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

“To be honest, there’s a limit to what I can promise you, Aaron. Most importantly, to start with, we could relocate you and make sure you aren’t held on remand in some godawful category B prison for months, while you’re awaiting a trial date. You’d have to agree to an electronic tag, but that’s a hell of a lot better than the alternative. Depending on how helpful you are, with a guaranteed good word from Area Commander Morrison, I’d say you’d then be looking at anything from a suspended sentence and a hefty fine to up to three years, tops. We could also make sure you served any sentence in a low-security prison, where you’d be among other relatively harmless low-risk offenders and not a bunch of psychotic, violent criminals.”

I could promise him that much because I knew that my cousin would make damned sure of it. He hadn’t liked reading about Cory Phelps’ overly harsh punishment and wouldn’t want to see a repeat of it with anyone whose fate he felt partly responsible for. Aaron slumped and sat with his head in his hands for a while, breathing shakily.

“Christ! I really fucked up, didn’t I? But it all seemed so harmless. I mean, I was getting paid legitimately to help make whisky, right? And alcohol kills thousands of Brits every year. Cory Phelps showed me the figures. Less than thirty cannabis-related deaths, most years. What kind of sense does that make? My illegal activity seemed far less harmful than my legal activity.” He looked up at me. “The rest of it never occurred to me. All that stuff you said about organised crime and Cory being tricked into smuggling worse things... I’d never even heard of that Locke guy you mentioned at the airport before today. I thought it was just Cory and Brian, nothing major.”

I nodded understandingly. “They probably tell everyone a similar story, at every distillery they manage to infiltrate. Most people wouldn’t touch it otherwise.”

Every distillery? His eyes widened again as that sank in. How long would it take us, now, to find others like him who might be very eager indeed to jump at our offer? After that, it was all quick and easy. No, Aaron didn’t want to wait for a solicitor. He wanted to tell us everything he could immediately. I looked at Trish, and she stood up.

“Thank you, Inspector Keane. I’ll take it from here. Mr Whitaker, Constable MacLeod will escort you up to our main interview room, and I’ll join you there shortly. Ewan, see if Mr Whitaker would like a tea or coffee before we start, please, and maybe have someone fetch him some lunch?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He led our shaky, dejected culprit away, the poor, dumb idiot.

I got up myself, feeling like a wrung-out rag. I don’t know how Shay kept up that level of physical control for extended periods.

“Great job Conall.” Trish was eyeing me speculatively. “It’s no fun, is it, dealing with the small, unappetising fish we haul in? I’ll get the recording to you immediately, once we’re done, although I doubt he’ll be able to help you with your manhunt much.”

So did I. It didn’t seem likely that Phelps or Jordan would have told him of their plans. He hadn’t even known they’d been responsible for the murder of Damien Price. I was sure of that.

“Thank you, I’d appreciate it.”

She checked her watch. “Quarter to one. Have you two stopped for lunch yet?” Aaron had turned up at the airport well before he needed to check-in. We’d been back here with him before half-past eleven. It felt like much more time had passed since then.

“Next on our list,” I assured her. “You?”

“Oh, you know how it is when you’re working through routine paperwork. I ate at my desk.” We walked out and set off back towards my office. “I doubt I’ll be done with Whitaker before you’re back, Conall. You don’t need to rush it.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” I assured her. I didn’t know many officers who regularly used up their full break allowances, which varied depending on the length of their working days. Still, you soon learned to recognise the signs that told you that you needed to stop, refuel and refresh to keep your efficiency up.

We parted ways at the bottom of the stairs, and I went to detach my cousin from his laptop. I knew he wanted to try a ‘promising’ wrap from the lunch menu he’d looked at in the cafe yesterday morning. It shouldn’t be difficult.

Fifteen

We bumped into constable Annie MacLeod on our way out to get some lunch. She was looking much better rested than she’d appeared the morning before at The Royal Hotel. Her pale complexion even had a fetching rosy flush to it today, as if she’d spent the morning on healthy outdoor activity. She probably had. I gathered that there had been a spate of minor vandalism in the area lately; bored kids with nothing better to do than act like the kind of hoodlum they’d be cursing about themselves when they were older. Some things never changed. Dashing around town, responding to a few outraged calls, would certainly have got her colour up.

“Hi, Annie,” Shay greeted her, ducking his head reflexively. “Did Mrs Price’s mother and sister turn up alright yesterday?”

“They did, Mr Keane,” she assured him, “and they all flew out again early this morning, heading back to Glasgow. I think Mrs Price will be staying with her parents for a while until she’s ready to go back to Oban. She’ll be in good hands there.” She spoke to him very naturally, with no hint of awkwardness, as if she’d forgotten every word of what she’d heard yesterday and didn’t find it at all odd to direct her answer at a wall of hair.

That was rare. Most new people found a way to put their foot wrong with him almost instantly,