She sat tapping the arm of the settee as she brought the previous evening’s events back into her mind and replayed them.
Dent was as drunk as a lord, there was no mistaking that. A proper spectacle he made of himself on the TV show. She shook her head. Why ever would he do that? Drinking himself silly when he knew he was going to be on the TV. It was just so stupid.
Her mind went back to him coming into the station the day before to complain about Bruce McNab and his party.
He was not a very pleasant fellow, even when he was sober, though.
Then she thought about Sandy King and a slight smile came to her lips.
Now he is a much pleasanter chap altogether. Good-looking, a talented footballer and polite as well.
She sighed at the recollection of the interview she had with him, Bruce McNab and that Dundee businessman and his employee.
I wouldn’t have minded having a drink with Sandy King on his own, she mused as her eye settled on the string of bubbles that rose from her unwanted gin and tonic. Her mind went off at a tangent and she leaned back and closed her eyes, imagining that she was reclining somewhere luxurious, with a glass of expensive champagne in her hand.
Maybe I could even grow to like—
The phone warbled in the corner and with a shrug of resignation she heaved herself to her feet.
‘Don’t worry girl,’ she joked to herself. ‘It is probably Sandy King ringing to ask you out for that drink.’
She was still smiling when she answered the phone.
‘Morag, thank goodness I have got hold of you. It’s me, Ralph McLelland.’
Morag suppressed a giggle and the urge to make a saucy joke. But Ralph McLelland was a doctor and sometimes he was just a tad old-fashioned, so she went straight into professional mode. ‘And what can I do for you, Doctor?’ she asked crisply.
‘Was Dr Dent a bit of a junkie?’
‘Afraid I have no idea. Any reason for asking?’
Ralph made a gruff noise as if he was irritated. ‘I think I had better talk this over with Torquil. The trouble is that I just get an engaged noise when I call him. That’s why I rang you.’
Morag sighed wistfully. ‘No one ever calls me unless it is business, Dr McLelland. And maybe the reason you can’t get hold of the inspector is because he is a man in love.’
‘In love? What are you talking about?’
‘Aye, he’s in love with Sergeant Golspie. You remember? She’s working at the station on Lewis. Superintendent Lumsden seconded her to work with the Customs. He’s often on the phone to her at all sorts of pre-arranged times.’
‘Ah! Stupid of me. I’ll try him again. Bye.’
Morag stood looking at the receiver as he rang off. Talking about love had suddenly made her feel empty. Torquil was in love, just as she had been in love with her husband until that fateful day when he had his heart attack and died eight years before. Since then she had been both a mother and a father to her three kids.
‘But right now I could do with a man in my life,’ she said dreamily, as she replaced the receiver. ‘Someone to help me out over this whole mess I have got myself into.’
The gin and tonic on the table started to look inviting.
She sat down and picked it up and then, closing her eyes, she took a hefty swallow.
Torquil had been so glad to hear Lorna’s voice after his conversation with Superintendent Lumsden. He was less happy to hear that the superintendent had just cancelled Lorna’s next leave.
‘The man is a miserable little piece of—’ he began.
‘No need to say it,’ Lorna interrupted. ‘I agree, but we also both know that he has it in for us. Let’s just take it on the chin for now. I’ll be back soon enough.’
Torquil pulled a face. ‘Just what is so important that he needs you there now?’
‘It is important actually, love. A big Customs operation. He wants it to go well so he can add it to his CV.’
Torquil could barely disguise his contempt. ‘Public-spirited of him, with other people’s time.’
‘It would be more Brownie points for him towards some honour or another. I think he is hoping for an MBE or an OBE.’
‘I would love to give him an honour,’ Torquil said sourly. ‘The grand order of the boot. And I would happily give it to him personally.’
Lorna laughed. ‘Just make sure that your foot isn’t inside the boot when you do, or he will have you for assault.’
They both laughed, and then fell into their usual exchange of endearments and lovers’ talk.
The bleep on Torquil’s phone went off to alert him that another caller had tried to ring him.
‘Someone is being persistent,’ he said between gritted teeth. ‘But it could be an emergency so I had better go.’
Reluctantly they let each other go, then he pressed the answerphone function to find that Dr McLelland had left three increasingly terse messages. He called him straight away.
‘Ralph, sorry I couldn’t answer straight away, I was—’
‘Torquil, I won’t beat about the bush. I think I have bad news about Dr Dent?’
‘Oh Lord! I was hoping it wasn’t going to get any worse. I am worried about Morag as it is.’
‘I just talked to her. But it wasn’t her that I was concerned about.’
‘Oh no, not Ewan then? Don’t tell me that it was his hammer after all?’
Ralph growled irritably. ‘If you would let me get a word in, Torquil! I have just finished his post-mortem and I am going through some of the laboratory work right now. I don’t like what I am finding.’
‘Tell me, Ralph.’
‘Murder, Torquil. I think you have a murder on your hands.’
SEVEN
Calum had listened as Cora had whispered what she knew about Dan Farquarson and his dealings in Dundee. One of her tutors on the Abertay University journalism course had a second job on one of the Scottish dailies and had been involved in an undercover investigation into crime in the city. On a couple of occasions she had even gone drinking with him in a couple of the watering holes where some of the local bad boys hung out. She had even seen Farquarson and his main henchman, Wee Hughie. It was only an outline of the dealings that she had gleaned, but they were enough to make her cringe when she saw the two men in the corner of the bar.
‘So what are we going to do?’ Cora whispered to Calum, as they stood at the bar.
‘Just wait until one of them comes to the bar to buy a round, then I’ll engage them in conversation.’
Cora suppressed one of her giggles. ‘Sorry, boss,’ she said as he raised an eyebrow at her. ‘I’m just a bit excited. It’s like real journalism.’
‘What do you mean real journalism?’ Calum replied nonplussed. ‘I’ll have you know—’
But he did not finish the sentence for he had seen Bruce McNab gather a batch of empty glasses and start to move across the crowded bar. ‘Watch me and wonder, lassie. Opportunity is on its way. First, we make room.’
And Cora watched as Calum casually straightened and turned, just as Bruce McNab approached the bar to give his order.
‘Bruce!’ Calum cried, as if greeting a long-lost friend. ‘Why, fancy seeing you here. Come on, there’s space here with me and my new reporter Cora Melville. Let me buy you a drink.’