Wallace nodded. ‘Aye, but that’s just the strength of the alcohol. There shouldn’t be any methyl alcohol in it at all.’
‘That’s exactly right,’ said Torquil. ‘That’s the point about distilling. The first alcohol to come out of the distillation process is the methanol, because it has a lower boiling point. They call that the foreshot and they throw it away. Penny, I want you to visit the newest proper distillery, its owned by Hamish McNab. That’s a good place to familiarise yourself with the process after you’ve done a bit of research. Speak to Hamish McNab and also have a word with Keith Finlay, his head distiller. Hamish poached him from the Glen Corlin distillery a few years ago. He’s a decent chap and he’ll explain the whole process. We need to know what they do with their foreshot. I’ll be doing the same at the Glen Corlin distillery.’
‘I’m just a bit worried, Piper,’ Wallace stated. ‘There may be a good chance that whoever supplied this peatreek has disposed of their still and of their peatreek.’
‘That’s why we need to move fast and also why we need to keep quiet about this. That means being careful about what we tell the media.’
Ewan snapped his fingers. ‘Calum Steel was in earlier. He came to check out DI Faversham, I think, but he was doing his usual fishing. He asked for you to call him when you have more information, boss.’
Penny nodded. ‘He was also asking about the other death. I told him we were waiting on the post-mortem.’
‘I’ll deal with Calum,’ Torquil replied. He sat forward and touched the mouse on his desk to open his computer. ‘Right, now about Vicky Spiers. Let’s skype Morag.’
The others clustered round behind Torquil as Morag’s image appeared on the screen. They could see the shelves of books behind her as she sat at the small desk inside the library van.
‘We’ve moved the base to the Strathshiffin Road layby,’ she informed them. ‘Douglas has the trainer all bagged up.’
‘It’s on the desk in front of me, Morag,’ said Torquil. ‘It’s an Adidas trainer and looks fairly new. We’ll be checking if it’s Vicky’s with the Spiers straight after this. Any fresh developments?’
‘Nothing new. But the teams are scouring the area inch by inch. I’ve lost a lot, though. I have only a third of the folk that I had yesterday.’
‘Well, we can’t make people volunteer. We just have to be grateful for those who give their time.’ He quickly gave her a recap on the result of the post-mortem. ‘So it’s a possible culpable homicide case now. We’re going to begin searching for illicit stills on the island and also check the two distilleries for how they deal with their foreshot. Do you have any idea of anyone who’s making their own whisky or other spirits?’
‘There is Maisie McIvor on Harbour Street. She makes artisan gin. It’s not an illicit still, though. She has a rectifier’s licence as its all small scale. Lorna and I were talking about wedding favours only the other day.’
Torquil grimaced as he recalled the phone conversation he had with Lorna. He had not realised that Morag and she had already been talking about it. He forced himself to keep his mind on the important matter in hand and not be diverted. There would be plenty of time to think about the wedding later.
‘Aye, Lachlan also mentioned her to me. He said she makes fragrances. But how about anyone else?’
Morag shook her head. ‘I don’t know, I’m afraid. Is there anything else you want me to do?’
‘No, you’ve got your hands full there. Leave the trainer with us to identify and just let us know if anything else turns up. Hopefully it will be when we find Vicky alive and well.’
Penny had gone out of the office to answer her phone during the skype session. She came back in eager to tell the others her news.
‘That was Ian Gillesbie,’ she said. ‘More results. Firstly, the fingerprinting at the pillbox only showed up three sets of prints. It looks likely that they were only from the teenagers.’
‘And the second thing?’ asked Torquil.
‘They tested the bottle of whisky residue from Robbie Ochterlonie’s cabin. It is exactly the same composition as the stuff in the bottle from the pillbox!’
Torquil sat back in his chair and blew air through his lips. ‘That’s no coincidence, then, is it? They must be from the same source.’ He drummed his fingers on his desk. ‘And Vicky Spiers worked part time at the Hydro along with Catriona McDonald. Task number one is to see if the trainer is Vicky’s. Then the second task is to find out exactly where these bottles of peatreek came from.’ He allocated tasks to them. ‘OK people, let’s get started.’
CHAPTER TEN
The Spiers lived in a prefabricated bungalow on Kincardine terrace at the top of Kyleshiffin. It had a fine view of the harbour and had been converted with ramps and widened doors for Brock Spiers’ wheelchair.
Mist was still hanging over the town as Torquil walked to their house after the meeting at the station. He was met at the door by Jeannie Spiers. A small, pretty woman in her late forties, her face was haggard.
‘What news, Inspector McKinnon?’ she asked as she held the door open for him. ‘Just go through, Brock is in the living room. He’s — having a drink.’
Torquil gathered her meaning and went in ahead to find Brock Spiers by the window staring out over the harbour, a large glass of whisky in his hand.
‘Good morning, Brock. I’m afraid that we still haven’t found Vicky, but we —’
‘Then what the hell are you doing here?’ Brock snapped in a slurred voice. He turned his self-propelled wheelchair and moved it forward over the linoleum to within a couple of feet of Torquil. ‘Our daughter has been missing since Sunday night and you lot have done nothing.’
‘We’ve got search parties out at this moment, Brock. We’ve got an army of volunteers — your neighbours, friends and old workmates. They are all —’
‘Workmates?’ Brock repeated belligerently. ‘That’s right! Remind me that I’m not able to be out there myself, but my old workmates are.’ He took a hefty swig of his whisky. ‘Damn few of my workmates ever come near this place, you know. Scared, I reckon, in case their boss the spider woman thinks I’ll get at them.’
‘Brock, please. This isn’t the time,’ Jeannie remonstrated.
‘After seven years you’d think that some of them could be counted as friends. Well, no way. Oh, I have a couple of good pals still, but they are also considered deserters from the high and mighty Glen Corlins. Keith Finlay and Jerry McColl both work for Hamish McNab now. They come, they have a drink with me. They care!’
‘We care about Vicky, Brock,’ Torquil said.
‘You care, they care! We had that slip of a lass, Cora Melville from the Chronicle. As nice as ninepence, sympathetic and all that, but we know she just wants a story. What do you expect when she works with that Calum Steele.’
‘Brock!’ Jeannie persisted. ‘Inspector McKinnon is here about Vicky so just hold your tongue and let him speak, will you.’
Torquil held up the briefcase he was carrying. ‘We’ve found a trainer and we need to know if it is Vicky’s. We think she may have been stumbling around and it got stuck in the mud. If we can establish that it is hers then we’ll know that we are in a better place to search from.’
‘Let’s see it then, please,’ said Jeannie, sitting on the settee pushed up against the wall so that Brock had maximum room to manoeuvre his wheelchair.
Torquil opened the case and took out the trainer, still in the polythene specimen bag.
Jeannie’s reaction told Torquil what he suspected. She clapped both hands to her mouth and suppressed a shriek. Tears welled up in her eyes and she nodded her head emphatically.