Chapter Eight
The Harbour View Guest House rose four storeys from street level and sat gazing, over the harbour, at the sea. Painted in a dark yellow the building had green windows with mock grey shutters.
DS Mitchell opened the glass inner door and entered the light blue hallway, which had a reception desk under the stairs. He let his right hand drop onto the brass bell on the desk. A girl dressed in a white blouse and black skirt appeared from a door at the back of the hallway
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m DS Mitchell–Police Scotland,” Dave said, showing her his warrant card.“Is there a Veronica Cahill staying here?”
“Yes, she’s in room four.”
“Can I talk to her please?”
The girl lifted a receiver and pressed a key, after a moment she said: “Miss Cahill, there’s a policeman at reception who wants to talk to you.”
She then replaced the receiver. “She’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Okay–thanks,” said Dave as he walked back to the glass door and peered out at the harbour. He shook his head as he remembered when he was a kid he could almost cross from one side of the harbour to the other on the fishing boats moored side by side. A sign of the times, he thought: the outer harbour with only a few small vessels in it, and the inner harbour, a marina filled with pleasure craft.
“What can I help you with officer?”
Dave turned to see a good-looking, well-dressed woman descend the last few steps of the staircase.
“Miss Cahill?”
“Yes.”
“I need to talk to you,” he said, turning toward the girl. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“There’s the dining room,” she said pointing to a door opposite the desk.
He led the way into the room, which comprised five laid out tables.
They sat at the window table.
“Do you know John Duncan?”
An alarmed expression crossed her face. “Yes. What’s happened to him?”
“Nothing. Did he stay with you last night?”
“Why… yes! He came to see me at around eight and left this morning around seven- thirty.”
“Was he with you the whole night?”
“Yes, we had dinner in here and then sat and had drinks with Frank the owner until around ten-thirty. Look, what’s happened?”
“Mr Duncan discovered a body in his flat this morning.”
“Oh my God! How is he?”
“He’s fine. He’s helping us with our enquiries.”
The policeman gazed out at the bobbing yachts. “Are you over here working?”
“Yes, I’m doing an article for my newspaper on Johnny.”
“I understand he’s uncovered something of religious importance.”
“Yes, he’s stirred things up somewhat.”
“Over the last few days, have you noticed anyone or anything unusual?”
“There was a swastika painted on Johnny’s door on Saturday. I urged him to report it, but he shrugged it off as the work of a fool.”
“How long have you known Mr Duncan?”
“Not long. We met about ten days ago in Jerusalem. Johnny was on holiday; I was there working. We stayed at the same hotel.”
“This was when he discovered whatever it was he… discovered?”
“Yes, he had visions in the Garden of Gethsemane.”
“And you were with him at the time?”
She smiled and then said: “No, I was working.”
“Okay, that’s fine for now. I need to ask you to stay in the country for a few days? There will be more questions.”
“Sure, I doubt my editor would let me leave now, anyway. Can I go and see Johnny?”
“I would leave it for a few hours. The forensics people are there just now.”