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

“I’m just writing it all up now,” I told her, “but yes, we got lucky with some footage from a CCTV camera on Skye. Mrs Price was able to make a very solid identification from it. We’re looking through various databases for photo ID now.” A brief silence.

“I think I’m beginning to understand what the Chief was hinting at,” she finally said. “And the vans?”

“None of the vans was unloaded during the passenger check, and I strongly suspect that’s how our man got on and off the ferry. At the time they were letting people off, the death was still being viewed as ‘accidental, possibly suspicious.’ It’s a shame it was all so rushed. There are still another five we may need to check on, but the two I sent the details for are both rentals.” That bumped them straight to the top of the list, as Shay had so sweetly pointed out.

“I see. Dare I ask when you two actually started working this case?” That was funny.

“Yesterday evening,” I reassured her. “Shortly after I got your email. Nobody’s that bloody fast, Trish.” Another pause.

“Right, of course not. And I’d like to think that my own team might easily have got this far... in a few more days. I note you’ve upgraded your man to a murder suspect too, but I don’t see any report in from Doctor Hamilton’s team yet?”

“No, but we did see a partial, bloody handprint at the crime scene. Doctor Hamilton was able to confirm that the prints belonged to Damien Price when I called him a few minutes ago.”

“And?” she asked impatiently. It wasn’t her case, and she hadn’t been looking into it the way we were, so it was an understandable lapse.

“And you can’t feel at your own bleeding scalp if you’ve already broken your neck falling down a flight of stairs, Trish,” I told her apologetically. “There were no bloodstains on the steps, and the physical evidence all indicates that he cracked his head when he landed.”

“Crap!” she muttered. “Of course, you can’t. Sorry, Conall, I wasn’t thinking. Great work so far, though, both of you. I can hardly wait to see what you turn up next!” She hung up.

Shay gave me a nudge. “No UK driving license for our guy in the DVLA, and nothing in the PND either. We’ll have to wait for the new searches I just set up to finish running.” He wasn’t pleased with those negative results either, I could tell. He brought Damien’s photos back up, and I got on with updating my report. After about ten minutes, I got another nudge.

“Just a sec, I’m nearly done.” I always kept these things pared down to the bare bones. No need to waste time throwing in a load of unnecessary padding.

There, done. I saved the updated file in the shared case folder and looked over to see what he’d found. Oh, that was a really nice shot. Damien had caught a very handsome common buzzard coming in to perch on a fence post, talons and tail extended and wings curving up in a graceful sweep. Shay zoomed out to show me more of the photo and brought a cluster of buildings into view in the background. Outside the nearest of those, a white van was parked up, and a man wearing a black beanie, with his face turned away from the camera, was passing a crate up to someone inside. Shay zoomed in further, and there it was, a compass tattoo showing on the inside of the wrist, below a sleeve pushed halfway up the forearm.

“Now that’s what I call decent resolution!” he said happily. “Although it’s not as well focused as the buzzard, of course. That Nikon of Price’s is a great little camera. The guy’s height and build look about right.”

“Show me the still from the petrol station and zoom right in on that tattoo in both shots, please.” He did so. Not only did they match, but there was also a small mole in exactly the same spot on both images, just to the side of the wrist. “Where is that?” I asked.

“It’s that little distillery near Callanish I mentioned yesterday. The one Mr Price liked so much. See? The label on the crate? Do you think we should pay it a visit?”

“Yes, I do,” I confirmed. “Are there any shots with a number plate for that van showing on them?”

He shook his head. “No, Price snapped a few of the buzzard coming in, but I doubt he noticed anything else at the time, and the angle’s all wrong. They were all taken from one spot. He might have stopped to snap a picture of the place on his way to his meeting and then spotted the bird.” The van didn’t have any visible signage or other distinguishing feature on it either. A pity. I picked up the phone, checked my list and punched in Ewan MacLeod’s number.

“Constable MacLeod speaking.” His cheerful voice answered on the second ring.

“Ewan, it’s DCI Keane. Can you pop along to our office, please?”

“Right away, Inspector.” Good as his word, he tapped at the door and came in half a minute later.

“Hi, Ewan,” Shay greeted him brightly.

“Mr Keane.” He nodded back before turning to look at me. “What can I do for you, Inspector?”

“We need a car, actually. How long will it take us to get to Callanish?”

“Callanish? About half an hour, maybe a bit less. Off to see the stones, are you, Sir?”

“I’d love to while we’re here, but no, we need to go and visit a little distillery near there and talk to the owner.”

He grinned broadly. “There’s only the one over that way, Sir. Angus MacLeod’s place. He’s a Harris man, no relation. Well, he’s my cousin’s father-in-law now, but not a blood relative, if you know what I mean.”

“Is that his distillery?” I asked as Shay flipped his