Deathly Wind (11 page)

Morag had phoned through to the cottage hospital and managed to get hold of Ralph McLelland, who collected her from the station in the West Uist ambulance. Torquil had gone on ahead on his Bullet and parked alongside the Padre’s Red Hunter on the island side of the Wee Kingdom causeway. Ralph parked behind them and he and Morag got out and looked over the edge of the causeway.

There was a fifteen-foot drop to a small shingle shelf covered in swards of slimy kelp with a couple of rock pools before the shelf disappeared into the sea. Torquil and the Padre were kneeling beside one of the pools looking at the body of Liam Sartori.

‘He’s dead all right, Ralph,’ said Torquil, looking up when he heard their arrival on the causeway.

‘He was lying face down in this rock pool when I found him,’ said Lachlan. ‘I was on my way to tell the crofters about Rhona’s death and I saw him from the top of the rise. I pulled him out and turned him over to see if I could do anything for him. I assumed that he’d drowned. I tried CPR for a few minutes, but—!’ He shook his head despondently. ‘Then I realized that things weren’t what they seemed.’

Morag and Ralph scrambled down to them.

‘What do you mean, Lachlan?’ Morag asked. ‘He must have fallen off the edge of the causeway, and knocked himself out when he fell in the pool. Isn’t that what happened?’

Torquil shook his head. ‘I agree with Lachlan. There’s something that doesn’t fit here. You can see where he must have landed. The shingle is all disturbed over there. I can’t see how he would have ended with his face down in that pool. It is too far away.’

‘Maybe he stunned himself, then got up and staggered about a bit before collapsing in the pool,’ Morag suggested.

‘It’s possible,’ said Ralph McLelland, kneeling beside the body, ‘but look at those gashes on his face. They’re like talon marks. Like the ones on Kenneth McKinley’s face.’

There were three ugly slashes running across the bridge of Liam Sartori’s nose. His face and hair were damp and blood oozed from the wounds.

‘That’s what worried me,’ said Lachlan. ‘I am not sure that I—’

There was the click and flash of a camera and they all looked up to see Calum Steele standing on the causeway, a new digital camera in his hand.

‘Looks like the eagles have been busy again,’ he said. ‘He’s the one who threw my last camera in Loch Hynish, by the way, Torquil.’

Calum Steele had already been up to Wind’s Eye croft to
photograph
the wind towers and he insisted on accompanying Lachlan, despite the minister’s protestations as he went to break the news about Rhona’s death to the crofters of the Wee Kingdom. As expected, they were all devastated, and all rushed in to the Kyleshiffin cottage hospital to pay their respects.

Calum rode back on his Lambretta along the Dunshiffin road with the aim of getting a surreptitious photograph of the new laird and his other minion to illustrate his article on the windmills, and to link up with the piece he was planning to write about Liam Sartori’s death and the ongoing ‘Birds of prey’ series that he was developing in his mind. The thought of a ‘killer eagle’ had raised visions of him making it into the national news, where in his heart he felt that he belonged.
And maybe, he thought as he rode along, he might drop in at the castle if the laird was out and pump Jesmond for a titbit of news about that dead dog.

Turning a corner he had to swerve suddenly as a Porsche Boxter hurtled towards him in the middle of the road. As a result, he skewed off the road into a patch of bracken and fell sidewards. By the time he got to his feet, with the intention of haranguing the driver, whom he assumed would stop and come to his assistance, he was dismayed, then outright furious, to find that the car was out of sight. And he had recognized the car, the driver and the passenger.

‘That bloody laird! I’ll have him!’ he cursed.

He rode straight back to Kyleshiffin, along Harbour Street then up Kirk Wynd to the police station. He saw red when his eye fell on the Porsche parked directly outside the station.

He dismounted and made for the door, fully intent upon giving them a good ticking off, West Uist style, but he stopped on the threshold as he heard raised Glaswegian voices followed by Sergeant Morag Driscoll’s calm remonstrance.

‘Look, police-girlie, I had a call to say that one of my boys has been taken by the police. Now I want to see him and I want to see your head honcho, right now!’

Morag stared at Jock McArdle with steely eyes and tight lips, then, still maintaining her calm, said, ‘Firstly, Mr McArdle, don’t you ever call me a police-girlie again, or I’ll be on your case so tightly that you won’t even dare to drop dandruff in public. And secondly, I am not obliged to discuss whether anyone has been taken into custody with a member of the public.’

‘Damn it –
woman
– has my boy been arrested?’

‘You can call me Sergeant Driscoll, not woman,’ Morag returned firmly, indicating the three stripes on her Arran jumper. ‘And the answer is no, we do not have anyone in custody at this moment.’

McArdle frowned. ‘Then why did someone call me and say he’d been taken away?’

Morag drew her ledger closer and picked up a pencil. ‘Who called you, Mr McArdle?’

McArdle looked at Danny Reid. ‘Did Jesmond say who called?’

Danny Reid shook his head. ‘Just a message to say he’d been taken away.’

‘That message did not come from here,’ said Morag, looking puzzled. She tapped the pencil on the ledger. ‘What I can tell you is that there has been an incident involving a young man and we are trying to determine if he has any next of kin.’

Jock McArdle stared at her in shock, then he thumped his fist on the desk, ‘Incident? Next of kin? What gives here?’

Calum Steele had come in silently. He coughed and advanced towards the duty desk, drawing his portly body up to his full five foot six. ‘Do you need any help, Morag,’ he queried.

Danny Reid put a hand on his chest and prodded him back. ‘Just butt out, chubby,’ he snarled.

Morag laid her pencil down. ‘No there’s no problem, thank you, Calum.’ Then sternly to Danny Reid, ‘And you – don’t touch the editor of the
West Uist Chronicle
again. If you do, then maybe there will be someone under arrest today!’

Danny Reid glared at her then shrugged and took a step backwards.

‘There was an incident earlier today,’ Morag went on. ‘A fatal accident, I am afraid. That is why we are trying to locate next of kin.’

‘For Christ’s sake! Why didn’t you tell me this straight away?’ Jock McArdle demanded, his face purpling with rage. ‘Liam’s dead, is that what you’re saying? How? Who did it?’

‘I think you should calm down a bit,’ said Calum.

‘And I told you to butt out, chubby,’ said Danny Reid. If my pal’s been killed somebody’s going to pay.’ His eyes had murder in them. ‘Don’t you tempt me, pal.’

The door opened and Torquil came in. He quickly took in the situation. ‘Mr McArdle, I am Inspector McKinnon.’

‘At last, the organ-grinder!’ said McArdle. ‘There are a few things I want to ask you, but for now just tell me where is my boy?’

‘Are you related to Liam Sartori?’ Torquil asked. ‘We have found the body of a young man and we have a name from his driving licence.’

‘Naw, I am not related. But Danny here and me are as close as any family to him. Apart from us, he is alone in the world. All three of us are alone.’

‘In that case perhaps you’d care to come with me and
identify
the body. It looks as if he had a tragic accident.’

When they had gone Calum was surprised to see Morag Driscoll suddenly dissolve into tears.

‘What’s the matter, lass? Did that teuchter upset you?’ He puffed up his chest. ‘I wouldn’t have let him do anything, you know.’

Morag sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘It’s just a reaction, I think, Calum,’ she returned with a smile. ‘And thank you, I feel better knowing that you’re about.’

‘It’s nothing, lass,’ he said, turning and swaggering towards the door. ‘One of the functions of the press is to encourage public order. I’m always handy.’

Despite herself, Morag had to smile. She sometimes wasn’t sure if the
West Uist Chronicle
editor lived in the real world, but he was certainly plucky. And he was good to have around.

Alistair McKinley, Vincent Gilfillan and Megan Munro stood disconsolately about the bed and looked down at Rhona, their neighbour and friend. They all had tears in their eyes.

‘This is the saddest day of my life,’ said Vincent. ‘Goodbye Rhona.’ And he bent down and kissed her on the forehead.

‘Aye, it is a black day. I didn’t think it could get any worse than it was when my boy died, but it just has.’

‘It’s like a plague,’ sobbed Megan. ‘Like the Black Death. One person after another. Gordon, Kenneth and now Rhona.’

‘And Ewan McPhee,’ Alistair McKinley added, as he made the sign of the cross and kissed Rhona’s forehead.

Sister Lamb and Nurse Anderson had been standing respectfully by the door.

‘I don’t think she would have had much pain,’ said Sister Lamb. ‘She must have just collapsed. We found her on the floor there and tried to resuscitate her, but it was too late.’

Giselle pointed to the carry-all beside the bed. ‘We packed all her things for you to take away. The letter she was reading is on the top.’

‘Let’s see that letter?’ Megan said, drying her eyes and crossing the room to pick up the letter.

‘It was a bit crumpled up in her hand and we smoothed it out,’ Sister Lamb explained. ‘We think she was trying to write something on it when she collapsed.’

‘The swine!’ cursed Vincent. ‘It is the same letter that we all had. From the new laird about erecting those windmills on the Wee Kingdom.’

‘What’s that she was writing, Vincent?’ Alistair McKinley asked. He looked over Megan’s shoulder. It’s shaky writing. Looks like CARD IN.’

‘We thought she must have been trying to write something else when her heart stopped and she collapsed,’ said Sister Lamb. ‘See the squiggle.’

‘Maybe there is something in one of her get-well cards? They are all in the bag,’ Nurse Anderson suggested.

‘Or maybe it’s a card at the cottage,’ suggested Megan.

‘Who knows?’ said Vincent. ‘One thing about it all is clear though, that laird killed her as good as if he put a gun to her head.’

‘Aye, and he was responsible for my boy getting himself killed.’

Megan suddenly stiffened and pointed out of the window.
‘Speak of the devil. There he is with one of his bully-boys. Where are they going with Inspector McKinnon?’

Alistair made to leave the room. ‘I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.’

But Vincent restrained him. ‘No, Alistair, not now. Not while we’re here seeing Rhona.’ He bit his lip. ‘We’re all too shocked to start something now.’

Sister Lamb leaned over to see the three men entering the back door of the hospital. ‘Hadn’t you heard? About the young man, one of his employees? I thought you would all know, what with it happening at the Wee Kingdom.’

‘What happened, Sister?’ Vincent asked.

‘There was an accident. He fell off the causeway and he’s dead.’

Megan took a sharp intake of breath and threw herself into Vincent’s arms.

‘Inspector McKinnon will be taking him to see the body.’

There was a heavy footfall from the corridor then Nial Urquart came in. ‘I came as soon as I heard,’ he said, looking first at Rhona’s body and then at Megan in Vincent’s arms. ‘I’m here now, Megan,’ he said, giving Vincent a frosty stare as he held out his arms.

‘And just where have you been?’ Megan demanded. She sniffed disdainfully. ‘You’ve been drinking!’

‘Just the one at the Bonnie Prince Charlie,’ he returned. ‘I found Katrina. She fainted and I thought she needed a brandy.’

‘I needed you, too, Nial!’ exclaimed Megan, brushing past him and breaking into a run down the corridor.

Nial looked at the others then hung his head. ‘I’d better go after her,’ he said sheepishly.

Katrina was feeling confused. Everything was collapsing around her and she was finding it hard to maintain any
clinical
focus. It was fortunate that her surgery had been particularly quiet and the visits had been few. That had given her chance to search.

But again she heard Nial Urquart’s words, and although she knew that he was probably right, still she felt that she couldn’t give up. Not until his body was found. She shivered at the thought of that, and of how her life had changed since she had come back to West Uist. In debt up to her chin, she had been finding it hard to cope with the small island practice. And then Ewan had changed everything – forever.

She looked in the mirror above the sink in her
consulting-room
. Although her eyes were bleary from crying, and she felt a bit heady from the double brandy that Nial had made her drink, yet the face that looked back at her was still pretty. She grimaced at herself.

Damn that face! Her looks had gotten her in trouble again and again. Men! Ewan with his insatiable jealousy, Kenneth McKinley with his puppy-dog drooling over her, despite her being quite firm in trying to shrug off his attentions. And now Nial Urquart.

Damn them all!

She rinsed her face and dabbed it dry with a paper towel.

Come on, Katrina, she chided herself. Get a grip. You’ve work to do. Got to get those specimens off to the lab in Glasgow. And that means make the ferry within half an hour. And the courier would be waiting for the special package.

She donned her lab coat and pulled on protective gloves. Then she went to the fridge and pulled out all of the blood and urine specimens and the tissue samples that were awaiting despatch and wrote out the necessary lab request forms for each one. She knew that McArdle would soon be pressing her for the full results on his dog.

Then she packaged up the special tissue sample and laid it in the collection bag with the rest. It looked just like all the rest.

When she had finished she stripped off the gloves, rinsed her hands again and stared in the mirror. Despite herself, her thoughts returned again to Nial Urquart and she felt a tremble of excitement.