Chapter 22

 

   The following morning, Dugal found himself having difficulty getting out of his bed. It wasn't that he was tired, he was just finding it difficult to find the motivation to get started on the new exercise regime he had committed himself to. Exercising with dead corpses on his mind he was finding, was something easier said than done. He knew it was time to make a start, but he really didn't feel like it. All he could see as he lay in his cosy bed was Roddy Morrison's cold, wet, blood streaked pasty face. He lay for a little while longer and thought about perhaps putting off his new exercise routine until the following morning. Then, quite abruptly, he kicked off the duvet and jumped out of bed.
   With grim determination, he got down on his hands and knees and prepared himself for a few pushups. When his bodyweight was evenly balanced between the palms of his hands and his toes, he took a deep breath and steeled himself. Just then, a cat peered at him from the livingroom doorway. Dugal looked at it incredulously, recognising it as one of the neighbour's cats.
   'How did you get in here, you little brute?'
   The cat swished its tail then sat and watched him with interest. Dugal glared at it and it swished its tail again.
   'If you tell anyone, I'll . . . .I'll . . .' he threatened, getting back to his exercises. 'C'mon Dugal,' he muttered to himself, 'bend those elbows.'
   His arms, however, remained very straight.
   'Can you not manage even one?' he said to himself.
   With the cat watching, his elbows creaked in protest as he began the downward journey.
   'There, that wasn't so difficult,' he congratulated himself when he judged he was suitably low enough. 'Now up again.'
   However, his arms began to tremble as he pushed. Shoving his backside into the air, he gave a great roar and his arms jerked straight.
   'What are you looking at?' he glowered at the cat.
   Dugal dropped his gaze to the floor and stared at it. He really didn't particularly fancy his chances of completing a second push up. The cat continued to watch him curiously, its doleful eyes never blinking. Suddenly, Dugal collapsed onto the floor where he lay breathing heavily. The cat, realising the entertainment was over, got up, stuck its tail high into the air and headed off in the general direction of the back door. Dugal propped himself up on an elbow, grabbed his notepad and scribbled out the number five from beside 'pushups', and replaced it with the number two. Under no illusions as to what he'd let himself in for, he prepared himself for the next exercise on the list – touching his toes.
   After just one stretch, he found he was puffing heavily, and a quick glance in the wardrobe mirror highlighted a reddening face. Glancing back at his notepad, he decided he'd perhaps overdone things a bit for his first training session. The number ten beside 'touching toes' was crossed out and replaced with the number five. He was about to put the notepad down and get on with his next exercise when he suddenly crossed out all the remaining numbers on the list and replaced them with far smaller ones.
   'Now, what's next?' he mused. 'Ah yes, star jumps.'
   The cat reappeared at the door licking its chops.
   'What have you been eating you little brute?'
   The cat swished its tail and sat down again to watch.
   Feeling somewhat dejected and in need of professional advice, Dugal picked up a fitness pamphlet he'd picked up somewhere and leafed through it disinterestedly. The first section mentioned warm up exercises.
   'Ah, that's the problem,' he said with a nod, noting the pictures. 'I need to warm up first.'
   Very gently, he began rolling his head in a big circle, stretching his neck. A few bones creaked disconcertingly, and after that he swung his arms, swivelled his waist, shook his wrists and touched his toes. When he judged he was suitably warmed up enough, he was tempted to call it a day, but summoned his resolve and turned the page in the pamphlet.
   The pictures on the following page seemed confusing and quite a bit beyond him, so he leafed through the pamphlet until his eye was caught by a pretty young woman demonstrating various exercises. The ones of her lying on the floor on her back doing stomach crunches didn't look too bad so he lay down on the floor and put his hands behind his head.
   'What are you looking at?' he asked the cat, which was still watching him from the doorway.
   Tightening his stomach muscles, Dugal crunched and lay quickly down again. After the third crunch, his stomach began to complain quite volubly. By the sixth he was in serious difficulty and by the eighth his stomach was beginning to cramp. He wasn't sure how he made it to ten and it was with some difficulty he struggled dizzily back to his feet. Another glance in the mirror told him he should perhaps call it a day. When he had finally caught his breath again, he made for the kitchen. The cat turned and slinked out the back door.
   'Hmmm,' muttered Dugal, closing the door which was ajar a few inches. 'I really must learn to check this thing is shut properly before I go to bed.'
   After a hasty breakfast, Dugal pulled on his wellies and clumped off down the garden path on his way to John's house.

   'Ach, it's yourself Dugal,' greeted John with little humour when his kitchen door clattered open.
   Dugal kicked off his wellies and padded over to the kitchen table in his thick socks.
   'I didn't sleep a wink last night,' he said miserably.
   'I didn't sleep either.'
   'Is that whisky? At this time of day?'
   'Would you care to join me?'
   Dugal licked his lips as he took a seat at the table. The water jug chinked against glass as John carefully poured peaty water into a good measure of whisky.
   'That'll do!' said Dugal, putting a hand up.
   'I've been thinking,' remarked John, handing him his glass.
   Dugal held his whisky up to the light from the kitchen window to admire the colour.
   'Have you now?' he replied.
   'About the Thompsons.'
   Dugal took a large sip of his whisky before continuing.
   'What about them.'
   I'm pretty sure those two shadows I thought I saw last night out in the moor last night looked a lot like them.'
   'You think it was the Thompsons who killed Roddy and buried him in your grave?'
   John lapsed into thoughtful silence.
   Just then a car door slammed and John's garden gate squeaked. Dugal walked into the living room to see who it was.
   'It's Bob Holmes!' said Dugal, 'and he is in uniform.'

   'Good morning John, good morning Dugal,' greeted Holmes with genuine warmth, removing his police hat as he ducked his head and stepped into the kitchen.
   'I can see there is something on your mind, Bob' greeted John as pleasantly as he could. 'Would you like a wee dram?'
   'That would be very nice, thank you, but I'm on duty, so I will give it a miss.'
   'What's on your mind Bob?'
   Holmes gradually lost his smile.
   'It's a bad business.'
   'Would this be about Roddy Morrison?'
   'I can't find him. I can't find him anywhere, and no one knows where he is.'
   'I'm sure he'll be unearthed somewhere,' said Dugal drily. 'Would you like a scone or a pancake?'
   'Are they Janet's?'
   'She's a good woman, that one,' said John. 'Always drops by with scones and pancakes for me when she's baking.'
   'Is something the matter?' asked Holmes, noticing Dugal's hands were shaking.
   'I didn't sleep too well last night.'
   'Are you losing weight man?'
   Dugal looked down at his sagging gut.
   'Er . . .'
   'He's been exercising,' explained John. 'Bob, have you seen the Thompsons recently?'
   'The Thompsons?'
   'Yes, they've been acting very strangely this last few days.'
   'You mean like driving around the island in the early hours of the morning with coffins in the back of their car?'
   Dugal took a large gulp of whisky.
   'I'd be having words with them, if I were you,' said John mysteriously.
   'Am I missing something here?' asked Holmes, taking a bite of a scone.
   'We don't know anything about any coffins,' said Dugal.
   John rolled his eyes, but Holmes was too intent on his scone to have noted the strange comment.
   'Mmmmm, nice,' he said.
   They chatted about island life and the weather for a few minutes, and then Holmes glanced at his watch and rose to leave.
   'Thank you John,' he said graciously, 'I always seem to think more clearly after a quiet chat with you. However, I've suddenly thought of something, and I have pressing things to attend to and must be on my way.'
   'You know you are always more than welcome.'
   'Dugal, we have work to do,' muttered John when the backdoor closed.
   'Work?'
   'Roddy is going back into the ground where we found him. Once he's back in the ground, we'll call the police. Let's do it right now.'
   'The sooner the better,' muttered Dugal darkly, pulling on his wellies again.

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