The Siamese Suicides: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder & Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 6)

by Victoria Benchley

  "I had a good time. Just don't tell your mother about my stint as a waitress," she whispered jokingly. She continued, "Besides, I enjoyed watching you lug all that heavy stuff around."

  "You did, did you?" Duncan said as he slipped an arm around his fiancée's waist, and with one quick move, he tossed her over his shoulder.

  "Hey!" Angela said between laughs. "Put me down. Are you insinuating I'm heavy stuff?"

  "Not at all, but I think you need to be taught a lesson, Little One. I enjoyed watching you prance around that kitchen in your little black knit dress."

  Duncan began to spin slowly, keeping Angela in place with a firm hand across her bottom.

  He continued between chortles, "I think Mum should consider hiring you. A woman's place is in the kitchen!"

  "I beg your pardon. There was no prancing going on, and I—"

  A bright beam of light blinded Angela and silenced the couple's repartee.

  "What's all the ruckus?"

  James Dewar stood in the doorway, staring at his son, arms crossed over his chest, exuding disapproval. Duncan lowered Angela from his shoulder but kept an arm around the lass.

  "Nothing, Dad. Just a lover's quarrel."

  Duncan looked down at Angela and flashed his most devastating grin.

  "Not quite, Mr. Dewar. Your son was manhandling me and explaining his, until now, concealed chauvinistic ideas!" Angela snapped, red with embarrassment. As she pushed the large Scotsman away, her violet eyes sparked in his direction.

  "Well, come on inside, Dear. We tried to tell ye he was a menace," James said with a chuckle, moving aside so Angela could enter the house.

  Duncan followed his father inside, and the three took seats around the kitchen table. Margaret soon entered the home and joined the others.

  "Say, what was that call you took earlier?" Angela asked.

  "You won't believe it, but your new boss wants to hire me to consult on a case in Edinburgh."

  "Hadley Cocoran from L and G?" Angela's voice rose an octave.

  "Surprising, isn't it? I'm going to ring him up tomorrow for more details."

  "Are you sure you want to work with the firm again?" Angela asked while reaching for a glass of water.

  "Doesn't hurt to find out what the man wants, does it?"

  "I suppose not. But know Hadley is not like you, Duncan. He's the Burning Man sort, if you know what I mean." She paused and turned towards his parents. "Well, I'm off to bed. Early start tomorrow. Thank you for having me, Mr. and Mrs. Dewar."

  With that, she smiled at her hosts, gave her fiancée a peck on the cheek, and bounced up the stairs.

  After they heard the door to the bedroom shut, James asked, "You're taking her to the train in the morning?"

  "That I am," Duncan replied, sipping a cup of herbal tea his mum had placed before him.

  "Well, we'd better all be off to bed then," Duncan's father said as his mum made her way out of the kitchen.

  James rose and followed Margaret.

  Before entering the hall, he turned and said, "Keep your guard up with that Cocoran fellow. I'm sure you noticed Angela's reaction to your news."

  With that, the elder Dewar disappeared for the night.

  Duncan ran his hand through his hair and scratched his scalp. Lost in thought, the investigator was shocked when he found his cup empty. Was Hadley Cocoran the reason Angela hesitated moving to Scotland? And what was a Burning Man sort?

  Chapter 3

  A Convenient Job

  It felt strange walking into Lawful and General's Edinburgh office again without the clout he once carried. He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to shake off any awkwardness before the lift's doors opened onto the floor where he'd occasionally worked. He approached a receptionist who looked familiar.

  "Hallo, I'm here for a meeting with Mr. Cocoran."

  The attractive lass glanced up from her desk and smiled.

  "Ah, Mr. Dewar, it's so good to see you again."

  For the life of him, the investigator couldn't remember the girl's name, although he recalled he'd dealt with her in the past.

  Before Duncan could respond, the receptionist continued, "Mr. Cocoran is waiting for you. Please follow me."

  He walked with the lass to an office he'd often used. She poked her head inside and announced him, then nodded for Duncan to enter before withdrawing. He stepped inside the room as L and G's newest vice president rose to greet him.

  "Hello, I'm Hadley Cocoran. Call me Hadley, and please have a seat," the man said, reaching to shake Duncan's hand with a limp grip.

  "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Hadley, I'm Duncan Dewar," the investigator said before sitting.

  His first impression of his replacement, with the exception of the tepid handshake, was neutral. The man seemed friendly enough with an open manner. Handsome, but thin, Hadley exuded a masculine confidence in his tailored, dark suit. He guessed Cocoran was several years younger than himself and probably had a charmed career, hopping from one company to another, always with a promotion. The chap had a hipness about him, reflected in his trim beard and light brown hair which he allowed to grow below the collar. That, the Scotsman guessed, was the Burning Man thing Angela referred to. Duncan detected upon shaking the man's hand that he sported a manicure.

  "Thank you for coming, Duncan. We've got an interesting claim that seems right in your bailiwick. Naturally, I read the headlines about Lindisfarne, and you impressed me with that little Wallace case as well. Did you know Susanne Wallace filed a claim for the jewel, but then withdrew it? She said it was all a misunderstanding and that you found the valuable within days of it going missing. Have to admit it seemed odd, you involved with one of our cases like that. But, no matter. We cancelled her policy, of course."

  Hadley's blue eyes danced with enthusiasm during this speech. Still, Duncan sensed something lurked behind the vice president's excitement that might not be so pleasant. His demeanor didn't mask that he gave Duncan a good once-over while speaking, nor was the jab about the Wallace incident lost on him. Tight-lipped, he waited for Cocoran to continue.

  "Since your experience will be invaluable with the claim I mentioned, and because it's right in your home territory, you seemed the man for the job. So, I flew up here to meet with you."

  Duncan doubted it was that simple, but he nodded.

  Cocoran continued, "One of our insureds did away with himself in his place of business. He'd had the policy many years, so the suicide clause was no longer in effect. Beneficiary is his associate. They also have their goods insured with us, good long-term customers, that sort. The thing is, we have to complete due diligence to make sure the partner has no involvement. Our shareholders are demanding that way, Duncan. If you're willing, I've got a contract waiting for you to sign and you can start today. Our resources will be at your disposal as necessary, not quite like the old days, but you can call me when you need assistance. What do you say?"

  Cocoran eased the paperwork from the top drawer of his modern desk without a sound and slid it towards him. Hadley's smooth movements stood in contrast to his rapid-fire speech. Duncan glanced at the contract and saw that it was lucrative. His competitive nature took over. He'd show this whelp how to conduct an investigation and make a good farthing in the process. He signed without a word and pushed the contract back towards his replacement.

  "Now that that's out of the way, how about luncheon?" Cocoran asked.

  The investigator couldn't resist the temptation. This was the man his fiancée reported to, the person she spent more time with than himself. He pushed aside his jealousy and agreed to share a meal.

  As Duncan guessed, Hadley Cocoran got around to discussing Angela between sips from his super green shake. The Scotsman opted for soup and a piece, while his client went the ultra-healthy route. Why anyone would want to drink cold, liquefied vegetables in March, Duncan couldn't figure. Lawful and General's newest vice president wanted to know how the couple managed a long-distance connection, wher
e they planned to settle, and if Angela would continue working after marriage. He glided from question to question with great tact and hid his curiosity amid superfluous comments and conversation, but Duncan was on to him.

  "We've quite a bit in common, actually," Hadley said as he finished his health drink.

  "Oh?"

  "Angela tells me you're a runner, or you used to be," he said, eyeing the Scotsman as if he didn't quite measure up. He continued, "I did the Windsor Half-Marathon last year. Brilliant race. Hope to compete in the Robin Hood Marathon at Nottingham in the fall."

  "Impressive."

  Duncan felt pleased with himself and smiled inwardly. Adopting a friendly, if ignorant attitude, he sidestepped many of Cocoran's questions without revealing details of his relationship or the couple's plans. Leaving the meeting satisfied, he knew what Hadley Cocoran was up to and why he'd been offered the job. What an amateur.

  Back in his office, Duncan planned his next step. He'd ring Clarence Begbie, the beneficiary of the deceased's policy, and set up an interview. He inserted the flash drive provided by his former firm into his computer and waited for the case files to download. The investigator leaned back in his chair, stared out the window, and watched as busy people bustled up and down the street. He reflected a while on Angela. He'd have to handle this claim, and his business relationship with Hadley, with great care. Cocoran intended to meddle with something that belonged to him. That, he would not tolerate.

  His thoughts drifted to Peter Menzies, and the guilt that he felt in the pit of his stomach returned. Fortunately, his computer beeped, signaling he could review the information from L and G. What he saw appeared to be right out of a Sherlock Holmes novel.

  Clarence Begbie and Bertram Wainwrithe, Purveyors of Antiquities & Curiosities, ran a small but profitable retail business for almost two decades. Clarence had been there for an additional twenty years prior, as sole trader. Duncan shook his head. What's a curiosity, anyway? Something P. T. Barnum might display?

  A month ago, Bertram closed the shop, stepped into a back room, and hanged himself. Duncan examined the photos taken by Police Scotland at the scene. He'd want a forensics man to examine the pictures and corroborate law enforcement's theory. He sent an email off to Herbert Smith, an expert he'd used in the past. Then he composed a memo for Hadley, asking for the services of Gerald Campbell, L and G's photo expert.

  Next, he viewed the security footage from the store. He watched as Bertram moved around the small showroom, closing cases and flipping switches. Duncan strained to see if the displays held any freakish objects. Even in black and white, the tiny area whispered luxury and bespoke elegance. The camera angle switched to a hallway that led to the wynd behind Begbie & Wainwrithe. Bertram entered a code into a keypad next to the back door, then retreated into the hall, as if he'd forgotten something. After a few seconds, Duncan heard what sounded like a door slam. The picture froze and the investigator reversed the film and watched it all again. He scrutinized the tape for details and memorized Bertram's every move. Mr. Wainwrithe didn't appear distraught, although perhaps a little snookered. He fumbled a bit with the security code. Hanging one's self at the office didn't seem a likely way to end it all.

  Perusing more of the downloaded data, Duncan took note of a familiar sounding address. Chadington Close was a narrow, cobbled dead end just off George Street. An old, constricted lane, it allowed only foot traffic. The Antiquities & Curiosities shop proved a stone's throw from his own office. One must climb a flight of steps to reach the location due to the steep brae the buildings stood upon. As he rang up Clarence Begbie, his pulse raced. The excitement of a new case took over while he made arrangements to visit the shop on the morrow.

  After speaking with the elderly man, he scanned the related documents. The business had two key man life insurance policies, business interruption plans, and replacement policies on the goods they sold. The latter consisted of detailed appraisals on a wide variety of items. Begbie and Wainwrithe dealt in important jewels, artwork, antiquities, and items of historical significance. Great! No mummified monkeys to worry about. Lawful and General stood to pay out three million pounds in claim proceeds for the key man policy on Wainwrithe.

  He next set about studying the partnership deeds. The two created the firm from Clarence Begbie's sole trader business. Bertram's experience at Edinburgh's top auction house served as his stake in the enterprise. The men split profits fifty-fifty, and the venture proved lucrative. The papers called for the surviving member to inherit the firm's assets and life insurance proceeds. Clarence was once again a sole trader of antiquities and curiosities.

  He had enough information to begin work on his fault tree analysis. Duncan began entering the facts of the case and setting parameters. He developed this mathematical program as a graduate student at Cambridge, and it resembled a decision tree. Wainwrithe's death served as the top event, and the Scotsman added related information as components of his analysis. Eventually, his program would identify a logical chain of occurrences from the top affair down to its causes. Algebraic equations written into the software provided the least number of steps necessary to produce the top event. Ultimately, probability measurements would be produced for each scenario. He'd relied less and less on mathematics in his last few cases, but he still utilized his invention whenever possible.

  By the time he finished tinkering with his program, the sun had set. Duncan yawned as he gathered his things and left the office. If he hurried, he could catch a bus on the corner that would take him to within a block of his parents' home.

  When he entered his mum's kitchen, the aroma of garlic, thyme, and roasted beef stimulated his appetite.

  "Slainte mhath!" James said with a grin, raising a glass at Duncan. "Yer mum's just served the stew. Grab a bowl and join us."

  "Jings! It smells wonderful, Mum," Duncan said, grasping a ladle.

  "Don't forget the potato cakes. Put them on your plate first," Margaret instructed.

  It was rare to find Margaret in her own kitchen these days, which explained the ear to ear grin on Duncan's father's face. The professor had already wolfed down a third of his meal by the time his eldest son took a seat.

  "Where's Mondo tonight?" Duncan asked after taking his first bite of the savory stew.

  He recognized celery, rutabaga, and onions among the hearty chunks of beef.

  "He's working on the dining room layout and researching restaurants in the area," Margaret said.

  "You mean he's actually going to miss one of our family dinners?" he asked with mock astonishment.

  "Really, Duncan. Your attitude towards my business partner needs to change. He's working like a dog so we can open in two weeks. Besides, everyone is crazy about Armondo, except you!"

  The only people I've seen working like canines are Angela, you, and yours truly, he thought, but he said nothing. Instead, the investigator glanced at his father, hoping to find an ally. James looked intently at his plate and remained silent except for the sound of the scraping of his spoon against the china.

  His dad seemed determined to capture every last bit of the thick homemade broth. Duncan guessed the chef had outstayed his welcome where Angus and his father were concerned. For several months, Mondo had shifted between the Dewar house and his brothers' flats. He had done the same, but that was different. Armondo Berluca wasn't family. If Mondo hadn't suggested opening a restaurant in Edinburgh, Margaret would still be home, cooking fabulous meals every night. Now, takeaways and chippies became the status quo.

  "This stew is incredible, Mum. What's in the sauce?" Duncan asked, changing the subject.

  "Oh, that? The secret is in the red currant jelly and wine, and the fresh thyme sprigs don't hurt either. We're thinking of including it on our menu, but I've yet to convince Mondo. At least I can tell him two Scotsmen enjoyed it tonight."

  "That you can!" he enthused, gulping down more of the meal.

  "How was your meeting, Lad?" James asked.

  Dunc
an swallowed. "Interesting. Going back to the office did gie me the boak, at first."

  "I wouldn't touch those bampots with a barge pole after the way they treated you! That's my tuppence worth." Margaret fumed as she cleared dishes from the table. The clattering of china as the plates hit the sink made Duncan wince.

  "Wheesht, Margaret. Let the lad finish," James said in a gentle tone as his mum took a seat.

  "Believe me, Mum, I thought about telling him to awa' n bile his head, but I realized the best thing for Dewar and Associates is to reestablish ties within the industry. This will help me reach that goal, and it's going to be an interesting case as well," he said, then turning to his father, he added, "have you ever heard of Begbie and Wainwrithe?"

  James rubbed his chin for a moment and said, "I can't say that I have."

  Duncan continued, "Purveyors of antiquities and curiosities?"

  "No, doesn't ring a bell. Except, wait, did a poor chap kill himself there?"

  "I'm afraid so, one of the owners, and L and G has the policy on his life. The five-year suicide exclusion ran out ten years ago, so it looks like they'll have to pay out three million pounds. The amazing thing is the merchandise these men sell, er, sold. Begbie is continuing on by himself. They traded in one-of-a-kind items, like French Empire chairs, important jewels, and sketches by Leonardo da Vinci. Their showroom is just around the corner from my office. In fact, I'm meeting with Clarence Begbie first thing in the morning." Duncan finished just as his mobile went off.

  "I expect that's Angela. Let's give the happy couple some privacy, James," Margaret said with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

  "Good night, Lad. Give your lass our best," James said as Duncan's parents retired to watch the telly for the night.

  "Hallo, Darling. How was your day?"

  "Rather boring. Except I got a nice surprise when Herbert Smith phoned me. He said he'd received your email and would be working with you again. I'm so glad you contacted him, Duncan. You know he's a favorite of mine."