‘I don’t mean to pish on your parade, son, but check her out before you go emblazoning her name in lights over your manhood.’
‘Come in!’ Stewart shouted from inside. ‘Oh, it’s you two,’ he said as he saw the two detectives come in.
‘You wanted to see us, sir?’ Dunbar said.
‘Wanted is stretching it a wee bit. Needed to, more like. Sit down. You’re making the fucking room look untidy.’
They both grabbed a chair opposite the boss and waited for him to carry on.
‘You’ve heard of the Wolf family, Jimmy?’ Stewart asked.
‘Who hasn’t?’ Dunbar quickly looked at Evans to see if the younger detective was going to answer as well, but it was obvious his head was in another place.
‘Wolf Paper. That’s what started the ball rolling,’ Stewart said. ‘Then the old bastard branched into other ventures: Wolf Publishing, Wolf Office Supplies or some such shite. Old Man Murdo Wolf. Owned half the properties on Laoch, or as the pompous old sod called it, Wolf Island.’
‘I thought Ulva was known as Wolf Island?’ Dunbar asked. ‘If I remember correctly from my history lessons in school.’
‘It is, but that’s some Norse pish. When those daft bastards with the long beards and funny boats came across here and started throwing their weight about. Old Man Wolf and his family named Laoch after themselves. But do you know what happened to him?’
Stewart leaned back in his office chair and looked at both detectives.
‘You’re up,’ Dunbar said to Evans.
Evans looked at him.
‘Have you been listening, Evans?’ Stewart said, his red face starting to take on the look of an erupting volcano.
‘Sorry, sir, I’ve been feeling a bit off-colour today.’ Unlike yourself.
Stewart clacked his teeth together, mentally tossing a coin between going home and setting fire to his house or trying to keep his blood pressure down like his therapist suggested.
His therapist won.
‘Murdo Wolf was having a party two days before Christmas, nineteen eighty-five. Some guests of his missed a ferry and were stuck on the mainland. So he decided to fly his own plane over to pick them up. The weather was shite, and not even Douglas Bader himself would have taken off in it, but old hardy baws gets behind the wheel or whatever the fuck it’s called and takes off. He’s never been seen again, him or his plane. Until now.’
Both detectives sat up. ‘They found him?’ Dunbar asked.
‘Aye. Last night. The old man had been stuck in a wall in an extension that was being built back then. His grandson was found murdered in the room last night, while old Murdo was hanging out of the wall. I want you and Evans to get over to Laoch and take charge of the investigation. The Edinburgh crowd are going over too, since they need a Major Investigation Team on the island, and the four of you will be it. The forensics crew have already left. You’ll liaise with the local uniforms. And you’re flying over.’
‘Flying? Business class, I hope,’ Dunbar said.
‘You can call it any fucking class you want. It’s in one of those little flying crates that you couldn’t pay me to get my arse into.’
Evans had gone pale. ‘I hate those things.’
‘You ever been up in one?’ Stewart asked.
‘No, sir.’
‘First time for everything. Pack your bags and take plenty of spare underwear. Fuck knows how long you’ll be there. There’s some kind of family gathering and they’re all there on the island, clucking about like hens. Go find out who murdered one of them.’
Four
DS Alex Maxwell sat in the car with the windows rolled down. The summer warmth didn’t make her feel happy. The cemetery was peaceful, but the noise from the traffic on Drum Brae disturbed her thoughts.
She held the little bunch of flowers, staring through the windscreen. She had told Harry she wanted to keep her maiden name after they were married just for professional purposes, and he had been happy with that, and now here they were, three months into their marriage, and she felt a little pang of guilt.
Looking at Vanessa’s grave sent a shiver down her spine.
The guilt stemmed from Alex being Mrs Harry McNeil, and the fact that it might have been Vanessa Harper who had married him if things had gone down a different path.
But she was dead now, Vanessa, and her mother, buried in the same grave, and Alex couldn’t help but feel she was partly responsible.
She stepped out onto the road that ran around the small cemetery in a square loop, put her sunglasses on and approached the grave with trepidation.
She stood before the stone, not sure who was responsible for the marker. She hadn’t attended the funerals but had encouraged Harry to go.
Now she placed the small bunch of flowers on the grave, reading the names over and over a few times. Then she stood back.
‘I just wanted to say how sorry I am, Vanessa. I was stupid and jealous and I’m ashamed of myself. You were worried and I mistook that for you wanting to get back with Harry. I’ll always carry this burden, no matter what anybody tells me. If you’re up there, please see that I mean what I say. I wish things had turned out differently, I really do, but I can’t change things. I hope you’re at peace.’
Things had almost gone sideways with her and Harry. Alex hadn’t told him that before she died Vanessa had sent her a text message: You’re no good for him. When he dumps you, I’ll be waiting.
The image of herself on her wedding day, walking down the aisle of the small church on the arm of Harry’s brother, Derek, still gave her a pang of guilt. Her own parents had refused to come; her sister, Jessica, had been the sole representative from her side of the family.
Alex had felt a touch of guilt even on her wedding day. She and Harry had talked about getting married for a long time,
