Double Cheque

by Heather MacQuarrie

  “What sort of incident?” Jasmine queried, as the text she had deleted at her mother’s house jumped into her mind.

  “A man died in questionable circumstances,” the policeman revealed, which really freaked her out.

  “Died?” she repeated. “What can this possibly have to do with me?”

  “Hopefully nothing,” the officer told her, “but we have to check it out. You recently sent a text message to a Mr Douglas McKendrick, asking him for his address. We need to know why you wanted it.”

  “He’s dead?” Jasmine exclaimed, her face draining of colour.

  “No, the dead man is someone else, but there is a connection. I’m asking you again why you wanted this man’s address.”

  Jasmine started to tremble with fear. “I told him why. A friend of mine wanted to send him a thank you card.”

  “Would that be a Mr Grant Cartwright?”

  “Yes.” It was a mere whisper.

  “We have it on good authority that Mr Cartwright did not make that request, that he already knew Mr McKendrick’s address and had, in fact, been in his house. Indeed Mr McKendrick and Mr Cartwright were socialising together on the very day that this man died.”

  “I made it up,” Jasmine admitted. She was now shaking like a leaf.

  “So, can you tell me the real reason why you wanted Mr McKendrick’s address?”

  “My brother asked me for it,” she blurted out.

  “Would that be Mr Sam Campbell?”

  Once again her answer was a mere whisper. “Yes.” These guys had certainly done their homework.

  Jasmine bit her lip. What on earth was this all about? “Please tell me who died,” she begged. “I don’t know what it can possibly have to do with us.”

  “How did you and your brother know Mr McKendrick?” the police officer asked without answering her question.

  “I didn’t know him. And Sam only met him once. He was …, he was …, he was in a relationship with our mother. We tried to warn him off.”

  “So you were both angry with him?”

  There was a loud knocking at the door. “That will be my friends from upstairs,” Jasmine managed to say. “They’re celebrating a marriage. I asked them to call.”

  “You had better say hello,” one of the officers approved.

  Jasmine opened the door and indicated to her friends that she had company.

  “Is that a police car?” Jillian observed, looking out at the car park.

  “Are you in any trouble?” Grant asked. “Can I help?”

  Jasmine burst into tears and Grant immediately took over, sending Imogen back upstairs with the others. He marched into the room and introduced himself. “If you don’t mind, I would like to sit in on the rest of this interview,” he said with an authoritative air. “What has Jasmine done to deserve this harassment?”

  “Did you say your name was Grant Cartwright?” one of the policemen said with a smirk on his face.

  “Yes, that is correct,” said Grant.

  “Well then, to start with, she has tried to implicate you in a case which involves the death of a gentleman in Scotland.”

  “I did not!” Jasmine shouted vehemently. “I told you I made that bit up.”

  “But you were in Scotland on Saturday the first of October, Sir?”

  “I was. That was the date of my grandfather’s birthday party.”

  “Can I ask where you were after half past ten that night?”

  “In my hotel.”

  “Can anyone verify that?”

  Grant looked from the policeman to Jasmine and back to the policeman who was waiting for an answer. “I can’t believe you asked me that. What on earth is going on?”

  “Let’s go back to the beginning,” the police officer said. He reiterated what had already taken place before Grant’s arrival. Then he addressed Jasmine again.

  “So you gave Mr McKendrick’s address to your brother. What happened next?”

  “What do you mean, what happened?”

  “What did your brother do with the information? Did he travel to Scotland?”

  “No, definitely not.”

  “Why did he want the address?”

  There was nothing else for it; she had to tell the truth. “He passed it on to our father,” she mumbled.

  “And did he travel to Scotland?”

  Jasmine still didn’t know who had died. But it wasn’t Douglas McKendrick. She had opened a text message from him a few days ago. She looked imploringly at Grant for support but he was as confused as she was.

  “I’m not sure where my father is,” she said in total honesty. “He and my mother are going through a bad patch and they are currently living apart.”

  The officer then repeated his question to Grant. Could anyone verify his whereabouts on the evening in question? Grant was horrified.

  “My only connection to this man is that he put me in touch with some of my family who had been estranged to me. I was indebted to him for that although I have to admit I felt awkward, knowing that he was in an extra-marital relationship with my friend’s mother.”

  “That friend being Sam Campbell?”

  “Yes, Sam, and also Jasmine here.”

  “And who told you of that relationship?”

  “It was Sam. He mentioned it one day while we were playing golf, about a month ago.”

  The two policemen stood up and thanked them both for their information. “We will need to speak to your brother and your father,” the more senior of the two told Jasmine. Then he smiled. “To be honest,” he admitted, “the police over there think it was just an accident. We’re just double-checking all the facts before closing the case.”

  ***

  Bradley watched the police car driving off. Then he, along with Jillian and Imogen went back downstairs to find out what was going on. They found Jasmine in floods of tears and Grant trying his best to console her but without much success.

  “Should I ring Sam and warn him?” she spluttered. “I remember him saying that dad did threaten to kill the man.”

  “But that’s just a turn of phrase,” Grant comforted her. “He didn’t mean it literally. People say things like that all the time. And anyway, they said that it’s not him, it’s someone else who has died.”

  The horrified looks from their friends brought about an explanation from Grant about what had just happened.

  “If you warn Sam that they’re coming, they might think that you’ve something to hide,” cautioned Imogen.

  “Maybe we have but we don’t know it yet.”

  “You’re panicking, Jasmine. Just let the guys do their job. It’ll turn out to be nothing to do with any of us.”

  The drama had somewhat spoilt the celebratory mood for Imogen and Grant and they set off to see other friends, a little subdued. Bradley and Jillian stayed with Jasmine for a while until she felt calmer. She was on the verge of phoning her brother, both to warn him about the police and to tell him about Imogen’s marriage, when her own mobile started to ring. It was her father.

  “Hello Sweetheart,” he began, “I just want to let you know that I’m back home.”

  “Dad! At last! Where have you been?”

  “I went to Spain,” he told her. “I needed to do some thinking.”

  “Spain! Oh thank God.” She turned to her friends. “He was in Spain,” she gushed.

  “Well, there you are,” Jillian smiled. “Problem solved. We’ll leave you to chat to him.” She and Bradley went back home.

  Kenneth sounded a bit bewildered. “Why all the excitement?” he probed. “You surely didn’t think I would stay away for ever. Your mother and I have some issues to work through but it’s nothing to do with you or Sam or Molly. I would never desert you.”

  Jasmine was feeling elated and started to babble. “I know th
at, Dad. It’s just that I was worrying in case you’d gone to Edinburgh. The police have just been here, questioning me, and now they’re heading to Sam’s.”

  “The police?”

  “Yes, they said they were making enquiries about a death over in Scotland. They think it was an accident but they have to make sure. It was awful!”

  “Why were they questioning you?” He sounded really angry.

  “It’s got something to do with Douglas McKendrick.”

  “Well, if someone has killed him, I can’t say I’ll be sorry,” bluffed Kenneth.

  “No, it wasn’t him. I don’t know who it was. But it doesn’t matter now. As long as you can prove you were in Spain, they’ll know you didn’t do it.”

  “You mean they suspect me? Of killing someone? You can’t be serious.”

  “I don’t know. I think they might.”

  There was silence for a moment. Jasmine thought they had been disconnected. She was just about to put the phone down when she heard his voice again. It sounded a bit shaky. “Don’t let it worry you, Sweetheart. I’ll look into it. And by the way, Spain was lovely even though I was on my own. But I’m home now and I’ll see you soon.”

  “OK, bye Dad. It’s good to hear your voice. I hope you and Mum aren’t going to split up.”

  “We’ll see. Bye.”

  ***

  Kenneth threw his phone down on the bed and racked his brain. Thank God he had phoned Jasmine in the nick of time. No-one must find out that he visited Scotland before travelling to Spain. And thank God he had sold his Rolex to that guy in the pawn shop. He didn’t get anywhere near its proper value but he did get enough to make ends meet so that he hadn’t used his credit card or his phone or anything else that would give away his location. Except for his airline ticket. He would have to bluff his way out of that one.

  It’s just a case of making my holiday in Spain so obvious that they don’t even think of checking when I bought my ticket or how I paid for it. I knew it was too good to be true – that news bulletin that dismissed it as an accident. They must have changed their minds. But why? What evidence could they have found? Circumstantial only, I would think. They won’t be able to prove a thing. As long as I stay calm, stick to my story. I wonder what Sam is telling them! Probably best to own up to what I said to him. Everyone says things like that in the heat of the moment. I just need plenty of Spanish souvenirs. And Patricia on my side!

  Ten minutes later he went downstairs in search of his wife.

  “There you are,” he said amicably, finding her tending to her house plants. “Can we talk?”

  Patricia looked up in surprise. This was a welcome change after three days of icy coolness.

  “I’d like us to get back on track,” he told her, “if you really mean it about not seeing that man ever again.”

  “Really? You’re ready to forgive me.” Patricia breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  “Let’s give it a try, at least,” he proposed.

  They shared a tentative embrace and then sat down together to watch a film on television. It was almost two hours before Kenneth heard the expected sound of the doorbell. “It’s almost nine o’clock,” he remarked coolly. “Who would be visiting at this time of the evening?” He opened the door and pretended to express surprise. It was two young police officers.

  “Would you be Mr Kenneth Campbell?” one of them asked.

  “I am indeed. How can I help you?”

  “We’d like to come in and ask you a few questions,” he said.

  Kenneth led them into the lounge and turned off the television. “This is my wife, Patricia,” he said. “Now, how can we help you? Have there been burglaries in the area again?”

  “Nothing like that,” the more senior officer declared. Then he hesitated. “I have to say I’m surprised to find you in. We had been led to believe that you and your wife were currently living apart.”

  “Gosh,” Kenneth bluffed, “is nothing private these days? We did have a bit of a spat but everything’s fine again. We’re giving it another go. So, not a burglary then?”

  “You sound very upbeat for someone who was threatening to kill a certain gentleman just two weeks ago.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “We have just spoken to your son, Sam. According to him you were heading over to Scotland to confront a Mr Douglas McKendrick.”

  Kenneth laughed. “I may have said that in the heat of the moment.”

  “But there has been a killing in Edinburgh,” the policeman now revealed.

  Patricia gasped and went pale. “Dougie is dead?” she cried in horror.

  “No, Mrs Campbell. The deceased man is not Douglas McKendrick, but his brother, Alex.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “That is what we are trying to ascertain.” He looked directly at Kenneth. “We believe you have been away from home, Sir. Can you please tell us where you went?”

  “Spain,” Kenneth said without flinching.

  “Can you prove that?”

  “Yes, of course. But you can’t really suspect me of killing someone.”

  “I’m sorry. Evidence does point to the man having had an unfortunate accident but we have to check every lead. Just show us some proof that you were in Spain and we’ll be on our way.”

  Kenneth left the room and came back with some papers. “I’m only home a couple of days,” he explained, “and my boarding pass was still in my coat pocket.” He handed the document to one of the policemen who immediately confirmed that it was valid proof he had been booked on that flight but not necessarily evidence that he had actually travelled. Kenneth remained calm and immediately produced a receipt for two bottles of gin purchased at the airport.

  “What about the outward flight?” the officer then asked him. “Would you still have that one too?”

  Kenneth said that no, he must have thrown it in the bin at his hotel.

  “Some other proof of your arrival date then?”

  He scratched his head as though trying to think and then, with an Oscar-winning performance, he remembered something and took out his wallet. “Ah, here’s the leaflet that accompanied the key card for my room. It has the dates of my stay on it.”

  He handed over the small envelope, fervently hoping that the alteration to the date he had made following Jasmine’s call would not be detected. It had been easy enough to change the number eleven into the number one by simply drawing a box round the date and making sure the line went straight through the first digit. His luck seemed to be in.

  “That seems to be in order, Mr Campbell. Did you enjoy your stay?”

  “Beautiful place,” Kenneth gushed. “Take a look at these.” And he started to display a series of digital images on his phone, including the odd selfie here and there, absolute evidence that he had just come home from Barcelona with its unmistakeable Gaudi architecture. “I’ll enjoy it even more next time when Patricia comes with me.” He patted her on the knee.

  “Good to know you’ve resolved your differences,” the young officer said, smiling, as he got up to leave.

  “Something about nothing,” Kenneth agreed. “A minor indiscretion, isn’t that right, Darling. That’s awful about the man’s brother though.”

  “Yes, a shocking accident. Well, we’ll say goodnight. Thank you for your co-operation.”

  Kenneth breathed a silent sigh of relief. Now he had to make sure that Patricia didn’t find out about Jasmine warning him in advance; she might wonder why he hadn’t mentioned it and become suspicious.

  “I think we could both do with a cup of tea,” he suggested to her as he came back into the room and Patricia was only too pleased to go and make one. It was a sign that things were slowly returning to normal. Whilst she was in the kitchen, Kenneth pretended to speak to Jasmine on the phone, telling her in a loud voice that he was home f
rom his trip, and then really did ring Sam, letting him know that he was back and that he had just had a visit from the police. When Sam tried to apologise for dropping him in it, Kenneth assured him that he had done nothing wrong in telling the truth and quietly asked him to give his sister an update. Patricia came back in with the tea.

  “I just phoned Jasmine and Sam to bring them up to speed,” he announced casually. “They are both glad I’m home and hoping that we can work things out. What about Molly? Do I need to tell her anything?” Patricia shook her head.

  “Molly never knew that anything was amiss,” she said.

  “Good. Now let’s have that tea.”

  Chapter 18

  On Friday evening Jasmine collected Alastair from the garden centre where he worked and they went home together to her flat. She had spent most of the week on a training course because the dental practice was being expanded and updated with a lot of new technology being brought in. She was glad it was the weekend and didn’t want to see another computer screen for at least a month. It had also been a roller-coaster of a week emotionally with her parents seemingly back together, after her mother’s affair coming to light, her father’s disappearance, which had turned out to be a solitary sojourn in Spain, and insinuated allegations from the police about her father, brother or friend being involved in a suspicious killing in Scotland. She sat down on the sofa and exhaled with a huge and very loud sigh.

  “You need a glass of wine,” Alastair said, walking towards the kitchen to pour her one. “It’ll help you unwind.”

  “Thanks,” she muttered dreamily. “That would be lovely.” She had picked up the day’s post from the hallway on her way in and took a look through it while she waited for her wine to appear. Useless fliers and other junk mail as usual, but in amongst it all, a brown envelope addressed to her. She opened it and slid out the official looking letter.

  “I hope that’s not something to upset you,” Alastair said kindly, setting her glass on the table.