The local police station was in Church Street. From the pavement in front of it Lorimer spotted three steeples close by, a reminder that these parts were supposed to be full of God-fearing folks. Well, that remained to be seen.
‘Chief Inspector Lorimer, Strathclyde CID,’ Lorimer held out his warrant card carefully for the duty sergeant to see. The officer, a huge bear of a man whose grizzled hair still held a hint of red, raised his eyebrows but looked past Lorimer to the Jewish psychologist, who stood smiling his knowing little smile. Following the man’s questioning gaze, Lorimer stepped aside.
‘This is Dr Brightman from Glasgow University.’
Solly held out his hand to the sergeant who gave it an abrupt once up-and-down.
‘Dr Brightman is assisting Strathclyde with our double murder inquiry,’ Lorimer explained.
‘Aye, the MacLeod girl. Terrible thing, that,’ replied the sergeant. ‘How can we help you, sir?’ he said to Lorimer.
‘We’re here to visit a place called Failte. It’s some sort of respite home for recovered mental patients.’ Beside him Lorimer could feel Solly wince at the description.
‘Isn’t it for patients who have suffered some sort of neural disorder?’ the sergeant replied, frowning. ‘That’s what we were told.’ He sidled along behind the desk and tapped at the keyboard of his computer.
‘There, see.’ He swivelled the screen around for the two men to read.
Faille: Centre for holistic care and recuperation. Specialising in the aftercare of patients who are recovering from neural disorders. Patients are often disorientated when they arrive and may take some time to integrate with staff and nearby residents. It is hoped that the local police officers will do their best to be discreet and understanding while those patients are part of the community.
‘That’s community policing for you,’ the big policeman said proudly. ‘We take care of people up here, respect their needs, you know.’
‘There isn’t a big crime scene here, then,’ Lorimer joked.
The sergeant bristled, obviously disliking Lorimer’s flippancy. ‘We may not have the kind of crimes you boys have down in Glasgow, but there are still lawbreaking elements about. Especially with drugs,’ he shook his head wearily.
‘But there’s been no trouble of that sort at Failte?’ Solomon inquired politely.
‘Oh, no. They keep themselves pretty much to themselves. We see them wandering along the roads, out for fresh air, poor souls. No, we’ve never had any bother with them at all,’ he replied, adding, ‘Are you staying long, Chief Inspector?’
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Lorimer replied to him. ‘Although I’d quite like to see it from a visitor’s point of view some day.’
‘Aye, there’s nowhere like it. They can say what they like about their fancy Benidorms and Lanzarotes but we’ve a better place than any of them,’ the sergeant stated emphatically.
‘Well, maybe I’ll manage to come up here again. Thanks for your time.’ Lorimer shook the sergeant’s hand and turned to go.
‘Do you know where this place is?’ Solomon asked as they walked back along the street.
‘Yes. According to my AA map it’s further out along the north coast,’ Lorimer replied. ‘Near a place called Shawbost. Shouldn’t take us too long to find it.
And we certainly won’t get lost. There is only one road from Stornoway.’
Lorimer was right, the road from the main town in Lewis cut directly across the land towards the further coast. Apart from the ubiquitous sheep, there were few signs of habitation along their route. Gazing out of the window, Solomon marvelled at the landscape of windswept grasses and gently sloping hills. Small birds swooped past the windscreen and away, their identities a mystery. Despite a lack of trees the landscape was pleasing and, as the clouds raced across the sky, the psychologist smiled to himself, enjoying the shifting scenery as if it were a gift.
Chapter Nineteen
The sign for Shawbost was accompanied by another giving the mileage to Callanish, Carloway and Stornoway. There was nothing to indicate the whereabouts of Failte. Lorimer drove slowly along past the houses scattered on either side of the road until even those petered out.
‘Maybe it’s further on?’ suggested Solly.
‘We’ll see.’
Turning a bend on the road, Lorimer saw a long driveway that ended slightly uphill at a large, grey two-storey house. There was no sign at the road end.
‘Bet you that’s it,’ he said and swung the car along the rutted path that led to the house.
To one side of the old house was a pebbled area with a red pickup truck, so Lorimer parked nearby and signalled to Solomon to come with him.
‘You’re right,’ said Solly, pointing to the word cut into grey slate by the doorway. Failte.
‘My great detecting skills,’ Lorimer smiled, raising his eyebrows. So far, so good, he thought, but what would their reception be now that they had arrived?
They hadn’t long to find out. In answer to the shrill bell, footsteps came thudding downstairs towards the door. It swung open to reveal a young woman dressed in jeans and sweater.
‘Hallo. Can I help you?’ she looked curiously at Lorimer then shifted her gaze to Solomon. Lorimer saw the smile spread across her face and watched as she flicked back her long fair hair. He made a mental note to tease the psychologist about his fatal attraction to blondes.
As always, Lorimer held out his warrant card. ‘I understood Mr and Mrs Evans were in charge here,’ he ventured.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ she turned and yelled up the stairs. ‘Muum! There’s a policeman to see you.’
The sound of a door slamming and a toilet flushing was followed by a voice calling out, ‘Just coming!’ then a woman appeared at the top of the stairs, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist.
‘Frances Evans. You must be the men who phoned me from Glasgow, right?’ she spoke breathlessly taking Lorimer’s hand in a damp grasp. ‘This is my daughter, Rowena,’ she added, indicating the girl who still continued to smirk in Solly’s direction. ‘Finish off those bedrooms for me, will you, lass?’ she said, giving the girl a friendly pat on the shoulder.
‘See you later, maybe,’ Rowena grinned then raced up the stairs and out of sight.
‘Come on into the lounge, will you. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee? Or can I offer you both a spot of lunch? We’re just having soup and sandwiches, but you’re welcome to join us.’
Frances Evans spoke in a rush, making Lorimer wonder if she were always so garrulous. Or was it the presence of a police officer that provoked this nervous chatter? Lorimer had witnessed this effect countless times. It didn’t mean a person had anything to hide; sometimes it was simply the awkwardness of unfamiliarity.
‘Thank you, but no. We’d really like to speak to your two residents as soon as possible.’
‘Ah,’ the woman dropped her hands by her sides. ‘Of course. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it, to see Sam and Angelica. Well, Sam’s out with my husband at the moment and Angelica’s gone for a walk. Oh, just a minute,’ she broke off and crossed to a window that overlooked the road. ‘That’s them now,’ she said, turning back to Lorimer.
‘They had to go into Stornoway to the chemist’s. Sam’s on special medication, you know,’ she confided, stepping past them and bustling out into the hall once more. The rattle of a car braking against the stony drive set off a dog barking.
Following the woman out of the front door, Lorimer saw a black and white collie racing towards the car, a distant figure following.
Standing in the doorway, Lorimer saw two men emerge from the car. One was stockily built with thinning hair, the other a tall spare man wearing well-worn tweeds. As they approached, Lorimer saw them exchange glances. They’d have seen his car in the driveway and put two and two together.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Lorimer, I take it?’ the tall man took the front steps two at a time and Lorimer found his hand grasped firmly. ‘I’m John Evans. And this is our guest, Sam Fulton,’ Evans turned to the man behind him who had bent down to fondle the collie by his side.