Death in the Black Wood, Oliver Davies [short story to read TXT] 📗

man with a wife and three kids. That doesn’t mean I find one of those deaths more important than the other, you understand, but it does mean that he’ll be very much missed. Mr Chuol doesn’t seem to have had anybody?”

“No, he didn’t. Life was cruel to that boy. His family were all killed in some civil war, back in Africa. He told me that much. Dominic didn’t like to talk about his past.”

No, I didn’t imagine he would have.

“The night that he intervened, when he saw those boys bothering you and chased them off, was that the first time you met?”

“To talk to, aye, but I’d seen him around for a few days before that. I’d figured him out. He was looking to buy but didn’t know who to approach. Once I was sure he was authentic, I sorted him out with a guy I knew, for a cut of what he was buying, naturally,” he admitted unselfconsciously.

“A man has a right to be compensated for his trouble. There are plenty who’d have set him up and robbed him blind,” I said calmly with a hint of a shrug.

McAndrew knew that as well as I did. It was my reaction he’d been looking for. I think he decided that I wasn’t a bad sort at that point. Not like some officers, looking down their judgmental, holier than thou noses at people.

I pulled Shay’s photos from the folder. “Does this man look familiar to you Mr McAndrew? Did you ever see him with Dominic?”

“Is that your killer? Caught him on camera, did you? That’s lucky.” I nodded, and he took the pictures off me to look through. “Or not so lucky. You didn’t get his face. Well I can tell you that’s not the supplier I took Dominic to see. My man was a scrawny wee fella. I may have seen this guy hanging around a few times though. It’s hard to be sure.”

“Could you say where, or when?”

“The Sally Army on Tomnahurich Street, back in November. Outside on the corner, smoking a fag. It might not have been him, mind. Same jacket, same height, but there’s plenty of folk around here that you could say the same of.”

“And you saw him there more than once?”

“Aye, two maybe three times. Huh.” He blinked, frowning. “Now I think on it, I only saw him on days Dominic tagged along with me, never when I went there without him.”

“And you never saw him near your supplier?”

He shook his head. So that pill in the killer’s jacket had probably been taken from Dominic. That was a pity. I’d been hoping he was the dealer, not just a random, unknown stalker.

“Mr McAndrew, can you remember anything at all about the face of the man you saw?”

“Let me think on it.” He closed his eyes, and we waited as he tried to recall what he’d seen three months earlier. “Pale eyes, grey or blue grey. You know how sometimes grey looks blue in sunlight? They were a lot lighter than yours, Inspector, and smaller too. He wouldn’t turn any heads. Neither handsome nor ugly, no remarkable features. Short straight brown hair… Wait, there was one thing. Whenever he lifted his cig to his mouth, you could see a big white patch on the back of his right hand, like an old, deep burn scar, very smooth and shiny, maybe two inches long.”

“Round?”

“No, more like a triangle, like the tip of a pointy old iron.” It may well have been made by just such an appliance. “The jacket cuff was badly frayed too and missing its cuff strap.”

Caitlin pulled her phone out and started running through Shay’s photographs to see if our jacket sleeve was in the same condition. As my cousin had created subfolders for each item he’d photographed, it didn’t take her long. She held up her phone for me to see. The cuff strap on the right sleeve was missing, only a rectangle of velcro left behind to show that there had been one, and yes, the cuff was frayed. I gestured for her to show it to Eric and he nodded.

“So you got the jacket too?”

“We did. He left it behind. Do you think you could help our sketch artist to draw a resemblance of his face?”

He shrugged. “I could try, but it might be more hindrance than help to you if I remember him wrong.”

“We’re willing to take that chance, Sir.” Former addict or not, this man had a talent for recalling details from memory that was far above average. “When would you be able to come in for that? We’ll provide a car to take you there and bring you home again.”

“This afternoon? Three o’clock?” he suggested.

“Let me just make a call to see if they’ll be available.” Our preferred composite artist here in Inverness was very good, and I knew he’d give my case priority, even if he had another booking. He’d cancelled prior appointments for us before. Douglas Fisher was a freelance artist with an MSc in Forensic Art and Facial Imaging, as well as a remarkable talent for drawing faces. What I didn’t know, offhand, was whether he was away on holiday. He wasn’t and yes, he could be at our offices at ten past three.

That arranged, we thanked Eric McAndrew again and took our leave of him.

“Well, Old Eric was certainly a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting him to be so coherent, or so amenable. He must have been back on the wagon for a while. Do you want to call in at the Sally Army now or wait until we have the sketch?” Caitlin asked as we climbed back into the car. I looked at the time on my phone. It was only a little after eleven.

“Let’s call in there now. We can send them the sketch over later, but I’d like to see if anyone remembers our man from that burn scar. There’s a good chance the staff there would remember something like that