The Pirate Club: A Highlands and Islands Detective Thriller (Highlands & Islands Detective Book 6)

by G R Jordan

  ‘From behind quickly? Would the attacker have seen the face?’

  ‘Doubtful in the moments of the attack. Previous to the moment, I can’t say. Why?’

  ‘I think this is a case of mistaken identity.’

  ‘Bit of a jump, Seoras,’ said Mackintosh and then nodded towards the door where a fireman stood behind it holding two cups of coffee. Macleod opened the door and thanked the man.

  ‘As I was saying, bit of a jump, Seoras. Mistaken identity?’

  ‘White hair, old, and with an English accent. I’m guessing it was a proper home counties accent, like Mr Dickerson or Drummer or whoever he is. Someone wants people dead. There’s also the map found on our Canna body. I can’t say for sure but given the timescale and this coincidence of my mystery man and our dead Mr Parsons, I believe there’s something more going on than a few individual killings.’

  Mackintosh sat up suddenly and yelped.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Macleod.

  ‘My back’s playing up, just around the shoulders. I can’t reach it. It’s blooming agony. Just a lack of sleep causing it but Jona’s coming over today which will help. Of course, that’s if you stop handing me more bodies.’ Mackintosh flashed a smile which then turned into a wince of real pain.

  Macleod walked round to the rear of Mackintosh’s chair and placed his hands on her shoulders, driving his thumbs hard into the area under her blades. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Hazel, I’m just trying to sort your back.’

  ‘I won’t,’ she said and then winced again.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No, it’s good, keep at it. If we had a less conspicuous office, I’d lie under some towels for you to do that, let you get at the skin properly.’ Macleod’s hands lifted slightly. ‘I meant to get at the problem, Seoras, I wasn’t coming on to you. I know you won’t stray, which while a pity, is damn attractive. So, make sure you don’t, or my dreams will be ruined.’

  Mackintosh’s familiarity bit at him but he continued his attentions to her shoulders, a trick that his partner Jane had taught him. Five minutes later and Mackintosh stood up, shrugging her shoulders.

  ‘That’s brilliant, Seoras, I could stay all day but there’s work to do.’ As she left the room, Mackintosh cast a long look back at Macleod before stopping at the door and saying, ‘Take care.’ And then she was off. Left standing, Macleod felt a pang of guilt but then told himself he was simply helping a colleague. Better not make a habit of it.

  Before he could leave the Fire Chief’s office, one of the local constables entered and advised they had some information about Dennis Parsons’ movements last night. Macleod told the man to take a seat and then leant up against the main desk in the room.

  ‘I asked Mr Parsons’ neighbours if they had seen him last night and I have him leaving his house at seven before going to the Kisimul View Bar down at the bay. Apparently, he was in there for about three hours and spoke to a lot of people, but all local sir. I have the names if required. He left alone after borrowing a jacket from another man, strangely enough not a local but becoming one they said. A Mr Killarney. From there there’s no sign of Mr Parsons until he was found dead today.’

  ‘Killarney?’ asked Macleod ‘Did you get a description of Killarney?’

  ‘A brief one, sir. White hair, English accent, very proper, quite old too. Apparently, he’s been about for a few weeks now.’

  Macleod stood up tall and wondered. ‘Get back to the locals with a copy of the sketch made of our attacked man, Mr Drummer or Dickerson. See if Mr Killarney is him. Then see if anyone knows where he is. We need to find him and fast because I think his life is in danger.’

  ‘Sir!’ said the constable taking his leave.

  He knows it too, Killarney, Dickerson or whoever he is, knows it, understands they are after him and offered up Parsons. But why are they after him, and the other victims?

  Macleod decided to return to the station to co-ordinate efforts to find the still alive white-haired man but as he got close, he saw a number of journalists outside the building. Part of him wanted to walk away but he knew it was part of his job to deal with the vultures. And with two murders on Barra, as well as the one on Canna, the press would be having a field day.

  ‘Inspector, Inspector,’ came a cry as he stepped out of the car and walked towards the station, ‘any news on the Highlander murders?’

  Part of Macleod wanted to stop right there, take the man who had asked the question and simply slap him for inciting panic. Highlander Murders! It was the decapitated heads. He remembered the film and the premise, there could be only one or something like that. That was not the image required here.

  ‘I will have a statement for you in due course,’ said Macleod without a twitch on his calm exterior. ‘Until then, please refrain from any wild speculation which may cause undue panic and agitation among the residents of this Island.’

  ‘Do they use long swords to decapitate them, Inspector? Claymores?’

  Macleod did now stop and eye up the man who had asked the question. Putting his right hand into his coat pocket, Macleod’s fist clenched tight and his teeth started to grate but he controlled himself and gave a serious look to the journalists. ‘As I said, there will be a statement in due course. If you will kindly excuse me and thank you for your time.’ Parasites, every last one!

  Chapter 8

  Hope put the mobile phone into her pocket and shook her head. They were getting nowhere on the case, the Oban address having turned out to be a dead end, albeit one which highlighted a house where certain illegal substances where being farmed. It was certainly a positive on her record but it did not bring them any closer to finding the killer and that, as Macleod was always ready to say, was the only thing that mattered—not the awards, not the prestige. Only a killer behind bars.

  Her mobile vibrated in her pocket again and Hope connected the call but did not recognise the number. Shaking her ponytail behind her, she put the device to her ear.

  ‘This is DS McGrath.’

  ‘Sergeant, this is Constable Finlay from Mallaig. I had one of the ferry crew on the Canna-Mallaig run drop into the station just now and give me a tale about a near fight on board the ferry that they saw. I was wondering if you wanted to interview them yourself. I’ve taken a statement but given the circumstances I thought you might want to speak to them directly.’

  Macleod wanted Hope over to Barra as soon as possible and she had planned to catch the ferry from Oban across, but this was worth the trip back up to Mallaig. ‘You’re absolutely correct, constable, but it’ll take me a few hours to get there, I’m in Oban. I’ll see them this afternoon.

  ‘Yes, ma’am, station will be open; come right on in.’

  In the quieter parts of Scotland, the police stations were not always manned full time and Hope thought it took things back to a more familiar time and place where the local community was well known by the one and only local bobby. But the reality was not so quaint and although the service was often low in numbers in these parts, they were no less running a full service and responding in the same way as any other part of the force. It just took longer to get numbers to the more off-route towns and villages.

  As Hope settled herself into the winding drive back to Mallaig, she took a call from Jona Nakamura, the forensic lead she was working with on Canna. ‘Detective, Jona here, I’ve been called over to Barra to help out with circumstances there. I was wondering where you are at the moment as I had heard you were making for Oban. I’m due to catch the ferry from there in the morning after I wrap up a few details with the work from Canna.’

  Hope smiled. During their brief room share on Canna, something had ignited between the women and she remembered Jona’s ability to take the sting out of her shoulders and responsibilities. A bit of company would not go amiss.

  ‘I’m making my way back up to Mallaig to interview someone,’ said Hope, ‘but I’m due on that ferry tomorrow too. I’ll meet you tonight in Oban. If you’re booking a hotel,
get me a room.. What time are you expecting to get there?’

  ‘Maybe eight, nine.’

  ‘Well then, time for dinner and a glass or two of wine. See you then.’

  ‘Deal,’ said Jona and cleared the call.

  As the road swung this way and that among trees and the rare house, Hope realised she was looking forward to simply getting a break tonight even if it was just for a few hours. It had baffled her when Macleod seemed to allow Mackintosh to be a little closer to him than she thought necessary or even appropriate, given his relationship with Jane. But it was lonely being in charge and someone on the outside—and the forensics people were certainly on the outside, albeit they were also colleagues—was a perfect choice. And then her mind swung to Allinson back in Inverness. She had called him, but he was working and they had little chance to talk. But his effect was still there; she had just used the term appropriate in her thoughts about a relationship. Those were Allinson’s, not Hope’s.

  The day remained dull and grey but the rain that had plagued her journey had stopped when she drove into the Mallaig and located the station. Inside she found Constable Finlay and he welcomed her by putting on the kettle before calling their witness on the landline. After a brief drink, a girl of maybe nineteen walked through the station front door dressed in black from head to foot. Her face was pale, but from applied make-up—and there was a tinge of purple around the eyes and on her lips.

  Hope recognised a Goth when she saw one and the t-shirt underneath the long black coat showed the motif of a band she recognised. Thinking about her trip across to Canna, Hope did not recognise the girl, but she would have looked different.

  ‘DS McGrath, this is Gail Curran, one of the crew from the Canna run and she dropped in to tell me a bit about an incident that happened on the boat the day before the body was found on Canna.’

  ‘Thank you for coming in, Gail; please take a seat. Do you want a drink?’

  The girl looked with cold eyes before shaking her head in the negative and then plonking herself like a falling sack of potatoes into the chair.

  ‘Okay,’ said Hope, ‘just take it from the top, tell me everything you told the constable earlier on today and if I want to ask about something, I’ll stop you. But otherwise just give me the whole tale. Okay?’

  The girl pulled herself up to the table before her and looked over at Hope, seemingly studying her. For a moment, Hope wondered if she approved but the girl then dumped her elbows on the table and seemed to concentrate.

  ‘It was a morning run and there were few people on the boat. The Master had asked me to clean out some of the toilets at the rear of the vessel and I was able to see out onto the rear passenger area, the one that’s exposed to the elements. The rain was doing that drizzle thing, you know the one where it doesn’t give up and gets you wet in no time. But I saw these two women. Well, one was older than the other.’

  Hope pulled a photofit from her pocket of the dead woman at Canna and placed it on the table. ‘Was the older woman this woman?’

  The girl studied the picture for a moment. ‘Definitely. That’s her all right.’

  ‘And what did the other woman look like?’

  ‘She was a girl, not a woman, probably younger than me. In fact, definitely younger, maybe sixteen. Bit tarty looking, too. You know the type, bra strap showing. She’s standing outside on a wet deck on the sea with the wind and drizzle but she’s in her tight jeans and a crop top with the underwear showing. No class at all.’

  Hope looked at the pale face and realised that there was a real loathing of this girl. Maybe Gail had suffered from these types of people as Goths often did. Gail was certainly not showing any flesh. Apart from her hands and face, there was no other white skin.

  ‘So, what happened between them?’

  ‘Well, the girl keeps pushing up against the woman and I think, looking back, she may have had a weapon in her hand, maybe a small knife or something like that because the woman kept looking at the girl’s hand. I couldn’t hear what they were rowing about, and it was definitely a row from their faces, but it seemed like the older woman was being accused of something.’

  ‘How long did the incident go on for?’

  ‘A few minutes and then the woman walked off. I didn’t think anything of it but after that woman died and then I came off my rotation, I suddenly thought maybe there was something in what I saw, so I decided I should come in about it.’

  ‘I’m glad you did, Gail. It’s most helpful,’ said Hope, thinking about what she should do. ‘Just stay there a minute, Gail, I need to talk to the constable.’ Hope took Constable Finlay to the front office and told him that DC Ross would be arriving with a sketch artist to make up an image of this young girl who threatened their victim. Hope advised she wanted it done that night and that Finlay was to make the arrangements with Gail Curran and also to pull together a full description of the young girl from Gail.

  On walking back into the interview room, Gail looked up and smiled at Hope. ‘I thought of something else. I said she looked a bit of slapper with her bra strap hanging out. Well, she also had a stud just under her lip. And she wore these large earrings, big hoops. She had black hair, bloody shiny and vibrant—lucky bitch—but it had these silver hoops falling in and out of it, hanging from her ears.’

  ‘Anything else about her?’ asked Hope.

  Gail suddenly looked downwards before lifting her face with a sullen look. ‘Yeah, I don’t think it was her bra doing it, but she was bloody lucky with her boobs. Big for her age, I reckoned. I remember because, Alex said it to me when he saw her coming on board.’

  ‘Did she have a car?’

  ‘No, I think she walked on. But she was pretty happy with her looks. Shed load of make-up on too. Spider eyes because of the mascara, fake tan I reckon, arse out, boobs shoved forward. Little tart.’

  ‘Alex, you said, who’s Alex.’

  ‘The main cook. Romanian, blond-haired, and into good music.’

  Hope saw beyond the comment and reckoned Alex and Gail may have spent more than work time together at sea. No wonder the girl seemed a threat to Gail. ‘Are you going anywhere tonight, Gail?’

  She shook her head in the negative and Hope smiled. ‘Good, I have a friend coming down to this station tonight, a DC Ross who will want to speak to you. He’s going to bring an artist with him to see if we can get a good likeness of the girl you saw. Constable Finlay will advise you of the time. Also, if you have Alex’s number, can you give it to the constable?’

  Less than twenty minutes later, Hope was back on the road heading for Oban. She had called Ross and explained the situation, giving him instructions for the night. Macleod had already been onto her, advising that Ross should man the main office when he was complete, and that Hope was to get over to Barra first thing.

  Her shoulders ached and she fought fatigue on the way as her mind raced through possible options about the young girl who was on the ferry. But she had not gotten off the ferry at Canna; that was established by the ferry records. There was also something nagging her about the case on Barra too—was it connected? Macleod must have the same idea as he was asking for her to be with him while this was a murder investigation in its own right. And what was the whole map deal?

  After arriving at her hotel and changing into a pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt, Hope sat with a glass of wine at a seat overlooking the entrance to the hotel. At ten o’clock, Jona Nakamura walked up the hotel steps and checked in at reception. Hope waved and then waited ten minutes while the Asian woman went to her room and deposited her bags. By half past ten, they were eating together from the twenty-four bar menu.

  Hope felt exhausted but she listened to Jona talking about her day and then about her mother, who was apparently threatening to come up north and sort out her daughter. Jona was of an age for marriage, it seemed, and the family was keen to make it happen.

  ‘This is the UK and here, it’s my choice,’ she said and showed a determined face with it.
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br />   ‘You tell them,’ said Hope and felt a warmth towards the woman. She was certainly easy to look at and her smile lit Hope up inside. But all too soon the evening had gone, and the plates were cleared. Tomorrow was an early start and Jona wanted some sleep. Hope did not blame her, and she knew she could do with some herself.

  The room was hot and as Hope lay beneath the covers, she could not get comfortable despite being in her bare skin as she always slept. There was something making her leg itch, and then her shoulders would not sit comfortably in any position. Macleod would want progress on the case tomorrow. No, her case. She rang Allinson but got no reply.

  Hope got out of bed and threw on her dressing gown. Outside her window the rain kept coming and she looked at the streetlights, their beams blurred through the raindrops. She should not bother anyone but just accept she was restless and try and get back to bed. But Hope picked up her key card and stepped out into the corridor and walked five rooms along. She gave a gentle knock.

  ‘Yes, who is it?’ came a tired voice.

  ‘It’s Hope, can I come in?’

  ‘It’s three in the morning; what’s the crisis?’

  The door opened and Jona stood in a pair of pyjama bottoms, long and blue, along with a t-shirt that showed a crazy duck motif. Hope smiled and Jona forced a return, but she was clearly not happy. ‘Come in.’

  ‘Sorry to bother you but it’s just, I can’t get to sleep. I’m just lying there all tense and all I can do is think about things. I just needed to come and see you.’

  Jona’s face was serious, and a little angry. ‘You stared at me all night at dinner and now you come into my room in just a dressing gown at three in the morning. I need to know, Hope, is this some sort of a half-assed come on.’

  Hope’s face collapsed into a look of horror and then she thought about the evening before crumbling into laughter. ‘Sorry, it would look like that, I never thought. I’m just sore and restless and over on Canna when you worked your magic on my back it took it all away. I was just wondering if you could do that again.’