Dalintober Moon (2 page)

III

DS Brian Scott had arrived with the Forensic team, who set to work removing the barrel and its contents from the sand on Dalintober beach.

When Daley briefed Scott about the discovery of the body and its possible history, the detective sergeant was sceptical.

‘Dae you no’ think we’ve got enough on oor plate without having to investigate murders from over a hundred years ago? Is there no’ a special department devoted to this now?’

‘All very well, Brian, but I’ve been looking back at this little feud between the Cardles and the McMunns: assaults – lots of them, intimidation, fire-raising, fraud. You name it, it’s been going on for years.’

‘Aye, a hundred years,’ replied Scott. ‘You know fine by now what folk are like here. Best just tae leave them tae it.’

‘What, and allow all this bollocks to go on for another century? Not likely.’

Scott gave up when he realised that Daley had the bit between his teeth, eying his superior doubtfully as he scribbled on a piece of paper. ‘What’s this, another memo? I could paper oor kitchen wae the amount o’ paper that comes my way in the course o’ a day.’

‘Well, if you were part of the modern world, we’d give you a tablet and save the rain forests,’ said Daley, handing Scott the note with a smile.

‘And dae ye no’ think I’ve got enough hassle working wae computers when I’m in the office, without carrying one o’ them aboot? They gave me a new mobile phone the other day, no’ a button tae be seen. My dear lady telt me it wiz like giving a chimp a Rolls Royce. Cow,’ he grimaced.

‘The only difference being that the chimp would have the engine running and be off down the road before you managed to turn your phone on. You have a poke about and find out what they have at the local library, old newspapers and so on. I’m going to have a word with our colleagues in New Jersey, see if we can find out more about this McMunn’s time in the States.’

‘Aye, you’re the boss, Jim, but I canna help thinking that this is one hell o’ a waste o’ time,’ opined Scott, tucking the memo that Daley had given him into his jacket pocket. ‘And I notice it’s me that’s got tae go out in the elements, while you sit in your cosy office. It’s blowing fit tae wake the deid oot there.’

‘Off you go, Bubbles,’ said Daley smiling. ‘At least it’s dry now.’

With that, the wind blasted a flurry of rain against the windows of Kinloch Police Office that rattled the panes like grapeshot.

‘Oh great, right again, Sherlock. What’s this wae Bubbles, by the way?’

IV

Kinloch Library was housed within a modern building that overlooked the loch. As Scott waited for the librarian to print out what she had on the disappearance of Cardle and McMunn he looked out of the huge plate-glass window that gave him a view across the harbour: yachts and fishing boats strained at their moorings as the cold grey sea sprayed up over the harbour wall in foaming white torrents, soaking anyone who got in its way. Scott watched as the sea propelled its flotsam and jetsam onto the road, landing a large length of green seaweed onto the white bonnet of a parked car. Of the island that guarded the head of the loch, there was no sign, shrouded as it was by rain pouring from a blackened sky. He shivered involuntarily.

‘Here we are, Sergeant,’ said the librarian as she padded up to Scott, a folder of papers under her arm. ‘Sorry I took so long. The big printer is quite slow, but the station said you preferred hard copies for your files instead of a download to a flash drive.’

‘If I understood what you just said, I’d be able tae give you an answer,’ replied Scott, as a huge wave broke over the sea wall and onto the road. ‘I might just have a sit doon and go over these, if that’s all right? Wait for this to blow over.’

‘No problem. Just take a seat over there,’ she said, pointing to the reading area. ‘There’s a coffee machine, and if you need to go online, just give me a shout.’

‘I widna worry too much aboot that,’ Scott said. He laid the folder on a table and fumbled about in his pocket in search of change for the coffee machine.

‘If it’s coin yer efter, I’ve plenty,’ said a familiar voice from behind him.

‘Hamish, how are you? I’ve only got notes. Do you mind?’

The old man handed Scott some coins and, as the policemen fed them into the machine and squinted at the instructions, took a seat at the table and looked at the folder Scott had left there.

‘Aye, a terrible business altogether,’ said Hamish, sucking on his unlit pipe. ‘My grandfaither wiz one o’ the last tae see them both alive.’

‘Really?’

‘Aye. He wiz only a boy, mark you, but he minded fine them clopping past him doon the Main Street on their way doon tae the quay. A fair stow o’ whisky on the back o’ the cairt, tae. He never got tired o’ tellin’ the story.’

‘Why does that not surprise me?’

‘Och, he wiz a bit o’ a storyteller, my auld grandfaither. Could be a lot o’ blethers sometimes, mind, but always worth listening tae.’

‘Is that where you get it from?’

‘You can still hear his screams, every time there’s a Dalintober moon,’ continued Hamish, pointedly ignoring the dig.

‘Your grandfather’s?’

‘Nah, not at all. Poor Billy Cardle’s cries, as that bastard Archie McMunn beat him tae death. Hellish noise, I’ve heard them myself,’ he mused, sucking at his empty pipe again.

‘Aye, right, and I’ve seen oor Jimmy knock back the offer of a sticky toffee pudding.’

‘I’m telling you, Sergeant Scott. Enough tae chill the blood. There’s naebody in the toon that’s no heard it, hand on heart. Every night there’s a Dalintober moon, poor Billy can be heard, fair screaming for mercy. There’s one due any day, though you can never jeest predict when or if it’ll come.’

‘Well, I’ll take your word for it, Hamish. Anyhow, thanks for the change. I’ll get you a couple o’ drams in the County tonight for your pains. Noo, you’ll need tae gie me peace wae this bloody lot,’ said Scott, patting the file of documents.

‘Aye, not tae worry yersel’. I’ve the newspapers tae read. Whoot’s the point shelling oot good money when ye can read them a’ here for free, eh? Aye, an’ a lovely cup o’ tea wae it.’

‘Better than the coffee, anyway.’ Scott grimaced as he took his first sip.

‘Och, I widna put that bilge in my mooth. No, wee Janet makes me as many cups o’ tea as I want wae the kettle in her office. Here she is noo wae my first brew o’ the morning.’

As the librarian left a large mug of steaming tea on the table and went back about her business, Hamish leaned into Scott’s left ear conspiratorially. ‘I’ll tell ye somethin’ ye’ll no’ get fae any paper clippings, or the like.’

‘Oh aye, what’s that, Hamish?’

‘Billy Cardle wiz a good-looking lad, bit o’ a ladies’ man, so the story goes.’

Scott scowled. ‘Poor bugger didn’t get much time to practise his art.’

‘Time enough, Sergeant, time enough. It wisna jeest the look o’ him that Archie McMunn didna like.’ He sucked on his pipe again and winked. ‘Billy Cardle was mair than friendly wae McMunn’s wife, if ye get my drift.’

V

Daley looked out of his office window as the phone at his ear played the hold music he so despised. Just as he was about to give up and disconnect the call, the music was interrupted by a voice on the other end of the line.

‘Wantage Police Department. Go ahead, caller.’

Daley explained the reason for his call and waited to be put through to the Sheriff. Wantage, he’d discovered, was the small town in New Jersey where Archie McMunn had fetched up after he and Cardle disappeared.

‘Good day to you, sir,’ said the voice on the line.

‘Hello, Sheriff. It’s Jim Daley, Detective Chief Inspector, from Kinloch in Scotland. I’m hoping you can help me.’

Daley gave his opposite number in Wantage the background to the case. The man on the other end, Sherriff Walter P. Engler, listened quietly until Daley had finished his tale.

‘Intriguing, sir, most intriguing. However, there are parts of your story that do not tally with what I know of Archie McMunn, sir.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Mr McMunn was a pillar of our community, Chief Daley. Before he died, he owned just about anything worth owning in this town, yeah, and much of Sussex County besides. I’m pleased to say that I’m one of his successors in this job.’

Daley drew in his breath sharply. ‘You mean he was the local sheriff?’

‘He was that. Three terms in office, totalling twenty-three years in all, and a legend in the police department. A fine businessman, too. His family still have extensive business interests hereabouts.’

As Daley heard more about McMunn and his good works, love of liberty, fair play and the fortune he had apparently amassed, he began to understand why nothing had come of the investigation into the disappearance of William Cardle. McMunn had made himself an institution, in not just his adopted community but further afield. He was a prominent member of the Republican Party, and courted as such by the state governor, a number of senators, and at least one US president. The chances of his being arrested and brought back to Scotland to answer questions about an incident years before – where not even a body had been found – were negligible.

‘So, as far as you know he was a popular man, Sheriff?’

‘More than that, sir. He was literally the father of our community. From the top of his hat to the toe of his boots, he was Mr Wantage. He helped the poor, he kept the peace and he gave people jobs. In fact, I’m looking at a picture of him right now. It hangs in the Sheriff’s office here to remind us of our duty to our fellow citizens,’ he said proudly. ‘But don’t just take my word for it. I’ll have the archivist from the town hall email you what we have on Archie McMunn.’

‘Thank you, Sheriff Engler, and for your time. It’s been most illuminating. I look forward to reading more about your predecessor.’

‘My pleasure, sir. Do you mind if I relate this story to our mayor? This is something he’ll most certainly want to know about.’

‘No, not at all, go ahead,’ replied Daley. ‘As this is a live investigation, despite the passage of time, I’d be grateful if he’d keep it to himself until we have some answers, though. What’s your mayor’s name?’

‘You won’t need to write it down to remember it, Chief Daley. He’s called Archie McMunn. He’s the grandson of the man we’ve just been talking about.’

Daley wound up the conversation and leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. Unless the stories about the brutal distillery foreman were all wrong, it appeared that whatever happened between Archie McMunn and William Cardle had transformed the former’s personality. The man Daley had been told about was kind, industrious and compassionate, a model citizen. He was the very antithesis of the McMunn who disappeared from Kinloch so many years before.

Daley had seen many men change: some for the better, many the opposite. A few hardened criminals he’d known had turned their back on chaotic destructive lives and turned to religion and good works. Was Archie McMunn one of them? It certainly seemed so.

The office door swung open to reveal DS Scott, so thoroughly drenched that he could quite easily have been for a swim, fully clothed.

‘Bugger me, but I’ve never seen rain like it. I hope you’ve got a towel.’

Daley looked at his colleague for a moment, then started to laugh.

VI

As Daley and Scott walked down Main Street towards the County Hotel, a plump full moon appeared from behind a cloud and illuminated the town in an icy blue light. Though the rain had once again ceased, the wind was relentless and as Daley looked up at the great orb on the sky, small clouds flitted past, their shadows reflecting on the slick wet slate roofs of the town’s tenements.

They made the familiar left turn under the faux rampart and through the door of the hotel, which inside was warm, bright and welcoming. Behind the bar, Annie was busy serving a throng of customers, who were no doubt anxious to forget, in a fug of alcohol of their choice, the relentless wind and rain that had battered Kinloch for days.

‘How ye doin’, boys?’ she shouted cheerfully, ‘I’ll be with youse in a meenit.’

Now used to the County Hotel’s clientele, neither detective was surprised when a hush descended as they stood waiting to be served.

‘Aye, a terrible crime, right enough,’ said an old man with a pockmarked face and a bulbous nose tinged purple by regular boozing. ‘Poor Billy Cardle didna stand a chance, beaten and dumped in a barrel. It’s a bloody shame.’

‘I wonder just whoot the McMunns will have tae say aboot this?’ mused a middle-aged man in a thick fisherman’s jumper. ‘There can be nae doubt noo. They’re a’ off a murderer, and that’s a fact.’

Normally, Daley would have ignored this kind of speculation, which was in the main designed to draw information from whichever policemen were present. However, on this occasion, he decided to make an exception.

‘You should all know better than to assume that the body found earlier has anything to do with the persons you’re talking about. You’ll get nothing from me, or any other police officers in the town, come to that, until we know the facts. So, can we all just relax and have a dram or two and talk about something else? I’m sure I’m not the only one who needs his cockles warming.’

The comment elicited a few laughs, but served its purpose: a murmur of general conversation returned to the bar of the County Hotel.

‘Jeest you boys take a seat,’ shouted Annie. ‘The usual?’ She was already pouring Daley’s favourite malt whisky into a small glass.

Daley and Scott did as they were bid, and soon Annie was weaving her way towards them through the other customers with their drinks on a tray.

‘There ye are, get that doon yer necks. You’ll be needin’ it efter being oot in this weather, an’ that’s a fact. Especially exposed tae the elements doon on Dalintober beach. Have youse been there all day?’

‘Now, Annie,’ replied Daley with a smile. ‘You should know better. You’ll get no more out of us than anyone else. In fact, there’s nothing to tell, apart from what you know already.’

‘Aye, well, a girl’s got tae try.’ She smiled. ‘Ye widna expect me tae neglect my duty tae my fellow toonsfolk here and no’ try tae get something oot o’ youse, would ye?’

‘Naw,’ said Scott. ‘Par for the course for the Gossip Master-in-Chief.’

‘Watch it, you,’ she said, flicking her towel at Scott. ‘Anyhow, I thought you’d be away listenin’ tae Billy Cardle’s screams, it being a Dalintober Moon and a’.’

‘We’re police officers, Annie,’ said Scott. ‘Nae time to listen tae all that rubbish, woman.’

‘No, nor rubbish, neithers. I’ve heard his screams wae my ain ears. When we were kids we used tae go across tae the beach tae find oot if the story wiz true. I can tell you, Brian, every night there’s a Dalintober moon you can hear poor Billy screaming, fair pleading fir his life. If you don’t believe me, you should go an’ have a listen tonight.’

‘Aye, right,’ said Scott, taking a gulp of his pint.

‘Maybe we’ll take you up on that, Annie,’ replied Daley, much to his colleague’s surprise. ‘Fling another one in there, please, and we’ll take a wander down.’

‘Are you serious?’ said Scott, an incredulous look spreading across his face.

‘Yup, I am. We’ll have another one to take the chill out of the bones and then head over. You never know what’ll turn up.’

‘Aye, double pneumonia and sand in oor shoes, Jim. Bugger me, I’ve just dried oot an’ aw. I tell ye, this place is getting tae you,’ concluded Scott with a sigh.