Bitter Water (44 page)

‘Looks like it.’

‘You just found them like this?’

‘Well, we covered them. It’s a warm day.’

‘Any of them a Maxwell?’ Sangster looked as if he didn’t want to hear an affirmative. It was always harder work when one of the landed gentry was murdered.

‘No.’

‘So, where are the Maxwells themselves?’ asked Duncan.

I nodded at the castle. ‘Sir Colin is in there. In the library. Charles Maxwell is up there.’ I nodded towards Ben Lomond.

‘What do you mean, up there? Up where?’ asked Sangster.

I pointed. ‘On the hillside. Do you see that wee bit of smoke? And the red bits of wreckage around it? That’s Charlie Maxwell’s plane. An accident. You’ll find him in it. Or near it. Along with a friend of his. Moira, Lady Rankin.’

‘Oh Christ,’ said Duncan softly. Sangster looked as if he was about to choke. I was surprised they were taking this news so badly. Then Duncan explained, softly.

‘Brodie? Do ye ken who’s in the back o’ that car?’

FIFTY-NINE

O
h Christ, indeed. Sam, beside me, said, ‘Oh no. Bugger, bugger.’ As she spoke, a uniformed officer was opening the rear door of the squad car and helping the long figure of Sir Kenneth Rankin out. He got to his feet and with an effort straightened his back. He pulled his jacket down and smoothed his tie. Once he had his balance, he started to walk over to us. His face was older and greyer than I’d seen it. He tried to march over to us, but his legs were stiff. I watched his face, saw the effort being made, and pitied the man. He stamped over to us and nodded, his face set.

‘Samantha, Brodie. This is a fine mess. A fine mess. Seems I owe you an apology, Brodie.’

‘There’s no need, sir.’

‘Yes, there is. Is one of these my girl?’ His jaw was muscled tight with tension.

‘No, Kenny. Moira isn’t lying here.’ Sam walked over to him and took the old man’s arm. She looked up at him. The tears were rolling unchecked down her flushed face.

Rankin was looking down at her, swallowing hard. ‘It’s all right, Samantha. Where is she then? Is she with
him
?’

Sam nodded, weeping. ‘She’s up there, Kenny. Their plane crashed.’ She turned to Ben Lomond, pointed out the wreckage. Rankin said nothing, just put his arm round Sam and held her to him, like a father protecting his child.

I said gently, ‘Sam? Why don’t you take Sir Kenneth inside. See Colin. Get him a drink.’

She nodded and took the big man’s arm and led him past us. He didn’t look distraught. Just puzzled.

I then squared up to Sangster. Sam had joined us and we were sitting in the drawing room where we’d tended McAllister. Hercule Poirot was pacing up and down. Duncan Todd and Sergeant Murdoch were both taking notes. Duncan had just come back in having phoned for a couple of vans to pick up the bodies.

Sangster stopped his pacing. ‘We need statements, Brodie. From you and Miss Campbell.
Detailed
statements.’

‘There’s nothing we can tell you that any of the staff here can’t tell you.’

‘You saw
nothing
till you arrived and found – a’ this?’ Sangster was at his most sceptical. ‘Eight bodies! Not counting the two on the top of Ben Lomond? Ten dead bodies.’

‘Send for Agatha Christie.’

Sangster glared at me. ‘How did you get here?’

‘We walked. Up and over from Loch Lomond.’

Sangster was chewing his lip as though he was starving. ‘Why? Why did you decide to take a wee walk over that bloody mountain to here, arriving just after a shoot-out worse than anything in Dodge City?’

‘Miss Campbell and I are on a walking holiday for a few days. I phoned the
Gazette
this morning – as Sergeant Todd knows. They told me they’d been invaded by the Marshals. I put two and two together and we decided to warn you and our friends the Maxwells.’

‘Your friends? You’re now pally with Sir Colin Maxwell, Brodie?’

‘Miss Campbell is a long-time family friend.’

‘You could have phoned.’

‘We fancied the walk.’

‘But what made you think the Marshals were coming here? And more to the point, why?’

‘I told you, Sangster, Charles Maxwell had hired two of Slattery’s gang. They’re lying outside.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘A good question.’ We now knew the answer, but if I told Sangster that Maxwell had confessed to being a drug runner for Slattery we’d be here all day. It would also mean that we’d got here before the shooting started, which would be tough to explain. And unless they found some bags of cocaine or heroin in the wreckage on Ben Lomond, there would be no proof of Maxwell’s illicit flights.

I shrugged. ‘We think Maxwell put out the word that he needed some hard men for hire. Enforcers to cover his machinations on the regeneration contracts. The Slattery boys were looking for a job. A match made in heaven.’

‘Hell,’ muttered Sam.

‘They lived up to their billing. The way Alec Morton was murdered is typical of Slattery-trained sadists. We were pretty certain the pair were also behind the murders of the three homosexuals. We’ll never know if they were ordered to commit these murders by Maxwell or whether their natural exuberance went unchecked. But two of the dead men were council clerks dealing with Jimmie Sheridan’s dodgy contracts. Which led in turn to the murder of Jimmie and his lady friend. Sheridan had become an embarrassment by flaunting his new-found wealth. We don’t know about Morton, but the clear link from Sheridan through the dead homosexuals to the Slattery boys was chloroform. Ask Jamie Frew. Something Miss Campbell has painful, personal experience of.’

‘Aye, right. I’ve already had a wee chat with Dr Frew. Are you getting a’ this, you two?’

Murdoch and Duncan nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Every word,’ they chorused. Duncan had a slightly amazed look about him, as though every word he was taking down seemed like a fairy tale.

Sangster was about to press on when he was interrupted by the sound of a van racing up the drive. We all cocked our ears. I got up and looked out.

‘The ambulance. We’ll need to see to McAllister.’

I left the room with Sam and walked down the front steps. The two-man crew had got out and were standing frozen, wondering where to start. I walked over.

‘These are not for you, boys’ – pointing to the sheeted bodies – ‘they’re beyond your help. But there’s a man inside needing you.’

They got Wullie into the back of the ambulance and hooked him up to a saline drip to try to relieve the shock. He was still unconscious. Sam and I debated going with him, but, in the end, decided there was nothing we could do. I phoned the
Gazette
and asked them to send a telegram boy round to his brother Stewart to tell him that at least Wullie was alive, and to expect him at Glasgow Royal Infirmary in two or three hours. I also took the chance to leave a similar message for Morag about me. I ignored pleas to talk to Sandy Logan. Sandy was running things and wanted a report. There would be time enough. We went back in to face Sangster.

‘Right, whit aboot McAllister? How did he get here? And how did you know he was here?’

‘He was abducted by Maxwell’s men. Wullie got too close to the corruption behind the regeneration project. They got hold of him to find out how much he knew. And how much he’d told others. Like me. As to his being here . . . I didn’t
know
he was. It’s just luck we found him. Let’s hope it’s not too late.’

‘But it’s all so bloody
tenuous
, Brodie. All circumstantial. All bloody flim-flam! How the hell am I going to make all this add up without actual solid proof of anything? I mean, whit the hell am Ah going to say to the Chief Constable?’

‘Can I suggest something, Sangster?’

‘Oh, please do.’

‘You and Duncan here – and Murdoch, if his spelling is up to it – can earn yourself a citation or two if you stick to the story I’ve just given you. You’ve just solved two cases that have been causing your boss grief. The Marshals are dead and the chloroform-killers of the homosexuals are dead.’

There was a dawning look of hope in Sangster’s ragged face.

‘But what about Sheridan and his burd? Can we
prove
it was murder by Maxwell’s men?’

‘You don’t have to. Your first thoughts were suicide. Maybe you were right all along?’

Sangster was nodding now. He was listening to me as though I was Scheherazade. Duncan was looking on in wonder and trying not to let the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile.

‘Aye, aye. Ah suppose you’re right. We don’t need to try to stitch everything thegither, do we?’ Then his brow wrinkled again. ‘But what about Maxwell and Lady Rankin?’

‘A tragic aircraft accident?

‘That’s an awfu’ lot of mishaps and coincidences, Brodie. What about a’ they bodies outside? You can hardly claim there were eight simultaneous shooting accidents. What were the Marshals
doing
here, for God’s sake?’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘You think?’ asked Duncan, scribbling away.

‘Wheesht, Sergeant. Go on, Brodie.’

‘The Marshals were in the frame for the homo murders. They attacked the
Gazette
this morning and beat up my boss to find out what he knew. I’d already told Eddie Paton my suspicions about the Maxwells. The Marshals decided to pay a visit to persuade Maxwell and his hoodlums to own up to the killings. A pretty unlikely outcome. It looks like the discussion got a bit heated.’

‘You don’t say,’ said Sangster.

There was the sound of motor vehicles driving up.

‘That’ll be the wagons for the bodies, sir,’ said Duncan. ‘Are we finished with the crime scene, sir?’

‘Finished? God, we huvnae even started!’

We all sat watching as Sangster’s brain sifted through my explanation.

‘Do ye really think the Chief will swallow it?’ he asked me.

‘Your boss is up to his neck in bad publicity. The Marshals running riot but cutting crime rates instead of the police. Chloroform-killers murdering homosexuals. One prominent politician dead in a concrete bucket. Another one and his fancy woman drowned in suspicious circumstances. At a stroke you’ve solved all his problems.’ I shrugged. ‘Besides, it’s what I’ll write in the
Gazette
.’

All four of them – Sam, Sangster, Duncan and Murdoch – stared at me.

‘Wait here, Brodie. Just wait here. I need to call the Chief.’ He turned to McGregor, who was standing quietly by. ‘Where’s your phone?’

He was a long time. When he came back he was chewing at his lip. No wonder it was so thin. He looked at me for a while as though wondering whether to arrest me or clasp me to his bosom.

‘He wants to speak with you, Brodie.’

The phone was in the small side room on the other side of the crashed truck. I closed the door, lit a fag and lifted the receiver.

‘Brodie here.’

‘Douglas Brodie?’ I recognised the radio voice.

‘Chief Constable McCulloch, how can I help you?’

He told me.

SIXTY

W
hile Sangster was rounding up his troops, Sam spent a while with Kenny Rankin in one of the other rooms. She’d be telling him that a team from Glasgow would be sent out in the morning to retrieve the bodies from the burnt-out wreckage on the mountainside. She would also be saying that the paper would refer to a tragic accident and nothing else. A courtesy to Rankin. It was more than Moira and Charlie deserved.

Sam had also found Sir Colin Maxwell having a lucid moment.

‘I told him Charlie had gone away for a while. He asked me if he’d gone off with Moira. He knew about them. He was ashamed and was talking about how he’d have to break it to Kenny. I said Kenny knew.’

‘Did he mention anything about the regeneration contracts?’

‘Just that Charlie had been getting through money like water. Seems Inverard is mortgaged up to its parapets. And Charlie had big plans that Colin didn’t understand. I didn’t press him, but I’m sure he knew nothing about the drug-running.’

‘Does that mean Charlie was acting solo? That Kenny Rankin and Tom Fowler on his Barbados plantation are wee innocent lambs?’

‘You should ask the council to review their contract paperwork. That’ll show how things were being carved out.’

‘It’s a start. But we’ll probably never be able to pin anything on anyone.’

We came out into the hall. McGregor was enlisting the help of the uniforms to push the truck out through the gaping doors. It bounced off down the steps and settled in the driveway, to continue to puddle away its black life in the gravel. The courtyard had been cleared of bodies. The two black vans with their sad cargoes sat waiting for the off by the stable block. I’d walked among the dead and separated the sheep from the goats. In the first van were the Marshals. I told the ambulance men that when Jamie Frew was finished with their post-mortems, he should give me a call and we’d arrange for a decent burial. I didn’t care what they did with the second load.