McCleod nodded and signalled to Hanlon to stand up. They left the room together and stood in the hallway of the hotel.
Hanlon looked at McCleod, appraising her in her new role as police rather than as kindly citizen giving her a lift.
She was wearing a white blouse, black jacket and matching skirt. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and she was wearing very little make-up. Although she was smartly dressed her face was thin, waif-like, half starved. She did look as if she had stepped out of a poster highlighting poverty or drug addiction. It was surprisingly easy to imagine McCleod slumped in a doorway or standing on an ill-lit street corner bending down to peer into car windows. She looked at Hanlon.
‘So, we meet again.’ She smiled warmly; it transformed her face.
Hanlon nodded.
‘Coffee?’ McCleod suggested.
Hanlon nodded again and they went into the bar. Kai was stacking the depleted shelves. She studied him speculatively. He had gelled his short blond hair this morning and a gold earring gleamed in the sun. He looked tired but perfectly at peace with the world. If Franca had been murdered, and it was a big if, he certainly didn’t look over-burdened with guilt. What am I doing? she thought. McCleod was oblivious of the fact that Kai had starred in a home-made porno with one drowned girl and had had sexual relations, done drugs and had a fight with a second drowned girl. What am I going to do with this information that I’m holding back?
‘Can we have a couple of coffees?’ McCleod asked.
He smiled at her; he had a certain easy charm. ‘Surely can… you’ll have tae gi’me a few minutes. I need tae switch things on.’ His harsh Glaswegian accent an unlovely contrast to McCleod’s soft tones.
Kai busied himself behind the bar and McCleod and Hanlon sat in a bay by the window looking out at the sea.
‘What’s the story with the boat?’ Hanlon asked.
‘It’s owned by a couple of businessmen, the Hart brothers…’ Baldy and comb-over, thought Hanlon ‘…who have got a portfolio of hotels in England and are up here looking to buy into Scotland. The market’s depressed, prices are low, they reckon it’s a good time to invest.’ McCleod yawned. ‘Sorry, I went to bed late last night. Anyway, they were interested in buying the Mackinnon Arms.’
‘So Big Jim’s got it on the market?’
‘I believe so, or he’s certainly open to offers.’ She looked around. The bar, so welcoming in the evening, looked decidedly tatty in the cold light of day.
‘And the girls? The three of them with the Hart brothers. What’s the story there?’
McCleod grimaced.
‘They told me that they had recruited the girls as sex workers from mylittlearmcandy.com. It’s a Glasgow-based company which provides, “female companionship” for the lonely, but they don’t seem to be hiring locally, for which I’m profoundly grateful.’
‘Sex workers?’ said Hanlon.
‘Well, technically “escorts” and “personal masseurs”. However, I think we all know the score. But it’s all legit. The girls are EU citizens, they’re not underage, they’re not being coerced. I can’t say I envy them their jobs.’
They both looked at each other and simultaneously pulled faces.
‘It’s not a murder inquiry, so they’re free to go.’
Hanlon looked out of the window. The sea was calm now; the yacht, the Lorelei, had indeed gone. It was hard to believe that a girl had died out there.
‘What’s your feeling on this death?’ Hanlon asked, ‘It seems a bit strange, two women dying in the sea from one hotel, in such a short time frame.’
McCleod made a kind of equivocal gesture with her hands.
‘Well, I asked myself that question. I checked the figures. On average fifty people die each year in Scotland from drowning. In Tarbert…’ she nodded ‘… over there in Argyll, six people drowned in a couple of boat accidents in a relatively short time frame. That’s in a small village. You know, shit happens, the sea is dangerous. It looks as if Franca Gebauer might have just fallen off the jetty while out of it. Just another statistic. I don’t know. We’ll wait for the post-mortem results. As for Eva, I can’t comment officially but a friend of mine says drugs and alcohol were present, but who knows…?’
McCleod looked around the bar. ‘Perhaps the hotel is cursed.’
Hanlon snorted. ‘You don’t really believe that, surely!’
McCleod shrugged; her tone was serious. ‘I suppose I mean unlucky. Nothing good has ever happened here since the place was built – that guy killing himself, it’s never been successfully run. I’ve met unlucky people, why not a building?’
She stopped talking as Kai brought them their coffees. Hanlon noticed a strip of sticking plaster covering the first two knuckles of his right hand.
‘Been in the wars, Kai?’
The bar manager gave Hanlon a strained smile.
‘I grazed it in the cellar, moving a beer barrel. Now,’ he said briskly, signifying that the conversational topic was closed, ‘can I get you anything else?’
‘No, thank you,’ said McCleod. They both looked at Kai thoughtfully as he returned to the bar. I wonder what he would say if I told him he had a really shit tattoo on his ass, thought Hanlon.
‘Do you mind if I fetch Weems?’ McCleod asked.
Hanlon looked at her, puzzled. Was this some sort of Scottish expression? Fetching Weems? McCleod noticed her confusion, threw back her head and laughed. It transformed her face, vivacious, fun-loving, and as her shoulders moved back, straining her blouse, Hanlon suddenly noticed what a great figure she had. She might have a starved-looking face, her body certainly wasn’t.
‘My dog,’ she explained. ‘He’s called Wemyss. He’s a rescue – he was found in Wemyss castle, in the grounds. That’s in Fife. But he gets separation anxiety.’
‘By all means,’ said Hanlon. McCleod went and spoke to the bar manager.
‘Aye, provided the dog does nae bite.’
‘He does nae bite, he’s nae stupit,’ said McCleod, mimicking Kai’s heavy accent. She turned
