Blood in the Water Oliver Davies (ereader that reads to you TXT) 📖

three years. No full-size sherry casks before then. I doubt he’ll be wasting any of them on three-year scotch either.”

So did I. The earliest he’d be seeing any return on those investments was still another seven years away.

“He’d bought some little fifty litre ones, not long after he started up,” Shay told me. “That must be where those limited edition half-litre bottles came from.” At nearly five hundred quid a pop!

I liked a good whisky as much as most people, but I couldn’t imagine myself ever paying anywhere near that price for a bottle.

“Well, that’s helpful,” Shay muttered once he’d cross-referenced some dates. “I think Cory Phelps must have been the regular driver for pickups here. ‘Angelo Barclay’ rented vans within two weeks of five of those six deliveries. Phelps must have been occupied elsewhere for the one he missed.”

I got on with adding my latest updates to my report while Shay set about organising date ranges for the searches in the email records he’d managed to access. Once I’d caught up, I decided I’d earned myself another coffee and loaded a capsule into my little machine before adding hot water from my thermos and turning it on.

“Racing tips!” Shay exclaimed while I was waiting for it to get hot enough to start pumping.

“Huh?”

“The text messages to Whitaker, they’re all horse racing tips. Horse, race, date, odds, but the only bit that matters is the date - the days the casks were due to arrive and the dates for the collections.” I leaned over to check his new little list. Oh, yes, that would do very nicely indeed. I slapped him on the shoulder, and he flashed me a grin. “Off to scare poor Aaron now, are you?”

“In a minute.” I picked up my phone to let Trish know I was ready, and she told me she’d be down in five minutes. Caitlin was wrong about me knocking my coffees down so quickly she doubted I even tasted them. I actually swilled each hot, delicious mouthful around a bit before swallowing. The flavour lingered for a long time afterwards.

“Break for lunch when I get back?” I asked my cousin.

“Sure.” I’d lost his attention again. With those long, slender fingers and that speed and coordination, he’d have made a world-class pianist. Still, if music was mathematics and mathematics was music, he was certainly a maestro in his own way. Would his elegant code compositions make his rivals weep if they ever got the chance to read them? I suspected they might.

I went off to the holding cells, picking up constable Ewan Macleod on the way, to wait for Trish.

The top half of the doors to the small holding cells had large windows in them. Each contained nothing but a platform against the back wall, covered by a thin mattress where the detainees could sit or lie down. Aaron Whitaker was sitting, and I saw him look up when Ewan and I appeared outside. Trish was already in place, waiting for us to bring him along. He was looking considerably more composed than he had at the airport. Aaron had probably reached the point, by now, where he’d convinced himself he should just wait to see what his solicitor had to say before he really started worrying about how much trouble he might be in. Ewan unbolted and opened the door.

“Please step out here, Mr Whitaker,” he instructed politely. Aaron stood up and came out calmly enough, and we walked back down the corridor and out to the nearest spare room. I’d had Ewan arrange four chairs for us in there, one on each side of the only table and two against the wall. Trish Morrison was already sitting by the wall, waiting, and as Aaron and I took our seats, Ewan closed the door and went to join her.

“Where’s my lawyer?” Aaron asked truculently after a brief, worried glance in their direction.

“Your solicitor will be present when you are formally questioned, Mr Whitaker,” I reassured him, “if you still wish to have one there at that time. Constable MacLeod tells me that you haven’t asked for anyone to be contacted with your whereabouts yet? Well, just let us know if you change your mind, and we’ll be happy to make the call for you.” I poured two glasses of water from the jug and sipped at mine as he glowered at me.

“I’m not talking to you without a lawyer present, Inspector.”

“Well, that’s up to you, as I explained when I arrested you, Aaron. May I call you Aaron? But I’m willing to be as helpful as I can be, under the circumstances. I’m not here to question you, just to offer some advice. Area Commander Morrison there,” I gestured, “is here to ensure that none of your rights are violated, and everything is above board.”

He shot her another, even more worried look. Trish’s cool, composed bearing and military air didn’t seem to be a reassuring sight to him.

“Area Commander?” he asked.

“Yes, for the Western Isles. All the way from the top of Lewis right down to the bottom of Vatersay. It’s a lot of territory to be responsible for, but every police officer in the islands is very happy to be working under such a fine and capable officer.”

He shrank visibly and reached for his own water, probably worrying why such a high-ranking police officer would take any interest in him at all. I pulled a notebook from my jacket pocket and pretended to read a couple of pages before smiling up at him.

“So,” I said cheerfully, “six shipments of a dozen Spanish sherry casks each were delivered to Angus MacLeod’s distillery over the past three years. Are you a gambling man, Aaron? Like the horses, do you?” His eyes widened perceptibly at that. “Only I’m just wondering whether we’ll find any racing tips sent to you at around the same time those deliveries were made, after we get a warrant to search through your electronic correspondence. Knowing Mr Locke, if