Who Would Suspect !
Edinburgh, and the island of Islay, world famous for its Scotch whisky distilleries, is the setting of the third assignment for DJ Smith, agent for HM Revenue & Customs, and her “sniffer” cat, Gorgonzola.
The girlfriend of Louis Moran has arrived in Scotland and is staying as the guest of Sir Thomas Cameron‑Blaik, wealthy and respected businessman and owner of Srón Dubh distillery. HMRC is convinced that Moran, a ruthless international drug baron, will join her there, and that as well as finalising another drugs operation, Sir Thomas’s whisky business may well be a target. DJ Smith is sent in undercover role as butler to Sir Thomas. Accompanying her is her “sniffer” cat Gorgonzola whose sensitive nose detects something much more sinister than drugs.
With millions of pounds worth of whisky and drugs at stake, anyone who stands in Moran’s way will die, anyone who even rouses the slightest suspicion – and DJ Smith does exactly that. Others who have threatened his multi‑million pound master plan have already been eliminated, and one more makes no difference. He will stop at nothing to find out who she is and who sent her.
A dramatic endgame is played out in darkness on the Firth of Forth with a backdrop of the twinkling lights of Edinburgh.
To follow in DJ's footsteps on Islay,
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Extract from Who Would Suspect!
No time for anything but to run across the rough grass into the bracken. My only chance was to get to the stream. After a quick glance each way along the path, I set off like an athlete exploding from the starting block. I shut my mind to the thought of gin traps concealed in the bracken, iron teeth biting through flesh into bone, and concentrated on racing to the stream only two hundred yards away. One hundred and fifty yards...one hundred... Almost there.
Twenty yards from the stream, my luck ran out. I heard the sharp crack of a shot and a white star spurted on the trunk of the tree ahead. I threw myself down in the bracken and crawled forward on hands and knees, pushing aside the stems, sweating at the thought of thrusting my hand into the steel teeth of a gin trap.
Another gunshot, followed by the triumphant shout, 'I can see you. Stand up and put your hands on your head.' He was very close.
I flattened myself tothe ground. Futile. In a few seconds he would be looming over me, gun aimed at my head.