HUBRIS Page 4

  ‘You know your stuff,’ said Duncan, ‘I’ll give you that. So, you’ve got a choice, pal. You could try being a bit more co-operative, or if you prefer, we can do it your way and arrest you now.’

  ‘No, no. You’re alright,’ said Jack. ‘Ignore him. He just gets nervous around the police, that’s all.’

  ‘And why’s that?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Jack. ‘Maybe it’s a fear of authority.’

  ‘Or maybe it’s guilt,’ said West. ‘So, back to these fishing trips of yours, do you always hire McClusky’s boat, the Thistledonia?’

  ‘Aye, but not now. Not anymore. We’ve had it with him.’

  ‘How so?’ said Duncan. ‘Have you two fallen out?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking, aye. The whole trip was a waste of time.’

  ‘And why’s that?’ said West. ‘Was that down to the weather, or because you didn’t catch anything?’

  Jack glanced at his brother and hesitated before answering.

  ‘It’s because he left us high and dry.’

  ‘McClusky?’

  ‘The skipper.’

  ‘The skipper? I though you two went out on your own?’

  Jack’s eyes flicked from West to Henry, and back again.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ he said. ‘We’re not sailors. We do the fishing, someone else pilots the boat.’

  Duncan, amused by his inability to deliver a convincing off the cuff version of events without a degree of reassurance from his brother, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, stared at Jack, and smiled.

  ‘See here, pal,’ he said, ‘I’m not being funny, but if you can’t answer a question without consulting your brother first, then you and I are going to have to have a wee chat someplace else. Are you with me? So, what’s all this about the skipper?’

  ‘He was a pain in the arse,’ said Jack. ‘Not lazy, just foreign. We couldn’t understand a word he said. Not that he said much, anyway.’

  ‘Foreign? Where foreign?’

  ‘No idea. Sweden, I think. Or Norway.’

  ‘And does he have a name?’

  ‘Probably,’ said Jack, ‘but he never told us. We just called him Erik.’

  ‘Erik?’

  ‘Aye, like, Erik the Viking.’

  ‘And what did he look like?’ said West. ‘This Erik geezer.’

  Jack held a hand to his shoulders and pursed his lips.

  ‘About so high,’ he said. ‘Dark hair. Beard.’

  ‘So, what happened?’

  ‘We were on the return leg…’

  ‘From where?’

  Cringing at Jack’s blank expression and the ensuing silence, Henry stepped forward and began coiling the hose.

  ‘Harris,’ he said, avoiding eye contact. ‘We’d got as far as Harris before turning back.’

  ‘Okay, go on.’

  ‘We’d been going two days and we’d got as far as Arran. It was too late to make it back to Kirkcudbright, so we stopped in Troon for the night.’

  ‘Where did you stay?’ said Duncan. ‘Not on the boat, obviously?’

  ‘No, no. The Anchorage Hotel. Twin room.’

  ‘Can you prove that?’

  ‘Aye, we’ve got a receipt and we paid by credit card. You can call them if you like.’

  ‘And the skipper?’

  ‘He took a single, I think,’ said Jack. ‘Although, I can’t actually remember seeing him check in.’

  ‘That’s handy,’ said West. ‘So, you stopped the night and then what? Set off in the morning?’

  ‘Aye. But not on the boat. It was gone.’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘Aye! Gone! Just gone! He took off without us.’

  ‘So, did you call McClusky?’ said West. ‘Did you explain what had happened?’

  ‘I did,’ said Jack. ‘I called him right away but he didn’t seem that fussed. He just said to get ourselves home and he’d give us our money back as soon as we saw him.’

  ‘And when was that?’

  ‘Are you joking me? We’re not long back ourselves. We’ll not get down to Kirkcudbright until tomorrow at least.’

  ‘That must have been a pig of a journey,’ said West. ‘I mean, apart from the disappointment, having to lug all your gear around. What do you call it? Tackle?’

  ‘We didn’t have–’

  ‘What he means,’ said Henry, butting in, ‘is that we didn’t have it with us. It was all on the boat.’

  ‘Well, I hope it’s insured,’ said Duncan, ‘a decent fishing rod’s not cheap, is it? Still, at least it means you could sit back and enjoy the train ride, right?’

  ‘Aye, it wasn’t too bad,’ said Jack, ‘all things considered. Only an hour or so.’

  ‘From Troon?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘To where?’

  ‘Lockerbie. That’s the nearest stop to here. Then it’s a bus.’

  Duncan glanced at West, took a step sideways, and peered past the brothers at the rear of the car.

  ‘That’ll need a jet-wash,’ he said, nodding at the tow-bar caked with dirt. ‘Your rear end’s bogging.’

  ‘We’ve not got a jet-wash,’ said Jack. ‘Just plenty of elbow grease.’

  ‘We’ll leave you to it, then,’ said West. ‘Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you. We’ll be in touch.’

  * * *

  Believing Jack and Henry Boyd’s alibi to be about as watertight as a colander, Duncan sat with his head buried in his phone while West, determined to sample some of Moffat’s finest offerings, disappeared down the street only to return a few minutes later with an ice cream cone in one hand and a bag of toffee in the other.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she said as she slipped behind the wheel.

  ‘You drive,’ said Duncan. ‘I’m busy.’

  ‘Nice one. So, what do you think? Not the sharpest tools in the shed, are they?’

  ‘Jack and Henry? Oh, they’re sharper than you think, miss, just not that clued up on public transport.’

  ‘Elaborate,’ said West as she polished off the ice cream.

  ‘I’ve been doing some checking. If you want to get from Troon to Lockerbie in an hour or so, you’ll be needing an ambulance.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The average journey time is two and a half hours,’ said Duncan, ‘and there’s no direct service. You have to change at Glasgow Central and maybe again at Carlisle.’

  ‘So, someone’s been telling porkies.’

  ‘Aye, and there’s something else,’ said Duncan. ‘Mud. That 4x4’s covered in clumps of sticky mud.’

  ‘Ah, now I’m ahead of you there,’ said West. ‘The mud was wet, which means only one thing. They had that motor out this morning.’

  ‘Aye, but they said they’d only just got back. What do you think? Will we bring them in?’

  West, in an uncharacteristic show of patience, thought for a moment and unwrapped a toffee.

  ‘No, not yet,’ she said as she fired up the Audi. ‘I don’t want to jump the gun. Give Dougal a shout, tell him we need a background check on those two johnnies just as soon as he can do it.’

  ‘Roger that,’ said Duncan.

  ‘And I want him to check CCTV from Troon and Lockerbie, let’s see if we can pick them up either coming or going. We’ll nip back to their gaff later, get their prints, and invite them in for a Q&A session.’

  ‘Okey-dokey. So, what now?’

  ‘Let’s shoot back to Kirkcudbright. I want to have another word with McClusky about the skipper.’

  ‘You and me both,’ said Duncan, wincing as the Audi fishtailed across the street, ‘but if you don’t slow down, we may not get the chance.’

  * * *

  Aware of his burgeoning reputation as a surly maverick influenced in no small way by the shenanigans of Frank Serpico and a young DI Munro, Duncan, whilst not averse to over-stepping the mark, was careful just to bend the rules whereas West, as a result of her dogged impetuosity, had a habit of unwittingly snappi
ng them in two.

  Speeding past the harbour, she careered along Bridge Street, bumped the kerb, and stopped on a double yellow opposite the betting shop, unaware that she’d violated three traffic regulations in the space of fifteen seconds.

  ‘Not being funny, miss,’ he said, ‘but apart from a burning desire to land yourself a ticket, is there a reason why we’re stopping here?’

  ‘Is your memory going?’ said West. ‘McClusky! He said he was going to put a bet on.’

  ‘Aye! But that was ages ago!’

  ‘Listen, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from all the losers I’ve had the misfortune to waste my life with, it’s that no-one walks into a bookies and walks straight out again. They sit there waiting for the one win that’s going to turn their lives around.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll nip in there myself,’ said Duncan. ‘I might get lucky. No offence, but would it not be easier just to call the fella and find out where he is?’

  West turned to Duncan and smiled as she wound down the window.

  ‘Oi!’ she said, yelling across the street. ‘Any luck?’

  McClusky stopped in his tracks, nodded, and wandered over.

  ‘With what?’ he said.

  ‘The three-thirty?’

  ‘Those horses came in a couple of hours ago, Inspector. Unfortunately, mine’s still running.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said West. ‘Hop in, we need a word.’

  ‘Is it about my boat?’ said McClusky as he squeezed his ample frame into the back seat. ‘Have you come to tell me I can have it back?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Duncan, ‘like we said before, you’ll not be seeing that for a while, yet.’

  ‘Well, what is it, then?’

  ‘The lads who rented your boat; Jack and Henry.’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘Have you spoken to them recently?’

  ‘Not recently,’ said McClusky, ‘but I did last night.’

  ‘You didn’t mention it earlier,’ said West. ‘Why not?’

  ‘You didn’t ask.’

  ‘Well, I am now. Would you mind telling us what it was about?’

  ‘A spot of bother with the Thistledonia. Apparently.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The fuel pump,’ said McClusky. ‘They said the fuel pump was clogged and they’d had to stop for repairs.’

  ‘Do you know where they were?’

  ‘Troon. So they said.’

  ‘And was that it?’ said West. ‘Did they mention anything else?’

  ‘No. They said they were stopping overnight and they’d be on their way just as soon as it was fixed, but I’ve not heard from them since.’

  ‘Your boat,’ said Duncan, ‘does it have a habit of breaking down?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said McClusky. ‘She’s in first class condition, normally runs as smooth as anything.’

  ‘So, this must have come as a bit of surprise, then?’

  ‘Aye, but these things happen, so it’s not worth fretting over.’

  ‘Maybe that’s why the boat beached,’ said Duncan. ‘Maybe they didn’t get it fixed after all.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that,’ said McClusky. ‘If the fuel pump was faulty, she’d not have any power. They’d be at the mercy of the tide.’

  ‘Have you any idea what it might have been, then?’ said West. ‘If it wasn’t the fuel pump?’

  ‘I’m not a psychic, Inspector. Once I get it back, I’ll have the mechanic give her the once over. He’ll soon find out what the problem was.’

  ‘Okay, just one more thing, Mr McClusky,’ said Duncan. ‘We need another name.’

  ‘You’ve lost me,’ said McClusky. ‘I’ve already told you, the fellas who took the boat out were Jack and Henry Boyd.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, we’ve got that,’ said West. ‘They took it out as paying guests but what we need is the name of the bloke who went with them. The name of the skipper.’

  McClusky cocked his head and frowned.

  ‘Skipper?’ he said. ‘There was no skipper, Inspector. Just the lads, and not a skipper in sight.’

  Chapter 6

  With the risk of a relapse hanging over his head, a stoical and fiercely independent Munro, whilst refusing to share his anxieties about convalescing alone, had, under duress, begrudgingly accepted to remain as a house guest under the watchful eye of Charlie West until he was back on his feet, the upside for West being the convivial company of a boarder with a penchant for washing dishes whilst the downside was a self-imposed abstention from cooking anything herby, spicy, or pungent, lest it send his blood pressure crashing through the roof.

  With Munro back in his own home, West – no longer constrained by the state of his health nor for that matter his uneducated palate – demolished a large slice of pan-fried garlic steak smothered with onions and, saddened by the lack of a whimsical aside regarding the apartment smelling like a Transylvanian tavern after sundown, poured herself a large glass of red, picked up the phone, and dialled.

  ‘Blimey,’ she said, ‘you took your time. I didn’t wake you, did I?’

  ‘I may be getting on, Charlie, but I’m not in the habit of falling asleep in front of the telly with soup dribbling down my chin. Not just yet, anyway.’

  ‘Give it time,’ said West. ‘So, come on then, what’s going on?’

  ‘Not enough to spark a fire,’ said Munro. ‘Walking, eating, sleeping. That appears to be my routine just now.’

  ‘Good, you need to take it easy. And how’s Murdo?’

  ‘The wee mutt’s beside me on the sofa.’

  ‘Begging for food, no doubt?’

  ‘Aye, but unlike yourself, Charlie, he’ll not be getting any, not until I’ve finished watching the local news.’

  ‘I don’t know why you bother,’ said West, ‘it’s all doom and gloom.’

  ‘You know me, lassie. I’m not happy unless I’m being miserable.’

  ‘What is it this time? A broken-down tractor on the B14762 or was someone short-changed in the pub?’

  ‘I’ll not know unless I watch it.’

  ‘Well, pardon me for interrupting,’ said West. ‘We were down your way earlier. I was going to drop in but you know how it is, time just flew by.’

  ‘Just a minute,’ said Munro, ‘what do you mean you were down my way? Dumfries and Galloway is not in your jurisdiction.’

  ‘I know, but we had a fishing boat wash up near Girvan and the owner lives in Kirkcudbright.’

  Irritated by West’s reluctance to divulge any detail, Munro paused for a large sip of Balvenie.

  ‘Let’s have it,’ he said, sternly. ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Och, I’m not stupid, lassie. If it was just a wee boat on the beach then uniform could have handled it. What’s the story?’

  ‘Well, as you ask, we found something in the hold and we think it’s Scandinavian.’

  ‘You’re not talking flat-pack furniture, are you?’

  ‘Nope, and it wasn’t fish either, although come to think of it, the poor bugger had been filleted. The funny thing is, there was no-one else on the boat.’

  ‘I see. And this boat, was it damaged in any way? A hole in the hull, perhaps?’

  ‘Not that we could see.’

  ‘And the weather?’

  ‘A bit breezy, but even I’ve been out in worse.’

  ‘And the emergency beacon, had it been activated?’

  ‘What beacon?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Charlie! Were there not any spent flares on deck? Or any flags flying?’

  ‘Flags? Give me a break, Jimbo! For Christ’s sake, I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about! Who do you think I am? Ellen bleeding MacArthur?’

  ‘It sounds to me as if–’

  ‘Now hold on,’ said West, ‘don’t you go getting any ideas about packing a bag and heading up here, you need to relax!’

  ‘I was about to say, it sounds to me as if you need to contact the MAIB.’
>
  ‘Oh. We have. I’ll get their findings in the morning.’

  ‘And is that as far as you’ve got?’

  ‘Give me some credit,’ said West. ‘We’ve already met the two geezers who chartered the boat, and we’ve got their prints, so we’re ahead of the game.’

  ‘Forgive me, Charlie,’ said Munro, ‘but how did you manage that? Have you arrested them?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Then how did you get their prints?’

  ‘Mobile scanner,’ said West. ‘This is the twenty-first century, Jimbo. You should get one, they’re all the rage.’

  ‘Och, I’m not one for progress, lassie. Give me an ink pad and a sheet of paper any day.’

  ‘They’re attending voluntarily tomorrow.’

  ‘And you’re sure they’ll arrive?’

  ‘Well, if they don’t,’ said West, ‘then I will nick them.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘Suspicion of murder, of course. Frankly, Jimbo, their story’s like a lump of Swiss cheese, besides, they were the last two people known to be on the boat.’

  ‘Are you not hedging your bets, Charlie? If you’ve nothing to place them at the scene, then it sounds to me as if you’re going out on a limb, here.’

  ‘Maybe, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take. The bottom line is, if I do arrest them, and they’re not guilty, we let them go, no harm done. Duncan’s going to question them tomorrow, and while he’s doing that, SOCOs will be giving their place the once over.’

  ‘Perhaps age is playing tricks with my cognitive ability,’ said Munro, ‘but am I missing something here? If they were on the boat, why is their house of such interest?’

  ‘Simple,’ said West. ‘They said they travelled from Troon to Lockerbie by train but when we met them, they were washing down a 4x4, and they were in a bit of hurry.’

  ‘And that’s important, why?’

  ‘Because if they’d been at sea for nearly two weeks, and then taken the train home, the motor wouldn’t have been covered in wet mud.’

  ‘Very good, Charlie. I’m impressed. And what of the owner? Have you found the gentleman who actually owns this boat?’

  ‘Yeah, that was the easy part. Nice bloke, personable enough. He’s about the same age as you, a bit younger maybe. Name of McClusky.’

  Munro reached for the remote, turned off the television, and took another sip of whisky.