Whisky From Small Glasses (17 page)

Daley entered the bar and stood for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the gloomy light. Turning to his left, he spotted Liz sitting at a table near the window. He held his hand to his mouth in a drinking gesture, to which she replied with a nod, pointing at her wine glass.

‘Pint of heavy and a dry white wine, please.’ Daley was aware that two elderly customers were appraising him from their perches at the bar.

The bartender reached under the counter for a glass, then made his way to the appropriate beer tap. ‘Don’t tell me you’re the lucky man who has the pleasure of that young lady’s company?’

The question was impertinent, but glancing at Liz he could see she was smiling, so he assumed she had been made welcome in this odd little bar. ‘Yes. I hope you’ve been keeping my better half entertained.’

‘Yes.’ The barman spoke as though Daley had just managed to get a particularly difficult question right. ‘Unfortunately, as you can see, I don’t get the chance to look at many pretty customers in this establishment.’ He looked wearily at the
two old men at the bar. ‘More like the chamber of horrors in this place, with a bit of tapping thrown in, of course. Oh, and hugely stimulating conversation, as I’m sure you can imagine.’

Daley paid for the drinks, telling the barman to put the change into the charity jar, which sat on the bar.

‘Thank you, sir, an absolute gent. I’m George, by the way.’ He extended a meaty paw over the bar for Daley to shake.

‘Jim, Jim Daley. I take it my wife has introduced herself?’ He looked back over at Liz.

‘Liz,’ she shouted with a smile.

Daley took the drinks over to the table and sat down facing his wife. She was as stylish as usual, wearing a tight-fitting, short-sleeved blouse, and a pencil skirt made of faded denim that looked old but was probably brand new and had cost a fortune. The laces from a pair of Roman sandals snaked up her tanned calves.

She observed him with her smoky-blue eyes. His dark hair was not as short as usual, while his top shirt button was undone, as was his habit. He looked tired, and she felt a sudden pang of sympathy – a desire to mother him. She leaned over and touched his hand, looking up at him under her arched eyebrows. ‘You look as though you’ve been up all night, darling.’ She stroked his hand absently.

‘I have, well, just about. I managed a couple of hours’ sleep last night. You, of course, look as stunning as ever.’ He didn’t know how she did it; even just stroking his hand made his pulse race. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late. Did you get my text? It’s been one hell of a day.’

‘Darling, you work too hard. I’ve been telling you that
forever. The lodge is lovely, by the way. You must come up and have a gander.’

He sat back in his seat, removing his hand from the table and from her caress.

‘Aw,’ she said, her bottom lip thrust out in an affected pout, ‘are you missing me?’

‘You might as well know I’m not all that chuffed you’re staying with Mark and not me. We might be away from home, but there’s plenty of the usual suspects here on this investigation, know what I mean?’ He looked straight at her, clearly irritated.

‘Oh, I might’ve known that would be a problem. I simply thought that you and the boys would be in the hotel in the town, and you wouldn’t want me there getting in the way. After all, you are working, and this is just a jolly for me.’

Daley had now crossed his arms, and he took a few moments to answer her, during which time he looked out of the window at the loch and the hills behind. ‘You know I can’t stand Mark, Liz. You must’ve realised I wouldn’t be happy, you choosing to stay in the lap of luxury with him, while I’m kicking my heels in the local fleapit. Anyway, why can’t he bring his own wife? How does she feel about you pair jetting about all over the place? Not great, I’ll bet.’ He grabbed the pint glass angrily and quaffed a few mouthfuls.

‘Oh, we
are
in bad trim.’ Liz was now leaning back in her seat against the wood-panelled wall, her smile replaced with a been-here-before frown of bored resignation.

‘Liz, I can’t stand that cu—’ – he remembered where he was in time – ‘your brother-in-law, and he hates me, so why jolly all the way down here with him, when you know I’m up
to my neck in a serious investigation? Sometimes I feel you’re just trying to rub my nose in it – after all that’s happened and everything.’ He looked pointedly at the floor, his head slightly shaking, as though he was reliving one of her infidelities in high definition.

‘Because the chance turned up. Because I needed a break. Because Mark’s a good laugh. For all sorts of reasons. You and I need to talk, really.’ She leaned over and grabbed his hand, this time holding it tightly.

‘If you’ve chosen right here, right now for my Dear John moment, don’t bother.’ His face was starting to burn. ‘I wondered why you were so anxious to talk to me. I mean, you usually can’t be bothered spending more than ten minutes in my presence, and that’s in our own house.’

‘Me? Me not bother about you?’ Her face was a picture of indignation. ‘I’m there for you all the time, but you’re too busy staring at corpses, or trying to bring about the downfall of some old lag, or whatever it is you call them.’

He looked away again, this time at a painting on the wall: a clichéd Scottish landscape, complete with baying stag. ‘Let’s keep this civil.’ He had lowered his voice, a hunch telling him that the other occupants of the pub were all ears. ‘I might have time for dinner or something later, but this is neither the time nor the place for one of our arguments. This town is the mother of all gossip holes, and I’m trying to lead a murder investigation, so I’m quite high profile just now.’ He looked at her pleadingly, willing her to understand.

‘When are you
not
heading up some investigation?’ Liz had no intention of keeping her voice down. ‘I remember my poor mother warning me what it would be like being married to a policeman.’

‘Oh please, not your mother again.’ He raised his eyes to the ceiling.

‘Why not? She was right: shit job, shit pay, shit life.’ Liz recrossed her legs, folded her arms, and looked resentfully out of the window.

They didn’t speak for a few minutes, avoiding each other’s furtive glances and eavesdropping on a conversation at the bar about some local who had managed to get his manhood stuck in his zip and was only freed by an emergency flight to a Glasgow hospital – something George found hilarious.

‘I’ve been promoted by the way.’ His voice was almost a whisper.

‘What?’

He had her full attention now, even though her face was still a mask of anger. ‘Promoted. I’m a chief inspector now. I only found out this morning.’

She looked at him for what felt like a long time. She knew how much he wanted career advancement, and she felt guilty that it was because of her that he had appeared unlikely to get it. ‘That’s wonderful, darling.’ Her voice was even now, but she still looked troubled.

‘I thought you’d be pleased. It’s what you’ve always wanted. Remember Gabby at the tennis club, or Rachel at badminton? Well, now you can tell them your husband’s a chief inspector.’ He lifted his glass and glugged thirstily. ‘Do you want another?’ He took her nod as an affirmative and went up to the bar.

Liz looked at her husband. Those were new trousers, but dreadful, the backside was hanging down towards the back of his knees. She wished he wouldn’t shop without her. Somehow though, it was hard to change his level of sartorial
elegance; clothes that looked fine in the shop, or online, or on somebody else, immediately developed that lived-in look as soon as he put them on. But he did have something – Jim Daley, her husband. He exuded a raw sexiness that was beyond people like Mark, despite all his success, money and style. He was more, she supposed, like mankind was intended to be, as opposed to the well-groomed, fragrant, slightly effeminate creatures that now inhabited popular culture and the fantasies of women. She smiled at him as he sat down, watching as he put both drinks down then pushed her wine glass across the table. ‘I am pleased for you, really. I’m worried what it means for us though, you know? I hardly see you as it is. Will this promotion make things worse?’

Daley looked distracted. ‘He’s one cheeky bastard.’ He lifted his eyes and inclined his head to indicate that he was referring to George behind the bar. ‘He’s asking if you and I can keep it down to a dull roar, says it’s affecting his sensitive customers.’

She managed a gulp of her wine before bursting into laughter. ‘Darling, you’re a natural comedian, do you know that?’

He began to smile too. Her laugh was so infectious; it was one of the first things he had noticed about her. Her eyes crinkled into mirth, transforming her cool languid gaze into a cheeky sexy grin. She had a dirty laugh too, at odds with her refined façade. As always, he felt the familiar tingle of desire when in her company. He laughed.

Later, they stood outside the bar admiring the loch and the hills beyond, watching their myriad shades reflected in the gently rippling water. Liz breathed in the scented evening
air. ‘It’s so mild. I was quite cold at home, but it’s as though summer’s come early here.’ She looked over at Daley.

‘It’s because of the Atlantic drift. It comes off the Gulf Stream and warms up the coast. I don’t think you’ll see many palm trees growing naturally anywhere else in Scotland, eh?’ He pointed along the esplanade at three of the exotic trees, as their long green leaves ruffled in the gentle sea breeze.

‘Hark at the old sea dog.’ She took his arm. ‘Shall we meet up later for a meal? How about eight at this County Hotel?’

‘Better make it half eight. I’ll phone and book in case they shut up shop. I probably won’t make it until then. What are you going to do now?’

‘Oh, probably just go for a stroll. I can get a taxi back to the lodge any time I want. Mark’s opened an account with the taxi company . . . Sorry.’ She noted her husband’s face darkening considerably at the mention of her brother-in-law’s name.

‘Do you still love me, Liz?’ The question came from nowhere.

She said nothing for a while, looking out over the harbour. ‘Of course I do. It’s just, well, it’s just that we can’t go on living this way. I never see you. I’m lonely, Jim, really bloody lonely.’

He stroked her hair and leaned forward, finding her lips with his.

‘Wow, it must be the sea air,’ she panted as they quit their embrace. ‘I must come here more often.’

Behind them, the door to the bar swung open. ‘Here’ – it was George – ‘you’ll be frightening custom away with all that. Folk’ll think we’re a knocking shop.’ He beamed at the Daleys. ‘Hope I’ll see you both again.’

‘After the effect your little town’s had on my husband, you’ll have to fight me off.’ Liz laughed.

‘Lucky swine.’ George gave Daley a friendly smile and disappeared back inside.

‘I liked him.’ Liz looked up at her husband.

‘Me too.’

They kissed again.

12

Daley felt light, as though some huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He often felt this way when things were going well with Liz; all his doubts and insecurities about their relationship seemed to disappear. His irritation with people like Mark appeared worn down, rubbed until almost bare. Almost.

His mood was so good that he hardly noticed the walk up Kinloch’s Main Street, and onwards to the office. He eschewed the front door, where he saw a couple of familiar faces lurking about – two journalists from Glasgow. Despite his mood, this investigation was weighing on him: he had a murdered woman, her missing friend, not to mention Mulligan.

As soon as he entered the CID room, Scott got to his feet and ushered him into the glass box that served as his office. ‘We’ve got a lead on the missing woman, Jim.’ Scott’s voice was conspiratorial. ‘Well, it’s mair factual to say we’ve got two leads on the missing lassies.’

‘You’re sounding very mysterious, Brian. Come on, spit it out. I’m in a good mood, so I can take it.’

‘Aye, well, taking it and liking it are two different things, Jimmy boy, as we a’ know.’ Scott rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

‘What? You’re speaking in riddles, Bri, it’s not like you. Straight to the point, that’s what I expect from you.’ Daley was half joking when he said this, but he could see that something was troubling his DS.

‘First of a’, Janet Ritchie was spotted in Tarbert yesterday morning, in a blue Audi A3 that matches the make an’ model o’ the car driven by oor man Mulligan. That’s only aboot forty miles away fae here, so they’re either away on a jolly or they’re on the run. Wid ye no’ think so yourself, James?’

‘Let’s take one step at a time, Brian. I’m sure people travel away from here for all sorts of reasons, and remember there’s only one road out and one road in.’ Daley was encouraged by this progress, but he wanted to keep things in perspective. He couldn’t fathom why Scott looked so preoccupied by this news. ‘Who saw them? Somebody local, I take it?’

‘Aye.’ Scott retrieved his notebook from his inside pocket. ‘A Mr Allan, one o’ oor boys spoke tae him in a door tae door a while ago. He knows the lassie cos she wiz at school wi’ his daughter. He pulled up beside her in the car park, and she gie’d him a wave.’

‘Did she seem OK? Nothing unusual?’

‘No. He said she smiled and waved. He didna think anything o’ it, but why wid he? I’ve pit an alert oot fir Mulligan’s car, an a’ ports an’ airport notification, so no’ so bad, eh?’ Scott looked at Daley with a forced smile.

‘Progress, indeed. But you’re not telling me the whole story, Brian. What else is there?’

‘It’s aboot oor mutual friend, Inspector MacLeod.’

Daley felt suddenly relieved. He could take the childish behaviour of the recalcitrant Highlander now that the
investigation was taking shape, and especially since he was now senior to him in rank. ‘What’s the little prick said now?’

‘No’ so much said, mair no’ said.’ Again Scott looked evasive. However, the look on Daley’s face encouraged him to carry on. ‘It’s like this . . . Davie Fraser’s boy, what dae ye ca’ him?’

‘Archie, and he’s Davie’s nephew, by the way,’ Daley corrected.

‘Aye, nephew, whatever. When you went fir your wee jaunt he comes up tae me, sorta quietly like, you know?’