Water began to trickle slowly into her parched mouth and she eagerly swallowed, feeling some relief from the awful thirst. She had no idea how much water she was given before the flow stopped. When it began again she was horrified at the raw, burning taste. It was whisky. She desperately tried to blow it back, but the attempt made her gag as the end of the tube was shoved further back in her mouth, almost down her throat.
Panic stricken, she swallowed and swallowed until the flow stopped for a few seconds before water again was trickled into her mouth. Then the tube was pulled free and her head released.
She tried to mumble the word why, but only a guttural noise came out. Another long ripping noise was followed by pressure on her mouth and then she knew only too clearly that more tape was being wound round her face, plugging the hole.
Her thinking became really difficult and she knew that the whisky was rapidly kicking in and making her feel sleepy.
Moments later, she heard the scratching of wood on stone again. She knew that her captor had gone.
Blind fear helped in her struggle to stay awake and try to think. There hadn’t been time to dole out the same treatment to Catriona and Jamie, which meant only one thing.
I’m all alone!
CHAPTER NINE
Torquil was riding the Bullet when his phone went off in his pocket. He immediately slowed down, coasted into a layby and switched off the engine. He slipped his goggles up and answered. It was Lorna calling him from Stornoway about the post-mortem.
‘Are you all right, darling? Was it awful?’
‘It was really horrible, Torquil, seeing a young lad like that being cut open.’
‘Who performed the post-mortem?’
There was a pause as she consulted her notes and read from them. ‘A Dr Giles Lamont. He’s a forensic pathologist with the Crown Office and Procurator Fiscal’s office in Oban. He came over and did the post-mortem in the hospital PM room.’
‘What was his verdict?’
‘Well, you know the score, he was emphatic that the post-mortem is just the start of the process.’
‘So it was inconclusive?’
‘No, far from it. Young Jamie had a kidney trouble, which may have contributed to his death. He showed me. His left kidney was healthy looking, but the right one was tiny and hadn’t developed. Dr Lamont thinks it may never have been a functioning organ. He diagnosed it as renal dysplasia. He said it is not that uncommon and that because the left one worked, he would never have had any symptoms.’
‘So how does that contribute to his death?’
‘It’s complicated, but it has to do with what happens to the methanol in the body. An enzyme called alcohol dehydrogenase in the liver breaks all types of alcohol down. Ethanol, that’s ordinary alcohol, gets broken down into relatively harmless compounds. Methanol though, gets broken down into formaldehyde. That gets broken down by another enzyme called aldehyde dehydrogenase into formic acid. That is nasty toxic stuff that poisons the liver, the kidneys and the nervous system.’
‘And that was a problem because he only had one working kidney?’
‘That’s right. The formic acid is removed from the body by the kidneys and it would have been poisoned by the formic acid. That would have caused a vicious cycle because the formic acid would mount up very quickly and affect his brain and nervous system. Dr Lamont said he’ll need to have blood, stomach contents, urine and other body fluids tested for methanol, formaldehyde and especially the formic acid.’
‘It’s as well that Ralph McLelland took bloods when he confirmed death. So was the respiratory paralysis the cause of death?’
‘It’s complicated, so bear with me. He was pretty sure it was asphyxiation, but there are two possible reasons for that. It looks like he had what they call a pulmonary aspiration, which means he had inhaled vomit. There was vomit in his lungs and in his trachea, probably enough to cut off his airway. That means he may have choked on his vomit. Death can occur very quickly when that happens. His brain had little haemorrhages that he called petechiae and his lungs were also covered in them, which he said is suggestive of asphyxiation. So, poor Jamie either stopped breathing and had a fit as a result of the respiratory paralysis or he inhaled vomit and choked, causing him to have a fit.’
Torquil clicked his tongue. ‘I see, complicated indeed. But one way or another the methyl alcohol is the indirect cause of death.’
‘That’s right. As I say, we’ll know more after all the lab work and the microscopy has been done.’
Torquil sighed as he took out his notebook and pen and jotted down all the salient points. ‘Send me a copy of all this will you, darling. It will help until we get the full report.’
‘OK. I’ll email them across in a few minutes. Where are you?’
‘I’m by the roadside. I was on the Bullet, but I’ll be going straight to the station now and I’ll get it then. So, did you have a chance to visit Catriona McDonald?’
‘I did, and I talked to both the consultant nephrologist and the ophthalmologist. It’s early days, but she should recover her vision. Catriona’s mother was with her when I saw her. The poor kid feels grotty and she’s understandably really emotional, as is her mother. Catriona just can’t remember much at all. She’s devastated about Jamie and upset that Vicky has not turned up yet.’
‘Was it just a post exam adventure?’
‘It was. Apparently Vicky and Catriona had told wee porkies about where they were. She said that Jamie just does what he wants anyway. Jamie had brought the peatreek bottle and Vicky and she had brought the cola and the nibbles. She thinks they all just got drunk and passed out. In the morning she woke up, couldn’t see anything and stumbled outside. That was when Morag found her, I think.’
She paused, then: ‘Any news about Vicky?’
‘Nothing yet, but I’m expecting Morag to call soon.’
‘Well, like they say about no news.’
After Lorna called off, Torquil sat drumming his fingers on the tank of the Bullet. He was worried and seriously doubted the wisdom of the old axiom. In this case, no news certainly didn’t seem like good news.
Nathan Westwood was busy painting in the studio at the back of his Art and Antique Gallery when the door opened and Helen Beamish came in.
‘Nathan, I’ve come about that commission,’ she called through, more to make sure that there was no-one in the studio with him.
A curtain swished and he appeared, wiping a brush with a cloth. ‘Ah yes, I’m interested in that, Mrs Beamish.’ Then lowering his voice. ‘Would you like to come through to my studio to discuss it?’
As she walked past him he crossed to the door and glanced through the window at the misty street to make sure no one was approaching the gallery from either direction. He clicked the latch on the door and turned the sign round to read ‘Closed.’
Once behind the curtain, Helen flung her arms about his neck and kissed him passionately. ‘God, I’ve missed you,’ she said, finally, breaking their clinch.
Nathan nodded in the direction of the chaise longue that he used to make sketches or photograph clients, and which he and Helen used on occasions for urgent or opportunist sex.
She shook her head regretfully. ‘There isn’t time, darling. We have to be so careful now and can’t afford any more stupid mistakes. We’ve both got too much to lose.’
Nathan scowled. ‘Does he suspect?’
‘He suspects something. He’s been watching me closely and I think he’s been following me. I found some high powered binoculars in the garage. They’re new. He lied to me and said he’d come back early because the case had been settled already. Well, I checked and it had, but the day before. I think he came back to the island the night before to spy on me. To spy on us!’