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

Ewan placed himself against the wall by the door, scowling disgustedly at Aaron’s back as he seated himself.

“I’d guess there was at least twenty thousand pounds in there, Mr Whitaker,” I said mildly, placing the large, clear bag on the table, “if those are all fifty-pound notes. That’s quite a lot of travelling money. I hope you can produce documentation to prove that you obtained it legally?” He didn’t know how to answer that because he couldn’t. “I thought not.”

I leaned back, allowing myself to relax a little. “Would you like to tell me where you got it from? Or how long you’ve been working with Malcolm Locke’s people to smuggle illegal goods through Angus MacLean’s distillery?” He looked blank at the mention of Locke’s name, but the rest of it had hit home. “Perhaps neither Mr Phelps nor Mr Jordan mentioned Mr Locke to you?”

Yes, he knew those names. His expressions were an open book. I decided he now believed I already knew far more than I actually did. Good. I’d have to make sure he kept thinking that.

“I’d like to make a phone call, and I want a lawyer,” he said, giving me a stubborn ‘I ain’t talking’ look.

“Certainly,” I informed him. “I can arrest you immediately if you like, after which you will be entitled to ask for a solicitor to be present when you are questioned. You may also request that a person of your choosing be informed of your whereabouts. We don’t have to allow you to make the call yourself. This isn’t America, Mr Whitaker.”

He responded with stony silence. I just sighed and shook my head at his stupidity.

“I thought we might have a friendly little chat first but, as you insist…” I stood up again. “Aaron Whitaker, as a police officer whose identity you have already been made aware of, I am arresting you on suspicion of engaging in the smuggling of illegal substances. You are not obliged to provide me with any information other than your name, address, place and date of birth, and nationality. You are not being officially charged at this time but may be charged after you have been formally questioned. I would strongly advise you not to resist arrest. It would only make things worse. Constable MacLeod, please cuff Mr Whitaker.”

“Wait, what?” Aaron protested as Ewan took him by the elbow and pulled him to his feet.

“Hands behind your back, please, Mr Whitaker,” Ewan said coldly, guiding his arms into position and snapping the handcuffs into place. I slipped the pack of money into the carry-on bag, out of sight, and shouldered it before grabbing the case.

Ewan had Whitaker by the arm, and he came along quietly, a little dazed by the speed at which his plans and his prospects had both been changed so drastically.

Fourteen

Back at the station, I left Ewan MacLeod and the duty sergeant to get Aaron Whitaker booked in and taken to holding while I went upstairs to confer with Trish Morrison.

“So what now, Conall?” she wanted to know. “All we can do is confiscate the money. We’ll probably have to cut Whitaker loose again in a few hours. You don’t have enough evidence to charge him with anything, not without a voluntary confession.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk, waiting to see how I wanted to handle the situation.

“We might find something when we visit the distillery.” Some minor trace evidence, at least, hopefully. “I’m confident that Angus will be happy to let us search the place once he hears about Aaron’s ‘sick day’ plans and the money.” The chair I was sitting in didn’t swivel, but I found myself automatically trying to spin it. “And I’d like an informal little chat with Whitaker before we head over there. There’s a good chance I can talk him into being cooperative. He’s scared, Trish, and he doesn’t know how little we have.”

“Alright, you can certainly do that, but I’m coming to observe.” I was going to ask her to do that anyway because it could be useful to have her there. I also wanted Trish, or someone from her team, to conduct the formal interview when the time came. Whitaker wasn’t a suspect in my case, and I wasn’t about to volunteer to take on another one here. “Do you want to do that now?”

“Not just yet.” What I wanted was for Shay to find me something to give me more of an edge before I tackled Whitaker. If I slipped up and he started to think I was fishing, he’d clam up like a shot. “I’d like to leave him to think for a while.”

Trish Morrison’s piercing dark eyes still reminded me of James McKinnon. I had no idea what she might be thinking, but something seemed a little off there today.

“Fine. Call me when you’re ready, and I’ll come down.” I could see the stack of files piled up in her tray, waiting for her attention, but she just kept eyeing me thoughtfully as I stood to go. “Do you think Damien Price was killed because he accidentally stumbled across a smuggling operation?” she asked me. “Because I looked into your Mr Locke, and violence of any kind doesn’t seem to fit his profile at all.”

“No, I don’t,” I admitted. “I have no idea why Mr Price was killed. I only know that Jordan and Phelps orchestrated that death between them and that we need to bring them in. Aaron Whitaker may be able to point me in their direction, and that’s as far as my interest in him extends.”

“You’re still focused on the Price case, then? Not going to let a feather in your cap like uncovering what may turn out to be a major pipeline for illegal goods distract you?”

Well, at least I knew what had been troubling her now. Unlike many other officers I’d encountered, I didn’t