Chapter Five Playing With Fire
Isla
Isla drove down to The Binding Room. Shakespeare was sitting in the front seat, looking out the window. She couldn’t help but reminisce about the dinner. The way Finlay had frozen when he had tasted Moira’s tattie scone. She had shaken her head very stealthily, and he had understood.
“Yummy. Let’s try the shortbread,” he said, pushing the scones away. She had laughed silently. Everyone who had tasted her Gran’s scones knew they weren’t her best recipe, but no one wanted to tell her. Not even Isla.
Isla pulled up in the driveway. Finlay was standing under the tarpaulin canopy at the entrance.
His hands were hidden in his pocket. He wore a black button shirt with sleeves rolled up as usual, tucked in black pants.
The silver chain of his pocket watch hung from his belt and disappeared into his pocket.
He looked like a mafia member from a dark romance novel. “The darkness is a place of wonder, a place of magic,” Isla quoted.
What the hell! She recollected herself. Why was she thinking of him in such a manner? Finlay turned in her direction, and Isla sighed. “Not bad, Shakes. Right?” she murmured, daydreaming.
She was pulled out of her trance when he knocked on her windshield.
Woof. Shakespeare began his intimidation.
“No, bad doggy.” Isla held out a finger warningly.
He whined, pushing himself into the car seat as if wanting to disappear. She chuckled, and then her gaze shifted to Finlay. Unconsciously, she reached to brush her hair, hoping her stubborn strands would obey her. “Good morning, Finlay,” she greeted. Her voice was low and melodic.
“Good morning,” his reply was abrupt. “I think I’m being watched,” Finlay blurted out, pulling out a sheet of paper from his pocket.
You are next.
“Where did you find this?” she asked. Isla could tell it was printed with a typewriter from the font and the thickness of the paper.
“It was placed at the foot of the door,” he answered.
“I think it was typed on an old typewriter.”
“How do you know?”
She pointed to the letters. “The font is Courier, and the letters are fading.”
“Maybe they ran out of ink ribbon,” countered Finlay.
“Yes but look at the ink flow inconsistencies. It doesn’t match the pressure points. It’s definitely an old typewriter.”
And the message was a threat. Whoever sent the note knew they were up to something. “We have to take this to the police. Get in, Finlay.”
He climbed into her truck. “Isn’t this a bad idea?” He peered out of the window. “I feel like I am being watched,” he whispered.
Which is why we need to go to the police.
“Maybe there is more to the St. Albert church than we know,” Isla said. She restarted the engine, pulling out of the driveway.
At the police station, a front desk policewoman called in an officer to speak with them. It was Elliot’s partner, the one with the Uist accent.
When he saw Isla and Finlay, he looked suspiciously at them. Isla knew the suspicion that had crossed his mind. She stepped to the side, creating some distance between herself and Finlay.
“Good morning, officer,” Finlay said, putting his hand in his pocket.
“Morning,” the officer responded. His eyes travelled to Isla.
There was something judgy about how he looked at her, and Isla could sense concern. “Good morning, officer…” She trailed off.
“Rory,” he said. Then his eyes flickered to Finlay. “How can I help ye?”
Finlay handed the note to Rory. “I found this in my apartment.”
Rory took the note from him and examined it. “Ye wrote this?”
For Christ’s sake! “Did you just ask that?” Isla shot Rory a disapproving look. “Perhaps I should speak to Elliot instead.”
“Haud on,” Rory stopped them. “Ye found this in ye apartment?”
“No outside. It was placed underneath my front door,” Finlay explained.
Rory handed the note to Finlay. “And you assumed it was sent to you.” He adjusted his holster.
The only sound was the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead as the officer’s silence hung in the air.
Then, Rory’s voice cut through the stillness, low and even but laced with a subtle undertone of disbelief.
“How convenient,” continued Rory. “Witnesses saw that ye and Callum had a disagreement with Angus. And ye were the last person to speak to him before he turned up dead.”
“It wasn’t a disagreement,” Finlay objected.
“Mmm.” Rory’s eyes travelled from Finlay to Isla. He gave the look again. The one that screamed, ‘Be careful of this guy.’
“Are you aware Angus made some accusations about ye?” Rory said.
Accusations? Isla stepped forward, and she pulled Finlay back. He turned to her. “Don’t say another word,” she mouthed. It was starting to look like Finlay might need a lawyer. “Accusations?” She turned to Rory.
“Can I talk to ye privately?” Rory arched his head to a corner, away from Finlay. She gave Finlay a reassuring nod and followed him to the corridor.
“I know you don’t believe him but isn’t your behaviour a bit unprofessional?” she questioned, folding her arms across her chest.
“I’m only doing this because of Elliot.” He paused, glancing at Finlay, who was standing awkwardly in the lobby.
“Be careful of him, Isla. Angus reported that he was in possession of a document that didn’t belong to him.
He was going to retrieve it, only for him to end up dead. Do the math,” he said in a hushed tone.
Isla was silent. Different thoughts raced through her mind. It was obvious Finlay was more of the prime suspect than the traumatised victim that found the body. But if they were to put him under their microscope, then everyone should be on the list.
“What about Callum?” she asked. Finlay mentioned that he was very enthusiastic about the project and was there too at their meeting. “Wasn’t he also present at the meeting?” Rory was silent. “Angus didn’t mention Callum? He was the one who introduced Angus to Finlay.”
Rory stared down at her like she had grown two heads. “This is not the time to play detective, Isla. Ye don’t know this man or what he is capable of.”
Isla rolled her eyes. “You are being biased, Rory. I’m saying… never mind. Where is Elliot?” Her head whipped down the corridor. “I’m sure Elliot will see reason.” She rushed into the corridor with Rory after her.
“Isla, ye can’t go in there!” he called after her.
She stopped and turned to him. “He got in a taxi, right? The driver can attest to that.” She sighed and continued, “Just don’t be biased with your investigation.” She began walking away. She didn’t want to hear more of what he had to say.
“And ye be careful!” he cautioned.
“Are you going to Angus’ house today?” someone asked from behind Isla. She slowed her steps so she could listen.
“Not today, laddie. We’ll go on Saturday. It’s not like he died there,” Rory replied.
Isla fought back a growl. The police weren’t putting enough effort into the case because a foreigner was involved. They had already judged Finlay and were probably looking for a cause to arrest him.
Or even waiting to get a warrant to search his place.
Angus reported to Finlay to the police. She wondered why, but still, her guts told her he was innocent. She would do everything she could to find the true culprit.
“We’re leaving,” she said when she reached Finlay and Shakespeare.
“What did he say?” he asked, but Isla remained silent. Instead, she headed to the exit, wanting to get out of the station.
When they were alone in her truck, Finlay asked again. “Isla, the curiosity is killing me here.”
“Why St. Albert?” she asked. There has to be a reason he chose one of the oldest properties in town.
He didn’t answer, so she asked again. “Why?”
“I can show you. I promise to show you, and then you’ll understand what our plans can do for Lochraven.”
“Mmm.” She nodded, driving past The Binding Room. Finlay turned to her sharply. His eyebrows knitted together, etching lines onto his forehead. “You just passed…”
Isla came to a stop at the traffic light. “I know. We are going to Angus’ house.”
“What!?” he exclaimed, staring at her with wide eyes.
It was the most spontaneous and daredevil decision Isla had ever made. But if she wanted to know the truth, then she had to start with Angus. Their search must start with him.
“I think the police suspect you,” she choked out. “It’s easy to point fingers at the odd man out. They are being biased, and I hate it.”
Finlay pressed a hand to his forehead. “I know they do, but I didn’t do it.”
“Angus told the police about the deed you took from the box. And they believe he was coming to get it from you and… you know the rest. I think it’s all connected.”
“What is?”
The traffic light turned green, and Isla continued driving. “Angus, St. Albert, Buchan, and the Stewart. We just have to find the connection, and we’ll know who killed Angus.”
“Ar-are ye… are you sure about this?” he quavered. “I don’t know Isla.”
Woof. Woof, barked Shakespeare.
“See, Shakes agrees.” She gave Finlay’s thigh a small smack. “Lighten up, we can do this.”
“This is risky, Isla,” Finlay said.
“No, it isn’t. No one is coming here until Saturday. I heard it from Rory,” Isla said, parking her truck a few houses away from Finlay’s apartment. With Shakespeare in her arms, she led Finlay to Angus’ house. The front and back doors were locked.
“Can you pick a lock?” she asked.
“And add breaking and entering to my potential murder profile?” He chuckled, walking to the back of the house. Angus’ cottage resembled his fenceless backyard with a manhole drain at the back.
Finley had been seeing a lot of manholes in town. Hidden tunnels. Sealed off for many years.
Could it be… He shook his head. Lochraven was a small town. Could they have such an underground system?
“The flowerpots, check them,” Isla whispered, setting Shakespeare down. He rushed off to the front of the house, barking.
Isla stiffened, giving Finlay a ‘we are screwed look.’
“You brought him.” Finlay shrugged. “Now the whole neighbourhood will know we are here.”