Death of Alistair MacTavish Read online

  DEATH OF ALISTAIR MACTAVISH

  By David Wilson

  “By the way, James, our bar manager ordered six bottles of Glen Coruisk single malt whisky from the Coruisk Distillery on the Isle of Skye and six bottles of Glen Tummel single malt from the Loch Tummel distillery near Pitlochry. He maintains that we buy so much from abroad but fail to fully appreciate the offerings of the United Kingdom. A tasting’s been arranged for tomorrow night.”

  “Like yourself, my Lord, I’ve never been a great fan of whisky but I’ll certainly sample a glass or two. Maybe we’ll become aficionados of whisky as well as wine. No harm in tasting the stuff but I doubt if I’ll ever acquire a liking. It tastes like burnt peat to me. If we start drinking whisky as well as wine we’ll need another client who needs our help very soon.”

  “My wife’s wanting a new three piece suite. She says the one we have is worn, tatty and out of date, and she wants one of these very expensive contemporary designs that are very painful to your derriere. The one we have is jolly comfortable and we’ve only had it thirty years. Women, James! I’ll never understand them.”

  “It sounds very much like the lady who wanted a new Porsche but her husband wanted a Ferrari. They compromised and got a new Porsche. Maybe in your case it’s a hint, Bigsby, that you sit down and relax too much with your glass of wine.”

  It was now time for a little lunch and as we entered the dining room, The Club manager came and told us that a man wearing a skirt had called earlier that morning to say he’d like to see us both at three o’clock in the afternoon.

  “A man wearing a skirt, James. What next!”

  “It sounds as though he may be a Scot wearing a kilt. It’s an emblem of Scottish culture and each clan has their own ancestral tartan. They wear the sporran in front of the kilt to hide all their money. But beware, Bigsby, they’ve a small knife tucked down one of their socks with only part of the handle showing. Argue with a Scotsman at your own risk.”

  “A kilt’s not for me, my friend. A bit too draughty and what happens when the wind blows? If he’s from the Scottish aristocracy he’ll be a partaker of the finest malt whisky and hopefully treat us to a glass.”

  “Not a Scotsman, Bigsby! I read yesterday that someone from Glasgow had complained to a newspaper editor and said, ‘If you print any more jokes about mean Scotsmen I’ll stop borrowing your paper’. But one can only hope.”

  “We’ll enjoy our lunch first, James. We may soon be exploring the wilds of Scotland.”

  After lunch we retired to our office to prepare for our visitor who arrived shortly after three o’clock. He was a tall, medium built man with an imposing presence but appeared to have a pleasant personality. We introduced ourselves and then asked our prospective client his reason for coming.

  “My name is Lord Alexander MacTavish of the MacTavish and I’m the Clan Chief. But please call me Sandy. I was recommended to you by Lady Helen, whom I’ve known for a long time, and I admire her greatly. Apart from telling me how you solved a very complex case, she also told me of the affection you had for her family and how much a happy family life meant to you both.”

  “Both James and I were very happy with the outcome of the case but distressed about the death of Lord Percy. I hope we can help you, if it’s help that you’ve come for?”

  “It certainly is, Lord Bigsby. A very distressing family matter which I’m unable to comprehend. We’ve always been a very happy and close family until about three weeks ago. My wife and I have one son, aged twenty-one and a daughter aged twenty-three. Our son’s in charge of the future direction of the company and our daughter works for a company in the Isle of Skye that manufactures Scottish tartan.”

  I interrupted. “What’s the nature of your business, Sandy?”

  “I’m the owner of the Glenrowan Estate and the Glenrowan whisky distillery where we produce single malt whisky. A great deal of my time is now taken with my duties as Clan Chief. For the past two years, the day to day running of the business had been undertaken by my brother, Sir Alistair and my son, Angus. At that time, I passed the chairmanship of the company over to Alistair. The Board of Directors consisted of myself, my wife, my brother and my son.

  “Although I was no longer chairman and took no part in the running of the distillery, I was hoping I could still attend the board meetings. We met twice a year to discuss overall policy and so far during my working days, all meetings had been amicable and good-humoured.

  “At the following board meeting, soon after my resignation as chairman, my brother and my son asked me and my wife to allow them to have complete freedom in any company decision making. Their reason, they told us, was to enable them to work out a medium term plan to take the Glenrowan Distillery back to its former glory. In other words, we wouldn’t be welcome at any board meetings.

  “I was speechless. However, as we now had very little to do with the business, we decided to agree. Unexpectedly, four weeks later, they informed us that our remunerations would be cut by half. We understood the reason for this was to save money so we weren’t unduly worried. Our income from investments and the holiday rental from the six cottages we have on the estate was ample for our needs although we couldn’t be too extravagant. There was no animosity as we soon came to the conclusion that this was for the benefit of the company. I was still very upset, though, about the abrupt manner we were told.

  “Three weeks ago, my brother was found dead at his home. Alistair was such a loving, wonderful and caring man who was loved by all. Not being certain how he died has put a strain on the whole family.”

  “How did he die, Sandy?” I asked. “Was the death suspicious or did he die of natural causes?”

  “He was found by his wife at two o’clock in the afternoon with a gunshot wound and a gun by his side. She called the police immediately but, after all their enquiries, no evidence of foul play came to light. They were happy with their finding of suicide and have now closed the case.”

  “Did his wife hear or see anyone coming to the house or leaving it? From the way you’ve spoken so far it appears to suggest that you’re of the opinion it was murder. Bigsby is an expert in anything connected with firearms. What do you say, Bigsby?”

  “Yes, Sandy, I am. I spent a great deal of time on the shooting range while I was supposed to be studying at Oxford. As the saying goes, ‘What we learn with pleasure we never forget.’ James left Cambridge with his head stuffed with all this theoretical nonsense and a first-class honours degree. I finished university with many useful practical skills and a degree paid for by my father.

  “If I’m able to gain access to the police files on the shooting, I could tell you with certainty whether it was suicide or murder. One only has to look at the position of the gun on the floor and the angle in which the bullet penetrated the body.”

  “It appears as though your investigation will be as thorough as Lady Helen informed me. Yes, I’m absolutely certain it was murder and for you, Bigsby, to be able to verify this will be a great bonus. My brother’s wife was away at one of her clients’ homes most of the morning and only arrived home a few minutes before two o’clock. She works as a high society millinery designer. Is there anything else you’d like to ask me, James?”

  “Had there been any problems which led to your decision to step down from the business, Sandy?”

  “My initial desire for the business, when I took over from my father, was to produce the finest single malt whisky in Scotland. I also planned to restore the buildings to their former glory.

  The master distiller we employ has an excellent reputation. Even with his guidance we weren’t able to compete with the Coruisk Distillery in Skye for the top awards. This badly affected our sales and our m
arketing opportunities. We could never understand why.”

  “Please carry on, Sandy, and then we’ll be able to get more understanding of the matter.”

  “Everyone in the industry knew we were struggling. We then had an offer from the Coruisk Distillery to buy us out. It was an excellent offer. The offer was that they would buy the distillery with ten acres of land immediately surrounding it and the workers’ cottages. We would keep the rest of the estate.

  “Initially everyone, apart from Angus, was in agreement that we should sell. A few days later, the owner of the Coruisk Distillery, Lord Alex MacCoward, came over to work out the technicalities of the sale contract. Half way through the talks, Alistair began with another of his rants.

  “He asked Alex MacCoward if he knew that the main distillery warehouse had been condemned as unsafe and had to be rebuilt. He continued on about the unreliability of most of the equipment and the high cost of maintenance. This was all totally untrue.

  “Lord MacCoward then got up and walked out. I could’ve strangled Alistair with my bare hands that very moment. It was then I resigned as chairman and from the day to day responsibility of the business. Hence my decision to concentrate on other things.

  “I’m desperate for help. Would you please be willing to investigate the murder and, if you think it appropriate, the reason why they demanded that I relinquish all responsibility? I’m sure there was no malice intended but I’d like to know why.”

  “Who else is employed by the distillery, Sandy?”

  “Apart from the master distiller and the master cooper we only employ young lads from the nearby villages.”

  “For how long, Sandy, have the distiller and cooper been working for you?” I asked.

  “Both their grandfathers and fathers worked for the company with the skills being passed down through the generations. Fergal and Findlay have been with us since they were sixteen and are now in their early forties.”

  “What did you mean by saying Alistair had another of his rants, Sandy?”

  “Alistair had always been a very jovial person before his war service. After he came home, he’d days when he could be depressed and absent-minded. We wondered if he’d had any traumatic experience during his service but he wouldn’t talk to us about the war. Not one word.”

  I looked at Bigsby and he motioned for me to accept the case. I then replied to Sandy.

  “Yes, we’re very willing to take on your case especially as we were recommended to you by Lady Helen. It would necessitate us both having to stay in Scotland for a few days so we’d appreciate it if you could find us accommodations where the food is of the finest quality.”

  “Thanks so much and I’ll book your accommodation at one of the finest hotels in Scotland. It’s located only two miles from the Glenrowan Distillery. I’ll personally pay for your stay and I’ll have a word with the owner to enable you to have your food and drink at half price. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

  “Not at the moment,” I said. “We’ll now examine the details you’ve given us and let you know of our intended approach to the investigation. We’ll travel up to Glenrowan tomorrow as I’m sure time is of the utmost importance.”

  “I’m travelling home later today so I look forward to seeing you both soon.”

  We then bid Sandy farewell. He had barely closed the door behind him when Bigsby exploded. “Food and drink at half price. What a mean bugger! I was on the point of giving back our word.”

  “I did warn you, Bigsby. We’ll add it on his bill, plus another fifty per cent, as necessary expenses. Like you always say, how can anyone investigate a crime without good food and drink inside them?

  “Did I tell you about the Scotsman who married a young lady because her birthday was on the twenty-ninth of February? He’d only have to buy her a present once every four years. Ha!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  After Sandy left, we arranged our travel to Scotland for the following day and then discussed between us what he’d told us. As usual, Bigsby asked me how I thought we should approach the investigation.

  “Well, my dear Bigsby, I’ll leave you with the task of persuading Sandy to give us a conducted tour of the distillery and in getting as many free samples as you can.

  “As regards the case, I’m sure the most important thing for us to do is to confirm if the death of Sandy’s brother was murder or otherwise. For this purpose it’ll be necessary for us to speak with the police. After we’ve established the cause of death, then I’d suggest that we interview his wife. She’s the person most connected with him and the one who discovered the body.

  “Sandy, himself, had little input in the business latterly. It’s possible that he was totally unaware of any unrest within his own family. Was the honour of being Clan Chief more important to him than being Chairman of the Glenrowan Distillery? There’s much to consider.”

  “I totally agree with you, James, as there appears to be a lot of happenings which seem altogether unrelated, but we’ll see. My main thought at the moment is if I’ll acquire a taste for single malt whisky. I sincerely hope that I do.”

  The following day we set off for Scotland and the start of our second case as private detectives. It would be nearly two days before we reached our destination. We travelled with the London and North Eastern Railway from King’s Cross Station in London. With great excitement, we boarded the Flying Scotsman which only a few months previously had begun its non-stop service from London to Edinburgh. In its apple-green livery it looked stunning.

  The views, especially from York to Edinburgh Waverley Street Station, were excellent as we travelled over the North York moors before following the coast at Berwick-upon-Tweed.

  The heather clad moors are home to the grouse, skylark and snipe. Rare species of merlin and golden plover make this their habitat. With food aplenty in the shape of insects, moths and butterflies, the populations of bird species here were thriving.

  It’s also ideal ground for Britain’s only poisonous snake––the adder––which feeds on numerous mice, voles, shrews and lizards. On the dales lies the largest Iron Age hill-fort in Northern England––an area of great archeological interest which I’d love to explore further.

  The Cheviot Hills then came into view which straddle the border of England and Scotland. At Berwick-upon-Tweed, we followed the beautiful coastline before reaching our destination.

  It was late when we arrived in Edinburgh so we stayed the night at a small hotel near the station. I’ll not say how Bigsby described the food. After a few spoonfuls of virtually inedible soup, we retired to bed. We decided not to risk breakfast.

  We’d no time to explore the delights of Edinburgh. Before we went back to London we’d surely have to make time to visit Edinburgh Castle. Anything historical held a special interest for me. Here there had been a royal residence on the Castle Rock since the reign of David I in the twelfth century.

  I’ve always been enchanted by the story of Greyfriars Bobby, a Skye Terrier who, after his master died, guarded his grave in Greyfriars Kirkyard for fourteen years. To see the dog’s statue atop a drinking fountain near the churchyard would be a thrill for me.

  We now headed to Waverley Street Station to board the train to Perth and then on to Grantown. A wonderful journey where the scenery became even better as we approached Pitlochry.

  “Did you learn anything about Scotland in your Cambridge days, James? I was told never to go as it was a bleak place which was always wet and windy. I’ve to say I’m very impressed with Scotland so far.”

  “Pitlochry’s mainly an old Victorian town, Bigsby, which lies on the banks of the River Tummel. Those two splendid mountains over there which surround it are Ben Vrackie and Schiehallion.

  “I know Robert Louis Stevenson was a guest at the Fishers Hotel in 1881. Only half a mile from here at Kinnaird Cottage in Moulin, he wrote Thrawn Janet and worked on two of his other books––The Merry Men and The Body Snatcher.”

  The train then took us th
rough the Cairngorm district––a wild, rugged and spectacular place. Red deer stags were roaming the hills, buzzards and kestrels hovered overhead with the occasional grouse to be seen on the lower ground. Being September, the hills were awash with mauve from the heather.

  The hotel that Sandy had booked for us, Spey Lodge, was only two miles from Grantown. All the reviews about it that we found maintained it was the best in Britain with exceptional gourmet meals and a superbly stocked bar.

  “Did you know, Bigsby, that Grantown was established in 1765 by Sir James Grant on open countryside near the River Spey. It soon became a prosperous town by attracting rural industries and merchants. Obviously named after its founder. The name was extended to Grantown-on-Spey in 1898.”

  “Just showing off are we, James? What useless information you Cambridge educated lot store in your heads with no practical knowledge at all.”

  Finally, we arrived at our destination where we were met by Sandy to drive us to our hotel. The hotel looked fantastic. It had been an old Victorian shooting lodge and was set in its own grounds with superb views. The grounds sloped down to the River Spey where the hotel owned the fishing rights for a one mile stretch. It would be a challenge to catch a salmon but we would try. We hoped we would be allowed one day out on the hills to stalk the stags. Venison was one meat that neither of us had partaken of so we were very keen to try it.

  We were greeted with great friendliness by the manager, who introduced himself as Callum.

  “So pleased you’ve arrived safely from London, Lord Bigsby and Field Marshal James. If there’s anything at all you wish for, please ask me personally. Our specialty on the menu tonight is saddle of venison with wild ceps which I can heartily recommend.

  “The death of Alistair MacTavish has left the local community shocked as he was so well liked by all. He’d help anyone who needed assistance. I understand that Lord MacTavish is paying for your accommodation and for half the cost of your food and drink. Is that correct?”