Whisky From Small Glasses (23 page)

To make matters worse, Superintendent Donald was on his way, with a senior PR consultant in tow. At least, Daley reasoned, Donald would, in his usual fashion, attract the attention of the press like bees to honey.

Because of the unwanted media attention, they had been forced to close the large gate which guarded the rear car park at the station. The gate creaked open enough to allow Daley and Scott entry, leaving the three constables who had the unenviable task of closing it again to their business.

‘Bastards,’ Scott intoned just within earshot of the reporters. ‘Some bugger on that lifeboat must have spilled the beans. My money’s on that pompous arsehole, Campbell. What d’you reckon?’

‘I’ll set our beloved leader on him. That’ll give him something to get his teeth into, and keep him out of our hair.’ Yet again, he hadn’t had the time to eat anything since breakfast, and his stomach was groaning balefully. Lunchtime had come and gone.

‘I’ll be trying tae stay out o’ his way efter that press conference. It seems like a hundred years ago now.’ Scott looked reflective as Daley punched the security code into the door-entry system.

‘Sir’ – a young constable met them inside – ‘Inspector MacLeod is asking for you. He’s, well, quite upset?’

Daley winced at the intonation. ‘Where is he, son?’

‘He’s in his own office, demanding to see you the minute you get in.’

‘Tell him tae stick it up his arse,’ Scott spat.

‘No, it’s OK. I’ll go and see him in a minute. Tell him I’m on my way, son, will you?’ Daley turned to his DS. ‘Remember, Brian, Janet was his daughter.’

MacLeod was sitting behind his desk, his uniform replaced by a garish golfing jumper, replete with a large diamond pattern on a pink background. He looked tired and drawn, and had none of the arrogance so evident when they had first met.

‘I’m sorry, Charles, I’ve not had a minute since . . .’

‘It doesn’t matter, not now. Lord knows, she was hardly without sin herself.’ His Highland accent was strong. ‘Did you know, Chief Inspector, my father was a minister in the Free Church?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘He was ashamed enough of me.’ He looked directly at Daley. ‘I drank, smoked, liked women – all the things he hated most. I had to get away from him and his moralising. That’s why I joined the police.’ He looked out the window, down onto Kinloch’s Main Street. ‘He died fifteen years ago. I wasn’t there. In fact, I’d only seen him a few times since I joined up, but he left me a letter.’ He opened one of the drawers in his desk and took out a pale blue sheet of paper covered in what looked like faded fountain-pen ink. ‘Aye, no wonder you’re looking. One page – one page from my dying father.’ He put on his glasses and started to read. ‘“You have been an affront to me, to my church, and to my beliefs. Mark my words, as ye sow, so shall ye reap. You too, Charles, will feel the shame that I have felt, and the pain. You are, and have always been, a wicked man. May the Lord forgive you.”’

MacLeod looked up, removed his glasses. ‘Not much of a goodbye, eh?’ There were tears in his eyes. ‘I wondered for years what he could mean: when I met my dear daughter, I knew.’ He looked down at the desk, his tears falling on the bitter epistle sent by his dying father.

Daley stayed silent for a few moments, not quite knowing what to say. ‘I’m sorry’ was all that seemed appropriate. He knew that he would soon have to tell the broken man in front of him of the horror involved in his daughter’s death; for now though, he decided to leave it. He got up to go, to leave MacLeod alone with his thoughts.

‘If you could indulge me for a short while longer, Chief Inspector. I know you are a busy man, but I have something to say that you need to know.’ He massaged his eyes with the
forefinger and thumb of his right hand. ‘Janet and Mulligan were involved in the supply of drugs. Even though I turned a blind eye, as you know, I still investigated the matter. I know what you’re thinking’ – he was responding to an incredulous look from Daley – ‘but please hear me out.’

‘OK.’ Daley sighed heavily. ‘You’ll appreciate that I have my super on his way, as well as a triple murder to solve, with precious little to go on.’

MacLeod nodded. ‘The drugs were coming from the Baltic states – on a fishing boat from Latvia, to be precise.’

‘Hence
Russian Gold
?’

‘Aye, just so, just so. The pattern was regular. Mulligan knew I was getting wise to him, so he berthed the boat at Tarbert and sailed from there. Then the Latvians got a taste for the high life. They started to come into port themselves – drink and women, you know. I may have been misguided, but I did what I did for all the right reasons, in my head at any rate.’

Daley again found it hard to feel angry with the inspector, who cast such a pitiful figure. ‘You must know Donald will destroy you for this?’

MacLeod nodded absently. ‘No pension, no job – who knows? Maybe even a spell inside? Shame, affront and pain. Do you see? My father was spot on.’ He paused. ‘The boat from Latvia, it’s due in tonight, well, the early hours of tomorrow morning. I’ve checked with Flynn. She’s called
Koba
. But be careful, Chief Inspector. From what I know of these men, they’re ruthless: ex-Russian military and KGB. For them, fishing is merely a hobby.’

Daley stood up. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll tell me how long you’ve known this?’

‘You suppose right. Here, take this, I’ll not be needing it.’ He threw his warrant card at Daley, who made no attempt at a catch, stepping over it as he left MacLeod’s office.

‘I canna believe that, man. I mean whit can ye say? He knows aboot the supply o’ drugs by the crew o’ a foreign fishing boat, aye, intae his ain community, an’ he does nothin’ aboot it. Do you think he wid have ever taken any action?’ Scott looked at Daley in disbelief.

‘Who knows, Bri. But I don’t think we have to look too far to find out how the purchase of Pulse was funded. I’ve got the forensic accountants coming down to audit everything. It kind of makes sense now. You know, the way his flat was: impersonal, nothing in it, sterile. I very much doubt that our man is even really called Peter Mulligan. There’s certainly nothing to identify him in his effects.’

The two fell silent. The case was proving far more complex than they could ever have imagined. They now had three murder victims, investigations into prostitution, illegal drug-taking and possession, and as if that was not enough, international drug trafficking. Daley was sure that false accounting and money laundering would be added to that list once the accountants had done their work.

Needless to say, any chance that Daley could cover for MacLeod was now impossible. The inspector would be lucky to keep his liberty, never mind his job. He knew he would have to be straight with Donald, whose arrival was imminent.

‘So run it past me again, Jimmy. We’re going efter these Ruskies tonight, right?’

‘We’ve got the drug boys and tactical firearms en route, but we’re still leading. Any of this could compromise the murder inquiries. They still take priority.’

‘Whit if His Highness decides different? He might want tae pop this off tae Special Branch, aye, or take the reins himself.’

‘Come on, Brian. How long have you known the man?’ Daley smiled. ‘Of course he’ll be in notional command, which goes without saying, but he’ll never let go of this. It’s another brilliant opportunity to shine in a big way. He’ll leave us alone too, just in case there’s a fuck-up and we end up with nothing. That way he can wash his hands of it and hang me out to dry. If we succeed, he steps in as the guiding light, and before you know it he’s an ACC. QED.’

‘A whit? Anyhow, you’re right. I dunno whit I wiz thinking aboot. The hangover’s still dulling my heid.’ Scott busied himself tidying his desk. ‘The last thing I need today is a lecture on how “a tidy desk reflects a tidy mind”. It’s OK fir him, he’s got a battalion of wee lassies lifting an’ laying everything fir him, if you pardon the pun.’ He picked up a piece of A4 paper, and after squinting at it for a few seconds, rolled it into a tight ball, and despatched it neatly into a metal waste-paper basket.

Daley looked down Main Street. The grey skies and rain had given Kinloch an entirely different feel. The tenements looked grim: their dark slate roofs were slick with the downpour, and the buildings seemed to huddle in on the street itself. Daley had been impressed with the buzz about the town, but with the change of weather, the pavements and road were virtually deserted, with only the odd brave soul dashing out from cars to purchase essential items from the
shops that lined the street. From where he was sitting, Daley could see a bored shop assistant surveying the dismal scene, arms folded, from her position at the window of the large jewellers that was the nearest shop to the police office.

It was now mid afternoon. He intended to wait for the arrival of Donald and the drugs and firearms units, and formulate plans for the arrival of the Latvians. Both he and Scott could carry firearms, and he had spoken to the station’s armourer, who was also a shift sergeant and had shown him the small selection of weapons available. They had taken two sidearms and an automatic rifle. Scott had to have his firearm-holder’s certificate faxed from headquarters, because, as was habitually the case, he was not carrying the document.

Daley picked up his mobile from the desk, and pressed 1 on the speed dial.

‘Hi, darling. There seems to be a lot of excitement, you OK?’ Liz’s voice oozed from the phone.

‘I’m sure you know about as much as me. Are you in the hotel?’

‘Oh no. Mark arrived an hour or so ago – he’s flying back tonight.’ She paused in time to hear Daley sigh. ‘Don’t worry, darling. I told him I was staying. We’re just having lunch. I’ll be back at the hotel about four. Is that OK?’

‘Sure, sure . . . Listen, Liz, things are pretty full on here. Maybe you’d be better going back up the road. I mean . . .’

‘Don’t be silly, Jim. After last night, I’m staying put.’

He could picture the wicked smile which was doubtless playing across her face.

Her voice became serious. ‘I really feel we got somewhere last night, you know? I remembered why I married you, why I love you. Do you understand?’

He felt his heart soar. ‘Yes, I do understand, and I feel the same. I’ll try to make it down to the hotel about five or so. I don’t know how long we’ll have this evening, but I’ll explain it all to you later, OK?’

They said goodbye, and as he put the phone in his jacket pocket, he realised that they really had made progress with their relationship. This was a chance to heal things amid all the chaos. All it had taken was a fading seaside hotel, a murder and this place – Kinloch. There was definitely something in the air.

The arrival of Donald was, if anything, more of a virtuoso performance than even Daley had expected. Three cars sped up a rainswept Main Street, windows blacked out, with the front vehicle sporting a flashing blue light and warning siren. The prime minister himself could not have made more of a splash. A splash literally, as the rain and gloom that had enveloped the town became ever worse, drenching policemen, the public and press alike. So bad was the downpour that a press conference, to be held in the early evening, had to be cancelled as the wet weather was playing havoc with the satellite up-links. In short, a feeling of impending doom was all-pervasive.

Superintendent Donald, after a quick briefing with his DCI, commandeered the wretched Inspector MacLeod’s office, called on the senior sergeant now nominally in charge of the sub-division, relieved him of the onerous responsibility, and took full control of both the sub-division and the triple murder inquiry, quoting ‘forces of extreme circumstance’ as legitimacy. A well-groomed, watchful PR man never left his side, whispering into the great man’s ear at every opportunity.

Amazingly, one of his first actions was to seek out DS Scott and envelope him in a manly bear hug. Much mumbling of ‘Don’t worry about yesterday’, and ‘Watch a master at work’, followed by a hearty slap on the back and an assurance that Scott was a pivotal member of the team. And then, in a stage aside: ‘Regardless of his deficiencies in PR, and as a human being in general.’ This elicited a sycophantic laugh from his PR man, who reminded Daley of a cross between Tony Blair and Goebbels, such was his slimy air of threat.

To Daley, though, behind the closed door of MacLeod’s office, he was less sanguine. With even Goebbels banished, Donald came straight to the point. ‘Needless to say, Jim, we have a situation of the utmost seriousness on our hands here.’ He looked heavenward, hands steepled in front of his face.

Daley wondered for a moment if he was in fact in prayer, but decided that even the consultation of the Almighty would be deemed unnecessary by his boss.

‘A bloody bear trap for us all.’ Suddenly the mask slipped, as he took the back of his hand to a tartan mug bearing the legend ‘Clan MacLeod’ and propelled it against a wall, breaking it into three neatly proportioned pieces. ‘That little bastard. As far as I’m concerned, you can take the Highlands and all that’s in it, and stick it firmly up his arse. I’ll do it personally.

‘Here’s me thinking that all we have to do is send you down here to solve some dispute amongst the bottom-feeders who inhabit this godforsaken place, identify the murderer, and bag the plaudits and a little piece of empire at the same time. We’ll all soon be working for “The Scottish Police Force”, the way things are going, and a right bunfight it’ll be too.’ He stared morosely into the middle distance.

‘What have we got now? A corrupt senior police officer, an international drug-smuggling ring, as well as a brutal murderer who takes pleasure in perpetrating the most unimaginable horrors. All life is here, or should I say death?’ He looked past Daley and out of the window onto the almost post-apocalyptic scene outside. ‘I can tell you this, James: we better hope we can round up these Lithuanians tonight and tie up all the strings, or we’ll have Special Branch on us like a ton of bricks. Customs and the drugs boys are already getting territorial about all this, to say nothing of the crime squad.’

‘They’re Latvians, sir.’

‘What?’ Donald looked at Daley as though he was surprised by his presence.