Competition Can Be Murder (14 page)

“I’d let the boys take my car. The white Range Rover,” Robert interrupted.

“Okay.” I turned back to the boys. “Then?”

“Then, well, we danced with some girls we met there. Place was really jumping.” He fidgeted on his seat. “Then, I guess we’d been there a couple hours, Lewis and I went out back for a smoke.”

His eyes told me that he really didn’t want me to ask what kind of smoke. I didn’t.

“We came back in and danced some more. After a bit I realized we hadn’t seen Richie in awhile. It’s after nine now and the place closes at ten. I figure he’s maybe in the loo, maybe taken some girl outside.” He shrugged. No big deal. “I have another smoke, and I’m feeling kind of tired.”

Mellow, you mean.

“So, like, around a quarter of ten, we get together and really start looking for him. And he’s nowhere. I mean, the place is packed, his car’s still outside, but he’s
not there
.”

“And?”

“So we still don’t find him by the time they announce the last dance. Lewis remembers Billy lives pretty close. So we get some chap to give us a ride and we crash there. Pissed at Richie, I was. Leaving us like that.”

Billy spoke up for the first time. “And I drive ’em all the way out here this morning and ain’t even got me petrol money yet. Old man’s gotta be after me by now. Supposed to be workin’ for him today.”

Lewis fished out a five pound note and slapped it into Billy’s hand.

“I think that’s all Billy knows,” Robert said. “Ought to let the lad get back to his work.”

Billy threw a sharp glance back at the room as he left.

“So, you never did see Richie again the rest of the evening?” I asked.

“Told you. He left us there, stuck.”

I sensed there was something else they weren’t saying, but it was more likely to do with smoking pot or chasing girls. Richie had apparently disappeared from a crowded club without a word to his friends.

I caught myself chewing on my lip as I tried to imagine what might have happened to him.

Edward, who’d been remarkably quiet since my arrival, pushed his way toward the counter. “Look, you two, if there’s anything you’re not telling us . . .”

Elizabeth pulled at his arm. Edward’s clenched fists relaxed, but only a little.

“Threatening them won’t solve anything,” Sarah said. “Now, lads, first I think you better call your parents and let them know you’re back. We’d called them earlier and told them you’d not been home during the night. You’ll have some explaining to do.”

Lewis looked like he didn’t relish making his call at all, while Alasdair’s face remained passive.

“After your calls, you’ll want to go up and take showers. Then we can decide whether you’re going home or staying here.” Sarah’s grandmotherly firmness brought no argument and the boys shuffled off to do their duty.

“I’d like Charlie to drive me down to this place and we’ll retrieve the car,” Robert said. “First, I’d better call my assistant in Edinburgh. We’re supposed to be in session this morning and it looks like I’m going to miss my vote on the farm bill.” He scrubbed at his temples with his fingertips. “Well, not much to be done about it.”

“If I could make a suggestion?” I said.

All eyes turned toward me.

“Um, I don’t think it’s a good idea to simply take the car and bring it back.”

Robert gave me a look that said,
why not, it’s my car
.

“There could be evidence. Fingerprints . . .”

“Nonsense. My own prints are all over the thing anyway. Adding one more batch won’t change anything. I’m not having my vehicle sit there in that part of town, unguarded, subject to vandalism.”

“The police . . .” I meant to say that the police wouldn’t look kindly on us removing the vehicle from the scene of the crime, but Edward interrupted me.

“No police. That’s been decided,” he said.

So, that was that. I continued to argue with Robert as we drove into downtown Inverness, but nothing would change his mind. He seemed to feel that we would get Richie back without having to call the police, but if they came into it he could deal with them. Apparently politicians here don’t have to abide by the rules either.

We drove past Waldo Green’s, in a basement slot on Derryvale Close, a block off the main street and three or four blocks away from the train station. It was still early for a club, only a little past noon, but I thought I’d come back and see if I could catch someone who worked there.

We found the white Range Rover parked curbside two blocks away with two parking tickets under its wipers. Probably the only thing that had saved it from being towed were Robert’s special Member Scottish Parliament plates.

“I’ll have to let you out here,” I told Robert. There were no empty parking slots on the whole street. “I’m going to stay and ask a few questions, then I better check in with Drake.”

“Right. See you back at the house later,” he said. “Come for dinner.”

Truthfully, I would have preferred a little time alone and dinner with Drake at our own place. “We’ll see how things go. I’ll call you in awhile,” I said.

I watched him unlock the Range Rover and open the door. He crumpled the two tickets and jammed them into his pocket. I’d wanted to take a look inside the car before he drove it, but wasn’t going to get the chance. Already traffic was stacking up behind me and the occasional horn toot reminded me that I needed to get out of the way. I circled the area but didn’t find an open parking spot anywhere. The mall’s big parking garage was only about three blocks away so I opted for that.

Walking the streets of Inverness gave me a better idea of the layout of the town anyway, taking my time rather than being pushed along by traffic. I passed in front of the train station and Victorian Market, and located Derryvale Close again without difficulty. Descending the few steps to Waldo Green’s, as expected, I found the place locked. The two narrow windows had been painted black on the inside so there was no way to tell whether anyone was working. I pounded on the door a couple of times but wasn’t terribly surprised when no one answered.

Upstairs, a small jewelry shop was open. One bored-looking middle-aged clerk sat behind the counter, reading a paperback romance. She hastily shoved it into a drawer when she spotted me.

“Actually, I was wondering about the club downstairs,” I told her, in reply to her friendly may-I-help-you. “I need to talk to the owner or manager. What time does someone usually come in?”

“Oh, Bruce comes in about five, getting ready for the night.”

Nearly two hours away.

“But sometimes Tommy’s there early. I thought I saw him a little while ago.”

“I knocked at the door but no one answered.”

“No, Tommy wouldn’t. He’d think it was kids, wondering if the club was open. He’d be in the back, doing paperwork.”

I fidgeted, impatient with the time I was wasting.

“Want me to give him a shout?” the lady offered.

I assumed she meant picking up the telephone, something I could have thought to do, but she literally intended to shout. She motioned me to follow her into a back room of the store, where she stomped a heel loudly three times on the wooden floor. She opened the back door, which led to a stone step in the alley behind. A man poked his head out the basement door and looked up.

“Hey, Tommy,” she said. “Lady here’s wanting to talk to you.”

“Yeah? What about?” His dark eyes narrowed, the heavy brows pulling together. He was tall, over six feet, I’d guess, with dark brown hair that had receded beyond the halfway mark.

“I’ll just take a minute,” I said. “My name’s Charlie Parker. Can I come down?”

He fished in his pocket and pulled out a key that unlocked a padlock on the iron gate to the basement’s narrow cubbyhole. I followed the steps downward to the back porch, trying to size him up. He didn’t look terribly happy to have me interrupting his work, but I didn’t sense outright hostility. He instinctively ducked to clear the short doorway and I followed him into the dimness of a narrow hall. I caught a glimpse of four doors lining the hall before the space opened up into a large room which I assumed was the dance floor.

Tommy turned to the first door on the right, a closet of a space that held a battered wooden desk, a four drawer file, and a swivel chair. Stacks of credit card receipts and bills littered the top of the desk. He dropped the bundle he’d been carrying into the fray.

“Now, what can I do for you?” he asked.

“I’m looking for a sixteen year old boy who disappeared from this club last night. Two friends were with him and they lost sight of him about nine or nine-thirty. He never made it home.” I planned to avoid mention of the ransom call unless I absolutely had to bring it up. “His car was parked on the street all night. We just located it.”

“And this is unusual?” he asked with a grin.

“His family is awfully worried.”

“Sorry, ma’am, but kids come and go as they please from here. We don’t allow any alcohol or drugs, and that’s about as far as we can go to keep them safe.”

“I know this boy. Richie Campbell is his name. His grandparents are the Dunbars at Dunworthy.” Maybe I could use their wealth and privilege to my advantage too. “Richie just doesn’t seem like the kind of kid who would do something so irresponsible.”

“He got a girlfriend?” Tommy asked.

Point taken. Richie hadn’t acted so responsibly there.

“He didn’t go off with her,” I said. “We’ve already confirmed that.”

“Don’t know what I can tell you,” he said. “A Friday or Saturday night in here, we’ve got about two hundred kids. Boys all wearing black, most with an earring or two and their hair spiked out every which way. Girls wearing those wee short tops that leave their fat little tummies hanging out, and a skirt that looks like they pulled a wide rubber band around their hips. Whoever decreed that that look is attractive should be shot.”

I had to stifle a grin because Drake had said nearly the same thing on more than one occasion back at home.

“So you don’t know Richie Campbell personally?” I asked.

“They all look alike to me.”

“And you didn’t notice a boy who looked like he might have been leaving against his will? Someone forcing him along?”

“Sorry.”

I turned to leave and he followed. At the top of the steps, he reached to relock the iron gate.

“Is this gate unlocked when the club is open?” I remembered Alasdair saying that he and Lewis had come out back for a smoke.

“Definitely. Fire code. We have to keep both front and back unlocked.”

“So, a person could leave from either door?” I asked, looking toward each end of the alley, which curved out of sight.

“Oh, yeah. The wynd here leads out. That way takes you to High Street.” He pointed. “The other way and you’ll come out on Union.”

I opted for High Street and followed the winding, cobbled roadway out. Like many European cities that had been walled fortresses at one time, the modern day towns included many narrow and secretive-looking places that actually teemed with business. I noticed a dental office and two boutiques whose main entrances opened onto the narrow wynd.

Eventually, I emerged on a road that had been blocked off into a walking mall and I found myself suddenly wanting a break. Alone for the first time in days, I couldn’t resist finding a place to sit. I purchased an ice cream cone at a tiny stand and located an unoccupied bench. The cool chocolate slid down my throat and I allowed myself to forget entirely about everything—no stolen lambs, no burning huts, no missing teens, no irate union workers, no mechanical problems. I wanted nothing more than to enjoy the hanging pots of bright pink and purple petunias and snatches of conversation from passersby.

At the far end of the mall, a kilted piper played the traditional “Scotland the Brave” on a nasal set of bagpipes, the sound wafting down the road and bouncing off the glass-fronted shops. Beyond him, I caught a glimpse of the red sandstone towers of Inverness Castle. I turned my face toward the sun and wished all the problems would go away so Drake and I could simply play tourist, visiting castles and museums and eating out in fine seafood restaurants.

“Charlie?”

The voice snapped me back into the present. I whipped my head toward it and opened my eyes.

“Janie! What are you doing here?”

“Just got off work.” She tipped her head toward the far end of the walkway. “It’s just up there.”

“Oh.” Belatedly, I realized that the indoor mall was just at the end of this street.

“Is there any word about Richie?” Her lip quivered slightly as she spoke his name.

“Nothing yet, I’m afraid.” I watched her shuffle from one foot to the other. “Here,” I said. “Sit down.”

“I really don’t have time,” she said. But she sat anyway. “My parents will be wanting me home soon. I watch my younger brother when mum works.”

“I meant to ask you how long you’ve known Richie,” I said.

“Oh, since primary school. When his parents lived here, that is.”

“I thought they lived in London.”

“Last few years, yeah. When Richie and I were little, they lived at Dunworthy and he attended school here in town. We happened to be in the same class, fourth year, I think it was. Then they moved away.”