A Dead Man on Staffin Beach: A D.I. Duncan McAdam Mystery (The Misty Isle Book 5) by J M Dalgliesh

Author:J M Dalgliesh [Dalgliesh, J M]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hamilton Press
Published: 2025-03-21T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“George Francis McLintock,” Alistair said, lifting his cup to his lips as Duncan peered over his shoulder at the screen. Duncan was nursing his own cup of coffee in his hands. The fresh-faced individual depicted in the digital file open on Alistair’s screen was in black and white, and the young man had wavy hair, cut close on the sides and parted from the left. “He was in the service from 1962,” Alistair said, reading from the details below the picture. “A detective constable from 1967, and stayed in the polis until he retired having served his thirty years in 1992.” Alistair went to sip from his cup and was both surprised and disappointed to find he’d finished it and set the empty cup down on the desk in front of him. It was pushing ten o’clock at night now, and the team were still working to establish the foundations of their investigation. The first forty-eight hours following any murder were deemed the most critical with regard to reaching a successful outcome.

“Where is he now?”

“Dead,” Alistair said, sniffing. “He died in a car accident back in 2002.”

“Damn,” Duncan said. “There goes another lead.”

“Ah, we’re not done yet,” Alistair said. He saw a reflection in his screen of Angus walking behind them. “Angus!” The DC stooped and looked over.

“Sarge?”

“Put the kettle on would you? I’m gasping for a cup of coffee here.”

“Is there anything else to say about him?” Duncan asked, referring to McLintock.

“His clean-up percentage was pretty good,” Alistair said. “He’d make it onto my team, certainly.” He glanced over at Russell who was at his desk with a steaming brew and grazing his way through another packet of ready salted crisps. “He’d perform better than some of these reprobates anyway.”

“Okay, thanks for looking it up, Alistair. If you need me, I’ll be in my office until the end-of-day briefing.”

“Right you are,” Alistair said. Angus Ross approached him, stirring something in a cup. “You are an exceptional detective, Angus,” he said, smiling broadly and gratefully accepting the mug. He glanced at Russell. “Unlike some others.”

“Appreciate your support, Sarge,” Russell said, totally unfazed, through a mouthful of crisps.

Duncan closed the door to his office and sat down at his desk. He logged himself into the police national computer, opened a search window and hesitated, his fingers hovering above the keyboard. He took a deep breath and typed the name into the box. The returned list of entries flashed up quickly. There were a few in the system under the name of Duncan McAdam. He paused, staring at the list. The most recent report was over twenty years ago. It documented the investigation into his father’s death.

Duncan glanced through the window into the ops room but everyone was busy and he thought it was unlikely that he would be disturbed. Exhaling, he double clicked on the report and it opened in a new window. He knew the circumstances surrounding his father’s death. He’d been out on the town, drinking heavily which was not an unusual occurrence.

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