‘Stuart, why did you laugh when you told me about Robbie Ochterlonie’s saying, “a word to the wise”?’
The old trawler captain stared with bleary eyes at Torquil. ‘Because that’s what he thought I was. One of the wise. I warned him, but he wouldn’t listen.’
‘Warned him about what, Stuart?’
‘About lots of things. About his wheeling-dealing and his peatreek and his trysts. He thought of me as a father figure, you see.’
‘Can you explain?’
Stuart took a hefty mouthful of tea and then sighed contentedly, presumably as the spirit reached his stomach. ‘He liked to play with fire. He never told me exactly who with, or how, but I gather he was having a dirty affair with someone. Someone powerful, he used to suggest. Anyway, powerful enough to scare him, which is why he told me what to do if anything happened to him.’
Torquil drew up a chair close to him and leaned towards the old captain. ‘He’s been murdered, Stuart, you know that now.’
‘Aye, I know it. I heard from Norma. And I was just debating with myself who best to talk to. If he got himself killed, why should I think that I’m safe? So I’ll tell you now. He said, “Tell the police to go to Beamish Solicitors.” That’s exactly what he said.’
‘I don’t suppose he gave you anything, did he? Like a computer, or a laptop.’
Stuart’s eyes seemed to clear. ‘Aye, he gave me this gadget thingy for plugging into his computer. He called it his memory and said that he was trusting me, as I was his backup.’
‘A memory stick, Stuart. That’s what he meant. Where is it?’
The old trawler captain’s eyes seemed to glaze over. ‘Buggered if I can remember. I put it somewhere safe.’
Torquil silently cursed. ‘That memory stick is important, Stuart. I’ll need to send my Detective Constable over to search your room later. Now, you also smiled when your friend Norman said maybe you’d all find out where he got his peatreek. I think you already know who that is, don’t you?’
‘Ah, that is a closely guarded secret, because the distiller has kept his secret for more years than I care to think of. He supplies lots of folk here on West Uist and also all over the western Isles. In my working days I even used to help deliver them to the other isles.’ He grinned. ‘Now that’s not going to get me in trouble, is it, Inspector McKinnon?’
‘Not unless you persist in keeping it a secret.’
‘Well then, like his father before him did, Archie Many Hats is the best peatreek distiller in the Western Isles.’
Douglas had taken the call from Torquil and told him about finding the bottle in the lobster pot. He reacted with surprise when Torquil then told him that Archie ‘Many Hats’ Reid was likely to be the secret distiller. The DI then told them to drive to his smokehouse and bring him in to the station right away, while he went to Beamish Solicitors.
The fog was still dense as the two special constables drove to the end of Harbour Street and parked outside the shop.
‘Well, he’s probably not in,’ said Wallace. ‘Looks like the shop and the smokehouse are shut up for the day. Certainly, he’s not running the smokery.’
But when they went round the back they saw that the lock and bolt on one of the adjoining sheds to the smokehouse was broken and hanging down.
They both saw it and gestured at the same time to be silent. Tiptoeing to the door Wallace opened it a crack and looked inside.
‘You like that, do you, you miserable sod,’ said Angus Mackintosh as he poured more liquid into the mouth of Archie Reid, who was tied to the pot belly of his still, so that he was bent backwards over it. ‘You killed my boy with this poison of yours.’
Wallace threw the door open and both twins entered.
‘Stop right there, Angus Mackintosh!’ cried Douglas in alarm. ‘What are you doing, man?’
Wallace grabbed his arm and wrenched the half empty bottle from his hand.
Archie Reid gasped and laid his head backwards on the large copper spout. His cheeks puffed up and then suddenly his head shot forward and a stream of amber projectile vomit shot from his mouth, just missing the twins.
‘He … he’s tried to kill me,’ Archie moaned.
‘No more than you deserve, you bastard. You killed my boy.’
‘I … I don’t see —’ Archie Reid said with a slurred voice as his head slumped forward onto his chest.
‘Creideamh!’ exclaimed Wallace. ‘He can’t see.’
Douglas was already phoning Dr McLelland.
There was no way that the girl could be allowed to live now, the killer thought. The fog was a blessing, but for how much longer. It would have to be done quickly then cleaned up and all signs of restraint removed before dumping the body.
The right footwear was important on a day like this. So important not to leave any stupid clues.
Just one more risk before leaving the bloody island for the last time. But it would be worth so they could be properly together at last.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Penny had already sent an attachment about the census on an email to Torquil’s phone by the time he arrived at the Beamish practice.
Only Kathleen Peterson was in the building. Torquil scrolled down the attachment on his phone as he talked to her.
‘I have a list of properties around the area of Harpoon Hill and the pillbox. I hadn’t realised it before, but it seems that the biggest property owners on the island are the Strathshiffin and Glen Corlin estates, Charlie McDonald, Hamish McNab and Beamish Solicitors. The list doesn’t say whether the Beamish properties are occupied or not, just that they are owned by Beamish Solicitors. I need to know if there are private arrangements in place and which of the Beamish properties are occupied.’
Kathleen looked flustered. ‘I’m not sure that I can divulge that information without Mr or Mrs Beamish’s permission.’
Torquil did not bat an eyelid. ‘I am conducting investigations into a murder and a suspected abduction. I suggest that you find this information for me now, this is urgent.’
Kathleen led the way through to her office and began working on her computer. After a few minutes she printed out a list of three properties. ‘These three are unoccupied and we have no record of tenants.’
‘Thank you for your cooperation. Now, where are Mr and Mrs Beamish?’
Kathleen shook her head. ‘I can’t tell you. Cameron Beamish is my boss and Hazie works for Helen. Hazie had to go off with a migraine after hearing the news and I have no idea where Helen is. She had nothing in her diary. Cameron is —’ She hesitated and then shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know where.’
After Torquil had gone she got her mobile phone out of her handbag and called Cameron. It went straight to answer. Kathleen hesitated about leaving a message but decided to risk it.
‘Take care. The police have just been looking for you and her!’
Penny had given Morag the census lists and she in turn had sent them through to Superintendent Lumsden, who was now ensconced in the library van overseeing the revised search. He had given her a lambasting for working with Torquil and for allowing him to notify the media about the change of emphasis of the search, but after venting he had then gone into professional mode and arranged for his officers to begin door to doors.
Morag then took a call from Torquil, updating her on the news about Archie Reid being the operator of another illicit still and about Torquil’s visit to the Old Hydro where he had found out about Doreen’s affair with Hamish McNab and about the memory stick Robbie Ochterlonie had given to Stuart Robertson. He told her to pass on the message to Penny that he needed her to go over and help the old man find it, as he had forgotten where he had put it. He also told her about his visit to Beamish Solicitors where he had obtained a list of their unoccupied properties from Kathleen Peterson in the absence of the two partners.