CHAPTER 23 The Explosion

 

It was four weeks since Mary had come out of hospital and she was enjoying motherhood. They had decided to call the baby Shona and she was going to be christened in Kingussie church, where they were married, in four weeks’ time.

Sergeant McLeod and his wife had become good friends with Jock and Mary. They visited weekly and informed them that the two assailants in the court toilet had pled guilty and were still in custody. They had been referred to the next sitting of the High Court for sentence.

Linda McCulloch and her policeman boyfriend had paid Mary a day's visit with presents for the baby from all of the members of staff at the Glasgow office and to tell her that they were getting married later in the year.

Although she was on maternity leave, Mary still did a lot of work from home, on her computer, for Campbell Holdings, making decisions and giving advice and guidance when needed. Nan came three times a week to do some cleaning and to share lots of gossip. Mary was enjoying life so much at Achlean that she pondered the idea of possibly working full-time, mostly from home, with one or two days at the Glasgow office.

The croft was doing well at this time of year. They had employed a senior citizen as a part-time gardener. He worked two mornings a week to tend to the vegetable plot, the polytunnels and to help with the hens. He enjoyed it and it kept him occupied in retirement. Jock had agreed on a barter system with him but Mary put her foot down and quickly cancelled that idea, in line with her duties as accountant. Jock just adored his baby daughter and Mary thought that, in the next year or so, she would love to give him a son too.

Today was Saturday and Mary decided to go shopping in Kingussie. Nan was just finishing cleaning. Jock was uplifting vegetables from the polytunnel in the croft for an order to the Duke of Gordon Hotel. Jean was grooming Whisky as he was up in the croft, grazing on a piece of spare ground and recovering from his work in the forest.

Despite recent events, Mary was feeling extremely happy and content, married to a good man with whom she was deeply in love, proud mother of a beautiful and healthy newborn daughter, good friends, money in the bank, a lovely house in glorious countryside and big prospects in an international company. In fact, life didn’t get much better than this.

Mary and Nan came out of the house together and found that Jock was loading the last of the vegetables and eggs into the back of the pickup truck. Jean came running over to ask Jock, “Can I pick two carrots for Whisky?” and her mother piped in before Jock could answer, “and a lettuce for me.”

Jock smiled and leaned over the carry cot, speaking to his daughter, “These women take a loan of me and I dare say that you will do the same when you get older, just like your mother.”

“Don’t you dare touch our daughter with those dirty hands,” ordered Mary.

“Petticoat government,” laughed Jock.

“Can I come with you Mary?” enquired Jean before she set off to the vegetable garden.

“If it’s alright with Nan,” answered Mary.

“The ladies’ shinty match has been cancelled and she has been at a loose end all morning,” replied Nan. “If you take Jean, it’ll give me the afternoon all to myself, as that son of mine and his girlfriend are away to Oban to see Kingussie play in the first round of the cup.”

It suddenly occurred to Mary that the playpen and pram that she had ordered from the furniture store may have arrived, so she asked Jock, “Darling, could I take your pick-up, deliver the vegetables to the Duke of Gordon and then collect the items for our daughter’s room? That would be easier than bundling them into my Land Rover. Jean cleaned the pickup this morning and, if I do the delivery, it will give you more time to finish the three plaques that were ordered last night?”

“Don’t you want me to come with you?” he asked.

“By the time you’ve washed, shaved and changed your clothes, Jean and I would be almost done. Besides, I’ll speak to the manager about last month’s invoice not being paid yet.”

Nan laughed and commented as she got into the car, “Just do as you’re told Jock Stewart and make a good job of these plaques.”

Jock handed over the keys and Mary and Jean climbed into the pickup and put the carry cot, with the baby in it, into the rear passenger seat, wedging it securely with shopping bags and the seat belt. Winding down the window, Mary said with a smile, “I'll get you something special for tonight's meal if you kiss me goodbye.”

“Just look after our daughter and don't bump my pickup. If I'm not good enough to come with you, I am not good enough to kiss goodbye,” came the mocking response. Mary and Jock laughed as they teased one another.

“I'll make it up to you tonight” shouted Jock as the pickup drove off.

Jock walked up to the shed, laughing to himself and started to put on earmuffs and a boiler suit to sand the three big birch plaques. It was almost finished when he looked at his watch to discover he had been working for almost an hour and a half.

Suddenly, the door of the workshop opened and there stood Sergeant MacLeod. “It's yourself Murdo” exclaimed Jock as he took off the earmuffs, “and to what do I owe this pleasure?”

Sergeant McLeod did not speak and appeared to be struggling with what to say. The look on the sergeant's face made Jock pause, before asking in a worried voice, “Is everything alright? Has there been an accident? Are Mary and the bairn hurt?”

“Jock” came the reply, “it's far worse than an accident. Get a good grip of yourself as I have really bad news for you. Just over an hour ago, a huge roadside bomb was detonated just as your pickup passed. There are no survivors. The vehicle and its contents were burned to a shell. I am deeply sorry to be the one to break the news.”

The information hit Jock like a knockout punch. He stood stock still, unable to absorb the fact that all that was dear and precious to him was gone forever.

“Come into the house” continued the sergeant, “I'll pour you a big dram to steady you and ease the shock that you're going through.” Sergeant MacLeod helped Jock out of his boiler suit and, taking him by the shoulder, guided him into the house.

Jock followed him as though in a drunken stupor, unable to grasp the situation, a whirlwind of thoughts cascading through his mind. Taking a gulp of the malt whisky, the ‘water of life’ seemed to clear his mind and make him regain his composure.

“Is someone with Nan?” asked Jock. The sergeant confirmed that a policewoman had gone to her house and another was being dispatched to the shinty ground in Oban to fetch her son, Ewan and his girlfriend, Betty.

Detectives and forensics were at the scene which was further down the glen near to the glider field. Sergeant McLeod was instructed to stay with Jock, with regard to protection, and to help him get through the initial shock and the pain of grief.

Jock felt he was in the depths of despair, then the discipline of the Brigade of Guards came to mind and he asked, “Can we go to Nan Cameron’s house and then pay a visit to the site?”

“I’ll take you in the police Land Rover,” answered Sergeant McLeod.

At Nan’s house, a neighbour and a policewoman were in attendance. Nan was in a distraught state and when she saw Jock the tears of grief flowed in abundance. She threw her arms around Jock and buried her head in his chest, unable to speak as she was sobbing uncontrollably. Jock held her until her sobs eased a little.

Eventually, when she was able, she spoke, “My heart is broken in two Jock, but yours must be absolutely shattered. Who could do such a thing? Are they human?”

Jock kissed her on the forehead and answered, “Nan, it was me they were after, I have brought this grief to you. I gave Mary permission to take my pickup. I am so sorry.”

“Get that idea out of your head this instant,” growled Nan, her grief turning to anger, “You were an inspiration to my Jean and your love for Mary and wee Shona was a joy to behold. So, you and me will have a big dram of that expensive malt whisky that you brought me back from your honeymoon. It was my intention to keep it for when my laddie got married, but I think we need it now and I’ll finish it before the dawn breaks on a new day because I will not be going to the kirk tomorrow.”

At that, she went over to the cabinet, produced the bottle of whisky and poured two big drams for her and Jock and a wee one for her neighbour. The policewoman and the sergeant declined her offer, although there was a note of reluctance in the sergeant’s refusal.

The whisky had no effect on Jock, but it appeared to settle Nan and her voice sounded more like normal, as if her grief had been wept from her. “Life must go on Jock,” she continued, after drinking her whisky, “I’ve battled grief before when my man was killed and I’ll do it again. You cannot let those low-life cowards win, so brace yourself for the next few days which are going to be terribly hard, then sort yourself out afterwards. Words, written or spoken, cannot heal the pain of grief, only the passage of time can lessen that.”

Those words from Nan gave Jock encouragement and, as he left the house with the sergeant, he kissed Nan lightly on the forehead and whispered, “I came to comfort you but you have given me comfort.”

Not a word was spoken as Jock was driven to the location of the crime by the sergeant. Police vehicles, fire brigade and several other vehicles were parked there and a police cordon was screening the area. Jock was shocked when he saw the wreck of his pickup and the size of the crater in the road, caused by the bomb.

“The only consolation I can offer, Jock, “said the sergeant, “is that they did not suffer. They never knew what hit them.”

“Is there any trace of the bodies?” asked Jock.

“Very little,” was the reply. “Impossible to identify anything. According to witnesses, it was a raging inferno before anybody could approach it. All human remains, what little there were, have been taken to Inverness. As well as explosives, a lot of petrol or diesel was used. They certainly wanted to make sure there would be no survivors.”

All Jock could do was kneel in prayer and ask for help to overcome all the emotions that he was going through. A detailed search, on hands and knees, was being carried out around the perimeter of the crater by a guard of policemen.

The press were already on the scene, and a TV crew were filming, when the sergeant and Jock emerged from behind the police screen. Sergeant McLeod made his thoughts clear to Jock, “With the road being impassable it will, at least, stop the media from coming up the glen to hassle you and Nan, unless, as I did, they use a four-wheel drive and cross the field. I’ll take a preliminary statement from you and, no doubt, members of the serious crime squad will come in the very near future to interview you as well.”

They returned to Achlean where Jock spent a lot of time on the telephone to Doug Campbell in America, his family in New Zealand, the Glasgow office, the smelter at Kinlochleven, RSM Harkness, Dusty Miller and Mr and Mrs Black at Quarriers Homes. It was late when Sergeant McLeod left Achlean and Jock finally found solace in sleep.

Next morning, Jock had just finished packing his old rucksack and was about to leave when a police vehicle pulled up outside his house. He recognised Inspector Walker but not the constable who was with him. Inspector Walker introduced himself and expressed his condolences. He said that the constable would be on duty here to deter the press and sightseers, and for protection if required, and that he would take another statement from Jock. Memories of the last time they spoke, after the attack in the house, prompted Jock to reply, “Here are the keys to my house, make yourself at home. I’ve given my statement to Sergeant McLeod and now I am heading up into the Cairngorms for several days to put my life and thoughts in order, with the hope that the solitude will act as a balm to the grief that has befallen me.”

“You can’t just wander off like that in the middle of a murder enquiry,” ordered the inspector.

“Don’t try to stop me,” retorted Jock as he swung the rucksack onto his back, dropped the keys to the house into the constable’s hands and strode out through the gate and onto the path that led up the glen.

 

It was breakfast in D Wing at Barlinnie Prison in Glasgow and, as the prisoners filed by the kitchen to collect their meals before going to their tables, Slim Jim declared in a loud voice so that everyone could hear him, “See what happens when you go up against Tommy Arthur. That bitch in the Highlands got what was coming to her. You all saw on TV this morning the state that pickup was in.”

The prison officer in charge of the mess hall called for silence, but a voice shouted, “A woman, a lassie with special needs and a wee bairn blown to bits because your pride was hurt! Hell mend you!”

A chorus of ill will was beginning to gather volume and another voice shouted, “Four of you armed with guns and swords went to teach the teuchter woodcutter a lesson and he put the lot of you in hospital with just a stick.”

Most of the inmates expressed their anger and the prison officer was losing control when another voice shouted, “If that guy thinks your family is responsible, he’ll come looking for you, so you’d better hire more minders because he’ll go through them like a dose of salts.” This remark made Slim Jim think, at least I’ll be safe in here if that teuchter is looking for me, I’ll have to have some enquiries made.

The tension in the mess hall started to ease, turning anger into jeers and mockery. Slim Jim and his two minders went skulking into the corner, taken aback by the hostility of the inmates who were appalled that the hardened criminals’ code of conduct included harming women and children.

Four days later, Jock came down from the Cairngorm plateau, his mind clear and feeling more at ease with himself. As Achlean came into view, his main thought was that he was looking forward to a shower and a shave, as his face was covered with six days’ growth. He could see several vehicles parked outside his house and a group of reporters and photographers were aimlessly hanging about while two uniformed police officers stood outside the front gate.

Approaching the group, Jock asked one of the reporters, “What’s going on here? Has something serious taken place?”

The man replied, “Have you been out in the hills for long? Did you not hear? The wife and daughter of the owner of this house was murdered last Saturday and we’re hoping for an interview, but he’s not been out of his house yet and the police won’t let anyone into the garden.”

“When I passed a house further down the glen, there were some reporters interviewing a man. Could that be him?” lied Jock.

“What!” exclaimed the man, “Come on lads, we’re at the wrong house,” and a mad rush ensued, cameras and bodies getting into vehicles before driving off at speed down the glen.

Jock smiled contentedly as he opened his garden gate, only to be stopped by the two police officers. “Sorry sir, you can’t come in here. This is private property,” was the command.

“It’s alright constable. I’m Jock Stewart and I got rid of the press, so if one of you has the key that I gave Inspector Walker, we’ll have some tea and biscuits and I’ll have a shower and a shave.”

“Sorry Mister Stewart,” apologised the constable, “I’ll radio Sergeant McLeod to let him know you’ve returned,” and he went to the police car to deliver the message.

Refreshed by a shower, shave and a change of clothes, Jock was in the middle of a conversation with the two constables when Sergeant McLeod came into the conservatory. He was accompanied by two plain clothes detectives who were introduced as members of the Serious Crime Squad. They took a detailed statement from Jock and informed him that a white Ford Escort or Citroen van had been seen leaving the glen just after the explosion and that the occupants appeared to be the miscreants of the cowardly act.

Jock refused their offer of protection and was adamant that he was going to work in the forest next morning now that the road had been repaired. By the time that the detectives were leaving, a crowd of press had returned outside Achlean. Jock agreed to give a statement, provided there were no photographs taken and the litter on the road where they had been waiting was cleaned up.

After this was done, Jock answered their questions, often personal, as best he could. Interviews over, tranquillity settled over Achlean and Jock walked round the croft, fond memories tugging at his heart. That evening he prepared everything for work next day.

In the morning, he found it strange to be going to work in Mary’s top-of-the-range Land Rover. During the day, he worked nonstop in a section of the forest that had been blown down in last winter’s gale. There was no need for horse extraction of the timber as the Forwarder could enter the forest. Jock spoke very little and worked from dawn until dark, as if the sweat from his body could take away the pain of grief. As before, he dined in the evening with Nan and her family and accepted a packed lunch for the following day. At night, he bitterly regretted all the years that he and Mary had been apart.

Days went by before the procurator fiscal decided to release what was left of the bodies of Mary, Jean and baby Shona. After a very sad meeting with Nan, they agreed that they would all be buried in the same coffin and have a united church service.

The day before the funeral, Jock’s sister, Shona and brother-in-law, Ben arrived from New Zealand, leaving Bunty at home to look after the family. RSM Harkness and his wife also arrived. The visitors gave Jock much needed moral support. Doug Campbell and Beth booked into the Duke of Gordon Hotel.

The church was packed to capacity and the service was relayed by loudspeakers to a large congregation outside. As expected, a large body of media, TV crews, reporters and photographers were hovering around the church, like vultures, waiting to grasp the sadness and grief from the solemn event. Doug Campbell and Mr Black from Quarriers gave the eulogy for Mary, and Nan Cameron’s brother gave one for Jean. Jock sat next to Nan who cried silent tears throughout the ceremony.

The coffin was carried from the church by RSM Jim Harkness, Dusty Miller, Mr Black and three men from Nan’s family. As the lone piper played the “Flowers of the Forest,” the coffin left the church on its journey to the cemetery. Most of the congregation, both men and women, were in tears and everyone present had a lump in their throats.

Jock and Nan walked together, united in silent grief. As the coffin reached the graveside, TV crews, reporters and photographers were blocking the path of the mourners. When the coffin was laid at the graveside, RSM Jim Harkness, in his best parade voice, ordered, “We will have dignity at this solemn occasion. All media representatives are to leave this immediate area.” He also gave orders to the workers from Kinlochleven who began to force the press back towards the wall on one side and the estate workers and shepherds did the same on the opposite side while the shinty players formed a rear guard and pushed the press away from the graveside. Jim continued, “Don’t hesitate to move those cameras. The Guards will move to the front so that the minister and close relatives have space. Now move or your cameras will be taken from you.”

With some, mainly ignored, protests from the press, they were forced back onto the outskirts of the group of mourners. A helicopter could be seen circling above, filming the ceremony.

Inspector Walker approached RSM Jim Harkness and questioned his authority. He was told, in no uncertain terms, to go and direct traffic if he did not want a riot taking place. Inspector Walker turned and left, with some misgiving.

As the coffin was lowered into the ground, the words of the hymn ‘Abide With Me’ rang out in the cemetery, which brought a lump to Jock’s throat as he threw a red rose onto the coffin. Nan burst into uncontrollable sobbing beside him as she did likewise.

The ceremony over, Jock was standing away from the graveside and shook hands with all who passed. His mind was in turmoil but he was comforted by the presence of RSM Jim Harkness and his sister and brother-in-law who were standing alongside him. Nan and her family were several yards away, similarly engaged.

The reception was at the Duke of Gordon Hotel where Jock had a long conversation with Doug and Beth Campbell, making arrangements to visit them in the very near future. By this time Nan had regained her composure and, fortified with a few glasses of ‘the water of life,’ was more like her old self.

As Jock was mingling with the guests, he met a man who introduced himself as George Young. He told Jock that he was a private investigator from Glasgow and had worked undercover with Mary at the Kinlochleven smelter to put a stop to the corruption that was taking place. After the initial small talk, Jock ushered him into a corridor so that they could talk privately. He asked him if he could provide a complete dossier on gangland crime in Glasgow, especially all known details of Tommy Arthur and if the lawyer, William Liddle, was connected with the crime lords in Glasgow. The former detective was reluctant to divulge such information but, when Jock offered him twenty thousand pounds, he agreed to do it and said that the information would be confidentially delivered in four weeks’ time. They shook hands on the agreement.

Next day, Jock said his farewells to Doug and Beth Campbell at Inverness Airport and to his relatives at Kingussie Railway Station. He promised that he would visit New Zealand once he had put his house in order, meaning his life and the croft.

RSM Jim Harkness left the following evening on the sleeper to London, after he and Jock had spent the day working on the croft. At the weekend, Jock called at Nan Cameron’s house and spoke with Nan, her son and his girlfriend. He told them he was going to America in six weeks’ time for an indefinite period and was then going on to New Zealand, with the possibility of staying there permanently as Achlean held too many happy memories for him. He admitted that it was the coward’s way out, instead of meeting the agony of his grief head on.

Ewan and Betty told him that they were getting married in three months’ time and were looking for a house. Jock offered to rent them Achlean, with the option to buy his share of the business later. They could also have Mary’s Land Rover to either use or sell, whichever suited them best. Even Nan was overawed with this proposal but they all agreed that they would arrange a meeting with the bank manager and a lawyer to look at all the financial aspects before they made a final decision.

Jock went into a serious keep-fit programme, doing long-distance walk-and-run expeditions and keeping the croft in order. He and the part-time gardener resumed their barter style of payment, both to their satisfaction.

Two weeks later, Jock went down to Glasgow to visit George Young, Private Investigator. He paid the agreed price for the work completed and spent the whole evening in his hotel room, digesting the contents of the report. Next day he hired a car and drove around Glasgow to familiarise himself with all the locations and addresses mentioned in the report, before returning to Achlean the following day.

Two days later, he walked up to the head of Glen Feshie, carrying the Mauser rifle and ammunition, some food, money and thermal blankets. He wrapped them all in bubble wrap, put them into strong polythene bags and buried them, marking the spot so that he could easily locate and retrieve them.

The following day was spent with Ewan, Betty and Nan in a lawyer’s office, coming to an agreeable price for the rental of Achlean, it’s furnishings and all of his tools, with an option to purchase at a later date.

Three weeks later, laden with his huge rucksack, he said his farewells at Kingussie railway station, caught the sleeper train to London, then flew from Heathrow Airport to America. He made sure that everyone knew he was going to walk the Appalachian Way, from Newfoundland to Alabama, and was going to climb the highest peak, the 7000 ft Mount Michael in North Carolina. He was also going to traverse the Alleghenies, Blue Ridge and Cumberland mountains, which meant that he would have to transfer a lot of money from his bank accounts.