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

it was a bit rude to make objectifying comments about people like the stuff they’d been spouting. From the way Conall’s big grey eyes widened, the poor girl must have turned crimson from her neck to the roots of her hair before she fled.

“What did you just say to that girl?” he leaned across to ask.

“A free lesson in good manners,” I told him, “before they tried that trick on the wrong person. You can’t just assume people don’t have a clue what you’re saying, whatever language you’re using. No matches on our man yet.” I put my phone down, “So, the ferry? What are you thinking? How did he get on and off?” I could tell by his face that he was a bit surprised I’d told her off, because I usually ignored that kind of thing. “They were drooling over you, you idiot, and a bit too crudely to be considered polite, especially these days.”

Yeah, that always seemed to take him by surprise. I don’t know what Conall thinks he looks like, but I’d always found that particular underestimation an amusing and rather endearing little quirk in my cousin.

“Actually,” he said, shaking it off dismissively, “I’ve been wondering how thorough the local force was with the vehicle checks when they let the passengers disembark. What if our man had a driver working with him?” Now that was an interesting thought.

“Simple and effective,” I allowed. “They checked the car boots and the vans, though, right?”

“It’s not the cars I’m worried about. I don’t see how they could have missed someone there. But the vans? They didn’t make them unload…” Yeah, someone could hide in a loaded van easily enough.

I liked it. People dramatically diving overboard might look good in films, but it was a bloody stupid way of going about things. I’d seen the vehicle manifest last night, so I ran through it in my head while we were waiting for our drinks.

“So, ignoring the cars, we’ve got two campervans and five standard-sized delivery vans to check on.” Our drinks arrived, together with a complimentary sampler plate of miniature pastries, a charming little apology. I positively beamed at our contrite waitress when I saw those, and she froze like a startled deer before fleeing again as another red tide swept up from her neck. Conall popped a baby sausage roll into his mouth before throwing his coffee down after it.

“Maybe you should complain more often.” A fleeting little smile there, but it didn’t last long. He was still feeling the after-effects of that horrible meeting. “You can look into those as soon as we get back to the station,” he told me as he cracked his water open.

I stirred my tea while I chewed up a danish bite. Not bad, but apple would have been nicer. I’d have to leave a good tip now, too. I didn’t want those silly girls paying for these out of their own, poorly paid pockets. He pulled his own phone out to check for emails and, probably, to send a message off to Caitlin, knowing him. All okay over there? Any problems with that Philips guy? He helped himself to the little pastries with ham and cheese in them while he was doing that, leaving the sweet ones for me.

When it was time for us to move, I put a twenty under the plate, and we went out to amble along the harbourfront to the ferry terminal as our ship made her approach. This was one of the bigger Caledonian MacBrayne vessels, not like the smaller inter-island boats that they used to serve the less populous areas. Over twenty thousand people lived on Lewis and Harris, and flocks of visitors boated in at this time of year, although the peak season was only just getting started. It was a nice morning for visiting the islands; clear skies, sunshine, and a day that was warming up nicely. The moderate breeze wasn’t enough to raise a goosebump either, although it was too strong for the dreaded midges to swarm, despite the mild weather. You wouldn’t catch me wandering around under those trees in the castle grounds in the evenings without repellent on. I had a little spray bottle in a pocket, just in case.

After the ship was secured, we were taken up in the lift to where the captain had his office. Captain Thomas shook our hands politely. He was more than happy to show us plans for the ferry and to explain how the onboard search had been conducted the previous afternoon. With over thirty crew under him, as well as a dozen of the local police, they’d been able to be very thorough and methodical about it. By the time he’d walked us through it, deck by deck, I think we were both satisfied that nobody could have evaded detection. He also confirmed that none of the crew had been on the vehicle deck at the time of Damien’s death and handed Conall a commendably detailed report of where each of them had been and what work they’d been performing during that period.

“No, I very much doubt anyone would have jumped or dived into the water.” Captain Thomas had seemed a bit amused by the question. “Even using crew access to the stern, that’s still quite a drop, even without the turbulence of the wake, or the sea temperature, to worry about. And they’d have been spotted for sure too, with all the people enjoying the fine weather.”

He obligingly took us to the door that Damien Price had last been seen disappearing through and down the crew stairs to the vehicle deck. There was still a temporary police barrier set up around the area. Conall and I crouched down to examine the blood spattered on the deck. That would be from the scalp wound. There hadn’t been any little yellow triangles left to mark blood spatter on the stairs themselves. He must have hit his head when he landed down here.

“Does that look