Fin tried to picture what he might have been trying to reach. And then suddenly it came to him, and everything dropped into place, like the counters on a slot machine. He was certain then he knew who had killed Whistler. But he was still struggling with the why.
He recovered his mobile phone from his pocket and found the number he was looking for in its memory.
He heard Gunn’s voice when he answered after the third ring.
‘George?’
Gunn sighed. ‘No more favours, Mr Macleod.’
‘No favours, George. But I need you to come down to Uig, and I think I can show you who killed Whistler.’
There was a long silence. ‘Why can’t you just tell me?’
‘Because I need to be sure first. And I need you to bring something with you.’
‘What?’
‘The crime scene pics of the body. Just the wide shots.’
He heard Gunn’s sharp intake of breath. ‘You must be joking, Mr Macleod!’
‘I know you can access them George. Even if just to take photocopies.’
‘You’re going to get me drummed out of the force.’
Fin couldn’t resist a smile. ‘Thanks, George.’ He hesitated. ‘And there’s just one other thing.’ Gunn’s exasperation exploded in his ear.
II
Fin left the claustrophobia of the blackhouse to find a place to sit on the hill, looking down over the beach, while he waited for Gunn. It could be a good hour and a half.
He had lost count of the number of times he and Whistler had sat together on the hill below the house, just talking. Sometimes for hours. There had never been a shortage of words between them, but their silences had been comfortable, too.
He saw a figure drowned in red and blue waterproofs two sizes too big, climbing up the track towards him. Only a small corner of the tattoo on her neck was visible beneath the big blue collar and the hood that piled up against the back of her head. She wore wellies below the leggings, and what looked like a wetsuit beneath the waterproofs. All the studs and earrings were gone, and her face was oddly naked without them. Her eyes were shadowed, her pale face drawn and devoid of make-up.
She stopped and looked down at him where he sat. ‘I was on the beach and saw you drive up to the house.’ She saw how his quizzical eyes took in her waterproofs and she almost smiled. ‘I promised ages ago I’d help out with the boat rides. Wasn’t going to do it at first, but then I thought it might take my mind off things.’ She shrugged and stared out gloomily across the distant beach. ‘But all those people having a good time. .’ She turned a sad smile back on him. ‘Just makes you feel worse somehow.’ She hesitated. ‘Okay if I sit down beside you?’
‘Sure.’
And it felt strange for Whistler’s little girl to be sitting next to him where Whistler had once sat.
‘Why are you here?’ she said.
Fin avoided meeting her eyes and rested his forearms on his knees to look over them beyond the beach, to where the tide was still on its way out and shallow white breakers burst in long, uneven lines over wet golden sand. ‘I wanted to take a look for myself at where your dad was killed. I don’t remember much about it. Someone just about cracked my skull moments after I found him.’
‘Why? I mean, what did you think you were going to see?’
‘I was a cop for a lot of years, Anna. I thought maybe, I don’t know, that I might see something that the rest had missed.’
‘And did you?’
He paused for just a split second before shaking his head. ‘No.’ Then he turned to look at her, and was shocked again by how much of her father there was in her eyes. He was momentarily discomposed, and she stared back at him candidly, searching for something in his. ‘Who gave permission to use the chessmen?’ he said.
‘I did. Jamie Wooldridge said they were needed for the gala day.’
And Fin remembered how Jamie had denied knowing anything about them.
‘He said there had been some confusion about whether or not his father had commissioned them. But that had all been cleared up, and he apologized for not paying for them before now. Told me he would pay me after the gala.’ She turned away to look seaward, her jaw setting in the same stubborn way Fin had so often seen in her dad. ‘But I don’t want his money. I want the chessmen. I want to keep them.’ She fought to control her voice. ‘My dad made them. That makes them mine now, doesn’t it?’ She turned her father’s fiery eyes on him.
Fin nodded. ‘It does.’
‘Everything about them. Every curve and line and chiselled feature was made by my dad. They came from his heart and his hand, and if there’s anything of him left in this world it’s in those chessmen.’
Fin was startled by her unexpected eloquence, the depth of her feelings and her ability to express them. This after all was the girl who no more than a week ago had reluctantly confessed,
‘I want to keep them for ever,’ she said. ‘And that way I’ll always have a part of him with me.’
Fin reached out to touch her face. ‘You’re the biggest and best part of him there is, Anna. Make him proud of that.’
Her eyes filled up and she got quickly to her feet. ‘I’d better go. They’ll be needing me down there. With this weather there’s bound to be a big demand for the boat rides.’
Even as she spoke, a helicopter swooped up over the dunes and flew low overhead. ‘Helicopter rides, too,’ Fin shouted about the roar of its rotors. He stood up, and she hesitated a moment.
‘Can I talk to you sometimes, Mr Macleod? I don’t want to be a nuisance or anything. But it seems like you knew him better than anyone. I’d like to get to know him a little better myself.’
‘I’d like that,’ Fin said. And he had a sudden urge to hold her, as if in holding her he could be close to Whistler one last time. But he didn’t.
She smiled wanly. ‘Thanks.’ And she hurried off down the track towards the beach.
III
Detective Sergeant George Gunn parked his car at the foot of the track that led to Whistler’s blackhouse. He looked up and saw Fin sitting among the tall grasses, knees pulled up below his chin, a soft westerly blowing through his hair. The sound of distant bagpipes floated up from the beach on the wind. He began a weary trek up the hill.
Fin watched him all the way, and heard the swish, swish of his black nylon anorak before he heard his breath coming hard and fast from the effort of the climb. He had a green folder tucked under one arm, and he stopped and glowered down at Fin. Fin noticed the shine on his shoes, and the crease in his trousers. An extra-generous application of oil was helping keep his black hair in place despite the wind.
‘You’ve gone way above and beyond the call of friendship this time, Mr Macleod. I’ve had to go delving into an inquiry I’m not a part of to get the things you wanted. It has been noticed and questions are being asked.’
