Whisky From Small Glasses (19 page)

‘I canna imagine anyone wi’ his experience being so stupid. So, he’s reporting tae you twice a day until we get this sorted?’ Scott looked at Daley with dark-ringed eyes.

‘There’s no way we can cover this all up, but we can try to get the murder solved, and then he can try to sort out his personal life. Can you imagine what Donald would do? End of career: full stop. No wonder he was so resentful when I arrived.’ Daley rubbed his eyes. What a day, and it wasn’t even over yet. He had to meet up with Liz, when he felt more like crawling into bed. ‘Get yourself back to the hotel, Brian. I’m meeting herself for a meal. Is everything OK here? Nightshift and all that?’

‘Aye, all sorted.’ Scott was pulling on his jacket. ‘Two o’ oor guys, and two o’ theirs’ o’ernight. Still no sign o’ Mulligan or young Miss Ritchie, but they’ll turn up. Half the country’s looking for them. C’mon, you an’ me’ll maybe get a dram afore your good lady arrives.’

The bar in the County Hotel was busy. Daley reckoned the good people of Kinloch knew that most of the investigation team were staying at the hotel and there would be a likelihood of juicy gossip to be gleaned over a pint or two.

‘The usual, big man?’ Scott was already threading his way through the throng of drinkers at the bar, who looked on with the collective interest of a cackle of hyenas.

‘Aye, please, Brian, and make it a large one.’ Daley looked for a table, and was amazed to find one – the same table he and Fraser had occupied the night before. It seemed like weeks ago to the fatigued inspector.

‘A pint o’ heavy an’ a large Springbank, hen,’ Scott shouted at the young girl who was behind the bar. Expensive tastes, he thought as he searched the back pocket of his trousers for his old leather wallet. A tall thin youth was eyeing him from his bar stool. ‘Ur you no’ too wee tae be the polis?’ The young man’s slurred words and half-closed eyes bore testament to the fact that he was seriously pissed.

‘You’re no’ too wee tae get a belt in the mouth, you cheeky wee . . .’ Scott didn’t have time to add the expletive.

‘Right, that’s it, Hughie – oot! And never mind your pint. I’ve warned you aboot that gob o’ yours, an’ noo you’ve had the good sense tae wind up the CID. Well, hell mend ye!’ A bustling woman had appeared behind the bar, and was now busy pouring the bemused youth’s drink into a sink under the counter.

‘Gaun yersel’.’ Scott directed this hearty appraisal at the new barmaid. ‘Can I ask how you all know I’m the polis anyway?’

‘I wiz watchin’ you this efternoon on the telly, an’ anyhow, you can always spot the rozzers. Is that no’ right, Mandy?’ She turned to a younger barmaid, who acknowledged this fact with a grunt as she poured a second helping of malt whisky into a small glass from a pewter measure, her tongue sticking out with concentration. ‘My name’s Annie. I’m kind
o’ chief bottle washer aroon’ here. The drinks are on the hoose by the way – tae celebrate Mr Daley’s good news.’ She raised a glass and her voice to the new chief inspector who was regarding the scene with mild surprise and no little amusement. ‘Allow you, Mr Daley – you’ve no’ been here a couple o’ days, an’ you’ve got a promotion. They’ll likely make ye a chief constable if ye find oot who murdered that poor lassie.’

‘Trust me’ – Scott was now collecting the drinks from Annie’s colleague – ‘that’s no’ goin’ tae happen.’

‘Oh, whoot a pity.’ Mandy held her hand to her mouth. ‘Does that mean yous are gein’ up tryin’ tae find the murderer?’

‘No.’ Scott winked at Annie. ‘He’s never going tae be a chief constable.’ He turned and made his way back through the revellers standing at the bar, the drinks clasped in front of him in a manner familiar to any drinker.

‘Noo,’ Annie addressed no one in particular, ‘I widna mind him pumpin’ me for information.’ She let out a particularly filthy laugh. ‘Whoot are you waitin’ fir, Hughie? Dae ye want it in writing? Get oot!’

‘I see whit ye mean aboot them knowing all your business,’ said Scott. ‘I mean, how did she know you got a promotion?’

‘Because this place processes gossip better than Strathclyde Police. It’s just a pity they’ll not come forward with information about things that matter.’ Daley took a swig of his whisky and worked it around his mouth, better to savour the flavour.

‘Ye can hardly blame them’ – Scott’s voice was almost a whisper – ‘wi’ that prick in charge doon here. I widna have much faith in the police either.’

‘That’s another twenty pounds ontae the account, sir.’ The taxi driver was parking outside the County Hotel. ‘We had
tae pick your good lady up doon at the point,’ he said by way of explanation.

‘Don’t worry.’ Mark’s accent only hinted at being Scottish through his public-school vowels. ‘There’s plenty to go round, my man.’ He turned to Liz, who sat beside him in the back seat. ‘Is that not right, darling?’

‘No, it is not, and I’m not his “good lady”.’ Liz addressed the rear-view mirror, where she could see the driver’s eyes. ‘And I’m not your darling, Mark. For goodness’ sake, don’t be winding up Jim. We got on fine today, don’t spoil it.’ She looked from the taxi at the castellated frontage of the hotel. Please don’t, she thought.

‘He’s just no’ the player that Laudrup was.’ The detectives were having one of their habitual discussions on the relative merits of various Old Firm players. Daley was about to answer when he spotted Liz and Mark entering the bar. His eyes were immediately drawn to the open neck of her shirt, revealing her cleavage, and he had the familiar feeling – somewhere between feeling faint and lifting off the floor. A number of the locals had noticed her too, and a couple of lads at the bar appraised her with what they thought was unobtrusive elbow-nudging. She searched the bar standing on her toes, then waved at her husband when she spotted the two men sitting near the back of the room. ‘Over here, Mark.’ She tugged at the sleeve of his Italian leather jacket as she made her way over to the detectives’ table.

Scott eyed her progress. She was a beautiful woman, of that there was no doubt; likeable too, with an easy-to-talk-to manner and good sense of humour. He was sometimes very angry with her though, especially when he saw the negative effect that her actions had on his mate, Jim Daley. A mate: he supposed that
was how he saw the big man beside him. They’d first worked together eleven years ago, and had instantly hit it off. Both of them had been detective sergeants then, and while Daley had risen – albeit painfully slowly – through the ranks, Scott had reached the limit of his ability and ambition. He had joined the police to be a policeman, not some kind of diplomatic administrator, drowning in reams of unnecessary paperwork, having to meet quotas on this and targets on that. No, being a detective sergeant was hard enough, and that’s where he intended to stay; if he thought about Daley’s sudden promotion at all, it was only that he was pleased for him, and that he hoped it would not mean their separation as a team.

Aye, she’s bonnie right enough, he thought. He smiled as Liz sat on a small stool across the table from him and Daley. Scott’s expression changed as Mark took his seat, with that permanent sneer playing across his lips. That cunt.

Mark Henderson always looked the same to Daley: smug, arrogant, elegant, tanned, fit, tall – around the same height as the Chief Inspector himself – rich, good-looking. The superlatives just went on and on. He had the louche, easy manner of the upper classes and would have looked much more at home at the Henley Regatta, or standing by the Grace Gates at Lord’s, rather than here in the faded splendour that was the County Hotel. His family were ancient, if somewhat minor, Scottish aristocracy, and it showed.

‘Jim, my good man. How nice to see you again, especially in such’ – Mark looked around the room with exaggerated disdain – ‘exalted surroundings.’ He looked at Scott. ‘And with your faithful retainer too – how touching.’

‘When can I deck this bastard, Jim?’ Scott was smiling, but Daley knew he was deadly serious.

Liz intervened to change the subject. ‘Brian, how are you? What a lovely little town this is. It’s such a shame you’re both here under such sad circumstances.’ She smiled her open smile.

‘I wouldn’t worry too much, Lizzie. Some yokel bint from what I can gather.’ Mark was in fine form. ‘The taxi driver insisted on telling me all about it. An absolute bore if you ask me.’

‘I wisna’ aware anybody wis asking you.’ Scott was up to the challenge.

Daley wasn’t surprised that Mark had turned up, though this didn’t stop the disappointment he felt. After a shaky start earlier that afternoon, he thought that he and Liz had been closer than they had been for quite some time. Maybe it had been the change of bar with its larger-than-life landlord, or perhaps just the change of scene. In any case, he had remembered all over again how much he loved her. He was determined to treat the appearance of his brother-in-law as a minor irritation. ‘When would you like to eat, Liz?’ He leaned over the table and held his wife’s hand.

‘Asap.’ Mark said it as one word. ‘I’m bloody famished. Any chance of a decent G and T before we partake in whatever swill there is on offer here?’

‘Oh, Mark.’ Liz looked embarrassed. ‘I thought . . .’

‘She thought she wanted tae spend some time wi’ her husband, an’ no’ you hangin’ on like the posh gooseberry fae hell. Get it?’ The smile had left Scott’s face as he glared at Mark, who affected not to hear what he had said.

‘How territorial these rozzers are, Lizzie.’ He got up from the table. ‘I’m for a large one. How about you?’

She mumbled in the affirmative as Mark made his way to the bar, shouting impatient ‘excuse me’s to the locals obstructing his route. Liz gave Daley an apologetic look. ‘He just turned up in the taxi. I was walking down by the loch, and the cab just appeared from nowhere. I can’t work out how he knew where I was. He’s been drinking most of the afternoon by the look of things, and you know that makes him more arrogant than usual.’

‘Which is quite a feat,’ Scott added quickly.

‘Don’t worry, Liz. I’ll handle this.’ Daley had spotted the formidable Annie passing en route to collect another pile of empty glasses. He called her over, and covertly whispered in her ear as she leaned over him.

‘Aye, no bother. Jeest you leave this tae me.’ She stomped purposefully off to the bar, holding what seemed like an unfeasible number of empties between the fingers and thumbs of both hands.

‘What was that all about, darling?’ Liz looked puzzled. ‘It hasn’t taken you long to ingratiate yourself with the locals, I must say.’

Up at the bar, Mandy was just about to relieve Mark of the cost of two large gin and tonics, when Annie appeared with a flourish of empty glasses. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’m in charge here, an’ it’s my opinion that you’ve had too much tae drink, so I’ll need tae ask you tae leave.’

For an instant Mark looked astonished, as though presented with an amazing fact or a chance encounter with a relative he had thought long dead. Slowly though, the reality of the situation dawned on him. ‘Listen to me, I’m a paying customer here, and I will not be spoken to by some . . . some bottom-feeder who neither knows her job nor her place.
Now cut along out of the way while this little treasure serves me with my drinks.’ He seemed satisfied with this outburst, and beamed haughtily across the bar at Annie.

‘Sir’ – Annie was now plainly furious – ‘I’ll ask you again. Please leave the bar. You’ve had too much tae drink, and I’m no’ prepared tae risk the licence of this establishment by serving you.’

‘You listen to me, you dried-up old bitch . . .’ He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. Three large men stood up from their bar stools and crowded around him. The largest man, sporting the tattoo of a Lion Rampant on his thick forearm, thrust his face so close to Mark’s that the lawyer could smell the whisky on the man’s breath through the haze of wine and gin he had himself consumed. ‘You’re talkin’ tae my wife. Noo, dae whoot she says ’less I take you ootside an’ gie ye a hammering ye’ll no’ forget. Got it? Arsehole.’ He poked a sturdy forefinger into Mark’s sternum, forcing him to exhale involuntarily. Mark opened his mouth to say something, but instantly thought the better of it. He turned on his heel, muttered something under his breath, and made his way, red-faced, back to Daley’s table, leaving a chorus of coarse laughter emanating from the bar. ‘Come on, Elizabeth, we’re not staying in this dive to be talked down to by Neanderthals. Let’s get back to the lodge and get some decent service.’ He put his hand on Liz’s shoulder.

Annie’s refusal to serve Mark had been more entertaining than Daley had thought possible. He had to admire the gall of the man, simply expecting Liz to abandon her husband, and without protest leave with him.

‘Mark, I’m with Jim. We’re having a meal.’ She looked flustered.

‘In other words,’ Scott interjected, ‘dae whit the lady behind the bar asked you, and dae it before I have you arrested for refusing to leave a licensed premises when required to. Tae pit it mair plainly – fuck off.’

Mark’s face was like thunder. He hauled his jacket from behind Liz’s chair, making her jerk forward suddenly, almost knocking over her drink. ‘Bad choice, Lizzie. Bad choice.’ He glared at her briefly, then slung his jacket over his shoulder and strode somewhat unsteadily out of the bar.

‘An’ don’t come back!’ Annie shouted through the serving hatch. ‘Noo, Chick, whoot are ye for?’ She resumed normal service as though nothing had happened. ‘An’ since when did you become my husband? Dream on, big man, dream on.’

‘It’s at times like this you really hate the smoking ban.’ Liz was breathless as she made her head comfortable on Daley’s chest.

‘Bollocks, it’s the best thing that ever happened.’ Daley was stroking her hair absently. They had eaten a shared meal of local lobster – which had been delicious – had a few more drinks, then headed up the grand staircase to his room. ‘I’ll arrange for you to stay here with me. I’ll get someone to pick your luggage up from the lodge tomorrow.’ When he didn’t get a reply he craned his neck forward to look down at his wife, who was already fast asleep. He lay back, satisfied. They’d eaten, chatted easily, and then made love. She had rejected Mark in an obvious way. There was a warmth between them now that had been absent for such a long time. She looked so beautiful as she lay asleep, her breath soft on his skin. Despite his exhaustion and the stress of his day, he felt strangely content. He thought of Michael Watson. He was sleeping alone.