‘You know, I would have Brian Gibbons sweating in an interview room on suspicion of killing his wife if I actually thought he was capable of doing it,’ Dunbar said.
‘Agreed. Fenton said Shona wanted to talk to Gibbons out in the open and one of her favourite places was the trail that leads over the hill. I think Shona Wolf would have booted his nuts for him.’
‘And it’s not like he’s fit enough to walk up the hill, go back down to kill his wife, then walk over the hill to the fairground,’ Evans said. ‘Unless they didn’t actually make it up the hill, but that wouldn’t fit in with the scenario.’
‘Explain,’ Dunbar said, taking a drink.
‘We know she was feisty and didn’t take any guff off her husband, who is twenty years older than her, so late fifties. She’s fitter. Let’s say they park up. Gibbons knows he’s got to get into the JCB and reverse it into the car. You think Shona Wolf would sit there and watch her husband climb into that thing? Personally, I think she would be jumping out asking him what the hell he was doing.’
‘I agree,’ Alex said. ‘To kill Clive Wolf first, then his wife? Besides, he has an alibi for the time of Clive’s death.’
‘That doesn’t mean he didn’t kill his wife,’ Harry said.
‘Brian Gibbons has one foot in the grave if he doesn’t do something about losing weight. I don’t see him being fit enough to kill his wife.’
‘She’s got a point, neighbour,’ said Dunbar. ‘There’s another reason behind the killing, and it’s not Brian Gibbons’ building plans.’
‘We need to ask Thomas Deal what would happen if they all died. All the beneficiaries,’ Harry said. ‘Who would benefit if they were all out of the picture. Including Brian Gibbons.’
‘Maybe the foundation that Brendan there was talking about,’ said xxx.
‘Maybe,’ said Dunbar. ‘We’ll find out tomorrow. Meantime, let’s have another drink, then I’m away to FaceTime the wife.’
They went upstairs. Alex was in the shower and Harry was settling down to watch some TV when his mobile phone told him there was a text message.
He took it out and read it.
Can you meet me? You told me to contact you if I wanted to.
It was from a number he didn’t recognise but the initial was M.
He typed back, Who am I talking to?
Alex came out of the en suite, drying her hair. ‘Talking to another woman while I’m in the shower,’ she said, joking.
‘I think I am,’ he replied. She frowned and sat down on the bed beside him. He showed her the message just as the answer to his question popped onto the screen.
Missy.
Nineteen
Harry could hear the waves crashing on the shore in the distance as he stood with his collar up. He could sense the sea and smell it, but darkness hid the water.
In the distance, he could hear the fairground in full swing, its day dying slowly until all the last customers were gone. The last gig at the music festival was over; the island’s council had stipulated that it must come to a close before the fairground and carnival.
The house he was outside was in total darkness. The north island. The very tip, where people came to walk the trails and spot birds and whatever else outdoorsy people liked doing on an island whose neighbour was New York City thousands of miles to the east.
He hadn’t taken the car right up to the house. He might not be a rocket scientist, but he was a damn good copper and he knew full well that this could be a trap.
He had parked the car at a hikers’ car park and walked up a trail, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. He wondered if it had been a deliberate act, back in the day, to keep all the businesses on the south island and keep the north island for accommodation. And the fairground.
Whatever it was, it had worked. This house had an unobstructed view to the Statue of Liberty. If your eyes were that good and your vision could bend over the horizon. The imagination could provide the sight if the ocular abilities weren’t quite up to snuff.
He felt the cold and was glad he had worn his jacket and woollen hat. That was one thing with a Scottish summer: pack for every season. A wind whipped through the trees surrounding the property, and he was well-hidden by a large one. The headlight beams from the car announced its arrival, the driver foregoing a stealthy approach. It was a BMW 5 Series, dark in colour with superb lights cutting through the darkness, illuminating the driveway. He ducked behind the tree, but there was little chance he would be spotted in the dark.
He waited until he heard the beep of the remote button locking the car before looking round again.
The driver walked up the steps of the house and onto the porch. It was a stone and log affair, but nothing like he would have expected to see in Scotland. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought he’d been transported to the Canadian Rockies.
A light came on above the front door as the driver went in. Harry moved as silently as he could to the back of the house, away from the car, which sat empty now, waiting to steal its occupant away.
Watching where he put his feet, he rolled the woollen hat down until it morphed into a ski mask. The idea was to keep himself from being seen, not to scare the living daylights out of somebody. When he saw it was all clear, he would present himself at the front door.
He looked through a window into what turned out to be a kitchen. The back garden backed onto the woods, offering plenty of privacy. A few kitchen cabinet lights had been turned on, but there was no sign of the driver of the car.
There was also no sign of
