Free Whisky From Small Glasses by Denzil Meyrick Page A

He had learned to beware of his wife’s idea of ‘hot news’, so he listened with no little trepidation. ‘Mark has had a brainwave.’
    Oh no.
    ‘His company has just bought a helicopter, and he has the use of it if they’re not ferrying clients about. Apparently there’s a gorgeous golf course down there. So, to cut a long story short, I’m coming to visit you in Mark’s chopper, while he plays boring old golf.’
    ‘Mark’s chopper’ had elicited a guffaw in the background. ‘Well, it’ll be nice to see you. I’ve got a lot on though . . .’
    ‘Never mind that, darling. I’m sure we’ll find some time . . .’ There was an exaggerated ‘oooh’ from those listening in. ‘Anyway, got to dash. We’ll be down at about lunchtime tomorrow. Bye, love.’ With that, the sound of nothing from his mobile, which he was well used to.
    Daley felt as though he was being watched, and turned to look down the pier. Standing apart from a group of fishermen, Hamish was staring straight at him. The old man nodded his head and gave Daley a stage wink.

 
    6
    Daley was silent as he and Fraser walked back up Main Street. That this investigation was puzzling, there was no doubt. He was also well outside his comfort zone in terms of the location of the case, which surprised him; he had not considered just how different an investigation could be this far away from Glasgow.
    His mind turned to his wayward wife. Why was she coming all the way from Granton to Kinloch? He felt sure that all this had been Mark’s suggestion. What better than spending a weekend winding up the man he saw as a worthless civil servant, a poorly paid lackey barely worth his consideration? He was grim-faced as he caught sight of his paunch reflected in a shop window and involuntarily pulled his stomach in.
    ‘Any ideas, sir?’ Fraser was looking as bemused as Daley felt.
    ‘No. Well, yes and no really. My theory is that our victim was murdered elsewhere, then, for whatever reason, her body was taken to the bay and dumped. Either that, or we are dealing with a truly remarkable suicide.’ He smiled wanly at Fraser to indicate that, yes, he was joking.
    Inspector MacLeod was getting into a car as they walked to the rear door of the office. On seeing Daley and Fraser, heducked back out of the car and stood at the open door, his hand resting on the frame. ‘Your man has been on from the Glasgow mortuary. You’ve to phone him as soon as possible.’ With that, he got into the car, started the engine and pulled off, taking care not to look at the two CID officers as he passed.
    ‘I take it that’s your boss being civil? Well, he can stick his attitude up his arse.’ Daley waited as Fraser punched in the security code to the entry system. He was tired and hungry, and he sincerely hoped that Crichton had not uncovered yet more mystifying post-mortem data.
    He settled in his glass box, picked up his phone and pressed 2# to enter his voicemail – at least this method was standard all over the force. He heard Crichton’s familiar tones, hung up, then dialled the pathologist’s direct number. It was six thirty, but Daley knew that when Crichton was working on a case, he might as well throw his watch away. He was dedicated above and beyond the call of duty.
    Daley was just about to hang up, when a breathless Crichton answered. ‘Dear God, I swear they’re making that corridor longer. Give me a couple of seconds, Jim.’ Daley heard the clunk of the phone being put down on Crichton’s desk, then the rustling of papers mixed with the sighs and breathless oaths of the pathologist. ‘Now, Jim, here we are . . . Your victim from lovely Kinloch, she had sex with two different men prior to her death.’
    ‘Aye, you said as much last night, Andrew. I thought you had something new. Probably just as well you haven’t, this investigation’s going to be a bastard as it is. Do you have a DNA profile of the two semen samples?’
    ‘Three semen samples,