Blood in the Water: A DCI Keane Scottish Crime Thriller Read online

  Blood on the Water

  Deadly Highlands book 2

  Oliver Davies

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  6. Shay

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  10. Shay

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  16. Shay

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  20. Shay

  Chapter 21

  22. Shay

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  A Message from the Author

  Prologue

  It had been one of the best days the whole gang had spent together for years. When had all six of them last been together like this? Over the New Year in Haddington? Yes, and that hadn’t been the same at all. Conall and Shay had done their best, which was never short of amazing, but everyone knew that the parting clock had been ticking down in their heads again all week. They may only be cousins to the rest of the world, but to these four, their oldest and closest friends, they had always seemed to be bound to each other more closely than twins, and less explicable, as if some bizarre metaphysical mishap had tangled their souls into one big gordian knot of a mess in early childhood.

  “And that, my dears, is why Sidhe children should never be allowed to attach themselves to mortals.” Liam had told them all one summer evening near Kopanos, in northern Greece. “They have no control over their power in their infancy, you see. It just reaches out its ethereal little baby fingers to grasp any shiny bauble within reach, and the grabber gets grabbed right back.”

  He’d shaken his nine-year-old head at the Keanes like some wise old sage, and Conall had pelted him with popcorn, scooped from the pan he’d just removed from its bed of carefully arranged embers.

  Shay had merely stared, mildly irritated, from across the campfire, with too much catlike dignity to pay any attention to such ridiculous fancies. He’d never liked it when his strangeness was brought to everyone’s attention like that. He’d smiled with satisfaction, though at Liam’s outraged yelps as droplets of hot olive oil peppered his chest like stinging bites.

  Jen had confiscated the frying pan soon enough. Not for Liam’s sake, but because she was starving, she said. Conall had got a really good thump on the arm, too. It had bruised by morning. But fair was fair, so had her knuckles, because he’d snatched up the lid in time to shield himself from her second, less forceful punch, and she’d smacked right into it. There was never any annoying male condescension in their group!

  For October in Inverness, the weather today had been exceptionally fine, cloudy, but not cold for the season. Best of all, with no more than a gentle breeze blowing, conditions on the water had been perfect. The six of them had physically exhausted themselves between the kayaks and the paddleboards, racing up and down the loch beyond the bottom of the Keane’s new garden.

  Their house in Dores had been explored with joyous approval after the four visitors had arrived the evening before, despite Shay’s self-excusing running commentary on all the work he still needed to do; replace this shelving and that wainscoting etc. etc. He had a seemingly endless list of furniture and fittings he hadn’t finished playing with that he seemed to be extraordinarily pleased about. They’d only moved in three weeks before. It was sheer delight to see both of the cousins looking so completely happy and whole again.

  Despite their wetsuits, chill and hunger eventually drove them all back to the house at four. Shay hadn’t been joking when he’d talked about sealing and insulating the place properly. It was toasty warm indoors. They raced to shower and change before descending on the kitchen like a pack of starving dogs. Daniel, Conall’s da, was no novice at dealing with the gang in this manically gleeful state. He’d laid out an array of sandwiches and cakes to keep them all going until dinner, and they soon wolfed the lot down with mugs of steaming tea.

  “Up to you,” he told them cheerfully as he saw the direction their thoughts and their furtive glances at the pantry door were trending. “Either you can all shove off until dinner time and let me cook, or you can make yourselves whatever you like, whenever you like, and I won’t bother today.”

  A silent consensus was quickly reached. They shoved off.

  “Less than twenty-four hours together. and we’ve bloody reverted!” Mair snorted, dropping into an armchair in the west-facing sitting room with its splendid views down to the loch. “Anyone would think we were all still nine or ten.”

  Shay, the youngest of the group, had always been accepted as their rightful peer, if not their elder. You couldn’t talk down to a boy who could outthink, outtalk, and physically best the lot of you. Besides, he’d had an unfair advantage. None of the others could recall more than tiny fragments of their earliest childhoods, but Shay could, and he’d taught himself to read before his third birthday. He knew the colours, models and licence plates of all the rental cars they’d travelled in, and the names of every town and village they’d visited.

  “What was that old man called? The one in that little village in Sicily that sold those amazing ice creams. He had that enormous ginger cat, remember?” Conall’s cousin supplied the answers - Signore Alberto d’Alessi and fat old Volpe. Shay’s had always been the final word in any dispute about who had said and done what, and where. He had been their archivist and co-arbitrator, as well as their endlessly inventive instigator, in the same way that Conall had always been their cautioning conscience. A firm hand on the reins was both reassuring and essential, when careening madly after Shay towards possible glory or potential disaster.

  Had anyone ever asked them who their leader was, they would have simply pointed at the Keanes and said, “They are.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Liam declared as he sat down on the couch. “Well, apart from the fact that Daniel’s being mean to us, there isn’t.” He curled a possessive arm around Marie and snugged her uncomplainingly into his shoulder. “I’m still bloody starving. You’d better have an emergency stash somewhere, Shay.” He craned his head around. “I won’t last ‘til seven otherwise.”

  Shay, who had been busying himself with tuning the wall lights to a satisfying, warm glow and drawing the curtains against the gathering dusk outside, eyed him imperiously, hands on hips.

  Did he have any idea what a stunning picture he presented with that cream shirt setting off his smooth, bronzed skin? Mair wondered, smiling to herself.

  “No chocolates and no biscuits!” Shay decreed, golden eyes gleaming. “I know what you’re like, Liam Beag, and Uncle Danny wouldn’t be at all pleased.”

  Conall grinned. ‘Little’ Liam was six foot three and had hollow legs, as da would say. Those always needed filling up before his stomach could start to feel like it had been fed. Shay stalked over to the fruit bowl on the gleaming, antique sideboard, another restoration masterpiece.

  “You and Conall do have ridiculous metabolisms, though. You can top up to our level with a banana each. That seems fair.” Shay tossed them their rations and curled up in his favourite chair.

  Jen laughed at Liam’s crestfallen face and produced a small chocolate bar of her own, which she divided up among them. Mollified, Liam ate his banana. Conall took the peel off him and went to dispose of the evidence.

  “So,” Mair said, in her lilting Welsh accent once he’d rejoined them, “is everyone a
greed? A week in the French Alps in January? The fourth to the tenth. Avoriaz?”

  “Shay wants to snowboard, so yes, Avoriaz,” Conall affirmed from his chair on his cousin’s right. “The skiing’s pretty good too, so that should keep everyone happy.”

  “Brrr,” Marie muttered. “You’d better book us a nice warm chalet then. And one with an endless hot water supply too.”

  “Hot chocolate and fondue and huge log fires.” Jen added dreamily, “It’s going to be perfect.”

  “Don’t forget the bloody whisky!” Liam added emphatically. “There’s nothing like a nice wee dram or two after a day on the slopes.”

  “Bleuch,” Shay muttered. “It’s alright in a good Irish coffee mind or in a proper fruit cake.” Then he sprang up again. “Whisky!” He dashed off, only to return a minute later with a long wooden box, which he presented to Liam with a flourish. “For your little collection.” Shay smiled happily before resuming his place. Liam stared at the label.

  “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed. “Christ, Shay! How on earth did you get your hands on this?” He slid the lid open to reveal the glistening bottle inside and the little printed certificate lining the lid. “They only sold a hundred of these?”

  “Limited edition, yeah. It was a present from a grateful Danish guy whose son Conall and I assisted back in May,” Shay told him, basking in his friend’s dumbfounded pleasure. “When we went over to Lewis and Harris.”

  “I didn’t know you’d been out there.” Jen looked at Conall accusingly. “You didn’t mention you were taking a break… or some of us might have tagged along.”

  “It wasn’t a break.” Conall frowned back at her, mildly offended. “You know, we always tell you lot if we’re planning a trip anywhere. Chief Anderson sent us over there on a case.” She pulled a ‘kicking herself’ face.

  “Sorry, of course, you do. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Hunger messes with your mind,” Liam agreed amiably as Marie fed him her unwanted ration of chocolate. “What case? Why haven’t I heard about this before?” Shay sniffed.

  “You probably have, but Conall wouldn’t have been mentioned. It was decided it would be wiser not to draw attention to his part in it. We might as well paint a big target on his back if he gets a reputation for being too efficient for comfort in some circles.”

  No, nobody liked the thought of that at all.

  “Wait!” Mair leaned forward, clasping her hands together. “In May? Wasn’t there a killing up there around then? I’m sure I read something in the papers about it.”

  “That’s right!” Marie agreed. “I saw that too, now that you mention it. So that was you two?”

  “Along with the local team, yes,” Conall told them. “It’s never ‘just us,’ you know.”

  Liam waved that off as if the supporting cast was of little interest. He wanted the lead protagonist’s story.

  “Spill,” he demanded, carefully reaching out to place his precious box on the side table. “It will be a good distraction to keep us all occupied whilst Daniel works his culinary magic.”

  “Yes, do,” Mair echoed. “Tell us a story, Conall. You know Jen and I keep missing them. It’s so unfair!”

  Shay moved a cushion up so he could rest the side of his head more comfortably against the wing of his chair.

  “Someone open some wine first, then,” Conall said, accepting the unanimous vote without argument. “It’s dry work, yapping away for you lot.”

  Jen and Mair jumped up and raided the sideboard for glasses, and a couple of bottles of a nice light Valpolicella. Mair added another small log to the modest, low-burning fire and replaced the screen while Jen handed glasses around.

  Conall waited until they were all settled again before leaning back and crossing his legs. “Are you sitting comfortably?” he asked, in his best BBC radio voice, and they all wriggled gleefully in anticipation. “Then I’ll begin.”

  One

  Damien Price watched his wife contentedly as she sipped at her coffee. “They certainly don’t feed you this well on a cross-channel ferry,” Vanessa told him. “That was the best bit of haddock I’ve had in ages. How was your Venison?”

  “Perfect,” Damien assured her. “CalMac weren’t given a VisitScotland's 'Taste Our Best' seal of approval for nothing you know.” He checked his watch. “We’ll reach Tarbert in less than half an hour.” The short run across from Uig, on Skye, only took the ferry an hour and forty minutes. “I can’t wait to show you Lewis and Harris. We’ll get some great shots while we’re there. Did I tell you I’d seen dolphins in Stornoway harbour itself last week?”

  “Yes, darling,” she shook her head at him, smiling, “but only about half a dozen times so far.” His enthusiasm when he’d returned from his business trip around the islands the week before had been impossible to contain, and Vanessa had quickly agreed to this spur-of-the-moment holiday booking. He’d found himself unable to stop talking about the deer, otters, sea eagles, dolphins, and so many other birds and animals. It had been psychological torture for him, having to drive past everything on a schedule, with hardly a chance to get his camera out.

  But now? Now they’d have a whole week to spend as they pleased. It was going to be wonderful. He looked longingly out of the windows, half expecting to see an Orca sporting alongside in the gentle, sun-sparkled swell. He wouldn’t have been surprised. By the time he’d torn his gaze away to grin excitedly back at the wife he adored, Vanessa had finished her coffee.

  “Shall we go up to the outside deck to watch our approach from there?” he asked eagerly. “You won’t believe how many seabirds you’ll be able to spot, and it’s not cold today at all.” About fourteen degrees, good weather for May up here.

  “I’ll join you up there in a few minutes,” she promised. “I want to pop in at the gift shop and pick up some of those lovely cookies first.” Vanessa liked to have something to nibble on in whatever hotel they were staying at, ‘just in case’ she got peckish, and she’d always had a sweet tooth. They abandoned their table and split up with a kiss as they left the restaurant and headed for their respective toilets. Damien was just about to go into the gents when one of the crew smoothly intercepted him, a copper-haired hulking Viking of a fellow in a high visibility yellow jacket.

  “Mr Damien Price?” he asked. “Dark blue Toyota Avensis?”

  “Yes?” Oh no, had something happened to the damned car?

  “Could you just pop down to the vehicle deck and let me in, Sir?” the enormous crewman asked. “Your car’s had a bit of a slip. Not to worry, it hasn’t banged into anything, yet, but we’d like to shift it back and re-engage the handbrake, before it does anything more drastic.”

  “Of course,” Damien agreed readily. Nobody wanted that to happen! He’d put the handbrake on properly, hadn’t he? Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t be entirely sure. “I just need to nip in here first, if you don’t mind? Nature calls.”

  The man was clearly torn about whether he thought the delay advisable or not, but Damien himself wasn’t. The sea was calm enough today to reduce any sense of extreme urgency. After he’d finished and washed his hands, he fired a brief text off to Vanessa, so she wouldn’t worry when she couldn’t find him outside, and then hurried back out to accompany the crewman down to the vehicle deck.

  “This way, Sir.” His Viking held a ‘Staff Only’ door open for him, and Damien found himself at the end of a corridor a little less attractive than the public areas of the ship. They turned left a few metres further on and clattered down a metal stairway to the next deck, and then the next.

  From the top of the last flight, Damien could just see his car. It was, as he’d been told, slightly askew and looking rather out of place among its neatly ordered neighbours. Bother! He hadn’t made sure of the handbrake then! It was a good job they’d sent someone to find him. Wait? How had they found him? You’d expect them to call him over the public address system, wouldn’t you? How very odd.

  He started to turn to ask
his guide how he’d recognised him, but Damien never got to complete the turn because, at that very moment, the man rammed into his back with all his considerable weight. Damien found himself tumbling uncontrollably forwards and down the unforgiving steel steps.

  Shocked and battered, he landed hard on the deck below, cracking his head as he did so. It bounced before settling. Only seconds had passed, although that somersaulting, out-of-control fall had seemed to last forever. His descent had not been a gentle one. Damien was pretty sure he’d badly bruised his spine slamming into the edge of a step, and when he raised a tentative hand to the side of his wildly throbbing head, his fingers encountered a sticky wetness.

  What? What had just happened? Had that man tripped, somehow, and instinctively pushed against Damien to break his own fall? He tried to move his legs and push himself up, but his left knee screamed in protest, causing him to gasp breathlessly at the ensuing white-hot agony that shot up the nerves in his thigh. Through tear-blurred eyes, he saw a second figure hurry towards him from the shadows under the stairs. The man bent down to take Damien’s head in his work-gloved hands, and he found himself blinking up at an unfamiliar yet hate-filled pair of angry brown eyes.

  “Remember me?” the stranger asked, incomprehensibly. He must have read Damien’s utter bewilderment as he stared up at him, frozen by sudden terror. “No? Well, I certainly remember you, you sneaky, lying bastard!” The hands gripped more tightly, and Damien felt the sharp twisting motion with horrible clarity as he registered the unthinkable sound and sensation of his own neck breaking.