by G R Jordan
The weather was drab, a grey curtain hanging over everything but so far it had not rained, yet the darkness of the clouds gave credence to the general belief that may happen later. They set off in the minibus and Hope watched the small gravelly road disappear behind her as they wound their way beside a low stone wall. The crime scene was a mere kilometre as the crow flies, but it took slightly longer than anticipated due to the curving nature of their route. But soon Hope could see a wooden bridge, wide enough for vehicles but also surrounded by a small number of blue uniformed volunteers.
Hope watched the forensic team begin to cordon off the scene around the bridge and waited a moment while the coastguard officers departed. Giving each of them a verbal ‘thank you’, she then approached the senior forensic officer for an initial assessment. Of course, Macleod had taken Mackintosh who they worked with before whereas Hope now had a new officer to deal with, one who had only recently moved to the area.
From behind, Jona Nakamura stood only five-foot-tall with a shimmering run of black hair that reached half-way down her back, or would have if she had not tied it up and then tucked it away inside her coverall suit. On the ferry over she had seemed aloof, not just from Hope but also from her colleagues. She also seemed noticeably young which was a phrase Hope was not used to. The woman would be at least around twenty-five to get to her position in the forensics team, but she looked like she had barely seen her twenties. Lucky her, thought Hope.
‘Miss Nakamura,’ said Hope, causing the woman to spin round, ‘do you have any initial thoughts for me.’
‘She’s not been dead more than maybe two days at most, probably less. Definitely a struggle given the bruising I can see and killed quite brutally. Someone held her from behind and sliced into her throat. It did not slice cleanly, however, and there was a struggle, but they continued and eventually almost severed the head; the neck is cut almost right through. But it was not a clean cut, more of a sawing action so the assailant would be quite strong in comparison to our victim.’
‘Delightful’ muttered Hope. ‘Any identification?’
‘Over here,’ said the officer and took Hope down the side of the bridge to where a number of items had been laid out in the grass but all bagged. ‘We have a wallet of sorts, more a sporty type than a man’s wallet. Inside we found bank cards and a driver’s licence. According to these items, the woman is Jane Thorne of an Oban address. I’d place her in her fifties or sixties, Sergeant. That’s about all so far but I’ll see what more we can find out. Do we have anywhere to set up as a temporary office?’
Oh hell, I forgot to ask Farmer about that. ‘We’ll be sorted soon,’ said Hope smiling and then made a beeline for Andrew Farmer. ‘Thanks for your assistance, Mr Farmer; your team can stand down now. Is there somewhere we can get accommodations for the night and maybe a small hall to set our things up in? I doubt we’ll be here more than a day or so, but we will need to find some beds.’
‘There’s a right few of you,’ the man replied, ‘but I’ll see what we can do. You may have to double up. I’m not sure what the guest house has available, but I’ll come back to you, Sergeant.’
Hope watched the forensic team continue their work before walking back along the road they had travelled to find Ross spreading out the uniformed officers. The tall man smiled as she approached and looked up at the drizzle that had started to fall.
‘When I took up policing, this is the type of day I longed for—a cold, dreich afternoon with a slight wind to try and chill you on an island with no mobile signal and little transport.’
‘I actually enjoy the outdoors,’ replied Hope. ‘Maybe you should let me and John take you camping.’
‘I’ll go clubbing with you,’ he laughed. ‘Do you have everything you need?’
‘Honestly, Ross, I don’t know why but I’m a little off balance, not having Macleod here. I want to see the men who found the body. It’s all a bit haphazard here, isn’t it? I guess they are at the campsite; the report did say that’s where they were staying.’
‘Camping in this weather, they must be mad.’
‘Depends on who’s keeping you warm, Ross. Look, Farmer’s going to get us set up with a hall and somewhere to stay, so get the island covered, statements and the usual and I’ll see our happy tourists. Then we’ll reconvene inside wherever Farmer gets us and sort out what we know. I’ll need to update Macleod then as well.’
Twenty minutes later, Hope had found the campsite just as the rain began to fall more heavily and looked at the single tent in the field. For two people it was reasonably generous which Hope was thankful for. This would be her first tent interview and the thought of lying down to grill someone about what they had seen was laughable.
Approaching the tent, Hope rapped the side and shouted a hello. The front door was unzippered and the face of a black man, young but worried, looked at her.
‘DS McGrath, from Inverness. I’m here to see Daniel and James—is that you?’ The man nodded. ‘Can I come in?’
Without a word, the tent door was fully opened, and Hope stepped inside and almost immediately had to kneel down to avoid touching the sides of the tent. Inside the place was a mess with upturned sleeping bags and cooking items and clothes scattered about.
‘Sorry that your holiday has been ruined,’ said Hope. ‘Seeing things like that tends to cause the strongest to feel their worst. Can I ask why you are here, on Canna?’
‘Just a holiday,’ said the white man who was sitting at the rear of the tent. ‘I’m James, James Talon and that’s Daniel, Danny if you want, Danny Adebayo. We’re both from Plymouth, at college there.’
‘Flatmates?’ asked Hope.
‘Friends,’ said James.
‘Lovers,’ interrupted Daniel in a sullen tone. Eyes flashed across the tent and Hope could feel the awkwardness of the situation.
‘So why here?’
‘It’s not easy back at the college. You think it would for two men to be together but with our skin colours we can’t really act as we would want back there.’
‘Really,’ said Hope quite surprised. ‘We get some homophobia and race issues up here, but I thought down south would be more tolerant. How long have you been here?’
‘Three days,’ said James,’ We were just out walking when we saw the body by the bridge, and well, it was not pleasant.’
‘I was posing for James, he likes to take photographs of me,’ said Daniel. ‘We can’t really do that easily back home, not slightly riskier ones anyway. Lots of space around here away from people. No one to offend and at night no one cares.’
‘Did you recognise the victim?’ asked Hope.
‘No, why would we?’
‘Have you noticed anyone out of place here? Anyone who does not seem to be from the island?’
‘Hard to tell having only got here but I don’t think we have seen anyone except the site owner and maybe two other locals until we found the body. They gave us some whiskey and that, but since then, we have stayed here really. We thought the place would be swarming and we didn’t want any attention.’
Hope tried to shuffle as her legs were starting to go to sleep but when the tent sides began to shake, she stopped and saw James’ horrified eyes. ‘Give me contact details, and also your schedule for the next weeks. I’ll be discreet, gentlemen, but I will need to see the photographs you have in your camera. It’s to see if you have caught anyone in the background. I take it there’s nothing too saucy in there.’
‘No,’ said James, ‘I’m a proper photographer, not some guy collecting porn images. It’s all Danny in them but he’s not undressed or anything.’
‘Too risky, that sort of thing, Officer,’ said Danny, almost wistfully.
That night Hope stood in the makeshift hall looking around at the laptops and other technical gear the team had brought over with them. The space was cramped, really tight, but had been bustling that evening. The woman had come over only on the day of the murder and had been spotted by several locals,
along with two boats who had moored in the harbour. Despite checking AIS records, the Automatic Identification System that sent out a signal, no boats could be identified and no persons from the boats could be described in any fashion by the local population.
But the real find of the day was brought to Hope by Jona Nakamura and had been discovered in a secret compartment on the victim’s coat. It was a scrap of parchment and had instructions on one side, in a calligraphy script and a map on the reverse. The map seemed to show Canna, but it was in large detail and there were no markings on it. The instructions on the reverse required you to have another piece of map to use places marked to fix a final position. This was done by grid markings on the map that ran along its sides, but they were not from the normal Ordnance survey grid.
It was now midnight and Hope had stared at the map for over an hour thinking about how to proceed. All she had was a map she couldn’t use and a name. Tomorrow, she would go to Oban and chase up the address from the woman’s identification. A car had visited but there had been no signs of life in the house. Neighbours had said they were out and would return tomorrow though they had not known where they had gone. And it was they. A man and a woman.
Leaving one constable in the hall overnight, Hope trudged through the drizzle and dark to the guest house which had left the door unlocked. Due to numbers, Hope would be sharing a room with Jona Nakamura and she found the woman in her pyjamas on the floor cross-legged and with her eyes closed.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb,’ said Hope. ‘I’ll give you a while longer if you want.’
‘It’s okay, come in. You look exhausted.’ By contrast, the Japanese woman looked almost fresh, her long hair now running down her light green top.
‘I thought I might take a shower and then get to bed. Got a lot on my mind with this one. All very bizarre, finding a map like that and little else. Whoever killed her wasn’t seen at all.’
‘The address was no good?’
‘Not so far, but I’ll go over there tomorrow. Ah, good,’ said Hope looking across the room. ‘They gave us the en suite. I’ll just use the shower.’
When Hope emerged from the bathroom, she was in her own pyjamas and was glad she had packed a pair. Normally she wore nothing in bed but she carried a spare set just in case the places she stayed at were cold. She hadn’t expected to share a room.
‘You still look exhausted, Sergeant, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘Hey, it’s Hope up here. No point with all that formality when we have to share like sisters.’ Hope laughed. She’d never had any siblings and she thought it was something she had missed out on having heard Allinson talk about his family.
‘Jo then, not Jona. My friends just call me Jo.’
‘Do you meditate often?’ asked Hope.
‘Daily, it’s good for you . . . but you need a bit more than meditation. Your shoulders are wound up tight.’
‘Yes, well, my man’s at home so I’ll have to just suffer.’
‘Kneel down,’ said Jona, ‘and just close your eyes.’ Hope wondered what the woman was about to do and felt a little trepidation in case she had missed some sort of feeling in the room. A pair of delicate hands started to rub her shoulders, thumbs slowly working into the aches and strains that were pulling at them.
‘Better?’
‘Hell, yes, don’t stop. And Jo.’
‘Yes?’
‘Next time we need forensics, forget Mackintosh, okay. You’re up, girl. Although I’m not sure Macleod will let you do this.’ They laughed. But he damn well should!
Chapter 4
Macleod looked at his watch and saw the hour was just past ten. The night had come in some time ago and he had retired to their hotel realising that there was little else to be done tonight. Mackintosh had sat down to eat with him and the rest of the team, but she had been subdued, maybe after his ticking off earlier, or maybe she was simply shattered. It had been a long day and they needed sleep. There had been no identification left on the man’s body and so it was a wait for possible DNA matches or dental record checks to give confirmation to the ID on the victim. But the locality made it awkward for things to run as smoothly as they would on the mainland or even on Lewis. Yet the local sergeant was sure the victim was Alasdair MacPhail.
People used to always laugh about his home being on the edges of civilisation and he even remembered the comedy show and the weekly skit showing the Hebridean broadcasting corporation. The actor played a bumbling oaf of a man and he thought it somewhat cruel even back in the day. The islands were normal in a lot of ways, people all with their satellite dishes and internet connections. But there was definitely a wild side to the place, winds that blew hard, power cuts during the storms and a simple remoteness. He felt it more here on Barra than on Lewis. Or maybe he was just somewhere new, for he had never been on Barra before.
His thoughts turned to Hope, and he reckoned she was doing well from her report just a few moments ago. Now, she really was somewhere remote, but at least she would not have many press after her out on Canna. Most people saw Hope as a strong, confident woman, her confidence highlighting her good looks and the striking red hair but Macleod had seen the other side of her, a place most of us have where the doubts creep in and we blindly ignore the strengths we have for our shameful weaknesses. Their relationship had been difficult for him, but she had helped him enormously and he felt he had been able to reciprocate—a far cry from their starting point.
After making coffee, Macleod grabbed his TV remote and decided to pass away an hour before bed. He didn’t care what was on as it would just be background noise while his mind scrambled over the case. When a case was running, he could never truly switch off. With no Jane to help him, it would be worse, and a screen was nothing compared to a cheeky brunette who could ease his tensions or lift him out of self-pity if a case was not proceeding well. But a TV was all he had.
There was a cry from outside his window. Macleod forced himself from his bed and was at the window within seconds as another cry struck the air. Looking down to the road outside, he saw a young man of maybe twenty punching an older man, more akin to Macleod’s age, right in the teeth. Blood was spilt and the young man was shouting in the older man’s face. Macleod could not make out the words but instead turned on his heel shouting to the air for Stewart as he ran through the hotel. Never a coward and always ready to engage anyone who was causing trouble, Macleod was also well aware that these days his fighting prowess was somewhat lacking compared to the fit young bucks coming up behind him. Hope and Stewart could both mix it having been trained in martial arts whereas Ross was simply a strong and tall individual. There was no shame in calling for assistance.
As Macleod cleared the front door of the hotel and ran around the corner to the roadside where he had seen the commotion, he picked up the shouting from the fight. Someone was demanding where something was and was not getting a response. As the perpetrator came into view, Macleod watched the older man crumble and hurtled towards the younger man.
‘Police, stand down now!’
The younger man looked over at the advancing Macleod. ‘Aye, right. Did they send you from the retirement home?’
The anger swelled in Macleod, which was never a good thing, and he tore at the man who readied himself for Macleod’s attack. Abruptly halting as he reached this younger foe, Macleod tried to grab the man’s arm, but the man was fast and sidestepped, delivering a blow to Macleod’s ribs. He felt the wind being knocked from him and then fought to get his arms before him as another blow rained towards his head. The fog of his hands did enough to deflect the blows, but he was now back peddling with the younger man advancing.
Macleod stumbled and fell. The man looked around him before picking up a piece of metal pipe from the roadside. Trying to scramble away, Macleod got tangled up in his own feet and watched as the man raised his pipe and readied himself for a vicious blow.
‘Stop, police!’ It was Stewart’s voice.
The man stepped back off Macleod before looking at his new target. Macleod pushed himself off to the side as Stewart continued.
‘Put the pipe down and get on your knees. Now! Pipe down and knees!’
Glancing round, Macleod saw his newest member of the team standing in a black silk dressing gown with bare legs below her midthigh. The gown was tied like a judo outfit and she still wore the trademark glasses, pushing them up as she looked at her opponent.
‘Bloody hell, first an old man and now a dumpster!’
Unlike himself, Stewart showed no reaction to the remark which Macleod believed would have hurt. He knew Kirsten was sensitive about her weight, or rather her look. While being small, she was also well-built and he thought of her like a powder keg, compact but explosive. But she was also one of those women whose muscles were not seen to the fore due to the curvy nature of her body, and someone cruel would say it was due to overeating or a lack of exercise. In Stewart’s case, it was most definitely genetics.
As she approached, the man made a swing at her head which she stepped back from and then advanced, grabbing him by the arm. But he kept coming and she took a blow to her head which sent her glasses flying. It was like she had not been hit and she drove an elbow into his guts causing him to stumble backwards as she continued to hold his arm. Pulling him back to her, she followed up with a knee to the stomach. The man momentarily reared backwards before driving his shoulder low at her and taking them both to the ground.
‘Feisty, big girl,’ said the man breathlessly. Macleod tried to rise but he was feeling groggy from the punch and was struggling to co-ordinate to his feet. He watched the man sit up on top of Stewart and fire a punch on her face. She took it on the chin before grabbing his shoulders and driving a knee between his legs. She then threw him off and rolled up to her feet, ready to go again.
The man looked at Stewart and then at Macleod who was now beginning to rise. There were further shouts around the corner making the summation of his situation a negative one, for the man took off along the road into the night. Macleod collapsed back to the ground.
