Read Online Whisky From Small Glasses by Denzil Meyrick - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Denzil Meyrick
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whisper. ‘Noo, officer, surely a man of your considerable experience can answer me wan question?’
Daley, now getting used to the local drawl, smiled. ‘Sure, what would you like to know? Within reason of course.’
Hamish continued, unblinking. ‘Ye wid never be able tae guess whoot age I am?’ His face suddenly cracked into a broad grin, and he threw his head back and laughed.
Daley said nothing. He knew age to be a very touchy subject with the very old; it was as though they were constantly expecting confirmation of how kind the years had been to them. He was about to say eighty, though he suspected the man to be at least ninety, when Hamish stopped laughing abruptly. ‘Seeventy-three, Inspector. Aye, seeventy-three. Noo, ye wirna expecting that, eh?’ The broad smile returned to his face, narrowing his eyes and giving him an almost East Asian appearance.
Daley honestly agreed, as Fraser looked on, bemused by the whole exchange. They sat in silence for a few seconds, until Flynn walked over to his elderly companion and took him by the arm. ‘Noo, come on, Hamish, these men have a lot on. Let’s be having you. Don’t roll over, roll out and a’ that.’
Hamish got up, slowly but straight backed. He picked up his pipe from the table and began to walk towards the door. When he reached Daley’s chair he stopped. Any trace of a smile was gone, and he looked as though he had bad news to impart. ‘Fair’s fair, Inspector, you gied me a courtesy, noo it’s my turn tae dae likewise.’ The blue of his eyes was at its most piercing at this close proximity.
Daley smiled. While he wanted to get on with proceedings, he decided to indulge the old man. ‘Yer woman, the wan flying doon at the weekend . . .’ He had everyone’s attention now, not least Daley’s. ‘Weel, you’ll need tae make upyour mind up wance an’ fir a’ aboot things. Aye, an’ forbye, the man’s she’s wi’, he’s no good – no good at a’. Maybes yer passed caring though, eh? But heed this: ne’er let harm come tae the things that ur precious tae you.’ With that, he smiled briefly, put his pipe to his mouth and left the room.
Flynn looked embarrassed. ‘Just ignore him, Inspector, he’s forever making prophecies of doom.’
‘It depends how accurate they are, Mr Flynn.’ Daley was strangely relieved that Hamish had gone. He had found something about the man unsettling.
‘That’s the thing, Inspector. He’s got a name for it, you know, predicting the future an’ a that. His family’s a’ the same. His grandfaither predicted the Second World War.’
Fraser spoke up in defence of his new boss. ‘Och, lots of people predicted that. You just had to have a look at what was happening in Germany at the time. Churchill predicted it too.’
‘Aye, no’ in nineteen twenty-two he didna, time, date an’ everything. They still talk aboot it in the toon tae this day. You must remember, constable, superstition’s still strong in wee places like this, especially amongst the fishin’ community. Now, gents, take a look at this.’ He indicated the laptop.
Daley coughed, anxious to move on. ‘Yes, Mr Flynn, back down to business.’
The laptop screen was a live satellite image of the Kintyre peninsula, superimposed on which was a complex swirl of what Daley recognised as isobar lines, and numbers which he did not understand. The map refreshed itself about every thirty seconds. Flynn started typing on the keypad of the computer, with what Daley thought was impressive speed.
‘You see, Inspector, I’m now going back over the last forty-eight hours or so. These numbers are indications of tide and direction of the wind. It’s quite complicated, takes a wee bit of getting used to, but I wish I had something like this when I was at the fishing myself.’ He tapped a few keys and suddenly the image enlarged, showing the area around where the body had been found.
‘I recognise this, Mr Flynn. The body was found about
Daley, now getting used to the local drawl, smiled. ‘Sure, what would you like to know? Within reason of course.’
Hamish continued, unblinking. ‘Ye wid never be able tae guess whoot age I am?’ His face suddenly cracked into a broad grin, and he threw his head back and laughed.
Daley said nothing. He knew age to be a very touchy subject with the very old; it was as though they were constantly expecting confirmation of how kind the years had been to them. He was about to say eighty, though he suspected the man to be at least ninety, when Hamish stopped laughing abruptly. ‘Seeventy-three, Inspector. Aye, seeventy-three. Noo, ye wirna expecting that, eh?’ The broad smile returned to his face, narrowing his eyes and giving him an almost East Asian appearance.
Daley honestly agreed, as Fraser looked on, bemused by the whole exchange. They sat in silence for a few seconds, until Flynn walked over to his elderly companion and took him by the arm. ‘Noo, come on, Hamish, these men have a lot on. Let’s be having you. Don’t roll over, roll out and a’ that.’
Hamish got up, slowly but straight backed. He picked up his pipe from the table and began to walk towards the door. When he reached Daley’s chair he stopped. Any trace of a smile was gone, and he looked as though he had bad news to impart. ‘Fair’s fair, Inspector, you gied me a courtesy, noo it’s my turn tae dae likewise.’ The blue of his eyes was at its most piercing at this close proximity.
Daley smiled. While he wanted to get on with proceedings, he decided to indulge the old man. ‘Yer woman, the wan flying doon at the weekend . . .’ He had everyone’s attention now, not least Daley’s. ‘Weel, you’ll need tae make upyour mind up wance an’ fir a’ aboot things. Aye, an’ forbye, the man’s she’s wi’, he’s no good – no good at a’. Maybes yer passed caring though, eh? But heed this: ne’er let harm come tae the things that ur precious tae you.’ With that, he smiled briefly, put his pipe to his mouth and left the room.
Flynn looked embarrassed. ‘Just ignore him, Inspector, he’s forever making prophecies of doom.’
‘It depends how accurate they are, Mr Flynn.’ Daley was strangely relieved that Hamish had gone. He had found something about the man unsettling.
‘That’s the thing, Inspector. He’s got a name for it, you know, predicting the future an’ a that. His family’s a’ the same. His grandfaither predicted the Second World War.’
Fraser spoke up in defence of his new boss. ‘Och, lots of people predicted that. You just had to have a look at what was happening in Germany at the time. Churchill predicted it too.’
‘Aye, no’ in nineteen twenty-two he didna, time, date an’ everything. They still talk aboot it in the toon tae this day. You must remember, constable, superstition’s still strong in wee places like this, especially amongst the fishin’ community. Now, gents, take a look at this.’ He indicated the laptop.
Daley coughed, anxious to move on. ‘Yes, Mr Flynn, back down to business.’
The laptop screen was a live satellite image of the Kintyre peninsula, superimposed on which was a complex swirl of what Daley recognised as isobar lines, and numbers which he did not understand. The map refreshed itself about every thirty seconds. Flynn started typing on the keypad of the computer, with what Daley thought was impressive speed.
‘You see, Inspector, I’m now going back over the last forty-eight hours or so. These numbers are indications of tide and direction of the wind. It’s quite complicated, takes a wee bit of getting used to, but I wish I had something like this when I was at the fishing myself.’ He tapped a few keys and suddenly the image enlarged, showing the area around where the body had been found.
‘I recognise this, Mr Flynn. The body was found about
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