‘What is it with this place, McKinnon? My two dogs and my two boys. All dead. All murdered. What are you doing about it?’
‘I am interviewing you for a start, Mr McArdle,’ Torquil replied evenly. ‘For one thing, we are not sure if Danny Reid was murdered. His death is just suspicious.’
‘Suspicious!’ McArdle snapped, showing his temper for the first time in the interview. ‘You saw the frazzled state he was in. Of course he was murdered.’
‘What was he doing at the Wee Kingdom last night?’ Torquil persisted.
‘How should I know?’
‘He is your employee – I mean he was your employee. I would have thought you might have known, especially after your other employee’s death.’
Jock McArdle sucked air noisily through his lips. ‘My boys are not in my employ twenty-four hours a day. I don’t know what he was doing last night. I expect he’d been for a few drinks. My boys liked a drink. And they were very close. I expect he went up there because he wanted to investigate Liam’s death.’ He leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the desk in front of him. ‘You lot don’t seem to have got very far. And that’s why I take grave exception to this cock-eyed ban on the ferries. I want some of my boys to come over here.’
‘The ban is necessary, Mr McArdle. We are investigating a murder, possibly two. There will be no movement on or off the island, neither by sea nor air. And there will be no exceptions.’
‘I don’t like your tone, lad! I’ve had whipper-snappers like you for breakfast.’
Torquil stared him hard in the eye. ‘You would find me most indigestible, Mr McArdle. Now tell me, what were you doing last night?’
McArdle’s cheek muscles twitched. ‘I was at home, in my castle, working on papers. Ask my butler Jesmond.’
‘I will be doing so, of course. But do you think it is possible that he could have been trying to start a fire in the croft cottage and been overcome by the flames and the smoke?’ He paused and rested his chin on his fist. ‘Perhaps he had been drinking as you suggested, and maybe drank too much?’
‘Naw!’ Jock McArdle replied emphatically. ‘My boys could both handle their drink. And there is no way that Danny would have played with fire.’
‘But that isn’t so, is it, Mr McArdle?’ said Torquil, reaching into a wire basket beside his left elbow. ‘We ran a check on your employees.’ He smoothed the paper in front of him. ‘They both had records. Liam Sartori for burglary and possession of drugs and Danny Reid for … arson!’
Jock McArdle leaned back and shrugged. ‘So what!’
‘So it is suggestive, isn’t it? A man with a criminal record for arson is found dead in a burning building.’
‘Don’t be an idiot, McKinnon. Danny wouldn’t have torched my property.’
‘That’s Inspector McKinnon, by the way,’ he corrected calmly. ‘In that case, do you have any idea why anyone would want to set fire to your property? Especially with one of your employees in it?’
The new owner of Dunshiffin Castle clenched his teeth. ‘I am a businessman. A bloody successful businessman. I have had enemies in the past and I seem to have enemies now.’
‘Why is that, Mr McArdle? Could it be because of the way that you do business?’
‘Now you are beginning to get my goat. I am a successful businessman. Say anything else and I’ll have your guts for garters – I’ll sue you and your tuppence ha’penny police outfit for defamation.’
Torquil stared back with his best poker face. ‘There is no defamation in my questioning, Mr McArdle. But since you are so sensitive, let me rephrase the question. You have a robust way of conducting your affairs. People on West Uist have called it bullying. Take those wind towers of yours, for example.’
‘All perfectly legal.’
‘I understand that the legality is under question,’ replied Torquil. ‘And then there were those letters you sent to the Wee Kingdom crofters. And the one that you delivered yourself to Rhona McIvor – who collapsed and died immediately afterwards.’
Jock McArdle frowned. ‘I regret her death, of course, but I hope you are not suggesting a connection between my letter and the McIvor woman’s death?’
‘It has been suggested that there may be a connection,’ Torquil returned, casually.
‘Who suggested it?’ McArdle snapped.
‘Doctor McLelland, our local GP and police surgeon.’
Jock McArdle shrugged dismissively. ‘A country quack!’
‘Dr Ralph McLelland is a highly respected doctor, and my friend.’
The new laird of Dunshiffin smirked. ‘I rest my case. Can I go now?’
Torquil eyed him coldly for a moment then glanced at the notes on the desk in front of him. ‘Yes, I’ll be in touch when I have more news, or if I have more questions for you.’
Jock McArdle nodded curtly, stood up and crossed to the door.
‘Oh yes,’ Torquil said, as the laird put his hand on the door handle. ‘You always referred to your employees as your boys. Were you actually related to either of them?’
McArdle shook his head. ‘Neither of them had any family. It’s just an expression. Glasgow talk. I’ve always looked out for my boys.’
‘Is that so?’ Torquil asked, innocently.
McArdle’s eyes smouldered. ‘I should have looked after them better, maybe. But I’ll be looking after their memory, you mark my words – Inspector McKinnon.’
He tugged the door handle and stomped out, almost knocking Lachlan McKinnon over as he did so.
‘Excuse me, Padre,’ he snapped, then left.
Lachlan came in and stood in front of Torquil’s desk. ‘Our new laird seems in a hurry to leave,’ he remarked.
‘I wish people wouldn’t call him the new laird,’ Torquil replied, with a hint of irritation. Then, noticing his uncle’s look of surprise, ‘Sorry, Uncle. It was just a difficult interview. He was not in a good mood, understandably, after he had to identify his employee’s body.’
Lachlan winced. ‘I heard from Morag that it wasn’t a pretty sight. Was he—’ Torquil’s telephone interrupted him and Torquil picked it up straight away. ‘Yes, Ralph,’ he said, into the receiver. He nodded as he listened. Then said eventually, ‘Aye, it would help if you could confirm it with the other tests. Half an hour, that would be great.’ He replaced the receiver just as Morag tapped on the door and came in.
‘I’m sorry, Uncle, what was your question?’
The Padre had plucked his pipe from his breast pocket and was in the process of charging it with tobacco. ‘I was wondering if he was murdered?’
Torquil sighed. ‘I’m afraid so. Ralph says it is definite. He looked up at Morag and explained: ‘That was Ralph just now with the preliminary findings. He thought that there were a couple of things that I ought to be aware of. Firstly, that there was enough alcohol in his system to sink a battleship.’
‘And secondly?’ Morag queried.
‘His trachea was crushed and his neck was broken at the fifth cervical vertebra. It was murder all right. Someone throttled him and then snapped his neck like a chicken’s.’
In the Incident room half an hour later, Torquil stood by the white board with the Padre beside him, while Morag, the Drummond twins and Ralph McLelland sat around the table-tennis table that had been converted into the operations desk.
‘I know it is irregular, but has anyone any objection to my Uncle Lachlan sitting in with us? We’re depleted in numbers and I think he could prove useful in our investigations.’
There was a chorus of approval, and Lachlan sat down, immediately laying his unlit pipe down on the table in front of him.