The Stalking Party Page 21

  ‘What is?’ asked Winter.

  ‘The Trooper’s moved. Fergus parked over there, by the ash tree, don’t you remember?’

  ‘So he did,’ said Winter, examining tyre tracks, ‘and look, the key’s in the ignition. Fergus hid it inside the front bumper.’

  ‘Let’s g-g-get in out of the wind,’ said Maya, too cold and tired to be interested. The soles of her feet felt raw, and she longed to strip off her wet clothes and flop into a hot bath.

  ‘You’re frozen.’ Ashy bundled her into the front seat and switched on the engine. The heater blew a little warmth into the cab as they huddled together, willing the two hunched figures dragging the dead stag between them to hurry down the last few hundred feet. It seemed an age before the limp body had been heaved into the trailer and Fergus swung the Trooper round.

  ‘Home, James, and don’t spare the horses,’ said Ashy through chattering teeth.

  It was not until they had bumped a mile down the track with the heater roaring full blast that Johnny said aggressively, ‘I told you we’d catch up with those stags in the end, didn’t I?’

  No one answered. It had been a very long day. As the vehicle lurched over the potholes, Ashy sighed and laid her blonde head gently on Winter’s shoulder. After a startled glance at her oblivious face, he shifted to make her more comfortable, and wedged himself against the door-frame to protect her from the bumps.

  *****

  ‘Where’s Ben?’ said Maya, looking round, as the party assembled for drinks before the drawing-room fire.

  Ashy made a warning face. ‘Don’t ask,’ she murmured. ‘He’s not back yet, and his dear Mamma is hopping mad. She thinks he ratted on the stalking so that he could sneak off to another rave-up on the mainland.’

  ‘Ah.’ So that was what those teenagers had been planning in the serving-room. Maya wondered whether to repeat the conversation she had heard, but Nicky was approaching, bottle in hand, and Ashy turned to hold out her glass.

  ‘What were you up to today?’ she asked.

  He pulled a face. ‘Kicking my heels in Tounie while the mechanic messed about with my car. There’s something rattling underneath, and sorting it out took forever.’

  ‘That car’s more trouble than it’s worth, though I must admit I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on it!’ laughed Ashy.

  In response to her mother’s gesture, she moved away and Nicky said shyly to Maya, ‘What were you saying about Ben?’

  ‘Oh, we were wondering if he’d gone to another of his rock concerts. I heard him make a date with Elspeth this morning, so I guess that’s where they’ve gone.’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone else,’ said Nicky anxiously. ‘Poor Ben’s in enough trouble as it is for sliding off from stalking. My aunt’s furious.’

  ‘Don’t worry – I won’t give him away,’ promised Maya. ‘I remember what it was like when everything you ever wanted to do was off limits.’

  She was rewarded with his rare flash of smile, but before he could say more his father’s voice boomed, ‘Come on, Nicky! Keep that bottle moving,’ and he hurried on his rounds.

  To her surprise he was back in a few moments, saying hesitantly, ‘I thought about you up there on Ben Shallachan while I was in the garage. I hoped you weren’t getting frozen in those hailstorms.’

  ‘It sure was kinda cold.’ Standing before a blazing fire, drapes drawn, glass in hand, dinner coming up, the memory of this afternoon’s knifing wind and sleet seemed unreal. And this was early autumn! What could it be like on the high tops in midwinter? ‘There was as much water coming out of my boots as going in,’ she added in the hope of another smile. He was a little like a deer himself, she thought: no wonder Alec had felt an urge to protect him.

  ‘Will you go with the stalkers again tomorrow?’ he asked after a pause.

  ‘Are you kidding?’

  ‘Come fishing with me instead. The river’s rising, so there’ll be a good chance of a salmon.’

  She found his eagerness flattering, and hated to disappoint him. ‘I’m sorry, Nicky. I already told Johnny I’d go fish with him.’

  His face fell. ‘Come with me instead,’ he persisted.

  ‘Oh, Nicky, I’d like to, but I can’t. I’m sorry. Why don’t you join us?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  Maya felt irrationally guilty. The deer had come trustingly to feed from her hand, and she had struck it. ‘Some other time, hmm?’ she said hopefully, but he turned away without answering.

  ******

  ‘All right,’ growled Sandy, glaring at Robb like an embattled badger in the mouth of his sett. Badger-like, too, was the smell of imperfectly washed socks drying on the Rayburn’s rail, and the debris associated with a small child looked all the more squalid without wee Dougie there to give it relevance. ‘I don’t deny it,’ he went on. ‘Yon pool’s never fished, so where’s the harm? I sent Mr Paish and his team tae the young laird, but he would have none o’ it; so when they persisted, I gave them permission maself.’

  ‘And pocketed the fee.’

  Sandy blinked rapidly and lowered his head. ‘For God’s sake, man! It was nothing tae them – nothing! They told me themselves it would cost them four times as much tae swim with the fish in an English river.’

  ‘You’re telling me that’s all they wanted to do? To swim with the fish? They didn’t take a few home with them?’

  ‘Och, they werena in the business of killing fish!’ Sandy laughed scornfully. ‘Saving them, more like. A behavioural study of wild salmon, Mr Paish was making, and I was proud to help him. Aye, proud! I’ve never liked the cages.’

  Light dawned. ‘So Mr Paish was filming fish in their natural habitat – why? To show the shortcomings of intensive salmon farming? Was that the reason for secrecy?’

  ‘Aye. If the lads from the fish farm heard of it, they’d have smashed his cameras and run him off the place. They’re a rough lot when their jobs are at risk, Inspector, and the laird’s ain brother is roughest of them all.’

  ‘Does he own the salmon farm?’

  ‘They call him the manager, though it’s little enough managing they do beyond pumping the fish with antibiotics and spraying OPs on the poor creatures,’ said Sandy with contempt.

  ‘OPs?’

  ‘Organo-phosphates tae kill the lice. The salmon is a grand fish, and it’s a sair sight tae see them packed so tight in the cage they maun swim upright or drown.’

  ‘How long had Mr Paish been filming here?’

  Off and on for two years, it appeared. The team visited the Greeting Pool at irregular intervals, and avoided contacting Sandy directly. Generally Mr Paish stayed at Fas Buie with Hector Logie, and his blonde assistant posed as a hiker.

  ‘Hector Logie has a key to the deer-gate?’

  ‘Aye, so he has. Sir Archibald permits him to go where he pleases.’

  From time to time, on his return from the Strathtorran Arms at night, Sandy would see signs that Paish and his team had been at work, and would find his fee under the parapet. Recent police activity round the Greeting Pool had made it difficult to check the cavity.

  ‘How did ye come tae look there?’ asked Sandy with a sharp glance.

  ‘Routine investigation.’ Robb pushed away the memory of the black, swirling water drawing him closer. ‘More to the point, who told Beverley Tanner where to look?’

  Sandy thought the sneaking, snooping little skellum might have watched him extract his last payment. ‘She was aye hanging about the river path. About ma house, too, telling Kirsty that hers was no life for a bonny lass.’

  He rose and filled the kettle. ‘Ye’ll take a cup of tea?’

  ‘Thanks. Did you speak to Beverley about that?’

  ‘I did, too. I told her tae leave Kirsty and the bairn alone, and if I found her at the house again, I’d make a complaint to Sir Archibald.’

  ‘What did she say to that?’

  A spasm crossed the weatherbeaten face. ‘She said I should be ashamed tae let such a bonny lass rot
in a godforsaken hole like this, and I shouldna be surprised tae come home one day and find her gone.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘She said she knew things that would cost me my place, but I paid no heed. I’ve but a year wanting tae my pension: nothing she said would harm me. Kirsty and I have a croft built down the strath that’s waiting on us now, and the school bus passes the door.’

  That rosy vision would turn to dust should Kirsty be drawn to the bright lights. Robb understood Sandy’s anxiety very well.

  ‘Was that the last time you spoke to Beverley?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘But not the last time you saw her? She was walking down the track towards Loch a Bealach just after Sir Archibald shot his stag on Carn Mhor.’

  ‘He told you that?’ Sandy looked betrayed. ‘Well, that’s a matter of opinion. Sir Archibald’s eyes are not what they were, and for myself, I was more concerned with the gralloch than staring round at the scenery.’

  ‘Miss Macleod was with you. Didn’t she tell you it was Beverley Tanner?’

  Sandy stared at him with a baffled air, plainly wishing he knew what the others had said. ‘We’d left Miss Ashy a wee bit back,’ he admitted cautiously. ‘By the time she came up with us, the hiker was out of sight.’

  ‘How long was it before Miss Macleod joined you? Did one of you go back to fetch her?’

  A long pause while Sandy considered. ‘I told ye,’ he said at last, ‘I was at the gralloch. Sir Archibald went back up the hill and waved her down himself.’

  ‘Leaving Sandy with the rifle, one dead stag, and Beverley walking along the track a hundred and fifty yards away. Did he succumb to temptation? Was that the extra shot?’ mused Robb aloud as he and Winter sat that evening in the spartan tartan sitting-room at the hostel. ‘Sandy’s a territorial animal, and used to acting on his own initiative.’

  ‘He’d have had to be quick to shoot her and hide the body before the others joined him.’

  ‘He knew where the boat was, because he’d given Logie permission to use it for his photographic equipment.’

  Winter said slowly, ‘She could just as easily have been shot from Carn Beag.’

  ‘All I’m saying is that Sandy had both motive and opportunity.’

  ‘So did Fergus,’ said Winter doggedly. ‘He got into trouble at his last place for selling venison on his own account. John Forbes was only too happy to give chapter and verse.’

  ‘Implying he’s been up to the same tricks here?’

  ‘Different ones. John Forbes says Fergus has been having it off with Sandy’s girlfriend. And guess who told Forbes that?’

  ‘Beverley,’ said Robb resignedly.

  ‘So Fergus had a good reason for wanting her out of the way.’ Winter eased his muscles deeper into the hard little armchair. He felt very well exercised, face tingling, and though his collarbone was sore from the pulling-rope, a general glow of satisfaction pervaded his body. The memory of Ashy’s blonde head on his shoulder was not disagreeable, either.

  Robb, in contrast, felt edgy and dissatisfied, unable to rid himself of resentment that while Winter had been disporting himself among the high tops, he had been plodding through boring, inescapable, routine questioning, during which he had been bitten by midges, and patronised – and probably lied to as well – by toffee-nosed nobs. Too many weapons, too many people with reason to want to be rid of Beverley Tanner.

  It made no difference that Winter had gone stalking reluctantly. He had returned in so exalted a mood that it was plain his scruples about taking part in blood sports had evaporated. To Robb’s half-jocular question on whether he had enjoyed his day, he had simply replied that it had not been what he expected, not at all. Since then his main contribution to the murder investigation had been to raise objections to every theory Robb put forward.

  He also appeared to be dropping off to sleep just when the time had come for constructive thought.

  ‘Wake up!’ barked Robb, and observed with satisfaction his subordinate’s startled jump.

  ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘Let’s have a look at that timetable. The track past Loch a Bealach must have been like Piccadilly Circus, with all the coming and going, yet someone was there alone long enough to spot Beverley, shoot her, and hide the body, and vanish unseen. We should be able to work out who had that opportunity. Now, the last admitted sighting was – when?’

  Winter considered, stifling a yawn, hoping this wasn’t going to be a long session. He was a morning man himself, brain fizzing at 6 am, whereas Robb liked to burn the midnight oil. ‘Lady Priscilla thought she saw her at about lunchtime – say 1.15 – but she wasn’t sure. Then old Logie saw her while he was waiting for the ladies to leave the boat for him. Say 2 o’clock or thereabouts. She must have been wandering about the area for an hour or more.’

  ‘Perhaps she went as far as the Prince’s Rock, took some pix, and cut across the hill to get back to the track. They said she refused to stick to the paths.’ Robb frowned at the map. ‘Those boys – Benjamin and Nicholas. They were on the river.’ Robb frowned at the paper. ‘She must have walked right past them. Did either of them mention seeing her?’

  Winter shook his head. They had been over this ground before, and he wanted his bed. ‘At the time she was shot, Nicky and Benjamin were over at Tounie,’ he pointed out. ‘They only got back just before dinner.’

  ‘Which is odd, when you come to think of it,’ said Robb, now studying the ferry sailings. ‘The concert ended at 5.30 so that the fans could catch their ferries home, right? The last sailing for Strathtorran harbour leaves Tounie at 6pm – right? – and docks at 6.45. How far from harbour to Lodge? Three miles? Four?’

  ‘The dressing-bell is rung at 7.30.’ Winter roused from his torpor.

  ‘So why where they late? Was the ferry delayed? Easy enough to find out. Did they spend half an hour admiring the sunset? Even if they did, they should have had plenty of time.’ His finger traced the road along the sea-loch, and stopped at a dotted line just beyond the fish farm’s little bay. ‘What’s this? Another crossing?’

  ‘That’s just a foot ferry,’ said Winter, looking over his shoulder at the map. ‘Mostly used by shoppers and school children. It doesn’t take vehicles.’

  ‘Find out how often it runs.’

  ‘Will do,’ said Winter and suppressed another yawn.

  To his relief, Robb glanced at the clock. ‘All right, Jim, we’ll pack it in for now. Tomorrow I’m going to take a look at the fish farm while you check out the ferries. Then we’d both better have a chat with Lady Strathtorran. I’ve a notion there’s a good deal more she can tell us.’

  The early evening depression had left him. He felt clearheaded now, and optimistic of sorting out this mess in short order. The sequence of events leading to Beverley’s murder was complete in his mind; tomorrow he must return to the contour map and blu-tac blobs. Stare at those groupings long enough, look through the pattern to the image within, and like a magic-eye postcard, the blur would resolve into a focused picture.

  That, at least, was the theory.

  Chapter Eighteen

  AS USUAL, GWENNIE breakfasted off a tray in her room, and when she came downstairs just after ten next morning, the big house was quiet, with only the distant clatter of crockery and hum of the hoover to break its stillness.

  In the dining-room, she was surprised to find her sister-in-law still sitting amid the remains of breakfast, hands clasped about a cooling cup of coffee, gaze abstracted. She had an untidy, rumpled look, as if she had slept badly.

  ‘No sign of him?’ asked Gwennie at once.

  Marjorie shook her head and gave a sigh so deep it was almost a groan. Last night’s anger had turned into acute anxiety. ‘He’s never done this before. Not for so long. I – I can’t decide what to do. If I make a fuss and then find that he’s simply dossed down in Tounie –’

  ‘Children are the devil,’ said Gwennie. She stood behind her sister-in-law’s chair, patting
her shoulder as she might have soothed a horse. ‘Poor Marjie... What is it, Mary?’ she asked as the cook’s head appeared through the serving-hatch. ‘Do the girls want to clear?’

  ‘It’s no’ that, my lady.’ The rest of Mary appeared in the serving-room doorway, plainly agitated. ‘My brother Malcolm just phoned from Selkirk. He says Elspeth’s no’ come home.’

  ‘Elspeth!’

  ‘Aye. He went tae meet her at the bus station, but she wasna on the overnight, nor yet the morning coach.’

  Gwennie’s brow creased. She glanced at Marjorie, murmuring, ‘Could they have gone off together?’

  ‘Oh, surely not.’ Marjorie looked agonised.

  ‘Did Ben have any money on him? I know Elspeth had, because I’d just given her a month’s wages.’

  ‘A month!’ exclaimed Mary, scandalised.

  ‘Yes, well, you know, in lieu of notice,’ admitted Gwennie a trifle guiltily.

  ‘Benjamin never has any money.’ His mother’s hands trembled as she put down her coffee cup. ‘There’s nothing for it. We’ll have to call the police.’

  ‘Oh, lord,’ said Gwennie wearily. ‘I suppose you’re right, but I do so hate them poking about, asking questions...’

  She broke off and glanced out of the window as a big white van turned in through the archway and swung down the back drive towards the stag larder.

  ‘There’s McIntyre’s man now,’ said Mary.

  ‘But he doesn’t collect today.’

  ‘They’re a man short, so they’ve changed the schedules, my lady. I maun tell him there’s two beasts from Strathtorran along with ours.’ Mary hurried out of the room.

  The others sat silent, locked in their own thoughts.

  Ought I to warn her? Gwennie worried. It’s all very well for Archie to pay Angus Buchan to keep mum, but these things have a nasty way of escalating. Next time it might be a child.

  If only I hadn’t chased him off to go stalking, thought Marjorie. I knew he was tired, but then he’s always tired when I want him to do anything. How can he prefer to lie on his bed listening to these hideous dirges when he could be on the hill?