‘Joe? Yes. He runs the carnival. He comes here every year. He’s a big Irishman with a big temper. He likes a drink, naturally.’
‘You know where we can get hold of him?’
‘I’m not sure, but he’s always around. He runs a tight ship. Nobody messes with Joe. Has he done anything wrong?’
‘That’s what we want to establish. He was seen arguing in the pub with Clive Wolf recently.’
‘Clive was just like Joe – hot-headed. I did hear about that, but it sounded like something over nothing.’
‘What does he look like?’ Harry asked.
Nancy was about to say something when she nodded. ‘That’s Joe over there.’
The four detectives turned in the direction she was looking. A big man dressed in a checked shirt and jeans looked back at them.
They walked over to him. He stood a good four inches taller than Harry.
‘We’re with Police Scotland, MIT,’ Harry said.
‘Aye, I know who you fooking are. The whole island knows who you fooking are,’ Joe Murphy said.
‘Bad for business, are we?’ Dunbar said.
‘People get nervous when youse bastards are around. Even when they’ve done fook all.’
‘If you’ve done nothing, then there’s fuck all to be nervous about, is there? But we want to ask you about the night you had an argument with Clive Wolf in the pub.’
Joe Murphy laughed, his big head tilting back. ‘I wondered when the fook you would be round here busting me fooking balls about that. Well, let me tell you something, laddie.’ He poked a finger towards Dunbar’s chest and Evans stepped forward. Joe Murphy turned his attention to him. ‘You his wee terrier, son?’
‘The name’s DS Robbie Evans. Just so you won’t ever forget me.’
‘Is that right?’ Murphy laughed again. ‘Just like that wee fooking shite Clive Wolf thought he was a wee hard man. Back where I come from, we eat wee fookers like him for breakfast.’ He tried poking Evans in the chest, but Evans saw the move coming a mile off and grabbed the big, meaty appendage and twisted it, bending it back.
Murphy’s eyes went wide and he let out a screech.
Evans leant in close. ‘Back where I come from, your fucking face would be broken by now. Police Scotland might frown upon me smacking an old fucker like you, but they most certainly won’t frown upon me defending myself and just happening to break your finger into the bargain. In front of senior officers no less. So, if you want to carry on your shite, just try to fucking poke me again. Understand?’
The big Irishman was almost on his knees, almost looking like he was having a heart attack. Some people were looking at the tableau playing out before them but most couldn’t care less. It was almost as if this was a sideshow.
‘Yes!’ Murphy hissed through clenched teeth.
Evans let his finger go and the Irishman stood up. Harry thought for a moment he was going to go for it, but after spending years reading people’s body language, he knew Evans would have decked Murphy.
‘There, now that we’ve got that settled, neighbour,’ Dunbar said, ‘maybe you would like to give us your side of the story about the night you had a run-in with Clive Wolf, before we get a platoon of uniforms over from the mainland with a search warrant and we close this funland down for a week while we search it.’
Murphy was flushed and rubbing his finger. They suspected that if it had been anybody else who had bent his finger, there might have been more words said, but the prospect of losing a fortune if the carnival was shut down made him bite his tongue.
‘Clive Wolf was a regular in the Sunset Arms. It’s one of the better boozers on the island, where locals go to drink. I mean, it’s not the sort of place where you get rolled in the toilets of course, not like some of the shite I’ve been inside in Glasgow, but it’s where you can go and have a drink without being bothered by the tourists. There’re plenty of bars on the island where they can go, like the theme bars. Those shitey Irish places that are about as authentic as a three-pound coin. But anyway, Clive liked to frequent the Sunset Arms as well, and he was a pain in the arse when he got drunk.’
‘Who started the argument?’ Alex asked.
Murphy turned to her. ‘He did. Plenty of witnesses will tell you. Clive was an obnoxious wee bastard at times, and for some reason he was even more obnoxious that night. He hadn’t been right ever since his father died. It hit him hard, so people cut him some slack. But that night, I’d had too much to drink and he rubbed me the wrong way.’
‘Where we come from, that’s almost as good as a confession,’ Dunbar said.
‘Look, I didn’t kill the wee bastard. I never touched him. Yes, we had words, but it never got physical. I would have broken his fooking neck, but he wasn’t worth wasting my time on.’
‘Did you know where he lived?’
‘Of course I do. Everybody does. But I wouldn’t dirty me hands. I heard he was found in the old loch house.’
‘He was. Ever been there?’ Dunbar said.
‘No. Never set foot in the place.’
‘I’ll have an officer take your prints down at the station, just so we have a comparison.’
‘You what? That’s against me civil liberties.’
‘You want ruled out or not? Or do you still want us on your back?’ Harry said.
‘Fine. I’ll go down to the station tomorrow. But you’re wasting your time. I never touched Clive Wolf.’
‘Do you know Brian Gibbons?’ Dunbar asked.
‘I know him, yes. Why?’
‘He said he was talking to you this afternoon. Do you remember that?’
‘Of course I do. Do you think I’m daft?’
‘What time?’
‘How would I know? Early afternoon or something.’
The big man turned and walked away without looking back.
‘What do you think?’ Harry said.
‘I think he’s all piss and wind,’ Dunbar said. ‘I’m sure the bit about the
