by Morris West
I wasn’t trying to be clever, believe me. I wasn’t trying to show what a bright bush lawyer I could be. I might, if he pressed me too hard, be forced to make some very fine verbal distinctions. So I wanted it fixed in his mind that I was a very academical fellow to whom all words had sharp edges. Also I had to be righteous, at least as long as I could. So I asked him a little testily:
‘Would you mind if I made a comment, Inspector?’
‘Not at all, sir.’
‘Then, Inspector, let’s be frank with each other. I understand the meaning of words. I understand the import of questions. I want to help you in every way I can, in whatever inquiry you are making. I can best do that if you come straight to the point and stop rehearsing me in information which you already have. I have no intention of lying to you and no reason to either. I hope I make myself plain.’
‘Admirably, sir. If I’ve offended you, I apologize. In our business we have to cultivate a method and a routine of investigation. Sometimes, I admit, we stick to them a little too rigidly, especially with a cooperative witness. Now, where were we? Ah yes! We’ve established your friendship with Ruarri Matheson. Now Mr Donald here has told me of a talk you had together at the hotel in Harris. From that talk it appeared you knew that Ruarri Matheson was engaged in some illegal activity within the purview of Customs and Excise.’
‘Another correction, Inspector. It was Mr Donald who suspected the illegal activity. I became aware of his suspicions because he came aboard Ruarri’s yacht when we landed in Stornoway, and because he saw fit to telephone my host to check up on my identity and personal history. I questioned him about these matters. I also asked him whether he could give me any information that would keep me clear of illegal activity, if such were going on. Is that a fair summary, Duggie?’
‘That’s right, Inspector. And, if you’ll remember, that’s the way I told it to you.’
‘Of course. Of course. But, in spite of Mr Donald’s suspicions, you elected to make this trip on Mr Matheson’s trawler.’
‘Was that illegal, Inspector?’
‘No.’
‘Then why do you use the words in spite of? Mr Donald could not and did not suggest a contrary course of action. I would like the stenographer’s record to show that I object strongly to such loaded questions.’
‘Does the young lady have that noted? Good. Then let me ask you a very direct question, sir. Did you at any time during your sea voyage see any sign of any illegal activity, of whatever kind?’
‘No. I did not.’
‘You mentioned in your eulogy of Ruarri Matheson that he was well-travelled. What do you know about his travels?’
‘Just things that came out in casual talk. He seems to have been in most places round the world.’
‘And done a lot of strange things?’
‘Probably.’
‘Could you give me any examples?’
‘I remember only two. He did say that he had run opium in Thailand and that he had been a mercenary in Africa. The rest, I’m afraid, was generalities.’
‘So we have a smuggler and a hired gunman.’
‘I don’t know what we have, Inspector. I’ve seen only a farmer and a fisherman. The rest is hearsay. I can offer no proof of it.’
‘You’re an admirable witness, sir. I wish all my subjects were as clear as you. Tell me, do you know a lady called Maeve O’Donnell?’
‘You know I do, Inspector. She was Matheson’s escort at the dinner party which I gave. That was the first time I met her. The second was in Copenhagen a couple of days ago. She was staying at the same hotel as myself. I spent a very agreeable evening with her and we took a couple of outings in the country as well.’
‘So you have a friendship with her too?’
‘Yes.’
‘In fact you went to Copenhagen to visit her?’
‘No. I visited her in Copenhagen. I did not go specifically for that purpose.’
‘But you knew she was there?’
‘Of course. Matheson told me. He asked me to look her up.’
‘Why did you go to Copenhagen then?’
‘Because, Inspector, I left the trawler in the Faeroes, and the only way I could get back here was through Copenhagen. It’s a pleasant city, as we agreed. I decided to stay there and enjoy it.’
‘Why did you get off in the Faeroes? Why didn’t you finish the voyage as you apparently intended at the beginning?’
‘Several reasons, Inspector. The trip proved rougher than I’d hoped. I found the quarters cramped, myself slightly on the outside of a tight-knit crew whose principal language is Gaelic, and finally and most importantly the death of Lachie McMutrie cast a gloom over the whole voyage. It may sound cruel, but I came for a holiday after a bout of ill-health. I felt no call to assist at a long requiem.’
‘You didn’t feel a call to lend support or even assistance on board to your good friend Matheson?’
‘I felt he would be better without me.’
‘Or yourself safer without him?’
‘I don’t think I understand that question, Inspector.’
‘Let me put it another way then. It could be argued, without discredit, that you found yourself in rather unsavoury company and wanted to get out of it as fast as you could.’
‘But that would contradict my previous statement.’
‘Which one, sir?’
‘That I knew nothing of any illegal activity on board the trawler.’
‘So it would. So it would. But I’m still troubled by the nature of this relationship between you and Matheson. All our evidence is that you are good friends, close and cheerful friends, yet you walked away from him at a crucial moment. How do you explain that?’
‘I could just be a very selfish man.’
‘That’s not in evidence either, sir. Rather the contrary. You bought spirits for the crew, which with British taxes is very expensive. You also bought a rather costly gift for Matheson, to wit an antique sextant. These are not the gestures of a selfish man. Why did you leave the boat at T6rshavn?’
‘For the reasons I’ve given you, and one which I haven’t.’
‘Which is?’
‘Just before the tragedy, relations between myself and Matheson had become a trifle strained – on my part more than his.’
‘Over what?’
‘A private matter. I do not feel at liberty to discuss it.’
‘Then, sir, I must caution you in the strongest terms. We are investigating not merely a Customs matter, but a possible murder.’
‘Murder!’
I hoped my surprise sounded genuine. I had been rehearsing it long enough.
‘Yes, sir. Murder. So if you attempt to withhold relevant information, you may find yourself in very serious trouble.’
This wasn’t playtime any more. I could not afford either to tell a lie or to conceal any truth that might become known. On the other hand, I could not let him think he had frightened me, else he would be snapping after me like a ferret. So I gave him a surprise to keep him quiet for a while.
‘I understand the warning, Inspector. But I find myself in a very difficult position. Certain information, which has nothing to do with these events, was communicated to me in confidence. A certain, very personal service was asked of me. I performed it. As a result, an element of, shall we say, abrasion was introduced into my relations with Matheson. We were and are still good friends, but there has been embarrassment and, at that moment of crisis, I thought he would be happier without me.’
‘The information and the service, what were they? You must tell me, sir. You are neither a lawyer nor a doctor. You are not entitled to privilege in this matter.’
‘Then may I ask that a decency be observed and that this information be kept secret if it is found irrelevant to your inquiry?’
‘You may ask, of course. The best I can say is that we will try to keep the decencies. We generally do, you know.’
‘You, Duggie?’
‘If I can, sure.
’
‘Inspector, you’ve made a great deal of my close friendship with Ruarri Matheson. I’m afraid the conclusions you’re trying to draw from it are not valid, because you don’t know the true nature of the relationship. My first and closest friend on the island is Alastair Morrison. We met, a number of years ago, in Thailand. He has been a sick man for some time. One day, under great emotional stress, he told me that he was Ruarri’s natural father. When he was taken to hospital, he charged me to communicate that information to Ruarri and try to establish some kind of reasonable relationship between them. He also asked me to maintain my friendship with his son and tone him down a little. I did everything I was asked. It wasn’t easy. Ruarri was shocked and he’s still not adjusted to the idea or its consequences. So our relationship has been slightly unstable ever since. That’s all, Inspector. Alastair Morrison will confirm it, but I’d rather you didn’t ask him.’
‘The poor, poor mannie!’ said Duggie Donald fervently. ‘Poor Ruarri, too. It’s a hard thing to learn after all these years.’
‘Thanks for telling us,’ said Inspector Rawlings. ‘Naturally we’ll do everything possible to spare Mr Morrison pain or embarrassment.’
‘Thank you. Now would you like to spare me some, Inspector?’
‘If I can, yes.’
‘Then since we’re talking about a friend of mine, and the son of a friend, let’s lay the charges or the suspicions on the line. Murder’s one. What’s the other?’
‘Gunrunning to Ulster.’
‘Oh…!’
‘It’s quite big business. Dangerous, too. We don’t want another civil war, do we? Are you Irish, by the way?’
‘On my mother’s side only, a generation back. But if you’re wondering about my sympathies, I can tell you they’re all the other way. I think we’re stuffed with violence today. I crave, like most people, to see the end of it.’
‘Talking of violence, would you say Matheson is a violent man?’
‘I would say the capacity is there, yes.’
‘Have you seen any evidence of it?’
‘Yes – but in fairness I have to say that, on both occasions, I saw contrary evidence of enormous control.’
‘What were the occasions, sir?’
‘Once when I delivered Morrison’s letter informing him of his parentage. He was very shocked, very bitter. We nearly came to blows, but didn’t. The other occasion was in “The Admiral’s Spyglass”, when I saw him use a certain amount of violence on Lachie McMutrie.’
‘Kicked him in the belly, I’m told,’ said Rawlings mildly.
‘That’s right. But again he was in control in a moment.’
‘Do you remember the reason for the attack?’
‘I’ve never been clear on it, Inspector. There was a lot of talk, a lot of noise, a lot of Gaelic flying back and forth – if you go into the pub yourself tonight, you’ll see what I mean. Apparently Lachie said something out of place and Ruarri took after him.’
‘Did you ever discuss the incident with him?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘It goes back to the curious nature of our relationship. Ruarri has always tried to impress me with his skill, his accomplishment, how he has overcome the handicaps of his birth. Physical prowess was always one of his boasts. If he thought he saw me squeamish, he would have a chance to tease me. Also – and this is minor, but I think it makes sense – I’ve travelled a lot myself. I’ve been in rough places. I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut and mind my own business.’
‘So now we have a violent man. We have a calculating one, too – you mentioned his swift control. We have an attack on his crewman for an indiscreet word. We have the crewman lost overboard in mysterious circumstances. You see what’s building up?’
‘I see a lot of gaps, Inspector. Where do the guns come in?’
‘Through Miss Maeve O’Donnell, who is a known agent of the Irish Republican Army with a long revolutionary history in the family.’
‘I thought she bred racehorses.’
‘She does. And good ones. I won a nice packet on one of ’em last year at Ascot. But she still does the other thing on the side.’
‘Do you know for certain that Matheson was running guns?’
‘We do. With Lachie dead we can’t prove it.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’
‘Matheson chose and trained his men well. They’re all seasoned seamen, closemouthed as oysters. Ruarri took them at least partly into his confidence. He had to, but Lachie was the weak link. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut. And he resented bitterly being beaten in front of his comrades in “The Admiral’s Spyglass”. He came to Mr Donald here and told what he knew: that Matheson was going to Norway to pick up guns and deliver them to Ireland. We had everything set up to catch him in Trondheim. Then Lachie was murdered – or we believe he was – and Matheson went to the Faeroes instead.’
‘And after that?’
‘He fished for three days between the Faeroes and the Flannans and came home.’
‘So he didn’t pick up guns and didn’t deliver any?’
‘Not a one.’
‘How can you be sure – if you’ll forgive my asking?’
‘Because we were tracking him. We had a Navy corvette and a spotter aircraft reporting his movements, and we know he never went near Ireland.’
‘You’re very efficient, Inspector.’
‘So is Matheson. And that’s our problem.’
‘I’d like to say something, Inspector.’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m a friend of Ruarri’s. I like him. I’ll stay close to him until this thing is settled. But, if he is a murderer, I hold no brief for him, nor will, in spite of my relations with the Morrison…But I was on board the Helen II. I talked with his crew after Lachie was lost. I’m a logical fellow – you have to be to construct the simplest story. I truly don’t believe you can prove murder in a million years. If you could prove gunrunning, you might be closer to it, but even then you have only a motive. There’s no body, no witnesses, no scrap of evidence on which to build a case.’
‘Oh, we do have some evidence. I’d like to work through it with you now. Have you ever heard Matheson speak of a man named Bollison?’
‘Bollison …Bollison? Yes, I have. When we were cruising up the Minch that first day, we met a Norwegian trawler. We stopped alongside. Ruarri went aboard for a few minutes. He told me he owned half a share of the boat and that the captain’s name was Bollison.’
‘You never met the captain?’
‘No. I saw him on the deck. That’s all.’
‘You’ve never seen him since?’
‘Never.’
‘Heard of him?’
‘Yes. Matheson mentioned we would meet him in Trondheim. He talked of our having a drink with him.’
‘And in the Faeroes?’
‘Not a sight or sound.’
‘Thank you, sir. Now let’s come to your time on shipboard. I’m interested in the roster for the wheel watch.’
‘Yes…?’
‘How long were the watches?’
‘Four hours.’
‘When you left Stornoway, who was at the wheel?’
‘Matheson. It’s normal for a skipper to take his boat in and out of harbour. When we were clear of the island he handed over to Lachie McMutrie.’
‘What time was that?’
‘Two o’clock, or thereabouts. We had a late lunch.’
‘Normally, then, Lachie would have stayed at the wheel for four hours, say, until six?’
‘Well, I don’t know what’s normal on a trawler. It’s fairly informal. But I’d say the normal thing would be for Lachie to stay on till four, take a split watch, so that the hours would run four, eight, twelve and so on.’
‘What time was Lachie relieved?’
‘About four.’
‘Who took the wheel then?’
‘I did. I spent maybe an hour with Jock Burns beside
me, showing me the handling of the boat.’
‘So that was the first abnormal thing?’
‘In the circumstances I would say it was quite normal. Ruarri knows I love boats. He was paying me a compliment. I was delighted.’
‘You finished the watch at eight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who came on then?’
‘Donan McEachern. He’s the boy with the stammer.’
‘He was on till midnight?’
‘I’m told he was. I went to bed at ten-thirty.’
‘After that?’
‘Again by hearsay, Ruarri.’
‘And after him...?’
‘Ruarri told me he was to be followed by Lachie McMutrie at four in the morning.’
‘Exactly… Lachie McMutrie, for the second time in twenty-four hours, and there were two other men – three, if you count the cook – who had not stood watch at all. How do you explain that?’
‘I can’t. It’s curious, now that you mention it, but I couldn’t tell you why it was done. It’s a skipper’s business, and I was not part of the crew. So I had no cause to ask.’
‘But you see my point! A man is rostered for a watch out of normal order. During that watch he disappears overboard. What does that say?’
‘What does it say to you, Inspector?’
‘Murder – by collusion!’
‘No, I’m sorry. It’s too elaborate. And quite unnecessary. Five husky fellows against one, in the middle of the North Atlantic. They could toss him overboard at will.’
‘So we cut the collusion and we have careful planning by the skipper alone… With you as the convenient odd man out who changes the roster.’
‘It makes better sense than the other. But unless you can fill that hole between midnight and Lachie’s watch at four, you have no case.’
‘We’re filling a few others round it. Matheson’s log, for instance, did you ever read it?’
‘No. He offered to let me see it. I declined.’
‘You heard him, I believe, sending a number of radio messages in code?’
‘Did I?’
‘You had to, sir, if the times you have given us for your wheel watch are correct. There was one to Bollison in Trondheim, one to Miss Maeve O’Donnell in Stockholm, and another to a man called Fermor in Oslo. We’ve traced those messages to their destinations. They were transmitted ship to shore before you cleared the Minch – in other words, while you were on watch.’
