Charlie laughed as he turned and leaned over her to kiss her. ‘We’re in your Land Rover Discovery, our love wagon as you like to think of it, when we were just rudely disturbed by my shrew of an ex-wife.’
‘We’d better be quick then, we both have things to do,’ she said as she circled his neck with her arms. ‘And we still have to decide what we’re going to do about our dirty little secret.’
The killer had been rattled when news of the girl’s trainer came out. A second bloody mistake that had escaped attention, which could prove extremely costly. If only there wasn’t so much to do, so many things to attend to.
Bloody Calum Steel and his rag. And that bitch that had given him all these ideas about social media and the whole bloody digital world.
He could be stopped, though. Him, his pathetic newspaper and his girlfriend.
No, wait. Perhaps it would be too soon, but if he crossed the line again and caused further inconvenience, then it would have to be bye-bye time. For him and his woman.
And that in itself would necessitate another killing.
The thought was cheering. Slightly intoxicating, if the truth be told.
But first, the girl. Another mistake would be fatal. The plods might just happen on a link and they had to be put off. The weather had been fortuitous in that it had concealed things so far, but winds would come, to clear the mist and fog. Everything needed to be done before that.
No, best to carry on with the plan. It’s my move this time. And it will have to be a good one. It’s obvious what needs to be done now.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The mist was still thick as Torquil rode out to the Glen Corlin Distillery on the Bullet via the Strathshiffin Road layby, where the Kyleshiffin mobile library van was parked. He could barely see any of the search party as visibility was poor, but Morag told him that she was getting reports from each group by phone every half hour.
‘I’m really worried, boss. I’m losing searchers hand over fist as they all have work to do and everyone is getting tired. I’ve been keeping Lumsden informed, of course, but he’s threatening to come over and take charge personally. He says I’m making a pig’s ear of this and that it’s all your fault.’
Torquil rolled his eyes. ‘You’re not making a mess of it at all, Morag. The weather is against us. I guess he’s saying you’ve had a poor example over the years with me.’
‘That’s about it, boss.’
‘Well, you’d better not call me if he does come over. I can’t say it would be a joy to see the old fool.’
Morag made no comment. ‘Anyway, how are the Spiers taking it? Was it definitely Vicky’s trainer?’
Torquil shook his head. ‘Not well, as you’d imagine. And it is her trainer, right enough.’ He told her the details of his meeting with the couple.
‘I wish we could find her,’ said Morag. ‘I’m so worried that we’re just going to find a body. I hate to think of her dying of methanol poisoning somewhere out here, all alone.’
‘We must keep on, Morag. She has to be somewhere, alive or dead.’
Morag heaved a sigh. ‘Is there any more headway with the peatreek?’
‘Wallace phoned me a wee while back. They have tracked down the local stills and confiscated whisky. Naturally enough, we’ve got several worried men although none of them admits to having supplied Robbie. So the supplier may still be out there. Penny is over at Hamish McNab’s Abhainn Dhonn distillery and I’m on my way to Glen Corlin. We need to make sure that none of their foreshots could have found their way into these two bottles of peatreek. I’d better be on the way. Lots to do and time is marching on.’
The twin pagodas of the Glen Corlin distillery protruded eerily above the thick blanket of ground mist that shrouded the buildings as Torquil rode down the long drive on the Bullet, the headlight cutting a swathe through the mist.
The Glen Corlin pagodas were distinctive landmarks on West Uist. Each of them originally housed a Chinese-style Doig ventilator, but when the distillery stopped malting its own barley they became redundant and were kept for their aesthetic appeal and because they were symbolic of traditional whisky distilling. A picture of them adorned every bottle of Glen Corlin single malt whisky that left the distillery.
George Corlin-MacLeod welcomed Torquil into the luxury kitchen of the mansion.
‘It’s really my wife that deals with the distillery processes,’ he explained as he poured coffee for them both. ‘She doesn’t exactly do any of the distilling, of course, but her family have been in the business for generations and she knows exactly how each whisky is produced. Me, I’m just the marketing man.’ He smiled. ‘And as your uncle may have told you, I’m also a golfer.’
Torquil nodded non-committedly as he accepted his coffee and sat down at the island in the centre of the kitchen.
‘Is Esther around then?’
George shrugged as he stirred his coffee. ‘We don’t really keep tabs on each other, Inspector.’ He gave a thin, unconvincing laugh. ‘She has her distillery team well trained and the place works like clockwork.’
Torquil looked through the large window. ‘The car park is pretty quiet today.’
‘The weather isn’t great and the whisky tours from the islands tend to be Thursday through to Sunday. This is the quiet part of the week.’
A large Land Rover Defender pulled into the private drive and Esther Corlin-MacLeod jumped out and walked briskly towards the house.
‘Ah, it looks as if I’ll be able to ask her soon,’ Torquil said.
The sound of a door opening and closing was followed by leather boots walking across a parquet floor.
‘Esther, I have Inspector McKinnon in the kitchen,’ George called out.
There was a pause and then the footsteps sounded again and Esther Corlin-MacLeod walked into the room. She kissed her husband lightly on the cheek and then beamed at Torquil as if he was a long lost friend.
‘This is an unexpected pleasure, Inspector McKinnon. What brings you to our humble abode? Is George looking after you?’
She looks flushed, Torquil thought. As if she has something to hide. And there is definite strain of some sort between them.
He smiled. ‘Some technical information actually. You know about the three teenagers?’
Esther looked suddenly pained. ‘Oh, I’m heartbroken about it. They’d been drinking, hadn’t they?’
‘Yes, peatreek, we think. Either that or whisky tainted with methanol. So, I just need to make sure that methanol from foreshots, either from your distillery or from Hamish McNab’s, couldn’t have found its way into the bottle they were drinking from.’
Both Esther and George looked surprised.
‘Utterly impossible,’ replied Esther. ‘At least, impossible to have come from here. Who can say about McNab’s tinpot outfit.’
‘Why is it impossible?’
‘Because we recycle it entirely. I can show you if you want to follow me over to the distillery.’
‘That would be very helpful,’ Torquil replied, standing and finishing his coffee. He decided he would explore why she referred to Abhainn Dhonn as McNab’s tinpot outfit. Clearly there was ill feeling between them.
Penny was first to arrive back at the station and was greeted by the aroma of cooking wafting through from the kitchen.
‘Hello, Ewan, something smells good,’ she called as she lifted the counter flap. ‘I’m starving. I’d better go and buy a sandwich from the baker.’
Ewan came out of the little kitchen with a wooden spoon in his hand. ‘You’re welcome to share some soup and oatcakes with me, Penny.’ Then eyeing her with concern, he said, ‘That is, if you’re not a vegetarian. It’s oxtail soup you see, but if you are vegetarian I could do you beans on toast.’