Kindle Edition
Category:
Action/Thriller
ISBN-10: B093RMYBYG
ISBN-13: 9798745215872
Price: FREE! (eBook)
Based at Lamlash on Arran, PC Rory Murdoch has a minimal caseload, giving him ample time to think about his daughter, Ella, and her special needs. Then three murders occur in close succession. His supervising officer, mainland-based D.I. Samuel Grant, is not supportive. Can Rory stand up to this bully and undermining superior? Rory receives a letter from Belgium and Ella has a remarkable insight both of which lead to High Court trials in Ayr. How can Rory cope with three murder trials while his mind is preoccupied on greater matters? This is a fast-paced story set in the stunningly beautiful island of Arran with elements of humour, pathos, romance and great sadness."This was a marvellous story and I even shed a tear or two". Morag Ritchie
Chapters 3 and 4
3
Two and a half hours later, as clouds started to congregate once more, two police cars drew up at Auchenbarry cottage and parked on the green verge by the road. Detective Inspector Sammy Grant switched off the engine and emerged into the cool late afternoon. He filled his lungs in the sea air while observing the white walled extended property. He wore a smart grey suit with shoes so black and shiny they looked as if they had come directly from the dance floor. From the other door appeared a woman in jeans and a heavy sky-blue jumper. Her bulky anorak had a Val d’Isère logo on her back. She was in her mid-thirties with no wedding ring on her finger. Her shoes were practical, brown and flat heeled. She greeted Rory.
‘Constable Murdoch,’ she said offering her hand. ‘I’m Dr Jane Dunbar, forensic scientist.’
Rory nodded. ‘Good, I’m sure you will move the case on.’
From the other car emerged two police officers in their number twos. They were wearing heavy boots and dark uniform work clothes. They carried spades and a canvass screen.
‘Exhume, and then move the body to the mortuary at Brodick,’ said DI Grant in an officious tone.
‘Won’t you want to examine the immediate vicinity first?’ asked Rory.
DI Grant drew his eyebrows together and stared at Rory. ‘Of course, but I expected you would have done that by now.’
Rory felt the pang of a reprimand. His repost was quick. ‘Short staffed on the island. No one to corroborate any inspection sir,’ said Rory standing tall with an air of “you’re not so smart,” about him.
‘Let’s see the body then,’ growled the Inspector showing Rory little respect.
Rory led him down the garden to the compost pit from where there was access to the field.
‘Good to see the police tape in position,’ said
DI Grant,’ in a subdued voice.
‘Almost unnecessary,’ suggested Rory. ‘No one knows about the body. We’re in the middle of nowhere here,’ he said proud to have the chance to share Arran’s special solitude.
‘Utter nonsense. The mainland knows about the murder and they will have an Arran journalist here before long to get some facts about the case.’
Rory nodded with pouted lips. These Police Scotland mainlanders must have the press at their door. It simply was not the Lamlash way of doing things. Rory always phoned the journalists at the Arran Banner if he had a story to tell.
As Rory turned round he glanced at Morag and John standing by the lounge bay-window. John stood behind his wife with his hands on her shoulders. They looked anxious and unwilling to miss any of the developments at their holiday home.
4
Carefully the spades laid bare more of the skeleton. It seemed to be a small victim, perhaps even a child. By the time the pelvic bones appeared, Jane knew this had been the body of a dainty mature woman. She placed a sizeable chip of bone into a tube. DNA might be able to identify who the deceased was and possibly who had caused her death. There were no rings, clothing or any jewellery to assist further identification.
‘Rory, give me your book of missing Arran people. Take it back a few years. There can’t be many,’ instructed DI Sammy Grant.
Rory thought where the book might be. He drew a blank but did not wish to inform his superior. ‘Yes, I’ll do that when I get back to Lamlash,’ he said. ‘Will you do a full Scottish trawl of missing people as well?’
The DI turned on Rory. ‘Let’s take our time. Eliminate the locals first. If nothing comes up, it will be much harder. Yes, there will be a wider check. There’s no rush. The murder was not last night.’
On his way back to the office Rory gave thought to his filing cabinet. Yes, there was a ‘missing’ folder. It was actually a missing/lost folder because missing keys were reported, then a few hours later the caller would report they had been found. Missing dogs too. They usually returned home at their leisure. Missing persons? No, he did not have one. Perhaps he had better start a new file.
An hour or so after his return to the station, as his crossword’s last box was about to be filled, the telephone rang.
‘Ah Jane, yes, any progress?’
‘We’ve moved the body to Brodick and I’ve made an initial assessment. The body has been in the ground for about a year. 12-18 months I reckon. No more; no less. I suppose that doesn’t give you a great start,’ she said as her voice drained away.
‘That holiday cottage, it’s been there a long time. Perhaps it is worth investigating again,’ said Rory giving what he thought might be a plausible next step.
‘Yes, that’s a good idea. I’ll leave that in your capable hands,’ said Jane
‘Yes, okay. But keep me updated if you can,’ he responded, winding the telephone cord around his fingers.
‘Certainly, I’d love to return to Arran.’
‘You mean you are leaving us?’ asked Rory, his voice rising as he spoke.
‘Yes, a DNA matching in Glasgow is called for now. I’ll see what that digs up.’
Rory grinned. A wider mainland search was underway after all.
With a body over a year old and nobody reported as a missing person, Rory settled down to his perambulations around Lamlash, his outings to Lochranza in the north of the island and his shoreline walks with his Springer spaniel, Flop. It was those elongated drooping ears which named his dog. Rory was an almost practical man. He had to be. His domestic life was demanding. His wife died giving birth to his premature daughter, Ella. She was his life and his devotion to her and her needs were total.
As the trees turned golden brown and a nip in the air met Rory’s early morning patrols, Detective Inspector Sammy Grant gave him a call.
‘Presumably nothing to go on yet in that murder?’ he asked.
Rory shook his head. ‘Nothing at all, except the forensic girl. Jane said the body in the ground is about a year old.’ Rory could hear his boss breathing the silence, thinking.
‘Was there not a visitor’s book in the cottage?’
‘A visitor’s book? Well, I suppose so. Very likely I would think.’
‘Then get your fat arse over there and get hold of it. Oh, better inform the owner that you are taking it away as well.’
‘Yes sir, right away,’ said Rory eyeing his kettle. As he poured his coffee he thought what an uncompromising boss he had in the foul mouthed DI Grant.
The cottage was owned by a lady who lived in Aberdeen. In his notes of the murder taken at the cottage he had recorded the owner’s details. He rang Karla Hodge.
‘Mrs Hodge, PC Rory Murdoch here in Lamlash, I hope you are well?’ he asked in his polite manner.
‘Um, yes I am fine. Have you got the murderer? I’ve heard about it on the BBC radio link. You know the i-thingy?’
‘Er...no we are not at that stage yet. In fact, it will take some time. I’m ringing you to take your visitors book at the cottage into my possession, if I may.’
Karla hesitated. ‘You mean it was a guest of mine who murdered the woman?’ she said raising her voice an octave.
‘We are keeping an open mind about it,’ Rory reassured her.
‘But you must have some reason to take the book, surely? I mean it will list all my guests.’
‘It will be a list to eliminate each of them. That’s all we are doing, honestly. We may have to come back to you for some personality checks perhaps, but don’t be alarmed.’
‘A personality check?’ she asked. ‘I book them by e-mail and phone. I never see any of them.’
‘Oh,’ thought Rory. ‘Then we might not have to contact you after all. But I have your permission? The visitor’s book?’
‘Of course, if you must. And it will be returned, I presume.’
‘It certainly will, I assure you,’ Rory said in an official tone.
‘Then you’ll get a key for the cottage from the next door neighbour if the holidaymakers are not in. Please do not upset them, if they are.’
‘Discretion is part of my training,’ said Rory ending the call. Then he let out a deep sigh. Karla Hodge had been no push over.
The day’s work had concluded at the office. Rory stopped on his way home at the Brodick Co-op and filled his trolley. He had made a list while eating his Cheerio’s over breakfast that morning but as usual, his eye always found a bargain or a treat making it a surprise when he got home to his daughter. Eggs, milk and sausages were on the list but he filled his trolley to the full. The calming effect of the rubber-running trolley wheels kept work from dominating his thoughts. But he was still in uniform.
‘Got the killer yet, constable?’ asked a man of around forty years of age and looking like a former rugby prop with an attitude.
‘Working on it, I assure you,’ he said with a smile feeling this man could turn out to be the murderer perhaps, one day.
‘Can I sleep soundly?’ asked an elderly woman with a congested frown and a wheezy chest.
Rory patted her shoulder. ‘Sleep like a log. The killer is probably on the mainland.’
She smiled at his reassuring words but also in the knowledge of the demands his work required.
Rory staggered out of the car at home with his provisions, to hear Flop barking inside the house. He placed his bags down and his key engaged the lock. The door opened and Flop emerged undecided whether to give master his welcoming attention, or to concentrate on the food now at nose level.
The wheelchair came slowly along the hallway and stopped. Ella thrust out her arms and welcomed her father home. He clung on to her despite the growing pain his bending back felt.
‘Toad-in-the hole, tonight. Okay?’
Ella’s joy was confirmed in a smile and a giggle.
Rory wheeled Ella through to the lounge. He switched on the television.
‘We’ve missed the start. It’s the second round of Pointless. Is that all right for you?’
‘Yes dad,’ she said still smiling at her father. She spun her chair round the settee and rested with the brake applied in front of the screen.
‘Oh that’s 100, no not Prime Minister Gordon Douglas-Home,’ said Xander, the Pointless host.
‘I’ll give the correct answers at the end of the round,’ said Richard in a sympathetic voice hiding a grin at the answer given.
‘Okay, shout me through for the news. I’ll start the cooking,’ said her father as he entered the kitchen.
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