The noise of the downdraught and the whirring blades of the helicopter curtailed their conversation. As the copter’s side-doors opened the team piled in and fastened themselves into their seats for the short journey across the Firth of Clyde. The pilot motioned them to put on their earphones and then relayed the message that they were landing on a playing field in Brodick, it was approximately half a mile from the hotel where Leask was staying.
Valentine turned to the pilot. ‘Call ahead when we’re a few minutes from landing and get a squad car to pick us up.’
‘If I can find anyone, the place isn’t fully manned.’
‘Brilliant. Let’s hope there’s nothing serious going down, like a goat in labour.’
The small island started to hove into view. The bright blues of sky and sea butting gently with the lush greens and deeper browns of the land and hills. It seemed a jagged, dramatic place. The cliff crags and the jutting peaks appearing starkly in contrast to the mainland’s built-up conformity.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said DS McCormack.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve never been to Arran,’ said Valentine.
‘Never. It’s so wild and harsh, yet peaceful.’
‘They call it Scotland in miniature … and all life is here.’
The helicopter seemed to swing out to sea again and then backed up on itself and drifted closer to the coast. They were now near enough to see people looking up to the skies and the branches of trees bending downwards in the rotor’s wake. The pilot waved to a man on the ground who was standing by a pair of red cones, flagging his hands above his head. The engines heaved a last loud burst and then the helicopter was lowered to the ground, the wheels bouncing gently and then staying still.
The blades above were still turning as the squad got out. A man in uniform, holding his hat pressed tight to his head, approached.
‘Inspector Valentine?’ he said.
‘Yes, that’s me.’ The DI introduced the others and the uniform announced himself as DS Rory McNeil.
‘If you follow me,’ he said. ‘I have a car waiting to take you round to the Auchrannie … it’s the Astra estate over there.’
‘That would be the big white one with police on the side?’
‘I see there’s little gets past you, sir.’
At the hotel Valentine instructed DS McNeil to drop them some distance from the front entrance. ‘I don’t want to tip off Leask, if it can at all be helped.’
At the front desk a young girl in a black jacket, her name tag on the lapel, greeted them with a smile. CS Martin frowned and produced her warrant card. ‘Police. I think you better call your duty manager.’
The girl’s gaze fell on the telephone, she picked up the receiver. ‘Erm, he’s not answering.’
‘We need to remove a guest, right away.’
‘Remove?’
‘The sooner the better. Can you tell me what room Norrie Leask is in?’
The girl was unsure of herself but went to the computer, tapped a few keys. ‘Mr Leask is in Room 212.’
‘What about his companion?’
‘Is that Joe Barr? … He’s in the next room 214. We don’t have any rooms with the number 13 in them.’
‘Well that’s lucky,’ said Martin. ‘Sylvia, grab the lassie’s jacket and a tray, you’re going to deliver some room service to Mr Leask.’
‘I’m not sure if I can do that,’ said the receptionist.
‘Trust me, you can. Or would you prefer to keep a murder suspect upstairs?’
The officers headed for the lift. Once outside Leask’s door, Valentine stationed himself to the left of the spy hole and CS Martin stood outside room 214.
‘OK, Sylvia, knock-knock …’
McCormack tapped on the door and called out, ‘Room service.’
No answer.
‘Knock again,’ said Valentine.
Another knock, harder this time.
‘OK. OK. I’m coming.’ The voice behind the door was a middle-aged man’s, heavy Ayrshire in tone.
‘Soon as the chain’s off, kick it in,’ said Valentine.
The door opened, the chain wasn’t on. McCormack kicked the door in and Norrie Leask fell backwards into the room, cursing.
‘Stay where you are, Norrie,’ said Valentine.
The sound of footsteps padded from the interior of the room to the front door where the officers waited.
‘You too, Joe. This is a bit like a full house,’ said Valentine. ‘In here, chief.’
As Martin came in McCormack was cuffing Leask behind his back, propping him against the wall. Valentine was turning the protesting Joe around. ‘Just shut it, now. You’ll have plenty of time to tell us all about it when we get you down the nick.’
‘It’s not us you want,’ said Leask.
‘You’ll do for now,’ said McCormack.
‘But they’re here,’ said Leask. ‘You’re letting them get away …’
CS Martin stepped towards Leask. ‘What is he going on about?’
Before Leask had a chance to reply DS McNeil appeared at the doorway. ‘I just had a call on the radio, I think you should hear this – there’s been shots fired out at the old bothy in Glen Rosa.’
‘I told you,’ wailed Leask. ‘You got the wrong ones.’
‘Shut it, Norrie.’ said Valentine. ‘Where’s this Glen Rosa?’
46
Valentine led Leask through the hotel foyer to the car park. A few guests in gym wear, obviously en route to the leisure club, stopped and stared but were promptly waved aside. As McNeil arrived with the second custody and CS Martin, Valentine was putting Leask in the back of the Astra, a wary hand on the top of his head as he ducked the roof.
‘How are we all going to get in there?’ said Valentine.
‘We need the Land Rover for the glen, it’s on the way with our armed response officer,’ said McNeil.
‘You have armed response on Arran?’
‘Not exactly. We have a couple of rifles, and my offsider has them in the Land Rover for the odd stray deer, we get them on the roads and they can do terrible damage to a vehicle.’ He put Joe in the back of the Astra with Leask, where he rattled his handcuffs and continued to protest.
‘I’ll go with uniform to keep an eye on this pair,’ said DS McCormack.
Valentine nodded, turned back to McNeil – he wanted to know more about the guns. ‘Tell me you have the proper firearms training.’
‘Of course. Have to, as you know …’
‘And have you actually fired one?’
‘Oh, yes. I shot a cow once, had been hit by a post van and was in a dreadful way, blood oozing out the nose, the tongue lolling …’
Thank you for the image,’ said Valentine.
‘The kindest thing for it was to put it out of its misery.’
The DI turned to the chief super. ‘I’d love to see the paperwork on that.’
‘Oh, jeez, you wouldn’t have liked to fill it in,’ replied McNeil. ‘The best part of a day it took me, I had to reload a few times you see. I suppose I was lucky it wasn’t a built-up area, now that would have been a nightmare.’
The conversation halted abruptly as the Land Rover appeared and a uniformed officer opened the door and got out. The CS and the DI piled in as McNeil directed the uniform towards DS McCormack and the awaiting collars in the back seat of the Astra.
‘Come on, Rory, you have to drive us there. We’re wasting time,’ said Martin.
As he got behind the steering wheel McNeil detailed the route. Glen Rosa was a scenic spot on the edge of Brodick with a rambling track to the top of the Goatfell range. It could be boggy in places but there were beaten-earth tracks that the Land Rover could handle easily if it came to that.
‘There’s a wee road leads there, just outside Brodick, we’ll be there in no time,’ said McNeil.
‘What’s the story with the shots?’ said Martin.
‘There’s a campsite, with an old stone bothy, I think the campers use it as a washroom now. There was a call, shots were heard inside. Some voices, screams but nobody’s seen anything, we’ll be the first on the scene, I’m afraid. Can you handle a rifle, chief super?’