Blood in the Water: A DCI Keane Scottish Crime Thriller Oliver Davies (my reading book .TXT) 📖

above Loch Acha Mòr, which lay about a kilometre to the south of it. There were a few trees down by the lochside, but nothing except short grasses and turf were growing up here, even on the leeward side of the few low hummocks of rising ground behind the house. Not even a small bush or two. It was an exposed spot, very much like I’d expected most of the island to be before we’d got here, bleak, windswept and empty. Aaron’s car wasn’t parked outside, but we went to knock at the door, anyway. No answer and no sign of life around the place.

“I suppose he could have nipped out to pick up some flu meds, or see the doctor.” Ewan sounded doubtful. It was possible, but I didn’t think so. A nervously guilty man might have been badly spooked enough by yesterday’s visit to decide that a change of scenery might be a good idea.

“Stay here. I’ll check around the back.” I walked down the side of the house and got my phone out to call Shay.

“Hi, no sign of Aaron at his place and his car isn’t here.”

“Hang on. I’ll check the ferry bookings.” A quick, first step because he already had open access to those set up. It didn’t take him long. “Nothing there. I’ll try the airport.” I waited another few minutes, checking the back door. It was locked, and the rear windows too. Shay made one of his pleased little noises. “Yeah, he’s booked himself a ticket on the twelve twenty-five flight to Edinburgh. You might want to ask Trish to send a couple of boys up there to watch out for him. His photo’s already in the file.”

“I will, thanks.” I hung up and called Trish. Once I’d explained our vague and almost groundless suspicions, she just sighed.

“So, basically, you have nothing, apart from the fact that he’s called in sick and is going to Edinburgh. Naughty, but hardly illegal, Conall. If you want to go and have a word with him, be my guest, but we can’t detain or arrest him without something better than that to go on.” I wasn’t particularly surprised to hear her say that, but I did have an idea.

“You have a drugs detection dog based here, right? Could you have his constable bring him there?”

“Her,” she corrected me. “Flex is a bitch, but yes, that I can do. They’ll meet you there in half an hour.” Alright then, we’d better get up to the airport. I walked back to where Ewan was waiting, and we got in the car.

“What’s next, Sir?” Ewan asked.

“The airport,” I told him. “Whitaker’s booked himself a ticket out. Hopefully, we shouldn’t have to hang around for too long before he shows up.”

Constable Rick Jackson and his canine partner were waiting for us when we arrived. I highly doubted that Aaron Whitaker would be carrying anything to set the friendly little springer spaniel bitch off, but it would be very helpful if Flex decided his baggage was suspicious. That would give us an excuse to take him to the customs offices and ask a few questions. Constable Jackson, once he understood the situation and was satisfied that Whitaker would be allowed to board his flight if this turned out to be a wild goose chase, agreed to make that happen for me.

I showed Rick the photo of our man, and Ewan and I went to wait in the security office, where we could keep an eye on the monitors. There was only one, long terminal building to spy on. Compared to most regional airports, Stornoway’s commercial traffic was small potatoes, but the little airport was a vital lifeline and was also home to the Search and Rescue helicopters and the Air Ambulance, as well as a few privately owned light aircraft.

Aaron Whittaker appeared about twenty minutes later, pulling a large check-in bag and carrying a smaller one on his shoulder. He was an unremarkable-looking man, wiry, about five foot eight, with thin, receding dark hair and an easily forgettable face. Flex behaved perfectly as constable Jackson led her down the short queue at the check-in desk. I didn’t see how he managed it, but the dog, who had sniffed at and ignored every bag until then, sat down very quickly once she’d had a good nose around Whitaker’s check-in case.

That was our cue.

He paled as he saw us coming, and I wondered, for a moment, if he was going to bolt. Constable Jackson gave me an odd look as he carefully opened up the bag with gloved hands and began to search it. Moments later, he held up a clear zip-lock bag of bank notes.

“She smelt the ink on them,” he told me, handing me a spare pair of gloves. “It’s very distinctive, and it’s one of the things she was trained to detect in unusually large quantities.”

I hadn’t known she’d been trained for that too. I’d thought she was specifically a narcotics and explosives dog. Maybe she’d been working at one of the big international airports before coming here? I pulled the gloves on while Jackson patted the grinning Flex fondly before producing a favoured chew toy for her to play with, her reward for a job well done.

“Thank you, both of you,” I told him, meaning it, as he handed me the bag and closed up the case again.

“Would you mind just coming with us, Mr Whitaker?” I asked politely, relieving him of his shoulder bag. The looming figure of Ewan MacLeod made it clear that it was not a request he could refuse. We escorted Whitaker over to the customs offices, where a room had been put aside for our use.

“I really don’t see why this is necessary, Inspector Keane,” he protested nervously as I parked the case and put the smaller bag on top of it. I motioned for him to take a seat at the small table and walked around it to claim the chair opposite. “It’s not