Old Sins, page 23
‘Is the detective all right?’
‘It must have been a terrible experience for her, but apparently she’s pretty much OK. It’s certainly been a shock to us all.’
‘I can imagine. Well – thanks for letting me know, Hattie.’
He was puzzled that she’d bothered; she wouldn’t know either that he had worked very closely with ‘the detective’ or that he was nearby. It only became clear that it had been an excuse when Hattie said, ‘Actually, Kelso, can I sound you out about something?’ It wasn’t hard, then, to guess what was coming.
‘I don’t want to take advantage of our friendship,’ she began, and he cut in.
‘Hattie, if this is to do with the investigation, I can’t be involved.’
She said, ‘I know. But it’s only indirect, it’s only asking for a friend’s advice, in the abstract. If a friend of yours was going to admit to doing something that was – well, wrong, what would be the best way to go about it?’
His heart gave a little leap. Yes! But he said, very gravely, ‘I’m a police officer, Hattie, even when I’m not on duty. The best advice I can give is that the admission should be made at the earliest opportunity to whoever is handling the investigation. There are considerable advantages to be gained from an unforced confession. All I’m able to do, as a friend, is to suggest that your friend gets the best possible lawyer as soon as he can.’
He heard the defeated note in her voice as she said, ‘Yes, I see. Thanks, anyway,’ and put down the phone.
It was Hattie he was truly sorry for. Ranald – well, he deserved what was coming to him. But Hattie, who had worked so hard at making a satisfying life here, was going to lose it. They couldn’t go on living here, after what he’d done.
And there was going to be drama too, with Sean Reynolds and his wolf. He’d joked to Hattie that they lived life on the edge out there in Inverbeg but he’d never imagined anything like this.
His brain was whizzing with ideas, but he’d have to wait patiently for the summons that would only come once Ranald Sinclair had made his confession. As long as he didn’t change his mind.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Shirley Reynolds had gone up to bed early. She was tired and stressed and Maia, normally the personification of serenity, had been jittering around all evening, making arrangements for Antony Stanton coming, and it had started to get to her. Maia was a married woman, married to Shirley’s own son, for heaven’s sake, and here she was behaving like a love-struck teenager. It was when she had fluttered, ‘It’s so difficult to know how to make sure all this doesn’t spoil Antony’s visit,’ that Shirley decided she’d had enough.
‘I’m going to bed,’ she had said abruptly, knowing that in another minute she’d have found herself giving Maia her character, which wouldn’t be constructive.
Now she was theoretically watching TV, though if anyone had asked her what the programme was about she’d have been hard-pushed to tell them. She couldn’t even have told them what she was thinking in any coherent way, as different worries crashed around in her head.
When she heard the police sirens – three, at intervals – her heart began pounding so that she thought she might be having a heart attack. If only she knew what was happening! But no one came to tell her and no one rang the doorbell – as surely they would if it was anything to do with them? – and eventually she felt calmer and even a bit sleepy. No doubt she’d hear about it in the morning.
She had just turned the TV off when her bedroom door burst open and Sean lurched in. He looked distraught; he was sobbing as he staggered over to throw himself on his knees by the bed and buried his face in the covers.
‘Oh Mum, I’ve done this terrible, terrible thing! It’s all my fault! I so believed it would be all right, but now this has happened!’
Was it still possible to speak when your heart has stopped? Through stiff lips, she said, ‘What have you done, Sean?’
‘He’s dead!’ He looked up at her from swollen eyes. ‘Lying there, limp, broken – that noble, majestic creature! And his silver ruff, clotted with blood—’
Struggling to make sense of it, she said, ‘Ruff? Sean, are you talking about a wolf?’
‘Yes of course! Akela – I can’t bear it!’
‘And are you telling me you killed him?’
‘Killed him? No, of course not! Except that I did, I suppose, in a way.’ He was still shuddering with sobs, but he had sat back on his heels, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
Summoning up the voice she would have used to him when he was still a child, Shirley said, ‘Sean, you’re going to get up and fetch the tissues from the dressing-table and then sit in that chair and blow your nose and tell me exactly what’s happened.’
He did as he was told, becoming gradually calmer. ‘It was that idiot policewoman. She thought it would be a good idea to drive him off when he was eating a sheep, but naturally he was going to defend his kill—’
Her voice sharp with horror, Shirley said, ‘Did he attack her? Is she hurt?’
‘Oh no, perfectly all right. But that bastard Mackenzie – he could just have fired to scare him off. Oh, I’ll go after him for that! He’d no right to shoot to kill.’
She’d been moved by his distress, but now sympathy evaporated. ‘Oh, I think you’ll find he had every right,’ she said acidly. ‘A farmer’s entitled to kill any animal worrying sheep and a wild animal that shouldn’t be roaming free at all, and was about to attack a woman – thank God he did, that’s all I can say! And you should be grateful too.’
‘Well, I’m not.’
He was glaring at her. He wasn’t used to her speaking to him like that; she should have done it a lot more often, challenged him rather than choosing to keep things pleasant.
‘Can I ask what’s happening now?’
His shoulders drooped again. ‘Now I’m going to have to work out what to do for Raksha. He was her mate, after all – she’ll be confused, frightened …’
‘I can’t say I’m too bothered about her feelings. What has happened with the police? They’ve spoken to you?’
‘Oh, they’ve spoken to me all right. Arrested me, in fact. I’m to go to the police station tomorrow to be charged, despite the fact that the government and everyone agrees that wolves and lynx belong in their original habitat—’
‘Not everyone, actually. There’s one right here in this room who doesn’t. Sean, you must take this seriously. What are the police going to do about the female?’
He looked sulky. ‘Nothing. They don’t know she’s there.’
Shirley stared at him. ‘Sean, I can’t believe this. You’re in serious trouble. Why make it worse?’
‘Oh, I’ll go up and leave food to tempt her into the cage. And then, all right, if it makes you happy, I’ll find some zoo where the poor girl can drag out the rest of her life in captivity.’
Suddenly she was very angry, very angry indeed. ‘No, it doesn’t “make me happy”. Bringing them here at all was disgustingly selfish, and now you’ve made both those poor creatures suffer. And I don’t suppose Angus enjoyed having to kill it either, and I don’t suppose the sheep came very well out of it, never mind the policewoman. I blame myself too; I had a feeling that this was what you were doing and it was cowardly of me not to take you on.’
Sean stood up, bristling with hostility. ‘Oh, thanks a whole heap! I’m sorry to have bothered you. I was naive enough to think that my mother would understand my pain and sympathise, even if my wife doesn’t. It’s apparently more important to see to it that nothing messes up Stanton’s visit than to help me cope with all this. Well, sod him, frankly! And sod her, too.’
He went out and slammed the door. Shirley sank back onto her pillows and closed her eyes, still shaking with the intensity of her anger. How dare he behave so badly! He was her son, she’d brought him up, as she thought, to have proper standards. She’d obviously failed.
And now she was left to ask herself, if he was capable of that level of callousness, could she be sure that a more dreadful crime couldn’t be laid at his door?
There were two police patrol cars, their lights flashing, outside the community hall when DI French arrived back from her visit to DCI Strang. With a touch of panic, she stepped out of the car to hear the siren of another car approaching. What in God’s name had been going on while she was away?
PS Erskine spotted her coming into the community hall and hurried over. ‘Bit of a drama, ma’am. There’s cars arriving from miles round about, but we’re not needing them – we’ve got it under control.’
‘What happened?’
‘Mr Reynolds has been keeping a wolf loose on the estate. Livvy found it attacking a sheep and tried to scare it off – maybe not very smart, but you know what she’s like! Mr McKenzie had to shoot it.’
‘Good grief!’ French looked round and saw Murray, still looking shaken, sitting talking to a woman PC, and went over.
‘Livvy – are you all right? What a dreadful thing!’
Murray produced a grin. ‘Oh, never laid a tooth on me! I’ll be fine.’
French was far from convinced – the grin had a very wobbly edge – but Murray wanted to tell her about it and she sat down to listen.
It was a long story and Murray was visibly flagging by the time she reached the final act of the drama. ‘And then they brought in Sean Reynolds. He was going radge – you’d have thought Angus Mackenzie had killed his granny, yelling away about how he should just have given it a wee fright when it looked as if it was going to come for me too, and then let it get on with finishing its snack. He’s unhinged!’
‘I think he must be.’ French turned to Erskine. ‘So where is he now, Bob?’
‘We’ve said he can come in tomorrow to the Lochinver station to be charged. Not going to do a runner, is he?’
She agreed. ‘Wouldn’t be worth it. Hefty fine, at most, but with all this emphasis on the environment, my guess is they’ll make allowances.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ Murray said with some feeling. ‘But whatever they do, his real punishment will be the wolf being killed.’
Suddenly she gave a huge yawn and French said, ‘You need to go to bed, Livvy – you’re shattered. Don’t hurry in the morning.’
Murray nodded and got up. She was still looking shaky, but she said, ‘Did you see the boss, ma’am?’
French hadn’t realised she knew that. ‘Er … yes, he’s in a cottage not far from here. He’s suggested we get together for a session, just to pool our ideas.’
‘That would be good. Sooner the better, with all this stuff now. Night, everyone.’
Watching her go, Erskine said, ‘You have to hand it to her – she’s tough. Mackenzie heard the sheep bleating first and it was lucky his gun cupboard’s by the back door. It would only have been seconds before the wolf attacked – her life must have flashed before her eyes.’
‘What worries me is what will happen when she closes them tonight. I wouldn’t like to have the nightmares she’ll be having.’
And French was having a few herself now, about what JB would say about what had happened on her watch.
DCI Strang arrived at Donald Mackay’s office promptly at nine-thirty. He had hoped to have heard from DI French by then; he was on tenterhooks about Ranald Sinclair. Confessing would be a hard thing for a proud man to do. Of course, she’d have plenty to keep her busy this morning – the media would be thrilled at this second chance for ‘WOLF!’ headlines.
Mackay welcomed him in and they sat down at the desk. There was a file lying there – a disappointingly slender file.
‘Yes,’ Mackay said, noticing his expression. ‘Not a lot there, I’m afraid. Deeds for the house, details of her bank account, investments and so on. She was very efficient, very precise.’ He pushed the file across to Strang.
‘No personal stuff like medical records and so on?’ he said, opening it.
‘No. Must have kept them at her house, I suppose, and there she wasn’t organised at all. The cottage had a mess of papers all over the place. We had to send people in to clear them up before Danni arrived.’
Strang looked up. ‘Odd to be so messy at home, when she was so precise otherwise.’
Mackay didn’t seem struck by that. ‘Oh, a lot of people are more careful when they’re dealing with a lawyer – time is money, you know.’
The first item was a copy of the will of Flora Maitland or Reith. Stripped of the usual legal terminology, it was brief and straightforward: a bequest to Angus Mackenzie of £5,000, a bequest to Cameron Christie of £10,000 and the rest to Danielle Maitland.
Strang raised his eyebrows. ‘Cameron Christie?’
‘Yes. Can’t really help you there – no idea who that is. Didn’t mean anything to the Maitlands and Flora didn’t comment, just gave me the name and address, but he isn’t there. It’s a block of flats in London and tenants move to and fro all the time. We’re pursuing it but no luck so far.’
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Send me what you have and I’ll pass it on to the Met. If this is someone of interest, they’ll track him down.
‘Now – what’s this?’
‘This’ was a plastic envelope and Strang pulled out the papers inside and riffled through them – about fifty, probably. They seemed to be lists of names and numbers.
‘Doesn’t mean anything to me,’ he said.
‘Nor me.’ Mackay hesitated. ‘I’m not sure if this is breaking a client’s confidence – I’ve wrestled with it, but in the circumstances I feel I should tell you. When she gave me that, she said to keep it safe for her but that once she was dead I could just chuck it out. I was going to do that once we’d wound up the estate, but the tax department isn’t exactly quick on its feet.’
‘So I can take this, then?’
‘William Maitland’s exact words were that you could take what you effing well liked as long as he didn’t hear any more about it.’
‘I’m not able to promise that, but I think if a case were to be brought it would be more London-centred – and once I get this to the Met and they start digging it just might give us an insight into what’s been going on here.’
He got up. ‘Many thanks for your time. If they find this Cameron Christie, I’ll make sure you get the address.’
‘That would be kind. We’ve a duty to pay it out and I’d been puzzling about what to do next. A private detective seemed – well, a bit too Sam Spade for around here.’
Strang laughed, though recent events in Inverbeg had rather knocked its ‘peaceful backwater’ image, and he went back to the car with plenty to think about. Mackay hadn’t seemed to think it strange that the highly efficient Flora Maitland would have left papers ‘all over the place’ in her own home, but to him it suggested that someone who’d been searching for something had been forced to do it hastily.
Perhaps, just perhaps, the file he was holding was what they’d hoped to find. From what Flora had said to Mackay, it sounded almost like her insurance policy. If he was right, it was going to make DCI Jason Dryden of the Metropolitan Police a very happy man.
And Cameron Christie – could the legacy be conscience money for Flora Maitland’s undisclosed sin? Perhaps Angus Mackenzie might recognise the name.
The phone rang as he got back into his car and his pulse rate rose just a little as he picked it up and said, ‘Strang.’
DC Livvy Murray had tried to take a lie-in but she woke at half-past six, feeling as if she’d been on the lash the night before. It wasn’t fair to have a pounding headache after just one wee glass of brandy taken for medicinal reasons.
It was probably lucky she couldn’t remember her dreams in detail, but she had a vague feeling of having been constantly pursued and getting lost. She was actually grateful to escape from sleep and got up without trying to doze off again. A long shower helped and after that she dressed and went out, keen to see what the day would bring.
The community hall was open already and DI French was sitting at a computer looking wan, as if she’d been staring at it for some time. She looked up as Murray came in.
‘Livvy! How are you? After last night I thought you might sleep in.’
Murray pulled a face. ‘Better being busy. What’s on for this morning?’
‘Sean Reynolds is being lifted at eight o’clock and taken in to the Lochinver station to be charged under the Dangerous Wild Animals Act. The advantage of that is, when the media turn up I can say that the matter is now sub judice and I’ve drafted the barest possible statement. I’ll clear it with DCS Braithwaite once she gets into her office, but that should be all right.
‘I’m just ordering investigations in Glasgow to find out more about Danni’s background, and when Bob arrives I’m going to have him run police checks for local names – not that I’m expecting much, though you never know. I’ve put in for a search team to check out Sinclair’s yard, and I think too that you could push him a bit harder today – he was definitely on edge yesterday. All right?’
Hallelujah! French’s little chat with the boss must have galvanised her and at last there seemed to be signs of action. ‘Yes, of course, ma’am,’ she said. ‘Shall I head round there right now?’
‘Why not? Sooner the better. You might get him before he’s properly awake.’
‘Right.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘Is there a plan for the meeting with DCI Strang? I wouldn’t want to miss it this time.’
She’d chanced her arm with the last two words and French gave her a cool look. ‘Not right now. But I’ll certainly see that you’re included.’
Murray wasn’t really feeling jealous – of course not! But she was getting the nasty feeling that French wanted to keep Strang to herself, maybe even because she didn’t want Murray to spot that she needed him to feed her ideas. If so, it was way too late for that – it had been obvious right from the start that she’d none of her own. She’d said there was going to be a session, though, and Murray wasn’t going to let her forget it.
There was no one around and after a frosty start it was raining, the sort of soft rain that couldn’t quite decide whether to do it properly and soak you at once or just drizzle away all day. She put up her hood anyway and squelched though the puddles to the Sinclairs’ house.
