by Gwen Moffat
It was very quiet; even the wind was soundless, and the mist appeared to move of its own volition. Only the scree shifted noisily under her boots and the sound echoed—or was someone else moving on the scree?
The Stone Man loomed and wavered like a real man above the abyss but she clenched her teeth and went towards it and the thing, as if intimidated, resumed its solidity and waited—smugly? Two bodies had made her fanciful.
The cache was about six feet from its base and, she was almost certain, to the north. She carried no compass for the rocks were magnetic in places and compasses on the Cuillin were unreliable. But the question of degrees was immaterial; the cache was on the Sgurr Banachdich side of the pass and this was it and there was the hole which Madge had said was ideal, and the rock to block the entrance. It was not blocking the entrance any longer and the hole was empty.
She knelt and peered at the scree. There was nothing to show that food had been stored here, or eaten: no shred of paper, not an orange pip nor a crumb of bread, and if the plastic water carrier had ever been in the hole, it had vanished.
Stones moved in a crunching rhythm. This was no echo. Very carefully she rose and moved back from the Coruisk side where the precipices were. The footsteps were coming along the pass from the south. A form resolved itself into a person and suddenly the atmosphere lightened, the cloud drifted away, and Colin Irwin was moving towards her. He looked puzzled rather than surprised at her presence.
‘I was on my way to Madge’s tent and I met Maynard. He told me what happened. It’s ghastly.’
‘Why were you going to the tent?’
‘I only learned this morning that she’d moved up to the waterfall, and Captain Hunt said that she was doing the ridge yesterday, so I got finished quick and went up to ask her what sort of a trip she’d had.’
‘You finished what?’
‘The cows and so on. I’m staying at Rahane for a bit. Old MacNeill got a call from Willie yesterday to fetch him home because the police had let him go. I’d been helping out while Willie was at Portree.’
‘So Willie was back in the glen last night?’
‘No. They never came back: the pair of them.’
‘Didn’t they phone?’
Irwin grinned. ‘Crofters don’t publicise their whereabouts.’ His face fell. ‘But this is awful: Madge falling in the burn! I can’t believe it! Can you understand how it happened?’
‘She must have been extremely tired to retreat from here—’
‘Maynard told me. Why do you think she went down from here? Is the food gone?’
‘Every bit of it.’ She led him across the scree to the hole near the Stone Man. He looked round him and then up the ridge towards Sgurr Banachdich.
‘Who passed you before I came on the scene?’
She blinked at him. ‘This morning?’
‘Didn’t someone go by a few minutes before I arrived? I thought I saw a figure going on towards the summit, but the cloud was shifting about; I could have imagined it—must have done if you say there was no one.’ She regarded him fixedly but he didn’t notice her expression. He reverted to the tragedy. ‘Euphemia said something odd about Madge.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘She said that she wouldn’t camp alone in this glen, if she was paid. She won’t stay in Shedog on her own; she sleeps at Sletta with the Hunts. When I pointed out that Madge wasn’t afraid of anything, Euphemia said that it would be better if she was, and she said the same thing held with Terry. Isn’t that strange?’
‘Not really,’ Miss Pink said.
He sat on a rock and, after a moment’s hesitation, she sat beside him. They looked out from under an umbrella of cloud to the mainland and the Sound of Sleat basking in sunshine. When he spoke again his tone was quiet and conversational and, in view of what he was saying, she realised that he was suffering from shock.
‘Funny thing: I always thought it was Watkins who killed Terry, well, not quite true; my initial reaction was that it was Willie: when I found out that he went across to Largo, but I soon realised there had been a misunderstanding. That was after I talked to Willie. He plays the game according to the rules, you see; they’re very strict on etiquette, the crofters. But Terry didn’t know there were any rules. She didn’t give him the ritual brush-off when he went over the first time on Monday evening, so he went back—he told me himself. He thought she was just there for anyone, you see. She’d been Watkins’ girl and then she came to me; I expect everyone thought the same thing. He was quite frank about it. But I’m a bit puzzled about Watkins.’
Miss Pink was following this attentively. ‘Where does he come in?’
‘If it wasn’t Willie, the next most likely person is Watkins but is he likely? He knew Terry—and he didn’t want her and he was vain. It wouldn’t be like him to come across to Largo and risk her rejecting him. Besides, he was drunk.’
‘That can be simulated. You’re quite sure she would have rejected Watkins—or anyone?’
‘We got on. We found out in one day. She said she’d stay on Skye, with me.’ He looked at her candidly. ‘She meant it. So I can’t think she’d invite another guy to Largo in that way. She respected me and it was my place. Do you understand?’
‘Yes; she’d found what she was looking for—but did she have all that much regard for her own body? You have to face facts, and she was promiscuous. You’re suggesting that she changed suddenly?’
‘Am I?’ He gave the question thought, gazing down the corrie to the glen where Largo was visible, even at this distance. ‘She wasn’t promiscuous,’ he said carefully, ‘because that means everybody, and Terry had no time for old or ugly men—’
‘Good gracious! What was George Watkins?’
‘The exception.’
In the silence that followed, both seemed to be acknowledging the truth of this, then Miss Pink asked, ‘Why are you talking about Terry?’
‘Well, why not?’
‘It is Madge who has just died.’
He stared at her. ‘Are you reading some significance into that? Madge died last night, and I talk about Terry who died several days ago? But there was no personal relationship between me and Madge, and I guess her death put me in mind of Terry. Like, you might say: death was the common denominator.’
‘You weren’t thinking that there was any connection between the two deaths? You see, what you’ve been suggesting is that Terry’s visitor on Monday evening was not a man because she wasn’t interested in anyone other than yourself—’ he shifted restlessly, ‘—or, if not that, that she would not have invited a man into your house. That leaves a woman, doesn’t it? But the women form a very restricted circle—and one of them has just died. Which is why there could be more than the mere fact of death as a common denominator.’
Chapter Fourteen
On the descent they made a wide detour to avoid Eas Mor; neither had any desire to see the body being evacuated. In the context, it was undignified; one would have felt differently had the guide died at work.
Irwin left Miss Pink at the entrance to Glen Shira House and she walked down the drive to find a black police car parked outside the porch, and Lavender Maynard sitting on the seat in front of the Michaelmas daisies.
‘The police were asking where you were,’ the other said by way of greeting. ‘Merrick was annoyed that you’d disappeared.’
‘So that is Merrick’s car; what is he doing?’
Lavender looked sly. ‘Madge was a suspect in the first murder case; naturally the C.I.D. would come back when she was killed.’
‘First murder case?’
Lavender smiled unpleasantly. ‘I mean the first death, of course. This one is an accident, isn’t it?’
Miss Pink let that go. ‘What is Merrick doing at this moment?’
‘He’s talking to Kenneth. They got the body down some time ago; they had a lot of difficulty in the ravine. It kept getting tangled in the trees.’
‘Were you there?’
‘No, but Cap
tain Hunt went up. We’ve had the Press here and the Mountain Rescue team. Betty and I were helping cut sandwiches in the kitchen. You were lucky to miss all the fuss. You’re back early. Where did you go?’
‘To Banachdich.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s a pleasant scramble.’
‘What did Colin Irwin want with you?’ Lavender smiled like a ferret. ‘He followed you up the corrie. Captain Hunt—’
‘—Saw me, and told—Euphemia?’
‘And yet,’ Lavender said with a startling swing to objectivity, ‘although they’re so garrulous, they don’t give anything away if it’s to their disadvantage.’
‘And they talk when that is advantageous? Who benefited by publicising my meeting with Colin Irwin?’
‘Who indeed? Who stole my sleeping capsules? Two have been taken from a bottle beside my bed.’
‘Perhaps you miscounted.’
‘I never miscount. Ask Kenneth.’
‘Could he have taken them?’
‘He won’t touch barbiturates; says he can get to sleep by yoga.’
Betty Lindsay came out of the porch wearing an apron, her face red and shining.
‘Can I sit here with you? What an awful day! Still, I suppose it’s best to keep busy.’
‘Is there anything to do?’ Lavender asked without enthusiasm.
‘No. Euphemia and Ida are coping with the washing up. Vera’s gone upstairs for a few minutes’ rest.’
Miss Pink said, ‘Euphemia is here, despite the police? They drove her away last time.’
‘She didn’t like the police asking her intimate questions. Of course, they’re not doing it this time: taking statements. Only from the last people to see Madge alive. They want you,’ she added carelessly. ‘They’re with Ken at the moment.’
‘They’ll want Vera,’ Lavender said, and smiled.
‘I don’t see why,’ Betty countered. ‘This was an accident, not a murder case.’
‘Not proved yet,’ Miss Pink said. ‘It’s not official.’
Betty scrutinised her face. ‘The Fiscal was up there, and the pathologist.’
‘Not at the fall!’
‘Oh yes. And at the tent.’
‘How did the pathologist get here so quickly? Surely they haven’t one resident on Skye?’
‘He flew up from Glasgow for the autopsy on Terry and was still here when Ken reported the accident.’
‘What were the results of the autopsy?’
‘I don’t know. But I shouldn’t think there’ll be any surprises. That goes for Madge too—’ Miss Pink was regarding her with astonishment, but she went on evenly, ‘Ken said she must have drunk nearly half a pint of Scotch. Well, it’ll be there in the stomach, won’t it?’
‘Bloodstream. It’s absorbed almost immediately.’
‘Like Tuinal,’ Lavender put in brightly.
Miss Pink started to say something and checked. ‘Why did you say that?’ she asked curiously.
‘That’s what I take: Tuinal.’
‘So what?’ Betty was brusque.
‘Two capsules have been stolen.’
‘I expect Madge pinched them. She’d need a good night’s sleep before doing the ridge. And after you and Vera had been getting at her, she could have found sleep difficult. She must have taken your capsules: poetic justice.’
‘In the circumstances that’s a little ironical. I didn’t “get at” Madge, not like some people.’
‘Just a few choice words at selected moments.’ Betty was mildly vicious. ‘Although, I must admit, Vera was the one who drove her away. She had good cause though.’
‘Had she?’ Lavender looked from Betty to Miss Pink. ‘I suppose she had.’
‘God! She caught the girl seducing Gordon in their sitting room!’
Miss Pink stirred. ‘Vera told you that?’
‘That’s the story that’s going around; there was a hell of a row in their sitting room on Tuesday evening. Someone must have heard it and talked.’
‘I wonder who?’ Miss Pink mused. ‘I was the nearest to their sitting room. I heard nothing.’ She didn’t add that she’d come on the scene too late: as Madge was slamming into the lavatory, presumably just having come—been ejected?—from the sitting room. ‘What was Vera’s reaction to Madge’s death?’ she asked.
‘It must have been an awful shock,’ Betty said.
‘She’ll blame herself.’ Lavender savoured the words. It was obvious that neither of them had been present when Vera heard the news of the tragedy.
From the top of the wood came the clatter of the cattle grid. They watched the drive expectantly and the Hamlyns’ Avenger appeared, the back piled high with provisions. The colonel waved to them as he drove round to the stable yard. Betty had leapt up. ‘He doesn’t know! He left just after breakfast! What a shock for him. I must go and give him a hand with that stuff anyway; his back’s bad today.’
Miss Pink followed the other with surprising speed. ‘What’s wrong with his back?’
‘Damn! I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t let on that you know. Vera told me. She didn’t want him to drive to Portree; it’s agony when he gets these bouts, but he would go. Friday’s their shopping day—’
They entered the kitchen to find Ida and Euphemia at the sink. Hamlyn came in the back door with a box full of meat. He greeted the ladies with his usual courtesy but his puzzled glance went to Betty’s apron.
‘You haven’t heard the news?’ she asked.
His face went stiff. ‘My wife?’
‘No. Vera’s all right, but Madge has had an accident.’
He didn’t relax and pain appeared in his eyes. ‘A bad one?’
‘I’m afraid so, Gordon.’
He felt for a chair and sat down. The crofting women drew together and watched. ‘Dead,’ he stated flatly.
After a pause, Betty said: ‘I’m sorry.’
He sighed deeply. ‘Where did it happen?’
‘She fell over Eas Mor.’
He frowned and shook his head. ‘What Eas Mor?’
‘The waterfall at the back.’ She gestured vaguely.
‘What? Just over the road—our Eas Mor? No.’ He stared at them in disbelief. ‘Eas Mor,’ he muttered. ‘How, for God’s sake?’
Maynard put his head round the inner door and beckoned to Miss Pink. Merrick wanted her in the writing room. Leaving Betty to cope with Hamlyn she went out into the passage.
‘What kind of mood is he in?’ she whispered.
‘Not healthy. I’m going up for a bath.’ He looked appallingly tired.
*
A card table had been set up in the writing room and on it was a one-inch map which Merrick and Ivory were studying. They turned at her entrance and she saw that they were tired too. Merrick wasted no time in preliminaries.
‘Good afternoon, ma’am; would you show us where you went this morning, and the place where the deceased put this food?’
It was an old map, and the rash of symbols for scree and crags totally obscured the grand design of the Cuillin. She traced the line of her route up Coire na Banachdich to the cache, a proceeding which they observed in silence and, she felt, without comprehension.
They sat at the large table and she gave her statement as it had happened. Ivory took it down in shorthand. Merrick interrupted only on minor points of fact, like the height of the waterfall, but even that didn’t constitute a fact. She thought it was about one hundred and twenty feet. Innocently she asked what his estimate was, but he wouldn’t commit himself. He glanced at his notebook.
‘We have quite a collection of facts,’ he said. ‘I think I understand some of them, but I haven’t got the feel of what happened. I need these facts interpreted by an independent witness who’s thinking carefully, not by a rescuer glancing at a big drop and making a guess, and I’m not just talking about the length of the drop. Would you come up to the tent with us and show us how you think it happened? You’re not committing yourself; we had to go up there again
anyway. You’ll be giving expert assistance; neither of us knows anything about mountain country.’
They were wearing gum boots and she felt sorry for them; such footgear must have been perilous in the ravine. As they climbed the slope she was able to indicate the approximate position of the cache, and they surveyed the headwall with some alarm.
‘Maynard said a pass,’ was Ivory’s comment.
‘It’s an easy way to Coruisk and there’s no climbing involved.’ Seeing their expressions, she added earnestly, ‘One can stroll up—and down, at least in daylight.’
Merrick sighed. ‘It’s another world. No wonder we can’t understand it.’
‘That back wall of the corrie is innocuous,’ she insisted. ‘If you saw some of the things that Madge has climbed, you’d say they were impossible. What I don’t understand is how she fell over a fifteen-foot drop and killed herself.’
It intrigued them. ‘That’s why we’re here,’ Merrick said. ‘To get that straight. Maynard couldn’t help us there: delayed shock, I reckon; she was his guide, wasn’t she? When it was obvious you’d disappeared, he suggested you’d gone up to this cache to see if that could tell us anything. Could it?’
‘The hole where she put the food is empty.’
‘Is it? But are you sure there was food in it?’
‘There should have been food and water; I saw her put the water bottle in her pack on Wednesday.’
‘Perhaps she never took it up to the ridge.’
‘That bottle has to be somewhere. If she didn’t take it, it should be in the tent.’ He shook his head. ‘Then she ought to have brought it down. It wasn’t in her small sack; I looked.’
‘That’s a help to us; your prints are on the headlamp.’
‘You compared those quickly.’
‘Oddly enough, we had the Glen Shira people’s prints in the car when we came over.’ They exchanged bland stares. ‘What’s your feeling about this empty cache, ma’am?’
They were climbing very slowly. Miss Pink, as befitted her sex and years, had the path while the detectives stumbled through the heather.
