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

that for myself. Our moving dot was on a stubby little motor cruiser travelling at about twenty knots.

At that rate, it would take another hour and a half to reach Ullapool, if that was where it was heading. I pulled up my access to the Port authority information on the other half of the screen and checked recent departures. Only one looked like a match for our boat. ‘Jeanie’ was a little weekend cruiser, less than ten metres from bow to stern, nothing like Herre Nielsen’s fancy yacht.

I opened up a new date check for her alone. She’d paid mooring fees in Stornoway during the weeks of all six of the collection dates we’d got from Whitaker. The owner was listed as Mr William Butler, which didn’t ring any bells. He definitely hadn’t been on my list.

I disconnected Whitaker’s phone and turned it off again. My laptop had full, covert access to the hub now, so the phone could just go back into its bag, and I could take the nasty, clammy latex gloves off. Powdered or not, those things always made my skin feel like it was damp, and they were no fun to type in. Once I’d put my laptop away, Conall pulled us out, and we headed back to the station.

“How long before you think you can give me enough information on that boat to justify a search warrant?” he wanted to know.

“It shouldn’t take long.” I wondered if that was Mr Butler’s phone we’d discovered because it seemed likely that Phelps and Jordan were still keeping all their devices turned off. Neither of them was responding to any of their incoming messages. Besides, they might not even be on that boat. If it was Butler’s phone, I could get a lot of information on him straight from Locke’s hub.

“I’m just going to make myself a tea before I get started,” I told Conall once he’d let us back into our office and I’d got my jacket off.

“I’ll get that for you. You just get cracking.” Yeah, it would probably be better if he cleared off for a few minutes and left me to it. Con was fizzing with impatient excitement by then, and he’d only distract me by fidgeting around, anyway. I fished around in my pack and chose a nice fruity matcha blend to toss to him.

It must have taken ages for the kettle to boil because, by the time he came back, I was already almost finished with compiling a short information sheet for him to present to Trish Morrison. William Butler was employed by Malcolm Locke’s brother-in-law, Iain Shaw. Iain had been on my list, but I hadn’t got around to expanding it to include his employees yet. There were also plenty of messages, back and forth, between Iain Shaw and Cory Phelps, but Trish wouldn’t be able to use those to convince a magistrate to sign the warrant. I couldn’t include the boat’s movements either, for the same reason. They’d want to know how we’d got that information.

Conall put my tea down by me. It didn’t look ready yet, but he’d left the teabag in, so that was alright. He tucked his refilled thermos away before pulling his chair nearer so he could read as I worked.

“Locke sold Butler the boat for thirty grand? That seems low. How much is it worth?”

“At least eighty, even now. More when he bought it. That’s pretty suspicious, right?”

“It certainly is, but we can’t mention that yet either. It doesn’t matter. You've got us our link between Jeanie and Locke’s organisation. I’ll get Trish to call the Port Authority and get Jeanie’s arrival and departure dates directly from them, that should be quick. I can add the reports of the North East Division's investigations into Locke, as well as Cory Phelps’ employment record with Locke Imports and his prior conviction for smuggling. Along with Whitaker’s confession, implicating Phelps, I’d say that’s more than enough connections to get a warrant on.” He slapped me on the back instead of saying anything because he knew it would only make me uncomfortable if he did.

I bounced the sheet over to him, and he composed and sent his email to Trish before rushing out again. I was just fishing my teabag out when Ewan tapped on the door.

“Hi, Mr Keane. The Inspector asked me to bring you this.” He deposited a little white bakery box, a small plate and a fork on the desk. “He seemed awfully pleased about something when I bumped into him a while ago. I hope that means the investigation is going well.” He didn’t quite make it a question.

“We might have caught a break, but we’ll just have to wait and see.” I frowned at the box. “Thanks for obliging him, Ewan, but he shouldn’t have asked you to do that. You’re not an errand boy.”

“Oh no, it wasn’t like that, Mr Keane. I was on my way out to fetch everyone’s afternoon orders anyway, so I asked if I could get him anything when I saw him waiting for the kettle.” Well, that was alright then. Ewan tipped me a little nod and a smile and went off again, closing the door behind him.

My generous serving of apple pie, when I lifted it out, was still warm, and there was even a little tub of cream in the box too. I felt ever so appreciated as I sampled a first melting mouthful. I knew perfectly well how highly Con thought of the work I did, but if he wanted to say it with pie today, that was fine by me.

Seventeen

I stood by Trish’s window, staring out across the sun-sparkled water below while she talked to the harbour master. From her side of the conversation, I gathered that she and ‘Arnold’ were old friends. In a place this size, Trish was probably familiar with far more people than I’d ever been anywhere I’d worked. That could be very useful, professionally, but I wasn’t too