Chapter 32
Lexie felt she had no one to confide in now. She could talk quite easily to Roddy Liddell these days – they were quite close now – but how could she tell him that she didn’t believe her father was a murderer, just an incestuous rapist. Just? she thought, grimly. Incestuous rape was every bit as bad as murder … worse, for the person at the receiving end, at any rate.
She was almost certain that this was the reason for her father’s disappearance. Whatever had made him do it, the shame and guilt had been too much for him to bear, for he was a decent man at heart, everybody had said so. One thing she was absolutely sure of was that he hadn’t been having an affair with the doctor’s wife, no matter what Tom Birnie had told the police. And there had been no evidence of pregnancy when they did an autopsy on the body, so that was another of his lies exposed.
Constantly wondering if she would ever learn the truth, Lexie was quite glad when Nancy Lawrie phoned her one evening to ask if there had been any further developments. ‘Not a thing,’ she told her, morosely, ‘and the waiting’s getting me down.’
‘Well, I’ve been thinking.’ Nancy’s voice held a hint of excitement. ‘Do you know if the police ever asked Margaret Birnie’s mother if she’d heard from her at all since she left Forvit? Mrs McLeish, wasn’t it? She must be in her eighties, I’d think, and if they didn’t ask her, she likely wouldn’t have thought it was important.’
Lexie had to be perfectly honest. ‘But we know where Mrs Birnie is … was.’
‘That’s where she ended up, but maybe she’d come back to see him before he got everything sold up and he killed her in a temper. Now d’you see?’
‘I can’t think properly, Nancy.’
‘Sorry. What I’m getting at … maybe the old lady can tell us where your father is … or was at some time. If we got his first address, we could maybe trace him from there.’
Lexie’s spirits lifted for the first time in weeks. ‘I suppose … it’s possible. At least we know Mrs McLeish is still alive. Will I tell Roddy … the Detective Inspector …?’
‘Ah-ha! So it’s Roddy now, is it? But no, I don’t think we should involve the police just yet. Leave it to me. Greig’s taking me to Stirling on Sunday to see her.’
‘I wish I could do something. I’d love to go with you, but I’m not free on Sundays till dinnertime – I’ve to open for the papers, you see – and that wouldn’t give me time.’
‘No, I’m afraid not, but don’t worry. I won’t upset the old lady, and she’ll maybe be glad to speak to someone about her daughter … and her son-in-law. You never know, I might learn a few interesting things about him. Any family scandals would have been swept under the carpet at the time, but she mightn’t be so discreet now.’
‘Let me know what happens as soon as you can. I’ll be all on edge.’
‘It could turn out to be a waste of time, Lexie, but it’s worth a try, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, yes, and thanks, Nancy. At least you’re doing something. I feel so useless.’
She had only just hung up when Roddy Liddell appeared. ‘Nothing new to report,’ he began, looking slightly embarrassed, ‘but I thought I’d come to see how you were.’
‘Not too bad.’ She found it hard to disguise the hope that Nancy had raised in her.
‘I should have come before. Did you think we’d stopped bothering?’
‘I knew you’d tell me if you’d found out anything.’
‘Police all over Scotland are trying to trace your father, and nothing’s turned up.’ He eyed her uncertainly. ‘I’m trying to persuade the powers-that-be to give the builders the go-ahead to excavate the whole of the site.’
The hope disintegrated. ‘You think his body’s there as well?’
‘It’s a possibility, Lexie.’
‘Oh, but …’ This was a new idea to her, loathsome, alarming, and despite wanting to appear composed in front of this man, she couldn’t stop the tears from edging out.
He handed her his handkerchief. ‘Don’t you think it would be best for you to know, one way or the other?’ he said gently, his eyes holding deep compassion. ‘The answer is either that he’s been murdered, or that he was the murderer. I realize it’s not much of an option, but there doesn’t seem to be anything in between.’
‘I suppose not.’ Her knees were shaking as she contemplated telling him the option Nancy had put forward, but she thought better of it. He might be glad of the suggestion, might even have it followed up, but speaking about it might bring bad luck, and she didn’t need any more of that. She needed to believe she was on the verge of finding her father and learning the truth of what had happened all those years ago.
‘D’you want some brandy?’ He was even more solicitous now.
‘No, I’m OK … Oh, I’m sorry, Roddy, I should have offered you something …?’
‘No, I’m OK.’
Wondering why the corners of his mouth had twitched, it dawned on her that he had repeated her own words. Poor soul, he was doing his best to cheer her, and she was making his job harder by persisting in feeling sorry for herself. She attempted to make amends. ‘It’s good of you to call to tell me yourself, Roddy. You don’t have to, you know.’
‘I know I don’t, I just want to. You don’t mind, do you?’
His appealing eyes – as if he were afraid of being rejected – and his attractive boyish grin were enough to tell her he meant it. ‘No, you can come as often as you like, you know that. I’m always pleased to see you.’
‘Are you? Are you really, Lexie? I sometimes get the feeling you’d rather I didn’t …’
‘No, it’s not you,’ she interrupted. ‘It’s worrying about what you might have come to tell me.’
He grinned again. ‘Will I arrange a signal? I could give three taps on the window and say, “Me … friend … open sesame.” How would that do?’
She had to laugh. ‘Oh, Roddy, you’re so good for me.’
‘I aim to please.’ The teasing light left his eyes. ‘I’d like to be … your friend.’
‘You are my friend, a very good friend.’
‘Good. I mean … to tell the truth, Lexie, I’d …’ His face colouring, he stopped short and stood up. ‘Now, remember, I’ll never let this investigation drop. I’m as anxious as you to get to the bottom of it, so you’ll tell me if you think of anything that might help us, won’t you? Promise?’
Crossing her fingers, she muttered, ‘Yes, of course.’ She couldn’t look him in the eye and make a solemn promise, not when she knew she would break her word if Nancy’s visit to Mrs McLeish paid off. They didn’t want the bobbies jumping in with their size thirteen boots and spoiling everything. In an attempt to pacify her protesting conscience, she jumped to her feet. ‘Thank you for what you’re doing, Roddy, you really are a true friend.’ She pulled her hand out of his clasp, and added, breathily because her heart was racing. ‘And you’ll let me know the minute you hear anything?’
‘Definitely, and that’s a promise, too!’
Mrs Deans had offered to look after young Nicky during the days in order to let Dougal go back to work, and Peggy came in every evening to give him his bath and see that he got to bed at a decent time, because his father seemed to have lost interest in everything, including the clock. The passing weeks, however, had made the boy more and more fractious, demanding to see his mother although all three of the adults attending him had tried to break it to him in their own different ways that he would never see her again – not in those basic words, of course.
It came as no surprise to the other two, then, when Mrs Deans said she was leaving to stay with her son in Southampton. ‘I’m sorry, Dougal,’ she went on, ‘but I’m wearing on for seventy and I can’t manage him when he goes into one of his tantrums, and Gordon’s been telling me for years I should sell my house and go and live with them. I feel I’m leaving you in the lurch, but, honestly …’
‘Don’t feel like that,’ Dougal assured her, his stomach slowly returning
to its normal position. ‘You’ve your own life to lead and I’ll easily find somebody else.’
When she left, he grimaced to Peggy. ‘I knew that would come, but I didn’t expect it just yet, and who on earth’s going to look after an uncontrollable five-year-old?’
His sister-in-law, however, having also known that it would come some day, had a solution ready for him. ‘What would you say to a thirty-five-year-old widow who knows him and loves him in spite of all his going-on?’ Seeing the perplexity on Dougal’s face reddening to comprehension, she gave a little chuckle. ‘It makes sense, doesn’t it?’
He shook his head. ‘It might make sense, but it’s not practical. You can’t give up your job to look after my child.’
It crossed neither of their minds that Nicky wasn’t Dougal’s biological child, nor even his late wife’s, and Peggy said, very firmly, ‘I don’t have to work, you know. I could live quite comfortably on what Alf left me.’
‘No, Peg, I can’t expect you to … you’ve a life of your own to live, as well.’
‘… to do with as I choose,’ she grinned, ‘and if I choose to look after a little boy who only behaves badly because his heart is aching for his Mummy, that’s my own business.’
Burying his head in his hands, Dougal groaned, ‘Oh, Peg, I can’t let you …’
‘And there’s another thing,’ she stated. ‘This little boy has a Scottish father who’s as stubborn as a mule, and he needs looking after, too.’
Dougal’s head jerked up. ‘Oh now, wait a minute! I’m maybe no great shakes at seeing to Nicky, but I can look after myself.’
‘Can you cook? I haven’t seen any evidence of it.’
‘I never get the chance. You’ve made all our meals since …’ He swallowed before going on, ‘… since Marge died, and Mrs Deans baked cakes and biscuits for Nicky, but I’m sure I could manage.’
Peggy shook her head. ‘I despair of you. Why can’t you just be grateful and accept my offer? You can pay me what you paid Mrs Deans, if that would make you feel any better, but it’s just as easy to cook for three as for one, easier in fact.’
Taking one of her hands, he pressed it hard to show his gratitude, then swung away from her to hide his tears, and knowing how mortified he was at crying, she just said, ‘I’ll start the day Mrs Deans leaves. See you in the morning.’
As she strode past what was now Gwen’s house, still empty, Peggy wondered when all the worry and upsets would end. She had definitely lost one sister, and it looked as though the other one was lost to her, as well, whether by choice or by some accident. If only she knew what had happened.
Tilly made up her mind to give it one last try. The longer Gwen stopped on there, the harder it would be for her to go back. No matter if what happened had been her fault or her sister’s, her Alistair should have done the proper thing and forgiven her. Of course, she still loved him, that was quite obvious. She was always making excuses for him, that he was a changed man when he came home from the prison camp and had never got back to his old self again, but, surely he still had some of the milk of human kindness in him?
Gwen’s woebegone face when she came down to breakfast almost made Tilly change her mind, but she drew in a deep breath to give her strength and said, ‘Now, I hope you won’t be offended, love, but I do think it’s time you went home … for your own sake.’
‘Home?’ Gwen’s voice was listless. ‘I don’t have any home … except here.’
‘This is not your home, Gwen, and if you feel you can’t go back to Forvit, you should go back to London. Your sisters must be out of their minds worrying about you.’
‘I left a note telling them I needed peace to think …’
‘That was nearly four months ago. Write to them to let them know you’re all right.’
Gwen gave a resigned sigh. ‘I suppose I should write, but I can’t go back … not yet.’
‘Don’t fret, then, lovie. If that’s how you feel, I won’t throw you out. You can stay here for as long as you need me. Fred won’t mind.’
Listening to Gwen trailing upstairs to tidy her room, Tilly banished all thoughts of lazy evenings by the fire with her husband – Fred hardly spent any time at home these days – or an early night when they felt like it, even a late morning if she took it into her head. It looked as if they had a lodger for life.
Giving herself a mental shake, she went to the kitchen for her carpet sweeper. What was she going on about? Gwen helped with the housework. She was good company … most of the time. It wasn’t so bad. It was just that Fred … well, he was just being Fred and hinting that he could do with a bit of peace and quiet in his own home.
Chapter 33
David Ritchie couldn’t get home fast enough. He and his pals had been, not exactly rampaging through the woods between Forvit and Bankside, just giving vent to their youthful high spirits by racing about and yelling at the tops of their voices. That, of course, had led on to acting out a Tarzan film they’d seen – there had been a film show every Friday and Saturday in the village hall for a few months now. The boys took it in turn to be the hero, yodelling, or trying to, the famous call as he swung on a low branch, while the others were either ‘baddies’ or apes … or, most reluctantly, Jane.
None of the fourteen/fifteen-year-olds wore watches, but being winter, the onset of dusk told them when it was time to go home, and they made their way back to where they had left their bicycles. This was the point at which they split up and went in various directions, David and his best friend, Eddie Mearns, younger brother of Barry, wheeling their bikes back to Forvit. They preferred to walk to Eddie’s house, because it gave them time to talk over anything they felt was worth discussing, just the two of them. As soon as their friends had left them this particular evening, Eddie said, ‘They’ve dug up another body.’
This was much more interesting than the usual kind of titbits he gleaned from his father, whose job as postman let him in on many little secrets, and almost dropping his cycle in surprise, David asked, ‘Do they know who it is?’
‘One of the workmen told my Dad it’s Alec Fraser, Lexie from the shop’s father. He run off with a young girl, or somebody else’s wife, years and years ago … or everybody thought he run off, but he couldn’t’ve, could he? I’m nae supposed to tell anybody, mind, for the police havena made it public yet, so you’d better keep it to yourself.’
It was a meaty topic, however, and the two boys made the most of it, speculating on why this man – a man who had disappeared long before they were born – had been killed, and more exciting still, who had done the dirty deed. By the time they came to Eddie’s house, they were agreed on one thing – the murderer must be somebody from the village or quite near to it. Who else would want to kill the man who had just been the local shopkeeper? But neither of them could come up with any kind of motive.
‘My Mam says Alec Fraser was a decent man,’ Eddie remarked, as they stood at his gate for a few moments, ‘and my Dad says he was well respected, for he took the kirk choir and that, but there musta been something bad about him afore somebody’d want to murder him.’
‘That doesn’t follow,’ David pointed out. ‘He could have found out something bad about the murderer, and he got killed to stop him telling the police.’
‘It’s like that picture we saw a few weeks back. James Cagney, or was it Raymond Massey? I canna mind the name o’ it, though.’
‘Neither can I, and I’d better be going, Eddie, or my Dad’ll be yelling his head off at me for being so late. See you on Saturday, usual time?’
‘Aye, it’s a Western wi’ Joel McCrea, and it’s a Boris Karloff next week.’
‘Good, I like creepy pictures better than Westerns.’
As David swung his leg over the bar of his cycle, his mind returned to the more fascinating business of the murder … a real murder! This, then, was the reason for his haste as he pedalled hell for leather along the road in his anxiety to get home and tell his news. He hadn’t actually promised E
ddie that he would keep it to himself, and his father was friendly with Lexie Fraser, so he’d be pleased to hear the latest about her father.
Throwing his bicycle down, he burst into the house. ‘You’ll never guess, Dad!’
His father and sister had been reading quietly by the fire, so Alistair looked up in some annoyance at the noisy intrusion. ‘Must you come barging in like that? And you haven’t left your bike outside, have you?’
Only then remembering the strict instructions he’d been given when he got this new Raleigh three-speed for his birthday, David dashed out again to put it under cover in the shed. It didn’t look like it was going to rain, but he didn’t want to chance it getting rusty. In his excitement, his fingers fumbled with the lock before managing to get it back in the hasp and snapping it shut, then he darted back inside to impart his red-hot scoop.
Closing the door quietly behind him, he said, as nonchalantly as he could, to see what the effect would be, ‘They’ve dug up Alec Fraser.’
His father’s first reaction did not disappoint him. Leaping to his feet, Alistair cried, ‘What? When? Who told you?’
‘One of the workmen told Eddie’s Dad …’
Before David could give any further details, not that there were any more to give, just his and Eddie’s speculations, Alistair was hauling on his jacket and going through the door. ‘Poor Lexie, she’ll need me.’
In another few moments, brother and sister heard an engine being started and the noise of the car’s tyres crunching down the stony track. ‘Is something going on between Dad and Lexie?’ David asked sadly, wishing that his father had at least stayed long enough to pass some kind of comment on what had happened – his bombshell had fizzled out.
The Back of Beyond Page 42
