Crash and Burn: A Scottish Crime Thriller (A DCI Harry McNeil Crime Thriller Book 11) by John Carson

Author:John Carson [Carson, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-10-30T16:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

‘I can’t find my night-time pills,’ the old man said. The former Lord Corcoran looked at his son, who had inherited the title from his father.

‘That’s because it’s only lunchtime, Dad.’

‘Oh bugger. Give me a whisky instead, then.’

The old man’s nurse, who followed him about all day like she was a dog, looked over at Corcoran and shook her head slightly. Corcoran was a man who rarely took orders from other people, but this woman was paid to look after the old man, and he didn’t want his father running about in the garden again, wearing just his underpants and screaming and shouting. When it came to his father’s well-being, the woman knew best.

‘Nope. No whisky.’

‘Did she tell you not to give me one?’

‘If by she you mean Phyllis, then no. I’m telling you: behave yourself, or you’ll have to go and watch television in the special room.’

The old man tutted and the nurse nodded to Corcoran and they left the room.

Corcoran shook his head and blew out a breath. ‘It gets harder every day, I swear,’ he said to the man who had been sitting quietly in one of the leather wingback chairs.

‘I can imagine.’ Colonel was sitting with an amused look on his face. ‘He’s a great guy. I like him a lot. I remember the fun we used to have.’

‘Me too, but his mind is away now. No more fun and games for him.’

‘Pity. He would have enjoyed this upcoming week. I remember when he used to foam at the mouth just thinking about it.’

Corcoran blew out a breath and stood up. ‘Just because the old man’s doolally, doesn’t mean we can’t have a whisky or two, does it?’

Colonel smiled. ‘Indeed it does not.’

Both men were in their late fifties now, their livers either tolerant of the excessive drinking or well on their way to checking out.

Corcoran walked over to the large sideboard over on one wall. The size of the room made it look small. He often thought that a television company could have come in here and filmed a TV series, if it hadn’t been for the family secrets. It wouldn’t do to have somebody snooping about the place. No, that wouldn’t do at all.

He poured the whiskies from a decanter. He couldn’t remember what the name of the stuff was, but at the end of the day, did it really matter? It would help them get blootered and then they would flush it away. The main thing was, it had to taste good when it went over the tongue, and this stuff did the job.

‘I’ve gone over the guest list again,’ Corcoran said, not for the first time. He had been going over the list again and again, ever since the RSVPs had come in.

‘Bennington still not coming?’ Colonel said, accepting the glass.

‘No. Can you believe that? After all I’ve done for the bastard.’ Corcoran sat down and shook his head, staring off into space for a moment. ‘That’s it, though; he’s never coming here again.

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