Smokeheads (18 page)

A police car was parked outside the B&B.

Adam felt the malt coursing through his veins. He’d had three huge drams in the last hour and felt dizzy, his tongue dry and rough, a drouth coming on. He stopped a hundred yards from the car and tried to think. What did it mean? Had forensics found something already? Had the coastguard found Luke? Were they taking him back in for more questioning? He didn’t think he could cope with that.

Maybe he should disappear. There was plenty of space on this God-forsaken island, he could merge into the landscape, live off the land for a while. He laughed at his own stupidity. He’d almost died after a single day in the wilderness. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday. And yet he had no appetite, just rocks in his stomach, stones of worry rubbing away at his innards, eroding him from the inside out.

He could make out someone sitting in the car waiting for him. It didn’t look like the mainland inspector, the intimidating bouncer guy. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. He had to face it sooner or later anyway, he had nowhere else to go.

Molly didn’t want him at her place, didn’t want to see him ever again. Part of him could understand that. He wasn’t being punished, it wasn’t his fault, his presence in her life would be too much of a reminder. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t upset about it. They’d been through so much together, he felt a part of her life now in a visceral way he couldn’t have imagined, and the thought of never seeing her again made his heart pound and his body shake. Or maybe that was the whisky and the exhaustion and the shock finally kicking in.

He righted himself and walked towards the car, trying to keep his legs going straight and his chin raised.

As he approached, the driver’s door opened and a figure got out. It was Eric. Adam attempted a smile, and Eric smiled back as he came round the car to meet him.

‘Something up?’ said Adam, trying to sound upbeat.

Eric’s smile faded.

‘Pack your things,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘And all your friends’ stuff too. You’re getting the next ferry back to the mainland.’

Adam was confused. ‘But that Ritchie guy said I had to stay on the island until he got in touch again.’

‘Never mind what he said. I’m all the law you need to worry about on Islay at the moment, and I’m telling you to pack up. You’re leaving.’

‘What’s this about?’

‘I’ll explain in the car,’ said Eric. ‘We don’t have much time, the ferry will be getting into Port Askaig soon.’

Adam stood there, swaying a little.

Eric put a hand on his shoulder. ‘If you don’t want your belongings, you can leave without them. Either way, you’re getting on that boat.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Adam.

‘You don’t have to.’ Eric was starting to sound annoyed. ‘I said I would explain in the car.’

Eric gave him a gentle shove towards the B&B and Adam started walking, frowning over his shoulder.

Eric called after him. ‘And don’t worry about paying your bill, it’s been settled.’

Adam headed up the stairs and into his room, his nose filling with the antiseptic stench of spilled whisky, his feet grinding glass shards into the thin carpet. He quickly threw all his stuff into his bag, then chucked all Ethan’s neatly stacked clothes into his suitcase. He stopped to glug some quarter cask from the bottle, throwing it into his bag. He had a quick check round the room, then went through to Roddy and Luke’s room.

He couldn’t work out what this was all about. Could he trust this Eric guy? Molly had said he was a good sort, but what did that mean? She’d also decided not to tell him the truth, so maybe he couldn’t be trusted after all. Or maybe she had told him. He certainly seemed a better bet than that Ritchie character, but that wasn’t saying much. Fuck it, he was too exhausted and too wasted to work out what the hell was going on. It was easier just to go with the flow and take what came his way.

He threw Roddy and Luke’s stuff into their bags. He felt ill as he saw Luke’s belongings and thought about the gaping head wound, the bullet, the feel of raw flesh and bone against his fingers. He wondered where Luke was now, whether he’d already washed up somewhere along the coast, or if he was bobbing miles out to sea, maybe heading all the way over the ocean to another continent. He wondered about the fish and birds that would peck and nibble at him, the terrible storms that would blow him about, helpless and cold in that vast expanse. He ran to the toilet and puked up single malt all over the bowl and the floor. Didn’t matter, Eric said the bill was already paid. He rinsed his mouth from the tap then lugged the two bags out the door.

He went back into his room. He got his bag and Ethan’s case, then carried all four of them down the stairs, banging off the banister and struggling under the weight, his legs unsteady. The landlady was nowhere to be seen. Where was she?

Outside Eric took the bags from him and threw them in the back, then opened the passenger door. Adam looked at him.

‘Just get in,’ said Eric, looking at his watch.

Adam looked at his own watch, broken since the crash, and wondered what time it was, what he was doing, how this was all going to end.

He got into the police car then reached in the back, opened his bag and took out Ethan’s Laphroaig. He unplugged it and took a swig. He could hardly taste anything, his throat raw from vomiting, just a massive hit of peat overwhelming his senses, a taste so familiar yet now somehow completely alien, as if he’d never tasted single malt whisky before in his life.

He pulled his seat belt on as Eric got in.

‘That quarter cask?’ said Eric, eyeing the bottle.

Adam nodded.

‘Mind if I have a wee dram?’

Adam handed it over. ‘Help yourself.’

Eric uncorked it, wiped the rim and took a big swig, smacking his lips theatrically. He took another drink then recorked it and handed it back.

‘That’s a fine malt,’ he said, putting his seat belt on.

Adam felt numb. ‘Yeah.’

Eric started the engine and pulled away. They were heading for the ferry. As they climbed out of Port Ellen, Eric turned to Adam.

‘We know you were there,’ he said.

Adam looked at Eric driving. He had a kind face, weather-beaten but full of compassion, his thick grey hair swept back and his chunky hands firm on the steering wheel. He looked like he’d be a fantastic grandad to some little sprogs.

Adam turned to look out the window. They were driving back up the same stupid road he was sick of, stretches of ugly brown shrubs cowering in a sharp, squally wind that spattered the windscreen with dirty rain. The wipers scraped across with a nerve-shredding rhythm, struggling to keep the windscreen clean.

They were doing eighty easily, Adam feeling every bump and pothole judder through his bones thanks to the shit suspension. The heating was up full and he was suffocating, struggling to breathe. He glugged at the malt, but that only warmed him further, made his insides itchy.

‘What?’ he said finally.

‘I said we know you were there.’

Adam stared at him for a long time then looked out the window at the gloom. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Eric smiled. ‘Of course you do.’

‘I really don’t.’

Eric glanced at Adam. ‘Want me to spell it out?’

Adam shrugged. ‘Sounds like you’re dying to, so knock yourself out.’

‘Is that yes or no?’

Adam laughed despite himself. He looked at Eric. ‘That’s a yes.’

Eric kept his eyes on the road.

‘We know you were at the still last night …’

‘I already told Ritchie that’s bullshit.’

Eric held up a placating hand. ‘It doesn’t matter what you told DI Ritchie. I’m not Ritchie. Do you want to hear what I’ve got to say or not?’

Adam waved his hand in a vague gesture of acquiescence.

‘We know you were at the still last night. You met Joe and Grant there. We know that one of you got injured or killed, probably shot or stabbed. I presume that was your friend Luke, the one the coastguard are still looking for. We know there was some kind of chase up to Loch Kinnabus and someone went through the ice. Also, you broke into the farmhouse at Upper Killeyan where whoever went through the ice changed out of their freezing wet clothes.’ Eric eyed Adam’s baggy jumper and fleece. ‘Then you walked back along the cliffs to the barn. We know you had something to do with the fire, and that you then trekked back to the car. It seems you were pushing a barrel, presumably with Luke’s body inside. You must’ve thrown him in the sea at some point, I’m guessing because of the evidence of his wounds.’

Adam felt himself gulp heavily. He turned to face Eric.

‘That is one hell of an imagination you’ve got there.’

Eric laughed. ‘You think so? Actually, I’m pretty sure my imagination couldn’t come up with anything so outlandish.’

This was it, they were all going to jail for a long time. Adam felt strangely untouched by the thought, as if the whole matter concerned someone else.

‘So where are you getting all this shit from?’ he said.

Eric smiled again. ‘Your tracks were all over the place. When we got to the still this morning there were tracks in the snow leading off the path west to Loch Kinnabus, as well as east along the coast, back towards the Audi. There were markings from barrel staves and hoops in that direction as well. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to work out what had happened once we got the call from Mrs Leary about your car crash.’

Adam flinched at the phrase ‘brain surgeon’ and saw his hands in the mess of Luke’s head. He picked at his nails, then the skelf still lodged in his finger.

‘We were never there,’ Adam deadpanned. ‘We had nothing to do with it.’

Eric took his eyes off the road and examined Adam. Adam saw a world-weary look in the old-timer’s eyes.

Eric put a big hand on Adam’s arm.

‘It’s OK, son,’ he said. ‘We’ve fixed it.’

Adam frowned. He drank from the Laphroaig bottle to give his hands something to do, but the bottle shook and he dribbled down his chin. He wiped himself, staring forwards, not wanting to look at Eric’s face.

‘What do you mean?’

Eric returned his hand to the wheel and his eyes to the road.

‘It’s amazing how much damage to forensic evidence you can do with a fire engine, three squad cars and umpteen willing pairs of feet,’ he said. ‘Especially when you’re mostly talking about tracks in the snow which were melting anyway. Plus water damage from the fire engine’s hose is all over the place. All that coming and going with vehicles and officers on foot, it just made a complete mess of the whole area, so much so that there’s probably no evidence left in the immediate vicinity that you were ever there. And nothing leading to the tracks further afield.’

‘We weren’t ever there,’ said Adam warily.

‘Of course not,’ said Eric.

They drove in silence for a bit, Adam sipping whisky, the wipers scraping at the windscreen, hot air swirling around them.

‘OK,’ said Adam eventually. ‘Suppose for a second that there was evidence we were there. I’m not admitting we were, of course. But just suppose.’

‘Just suppose,’ said Eric.

‘Why the hell would you destroy it?’

Eric sighed. ‘You know nothing about the Ileach, do you?’

‘This is some stupid island thing?’

‘Nothing stupid about it. I knew Molly’s mother and father well, they were friends of mine. It was really hard for her and Ashley when they passed away, and Molly has done her best ever since to look after her little sister.’ Eric glanced at Adam. ‘We look after our own here on Islay.’

‘Molly said something similar.’

‘When we heard that Molly was part of the crash, we knew she must’ve been at the still as well. We didn’t want her mixed up in any of that. Luckily we were in a position to do something about it.’

‘Who’s “we”?’

‘The Islay police.’

‘But Joe and Grant were Islay police.’

Eric puffed out his cheeks. ‘Joe and Grant didn’t exactly have many friends. They bullied their way through life, treated everyone with disrespect and often much worse. Like Molly, for example. Frankly, Islay is a better place now that they’re dead.’

Something occurred to Adam. ‘Did you know what they were up to on the Oa?’

Eric nodded. ‘We didn’t like it, but there didn’t seem much we could do about it.’

‘You could’ve tried to shut them down.’

Eric shrugged. ‘They were strong-minded boys, I don’t think they would’ve taken that too well. It’s over now anyway.’

‘Who were they working with? There were other police involved, collecting deliveries.’

Eric turned to him. ‘How would you know that if you were never at the still?’

Adam felt a rush of blood to his cheeks.

Eric smiled. ‘It’s OK, son.’ He slowed the car for a bend, then back up through the gears. ‘There were a few mainland officers involved, that’s correct.’

‘Is Ritchie one of them?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Eric. ‘We’re pretty sure it was a small operation, it didn’t go too far up. I get the impression that DI Ritchie is as shocked and dismayed by the whole thing as his superiors will be when they find out, something else which could work in your favour.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I suspect those higher up will be doing everything in their power to have this whole thing brushed under the carpet. It doesn’t exactly reflect well on the reputation of Strathclyde Police that two of their officers were running an illegal whisky operation, and died suspiciously in the process. I don’t think they need the added complication of members of the public being involved.’

Adam took a big swig of quarter cask and made a decision. ‘Grant was an accident. But with Joe …’

Eric frowned. ‘Don’t say anything else.’

‘But I want to tell you what happened.’

‘It doesn’t matter what happened and it’s better I don’t know.’

‘Doesn’t it matter?’

‘Not to me. All that matters is that Molly is home safe and that you and your friend are off the island by the end of the day.’

‘Roddy’s leaving too? I thought he’d be in hospital for days.’

‘He discharged himself on the strong recommendation of a colleague of mine. They’re meeting us at Port Askaig.’

‘But Ritchie told us to stay.’

‘Let us worry about DI Ritchie,’ said Eric. ‘We’ll just say we got our wires crossed, breakdown in communication, something like that. He thinks we’re all incompetent hicks anyway, after the mess we made of the crime scene.’

Adam stared out the window. It was getting dark fast, the gloom encroaching all around, so that all he could see was his own dim reflection on the glass and the occasional lonely house lit up on the moors outside. Islay looked like anywhere else in the world, just another rural backwater trying to survive.

‘I’ve got something for you,’ said Eric.

He reached behind Adam’s seat, produced a carrier bag and plonked it on Adam’s lap. Adam opened it tentatively and saw his clothes inside, the ones he’d left at the farmhouse. They were neatly folded. He touched the jacket on the top. It was dry and still faintly warm. He felt a rush of raw emotion and his eyes began to sting. He fought back tears, then turned to Eric.

‘You seem to have everything covered.’

‘Not quite.’ Eric slowed the car as they descended towards Port Askaig. ‘Ritchie will be in touch with you back in Edinburgh. We can’t do anything about that. No matter what he says, just stick to your story.’

‘Of course.’

‘One other thing,’ said Eric as they snaked down the road cut in the cliff face, the lights of the Port Askaig Hotel shimmering below. ‘If the coastguard find your friend’s body and it’s not too sea-damaged, will it tie you to Joe and Grant?’

Adam felt a shiver as he glugged more malt. He looked at the bottle. It was half empty already. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Good,’ said Eric as they pulled up behind a parked police car. ‘Now let’s get you the hell off Islay.’