‘I will. I’ve just spoken to the consultant ophthalmologist and the kidney specialist at Stornoway. As soon as I’ve initiated treatment and I’ll get her over to the Western Isles Hospital for dialysis.’
Charlie McDonald grabbed his arm, tears welling up in his eyes. ‘She’s my wee girl, Ralph. Do what you must.’
After initiating treatment and seeing some improvement in the clinical condition of her eyes, albeit accompanied by progressive deepening of her inebriation, Ralph left Catriona in the capable hands of Lizzie, while he arranged the air ambulance to transfer her to Stornoway, along with her mother.
Then he left in the Kyleshiffin Cottage Hospital ambulance, which was actually a fairly old camper van that been donated by a former laird and adapted at public cost.
He parked below the pillbox and jumped out with his old Gladstone bag swinging from his hand.
‘Thanks for coming, Ralph,’ Torquil called down from above, where he and Morag were waiting. ‘This is a hell of a business and we’ve not enough folk on the ground.’
‘Any news on Vicky Spiers?’ the doctor asked as he ducked under the police tape.
‘The twins are out looking for her, but unfortunately they haven’t found any tracks. Can you come and take a look at Jamie Mackintosh?’
Although it was clear to Ralph that the youngster was dead, he was too professional to skimp on his examination to certify death. By the light of the lantern inside the pillbox he felt the body for pulses, listened with his stethoscope for a heartbeat and breath sounds, but found none.
‘His pupils are fixed and dilated,’ he said over his shoulder to Torquil and Morag. He gently lifted the head and turned it to the right and left. ‘No automatic movement of the eyes, they move in unison with the head, so that is a positive doll’s sign. And there is no blink response if I touch the eyeball, meaning no corneal reflex.’
Reaching into his Gladstone bag he drew out his ophthalmoscope and spent some time examining the inside of each eye through it. ‘There is cattle-trucking all over.’
‘What’s that mean, Ralph?’ Torquil asked.
‘It means that the blood in the retinal blood vessels have lots of little bubbles in them. It makes the vessels look like lines of cattle-trucks.’
‘Does that tell us anything?’
‘Just that he’s dead. Gas is released from the blood after death as tiny bubbles.’
‘What about rigor mortis?’ Morag asked.
‘It’s developing. So, I am afraid that I can certify that life is extinct.’
‘How long has he been dead, can you tell us?’
‘Some hours, that’s as much as I can say. It will be a Procurator Fiscal case and then a forensic post-mortem. That’s out of my remit, though.’
‘Has he inhaled vomit, do you think?’ Morag asked.
‘Possible, but the post-mortem will tell. He reeks of booze and from all the facts it is likely that he had a convulsion. He could have inhaled vomit as a result of that and asphyxiated.’ He rose to his feet, winding his stethoscope up. ‘So, I suspect that it was death from a convulsion and an overdose of methanol. That’s methyl alcohol. One thing that would be worth doing and which would help the forensics and the pathologist would be for me to take blood now. The longer you leave it the more inaccurate the readings can be because of post-mortem changes. Shall I do that? It would need to be your decision.’
‘Please, go ahead, Ralph,’ Torquil told him. ‘Then I’d better go and find his father to tell him the bad news. The trouble is that Ewan hasn’t been able to contact him yet.’
‘And someone had better go and see Vicky’s parents,’ said Morag with a sigh. ‘Ewan contacted them to say that we’re looking for her. Her mum wanted to come up and search herself, but he told her to stay and look after her husband in case she turns up there. Poor Brock Spiers can’t walk, of course, after his accident. He’s in a wheelchair and his wife Jeannie spends her time looking after him. They must be going frantic.’
‘Better get Wallace or Douglas back here to look after the site, Morag,’ Torquil replied. ‘Now that Ralph has confirmed death you and I need to get back and get onto the Procurator Fiscal. We badly need more folk up here to look for Vicky and we need the Scene Examiner as soon as possible.’ He looked at his watch. ‘And for starts I’ll need to get the new DC onto the job.’
Ewan had been busy telephoning round various people as he followed the instructions given to him by Morag. He had still been unable to locate Jamie Mackintosh’s father, which troubled him considering the enormity of the situation. It didn’t surprise him though, as Angus Mackintosh was well known for going off on benders ever since his wife had died three years before. Young Jimmy Mackintosh had virtually brought himself up.
The bell went off as the outer door of the station opened and Stan Wilkinson came in carrying a parcel and a wad of mail. Gone was his ready smile, replaced by a glum and shocked expression.
‘You’ll know all that’s happened, Ewan?’ he asked as he deposited the parcel and the mail on the counter.
‘I cannot say how sad I am about this, Stan. It’s a tragedy, losing a young island lad like that. Morag told me you took Catriona McDonald to the hospital.’
‘I did, and I left her in the doctor’s care. She was in a right state, Ewan. I didn’t know how to comfort her. I just drove as fast as I could.’ He leaned his elbows on the counter and cupped his bearded chin in his hands. ‘Any news on the third teenager?’
‘We’re looking for her.’ Ewan shivered. ‘Let’s hope she’s OK.’
Stan sighed and stood upright again with a sigh. ‘It looks like your murder shoes have arrived.’
Ewan opened and unwrapped the parcel to reveal a large shoebox. He opened it and pulled out two heavy brown lace-up boots, with additional leather wraparound straps and buckles above the ankles. They had been specially made with four inch steel blades protruding from the front of the toes.
Stan whistled. ‘Wow! I see why you call them murder shoes. May I have a closer look? I’ve never seen anything like them.’
Ewan shrugged and handed them over for the postman to inspect.
The bell went as the outer door opened and a tall woman stepped inside. She was about five ten with auburn hair cut in a short natural style. She was wearing smart jeans, trainers and a light blue quilted waterproof jacket. Ewan thought he had never seen anyone so pretty in real life.
He put on his customary welcoming smile. ‘Madainn mhath, a good morning to you. Can I help you, miss?’
She smiled and advanced to the counter, nodding at Stan before turning her attention to Ewan. ‘I’m DC Penny Faversham,’ she said, showing him her warrant card. ‘I was supposed to meet DI McKinnon when I got off the ferry, but somehow he —’ she shrugged and stowed her warrant card in a shoulder bag. ‘He didn’t show.’ She gave a nervous little laugh. ‘Could be the story of my life. Men not showing, I mean.’
Ewan wanted to say he found that hard to believe, but his natural shyness prevented the words from coming. Instead, he raised his hands apologetically.
‘Pleased to meet you, DI Faversham. I’m Constable Ewan McPhee. The thing is we’ve had an emergency this morning.’ He leaned closer and spoke in hushed tones. ‘Three teenagers had been out drinking dirty alcohol all night. One’s dead, one’s missing and one’s been taken to hospital. The boss is still up at the scene.’
Penny gasped. ‘That’s terrible!’ She turned to Stan who was still holding one of the boots and rubbing the blade between his fingers and thumb. ‘That’s a lethal looking boot you have there,’ she said.
Stan looked up at her with a start, his face like a frightened rabbit caught in the headlights of a car. Then, as if suddenly snapping out of a trance he looked down at the boot and hastily handed it back to Ewan as if it had suddenly become electrified. He stood staring awkwardly at Penny.