“Were you in here when you heard people talking about Grace?”
“Yes. I was sitting in the last booth nursing my drink. I wasn’t ready to walk home just yet, but my friends had already left, so I was relaxing by myself, hunched over my drink.”
“Could they see you in the mirror?”
“I don’t think so. I was tucked in the corner with my back to them.”
“Can you identify who you heard?”
“Walter MacCarthy was one of them. He was sitting right behind me. They must have seen my friends leave. They go out the front door, but I always leave by the back because it’s closer to my flat.”
“How many were in the booth with MacCarthy?”
“There were two others,” he said. “One of them was Graeme Gibson. He has a real nasally, whiny voice. I’d know it anywhere. He has made a lot of money doing absolutely nothing as groundskeeper. Sometimes when Clive gets into trouble with the law, Graeme is his alibi.”
“Graeme Gibson and MacCarthy,” Sinclair said. “Who was the third man?”
“I don’t know who he was. I didn’t recognize his voice. MacCarthy did most of the talking. He’d been drinking for a while, and Graeme had to tell him to be quiet. I wasn’t paying much attention until I heard him say that Grace MacKenna wasn’t going to cause any trouble. He said he’d made sure she’d be taken care of and wouldn’t be coming to the Highlands. I guess he was wrong about that since she’s sitting right here.”
“Did he explain how he had made sure? “
“No, and they didn’t ask. Graeme wanted to know what would happen if the plan failed. Then the stranger asked MacCarthy if he had a contingency plan.”
“And?” Sinclair prodded when Fletcher didn’t go on.
“I’m getting parched. Any chance you could order another pitcher?”
Michael motioned to the waitress, and a couple of minutes later Fletcher was gulping another pint. He seemed to be in a hurry to get drunk.
“Did MacCarthy have a contingency plan?” Sinclair asked impatiently.
“Yes. He said the land couldn’t go to Grace until she read some kind of letter, and she wouldn’t be able to do that. Graeme asked him why, and MacCarthy laughed while he admitted he took the letter. He said it would slow things down and give him time to make other arrangements to get rid of the problem.”
“The problem being Grace?” Sinclair asked.
“I think so. Then the stranger said they’d be able to move forward with their development plan. He sounded real happy.”
Isabel and Michael said his name at the same time. “James Reid.”
Michael still didn’t have the answers he wanted. He assumed that Clive Harcus had written the kill order, but he wanted confirmation. MacCarthy hadn’t been doing this on his own.
“Was Clive Harcus aware of MacCarthy’s plans? Did he hire him?”
“I don’t know about that,” he said. “Clive was one of MacCarthy’s clients. He’d gotten him out of several messes in the past. Of course, it was easy work for MacCarthy because witnesses wouldn’t dare testify against Clive.”
“Were the arrests for fighting?” Isabel asked.
Sinclair had looked at Clive’s record and answered. “Most were. Harcus can’t or won’t control his temper.”
“If he kills someone, he’ll probably get away with it,” Fletcher said. He downed the rest of his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Isabel couldn’t stop herself from pushing another napkin toward him. There were now three in front of him and he hadn’t touched any of them.
“He’ll have to find another corrupt solicitor when he starts another fight and breaks someone’s jaw,” Sinclair said.
Michael looked at the bar and then turned to Sinclair. “I think the bartender is trying to get your attention.”
Sinclair immediately got up and crossed the room, zigzagging his way around the tables. The bartender stopped wiping the counter with his cloth while he spoke to Sinclair. Whatever he said surprised the inspector, who turned to look at Michael and Isabel and nod.
“It’s all right, Annie. You can ask,” the bartender called out before speaking to Sinclair again.