For Their Sins Read online

  For Their Sins

  DI ALEC MCKAY Book 5

  Alex Walters

  Copyright © 2021 Alex Walters

  The right of Alex Walters to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance to the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2021 by Bloodhound Books.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

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  Print ISBN 978-1-913942-31-1

  Contents

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  Also by Alex Walters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Acknowledgements

  A note from the publisher

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  Also by Alex Walters

  The Inspector McKay Series

  Candles and Roses (Book 1)

  Death Parts Us (Book 2)

  Their Final Act (Book 3)

  Expiry Date (Book 4)

  * * *

  Thriller

  Winterman

  1

  There was something almost pagan about it. Not as explicitly so as some of the longer-established ceremonies around these strange isles, admittedly, and some of the God-fearing church types involved in tonight’s event would be horrified at the mere suggestion. Even so, as Alec McKay stared at the masked figures and the bonfire topped with grotesque effigies, it felt as if they might be invoking something far from Christian.

  ‘I hope you’re not having regrets already?’

  McKay turned to smile at Chrissie. ‘I was just wondering why we didn’t do it years ago.’

  ‘Because we had good reasons for staying in town. Or we thought we did.’

  ‘Remind me again what they were.’

  ‘You liked to walk out to the pub of an evening.’

  ‘I can still do that if I want to. But when did I last go to the pub? I’m getting too old for that kind of thing. I can barely drag myself out for something like this.’

  They were standing in the darkness away from the fire itself, just yards from the sea. McKay peered out across the firth, seeing the string of lights from Ardersier doubled in the still waters. Behind him, the crowd was growing rowdier as the fire took hold. It was a cold clear midwinter night, the sky heavy with stars.

  ‘I’m just worried it’s going to be too quiet for you.’

  ‘Doesn’t seem quiet tonight, does it?’

  McKay wasn’t even sure why they’d come. This kind of community event wasn’t really his scene. There was too much danger of running into someone you might feel obliged to talk to. But Chrissie was more sociable than he was, and she’d been keen to attend.

  It had drawn an impressive crowd, especially in the circumstances. He could understand that. It had been like this for a few months now, despite the recurrent lockdowns. People were desperate to engage in some form of social life, taking any opportunity to meet other people. The tourists hadn’t fully returned later in the summer, and the bars and restaurants had remained socially-distanced and unseasonably quiet. The locals had done their best to compensate, and that had continued into the autumn and winter.

  This was the latest in a series of community events organised to boost the local economy and raise funds for good causes. McKay had attended one or two, usually when goaded by Chrissie, and – though he was reluctant to admit it – had generally enjoyed them. Even when socially-distanced, Chrissie could happily chat to some of their neighbours, while he was content to knock back a few glasses of cheap plonk or a plate of stovies.

  Tonight’s event was on a larger scale than most, and was the brainchild of a local writer. McKay had been concerned that, given the size of the event, he’d find it more difficult to be his usual unsociable self, but so far the darkness and the crowd had let him remain unobtrusively in the background, while Chrissie did enough blethering with neighbours and acquaintances for both of them. Chrissie had even volunteered to drive so he could enjoy a couple of local ales.

  The bonfire was getting going now, and the crowd’s excitement was rising. McKay hadn’t bothered to check the schedule for the evening, but he knew it included music, fireworks and some other ‘surprise events’. None of that appealed to McKay – especially the ‘surprise events’ – but he was happy to drink his beer and listen to the steady wash of the waters against the beach.

  As if its owner had been reading those last thoughts, a voice said, ‘Alec? I wouldn’t have thought this was your sort of thing?’

  He turned to find his boss, DCI Helena Grant, accompanied by a man he vaguely recognised behind his face-mask. ‘Helena? Wasn’t expecting to see you over here, either. Bit of a drive.’

  ‘I couldn’t really turn down an invitation from the organiser.’ She gestured towards the man beside her.

  McKay realised now where he’d seen the man before. His had been the face beaming amiably down from every noticeboard and shop window on the Black Isle for the past month. William Emsworth, best-selling author of crime fiction, and the driving force behind the evening’s events. McKay allowed Emsworth a nod. ‘Mr Emsworth. You’ve put on a good show.’

  ‘Bill, please.’ Emsworth held out his hand for shaking, then awkwardly withdrew it. ‘Sorry. Keep forgetting we’re not supposed to shake hands any more.’ His accent was Scottish, but he sounded as if he’d spent a long time living elsewhere.

  ‘Alec was never sociable enough to shake hands
much in the first place,’ Grant said.

  ‘That’s true enough,’ McKay said. ‘But I’m a real charmer below the surface. How do you come to know Helena, Bill?’ McKay was mainly making his version of small talk, but he was also curious to know the answer. Helena had been a widow for a number of years. She’d made an ill-fated foray into online dating a year or so before, but recently, as far as McKay knew, had made no further attempts to reinvigorate her romantic life. Not, he conceded, that he’d necessarily be the first she’d rush to tell if she were back in a relationship.

  Of course there was no reason for McKay to assume anything more than friendship between Helena and Emsworth. Except that something in Emsworth’s expression suggested he might see things differently.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ Emsworth said, in a tone that suggested he was only too keen to recount it.

  ‘Bill contacted the comms team to see if there was anyone who could give him some advice on a book he was writing.’ Grant smiled. ‘For some reason, comms fobbed him off to me.’

  ‘I’m very glad they did,’ Emsworth said. ‘You’ve really been most helpful, Helena. You’ve given me a lot of invaluable information.’

  ‘If you’re going to represent our work in your books,’ she said, ‘we might as well make it as accurate as we can.’

  McKay wondered when all this had actually happened. ‘Are we providing research services for crime writers now, then? Surprised we have the time.’ He smiled to demonstrate he was joking, though his smile was hidden beneath his face-mask and, in truth, he wasn’t entirely sure he was.

  Emsworth nodded back. ‘I hope it’s all valuable PR for the force. I try not to depict you in a negative light, and I’m sure it must be helpful for the public to have a better idea of the valuable work you do. In any case, I was very careful not to waste any more of Helena’s work time than I could help.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Bill was good enough to buy me a couple of excellent dinners in return for picking my brains,’ Grant explained.

  McKay bit back the first comment to enter his head. ‘And now he’s invited you here.’

  ‘To be honest, I needed all the moral support I could get,’ Emsworth said. ‘It’s been a fraught process getting this all together. Still, it looks like we’ll all be locked down again after Christmas so I’m glad we made the effort.’

  ‘Must have been a challenge.’ McKay gestured to the crowd. ‘But you seem to have attracted the numbers.’

  ‘I’m very relieved. The biggest worry was the weather, along with all the usual social distancing concerns. People can wrap up against the cold, and it just helps sell the mulled wine. But if it pours with rain, it’s a washout. We had a couple of marquees arranged as backup, but it would have cut the numbers dramatically. And people are still uncomfortable if they’re crammed too close together.’

  ‘I always was,’ McKay said with feeling.

  ‘Alec’s generally keen to maintain the maximum possible distance from his fellow human beings,’ Grant said.

  ‘I suppose you see the worst of humankind in a job like yours,’ Emsworth said. ‘I have the luxury of only having to write about it.’

  Chrissie had finished talking to the neighbour and rejoined them. She nodded a greeting to Helena Grant and looked with undisguised curiosity at Emsworth. Unlike McKay, she’d recognised him instantly.

  McKay effected the introductions. ‘Bill’s apparently been taking lessons on policing from Helena.’

  ‘I’m sure she’s a much more appropriate tutor than Alec would be,’ Chrissie said. ‘He’d just tell you about the way he does things. Which isn’t always in the police manual.’

  ‘That sounds most intriguing,’ Emsworth said. ‘I’ll have to pick your brains too at some point. You could give me some tips on the concept of the maverick cop.’

  ‘Don’t encourage him,’ Grant said. ‘He already makes my life hell.’

  ‘Putting the hell into Helena, eh? Actually, Alec, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but she’s very complimentary about you behind your back. She told me about some of your recent cases. Fascinating stuff.’

  ‘Oh, God, don’t tell him that.’ Grant shook her head in mock despair. ‘I’ll never hear the last of it.’

  ‘As long as you don’t feature me in any of your books,’ McKay said.

  ‘I may be tempted to slip in a cameo.’ Emsworth looked past them towards the rising flames of the bonfire. ‘I’d better check that everything’s on track. We’re supposed to have a string quartet playing shortly and then we’ve got various local performers. Nothing too rowdy. Do you want to come along, Helena? I can introduce you to a few people.’

  As soon as Emsworth and Grant had departed, Chrissie turned enthusiastically to McKay. ‘Was that what I thought it was?’

  ‘What?’ McKay’s face was a picture of innocence.

  ‘Helena and Bill Emsworth. I had the sense they were an item.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. Not really my territory.’

  ‘Come off it, Alec. They were all over each other. Or they wanted to be.’

  ‘You’re the expert in that kind of thing.’

  She shook her head. ‘Well, I hope so. She deserves a bit of happiness after all she’s been through.’

  ‘You’re not wrong about that. What did you make of him?’

  ‘Emsworth? He seemed pleasant enough.’

  ‘Bit smooth for my taste,’ McKay said.

  ‘Everyone’s a bit smooth for your taste. Unless they’re too rough.’

  ‘Ach, well, you know my views on people.’

  ‘You disapprove of them.’

  ‘Present company excepted, obviously.’

  ‘You were too slow there, Alec. But I’ll take that as read.’ She was staring past him into the orange glare of the bonfire. ‘What’s going on over there?’

  Alec followed her gaze. He was expecting that some trouble might have broken out. That was always the risk of events like this. Most people were just out for a pleasant evening, but there were always one or two who downed too many pints and made a nuisance of themselves.

  It didn’t seem to be quite that, though. Some of the crowd were pointing into the fire, others were drawing back towards the water’s edge. At first the mood was playful, but then there was a scream and the mood seemed to change almost immediately.

  ‘Wait here.’ McKay made his way through the crowd, incurring irritated responses from those he moved aside, some of them muttering darkly about his proximity. As he reached the far side of the bonfire, he saw that most of the crowd had retreated towards the water. A couple of young men were standing close to the flames, clearly troubled by the intense heat, pointing into the heart of the fire.

  McKay was still some distance from the fire, but the heat was almost unbearable. ‘What is it?’

  One of the young men looked back at him, his face crimson from the heat. ‘There’s something in there. We’re trying to see what it is exactly, but it’s too bloody hot to get close enough.’

  ‘What sort of something?’

  The young man hesitated. ‘This is going to sound stupid. But it looks like a body. A human body, I mean.’

  McKay looked up at the summit of the large bonfire. Although it wasn’t Bonfire Night, the organisers had positioned several effigies on top of the pyre. During the pandemic lockdown earlier in the year, residents had entertained themselves and others by positioning scarecrows around the Black Isle. Several of these had been donated to top the bonfire. It was almost as if people felt that, symbolically at least, burning the scarecrows would help finally to consign that period to history.

  McKay gestured towards the scarecrows. ‘Maybe one of those?’

  ‘Could be. I don’t know…’

  McKay took another step forward, drawing as close as he could to the fire. It took him a moment to work out what the men had been looking at. Then he saw it, a dark shape in the centre of the flames.

  He could see what the man
meant. The object resembled the silhouette of a human body, stretched out in the stacked mass of wood. Whatever it was had become visible only as the wood had partially caved in to reveal the interior.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ the young man said. ‘Someone must have stuck one of the scarecrows in there for some reason.’

  The more McKay stared into the flames, though, the less certain he became. There was something about the shape that didn’t look like the scarecrows’ crude approximations of the human shape. It was no doubt an illusion created by the layout of the wood and the movement of the flames, but McKay found himself growing uneasy.

  There was little he could do in any case. The event had been well organised and there were no doubt fire extinguishers available, but those wouldn’t be capable of extinguishing the whole bonfire. Any attempts to do so would soon be overtaken by the fire simply burning itself out. In any case, if that really was some poor bastard in the heart of the flames, it was far too late to do anything to help them.