Authors: Alan Hunter
‘Ach, you can depend on that. We are all for helping Colin’s lassie. And though I have not met the lad myself, I am told he is a fine young man.’
‘I take it that was not your opinion of Fortuny.’
Robert Mackenzie wriggled his plump shoulders. ‘Now he was my guest, you ken that, and I never speak evil of a guest.’
‘Was it you that called him to the phone on Wednesday?’
‘Aye, but what harm was I to see in that? It was just Jamie wishing to speak with him. Who kent it would turn out the way it did?’
I shrugged. I had other questions to put, but I thought that I would talk to Robertson first. I nodded towards the bar, which we could see empty and unlit.
‘Where’s your custom tonight?’
Robert Mackenzie sighed. ‘It is a wee early for the fishing. But I have some bookings for the weekend.’
‘Don’t you have regulars from the village?’
‘Aye, but this sad affair has affected business.’ He gave me a sly look. ‘You would not think it, but folks are not comfortable with a policeman in the house.’
‘What have they to fear from him?’
‘Ach, just nothing! It is simply the way of folks in Kylie. And yon Robertson has had them here putting down their statements – it has made them uneasy about the place.’ He drank up rather abruptly. ‘You’ll be for having a chat with Robertson, then.’
‘If you’ll tell him that I’m here.’
‘Just step this way, man. You will find him waiting on you in the lounge.’
Sergeant Robertson was a youngish officer. He sat writing in a notebook when we entered. Robert Mackenzie introduced us rather officiously, then retired, closing the door softly. I shook Robertson’s hand. He had worried hazel eyes and a serious, porridgy face. He had been sitting by the hearth, where another peat fire smouldered, and I took the chair opposite his.
‘Inspector Sinclair has briefed you about me?’
‘Yes, sir. He rang this afternoon.’
‘Has there been any progress since then?’
‘No, sir. I cannot exactly say there has.’
‘I’ve talked to Iain Mackenzie.’
‘Yes, sir.’
At once I could feel I had Robertson’s interest.
‘He tells me that he was alone on the trawler when Fortuny was killed.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What do the crew have to say about that?’
Robertson frowned anxiously (I found that this was a habit of his). ‘There is no discrepancy on that point in the statements of the nine crew members, and Robert Mackenzie, his wife and his daughter.’
‘Do you think there has been collusion?’
‘I cannot well say. But there is a wonderful degree of unanimity. If I had to venture an opinion, sir, it would be that they are telling the truth.’
‘Are the statements here?’
‘No, sir. They have all gone back to Dornoch.’
That was a pity. I drew on my dead pipe. ‘Just run through what they say happened.’
Robertson hitched forward to the edge of his chair. ‘They tied up at the quay at two-thirty p.m. They had two cars there, one belonging to James Fairlie and one to Andrew Mackenzie, who is the mate. Iain Mackenzie dismissed them and they drove up here in the cars, five in Andrew Mackenzie’s Hillman Minx and four in James Fairlie’s Ford Cortina. They arrived here at about two-forty p.m., which is vouched for by Robert Mackenzie, his wife and his daughter.’
‘The nine of them.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Robertson ticked them off on his fingers. ‘Andrew Mackenzie, Stephen Mackenzie, Hamish Mackenzie, Alistair Mackenzie, James Fairlie, James Collins, Angus Mackay, Robert Mackay and Walter Ferguson. That is the whole crew as it is shown in the papers of the
Kylie Rose
.’
‘Every man jack of them arrived here.’
‘Yes, sir. The nine of them went into the bar. Each one of them is known to Robert Mackenzie, his wife and his daughter, who were all present.’
‘Setting up the drinks.’
‘You can depend on it, sir.’
‘With some contravention of the licensing laws.’
Robertson looked startled. ‘I would not just say that, sir, in consideration of the crew bodies being cousins or connected. A publican may entertain his kinsfolk whatever the time of day, and if Iain Mackenzie were to pay scot afterwards, the law can have little to say to that.’
‘So drink they did.’
‘Aye, they did. And they were not ever off the premises. They were not as much as out of the bar, except for a small journey up the hall.’
I struck a light for the dead pipe. Robertson watched with his worried frown. I had the feeling that my hint at an infraction of the licensing laws had given him greater alarm than would have any aspersion of his conduct of the case.
‘Do any of these fellows have a record?’
He hitched a little. ‘Not precisely that, sir.’
‘Pub brawls. Violence. Threatening behaviour.’
‘Ach, well. They have appeared now and then on such-like charges.’
‘Some involving knives?’
‘Not involving knives. They are mostly a decent set of laddies. No doubt on pay day they will be for drinking, but you cannot altogether blame them for that.’
‘But they do carry knives.’
‘It may be so, sir.’
‘Were they searched?’
He squirmed uncomfortably. ‘They would surely have got rid of any weapons they were carrying. And we did have our hands on a red-hot suspect.’
I let it go with a nod. In the first moments on the clifftop little attention would have been directed to the fishermen. What had stood out was the belligerent stranger and his apparent involvement with the stranger who was dead. And yet, among those on the rope, or standing by with the other spectators, might have been a man beneath whose jacket nestled damning evidence: an empty sheath.
‘When did Iain Mackenzie show up?’
‘Iain Mackenzie rang from the quay, sir. But first he made a call to us. The message was timed at 16.35 hours.’
‘Then he rang the hotel.’
‘He rang Robert Mackenzie. He asked him to send the men down to the quay. He said there had been an accident at the bend and that a body was lying below on the rocks.’
‘He spoke of an accident.’
‘Yes, sir. We have it in Robert Mackenzie’s statement. It was also the word he used to us. In his own statement he could not recall his precise words.’
‘The men turned out.’
‘They drove down in the cars. They found Iain Mackenzie getting the gear out. They loaded it on the cars and drove back up again. He left Andrew Mackenzie to recover the body.’
‘While he went to his house.’
‘That is so, sir.’
‘Who first decided that it was no accident?’
Robertson went into a frown. ‘I cannot exactly say, sir. There was no talk of accidents when the patrol car got there.’
I puffed. ‘And the men – all nine turned out?’
‘We have it so in their statements.’
‘Nobody thought to check that at the time.’
Robertson looked glum. ‘No, sir.’
I studied his anxious, smooth-cheeked face with its small, slightly staring eyes. He had, I was sure, spent a day of frustration getting statements that offered no hint of progress. If the Mackenzies had something to hide it was beyond the skill of Robertson to uncover it: which didn’t mean that he was entirely insensible to the way the wind was blowing.
‘So what is your thinking about the case?’
He gave me the startled look again. ‘I cannot be sure, sir. There are very strong grounds for bringing a charge against Sambrooke.’
‘You think he is guilty.’
‘I did not say so, sir. I was favourably impressed by the young man. But we have no evidence at all that any other person was up at the rocks at that time.’
‘You think we should trust the statements of the crew.’
‘I have been unable to find a discrepancy.’
‘And the statement of Iain Mackenzie?’
Robertson paused for a cautious moment. ‘There is this about Iain Mackenzie, sir. He was certainly alone when the crime took place. We have to accept his unsupported word for his movements and the finding of the body.’ He paused again. ‘It is not beyond imagining that he could have supplied us with a witness. In a place like Kylie they would think no harm of supporting such a man to the police.’
I nodded sagely. ‘Why do you think he didn’t?’
‘I have been giving the matter some thought. I believe he did not because he was thinking that his unsupported word was safest. We might question it but we could not disprove it, while we might lay traps for a false witness. It was cannier to let it be as it stood, with the crew telling nothing but the truth.’
I let go a couple of puffs. ‘And you are saying further that these are not the calculations of an innocent man.’
His shoulders moved. ‘It was a little strange that he should find the body so promptly. You cannot see into the neuk from the path, you must stray aside almost to the edge. Unless you chanced to know there was something to be looked for, I cannot well see why you should do that.’
‘Are you suggesting that he witnessed the crime?’
‘This is just opinionating, sir. But it would not be strange, to my way of thinking, if he was nearer to the spot than his own wheelhouse. And if you are where you can see the rocks then you are where you can see the parapet, and if you saw Fortuny being whirled over you could not help seeing who was whirling him.’
‘He may have been nearer yet.’
Robertson frowned. ‘I would not wish to go as far as that. I am thinking that Iain Mackenzie has more to tell us, but that is all the facts warrant. And if he kens, and will not speak, it cannot be in Sambrooke’s favour. Though it is a fact that Iain Mackenzie would give up no man that dwells in Kylie.’
I paused. ‘And this is Sinclair’s opinion?’
‘I ken nothing of the inspector’s notions,’ Robertson said hastily.
‘He gave me a distinct impression that he suspected the Mackenzies of being involved.’
‘Aye, well, he may be thinking so.’ Robertson’s blubbery lips quivered. ‘But there is just no evidence of the kind that has come to light, sir, and all I have said is my own opinion.’
I grinned to myself: I could well imagine that Sinclair was not an easy boss to work for. But I thought that I might acquit him of having primed Robertson to foster my suspicion of Iain Mackenzie. Robertson had suspicions enough of his own and they probably went further than he cared to admit. He was alone in Mackenzie country: it was worth his considering how far he should trust me. I made the grin visible.
‘You have no more to tell me.’
Robertson looked relieved. ‘It is all I have, sir.’
I knocked out my pipe in the peat fire. Now I wanted a word with Robert Mackenzie.
I
FOUND HIM
in the hall, as earlier, and at no great distance from the door of the lounge. He sidled forward with a knowing smile and nodded towards the room I had just left.
‘Is he still setting down his notes, or have you given him something fresh to glower about?’
I made my face a blank. ‘I would like to talk to you and your family.’
‘Aye, you’re welcome – come into the private – I would not have you leave without a crack. Ailsie is for inviting you to a bite of something, and Beattie is wild to see a Scotland Yard detective.’
He led me to the top of the hall and pushed open a baize-lined door; we entered a large, well-furnished parlour with windows that overlooked the loch. A handsome, bold-eyed woman rose to greet me, and a girl who flushed when she met my eye. I felt a degree of constraint in their manner that I could not at once account for.
‘Meet the superintendent, my dear – Cousin Colin’s great friend down in London, you ken. Superintendent, this is Ailsie, my wife – and the blushing lass is my daughter, Beattie.’
I shook hands. Ailsie Mackenzie’s grip was firm but her smile was brittle. Beattie Mackenzie had a fluttery handshake which she terminated awkwardly, with a nervous simper. Robert Mackenzie bustled about the room.
‘Sit you down, Superintendent – sit you down. We do not often have the honour of such a man in our own parlour. Jamie tells me that you are a great expert who is certain to get the young man off. That is the heart’s wish of all present, and I can think of no better reason for a dram.’
He went to a cabinet in a recess by the hearth and set up four generous glasses. His wife, meanwhile, had smiled herself out, to return with a tray ready-loaded with snacks. I accepted some cheese and oatcake. Robert Mackenzie handed the drinks. There followed a curious, uneasy silence while we nibbled and sipped a little. Then Robert Mackenzie led off.
‘Aye – aye – it is a sorry business. You have seen what it has done to our trade, Superintendent. The sooner it is cleared up the better for everyone.’
‘And that is the truth,’ Ailsie Mackenzie ventured. ‘It has upset everyone here in Kylie. This is a decent and quiet sort of place, Superintendent. We are not used to such wild goings-on.’
Beattie Mackenzie said nothing at all: she sat twirling her glass and avoiding my eye.
I put my first question. ‘When did Fortuny arrive?’
‘Ach, it was Sunday teatime,’ Robert Mackenzie replied eagerly. ‘He drove up here when I was down at the moorings and requested a room for a few days.’
‘I booked him in,’ Ailsie Mackenzie said. ‘Though had I known his business I would have seen him further. But he was a smooth, well-favoured man, and I kent no harm in giving him a room.’
‘He made a favourable impression.’
‘I would not say that. But he had a polite, go-easy way with him. I put him down for a professional man, though I could not say exactly what.’
I turned to Beattie Mackenzie. ‘What did you think of him?’
She coloured and stared at me helplessly.
‘Ach, you may as well know,’ Robert Mackenzie said quickly. ‘He just about turned Beattie’s head completely.’
‘That is not true, father!’
‘Did he not make a pass at you – aye, and between pushing his luck with Miss Anne?’
‘Anne wasn’t going to have him.’
‘And what does that prove, but that she has twice the sense that you have?’
Beattie Mackenzie snatched her head angrily. The glass was trembling in her hands. She had dark hair with ringlets and pretty, rounded features and also, I imagined, a passionate temper. But she was silent.