‘Aye, just a few miles from here. We’re passing my old primary school now,’ said Max as they drove through a small village called Munlochy.
‘Cute,’ said Janie looking at the stone cottages.
‘It was a terrific place to grow up. Beaches, mountain bikes and all that stuff. I used to climb in the Cairngorms at the weekends, a kids’ paradise,’ Max said, smiling.
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
As they passed into a small village called Avoch, Max checked the tide time app on his phone. ‘She lives just here, but she won’t be in. The tide has just turned, and she’ll be looking for dolphins. Carry on through to Chanonry Point.’
‘Dolphins, what, like Flipper?’
‘Yeah, they’ll probably be coming in now. Elspeth’s part of the conservation team.’
‘Cool, I’ve never seen a dolphin for real.’
They drove for another ten minutes along the coastal road pulling in at a car park at the end of a peninsula beside a large, white lighthouse.
‘How do you know she’ll be here?’ said Janie.
‘She’ll be here. Can you bring your iPad?’
‘Why?’
‘You never know, may come in handy.’ Max set off towards the sea.
It was only a five-minute walk, and the weather was beautiful. A soft breeze wafted over the firth, the sea as still as glass. They continued walking towards a small knot of people at the far end of the peninsula close to the sea, who were staring out through binoculars, or long-lensed cameras.
‘There’s Elspeth,’ said Max pointing at a slight, white-haired lady with her eye glued to a tripod-mounted monocular pointed at the sea. As they approached, a large, grey fin broke the still surface of the water, followed by the flick of a tail as a dolphin dived below the surface.
‘Wow, did you see that?’ squealed Janie, immediately followed by another yelp as another appeared, leaping this time, tossing a salmon high in the air as it soared fully out of the water, returning with a huge splash.
‘Oh my God!’ gasped Janie, her eyes wide.
Max approached Elspeth, and rather than speaking, he gently laid his hand on her shoulder. She turned, revealing a worn, but kindly face, with warm, twinkling eyes.
‘Max,’ Elspeth cried, and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. ‘You should’ve said you were coming. The dolphins are putting on a lovely show today. Now, how’s that lovely wife of yours?’ Her voice was soft and carrying the Highland lilt.
‘We’re apart at the moment. You know this. She’s in St Albans, and I’m up here,’ said Max, reddening.
‘Bloody daft if you ask me. You two are marvellous together. The sooner you get her up here, the better,’ she chided.
‘I know, but it’s complicated. Anyway, let’s move the conversation away from my relationship woes, Auntie E.’ Max felt his heart lurch at the mention of his wife. Katie and Elspeth adored each other. God how he missed his wife, he thought, momentarily sad.
‘You’re punching well above your weight with her. You’ll never do better, you know, so be nice and get her back.’ She looked at him with the expression of a stern head teacher.
Pushing the thoughts away and rapidly changing the subject, Max looked Elspeth straight in the face. ‘Just a flying visit, up here on a work thing. This is Janie, a colleague.’ He nodded at Janie, who smiled, shyly.
‘Hi.’ She grinned. ‘Wonderful dolphins. I’ve never seen them in the wild like this.’
Elspeth looked at Janie intently, watching her lips as she spoke. ‘I watch them all the time, dear. We name them and tell them apart from their fin marks and other body scars. Beautiful creatures.’ She smiled, and her eyes twinkled with pride.
Max looked at Janie. ‘Auntie Elspeth is deaf. Make sure you’re facing her when you speak.’
‘Thanks, you could have warned me,’ she replied, a little embarrassment creeping into her expression.
‘Ach, Max always forgets to tell everyone, my dear, don’t fret. Tea? I’ve a Thermos.’
‘Thank you, that would be lovely,’ said Janie, scowling at Max, who just snorted.
‘So, what brings you up here?’ Elspeth asked, pouring a mug of tea from a flask.
‘Just had to pop to Inverness for a work thing. How’s life?’ asked Max.
‘Better than the alternative, dear. Spending time watching my wee pals, here. We’ve catalogued a good few new ones, and some have returned this season that we haven’t seen for years.’
‘Keeps you busy, right?’ Max smiled at his aunt.
‘For sure, for sure. What would I do otherwise?’
‘Auntie Elspeth, can you look at something for me?’
‘Of course, darling, what is it?’
‘If I show you a video clip can you see if you can lip-read what the people are saying?’
‘You cheeky sod,’ whispered Janie.
‘I can try,’ Elspeth said, reaching for the spectacles that were secured around her neck on a chain and popping them on her nose.
Max took a small SD card from his pocket and slotted it into a lightning port adapter. He handed it to Janie, who gave him a sarcastic smile and plugged it in. The image soon came up of Tam Hardie talking to the innocuous-looking man.
Elspeth stared intently at Hardie’s mouth as it moved up and down, his face darkened in anger. ‘Such terrible language. He doesn’t seem nice at all.’
‘What does he say?’
‘Well, I’m not sure I want to repeat it. Glaswegian, is he?’
‘Elspeth, don’t pretend to be a prude – you can swear like a trooper when the mood takes you. Come on, what does he say?’
Elspeth smiled, mischievously. ‘I rarely swear. Now let’s look at this bastard video. I’m pretty sure he says, “I want every one of the bastards dead. Each and every one of them, and I don’t care how much it costs.” But it’s not always easy to understand a Weegie.’ The old lady paused to look at Max, concern on her face. ‘He seems nasty. I hope you’re being careful.’
‘It’s all fine. What about the other man?’
‘Replay it,’ she said, adjusting her spectacles. Max pressed replay and the images began to move again.
She stared intently, her lips moving, just fractionally.
‘What does he say?’
‘He is a little easier to read. “Of course, Tam. I’ll speak to my contacts.” How strange. What do you think he’s talking about?’
Janie looked at Max, her eyes wide. ‘Bloody hell.’
Max shrugged, a resigned look on his face. ‘I need to speak to Ross.’
*
As Max and Janie sped south on the A9 back towards Glasgow, Ross Fraser’s voice reverberated over the speakers.
‘You did what?’
‘I had a lip-reader look at the clip of Hardie speaking to that bloke. He said what I just told you,’ said Max as he drove.
‘And who the fuck gave you authority to do that, man? Jesus, how many times do you have to be told to leave a job alone?’ His voice boomed and crackled with static.
‘But it’s accurate. Hardie is clearing up. He wants the remaining family dead. We need to move on this or there will be more dead bodies. I said this isn’t going to end and you know I’m right.’ Max remained ostensibly calm, yet he could feel the frustration rising.
‘And where did you find a pissing forensic lip-reader, and how is it paid for? Why are you buggering around with intelligence products, and showing it to unvetted lip-readers? This could get you bang in the shit, man,’ Ross almost shouted.
‘Does it really matter? It’s accurate, Hardie said those words and whoever he said them to has agreed to take the job. We need to identify who he is, and we need to be escalating this and starting a disruption job. We need to issue Osman warnings to all of Leitch’s relatives and we need to do it now.’
‘That’s enough. I’ve fucking just about had it with you. I always try to protect you, but the DCS has ordered me off this job, and you’re goin
g behind my back. If the MIT want to investigate this, they can, but it’s not ours. Who did you use?’
‘My Aunt Elspeth. She’s deaf and is a lip-rea—’
The speakers almost exploded out of the dash. ‘Your Auntie fucking Elspeth? Max, what the hell are you doing? Are you actively trying to get suspended, or worse?’
Max said nothing. The silence was almost palpable over the airwaves as the A9 passed them by. Max turned to Janie, and incredibly, smiled.
‘Right. In my office, in the bastarding morning, and stay off this bastard job.’ Ross hung up.
‘Well, that went well,’ said Janie, flatly.
Max shrugged, a resigned look on his face. ‘I’m going home. Can you take the car back and pick me up in the morning?’
‘Sure, but what are you going to do?’
‘You heard Ross. I’m going to see him in the morning and take a bollocking. It sounds like pressure from above, but I don’t like it. It all feels wrong. Why are they refusing to see what is plain in front of their noses? I need something to eat, and I need to go for a run with my dog.’
‘You probably need to let this go. It isn’t our job and MIT 4 have it in hand,’ said Janie.
Max just sighed and shook his head as they drove on.
20
The dream jolted Max awake again just before 6 a.m. The same dream as always, Dippy’s eyes glazing as the last flicker of life left his ruined body. Max woke with another muffled gasp of fear, followed by sorrow, followed by self-loathing. Self-loathing and sorrow that he, somehow, had been responsible for his friend’s death. Max lay there in a muck sweat.
‘It’s okay, Nutmeg, just the dream again, girl,’ he said, calming his worried dog by tickling her curly ears. She stared at him, a mix of love and concern in her dark brown eyes, her tail thumping rhythmically. ‘Run?’ said Max in a lighter voice. Nutmeg’s ears pricked up and she let out a half-muffled bark of excitement.
Max smiled, and scratched the dog’s chin. ‘Come on then,’ he said, throwing the duvet back and getting out of bed. Nutmeg leaped after him, her tail thrashing, wildly. Max quickly dressed, swallowed a glass of water and headed out of the glazed doors. He paused, as he always did, to take in the sweeping fields that ran down to the firth. A soft mist hung in the lower fields giving a slight chill to the air, but already Max could tell that it was going to be another beautiful day. ‘Come on girl, let’s get moving,’ Max said to Nutmeg as he jogged off at a decent pace, heading up the hill and into the forest behind him.
He ran hard for forty-five minutes, pausing at his usual tree to perform four sets of pull-ups, each set to failure. He was pleased to see that he equalled his personal best of twenty-six repetitions. Even as he approached his fortieth birthday, Max still ran several times a week and boxed at a gym in Glasgow when he could. He had a small gym in his garage where he did punch-bag circuits, speed-ball work and weight training when the mood took him, not that it often did. He preferred to stay quick and agile, and to rely on his natural, genetic strength, rather than to use weights to build excess muscle.
Arriving back at the cottage, he drank more water before showering and preparing coffee and scrambled eggs, which he sat to eat outside on his deck.
Pulling his phone from his pocket, he opened up Facebook, something he rarely did. He searched for and clicked on his wife’s page. There were no updates, but he just sat and looked at her profile picture, her twinkling eyes, straight nose and choppy hair. His stomach ached, and he longed to speak to her, to tell her he still loved her and to hold her tight. He knew it was too soon. They had agreed not to speak for a while, after an argument during their last call. ‘I need to miss you, Max. I need to know if we are right together, and only by being apart can I work that out,’ she had said. It still hurt.
He moved away from her profile and quickly scrolled his own newsfeed. There wasn’t much on it. He stopped scrolling when he came across the post from the Press and Journal, the local newspaper that covered the Black Isle and beyond. Shock hit Max like a thunderbolt as he read the headline.
CAITHNESS LANDLORD, 52, KILLED IN MYSTERY HORROR CRASH AT NOTORIOUS BERRIEDALE BRAES
A picture of Duncan Ferguson, the landlord of the inn in Dunbeath, looked from the page at him. It was a family shot of him and his wife, Mary, both beaming at the camera.
Max opened the article with a sick feeling of anticipation, his heart pounding in his chest. This just couldn’t be a coincidence. In a few days, two people who had been in that tiny, backwater inn were dead. Max didn’t really believe in coincidences, certainly not ones like this.
He stared at the picture of a mangled Ford Focus at the foot of a cliff at Berriedale Braes, a series of notorious hairpin bends on the A9 at one hundred and fifty metres above sea level. Apparently, the car had crashed through the barrier and fallen down the high cliff smashing onto the rocks below. No other cars were thought to be involved, but it was unclear how Duncan’s car had managed to smash through the barrier so easily. A full inquiry was underway by Roads Policing at Dingwall, and police were appealing for witnesses who were asked to contact Sergeant McGee on 101. Recognition flashed in Max’s mind as he saw the name, but he couldn’t place where he knew it from.
Max sighed and scrubbed his face with his palms. What the hell was happening? He needed to know more, but he realised if he went through official channels it would create more problems, particularly bearing in mind yesterday’s reaction by Ross and Sally.
He sipped his coffee and laid his hand on Nutmeg’s head. Her tail began to wag as he stroked her. Max made an immediate decision and grabbed his phone and dialled.
‘I’m still pissed off at you,’ said Ross, his tone not reflecting his opening statement. Clearly a night’s sleep had softened his boss’s demeanour.
‘I know, sorry. Can I take a day’s annual leave today? Something’s come up I could do with sorting,’ said Max, keeping his voice light and even.
‘That’s the best thing you have said for days, pal. I could do with a day of not seeing your fucking mug. In fact, take a bastarding fortnight off and give me a break.’ He chuckled down the line. This was typical Ross. He blew up and raged, then almost immediately got over it.
‘Just a day, that’s all I need.’
‘Yes, but promise me you’ll stay well away from the Hardies. Last thing we need is your size tens stomping all over the place. I can’t take getting bawled out by the DCS for the fourth day running. My career prospects are shite, anyway.’
‘Sure thing, thanks.’ Max hung up and then quickly composed a message to Janie. Don’t bother picking me up. I’ve taken the day off. See you tomorrow.
Janie replied almost immediately. I hope you’re not doing anything daft.
Max smiled and replied, As if. He wasn’t planning on doing anything stupid, but this was a lead he just had to pursue. He just couldn’t understand why obvious leads were being ignored, and he knew that some answers were out there.
Max stood up and looked at Nutmeg’s adoring face as she sat, her tail like a rapid metronome, clearly expecting something.
‘Sorry, girl, I have to go out. Go and see John and Lynne.’ Nutmeg’s head cocked, understanding on her face at the mention of her second family.
‘Go on, off you go, John and Lynne.’ Max pointed towards next door, and Nutmeg turned and trotted off.
Max went back into the house and to the cupboard in the hall. Opening the door, he pulled out his motorcycle gear, a textile Rukka jacket and trousers, and lifted his helmet down. He quickly pulled the kit on, left the house and went to the garage. His pride and joy sat inside, a KTM Adventure. A big, brutish bike designed to cross continents in comfort and at speed. Max had bought it just the previous year and had not long come back from a long trip across Europe on it.
Throwing his leg over the machine, he gunned the big, thirteen hundred cc engine and pulled away, down the drive and onto the road that headed north. Riding his bike made him feel free, especially on a day
as beautiful as this, and he soon felt the stresses leach away from him. Along with his dog, and physical exercise, riding his KTM was his antidote to the dark spectre of his PTSD. It worked so well it should have been available on prescription, thought Max, as he roared north, towards the wild, open spaces of the Scottish Highlands.
*
Max rode for over four hours, at a steady pace, taking great comfort as the congested traffic of the motorways and main roads gave way to the much quieter A9 that traversed the rolling Perthshire countryside. This soon gave way to the steep and craggy Grampian and Cairngorm mountain ranges. The sky was an unrelenting blue as he ascended the Slochd Munro before descending into the capital of the Highlands. He paused briefly to refuel before setting off again, soon finding himself in the wide-open spaces of Caithness, as he hugged the coastline heading towards his destination: Berriedale Braes. Max had driven along this road countless times and knew that it had been the scene of many accidents. The braes dropped from almost five hundred metres to sea level with a number of challenging bends, the worst of which was at about a hundred and fifty metres by the Berriedale Braes viewpoint that looked out across the North Sea, with a huge drop the other side of the barrier.
Max pulled into the viewpoint slip road and put the KTM on its stand. He removed his helmet and put it on the tank, wiping the sweat from his brow. The temperature had risen now, and was nudging at least twenty degrees, which was not at all common in this part of Scotland. He removed his jacket and draped it over the bike. After opening the pannier, he pulled out a bottle of water and took a deep drink.
Max walked out onto the A9, noting grimly the yellow witness board that boldly asked, “Accident. Witness Appeal.” The date was below along with a direct-dial number. Max walked down to the apex of the hairpin, keeping to the side of the road, noting that there were no skid marks, which struck him as odd. He walked to the new section of road barrier that had been bolted into place. There were still traces of debris on the road and verge by the replaced section of barrier, which stood out all new and shiny against the tarnished sections either side. Max stepped over the barrier and headed along to where the bank dipped away sharply.
Dead Man's Grave Page 11
