“It’s what?” Sinclair asked.
“Scary,” he blurted. “He looks like he wants to kill me.”
Michael’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m a law-abiding man,” he said.
“In other words, he can’t kill you,” Sinclair said. “Isn’t that right?”
Michael nodded. “Do I think the world would be a better place without you taking up space, Ferris? Yes, I do. Inspector Sinclair is correct,” he added. “I can’t and I won’t kill you because murder is against the law. I can make your life damned miserable, though, and I plan to do exactly that.”
“Why?” Ferris asked, genuinely perplexed. “I didn’t do anything to you.”
“Oh, dear God,” Sinclair murmured. Turning to Michael, he said, “I’ll help you bury the body.”
That comment took the edge off Michael’s anger. “Thanks.”
“Scaring me won’t get you anywhere,” Ferris said defiantly. “I’ve been cooperating, and I’ve been honest with you.”
“Yes, you have been cooperating,” Sinclair admitted. “Just a couple more questions. How did MacCarthy know Jacoby?”
Ferris shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he got the name from one of his clients. Some of them are criminals. Not me, but some.”
“The evening after Jacoby was killed you went to the Hamilton Hotel. Miss MacKenna saw you in the lobby.”
“I know she saw me. It really put me in a panic. I just thought I could find out how long she was booked at the hotel and then call MacCarthy and tell him. Maybe I could still get paid.”
Michael didn’t show any reaction, but he wondered if Ferris had any idea how close he was to flying through the wall.
“Looks like you won’t be getting that sweet job now. What was it?” Sinclair wasn’t really interested, but he wanted to keep Ferris talking while he went through the folder to make sure he had covered everything.
“I was going to be on the crew building a lot of houses. Big, fancy houses,” he stressed. “With a hunting club and a golf course. It’s going to be real exclusive. That’s what MacCarthy told me anyway. He was always in a chatty mood when he drank.”
“Where are those houses going to be built?” Michael asked.
“I’m not sure. It’s somewhere up around Dunross. MacCarthy told me one of his clients is selling the land to some big development company out of London.”
“The Patterson Group?” Michael suggested.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
Michael half expected to hear a roar coming from the other room if Isabel was listening, and he was sure she was. She had to be furious.
“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” Ferris asked.
He was just now figuring it out? Michael slowly nodded.
“Yes, you are,” Sinclair said.
Ferris looked as though he was going to cry. “If MacCarthy was still around he’d get me out of this mess. He’d tell you I was just delivering information.”
“What do you mean, if he was still around? Where did he go?” Sinclair asked.
“He died, two or three days ago. I don’t know exactly when. I had just gotten back from Boston and I was at the pub when I heard. Everyone was talking about it. They said his heart just gave out. It was a shock, though some people said they weren’t surprised. He was a glutton for women and whiskey.”
MacCarthy had been the next to be hauled in for interrogation. With enough pressure, they’d hopefully have gotten the lawyer to give up the name of his client. Sinclair couldn’t hide his disappointment. He was now going to have to figure out another way to hunt down the man who wrote the instructions or, as Michael called it, the kill order.
“You know, Inspector, the more I think about it, the more convinced I become that I didn’t do anything wrong.” Ferris sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. His smug confidence had returned.
“I didn’t break any laws. I was just the messenger. I think, with a good solicitor, I’ll be let go.”
Michael couldn’t listen to another word. He had had enough. He quietly got up and left the room.
TWENTY-NINE
ISABEL WAS READY TO PITCH A FIT. YET ANOTHER EXPRESSION SHE HAD PICKED UP FROM HER
aunt Nora, but in this instance it definitely worked. She had heard every word Ferris said, and she was beyond furious. Someone was selling land near Dunross to the Patterson Group. What land could it be but Glen MacKenna? And what was Reid’s involvement? Was he playing both angles? Was he also trying to broker a deal with someone else, some weasel who evidently thought he owned the land and could sell it? And just who was the weasel? Only one name came to mind. Clive Harcus, the Terror of the Highlands.