Blood in the Water: A DCI Keane Scottish Crime Thriller by Oliver Davies (read full novel txt) 📗

I hadn’t made too big a deal of it. I’d started a few facial recognition searches on it, though, just in case, because why not? I’d never been the sort to object to anything that made a job like this quicker and easier, and I was rather keen to wrap this one up.

For one thing, I really wanted to get back to the new house as soon as I could, before the workmen made a mistake that would set back what was already a pretty tight schedule.

It was sad to see poor Mrs Price in that state, of course, it was, but she’d do alright, I thought, after some drastic reprogramming. Vanessa version 1.8, or whatever number her ego’s operating system had been up to before yesterday, was pretty much totalled, but v 2.0 should kick in soon and then the rebuild could get properly underway. She’d never be the same person again, but none of us ever were, really. Egos were far more plastic than most people realised. They could be reshaped in countless different ways and constantly updated themselves behind your back, if you didn’t keep an eye on them properly. Nobody’s ever exactly the same person from moment to moment. Organic intelligences are always changing in a way that nobody else seems to notice, not in the short term, anyway.

Just because Mrs Price wanted to curl up and die right now didn’t mean she might not still have a great life ahead of her, eventually. There was nothing I could do about any of that anyway, so it wouldn’t make any sense to let myself get upset about it and lose efficiency. Who would that help, apart from the person we needed to apprehend?

I went down to the lobby to wait for Conall and paced up and down for a bit until I felt less fizzy. He’d be done up there in a minute or two, after he’d had a word with that nice little constable, and I needed to be perfectly calm by the time he came down. I knew what he got like if he thought I was ‘emotionally compromised.’ Ugh! Neither of us needed any of that nonsense right now. Cool, calm, perfectly rational thinking; that was what was required.

Annie MacLeod would be in for it if she ever repeated a word of what she’d seen and heard up there to anyone, and he’d be making sure she knew it. I wondered if she was clued up enough to realise how odd it was for us to have had all those files already prepared. Hopefully not. It was Conall’s sort you had to watch out for. Most police detectives were a compulsively snoopy and questioning bunch. Plus they knew how long it should take to compile a catalogue of images like that. Mind you, for all they knew, Conall could have had a whole team working through the night on it back in Inverness, so maybe that wouldn’t have been a problem either.

My cousin came down soon enough. He eyed me consideringly, before shaking his head in that ‘Did you have to do it like that?’ way of his. Sometimes, he liked to point out that a little less calculated manipulation wasn’t always a bad thing in his book. Sometimes he was right, but not this time. What little could be done in the way of helping anyone in Vanessa Price’s shoes had been effectively accomplished. Her family, her friends, and the passing of a considerable amount of time would have to take it from here.

“All good with constable MacLeod up there?” I asked, having made my rebuttal with an answering look of my own. Our non-verbal communication skills were pretty outstanding. I wished everyone was as easy as Conall to exchange information with.

“Yeah, all sorted.” He glanced at the clock on the wall behind the reception desk. “The ferry should arrive in just under half an hour, but it’s only a three-minute walk over there. I assume you’ve already got searches running on our man?” Well, duh! “There’s a cafe next door. How about a proper hot drink?”

“Sure.” He looked like he could use a caffeine fix, and I wouldn’t say no to something with some decent flavour to it myself. Neither of us enjoyed dealing with situations like that business upstairs had been. He pulled the door open, and we walked a few feet along the pavement to the cafe entrance.

“It’ll be a short stop at the ship,” he said, “but a look around ourselves might give us a better idea of how our man managed to get on and off, and I’d like to look at the crime scene myself.”

Fair enough. Conall pushed the cafe door open and chose us a table where I could slouch comfortably with my back to the room. I could hear the staff at the counter, making admiring comments as he seated himself across from me. A pair of giggly young local girls. I don’t know that I’d agree with some of the adjectives they were using, but he did look good, mind, even in that stupid black suit he had to wear. Being a civilian and all, I could wear what I damned well pleased, thank you very much. I was very comfortable with my favourite outdoor summer jacket over my long baggy shirt. My black cargo pants were presentable enough too, so it wasn’t like I looked scruffy or anything, but I certainly wasn’t showing my figure off the way he obliviously was. I glanced through the drinks menu and was pleased to see they offered a green chai. Just what I fancied.

“Any updates?” Conall asked, and I fished my phone out to turn silent mode back off and check. You don’t walk into a meeting like that one with the volume on. One of the gigglers came over, and Conall ordered himself his usual double espresso and water. I asked for my chai without looking up before adding, in the local dialect, that