Whisky From Small Glasses (30 page)

‘You have a boat?’ Liz took her excited gaze away from the whale.

‘Well no, not exactly. I have a loan of a small vessel from some local fishermen should the need arise. Helpful for spotting the more unusual. I bagged a Manx shearwater recently – the world’s most travelled creature, you know.’

‘That’s fantastic. I would love to see a killer whale, or a Manx shearwater come to that. I have a friend who works as
a picture editor for a wildlife magazine. I’m sure he’d be interested in unusual specimens like that. Maybe kickstart my career again.’ She looked wistfully for the whale.

‘Tell you what – if you’re interested, I’ll try to get the use of the boat tomorrow, if the boys aren’t using it. Unofficially, you understand, I’m not licensed to conduct nautical tours, and neither is the boat for that matter, but I do have a maritime certificate. Just don’t tell that husband of yours.’ He grinned nervously.

‘He’s got more than enough to worry about just now. That would be fantastic if you could manage it. I’ll pay the going rate, of course.’

‘I’m sure we can work something out to our mutual satisfaction, Mrs Daley.’ He gazed at her as she scanned the bay for another sight of the whale. Holding the binoculars made her white T-shirt ride up, exposing her flat tanned stomach.

Daley and Scott were discussing just how easy or not it would be to round up the entire target male group for DNA samples to be taken:
not
was the general consensus they reached. For Daley, it was all a bit like wading through treacle at the moment. He couldn’t get Archie Fraser off his mind, and there was nothing worse than being emotionally preoccupied when trying to fathom a difficult case.

‘I’m the same as you, gaffer.’ Scott was chewing gum to stave off his nicotine craving. ‘But if it’s no’ the Latvians who’re responsible for our three murders, then who is?’

‘I want to take another look at all the CCTV footage.’ Daley stroked his jawline; he was badly in need of a shave. ‘There must be something we’re missing around the time Izzy
left Pulse. How did she get from Main Street to the bay at Machrie? I’m sure there must be something on the CCTV.’

Scott looked at his boss wearily. He knew the man inside out. He could see how badly Daley had been affected by the young detective’s death and how horrified he was – they all were – by the violent way that he and the other three victims had met their end. He also knew how this determination was most likely to manifest itself: painstaking reworking of all possible evidence, re-examination of all potential witnesses and those close to the victims – anything that would be likely to churn up a vital clue to break the case. It was quite unusual to have this amount of forensic evidence, and for it to have made so little difference. Yes, they had managed to expose an Eastern European gang doing a roaring trade in narcotics in this isolated community and who knows where else, plus a morally corrupt police inspector: that, though, was not the point. They had failed to come anywhere near to solving any of the three original murders, and to compound this failure had managed to lose a young colleague in the process. In short, Scott knew it was time to burn the midnight oil, time for his boss to become unbearably intense in a concerted effort to solve the crimes.

‘Dae ye want me tae send oot fir pizza?’

Daley smiled weakly. Not for the first time, his DS had read his mind.

The Land Rover was hot and stuffy inside when they opened the doors. Liz could again smell the fruits of the sea gone bad. The old diesel engine rattled into life, then they began the short drive back to Kinloch. Though she was tired, she was in high spirits. The little excursion had seen her get some
good images, and she now couldn’t wait to get them onto her laptop and then Photoshop them into saleable work. She felt a sense of pride that she was, once again, doing something positive, something she knew she was good at, and something to make it worthwhile getting up.

‘I hope seven’s not too early for you? I have to fit in with when I can get the boat. It’s a bonus that we can sail from Kinloch, and it’ll probably take about an hour and a half to get to where we want to be. However, it’s a stunning sail, especially if this weather holds.’

Seanessy changed gear, and Liz noticed how the sun had burned the back of his hands into an angry red, matching his forehead, unprotected by his receding hair. ‘I love being up early, and thanks for today. It’s been fantastic. I’m really looking forward to tomorrow. What do you think the chances are of seeing an orca?’

Seanessy turned his head towards her. ‘Good, I’d say. It’s the right conditions and time of year. They tend to come a bit closer to shore during the better weather. Our friends the common seals get a bit lazy in the sun, take their eye off the ball, and before you know it:
bang!
He thumped the steering wheel, making Liz jump. ‘The orca is a highly intelligent creature, you know. They’ve developed a number of really effective strategies with which to capture prey.’

‘I would’ve thought that swimming as fast as possible and having big teeth was all that was required.’

‘A good start, but not enough for these killers.’ Seanessy chuckled. ‘Do you know, sometimes they hunt in pairs close to the shore? Recently, in Sweden, I think, a woman was walking her dog along the beach and spotted one about fifty yards offshore, jumping from the water and doing tumbles
– you know, the way they do in these dreadful Florida shows?’ Liz nodded for Seanessy to continue. ‘Well, of course she went a bit closer to the water’s edge to get a better look, and then from nowhere another killer whale launched itself out of the water, onto the beach, grabbed the dog, pulled it from her grasp, and waddled back into the water, quick as you like.’

‘Really?’ The story made Liz shudder.

‘Oh, yes. To an orca, you see, a dog and a seal look much the same. They use that strategy all the time with seals. The poor things get mesmerised by the antics of the orca doing tricks and forget to look out for his mate slinking through the shallows with murder in mind. Clever, eh?’

Liz silently resolved not to walk too near the sea again.

The flickering images on the screen were from the five CCTV cameras that covered Kinloch town centre. The detectives had seen better quality footage, but it was monochromatic and mostly in sharp focus, which made a significant difference.

Daley was desperately going through all he knew about the murder victims: they were friends who moved in the same social circle; they all used illegal narcotics and were involved in the purchase and distribution of said substances within the community; and, lastly, they were all dead. Mulligan was from Glasgow, where background work by colleagues in the city had shown him to be a petty criminal with two charges of shoplifting, three breaches of the peace and a minor assault charge against his name. Hardly a Mr Big in the fetid world of organised crime. However, he did associate with a few key players, men whom police knew to be at the heart of Scotland’s criminal underworld. Unfortunately,
coming from the housing scheme that he did, almost everybody qualified under the ‘associates’ banner, so numerous were the criminals from that area. No direct connection could be found between Mulligan and any existing crime family, and how he had managed to fund Pulse remained a mystery.

18

The atmosphere in the County bar was so oppressive that Liz decided to retreat to her room. She was not in the mood to answer questions about the death of a policeman the previous night, not least because she knew less than her interrogators. In any event, she would never have dreamed of being so indiscreet concerning her husband’s work.

The ever watchful Annie, seeing her plight, had supplied her with a menu and a large G and T, and told her to give her a shout whenever she wished a top-up, or an evening meal.

Liz tried to call her husband, but his phone was off. She left a message, then attempted to numb her mind with gin and some bad afternoon TV. She was marvelling at the prices of barn conversions in East Sussex when her mobile intoned its best approximation of an old-fashioned callbox ring.

‘Hi, darling.’ She could instantly detect the strain in her husband’s voice. ‘Sorry I’ve had the mobile switched off all day – been checking it though. How was your trip?’

She proceeded to ramble on about her excursion with Seanessy, anxious for him not to feel he had to make mention of the death of a colleague. During a brief lull in her tale, Daley interrupted. ‘Keep this to yourself for the moment,
love. It was Archie Fraser who was killed last night. Remember the red-haired lad who was in the bar the other night?’

Liz suddenly felt cold. Yes, she remembered Fraser: tall, slightly awkward. She had watched him looking at Jim, and she could tell that he held her husband in great esteem by the way he hung onto the older man’s every word.

Though the call was brief, she was glad that he had taken the time to speak to her. She sensed both determination and exhaustion in his voice, but knew that this was nothing unusual when he was on a major investigation. Jim could survive on hardly any sleep for days on end when the hard yards were being covered. She knew him well enough to know that he would be mentally scourging himself because of Fraser’s death, re-enacting the whole incident in his mind, trying to isolate what had gone wrong and what he should have done. He had gone on to tell her how he was going to come down to the hotel around eight, get a bite to eat and a couple of hours sleep, if he could manage it. She had advised him to stay away from the bar and take up Annie’s offer of room service. After a pause, he agreed.

They were taking it in turns to examine the CCTV footage. Scott was at the screen now, with DC Dunn assisting, her sharp eyes and local knowledge adding perspective to what was being displayed. They were doing forty-five-minute shifts, as it was, literally, an eye-watering task.

Daley was in his office, brooding and calculating – not a mental count of numbers, more a studied equation of probability, combined with chance and vested interest. Someone had left a car magazine on his desk. He was flicking through it idly, like an existential
aide-mémoire.
Why had he not
made it clear to Fraser and his team that they were only present to keep the public at bay and observe? He should have made it crystal clear that, unarmed as they were, intervention was not in their remit. How had the Latvian known to jump ship when he did? The Navy had been monitoring their radio and internet traffic for a period of hours before the operation was conceived.

He turned over a page on which the Jaguar XF was being displayed in all its smooth-lined, polished magnificence. It was then he knew the answer.

Flynn’s car was visible on the pier, so Daley and Scott made their way along to his office. A wide-eyed Flynn looked at them when he answered the door.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Flynn. Can we have a word?’ said a businesslike Daley.

‘Well, eh, of course. I was just going home – long night and all that. It won’t take long, will it?’

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ said Daley, who watched the harbour master visibly relax as he showed them into the office. It was in its habitual state of untidiness, and there was no sign of Hamish sitting at the antiquated desk. The computer screen was still displaying the updating satellite weather map; beside it lay a half-eaten fish supper, still in the paper wrapping. The enticing smell of fish and chips made Daley’s stomach rumble.

‘Dae ye mind if I hae a chip?’ Scott looked at Flynn quizzically.

‘Of course not. Be my guest. You might as well finish it off. I’ve lost my appetite after last night’s . . . Well, I needna tell you.’ He looked at the floor, stroking his neat beard.

The three men didn’t speak for several minutes. The events of the previous night were still viscerally recent.

‘I thought I’d bring you this.’ Smiling, Daley handed Flynn a magazine. It’s got the new Jag XF in it.’

‘Thanks, Mr Daley, thanks very much.’ There were beads of sweat appearing on Flynn’s brow, and it was only then that Daley noticed the smell of alcohol on his breath.

‘Been havin’ a wee dram, Mr Flynn?’ Scott seemed to hone in on Daley’s thoughts.

‘I wisna goin’ tae drive, gents, if that’s what you’re worried about. In fact, I wiz about tae call my wife tae come an’ get me.’

‘How much did you get for your scallop boat?’ Daley’s question came from nowhere.

Flynn now looked very nervous, his eyes flicking between the two detectives. ‘I don’t understand, why would you want tae know that?’ His voice was wavering in tandem with his resolve.

‘Eight and half thousand, I was told. Not a huge amount, eh?’ said Daley.

‘No, the trade around here’s not what it wiz. It gave me an’ the wife a wee lift though.’ Flynn spoke quickly.

‘The car that’s sitting outside, what’s it worth new? Forty-five, fifty grand?’

‘I, well, I’d saved up, you know. I . . .’

‘Why did you do it? You’re a decent man. You have a good job and a nice house. Why did you get involved with people who spread poison and misery?’ Daley was standing in front of Flynn now, dwarfing him in his swivel chair.

‘I don’t know whoot ye mean,’ Flynn shouted, panic in his eyes.

Something inside Daley snapped. He hauled the harbour master out of his chair by his collar and tie, and pulled him close. ‘A young man died because of your actions last night.’ Flecks of spittle landed on Flynn’s face. ‘
You
tipped off our Latvian friend.
You’ve
been working for these scum – watching their backs, seeing they had a safe harbour – you little bastard.’ Daley pushed Flynn back violently. He landed beside the old desk, hitting his head against a corner of it, making him yelp in pain. Daley towered over the whimpering man, but before he could strike him, Scott pulled Daley back by the shoulders.

‘That’s enough, Jim. Fuck’s sake, man, this isna goin’ tae bring the young fella back.’

Daley was shaking with fury, but he managed to control himself; Scott’s intervention having cleared some of the red mist. ‘Tell me how you contacted him. Now!’ he shouted.