet ski.
“Don’t worry, I think I know what I’m doing.” Stuart reassured her.
“‘Think’? What sort of reassurance is that?” she asked, raising her eyebrows nervously.
“I’m teasing you. Actually, it’s just a ploy to trick you into letting me put my arms around you. If you sit on the jet ski first, I’ll put my arms around you and help you with the controls. Or if that makes you feel uncomfortable, you can sit on the back, and put your hands here and here, and just hold on as tightly as you can. Or you can hold on to me, if you prefer. Whatever is best for you.” Stuart explained, showing her what to do, and then explaining how the jet ski controls worked.
“I want to try it myself please, at least for a while. Just hold on to me and make sure I don’t fall off, though.”
“Okay, let’s do it.” He laughed. He reached out a hand and helped her aboard. A moment later, she was flying across the Firth of Forth, bouncing off the waves and screaming her head off with the exhilaration.
At first, Stuart took the controls, and she enjoyed his arms around her, and the feeling of closeness and security it brought.
Then when they came to a temporary stop about a mile off the beach, she asked if she could try driving it by herself.
“Absolutely.” Stuart encouraged her, and then once more explained how the controls functioned.
It turned out she was a natural.
Stuart was impressed.
“How far can we go?” she asked.
“Let’s go along the coast underneath the bridges. You’re in charge!”
And so they did. Under Marie’s control, they roared off towards the three awe-inspiring bridges that spanned the Firth of Forth river estuary just outside of Edinburgh.
Hurtling underneath the massive bridges that towered overhead, Marie couldn’t believe just how much she was enjoying herself.
As they passed underneath the last bridge, the new road bridge that connected South Queensferry to North Queensferry, she slowed down and then turned towards Stuart.
Before he could ask what the matter was, she kissed him.
Twice.
The first was just a practice.
By the second time, she’d mastered it.
It turned out that Stuart was a fast learner too.
-------------------------
Sunday
Edinburgh Airport
18.00
The helicopter from the Police Scotland Air Support Unit sat on the runway waiting for McKenzie to join them. It had already flown over from its base in the Clyde Heliport in Glasgow.
During his career, McKenzie had often summoned the help of the helicopters in the pursuit of criminals on the run, using their thermal imaging cameras to hover over the ground and spot where a criminal was hiding, but so far he’d never actually been in one.
He’d avoided it.
Tonight however there was no alternative.
In the car over to the airport, McKenzie had made a few calls and established contact with the local police force responsible for Coll.
It turned out the tiny island of Coll, which had only 221 inhabitants, did not have a local police officer on the island. Instead, McKenzie had to contact the police officer on the neighbouring island of Tiree. After explaining to her why he was flying to Coll, who he was visiting and where he had to go, the PC was just able to make the last local ferry and make her way to the island.
McKenzie arranged with the officer that she would track down the headmaster’s whereabouts - most likely the local pub or at his home – and ensure he was available to answer questions in a sober state by the time McKenzie arrived. The last thing McKenzie wanted was to land on Coll and find the man was too drunk to question. A few drinks might help the process, but too many would not be good.
As the helicopter took off and began the flight to Coll, McKenzie mused over the crime rate on Coll in comparison to what he was facing: the last big reported crime wave on Coll was in 2011 when someone went mad in the only public toilet on the island and destroyed a hand towel dispenser, pulled a pipe off the wall and smashed a sink.
Although it was serious stuff for the outraged locals, it couldn’t help but make McKenzie smile.
An hour later, smiling was the last thing on his mind. Having forgotten to request a proper vomit bag, he was making do with the large plastic bag Fiona had put some food in for the evening.
Knowing that the pilot and crew would be laughing their heads off upfront, McKenzie kept himself to himself, and the plastic bag.
Thankfully, it all came to an end thirty minutes later when they landed at the island’s small airport, where they were the only visitors.
As the doors opened and McKenzie jumped down onto the tarmac, he was tempted to bend down and kiss the ground, so grateful was he to be back on terra firma. Thankfully, he decided against the amateur dramatics, and found himself almost immediately greeted by PC Eileen Grant, the policewoman from Tiree.
“DCI McKenzie? Welcome to Coll. I hope you had a pleasant flight?” she said warmly, then upon seeing the colour of McKenzie’s face and the sick bag he was still carrying, she pointed to the bucket by the small airport building.
“Don’t worry, I was listening to the weather forecast, and the winds are dying down tonight. You’ll have a much smoother trip back.”
“I think I’d rather swim.” McKenzie replied.
“Probably not a good idea. Anyway, Mr Gray is waiting for us at his cottage.”
“How is he?” McKenzie asked, wondering what to expect.
“He was in the bar, but I caught him in time before he’d drunk too much. I don’t think he was very pleased to hear about your visit. He seemed very nervous, and a little distraught. Mr Gray and I are already acquainted. We’ve met several times before.”
“Good. I’m glad you were able to make it. He might find your presence and mannerism reassuring.” McKenzie thanked her. McKenzie turned to the pilot’s who’d now left the helicopter and he made some quick arrangements about the return trip. “Okay, let’s go. I can’t wait to meet Mr Gray. I’ve got a lot of questions to ask him.”
-------------------------
Sunday
Island of Coll
Port na Luing Cottage
21.05
&nbs
p; Now the world had stopped spinning McKenzie was able to appreciate the scenery of the island, and the attraction of it for people who just wanted to get away from it all.
The island was small and very beautiful.
Now the heavy clouds from earlier had been blown over to the mainland, an incredible sunset was developing, the sea was a beautiful turquoise against the shallow pristine white sandy coves and inlets, and he was sure that not too far from the beach, McKenzie had just seen a pod of dolphins jumping and playing in the evening light.
The narrow roads were empty, and although the island was dotted with small cottages and bothies here and there, the land was mostly open and wild.
Having left the airport, they’d passed through what passed as the only town on the island. Grant had pointed out the only hotel on the island, aptly named ‘The Coll Hotel’.
“That’s where you and the crew will be staying tonight, if we leave it too late. I’ve already checked into my room. The next ferry isn’t until the morning.”
The PC didn’t seem at all perturbed that her plans for the evening had been ruined. The pace of life here was markedly slower than on the mainland. It was simpler and more relaxed.
Except McKenzie suspected that for those who lived on the island all year round, things could probably get pretty harsh during the winter months.
“Here we are,” Grant announced, pulling off the main road and down a dirt track to a white cottage overlooking an idyllic private beach in a secluded bay.
McKenzie immediately fell in love with the place.
He could see the attraction of retiring here, and sensed the calm and peacefulness the moment he stepped out of the car. The smell of the salt in the air was invigorating, and within a few seconds McKenzie was fully revived, the experience of the helicopter trip now forgotten.
The door to the cottage opened.
Daniel Gray emerged through the front door, an old man, a little overweight, white hair, and a beard.
“Good evening, Detective.”
“Good evening to you, Mr Gray. Thank you for agreeing to meet me.”
“I wasn’t given much choice in the matter. Anyway, come in and have a seat. I’ve already made the tea.”
Grant and McKenzie walked into the back of the cottage, and were immediately impressed by the panoramic view of the beach and the sea directly below the cottage. It was truly amazing. McKenzie could imagine sitting there hour after hour, just staring out at the waves. The word relaxing was possibly an understatement.
Looking round the room, McKenzie took in as much as he could of the ex-headmaster’s living space.
He was struck by the fact that there was no television.
A large pair of binoculars on a tripod stood by the window, beside a table with a laptop on it.
Floor to ceiling bookshelves, full of books, dominated one wall.
An old fashioned 1920’s gramophone with a large brass flaring horn rising out of it was the main feature of the room, beside which sat a stack of old 78-inch shellac records.
The room was spacious, with enough room for two sofas around a fire place which formed most of the other main wall.
McKenzie suspected that two rooms had been knocked through to one. It was unlikely that rooms in these old cottages were originally that large considering the cold winters and howling gales that would sweep across the island and batter the coastline.
Although he could be wrong. Perhaps he was just prejudiced by watching too many old films. Having never really visited the Scottish islands before, how could he know what the houses really looked like inside?
Grant wandered through to the kitchen enquiring if she could help carry the tea. She was met by a sharp rebuttal which McKenzie could hear from several rooms away.
“Eileen, I’m old, but not dead yet! I can manage fine by myself, thank you.”
While Grant hovered around the kitchen just to make sure he could manage after all, McKenzie ambled around the room, checking out the bookcase and its contents. From his experience, the choice of books could reveal a lot about a person.
There were a number of photos on the wall which caught McKenzie’s attention, notably one of Portobello High School itself.
Beside it there was a series of horizontal photos showing the pupils from subsequent final years of school, spanning at least ten years.
“I knew them all.” The headmaster’s voice declared, as he walked slowly into the room carrying a large tray. Grant followed up the rear.
“Would you take a seat please, Detective, and I’ll serve you some tea. Do you take milk or sugar?”
“Just milk please.” McKenzie replied, sitting down on one of the sofas.
“Well leave it a moment to brew, then I’ll serve you.” Mr Gray announced, putting the tray down on a table between the sofas. He sat himself down and exhaled loudly. “It’s been a long day, and I’ll be needing my bed soon, so I think we’ll best be getting on with this. Although to be honest, I think you’ve had a wasted journey coming up here to see me in person. I told you yesterday, quite clearly I think, that I can’t help you.”
“I appreciate that. But I really do think you can help us. You were the headmaster at the school for a long time, and if you knew all the pupils as you just said you did, you must certainly have known your teachers even better. If you can’t help us, no one can.”
“So, what do you want to know?” He asked, leaning forward and lifting the lid of the tea pot, inserting a spoon and stirring the tea-leaves.
Settling back into the sofa opposite, McKenzie had the sense that Gray was holding something back, and that he was very nervous about the discussion, maybe even scared.
“When I spoke to you yesterday, it was in connection with two deaths. Those of David Weir, a geography teacher, and also of Ronald Blake, the religious education teacher. Can you remember them?”
“Yes, of course. I remember them both very well.”
“Good. Unfortunately, earlier this afternoon we also discovered the body of Mark McRae, one of the Chemistry teachers. Like the others, his body was found in the classroom where he taught at the old Portobello High School.”
When McKenzie spoke, Mr Gray was lifting the teapot to pour the tea, but as soon as McKenzie mentioned the death of Mark McRae, the ex-headmaster lowered the pot, almost dropping it, and spilling a little of the tea through the spout onto the table beside one of the cups.
Resting his hand on the table beside the teapot, the old man lowered his head and closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“How did he die?” he asked, without looking at McKenzie.
“He was found pinioned to the floor of his classroom, with a mixture of chemicals poured down his throat that seemed to react with each other upon contact and form a blockage in his throat that blocked his airways and asphyxiated him. It was without doubt a terrifying and horrible death.” The detective didn’t hold anything back, studying the reaction of the teacher as he explained it all.
The old man’s hand had become to shake, quite visibly.
“Are you okay Daniel?” Grant asked.
The man said nothing for a moment, then opened his eyes and picked up the teapot. He tried to pour the tea out, but missed the cup completely. Grant moved closer to him, placed a hand gently on his and said, “Why don’t you let me do that for us, Daniel?”
The man nodded.
McKenzie spoke next.
“Mr Gray, that’s three teachers, now all dead, and each killed in a most horrific way near where they taught, within the building of a school at which you were the headmaster for quite a number of years. From talking to the wife of Ronald Blake, I believe these three men were good friends. Then something happened, and their friendship seemed to dissolve. I can’t quite help but ask myself, if there is a connection between the reason their friendship dissolved, and the reason they were all killed? I also wonder if you know what that reason is?”
The old man said nothing. He was visibly shocked, but still sil
ent.
“Mr Gray, may I make myself clear. Subsequent to the discovery of the deaths of Mr Weir and Mr Blake, we had a series of communications from the killer warning there would be a third and possibly fourth death to follow. We’ve now had a third death. Please, if you know what this is all about, or can tell us anything that could connect these three deaths, please tell me now. It could help us avoid a fourth death.” McKenzie stressed the last sentence.
Still no reaction from the old man.
“Mr Gray, I sense that you are actually scared to tell me what you know. Being scared is possibly understandable, especially if you know what this is all about. But not telling me what you know could be problematic. If it another death occurs, and it transpires that you had information which could have helped us in our investigations and prevented that death, you could be guilty of withholding valuable information and you may be found liable to sharing responsibility for their death. In addition, if another person is murdered, how would you feel if you knew you could have prevented it?”
McKenzie let the last few words hang in the air for maximum impact.
Grant put another gentle hand upon the old man’s.
“Daniel. If you know something, and have done all these years, perhaps now’s the time to share it? Let it go. Tell us. Please? For your sake, if not for anyone else’s?”
The old man shook his head, took a deep breath and pushed himself up out of the sofa.
He walked across to the window and stared out at the sea. The sun was setting now, and the sky was turning a beautiful orange.
“Okay,” he whispered quietly. “I’ll tell you.”
Chapter 28
Sunday
Island of Coll
Port na Luing Cottage
21.35
“What I will tell you now happened many years ago. It’s part of a past I try to forget, but which I think will haunt me for the rest of my life.” The headmaster began. “As a headmaster you have to make many tough decisions, and sometimes you get them wrong. Perhaps this is one of those. Or perhaps not. But it doesn’t stop me feeling guilty.”
Remember Me 2 Page 4
