A Dark Shadow Falls (16 page)

              ‘Don’t you recognise me, lad?’ Huw asked in a more strident voice. ‘I’m Mr Bevan.’

              The man stood up a little straighter. ‘Sorry, I didnae realise it was you, sir.’

              ‘Not to worry. It’s been a long time. Your family moved to Oban didn’t they? What brings you back here?’

              ‘I’ve been working for Bryant Construction this last five years. I travel to places all over Scotland. This is the first time I’ve been back to the island, though.’

              ‘Well, may I suggest that the three of us take a walk over to my house? It isn’t far. I’ll brew a pot of tea and light the fire, then we can discuss this matter like civilised folk.’

              ‘Okay,’ Dougie said sheepishly, leaning into the cab and turning off the engine.

              ‘Now,’ Huw continued, ‘I think you owe Mrs O’Keefe an apology. I wouldn’t like to think that those good manners we instilled in you as a wee boy have all gone astray. I don’t believe for a moment that’s true.’

              ‘No, you’re right, Mr Bevan, I’ll be sure to do that at once, sir.’

Chapter 28

I
t was just a short walk from the Bankfoot Arms to Kenneth Macallan’s house. He’d only had a couple of pints but felt a little wobbly on his feet. Then he remembered. One of his clients at the garage had bought him a dram in between. Ken was getting worried about the amount of little details that’d been slipping his mind recently. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to climb behind the wheel after having one too many. It would be disastrous to lose your licence in Ken’s line of business.

              It was dark, and along this thin stretch of the Dunkeld Road there were no lights. The Macallans’ place was in the centre of a Victorian terrace, running along the southerly route out of the village, towards Perth. Ken fumbled to fit his key inside the lock. When the door finally opened, he nearly fell with it into the hallway.

              Finding his footing again the man carefully took off his coat and cap, placing them on the hook next to his wife’s woollen jacket. Without his outer garments on the house felt cold. Nancy must have already gone to bed and let the fire go out, he decided.

              Believing his wife was upstairs, Ken thought there’d be no harm in fixing himself a wee snifter of single malt. He shuffled into the living room and headed straight for the drinks cabinet, without bothering to switch on the light.

              As Ken unscrewed the bottle, a sudden rush of cold air made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He shivered, pouring out the liquid as swiftly as he could and taking a swig, feeling it pleasantly burning his mouth and throat. He slowly turned, to see that one of the small windows had been left open. The man was puzzled. Nancy was always very careful about locking the place up at night.

              He walked across the room with a sigh, reaching up to pull it closed and securing the sneck at the bottom. Ken stood for a moment and had another sip from the glass, staring out into the darkness, immediately wondering why the outside light wasn’t on. It was one of those automatic ones, which came to life as soon as the sun went down. The only explanation he could come up with was that the bulb had died, even though the ironmonger told him it would keep going for fifteen years. Ken nearly laughed out loud. The poxy thing hadn’t lasted six months.

              In that moment, the smile that had half formed on his lips faded. In the blackness of the glass, Ken could see the dimly lit corridor leading to the front door reflected back at him. In the centre of it stood a tall figure, dressed entirely in black. Ken let the tumbler slip from his grasp and land on the carpet with a dull thud. He watched in horror as the figure began to advance, raising something aloft in its right hand.

              Kenneth was too terrified to shift around and face this monster so he stood absolutely still, with his eyes screwed tight shut. Until he felt the sudden assault of blows, which seemed to be raining down on his back and shoulders, delivered with such a rage that the man felt as if he’d somehow brought the wrath of God down upon himself.

              Ken’s legs finally buckled. His body collapsed forwards, crashing through the thin pane of glass to collapse lifeless amongst the dozens of tiny shards which coated the paving slabs below.

*

Dani glanced through the window of the café on Royal Exchange Square before she entered. DCI Annie Carmichael was already in there, dressed in a smart, dark suit and looking in every respect as if she were on her way to a funeral.

              Bevan pushed through the door and weaved past the tables to join her. Annie already had a cup of jet black liquid clutched in her hands.

              ‘Thanks so much for agreeing to meet me, Dani.’

              ‘Not at all, when’s your appointment?’ Bevan knew that DCI Carmichael was due to meet with the internal review board at the Pitt Street Headquarters some time that day.

              ‘3pm this afternoon.’ The woman gave a wry smile. ‘The last time I was at Pitt Street was to receive a bravery award. You’re only as good as your last case, eh?’

              ‘But the Fisher case isn’t over yet, Annie. There’s still a chance to turn this situation around. Have you had any luck tracing Mark Bannerman?’

              She shifted up a little higher in her seat. ‘We’re fairly certain that Mark didn’t leave the country, not unless he was able to get hold of false papers of some kind. My hunch is that he’s still in the UK. We’ve circulated his photograph and called for him to surrender himself to the authorities voluntarily, so that we can
eliminate him from our enquiries
.’

              ‘How about doing a piece on Crime Scotland? Television appeals have to be very visual in nature, but you’ve got his mother’s photographs. You might find somebody out there who recognises him.’

              Annie looked interested. ‘Aye, that’s a good idea. We could make it sound as if we’re concerned about his welfare. That may make his ladyfriend more likely to come forward.’

              Dani gratefully received a cappuccino from the young waitress. ‘You can mention your plans at the review panel this afternoon. Let them know that you’re not beaten just yet.’

              Carmichael leant across and placed her hand over Dani’s. ‘I know that you asked Nicholson to allow me to keep control of the case. I appreciate it. You didn’t have to do that.’

              ‘There aren’t that many of us women in high-ranking positions. It certainly doesn’t help matters if we don’t fight each other’s corner when times are tough.’

              The woman removed her hand and smiled. ‘Well, I owe you one.’ She slowly sipped the bitter liquid, the sharp taste almost making her grimace. ‘Do you believe that this Mark Bannerman guy was the one who killed Peggy and the children? Was there really an intruder in the Fishers’ home that Sunday afternoon?’

              Bevan took several minutes to answer. ‘I don’t know Annie. I honestly don’t know.’

Chapter 29

G
rant Bryant didn’t visit his building sites very often these days, preferring to delegate that job to his site managers. But he’d received a strange request from one of his employees. When he mentioned it to his wife, she told him that the issue had something to do with the father of her DCI friend. Sally had told him to take it seriously otherwise her brother would be cross with them.

              So here he was, at the helipad on the Isle of Colonsay. Bryant saw Dougie Beath approaching in one of their company 4x4s. He pulled the vehicle up beside his boss, jumping out to open the passenger door for him.

              ‘It’s only a couple of miles up the road, sir,’ he explained. ‘I told Mr Bevan that we’d meet at his place. It’s actually very pleasant.’

              Bryant nodded, amazed to see the usually taciturn and brutish Beath being so well mannered and communicative. He wondered what on earth had come over the man, whom he had employed purely because he worked like a carthorse, not for his diplomatic skills.

              But Beath was right. Bevan’s bungalow was spacious and well maintained, with a stunning view out across a beautiful, sandy shore and towards the seemingly endless span of the Atlantic Ocean. Bryant noticed a framed photograph of DCI Dani Bevan taking pride of place on the mantelpiece and could immediately identify a resemblance in the features of the lean, grey-haired man stood before him.

              ‘Thank you for coming all this way to speak with us,’ Huw Bevan began, gesturing for Grant to take a seat next to a cosy wood-burning stove.

              The businessman then noticed an unkempt woman sitting in the armchair opposite. She wore a kind of multi-coloured knitted smock finished off with a pair of sturdy black boots.

              ‘This is Jilly O’Keefe,’ Huw continued. ‘She owns the cottage just adjacent to your development.’

              Grant nodded politely to the woman, whose expression remained steely. He sincerely hoped that Bevan wasn’t going to leave him alone with this lady. Luckily, his host settled into the seat beside her.

              Not usually rattled by much, Grant was forced to perform a double-take as Dougie re-entered the large living room carrying a tray of teas and coffees, which he’d apparently prepared himself, without any evident prompting. The man set the drinks down on the table and sloped off into another room, to let the rest of them talk in peace.

              ‘Now, what can I do to help?’ Grant beamed broadly and displayed his palms in an open gesture.

              ‘It has come to our attention,’ Huw stated, ‘that your building work is set to destroy a very important ancient monument. It is one of the few surviving cairns of the clan Macfie left on Colonsay, the rest having been destroyed by the elements or the sea. It would seem rather crass to bulldoze such an important artefact of our Scottish heritage.’

              ‘I see,’ Grant commented, nodding his head gravely. ‘I’m afraid this ‘monument’ is not catalogued in the deeds that accompany the land. I had no problems in receiving the appropriate planning permissions from the council.’

              Jilly O’Keefe snorted loudly.

              Ignoring the interruption, Huw explained, ‘it is a cairn known to the locals of the island but has perhaps never been officially recorded. I’m afraid that much of what goes on in remote communities such as ours is carried forward through word-of-mouth and folklore. Working as you do in many out-of-the-way places like this, you are surely sensitive to such cultural differences. We aren’t in the centre of Glasgow here, Mr Bryant.’ Huw softened the sting in his words by pouring milk into one of the mugs and handing it to his guest.

              Grant thought about this. He did very occasionally have to tweak his plans on a conversion because of certain local idiosyncrasies. His eyes strayed to the woman in the armchair, who was training upon him a look of undisguised hatred. It didn’t do to stoke up animosity. He turned back to his host. ‘Sally informs me that your daughter was a tremendous help with her last case. So I tell you what, after we’ve finished our tea, you can take me for a walk along the shore. I’d like to look at this ancient cairn for myself.’

              Huw picked up one of the mugs and settled back into his armchair, with a satisfied smile on his face.

*

DS Phil Boag knocked on the door of Bevan’s office, entering when he caught his boss’s eye.

              ‘What is it, Phil?’ Dani hadn’t been able to help but notice that since the end of his marriage several months back, her detective sergeant looked like a changed man. He was toned and healthy and had a noticeable spring in his step.

              ‘Have you read the bulletin yet, Ma’am?’

              ‘No?’

              Phil strode inside and took the chair opposite. ‘There’s some news in it from central division. A couple in Bankfoot were attacked in their home during a burglary. Both are dead.’

              ‘
Shit
. When did this happen?’

              ‘I don’t know all the details yet, Ma’am. The bodies were discovered a couple of days ago, I think. Would you like me to find out more?’

              ‘Aye, I certainly would. But in the meantime, I need to go one better than that.’

*

Andy Calder drove his boss straight to the scene. A Victorian terraced property had been entirely sealed off from the road. Several squad cars lined the narrow street. Dani was heartened to spot a face she recognised amongst the plain-clothed detectives gathered in the front garden. DS Dave Driscoll. They’d worked together on a case a couple of years back. Bevan knew he was a decent copper.

              The man turned towards the detectives as they marched up the path. ‘DCI Bevan,’ he declared with a warm smile. ‘Good to see you again.’             

              Dani shook his hand firmly. ‘Is the SIO inside?’

              ‘Aye,’ Dave replied gravely. ‘The crime scene suits are there by the door if you want to go in.’

              ‘Can you fill Andy in on the details?’ Dani asked matter-of-factly, leaving the pair to it and swiftly pulling on one of the ungainly plastic overalls.

              The entrance way was poky and dark. Bevan glanced around her as she proceeded towards the sitting room at the back. This was where the techies were hard at work. There was barely anywhere to stand in the cramped space. A tall man, with a mask covering his face stepped gingerly towards her. ‘DCI Bevan?’ He enquired.

              She nodded. ‘What have we got here, DI Hawthorn?’

              ‘The bodies were removed late last night.’ He turned to point at the gap where a window had once been. ‘During or after the attack, Kenneth Macallan, 58 years old, went crashing through the glass and ended up on the patio. He’d received multiple stab wounds to the back and shoulders from a long-blade knife of some description. Nancy Macallan was stabbed in her bed. Preliminary examinations suggest she may have been asleep during the assault.’