Gently North-West (18 page)

‘Out,’ he said, ‘ma fine friends. Let’s see what the wind has blown in on us. Flora, jist shift a wee out o’ my aim – I may be for shootin’ your grand English acquaintances.’

‘Stay in the car,’ Gently told Brenda. He climbed out and walked up to the man with the dogs. The dogs watched him with smoky eyes, planted one each side of their master. He was a man as tall as or taller than McGuigan and of a similar cast of broadboned feature, but he was beardless and his hair was white and his eyes were pale and squinted. His mouth, too, was cruelly thin and pulled into a savage sort of droop, and the long cheeks with trailling furrows gave the face an expression of wildness.

‘Hector McCracken?’ Gently said.

‘Ay,’ McCracken said. ‘To friend and foe. An’ if you come here as the latter, yell rue the day ye set fute in Laggart.’

‘I come as a private citizen,’ Gently said. ‘With the rights of whom you are maybe familiar.’

‘I ken them in Scotland,’ McCracken said. ‘What they’d be in other part I kenna and carena.’

They stood staring at each other. McCracken’s rifle lay light and easy in his knobbly hands. His thumb was resting on the safety-catch, his fingers extended along the trigger-guard. The four other men, whose resemblance to McCracken left no doubt of their relation to him, stood holding their rifles in the same way. Only Flora McCracken was unarmed.

‘There’s been a death in the parish,’ Gently said. ‘Your neighbour died last Friday night.’

McCracken spat. ‘No neighbour o’ mine. There’s a mountain between us he daredna have climbed.’

‘But you dare climb it,’ Gently said. ‘And I think it likely you often do. It’s your short cut to the nearest village – shop, post-office, telephone, bus.’

‘I tell you there’s no path over there,’ McCracken said.

‘Ask your daughter,’ Gently said. ‘She can tell you. She was over there last night, perhaps yesterday afternoon. And if she can get over, so can you.’

McCracken’s thumb smoothed the catch back and forth. ‘Jist carry on talkin’,’ he said. ‘I’m listenin’. Ye’re a bold rash laddie at gi’en words – ma fingers are jerkin’ an’ jinkin’ already.’

‘There’s a way over the top,’ Gently said. ‘And you know it. Your sons, your daughter know it too. One or more of you go that way often – like the persons who knew so much about Dunglass’s affairs.’

‘Is it so, is it so,’ McCracken said.

‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘It is so. And that way went Dunglass’s killer, and that way Dunglass’s killer returned. Where were you on Friday evening, McCracken?’

‘Jist shoot the ugly Englishman, faither!’ Flora McCracken cried. ‘Put a bullet through his heid an’ another through his heart – gie Buska an’ Ban a taste o’ fresh bluid.’

‘Whist,’ McCracken said. ‘You’re too eager. I’m thinkin’ tumblin’ him ower a crag would suit better. But let’s hear more o’ his clatterin’ yet – let him dig his grave wi’ his tongue.’

‘Dunglass’s killer,’ Gently said, ‘was a man who knew him, a man Dunglass trusted. A man he thought he could turn his back on when he went with him in the dark. A man he’d known as a comrade. A man who was posing as his friend. A man who nevertheless hated Dunglass so he could strike him down in cold blood. A twisted man. A would-be patriot. A treacherous man. A coward.’

‘By jings,’ McCracken rasped through his teeth. ‘This is more than ma mither’s flesh can take – lay haud of him! I’ll have his scrapin’ tongue out o’ his heid.’

‘You won’t,’ Gently said. ‘You’ll stand your ground and listen, McCracken. Because the eagle is flying over Glenny –
and you’re the man who’ll have to answer
.’

McCracken’s squinted eyes opened stupidly and his hand went slack on the rifle. He stared wildly at Gently, his almost lipless mouth dragging.

‘
What
did ye say, Englishman?’ he asked.

‘Och, let me get at him, faither!’ cried Flora McCracken. ‘If he kens the Word he’s a spy – I’ll rend him mysel’ – we’ll have the dogs on him!’

‘Back, lassie!’ McCracken said. ‘You canna treat the Word i’ that fashion.’

‘It’s stolen, sure!’

‘Hauld your clatter! The Word’s the Word, an’ you canna go over it.’

He let the butt of the rifle fall, his eyes never leaving Gently. It was a signal. Four other rifles sank reluctantly to the ground.

‘So,’ McCracken said. ‘I micht have guessed it from the way you came whifflin’ up to ma door – from your manner o’ speakin’ to your betters. You wouldna have ventured it on your ain bottom.’

‘No,’ Gently said. ‘I don’t usually walk up to a tiger without a gun.’

‘Your tongue will ruin you yet,’ McCracken said, ‘if you wag it for lang enough. What’s your business?’

Gently hunched a shoulder. ‘The truth,’ he said. ‘Who killed Dunglass. Why.’

‘We ken nothin’ of it.’

‘You’ll have to prove that. The finger is pointing at you, McCracken.’

‘Let it point!’ McCracken said violently. ‘I havena been over the hill this fortnight. On Friday night I was takin’ ma ease by ma ain hearthside, in ma ain house.’

‘Have you witness to that?’

‘Ay, have I. Robbie, tell the Englishman where I was.’

‘You were right here, faither,’ said one of the young men. ‘It’s the mortal truth, an’ I’ll swear to it.’

‘Willie?’

‘Ay, faither.’

‘Wattie?’

‘Ay. We were playin’ cards till gone twelve.’

‘Stevie?’

‘Ay. I mind Friday fine.’

‘Flora?’

‘Ay, faither. We didna shift.’

‘So what about that, Englishman?’ McCracken said. ‘Five credible witnesses sayin’ I was here. An’ five for each an’ every one of us – where will that get ye with a magistrate?’

Gently shook his head. ‘It won’t work, McCracken. We can prove that one of you was over the hill.’

‘Ye canna.’

‘Yes. We found fingerprints on the phone that was used to fetch Dunglass out.’

‘Fingerprints – phone – I ken nothin’—!’

‘The murderer used a Forestry box on the braes. He rang Dunglass and told him his wife was keeping an assignation near the Keekingstane.’

McCracken stared stupidly at Gently. ‘He rang Dunglass – tellt him that?’

‘Yes.’

‘But glory, man – I didna even ken that Mrs Dunglass was lookin’ astray!’

‘The person who used the Forestry box knew. They knew every detail of those assignations. They knew the place, the man, the road he’d come by, the crag below which he hid his car. They knew a very great deal about it, McCracken. They’d spent a lot of time spying up there. I’d say they were over the top most evenings, going out early, coming in late.’

‘Man, I’m runnin’ a farm—!’

‘Who was it,’ Gently said. ‘Who was spending their evenings up there on the braes? If it wasn’t you you’d know who it was – you do know – and we’ll know too, very soon.’

‘I’m tellin’ you!’ McCracken stammered.

‘You know who it is. You know their reason.’

‘Och!’ Flora McCracken cried. ‘If you winna shoot him, faither, hand me your gun and leave him to me.’

‘Whist, daughter, whist,’ McCracken exclaimed.

‘Will ye let him outface ye?’ the girl cried. ‘On your ain sod – your fute on Laggart – an Englishman dingin’ you down wi’ words? Och, I’m blushin’ for you, father. This isna the way o’ Hector McCracken. I’ll awa’ to my kin at Gillieknock, where they carena if the sky is black with eagles.’

‘Ye daft bitch!’ McCracken snarled. ‘Have ye nought in your harps but wildfire? Robbie, take your sister back i’ the hoose – I canna think sense wi’ her bangin’ ma lugs.’

‘Ye’ll rue it,’ she cried. ‘Ye’ll rue it, McCracken, if you chop mair words wi’ the ugly southron.’

‘Get her out o’ ma sight!’ McCracken bawled.

‘Come awa’, Flo,’ said the young man nearest her.

Flora McCracken gave him a fierce look but made no move to obey her father. She stood biting her lips, her brows dragged together, her molten eyes glaring at Gently. McCracken affected not to notice her disobedience.

‘So ye have these prints, ye’re sayin’,’ he said to Gently.

‘We have them,’ Gently said. ‘And we’ll match them. We’ll know who made that call by this evening.’

‘But ye canna be sure what the call was about.’

‘We don’t need to know that when we know who made it. We know it was made at a certain time and that Dunglass went out as a result of it.’

‘Ay, but even so,’ McCracken said. ‘It’s not to say the body who made it was likewise the murderer. There’s room for argyment there, I’m thinkin’, for all you’re pretendin’ nothin’ o’ the sort.’

‘There’s always room for argument,’ Gently said. ‘But it’s facts and evidence that win convictions. And I’ve no doubt we’ll come by plenty of both when we question the owner of those prints.’

‘But if the body who made the call had guid, strong witness – if that body should prove to have been elsewhere – an’ there’s this other man nearby the spot – it’s very argyable he would quarrel wi’ Dunglass.’

‘Only we happen to know differently,’ Gently said. ‘And you know differently too, McCracken. Or you wouldn’t be poking a gun in my chest and threatening to throw me over a crag.’

McCracken’s grim face twisted. ‘Ye ken what you’re doin’, man,’ he said. ‘But had ye not come here from the quarter ye did, you’d no be traipsin’ down Laggart again to be settin’ on Blayne. What more do you want?’

‘I’d like to see that path.’

‘It’s more than your puir English feet can tread.’

‘I’d still like to see it.’

‘Your heid’ll no take it. It’s for men who’ve brushed the dew aff the heather.’

‘I’ll show the cratur’ the path, father,’ Flora McCracken said unexpectedly. ‘If he will see it, he will see it, an’ I can show him as well as another.’

McCracken looked at her, his eyes small, then flashed a a quick glance at Gently.

‘What d’you say, southron,’ he said. ‘Will you go up the braes wi’ ma daughter?’

Gently hesitated, then shrugged carelessly. ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘She’ll know the way.’

‘An’ your lady-friend too,’ Flora McCracken said. ‘If we take it slow she’ll manage fine.’

Gently hesitated again. ‘No,’ he said. ‘There’s the car to get back. Besides, I haven’t much time to spare. My friend can go over another day.’

Flora McCracken muttered something, but took a glance from her father and was silent. Gently walked back to the Minx, where Brenda sat pale-faced, eyes scared.

‘I’m going over the top,’ he said, ‘with Miss McCracken. You take the car back to Strathtudlem. I’ll see you there in a couple of hours. Have the kettle on for a pot of tea.’

‘Are you sure – are you sure?’ Brenda faltered. ‘I mean, you’re not . . . well . . . used to climbing?’

‘Oh, I’ll be in good hands,’ Gently said. ‘Never worry about me. Watch your driving.’

Flora McCracken unlocked the gate and Brenda jerkily, clumsily turned the Minx. When she was level with Gently again she halted and wound down her window.

‘What are we doing for dinner?’ she asked. ‘Am I to ring up and book?’

‘Of course,’ Gently said. ‘The sooner the better. Cut along and book two tables.’

Brenda went.

Flora McCracken closed the gate, watched the Minx disappear behind a ridge. She turned, avoiding her father’s eye, and stared levelly at Gently.

‘I’ve a sma’ business in the hoose,’ she said. ‘It winna take mair than a minute. So if yell jist bide where you are, I’ll be wi’ ye – I’ll be wi’ ye.’

Frankie and Johnny were sweethearts,

Oh and how they did love.

‘Frankie and Johnny’

W
HILE FLORA MCCRACKEN
was gone Hector McCracken stood bearing down on his rifle and scowling stupidly at the ground near Gently’s feet. His mouth plucked and twisted and he bored at the earth with the rifle-butt. At last he jerked back his savage grey head and fixed tiny, ice-like eyes on the detective.

‘You’ll be drawin’ the blinkers over me still,’ he said. ‘I ken it, I ken it. You’re a smooth, deceivin’ body, like every Englishman that ever breathed. You’re a’ velvet an’ soft speakin’ an’ innocence an’ empty hands, then in a blink the knife’s at our craig, an’ we dinna ken which way it came.’

‘That was much your neighbour’s situation,’ Gently said. ‘With the addition that his back was turned at the time.’

‘Dunglass was a traitor, ye weel ken. Back or front, it was no matter wi’ him.’

‘A subtle distinction,’ Gently said. ‘But all murderers are traitors. Killing is easy. You stand here alive because other people have honoured their contract.’

‘English blethers,’ McCracken sneered. ‘We ken the value o’ rich language. We’ve had it cuitlin’ up our lugs since the days o’ Wallace an’ the Bruce. But for a’ your sophisticatin’, Englishman, dinna be weighin’ your woo’ yet. Ye have your fute where it’s fatal for southrons – it’s a far call frae the Bow Bells.’

He glowered at Gently, then turned his back. His sons remained staring uncertainly at Gently. One of them, Robbie, had gone to the gate, and leaned massively against it, whistling untunefully.

Flora McCracken returned from the house, her sweater exchanged for a denim jacket. She paused for a moment before her father and looked up steadily into his eyes.

‘Shall I send the boys wi’ ye?’ McCracken muttered.

‘What for should I need them?’ she replied scornfully.

‘Jist watch your step, lassie, wi’ yon slimy customer.’

‘Dinna fear about that. I ken his like.’ She turned to Gently. ‘Come, Englishman,’ she said. ‘Here’s an honour you winna have often repeated. You’re goin’ up the braes wi’ McCracken’s daughter – I hope you mayna boast about it later.’

‘I appreciate that privilege, Miss McCracken,’ Gently said.

She looked at him scathingly. ‘Perhaps – perhaps no’. But we’ll see what you make of a regular hill-path, where the feathers of a’ the eagles are black. Let’s awa’.’

She set off at a swinging pace towards the firs behind the house. Gently followed. McCracken, his sons, the dogs stood silently watching them out of sight.

Beyond the firs an easy track followed a contour of the braes and led to a steep rocky gully filled with boulders and rubbish. The route was obviously well-trodden. There was a worn line through the short hill grass. Rocky areas were scratched and abraded and heelmarks were showing in puddles of mud.