One Last Dram Before Midnight Read online

  ‘How does that narrow it doon?’ asked Scott. ‘In fact, what the hell is it?’

  ‘I’m no expert, Sergeant Scott, but I was involved in a case where a man had been abducted – oh, a while ago now.’

  ‘Right, Sherlock, nae need tae keep me in suspense.’

  ‘Well, we were desperately trying to prove the victim had been held in a certain premises. We couldn’t find DNA, fibres – we were up against a brick wall, in fact.’

  ‘And?’ asked Scott, impatient to know why Daley had such a broad smile on his face.

  ‘Well, we found an object like this – quite distinctive. It’s a ferrule from the end of a walking stick, long and thin . . .’

  ‘So what? Fae that you’ve deduced that it came aff a long thin stick. Where does that leave us here – are we lookin’ for Gandalf the Grey?’

  ‘The man we were searching for was blind. This is the rubber end of a typical white stick, used by those with visual impairment,’ concluded Sergeant Comyns.

  Scott thought for a few moments then his jaw dropped. ‘You mean auld Mr Marchmount, Jimmy? Cannae be.’

  ‘I don’t know what it means,’ said Daley with a shrug. ‘But it’s something.’

  VII

  Thomas Marchmount’s house was neat and sparsely furnished, to ensure he had as few obstacles as possible to negotiate. He led the detectives into his lounge, guide dog padding dutifully by his side.

  ‘Gentlemen, please take a seat.’

  As Scott took his notebook from his pocket Daley looked around the room. There was a large crucifix above the seat in which Marchmount sat, and above the fireplace a framed black-and-white photograph of an attractive woman whose dark hair matched her smiling eyes.

  ‘Fine-looking woman, Mr Marchmount – in the photograph, I mean.’

  ‘Ah, yes, that’s my late wife Carole. Everyone who comes into this room – and there aren’t many these days – makes the same comment. I miss her every day.’

  ‘I’m sad to hear that. How long have you been on your own?’ asked Daley.

  ‘Oh, for a very long time. She was killed in a car accident not long after that photograph was taken. Only twenty-three years old – far too young to die.’

  ‘It is indeed,’ said Daley, reflecting momentarily on a similar tragedy from his own past. ‘Did you meet here in Kinloch?’

  ‘No, we were at university together. She was originally from Fife. In fact, it was she who kept the archaeology going while I went into teaching. Carole was more passionate about the discipline than me, in many ways, certainly beyond the physical discoveries. She was interested in the people who had come before – felt a connection with them, almost.’ He smiled to himself. ‘In fact, had it not been for Carole, the jet necklace would never have been found.’

  ‘I thought you discovered it,’ said Scott.

  ‘I did. But I was working on her theory about the old hill fort. She’d had a dream that there was something up there – quite extraordinary. I always said that she had a gift – second sight they call it. She often predicted things.’ His head went down, and he produced a large white hanky from his trouser pocket which he blew into noisily. ‘I’m sorry. Even after all these years, it still gets me. The night before she died she told me that she was scared – scared that something bad was going to happen. Try as she might, she couldn’t shift the feeling. Of course, I told her not to be silly, that everything was fine. Sadly, I was wrong. The feeling of impending doom she had proved to be justified.’ He turned in the direction of the fireplace. ‘I’ll always feel slightly guilty about handing the necklace over.’

  ‘She wouldn’t have approved?’ asked Daley, slightly puzzled at such an attitude from an archaeologist.

  ‘Carole was very particular about grave goods. She felt strongly that, although it was fine to open up a grave and catalogue, photograph, make a record of contents, in order to make sense of history, it was another thing entirely to remove items of devotion from such tombs. It wasn’t an uncommon point of view in those days – a profound respect for the dead – no matter how long they’d been gone. Doesn’t prevail now, of course.’

  Daley stayed quiet for a few moments, leaving Thomas Marchmount with his thoughts. ‘She was very beautiful,’ he said eventually.

  ‘I’ve had virtually no sight for over fifteen years, but in my mind I can still see every part of her face in that picture.’

  Daley cleared his throat. ‘I’m not sure if you’re aware, Mr Marchmount, but there was a break-in at the museum last night. I’m afraid that –’

  ‘Oh, I know what happened,’ interrupted Marchmount. ‘This is Kinloch, remember. My phone rang just after seven this morning. Seems the necklace was spirited away under the noses of your officers.’

  ‘Yes, I’m rather sad to say that is the case. Though not perhaps in the way the gossips portray, I’m sure.’

  ‘We’ve come across a wee piece o’ evidence we’d like tae talk to you aboot,’ said Scott.

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Your walking cane, Mr Marchmount – can you hold it up please?’

  ‘Whatever for?’ he asked, as his hands searched for the long white stick, which he grabbed and held out before himself.

  Noting that the white rubber ferrule was intact, Scott raised his eyes to Daley.

  ‘What are you not telling me, officers?’

  ‘Dae you have a spare – spare stick, I mean?’ asked Scott.

  ‘No, I don’t. Just what is going on here?’

  ‘I’ll be upfront with you, Mr Marchmount,’ said Daley. ‘A rubber stopper – a ferrule – from a cane such as yours was found on the floor of the museum this morning. I know this sounds bizarre, but we have to investigate everything. I hope you understand.’

  Marchmount remained silent for a few moments, then angled his head back and laughed heartily.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ asked Scott.

  ‘Surely you must see that yourselves. I mean, I’m nearly ninety per cent blind – an old man with one foot in the grave. Do you really think I have the capability to evade the scrutiny of your officers, break into a well-alarmed building, locate a precious artefact, then make my way back out again undetected? All of this with my guide dog!’ He laughed again.

  ‘Yes, I know how ridiculous this must seem, but I have to ask, Mr Marchmount. In fact, I have to ask you another few questions about last night.

  ‘I wouldn’t waste my time if I were you, Officer Daley.’

  ‘It’s my duty, sir.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m sure it is. But, in this case, there’s really no need. Milly, are you there?’ he called as Daley and Scott stared at each other.

  There was a sound of movement from above, then footsteps padding nimbly downstairs. The dog began to wag its tail when a tall, well-dressed elderly woman entered the room. She was straight-backed as she took a seat beside Marchmount on his couch with an enigmatic smile on her face.

  ‘You see, officers, apart from the comical notion that I could break into any building, I have a sound alibi.’

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Scott, his mouth agape.

  ‘I am Lady Millicent Campbell of Glen Saarn. And who might you be?’ she asked.

  ‘DS Brian Scott. Wait a minute . . .’

  It was Daley’s turn to interrupt proceedings. ‘If you don’t mind, Lady Campbell – and I’m duty-bound to ask this – did you spend the entirety of yesterday evening here with Mr Marchmount?’

  ‘If you’re tactfully trying to ask if I was here all night, the answer is yes, I was. I arrived for dinner at eight, then Thomas and I got down to business.’

  Scott stared between Lady Campbell and Daley, his mouth almost forming a word, but never quite managing to complete the process.

  ‘Do stop gaping, man,’ she commanded. ‘The sight of your tonsils at this time in the morning is hardly likely to aid the digestion of one’s breakfast.’

  Scott did as he was told and gave Daley a bewildered look.

  ‘
Ah, I see,’ said the big detective, clearing his throat awkwardly. ‘What time did you both turn in, if you don’t mind my asking?’

  ‘The wee small hours, Mr Daley,’ replied Lady Campbell. ‘It was one of those nights where neither of us were quite satisfied – we just couldn’t settle on a final position, if you like.’

  ‘Lot tae be said for that Sanatogen,’ said Scott under his breath, with a nod of bewildered admiration.

  ‘Right . . . okay,’ said Daley. ‘You don’t mind if we note this – not the details, of course.’

  ‘Please let me unburden you of your embarrassment,’ said Marchmount. ‘Though it’s true that Milly and I did get down to business after dinner, that business was working on a new presentation for the local Antiquarian Society’s quarterly magazine. We both have a passion for history, but the flaming passions of youth have long since departed.’

  ‘Speak for yourself, Thomas,’ said Lady Campbell.

  ‘We co-wrote the piece, then found it hard to agree on a conclusion to the article. This is a two-bedroom house, and we slept in separate beds, I can assure you,’ said Marchmount.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ replied Daley hesitantly. ‘I knew there would be a reasonable explanation.’

  ‘My goodness, the younger generation have become such prudes. We’re both consenting adults, and if Thomas here wanted to give me a good gallop round the paddock, it would hardly be a police matter.’ She patted Marchmount on the hand. ‘I burned my bra in sixty-seven, you know. Bloody liberating it was, too.’

  ‘No, no, you get me wrong. I didn’t mean to infer there was anything wrong with you doing that kind of thing . . . not that you are . . .’

  ‘Quit while you’re ahead,’ said Marchmount. ‘No offence taken, I assure you. At the end of the day, I find the theft of the necklace as disturbing as you do. However, it’s the kind of thing I’ve been worried about ever since the bloody British Museum drew attention to our little treasure. If you check through my correspondence with the council, you’ll see that I voiced my fears as to the growing profile of the piece. It’s the kind of thing that was bound to attract the wrong kind of interest.’

  ‘In other words, never mind chasing old duffers like us, and get out there and find the damn thing!’ exclaimed Lady Campbell.

  ‘That was embarrassing,’ said Daley as he and Scott returned to the SUV.

  ‘Aye, no’ half,’ replied Scott thoughtfully. ‘I wouldnae have thought that pair was intae diving, neithers.’

  Daley cast him a quizzical look as he switched on the engine. ‘Diving?’

  ‘You know, this aquarium stuff. Aye, sometimes life’s stranger than fiction,’ he continued with a shake of his head.

  Before Daley could elucidate, his phone rang. He took the call.

  Scott looked at him enquiringly. ‘What’s the scoop, big man?’

  ‘The scoop is, they’ve discovered the point of entry into the museum. It’s up on that bell tower. Do you know where I mean?’

  ‘Aye, that wood and glass thing that sticks up like a fancy chimney?’

  ‘Yup. But that’s not all. They’ve found prints.’

  ‘Don’t tell me it’s auld Marchmount’s, because if it is you’re going back in there on your ain.’

  ‘No, even better. Charlie Murray’s dabs are all over it, apparently.’

  They headed back to Kinloch Police Office, speechless.

  VIII

  Although Councillor Charlie Murray was Kinloch’s most prominent local politician, aided by two of his sons and one grandson he still ran his joinery business from a small workshop on the far side of the loch.

  Daley and Scott walked through an open space normally held secure by a roller-shutter door. They were faced by the usual paraphernalia, all part of the joiner’s art: lathes, workbenches, saws of various shapes and sizes; a half-finished object that looked like part of the gable end of a wooden-framed house; hammers and chisels, wire brushes and grades of sandpaper, all hanging by hooks on a wall alongside drills, punches and nail guns. All of this was covered by a thin layer of pale dust, and the floor was coated with sawdust and curls of shaved wood that emanated a fresh, earthy smell.

  No one appeared to be there, but then Scott made out a hunched figure sitting in a tiny glass-fronted office, under a metal stairwell. He chapped the window, and the familiar face of Charlie Murray stared back over reading glasses which perched on the tip of his broad nose. He was sitting behind an old-fashioned desktop computer.

  ‘Gentlemen, how can I help you? They telt me we’d save the wages o’ a secretary wae this bloody thing,’ he said, gesturing towards the dusty computer. ‘Whoot they didna say was that I’d spend half o’ my week fighting wae the damn thing.’

  ‘I’m with you there,’ agreed Scott. ‘A bloody curse, if ever there was one. They did away wae the typing pool in oor office just like that, leaving us poor cops tae wrestle the damn things intae submission. A great source of sadness for a’ sorts o’ reasons. Bloody computers, you can keep them.’

  ‘If you Luddites have quite finished,’ said Daley with a smile. ‘We have a couple of questions, Charlie.’ Daley came into contact with Murray regularly and liked the man. Despite occasional self-seeking, disingenuous political conduct, Daley recognised that the joiner cum councillor had achieved many good things on behalf of the remote community, and he admired him for it.

  ‘The boys are all oot on jobs, which is jeest how I like it,’ said Murray. ‘I’m here holding the fort in the office maist o’ the time nowadays. There’s only so much exposure tae wind and weather a man can take, and I’ve seen my fair share o’ it in fifty-odd years o’ this game.’

  ‘Do you remember we have a record of fingerprints after that incident with the van a few years ago, Charlie?’ asked Daley.

  ‘Aye, of course I dae. What a fuss o’er nothing that was. Near cost me my place on the council. Lucky I’ve got a good few friends in the chamber up in Lochgilphead who owed my a favour or two.’

  ‘Did you no’ drag a guy oot a van and drive off in it?’ asked Scott.

  ‘It was oor van! At least by rights it was. Thon McLeary bloke was payin’ it up, and halfway through jeest forgot where his bank was. I was well within my rights,’ he said indignantly.

  ‘Still, you were charged with a breach of the peace,’ said Daley, recalling the judgment of the temporary sheriff, who had handed down the minimum punishment available, short of acquitting Murray.

  ‘A storm in a teacup – that bugger still owes me four hunner pounds, mind! Anyway, how come we’re back at this auld chestnut?’ he said, managing to calm down quickly, another knack of the politician.

  ‘We took your prints as part of the investigation, if you remember – from the van?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘And they’ve been on file ever since.’

  ‘A travesty of justice. Me, that’s never been in bother wae the polis before or since that wee episode. Well, apart fae a wee bust-up at the dancing in the George Hall in nineteen seventy-eight. But, c’mon, we all make mistakes.’

  ‘Well, you’ll never guess,’ said Scott. ‘They same fingerprints have turned up again.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘We worked out how the thief who made off with the necklace entered the building, Charlie. It was up at the bell tower. The window was jemmied open,’ said Daley.

  ‘And don’t tell me,’ said Murray. ‘My fingerprints were a’ o’er the glass.’

  ‘Is this a confession, Charlie?’ asked Scott.

  ‘No such thing! Of course I’m no’ surprised that my fingerprints are on that window. It stands tae reason.’

  ‘Enlighten us, why don’t you?’ said Scott.

  ‘Must be aboot three months ago. I know I said tae you that I’m no’ oot on the job very often these days, but I still keep my hand in, you know.’ He brushed a layer of dust from the computer monitor unconsciously. ‘You’ll mind that wild storm we had a few months back. Whoot a wind that was, near hurricane forc
e they telt me.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Daley.

  ‘Well, it was strong enough tae blow the window o’ that wee bell tower clean oot. Thon Bennett idiot called me at half eight at night wae a right panic on. My boys were oot in the pub and had been at the beer long enough tae ensure they weren’t heading up any ladders. Bennett was feart that someone wid break in, or the wind and rain wid damage his precious collection. So, oot o’ the goodness o’ my heart, I went doon there wae ladders mysel’ and fixed the window.’

  ‘On your own?’ asked Scott.

  ‘No. I took young Hughie wae me, my grandson. He’s jeest started his apprenticeship, but no’ quite at the stage I wid trust him wae windowpanes at height. He’s intae climbing mountains, but this is another thing entirely. Apart fae that, me an’ him was the only bodies in the company that wisnae three sheets tae the wind. He held the ladder, and I went up and did the job. Man, there’s nothing worse than putty for leaving big fingerprints on glass. But that wisna my problem. I got the window back in, an’ that was that. It’s their job tae clean it.’

  ‘Must have been dangerous on the roof in that gale,’ remarked Scott.

  ‘I daresay it was. Let me tell you, Sergeant, my days of scaling roofs are well and truly over. I did the job fae inside the museum. So yous canna frame me wae stealing the bloody necklace.’

  ‘We have to look at the evidence we have, Charlie,’ said Daley.

  ‘Well, if I was you, Chief Inspector, I wid make sure your questions remain within the bounds o’ reality. If you’d asked Sandy Bennett, he’d have telt you how my fingerprints came tae be up there.’

  Scott turned to Daley with a grimace. ‘Reckon anyone asked Bennett?’

  ‘I’ll have to find out,’ replied Daley wearily.

  ‘I’m no’ sayin’ I’m blaming yous, mind. Canna be easy for the polis tae look like fools in front o’ a’ they buggers fae the papers an’ TV. I’m sure I’d be fair mortified, mysel’. But yous canna go aroon framing honest working men for things like this, jeest tae get yoursel off the hook.’