The Stalking Party Page 15

‘And you say he won his bet?’

  ‘In the end.’ Maya rolled her eyes. ‘Plenty of times that day I thought we’d go home empty-handed. He had four misses. Four! Easy shots, too, except for the time a hiker turned up out of nowhere and spooked the beasts. Fergus blew his top. He grabbed the rifle from Mr Cooper –’ she stopped abruptly.

  ‘Did he put a shot over the hiker’s head?’

  ‘Just in the general direction. Like a warning.’ She gave Robb an anxious glance. ‘I mean, there are these notices telling hikers to stay on the paths, yet this crazy dude was wandering right up the hill.’

  ‘Are you sure it was a man?’

  ‘Uh-uh. He was quite a way off, but the stags were all unsettled because they were downwind of him. The last we saw, he was running down to the path, so he’d gotten the message. That was when we all sat down to eat our sandwiches, because he’d cleared every stag off the back of Carn Beag. We gave them time to settle, then climbed to the ridge and started over.’

  ‘Time?’

  ‘Around half-one.’

  ‘After which you were facing Carn Mhor across the loch?’

  ‘I’ll show you.’ She came to stand beside him, bending down to read the tiny lettering, her breath warm on his cheek. ‘See here: Corrie na Fearn. That’s where we left the four-track. We walked up this path through the heather, see the dotted line? After we left it, we crawled up a stream-bed and out into this gully. That’s where Mr Cooper had his third miss.’

  Robb was impressed. His own brief experience of deerstalking had been very much a case of follow-my-leader, and afterwards he hadn’t a clue where they’d been. This hot-house bloom evidently had a good eye for country.

  She went on outlining their route, her slim brown finger tracing the ridges and gullies. Between the scarp of Carn Beag and the Buie river lay a series of roughly parallel corries, as if the cooling rock had been scrunched into pleats. The topmost of these, close to the line marking the march between Strathtorran and Glen Buie ground, was identified as the Sanctuary, and across its mouth ran the path that led to the Prince’s Rock.

  ‘We didn’t make it all the way to the Sanctuary,’ said Maya, kneeling down for a closer look. She put her cheek against the edge of the trolley and squinted through the maze of bumps and hollows. ‘He had another chance here, in Corrie Odhar –’

  ‘Another miss?’

  ‘Do you have to ask?’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Let’s see. It must have been getting on for half-three, and they don’t shoot after four if they can help it, because it takes so long to bring the stag home, and it’s difficult in the dark. So time was getting short, and it looked as if Mr Cooper would lose his bet. We slid down here –’ she pointed – ‘and crossed the burn at the bottom. That runs into Loch a Bealach, and we could see my mother-in-law and Lady Priscilla sitting by their little fire, with the boat tied up to the bank.’

  ‘They spotted you, too,’ said Robb, nodding as the jigsaw of movements began to fall into place.

  The sight of the fishing party so peacefully employed had persuaded Marjorie that she had had enough of sweating and scrambling for no purpose.

  ‘We’d better call it a day, Fergus,’ she had said in her authoritative manner. ‘No point in going on now.’

  ‘I’m damned if I’m giving up yet,’ Everard had countered aggressively. ‘You girls go on home by all means, if you’re tired. I quite understand. OK, Fergus? You game for one more try?’

  ‘Verra guid, sir.’ Had there been the faintest trace of mockery in his voice? The suspicion of a wink at Maya?

  Marjorie had begun to argue, but Everard overrode her. ‘How about you, my dear?’ he’d asked Maya. ‘Tired, eh?’

  ‘I was bushed,’ she admitted to Robb, ‘but the way he said that made me mad enough to see it through, and I sure as hell wasn’t anxious to walk all the way back with Marjorie complaining of the way Archie runs the place, and how much better her precious Johnny would do it. And...’ – there was mischief in her smile – ‘I was curious to see if Mr Cooper would win his bet, or if he’d find some sneaky way round it, so I said I’d go on. “That’s the spirit,” he said, but he didn’t look too happy.’

  ‘Did you go towards the Prince’s Rock?’

  ‘Not right off. We sat there spying the hill, until Marjorie and the dog got back to the pony path, and while we were still watching her, four young staggies came round the end of the corrie and stopped above us. Behind them were two big beasts, kind of pushing and shouldering each other. The one nearest had twelve points, which made him a Royal – but the other looked really strange, big and heavy in the neck, like a polled steer.

  ‘Fergus said, “Yon’s your stag, sir,” and Mr Cooper turned down his mouth, just like a sulky kid. He said, “That won’t look good in my boardroom.” I asked what had happened to his antlers, and Fergus said he was a hummel – that’s a genetic freak that had never had any. They had wanted a chance to shoot him for years because he was better off the hill.’

  She paused, and asked doubtfully, ‘Do you want to hear all this?’

  ‘It all helps.’

  ‘Right. It must have taken us another forty minutes to climb up above the stags, and I knew this had to be Mr Cooper’s last chance for the day. We lay on the ridge looking into a corrie, but the small staggies were still between us and the one without horns. Mr Cooper tried to get Fergus to leave me there, but he wouldn’t, and we crawled on our bellies right along a stream to get clear of the young stags. Real Marine stuff. When they did park their gear and leave me by some rocks, I was close enough to see everything.’

  ‘They went forward without you?’

  ‘Only about fifty yards. I could see them lying side by side, looking down below them. Mr Cooper wriggled about and took aim a couple of times, then he put down the rifle and lay with his face on the ground. I couldn’t make out why he didn’t shoot.’

  ‘Could you see the hummel from where you were?’

  ‘Sure. He was standing on a bank right opposite, and every now and then he’d lay his head back on his neck and give a roar. I thought he was as good as in the bag.’

  She had cupped her hands over her ears, she remembered, anticipating the rifle-blast, but the minutes crept by and still Mr Cooper did not fire.

  Fergus had leaned towards him, whispering urgently.

  Then a movement had caught the corner of her eye. The young staggies were on their feet, alarmed, testing the wind, poised for flight. Any minute the hummel would catch their panic and vanish.

  Go on! she had cried silently. Hurry! You’ll lose him.

  When the crash of Mr Cooper’s rifle shattered the silence, the hummel had given a great bound, then galloped away undamaged, with the four youngsters at his heels. Another explosion rocked the ground, but the beasts’ pace never faltered.

  ‘You thought he’d missed again?’

  ‘I was sure of it. I’d had my glasses right on that hummel, and I could swear he wasn’t touched. The men were arguing, and then they crawled forward out of my sight. About ten minutes later, I heard another shot, much fainter – then I had to wait nearly half an hour before Mr Cooper came back to find me. He was like a dog with two tails, and guess why? While I was wondering why he took so long to shoot the hummel, he had been waiting for the Royal to show himself. When he got up, Mr Cooper dropped him dead.’

  Robb frowned. ‘You mean he shot the wrong stag – deliberately?’

  ‘I told you he was sneaky. He wanted a nice set of antlers on his office wall, and he wouldn’t settle for anything else.’

  ‘What did Fergus say?’

  ‘He was mad as fire, but what could he do? He said Sandy would have his hide, but Mr Cooper just laughed and said he’d make it all right with old Sandy.’ She shook her head. ‘I was amazed. It was a long shot, and he had to be quick or Fergus would have seen what he meant to do.’

  Robb said slowly, ‘You don’t think it was actually Fergus who fired the shot?�
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  ‘Why, no. I was close behind them. I saw Mr Cooper with the rifle.’

  ‘What about the third shot you heard? Isn’t it possible that Mr Cooper missed yet again, and after the two of them crawled out of your sight, he persuaded Fergus to shoot the Royal to save his bet?’

  Maya thought it over and shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it. Sure, Mr Cooper might try that, but I can’t see Fergus killing a Royal just to oblige him.’

  ‘Or for money?’

  ‘Uh-uh.’ The grunt was positively negative. ‘Fergus wasn’t faking anything. He was mad at Mr Cooper, and concerned what Sandy would say. I guess he thought his job was on the line.’

  ‘Then how do you account for the extra shot?’

  She drew a deep breath that flared her nostrils, then blew it out with an apologetic shrug. ‘I just don’t know. It’s been bugging me that since I’ve been here, I’ve begun to doubt my own senses – isn’t that something? It’s easy to imagine things when you’re alone in these hills and wondering what’s going on out of your sight.’

  Robb said deliberately, ‘It could have been the shot that killed Beverley Tanner.’

  Maya nodded silently, and he added, ‘What did Sir Archibald think of Mr Cooper’s trophy?’

  ‘He wasn’t very happy.’ After a pause, she said quietly, ‘Fergus didn’t tell him about the hummel, so I didn’t mention it either. I don’t want him to get into any trouble over it.’

  ‘No, indeed,’ said Robb, and let her go.

  *****

  Fergus’s account tallied substantially with Maya’s.

  ‘The damnedest fluke you ever saw,’ he said disgustedly. ‘Four good chances Mr Cooper had that day, and missed them all. I’d begun to believe his blether that the sight was agley, though I’d had his rifle at the target myself, and it was spot-on. A Rigby, too. None of your cheap rubbish. I’d my mind made up that the beasts on the hill had naught to fear from him, then what does yon bonny gentleman do but shoot the best head on the forest under my very nose! Man, I could have broken his bluidy neck!’

  Indignation burned in his dark eyes. It crossed Robb’s mind that this tough young man in a rage would be a very dangerous customer. Even the baggy tweed suit and clumsy boots could not conceal the power in his compact, athletic frame, and he was evidently not the type to suffer fools gladly. Arrogant, quick-tempered, reckless, thought Robb. Tailor-made to attract a girl like Ashy.

  ‘Tell me what happened on the hill after you left Mrs Forrester. She said you and Mr Cooper seemed to be arguing.’

  ‘I guessed he was up to something,’ said Fergus savagely. ‘He’d a fine firing-point, and the beast wasna disturbed, just standing broadside on to us and roaring his head off. Mr Cooper said he wasna just ready. He’d aye take off his glasses and give them a wipe, and I could see his hands shaking.

  ‘“Take him now, sir,” says I, but he put his head down in the grass and said nothing. Stag fever, I thought, and waited for him to steady. Every now and then he’d take a wee spy through the sight, then down would go his head again. Man, I was going mad, for yon’s an unchancy place to stalk a beast. It’s ower close to Charlie’s Stane. One puff of wind from a hiker there, and a stag’s awa’ before the safety’s off.’

  ‘Was anyone at the Rock that day?’ asked Robb, and Fergus hesitated.

  ‘I couldna say, sir. But while the hostel’s open, they’re there most days.’ His bold eyes challenged Robb to mention the warning shot. ‘A damned curse they are to us, and on the best of my beat, forbye. Many’s the beast I’ve lost when some damned tourist stuck his nose across the march. But Mr Cooper had no trouble that day. His beast didna move until the four wee staggies jumped up. “He’s off, sir,” I said. “Quick, now, or you’ll lose him.”

  ‘With that, he loosed off, and awa’ goes the hummel. “Missed,” says I. “Give him another.” He swung to the right, then, and before I could ask what the hell he was doing, he took another shot, but the hummel never broke his stride. “Missed again,” says I. “Well, that’s it for the day.” “Wrong,” says he. “Did ye no’ see him drop? Come on, let’s find him.”

  ‘Well, I thought he was fou, but we went forward on our knees. “That’s where he’ll be,” said Mr Cooper. “By yon muckle rock.” I had my suspicions, then, for there’d been no rock where the hummel stood. “Give me the rifle and bide here,” I said. I thought he must have wounded one of the staggies.

  ‘He smiled at that, and gave me the rifle, and there beside the rock I found blood and knew something was hit. I followed the spoor cannily, and pretty soon I saw Mr Cooper down on the low ground among the hags, waving me up, to show me the Royal lying there, dead as a stone.’

  ‘So he disobeyed your instruction to stay where he was?’

  ‘You might as well talk to the wind,’ said Fergus disgustedly. ‘He saw the beast fall, and slid straight down to him. He wasna going to chance missing him among the hags.’

  ‘Can you show me approximately where you found that stag?’

  ‘Aye.’ Fergus scrutinised the model with care and placed a black-rimmed nail on a spot directly above the top end of the trout loch.

  ‘I see. Did you have to give him another shot?’

  ‘No need, sir. When I came up to him, he was dead.’

  ‘Mrs Forrester thought she heard another shot.’

  Fergus frowned. ‘If she did, it wasna from me. Mr Cooper had put his shot too far back, but what could you expect? At that range, it was a bluidy miracle he’d hit it at all.’

  Robb said casually, ‘You didn’t kill that stag for him, by any chance?’

  He expected an indignant denial, but Fergus smiled and answered equably, ‘Och, he asked me, right enough! When the leddy was too far back to see what we were about, he said if I’d do it, he’d make it worth my while.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told him I was a wee thing deaf in that ear. It’s no unco’ politic to punch the boss’s guests on the nose, though I’d have liked to do it well enough. No, Mr Cooper won his bet fair and square, little as he deserved to, and little would he have cared had it cost me my job.’

  *****

  Detective-Sergeant Winter wore an expression of satisfaction bordering on smugness when he returned from his afternoon’s legwork tracing Beverley’s movements on the Sunday morning that she had left Glen Buie Lodge. He had also checked out Ben’s story of the gig.

  ‘Most of the tourists have gone now, so non-locals tend to be noticed,’ he reported to Robb. ‘There’s an annexe behind the Clachan where they hold these rave-ups every week during the summer, and one of the waitresses recognised Ben’s photograph. She thought he was sitting with a bunch of girls, but that needn’t mean they’d come together. By their standards, Spurs & Sporrans pulled a big crowd, seventy or eighty, she thought. They must have been jammed in cheek by jowl.’

  ‘Odd time of day for a concert.’ In Robb’s experience, daughters disappeared until the small hours.

  ‘They have to fit in with the ferry sailings. Half the fans come from the islands.’

  ‘Any reaction to Nicholas’s picture?’

  Winter nodded. ‘The barman cashed him a cheque. But none of the staff saw the red Caterham leave, because after most of the kids had gone, there was a hassle with one of the groups over someone’s wallet that had walked. It looked as if it might turn ugly, but the barman managed to calm them down.’

  He paused to command Robb’s full attention. ‘By the way, sir, I found out who Beverley went to meet. It was Ian McNeil. He’s well known locally. Two separate witnesses.’

  ‘Not a gent,’ murmured Robb to himself.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘In Lady Hanbury’s opinion, the man she heard making a rendezvous with Beverley was not a gentleman.’

  ‘Huh!’ Winter snorted. ‘Doesn’t behave much like one, either, by all accounts. “If it wasna that he’s the laird’s ain brither, we’d no’ let him within the hoose wi’ his claes all s
melling o’ fush,”’ he mimicked in hideous travesty. ‘Apparently he takes his boat out after mackerel on Saturday nights, and turns up to collect the Sunday papers in Tounie before going home. He was reading them in the caff, waiting for the bar to open, when Beverley joined him. She’d come over on the early ferry, gone to the sports shop, and bought herself a rucksack before meeting him in the Clachan.’

  ‘Too much to hope that anyone heard what they were talking about? Ah, well, never mind. You and I must have a word with McNeil before we’re much older.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Sufficient unto the day... Let’s go and see what kind of digs Lady Strathtorran has fixed for us.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘IS EVERYTHING ALL right, Inspector?’ Torquil Strathtorran paused by their table.

  With its trussed rafters and rough, whitewashed walls, the hostel’s refectory was plainly a converted milking byre, and the kitchen which could be glimpsed beyond the serving-hatch had started life as a dairy. The decor was severely plain. Trestle tables covered in butter-yellow oilcloth and backless wooden benches did not encourage post-prandial lingering; but in the soft gloaming light the view over the three stable-style half-doors was spectacular: a panorama of glittering silver sea and far-off humps of black islands between the cradling arms of hills that swept down in a natural harbour.

  The food had been equally plain but good. Scotch broth followed by salmon steaks, with salad of a freshness rarely found in Scotland. After a day on the hoof, Winter ate like a starving wolf, and though it embarrassed Robb to have their host waiting on them, he was hungry enough to accept the arrangement.

  Wpc Kenny had discovered cousins in common with Mary Grant, and had been invited to supper in the Glen Buie staff room.

  ‘Fine, sir. My lord, I mean,’ answered Robb, and sensed Winter’s wince.

  ‘No formality, please. Not when I’m doing my Willie-the-Waiter routine.’ Torquil’s easy voice was Eton-and-Oxford, with no attempt at protective camouflage. Robb wondered how much the current Earl of Strathtorran relished his threadbare inheritance.

  ‘My wife wondered what you’d like now? Pudding? Coffee, then?’