Dead Man's Grave Read online

  Max and Janie exchanged a look. ‘Did you get the name of this man?’

  ‘Can’t say I did. Old guy, must’ve been eighty. Didn’t look very well, if I’m honest. He asked my husband about it, but I think it was Willie who gave him directions.’

  ‘Is your husband here now?’ asked Janie.

  ‘Sure, he’s in the kitchen. I’ll take these orders through and ask him to come and see you.’ She disappeared out of view via a swing door.

  ‘Nice work,’ Janie said, looking directly at Max with her deep blue eyes.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘It’s no coincidence we’re here, is it?’

  ‘Just a hunch, and I’m genuinely hungry.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Janie looked at Max with a frown.

  ‘Think about it. Tam Hardie would’ve driven five hours up from Glasgow, just as we have done. He’s searching for an old, disused graveyard. What better place to start your investigations than the local pub? There is basically nothing else here. He called his son at two o’clock, probably after stopping for lunch here, which is conveniently the nearest place.’

  ‘You’re smarter than you look, Sarge.’

  ‘Are you saying I look daft, like?’

  Janie chuckled, her face a mix of amusement and embarrassment.

  A slim man in his early forties wearing a clean white apron approached the table with a smile. He had a bright, open face and piercing dark eyes.

  ‘Afternoon, officers, I’m Duncan Ferguson. I own this place with my wife, Mary, who you’ve just met. I understand you’re asking about a previous customer?’

  ‘Hi, I’m DS Craigie and this is DC Calder.’ They both showed their warrant cards. ‘I understand that a customer was asking about a local graveyard a couple of days ago?’

  His accent was a typical soft Caithnessian. ‘Aye, so he did. An elderly guy, in his eighties, I’d say. He was chatting to Willie, one of our regulars, about it.’

  ‘What can you tell me about the customer?’

  ‘Just an old chap. Short hair, Barbour jacket. Hard eyes, mind. He looked like he had seen lots of life, if you understand me.’ He spoke softly and thoughtfully.

  ‘Do you know where the graveyard is?’

  ‘Can’t say I do. I only came back here a couple of years ago, after living overseas. I’ve not heard anything like it.’

  ‘That’s a shame. Any idea who might know?’

  ‘Sorry, not really, Officer.’

  ‘So, do you think Willie managed to explain it?’

  ‘No idea, I’m afraid. Willie is usually really shy and doesn’t like talking to folk. He’s a bit of a loner. I’m not sure he’s the full shilling, if you understand me. He just comes in here now and again for a pint.’

  ‘Where does Willie stay?’

  ‘I’m not sure – close enough to come here for a drink.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  ‘Wee fellow, short and skinny with longish scruffy hair, always in work clothes. Can I ask what this is about?’

  ‘Missing person inquiry, just nosing around a little, but mainly here because we’re hungry, and this looks tremendous,’ Max said looking at Mary who had appeared clutching two heaving plates of fish and chips.

  ‘Fresh off the boat this morning, detectives.’ Duncan grinned with pride.

  6

  ‘Right, let’s go find a graveyard, then,’ said Janie as they drove slowly through Latheron, their hunger nicely sated.

  ‘Yep. Someone here must know about it, and I’m betting that he will,’ Max said pointing at a man dressed in work clothes depositing a letter into the post box in the centre of the village. He was returning to a battered pick-up truck that had three bales of hay in the rear when Max called out to him from the driver’s seat.

  ‘Aye?’ he questioned, his face showing no trace of suspicion.

  Max pulled over, stepped out of the car and joined him at the side of the road.

  He showed his warrant card. ‘DS Craigie from the police in Glasgow. I’m looking for an old graveyard around here somewhere. You know of it?’ Max’s soft Highland lilt seemed to have intensified.

  ‘That’ll be Ballachly, just a couple of miles up the road.’ His accent was pure Caithness.

  ‘What do you know about it?’ asked Max, his face open and friendly.

  ‘Most locals know about it. We used to bugger about there as kids, just a ways up the A9. It’s a spooky place. All the kids used to tell stories of it being haunted and the like. I’ve not been there for years and years, though.’

  ‘Can you direct us?’ asked Max.

  ‘You have a map on your phone?’

  ‘Sure.’ Max produced his smartphone, selected the map function and handed it to the man, who took it and swiped and pinched with his fingers before handing it back, saying, ‘I’ve dropped a pin in the map. You’d never find it, otherwise. We get the odd amateur historian looking for it around here.’ He smiled, broadly.

  ‘Thank you, so much. That’s perfect,’ said Max, grateful for the unexpectedly helpful encounter.

  The man laughed, softly. ‘I’m not just a farmer, Officer. I also do IT support for a company in Edinburgh. Best of luck.’ He smiled before climbing back into his truck and moving off. Silence descended on the deserted village street, once again.

  ‘That was unexpected,’ said Janie.

  ‘Highland farmers have had to diversify. It’s a tough business to be in.’

  ‘I think your suddenly stronger Highland accent may have helped.’ She smiled.

  ‘No idea what you mean, Constable.’ Max smiled back, exaggerating his accent even more as he climbed back into the car and began to head north.

  The dropped pin in the map application took them off the A9 northbound of Latheron and onto a bumpy, rutted farm track that the BMW’s run-flat tyres bounced uncomfortably on. They headed towards the distant wind farms that stood idle in the fields. The weather was clear and sunny with not even a breath of a wind, unusual in the exposed, sweeping Caithness countryside.

  A short left led them alongside a large grassy field that housed a small flock of sheep and an enclosure, bursting with brush and weeds, surrounded by a tumbledown dry-stone wall. Just in front of them to the side of the road stood a pile of recently baled hay, still tinged green, and a tarpaulin covering some machinery.

  ‘You think that’s it? It’s not marked on the map, whatsoever,’ Max said, staring through the windscreen at the walled area of vegetation.

  ‘It’s bang on for the cell site,’ said Janie, her eyes taking in the whole scene. ‘Place looks a dump.’

  ‘I’m more interested in that,’ said Max staring not at the enclosure but at the tarpaulin.

  ‘Sorry?’ Janie said, bemused.

  ‘The tarp. It’s covering something big, and I don’t think it’s been there very long. It’s not settled at all and the earth holding it in place has been freshly dug.’

  Janie looked at the old, frayed tarpaulin and then at the base. Piles of freshly dug soil held it in place at each corner, weighing it down.

  ‘It’s not been windy, it’s hardly moved, so if it had been here any length of time it would look very different, especially with the way the wind whistles over these hills from the sea. It’s logical, really. Come on, let’s check it out,’ said Max, smiling at her and opening the door.

  ‘“Crime is common. Logic is rare. Therefore, it is upon the logic rather than upon the crime that you should dwell,”’ she said, dryly, as she got out of the car.

  ‘Sorry?’ said Max.

  ‘Doyle?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, you know, Sherlock Holmes. That’s from The Adventure of the Copper Beeches. Have you read it?’

  ‘I only read books with exploding helicopters on the front cover,’ said Max, shaking his head.

  Janie paused, as if thinking for a few moments. ‘It’s stuff like that which makes everyone think I’m weird, right?’

  Max laughed.
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br />   He grabbed a corner and pulled it upwards, causing the earth to spill off. He walked, dragging it towards the centre before tossing it over a dark, gleaming car wing. The deep tread pattern became visible as the large wheel was exposed.

  ‘Bingo,’ said Max, pulling the tarp over the bonnet, exposing the large grill of the Range Rover.

  ‘That’s Hardie’s,’ Janie said. ‘Registration checks out, but who put it under a tarp and why such a crap attempt at hiding? A kid could do better.’

  ‘Whoever killed him, and I suspect they didn’t care that he would be found.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think Old Man Hardie is no longer with us. And whoever put this tarp over his car, in this very poor effort at hiding it, more than likely killed him. Come on, let’s get the rest of it off, make sure he’s not inside.’

  Together they pulled the rest of the covering from the gleaming, huge SUV. Trying the door handle, Max was surprised when it opened with a reassuring clunk.

  ‘Best glove up,’ said Max, a nasty feeling rising in his chest. Whatever had happened to Old Man Hardie, the fact that there had been an attempt to conceal his car, however amateurish, was somewhat ominous.

  Janie returned with a couple of pairs of blue nitrile gloves in her hands. Snapping a set into place, she threw the others to Max who slipped them on and pulled the big, heavy door wide open.

  ‘Just a quick check. We’ll need forensics up here before we go deep into it. Can’t leave any stone unturned. Keys are here on the seat. Even more concerning,’ Max said, pointing at the solitary Range Rover key on the plush leather seat. The front and rear cabins were empty and spotlessly clean with no obvious traces of blood. A laptop case lay in the back. Max carefully lifted the flap, seeing a silver flash of the computer inside.

  ‘You going to look at it?’

  Max shook his head. ‘Nothing we can do now, and even booting it up could wipe it if Old Man Hardie didn’t want anyone seeing what’s on it. We’ll leave it to the tech team.’ Max had encountered protected computers too many times to fall into the trap of blithely booting them up. It was all too embarrassing to have to admit that your actions had wiped potential vital evidence from a computer.

  ‘Any sign of a phone?’ Janie asked.

  ‘Not here. Let’s check the boot.’

  Max picked up the key from the driver’s seat, then depressed and held the boot release on the fob. There was a deep clunk as the mechanism worked and the boot swung open slowly.

  It was empty. Literally devoid of a single item. The pile on the plush carpet showed evidence of having been recently vacuumed and was as immaculate as the rest of the vehicle.

  ‘Looks like the old boy liked a tidy car,’ said Max briefly lifting up the boot floor, revealing nothing other than the polystyrene cut-out compartments that housed the jack and tools required to change a wheel.

  ‘A man after my own heart. This is odd,’ said Janie. ‘Car parked and badly hidden. For what purpose? Where is Tam Hardie?’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense, does it? If someone has kidnapped him, where are the demands and why is the car left here for anyone to find? This is an eighty-grand car. Why not get shot of it properly?’ Max pressed the button on the inside of the boot lid and it swung gracefully shut with a soft click. ‘Come on, let’s go and take a look at the graveyard. I’d better call this in.’

  As they walked into the field Max dialled Ross. He answered immediately in his normal gruff fashion.

  ‘What do you know, Max?’

  Max filled him in about what they had found and requested that a forensic team be called and a low loader to remove the vehicle.

  ‘What’s your instinct on this one?’ Ross asked.

  ‘Honest answer?’

  ‘No, I want you to bloody lie to me, you daft twat. Stop pissing about. I’ll give the Major Incident Team the heads-up.’

  ‘Not good, none of it makes sense, so we’re going to look at the graveyard and see what we can find. Tam Junior said he was on some quest, his words, so maybe the graveyard will yield something. I’ll call you back.’

  ‘Ross okay?’ Janie asked.

  ‘Usual charming self. He’s dispatching a forensic team and speaking to the MIT. Come on, let’s check it out.’

  They wordlessly trudged across the fragrant grass, the sheep scattering away as they crossed the hundred metres to the shabby, walled enclosure.

  When they arrived at the rusting, ancient-looking, half-open gate, Max suddenly stopped just as Janie reached out to touch it.

  ‘Wait. Before we go in, what do you see?’ Max spoke softly, and without any kind of sarcasm.

  ‘Just a rusty old gate leading into an overgrown, walled space with what looks like some broken monuments inside. Why?’

  ‘Look at the gate. It clearly had to be opened with some degree of force by the last person here. Look at all the debris it has pushed inwards.’

  There was a pile of leaves, dirt and grass against the inside bottom bar of the gate.

  ‘So, the last person who came in here was probably the first visitor for ages, I guess.’

  ‘Years, I’d say, and the last person was here just a short while ago. The piled leaves and shite haven’t been disturbed by wind or rain. I’d say Hardie certainly was in here.’

  ‘What are you a tracker or something?’ Janie said, just a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

  ‘A little. I did a course in the Army.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were in the Army.’

  ‘Lots you don’t know. Anything to see on the inside?’

  ‘No, too dense. What can you see, Crocodile Dundee?’

  ‘There’s rough evidence that someone walked in a fairly straight line through the undergrowth. You can see the broken stems of the bracken and brambles. A good few of them have been bent or moved. We should find a new approach path that heads roughly to the middle of the plot. Don’t want to trample where he’s been, could be evidence of his presence, blood from cuts on the thorns, and the like.’

  Max set off walking clockwise around the rough and tumbledown dry-stone, looking into the centre of the graveyard.

  ‘Here, it’s mostly soft-stemmed plants from this point inwards, rather than spiky shrubs, so we should be able to get to the centre easier.’ Without waiting for an answer Max carefully climbed over the low wall, which despite appearances was solid enough.

  ‘What now?’ asked Jane as she joined Max inside the boundary.

  ‘We head to the middle, where the trail Hardie left finished. That’s as far as he got in. Anything to be found will be there, and watch out – there are some big old stinging nettles.’ Max began to move through the dense vegetation, creating a path that Janie followed, grumbling to herself.

  It was hard going, working against the green mass and every few feet they had to feel their way around to avoid tripping on the gravestones, hardly any of which were still upright.

  ‘Shit, this is a seriously old graveyard. I’d like to see the parish records, could be something in them,’ Janie said.

  ‘Language, Constable, this is consecrated ground.’

  ‘I didn’t have you as a religious man.’

  ‘I’m not, it’s bloody old, I’d say. Look, this stone, here.’ Max cleared some of the nettles away from one of the few upright stones. The lettering was shallow and only just legible.

  ‘Jeez, 1740, that’s really old.’

  ‘Where’s the church?’ said Max.

  ‘Destroyed or ruined, I’d say. There were some old granite blocks just outside and the mound we climbed to get to the back wall was an old broch, I think, which will be really ancient. Lots of the old churches fell down when the communities moved away, particularly around the time of the clearances,’ said Janie.

  ‘I see that the history degree wasn’t wasted. Come on, not much further.’ Max set off again, moving weeds, nettles and six-foot-tall cow parsley out of his way towards where the track stopped just a few feet ahead of them.

>   A small clearing had been made, presumably by Hardie, beside a prone granite slab on the ground, with deeply edged, crisp lettering still visible, although upside down to them.

  They circled the grave and looked at the lettering. Max felt a chill run up his spine as he read the inscription.

  This Grave Never to be Opened

  ‘Nice,’ Janie said with a mix of sarcasm and seriousness.

  ‘No date, you notice. In fact, nothing beyond that inscription. A bit odd, no?’

  ‘Probably not.’ Janie looked thoughtful. ‘That inscription, may indicate cholera, or maybe plague. They used to put minimal inscriptions to prevent interest, or descendants opening them.’

  Looking at the corner of the stone closest to them, Max noted that there was fresh damage to the granite. A small chunk of it had separated from the main slab and lay about eighteen inches away. Picking up the piece of stone, about the size of a small mobile phone, he matched the broken edge against the gap in the main stone. It fit like a jigsaw puzzle. Max laid it back down again.

  He circled the monument, sniffing the air and studying the surrounding ground. He dropped to his hands and knees and looked at the stone at eye level, examining its surface.

  ‘Can you smell that?’ Max said, softly.

  ‘I can just smell dirt, Mr Sniffer Dog,’ Janie said, smiling.

  ‘Ha ha. Death. The smell of death, Janie.’

  Janie sighed before reluctantly, lowering her head closer to the ground and sniffing. ‘No, just dirt, with a bit of a boggy smell as well, I guess.’

  Max said nothing once more, but moved slightly away from the grave, looking at the ground, intently, his head bent, watching how the light hit the fronds differently. The grass and soft shrubs had been compacted as if someone had been lying on them.

  Max stood suddenly and went to the gravestone. Without a word, he stepped on top of it, feeling the surface of the smooth granite beneath his feet. Shifting his weight from one foot to another, he felt a slight movement in the surface of the stone. Suddenly he stamped down on the stone, violently three times. An eruption of buzzing emanated from the grave and flies swarmed from the crack where the stone met the soft soil.