Deathly Wind (19 page)

‘And that’s how we do things in West Uist!’ Torquil said, blowing on his skinned knuckles. He turned to the door where Calum Steele was climbing to his feet from the prone position he had adopted in order to hold up the digital camera and first dazzle then draw Cardini’s fire.

‘Well done, Calum. I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life. I thought that either you hadn’t picked up my voice message or your Lambretta had finally packed in.’

‘Never a bit of it, Piper. Mind you, that’s the first time the West Uist investigative journalist has ever come under real live fire. And about that title “Constable Steele” – it has a certain ring—’

There was the sound of a click from the floor and they both turned to see Vincent propped against the leg of the snooker table, the crumpled body of Jesmond having tumbled into the bloody pool beside him. A rapidly spreading patch of blood was forming over Vincent’s abdomen where one of the stray bullets had struck home.

‘Just hold it where you are,’ he rasped, his bloodied hands clenching a gun. ‘Things are not – quite – finished!’

Ralph McLelland broke just about every speed restriction on the island and arrived at the Wee Kingdom jetty within ten minutes of the Padre’s call. Together with Katrina and Morag he stretchered the big police constable into the converted ambulance and drove straight to the cottage hospital. There, Sister Lamb and Nurse Anderson set about cleaning him up while Ralph took blood samples in order to determine his clinical state and electrolyte balance.

‘He is dangerously dehydrated and still stuporose,’ Ralph told Katrina. ‘I’ll monitor him for a few hours to get him stable, but I have every faith that he will be on his feet in a week or so. Ewan McPhee is one of the strongest men I have ever known, but surviving this long on just sips of water has taken it out of his system.’ He shook his head as he looked down at the haggard redheaded constable. ‘I don’t think many folk could have survived his ordeal.’

Katrina heaved an enormous sigh of relief then turned to Morag. ‘And I think that you will want to have my account of all this?’

Morag’s spirits had gone from rock bottom to sky high upon discovering that one of her best friends was still alive. Now, as an officer of the law she snapped into professional mode. ‘My thoughts exactly, Miss Tulloch. And I think it would be best if you accompanied me to the station to make your statement.’

Wallace Drummond had been on his way to the Wee Kingdom when he saw Alistair McKinley’s jeep pulled off the road by the rough track that led up to the Corlins. He had a good idea of where he would find the crofter, so he coaxed the police Ford Escort along the track and duly found him preparing to climb the cliff face.

‘Alistair McKinley,’ Wallace said, as he let the window down. ‘I have already told you that you are not permitted to have a gun at the moment. You will give it to me now.’

The crofter shook his head, his face determined. ‘Leave me alone, Wallace Drummond. I have something that needs to be done. I am going to shoot those bloody golden eagles.’

But Wallace was out of the car and with a couple of quick strides he caught hold of the bag carrying the gun that Alistair had about his shoulders. He slipped it off and held it behind him. ‘And I am telling you that you will do nothing of the sort. There has been enough killing as it is. I am taking this gun and you back to the station with me. My boss, Inspector McKinnon says he wants to talk to you.’

‘Put the gun down, Vincent,’ Torquil said. ‘You need medical treatment for that wound and you need it now.’

Blood was oozing from the wound in Vincent’s abdomen and had soaked his trousers.

‘I’m not worried about myself, Inspector,’ he said, his voice losing power all the time. ‘I am more concerned about that piece of excrement there.’ He hesitated to gulp some air. ‘He has a history of atrocities that you wouldn’t believe. He liked to hurt people and watch them squirm. And he’s murdered folk without batting an eyelid. I plan to be his judge, jury and executioner.’

‘You can’t do that, Vincent. That would make you a murderer, too.’

‘I don’t matter any more,’ he breathed. He gestured with
the gun in his hand at Calum. ‘Put that camera and your recording machine on the floor and switch them off.’

Torquil nodded to Calum, who acquiesced and laid down his digital camera and his Dictaphone.

‘That’s good, because I don’t want any more of this being recorded,’ Vincent said wheezily. ‘I made a fool of myself with … a young woman last night. I never thought I would have a relationship with anyone after Rhona – especially not after she tossed me aside for Geordie Morrison.’

He coughed and his frame shook. Perspiration was pouring from his brow and he wiped it away with the back of his left hand.

‘Who was this woman?’ Torquil asked. ‘Was it Megan Munro?’

‘Aye, and I feel bloody guilty about it. But we were … attracted to one another … and she was probably using me against her man, Nial Urquart.’

Then he shook his head emphatically. ‘But like I said, none of that matters now.’ He stabbed the gun in the direction of the still unconscious Giuseppe Cardini. ‘It is about him coming back into our lives. I thought that I had broken free from the Dragonetti gang and their ugly world of death and violence when Rhona helped to stage my disappearance and set me up with a croft here twenty years ago.’ His eyes seemed to mist over. ‘Clever woman, Rhona. She persuaded the old lady who owned it – she was ill and dying, ironically after a heart attack – to pass it on to me as if I was a relative. She sorted out my new identity, national insurance number, absolutely everything.’

Cardini began to stir as he made a slow return to consciousness.

Vincent rallied at the sight and aimed the gun at him. ‘He deserves to die!’ he exclaimed.

‘The law will deal with him, Vincent. Don’t do anything stupid.’

Cardini heaved himself up on his elbows, his eyes suddenly
widening with alarm when he saw the gun in the hand of the blood-soaked Vincent. He gasped in horror as he realized he was staring death in the face.

The gun-hand began to waver and Vincent’s eyes started to roll upwards. ‘At … at least … I can now—’

Suddenly, as if every last ounce of energy had been used up, he slumped sideways and the gun fell from his hand.

Torquil swiftly produced handcuffs and cuffed Cardini. Then he and Calum turned their attention to Vincent. A quick examination failed to find a pulse and the enlarging pool of blood suggested that resuscitation would be hopeless. Nevertheless, while Calum called for medical assistance Torquil attempted cardio-pulmonary resuscitation.

By the time that Ralph McLelland had arrived, it was all too clear that the man they knew as Gilfillan was truly dead.

Giuseppe Cardini had been watching all that time, cursing them and making scathing comments. Now, he tossed his head back and began to roar with laughter. ‘That serves them all—’

He suddenly went silent as Calum Steele seemed
accidentally
to trip, and kicked him the groin.

Neither Torquil nor Ralph McLelland saw it happen.

Katrina sipped the hot tea that Morag had brewed back at the station.

‘I really liked him, Sergeant!’ she explained. ‘Ewan, I mean. But Kenneth McKinley just wouldn’t leave me alone, and Ewan started to get jealous and suspicious. It is all my fault.’

‘Why do you say
fault?
’ Morag asked, as she jotted things down with her silver pen.

Katrina put the mug down, her expression a mix of pain and guilt. ‘Because Kenneth was working for me, and it all got out of hand. He was working … clandestinely.’

Morag raised her eyebrows quizzically. ‘Go on.’

‘You have no idea how hard it is to make a living as a vet in the Hebrides. I was in debt up to my ears. I had a colossal
student loan to pay back, and even working abroad in the East for a couple of years didn’t make much inroad into it. When I took over my uncle’s practice I didn’t realize that I’d be taking over his debt as well. He’d mismanaged things in a most appalling manner – as well as having a personal debt of several thousands with his gambling.’ She looked
beseechingly
at Morag for some sign of sympathy. ‘I was desperate and I had to make money as fast and as quickly as I could. There was no legal way I could do that.’

Morag made a conscious effort not to let her face register any sense of judgement. She had to let Katrina willingly offer the information. ‘And so what did you do?’

Katrina bent her head in embarrassment. ‘I had contacts from my time in the East. Dodgy contacts with people working in the animal trafficking black market.’

Morag made notes and said nothing, merely encouraging the vet to continue with a nod of her head.

‘In Thailand and China seal penises and genitalia are used to make virility medicines. In the Hebrides we have an almost limitless supply of them.’

Morag was unable to keep the revulsion out of her voice. ‘But you are a vet! How could you contemplate such a thing?’

‘I am a vet, but I eat meat. It is easy to judge me, but the seals were a rich source of revenue that I could tap into. I had a regular courier all lined up to take the stuff over on the ferry to the mainland along with my bona fide samples. From the mainland he would arrange to ship them abroad. His exact route, I don’t know.’

‘We’ll find out, don’t worry,’ Morag replied curtly. ‘And what about Kenneth McKinley, how did he fit in?’

‘He went out in his boat and shot them – procured their organs – then disposed of the bodies. He liked it, because he was a bit of a Walter Mitty. He liked to call himself the “assassin”.’ She leaned forward and pummelled her temples with her fists. ‘I was such a manipulative cow. I fuelled his fantasy.’

‘We know about his fixation with guns,’ Morag said. ‘And we are aware that Ewan McPhee suspected something about him.’

Katrina burst into tears. ‘I know and I hate myself for it. That was how Ewan went missing. Kenneth told me that he had taken out – that was how he described it, as if he was a hit-man or something – a family group of seals. Ewan must have followed him and Kenneth jumped him or something. He said he had him holed up somewhere, and that he was teaching him – and me – a lesson. I think he had some idea that I would sleep with him to get Ewan free. He wore disguises when he was out shooting and I think he meant to frighten Ewan.’ She bit her lip. ‘Then it all went badly wrong. I met him up on the ledge in the Corlins and I tried to get him to tell me where Ewan was, but he was obsessed with shooting the golden eagles. Anyway, I didn’t see it clearly in the mist, but I think one of them flew at him and seemed to hit him. He staggered over the edge and … fell to his death.’

She began sobbing again and Morag waited until she settled. Under other circumstances she would have made comforting noises, but she was feeling too angry and too revolted by the woman in front of her to do so.

‘I went down to him,’ Katrina went on at last, between sobs. ‘He was dead, of course. Then I – I scratched his face, to make it look as if an eagle had struck him with its talons. I didn’t know what else to do. I had to find Ewan, but I didn’t know where he could be.’

‘What about the rifle?’

‘I took that and hid it. You’ve got it now.’

‘And what made you go to the lighthouse-keeper’s cottage?’

‘I had scoured the whole island without luck over the last few days.’ She looked up at Morag who was staring at her with her best poker face. ‘I guess you probably know that I have just started an affair with Nial Urquart.’

Morag shrugged non-commitally. ‘Go on.’

‘Well it was this morning on the news. Calum Steele mentioned about those wind towers and the cottage burning like beacons – brighter than the old lighthouse. Then I thought that had to be it. Kenneth could have easily got to and from there from the Wee Kingdom. It is just below their croft. And, as you know, that’s where he was. The poor man could have been dead, all because of me.’

‘He could,’ Morag replied coldly. ‘And you can just thank your lucky stars that he isn’t. Ewan McPhee is one of my best friends.’

Douglas Drummond pulled up outside the Morrisons’ cottage just in time to see the family transporting bags from a huge wheelbarrow into the house.

‘Ah, the police!’ said Geordie, a well-built fellow with long hair and a full unkempt beard. ‘I have a complaint to make. Someone has been into my house and made an almighty mess. Someone is going to have to pay!’

Douglas could hardly believe his ears, but rather than cause a scene with the youngsters about, he smiled and got out of the car. ‘I was actually trying to find Nial Urquart, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone left on the Wee Kingdom except yourselves. Maybe it would be as well if I took you down to the station to have a chat with my boss, Torquil McKinnon.’

‘A good idea,’ replied Geordie. ‘I am not in a mood for shilly-shallying.’

‘No, I can see that,’ said Douglas. ‘Neither will my boss.’

Megan Munro stood at the door of Katrina Tulloch’s flat with the holdall and rucksack containing Nial Urquart’s clothes. She had rehearsed the speech she was going to make, but when Nial answered the door with contrition written across his face she merely dropped them on the mat.

‘Megan, I’m an idiot!’

‘You are.’

‘I have made an awful mistake.’

‘Me too.’

‘Do you think we could—?’

In answer she flung her arms about his neck and he hugged her as if he would never let her go again.

‘Of course we can!’

A week later, after an emotional rollercoaster trip things started to settle down. The whole story about Jock McArdle came out and was duly written up by Calum Steele in the
West Uist Chronicle
and in tele-interviews on Scottish TV with Kirstie Macroon. Giuseppe Cardini was transferred to a holding prison pending his trial, the windmills were taken down and the island saw a spate of funerals. Vincent Gilfillan was buried in the St Ninian’s cemetery next to Rhona McIvor, nearby the grave of Kenneth McKinley.

Ewan McPhee slowly pulled through and was discharged from hospital into the doting care of his mother, Jessie McPhee. The entire division of the West Uist branch of the Hebridean Constabulary as well as the full staff of the
West Uist Chronicle,
and the Padre descended on them and stayed far longer than they had intended, all eventually being ejected by Dr McLelland who gave them a lecture about over-tiring the patient.

Outside, Morag asked Torquil, ‘So now that the big one is back safe and sound, have you given any more thought about leaving the Force?’

Torquil grinned. ‘Of course I have. I am staying right where I am needed. With my friends.’

Calum Steele was still nibbling one of Jessie McPhee’s scones. ‘About that roving commission we talked about, Piper? You know, me being a special sort of police assistant. I have been thinking and there could be mutual benefits—’

Torquil groaned and put an arm about the local editor’s shoulder. ‘Let’s finish this at the Bonnie Prince Charlie, Calum. I’ll even let you buy me a pint of Heather Ale.’