He trundles away, leaving Edwin feeling thoughtful. When he gets back to the sofa, he almost tells Benedict and Julie, but they are deep in a discussion about means and motive. ‘But what’s Nigel’s motive for Lance? Maybe he bullied him at school?’ Eventually Edwin falls asleep.
He is woken by a voice saying, ‘Sleep, little Three-Eyes.’ A face is bending over him and, for a wild moment, Edwin thinks it’s his mother, who died more than thirty years ago. Thank goodness he doesn’t say anything embarrassing like, ‘Mummy’. Instead, he rubs his eyes and sees that it’s Natalka. Funnily enough, something in her face, maybe its extreme symmetry, does recall Edwin’s mother, who was a famous beauty in her day.
‘We’re off,’ says Natalka. Edwin sees that DS Kaur is there, accompanied by a tall, blond man.
‘This is Miles Taylor,’ she says. ‘He was Lance’s editor. And Dex’s. He’s coming with us.’
‘I really don’t think it’s necessary.’ Miles looks extremely put out.
‘It’s just a precaution. Just for one night.’ The red-haired policeman, DI Harris, has joined them. ‘The house is in Cove Bay. It’s a bonny place.’
Edwin doesn’t think he’s heard the word ‘bonny’ used in conversation before. He thinks it’s charming. Harris is rather attractive in a bony, cadaverous way. He notes that Natalka and Julie are gazing up at him as if he is about to impart the secrets of the universe.
‘If you want to take your car,’ Harris is saying to Natalka, ‘I’ll send an officer to go with you.’
‘I’ll be OK,’ says Natalka. ‘Benny can come with me.’
‘Nevertheless,’ says Harris, ‘an officer will accompany you.’
Even Natalka does not argue with that.
Edwin, Miles, Julie and DS Kaur are driven by Harris himself, DS Kaur in the front, as befits her status. It’s a beautiful drive. They cross a bridge and leave the town behind them, passing between stone houses, softened by the afternoon light. After about fifteen minutes they reach the sea, mossy cliffs heading straight into water, waves crashing against the rocks.
‘There’s the house,’ says Harris.
It’s a modern, white-walled building, perched on the very top of the cliff. Below it, a concrete slope leads down into the water. When they get out the car, the strong, salty wind almost takes Edwin’s breath away. He wraps his tartan scarf round his neck. Natalka is parking in the driveway. Harris gets out the keys. ‘It’s quite basic,’ he says, ‘but I think you’ll be comfortable.’
The house is perfect: wooden floors, white walls, minimal furniture. From the sitting room, you can hear the waves slapping against the harbour wall. There are four bedrooms upstairs and one downstairs.
‘I can’t share a room,’ says Miles immediately. ‘I have space issues.’
That probably means Miles snores, thinks Edwin. Thank goodness I don’t.
‘Julie and I will share,’ says Natalka. The two women seem to have become close quite quickly. They take a room that looks like it was decorated for children, complete with bunk beds and Tintin wallpaper. This leaves two singles upstairs and one double, plus a smaller double downstairs.
‘I don’t mind sleeping downstairs,’ says Edwin. He has already worked out that this means easier access to the loo. Upstairs, DS Kaur gets the double, to her obvious satisfaction, and Miles and Benedict the two singles.
‘I hope the curtains are dark enough,’ says Miles. ‘I’m used to blackout blinds.’
Miles is obviously going to be a trial.
‘There’ll be a patrol car outside all night,’ says Harris. ‘Any problems, Harbinder, just call me.’
‘I will,’ says DS Kaur, who is examining the TV.
‘Is there any food?’ says Natalka.
‘I almost forgot.’ Harris goes to the car and comes back with two carrier bags. ‘Sheena went shopping for you.’
Edwin notes that macho Mr Harris didn’t do the shopping himself. He’s pleased to see that Sheena has included a couple of bottles of wine.
Benedict and Natalka cook them spaghetti bolognaise for supper, with a vegetarian version for Julie. It’s very good, helped down by the red wine. They talk about Scotland, food, holidays – anything but murder. Edwin is surprised to find out that Miles went to university in Aberdeen. That hair is so very Oxbridge. But Miles is actually rather interesting when he’s talking about Scottish history and his voice takes on a distinctly Highland lilt. He’s talking about Mary Queen of Scots when Harbinder says,
‘Who was Darnley?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘I saw it on a hotel room.’
Miles looks surprised but says, ‘Charles Darnley was Mary’s second husband. He was murdered at Kirk O’Field.’
‘I heard he was gay,’ says Edwin.
‘There’s no evidence either way,’ says Miles. ‘Darnley was the father of Mary’s son, who became James the first of England.’
‘Doesn’t stop him being gay,’ says Edwin.
‘No, it doesn’t. Anyway, Darnley came to a horrible end. His house was blown up. Darnley and his valet were found dead in the adjoining field. Of course, it’s believed that Darnley murdered David Rizzio, the Italian musician who may or may not have been Mary’s lover.’
‘So many murders,’ says Edwin, thinking that Scotland hasn’t changed.
It seems that DS Kaur – Harbinder to them now – is thinking along the same lines.
‘Last time I was in Scotland,’ she says, ‘I was on the trail of a murderer, a very dangerous character. I arrived just as he was about to stab this teenage girl. I jumped on him and Jim, DI Harris, came flying through the door and took him down with a rugby tackle.’
‘Goodness,’ says Edwin, ‘you do have an exciting job.’
‘It’s not usually that exciting,’ says Harbinder. ‘Mostly I’m sitting outside Shoreham power station looking for non-existent terrorists.’
‘I can just imagine DI Harris charging in like that,’ says Julie. ‘He’s very macho, isn’t he?’
Harbinder agrees that he is, although her voice implies that this isn’t necessarily a good thing.
‘I saw lots of macho men back home in Ukraine,’ says Natalka. ‘When the war came they all turned out to be cowards.’
Miles turns to look at her. ‘Oh, are you from Ukraine? Do you know . . .’ He mentions a name but his accent is so heavy (pretentious, Edwin thinks) that it’s incomprehensible.
‘Yes,’ says Natalka. ‘How do you know it?’
‘I studied Russian at university and spent a year in Moscow.’
‘You didn’t mention that before,’ says Harbinder.
‘It didn’t seem relevant,’ says Miles.
Edwin thinks that Harbinder looks rather irritated but he can’t think why.
‘I heard something interesting today,’ he says. ‘Freddie Fanshawe, my BBC friend, said that Dex Challoner was planning to give up writing for good.’
‘That’s not true,’ says Miles quickly. ‘Dex had already delivered the next Tod France and he was very excited about a new project.’
‘The Murder Consultant,’ says Harbinder.
Miles gapes at her in a very uncouth way. ‘How did you know that?’
‘His agent told me.’
‘Jelli Walker-Thompson,’ says Julie. ‘She’s my agent too.’
‘And Lance’s,’ says Benedict. He’s been very quiet throughout the meal but Edwin thinks that his mind is working furiously. Another sign of Detective Fever.
‘Remember the panel yesterday?’ says Benedict. ‘Lance said that he was working on something new. He said that he was very excited about it.’
‘Well, he won’t write it now,’ says Natalka.
‘Two writers who were excited about starting new projects and now they’re both dead,’ says Benedict. ‘It makes you think, does
n’t it?’
This has the effect of silencing the supper party.
Harbinder hasn’t been able to make the TV work so, after supper, they play cards. Benedict finds an ancient pack of cards in the dresser, the joker marked up as the ace of hearts. They play rummy, which Harbinder has never played before.
‘We didn’t really play cards in my family,’ she says apologetically.
‘My family played all the time,’ says Natalka, ‘even on the beach. My dad was a real card expert . . . What do you say here? Card sharp?’ And it seems that Natalka takes after him; she wins round after round. Harbinder learns quickly but makes mistakes, Benedict is surprisingly reckless, Miles methodical, Julie very careless. Edwin finds it hard to concentrate. The picture cards look up at him with their cold profiles: king, queen, jack. Which is which? Natalka is undoubtedly the queen of hearts, Harbinder the queen of diamonds. Does that make Julie a club or a spade?
‘This is so strange,’ says Julie. ‘It’s almost like being on holiday but we’re in a police safe house hiding from a murderer.’
Her words make them all pause, cards in hand. The table is lit by a standard lamp but otherwise the room is in shadow. The wind has grown stronger over the course of the evening and, occasionally, the windows shake and the curtains fly inwards.
‘We’re not exactly hiding,’ says Natalka. ‘Living in a white house on the top of a cliff.’ Even so, Edwin thinks that she is the one who is most spooked by Julie’s words.
Benedict says, soothingly, ‘We’re quite safe. I mean, there are police outside.’
Harbinder had offered the officers some of the pasta but reported that they were eating fish and chips in the car. Edwin hopes that the heavy meal hasn’t sent them to sleep.
‘Lance thought he was safe,’ says Natalka. ‘Then he was murdered.’
‘We don’t know that he was murdered,’ says Edwin.
‘Of course he was,’ says Miles, shuffling cards rather clumsily. ‘Why do you think we’re here?’
Outside, the wind howls.
In his downstairs room, which is actually very comfortable, Edwin puts on his pyjamas and gets into bed. He has a book with him, The Mating Season by P. G. Wodehouse, which always cheers him up, but somehow he can’t lose himself in the wonderful world of Bertie Wooster. The wind is still making a nuisance of itself. The door is rattling away as if a madman is trying to gain admittance. Suddenly Edwin thinks of a quotation, from Malory, he thinks, probably Le Morte d’Arthur. What, nephew, said the king, is the wind in that door? He thinks of the cards: king, queen, jack. Hearts, clubs, diamonds, spades. He can hear the waves crashing against the harbour wall. Something is knocked over outside, probably a dustbin. Edwin gets up and goes to the window. The road is empty. Where’s the police car that’s meant to be protecting them? The pampas grass in the garden is waving furiously. Edwin gets back into bed.
A few seconds later, he puts Bertie down again. He can hear another noise, a scrunching regular sound that stops and then starts again. Someone is unmistakably walking on the gravel path around the house. Edwin puts on his dressing gown and goes out to the hallway. There he meets Harbinder, who is still fully dressed.
‘Did you hear that?’ he says.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Could be nothing. Could be a cat.’
‘A cat wearing hob-nailed boots,’ says Edwin.
Harbinder opens the front door. A blast of cold air blows her hair back.
‘The squad car isn’t there,’ she says. ‘They must have driven round the block.’
There’s no block here, on the very eastern edge of Scotland, but Edwin doesn’t say so. Harbinder switches on her phone torch. ‘Is anyone there?’
The wind takes the power from her words. Harbinder sounds scared and, suddenly, very young. Edwin joins her in the doorway.
‘I’m going to look,’ she says.
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No, you stay here. We can’t leave the door open.’
Harbinder is only gone for a few minutes. When she gets back, she says, ‘There’s no one there and the squad car is back. Everything’s OK.’
But she double-locks the door carefully.
Chapter 29
Harbinder: amanuensis
Harbinder goes slowly back upstairs. The noise outside could easily have been the wind, or an animal like a fox or a cat, but she can’t help thinking about her conversation with Natalka earlier.
They had found a little sitting room in the hotel, complete with stag’s head and several bird collages made from actual feathers. Natalka, curled up in an armchair, looked pale and heavy-eyed.
‘Why did you want to see me?’ asked Harbinder.
‘You know I told you about the two men in the car?’ said Natalka. ‘Well, I think they followed me here. The other night, in the pub, I heard two men talking in Ukrainian. They were talking about me.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘They said, “I’d know that face anywhere.”’
‘Do you recognise them?’
‘Benny managed to take a photo but it was hard to see. They were youngish, maybe in their thirties, with short hair. I don’t think I recognised them. But how many Ukrainians do you get in Aberdeen?’
‘Have you told DI Harris?’
‘No. He already thinks we’re all crazy.’
Harbinder thought that this was probably true.
‘Well, we’re going to a safe house tonight,’ she said. ‘They can’t follow you there.’
Natalka had looked unconvinced and now Harbinder doesn’t feel quite so confident. What if the mysterious men have followed her? The unarmed officers outside will be no match against the Ukrainian mafia. Harbinder can hear conversation and muffled laughter coming from the room that Natalka and Julie are sharing. For a moment she’s almost tempted to join them but she’s never been one for girl talk, even when she was a girl.
There’s a murmur coming from Miles’s room, as if he’s speaking on his phone. No sound from Benedict. Maybe he’s praying? But it’s hard to keep thinking of Benedict as an unworldly, monk-like figure. He seems different in Aberdeen, more definite somehow. He has obviously been supporting Natalka, and probably Edwin too. Not that Edwin needs support. He’d been very calm just now when any of the others would probably have freaked out. Harbinder goes into her room. She’s so pleased to have scored the double bed and en suite. Well, she deserves it, she tells herself. After all, she’s the only one who is actually still working. With this in mind, she checks her email before getting into bed and playing Panda Pop for half an hour.
She wakes up early the next morning. The sun has made its way through the thin curtains. Miles won’t have slept a wink. Harbinder lies completely still for a few moments enjoying the warmth and the sound of the seagulls. She wonders what’s going to happen today. Jim must be certain that Lance was murdered, otherwise why go to the expense of a safe house? Will he want to interview them again? She thinks that he’s rather intrigued by Natalka and Benedict, although he seems to have convinced himself that Edwin is a prince amongst men. And what’s her role in this, other than to provide some background about Dex Challoner and Peggy Smith? She told Jim her suspicions that Peggy might have been murdered by the same method used to kill Lance Foster. Jim had listened politely but she’s pretty sure he has discounted her theory. An old lady dying alone in Shoreham doesn’t interest him. He’s only really concerned with his own dead body. How come Jim is a DI and Harbinder isn’t? But she can’t waste time thinking about this. She’s got a job to do and, it’s time to get up.
She showers in her posh en suite. Should she have offered this room to Edwin, as the oldest? Her mother would definitely think so. But Edwin had seemed perfectly happy with his allocation. She dresses quickly in jeans and a jumper and goes downstairs.
Sure enough, Miles is in the kitchen, moodily eating
toast. Edwin is also there, gazing at the kettle as if willing it to work. There’s a cafetière beside him and a delicious smell of coffee in the air. The clock has hands in the shape of carrots chasing sundry vegetables around the dial. It’s seven-thirty, a carrot past a radish.
‘Morning,’ says Harbinder. ‘Did everyone sleep well?’
‘Like a log,’ says Edwin, pouring boiling water onto the coffee.
‘Very fitfully,’ says Miles. ‘I think I’m allergic to the pillows here.’
Harbinder ignores this and gratefully accepts a cup of coffee from Edwin. She makes herself some toast and spreads it with butter and Marmite. As she does so, she can hear her father’s voice. ‘Marmite is just one reason why the British will never be a civilised nation.’
Absorbed in her breakfast, it’s a couple of seconds before she realises that Miles is talking to her.
‘. . . like to talk to you,’ he is saying. ‘Shall we have a walk on the beach?’
Harbinder looks at Edwin who raises an eyebrow at her. ‘Don’t mind me,’ he says, ‘I’m quite happy here with P. G. Wodehouse.’
The squad car is outside and Harbinder stops to talk to the occupants, a different pair from yesterday. She offers them coffee but they say that they have already stopped at McDonald’s. The car smells faintly of waffles.
‘Anything to report last night?’ she says. ‘I thought I heard someone moving around out here.’
‘That’ll be the wind,’ says one of the policemen. ‘It was a wee bit blashie last night.’
That must mean windy, thinks Harbinder. It’s a good onomatopoeic word but she doesn’t think that it explains the sounds outside the house.
Harbinder and Miles walk along the shingle beach. It’s another beautiful morning, the air fresh and smelling of the sea. There are a few fishing boats moored above the tide line and a fisherman sits mending his nets on the harbour wall.
‘I’ve got friends who live near here,’ says Miles. ‘The landowner keeps trying to stop the fishing but it’s been happening for hundreds of years. It’s a way of life for these folk.’
The Postscript Murders Page 23
