Chapter 12

 

    When Dugal had left John's house, he had dozed fitfully on his couch for the rest of the morning, tossing and turning but getting very little sleep. Around lunch time he sat up with a slight headache and a dry tongue from having had a couple of whiskies too many. His stomach rumbled as he got stiffly to his feet and headed into the kitchen. If nothing else, the morning's diversion at the grave had given him quite an appetite.
   When he had a few sausages sizzling in a frying pan in the company of two eggs, a slice of black pudding and some mashed potato left over from a previous meal, he indulged in a few bends and stretches to start off his new fitness regime. It wasn't long however before he was reduced to a state of breathlessness. Although he'd only touched his toes and stretched towards the ceiling a few times and then done a few star jumps, the effect on him had been colourfully quite spectacular. His cheeks had changed to a deep red and there was more than a hint of purple evident elsewhere on his face. Deciding that enough had indeed been too much, he leaned against the sink to get his breath back and made up his mind that, in future, his exercising was going to have to progress at an easier pace until his body adjusted to this new torturous process. When he'd recovered sufficiently, he checked himself in the mirror hanging beside his back door and sucked in as much of his stomach as he could, which wasn't very much.
   'My goodness,' he wheezed, not particularly enjoying what he was seeing.
   Resolving to cut down on his food intake to help him get back into shape, he decided to lunch sparingly and left a sausage in the frying pan.
   As he sat at the table munching his food, he pondered his new estate in life as John's heir. He had already convinced himself that the croft and the house would be his, and he wondered if being a landowner would affect him in any way. He'd heard that people coming into money often changed for the worse, and it worried him a little. On reflection he decided that, no matter what happened, he was going to remain very much the same Dugal Bain everyone knew. Then he remembered the coffin.
   'That damned coffin is going to ruin everything,' he murmured as his dreams fell apart.

   After lunch, he slipped on his wellies and wandered outside. Deep in thought, he set off along the road towards John's house, kicking his way through the few puddles still lingering from the overnight downpour. But no matter how much he tried, he couldn't shake off a feeling of impending doom brooding over him. What if they discovered the body and he ended his days in prison? He didn't think he would like being caged up.
   When he reached John's house, he leaned against the gate until the tightness in his chest had eased somewhat, and then wandered up the garden path and made his way round to the back door.
   'Is there anyone at home?' he called out, closing the back door behind him. 'Are you there John? It's Dugal. Is everything alright?'
   Silence greeted him and for some inexplicable reason, he shivered with fear. Passing through the kitchen into the living room, he was relieved to catch sight of John stretched out on the sofa, an empty whisky glass sitting on the floor beside him.
   John's eyes flickered and then opened, and his gaze moved slowly down from the ceiling until it became fixed on Dugal. He stared unblinkingly for a few moments and then recognition gradually filtered into his fuddled brain
   'Ah Dugal,' he said in a gruff voice, struggling to a sitting position. 'We have to do something about thon bleggarty coffin. Having a corpse in the house is giving me the creeps.'
   'Glad to hear it,' agreed Dugal, settling himself in the armchair by the fireplace. 'What did you have in mind?'
   John scratched his ribs and blinked a few times.
   'All that digging has not done my old bones any good at all,' he moaned. 'It is a physiopist I'm needing.'
   'You mean a physiotherapist, I'm thinking.'
   'Yes, one of them as well would be handy.'
   'I'm all for young ladies massaging my body,' agreed Dugal. 'But there is only a man who does physio on the island, so don't get your hopes up.'
   'What time is it?'
   'You don't look well John. Are you sure it isn't me for phoning the doctor you are wanting?'
   John tried to decipher what Dugal had said, but gave up and got to his feet. With a hand holding the small of his back, he headed into the bedroom.
   'Dugal?' he shouted from beside his coffin.
   'What is it? What's the matter?'
   'It's that bleggarty old tractor of mine. It is coughing worse than Rory after a night of whisky and cigarettes.'
   'It's never let you down before, why worry about it now?'
   'Will you come here man?'
   'I don't see why it should give you problems now,' continued Dugal, stepping warily into the bedroom with his eye on the two coffins.
   'Should we clean and polish it?' asked John, pointing down to the dirty coffin on the floor.
   'Seems like a lot of work for nothing,' replied Dugal, who always went out of his way to avoid physical work if he could possibly help it.
   John suddenly punched his fist into his palm.
   'We have to put him back.'
   Dugal felt his heart sink. His dreams of being a land owner and a man of substance were quickly being displaced with visions of flashing blue lights and handcuffs.
   'John, I think we should phone the police.'
   'Yes, you're right, that's why we are going to put him back.'
   'You're not making any sense.'
   'When I first began making arrangements for my funeral,' said John, a far away look in his eye. 'All I wanted was to ensure my final arrangements were in order so no one would be inconvenienced at my passing.'
   'Things have changed.'
   'Was it too much to ask?'
   'This is a criminal matter, John. and the right thing to do is to call the police.'
   'Yes, I agree with you, but I think we should put the body back where we found him first.'
   'I'm not sure I like that idea.'
   'Think about it.'
   'I've done little else since we've found the damn thing.'
   John eyed him dourly.
   'A story like this,' continued Dugal, 'is going to make the news. It will be in all the papers and on the television.'
   'I guess so.'
   'Do you want policemen and reporters knocking on your door? And what would everyone on the island think of us?'
   'You need to calm down Dugal, and think it through. If the body is found here in the house, there will be police cars and reporters swarming all over us here at the house. If the body is found out in the moors, they will be swarming all over the moors and we might be left alone.'
   'Ah, I see, of course, we just tell them that's where we found it, but we didn't touch it.'
   'Yes, that's how I see it.'
   'I see your point, yes, but—'
   'Don't worry, I'll do the digging.'
   Dugal managed a wry smile of sorts.
   'Okay John, we'll do it your way. And when we've put him back in the ground, we call the police, right?'
   'First thing in the morning.'
   And with that John shuffled off to the kitchen for a couple of glasses. Life was never so unpalatable as to make a good whisky unacceptable, so Dugal hurried after him.
   When they were both seated in the living room with a good measure each, John looked over at Dugal and blinked a few times.
   'What is it?' asked Dugal, knowing there was something on his mind.
   'Oh, nothing.'
   'Nothing is it?'
   'I was just wondering who he is.'
   'Yes,' sighed Dugal, staring into his whisky. 'I've been thinking about him too.'
   'I wonder what he did for a living?'
   ' I don't suppose we shall ever know.'
   'Maybe he was a minister, or a solicitor.'
   'Or a politician,' offered Dugal.
   John sloshed his whisky around in his glass.
   'Do you really think he was murdered?'
   Dugal downed what was left of his whisky and began to feel a bit light-headed. He put a hand to his mouth but was unable to prevent a burp.
   'It's because I hurried my lunch,' he explained, by way of an apology. 'Murder would certainly explain why someone would try to hide him.'
   'Well, well, will you look at that,' remarked John, gazing distractedly through the door leading to the kitchen and out the back window.
   'It's Old Graham,' said Dugal curiously, craning his neck from his chair. 'Now why would he be heading out over the moors with a spade?'

Back to Top