by Manda Scott
‘You could always ask Caroline.’
‘Aye. But you heard what she said the other day. She doesn’t believe the lassie did it.’
‘And you?’
‘I’ll believe what’s there to believe until I see something different.’
We both watched Ashwood yawn widely and unroll down the side of the Rayburn.
MacDonald finished his coffee. He turned to swill out the mug in the sink behind him. Under cover of the running water he said, ‘There was a break-in last night at the place her brother used to work.’
The cat lay down with his nose a hand’s length from the dog and then he too closed his eyes.
‘Really?’ I kept my eyes on the dog. ‘Did they get anything useful?’
‘Nothing reported missing. Chief Inspector Laidlaw’s not best pleased, though.’
‘I can imagine.’
He switched off the tap and the final few drops splashed noisily on the stainless steel in the sudden silence.
I stood with my back against the warmth of the Rayburn and said nothing because there was nothing to say.
The Inspector eyed me for a long, silent moment, then smiled, a little sadly, and looked away.
We lapsed back into silence, watching the non-event happening by the fireside.
Dog and cat opened their eyes and locked in ocular combat.
It was an even match. Ashwood is not the kind of cat that would have survived long in the witch-hunts either.
Tension grew, like static electricity, until the atmosphere tingled, then collapsed away as if suddenly earthed, and the remainder of the cat pack slid down from the safety of the high ground, one at a time, to assemble round the fire for the routine introductions.
Caroline broke the verbal deadlock.
‘Looks like the cats are happy,’ she said, with the accent on cats.
‘Looks like the pup has a new home.’ I began to clear up the space around the Rayburn. Pointless exercise, but it kept my hands busy.
‘Aye.’ MacDonald sounded flat, and suddenly very tired. He wanted something more. In many ways, he deserved something more. But I had nothing I could safely give.
He gave a small huff of irritation and stood up, pulling out a wad of paper from his hip pocket.
‘This is the pedigree for the pup,’ he said, holding it out to me. ‘Her parents are both good working dogs and she’s training up fine. And this’ – he produced a tattered page, covered in scribbles, from an official police notebook – ‘is her feeding plan.’ It went on the breakfast bar. ‘She’s on four feeds a day still. I’ve brought a bag of the puppy meal to keep you going till Monday. After that, McFarlane in the village has all the things you need and he’ll keep you good lamb bones when she’s older as long as you take her in to see him once in a while. He owns the sire.’
He eased himself away from the sink and headed for the door, brushing through the cats and bending down to give his dog a quick pat on the way past. In the doorway he paused and looked back.
‘And mind, when she has pups, I want first pick of the litter.’
‘You’ve got it.’
Bitch puppies never go last from any litter. Especially not ones with working champions all the way down both sides of the pedigree, whatever their eyes are like.
Five
Old farmhouses are prone to cold and damp and this one is no exception. The spare bedroom is hidden under the eaves at the back of the house, as far away from the spreading warmth of the Rayburn and the chimney stack as you can get, and neither the slanting windows in the roof nor the big one in the side wall has ever fitted particularly well. On a sunny morning, it is a beautiful place to sit and look out over the fields, but as a place to sleep it has serious drawbacks.
In my day, we let visitors have the big bed in the double room and Bride and I slept on a mattress in front of the fire, feeling like kids on an adventure holiday and acting about the same. I can’t remember a time when we needed to open up the spare room. From the reek of damp wood and the feel as I opened the door, that hadn’t changed much after I left either. Unless they never had any visitors, which is always possible. Whatever the case, in its present state, the room was close to being uninhabitable.
As soon as the Inspector was safely out of the drive, we left the animals to introduce themselves in peace and went upstairs to begin changing it back from a junk room into a bedroom, so we could each have somewhere to sleep.
The saving grace was the fireplace on the inside wall. The grate was blocked over but the chimney was clear and it was still more or less possible to light a fire after we had spent the best part of an hour moving cardboard boxes full of Caroline’s old college files and most of her childhood memorabilia up to the attic. To be fair, not all of the junk was hers. One or two of the boxes had a ‘K’ scribbled on the side; the ones I had meant to come back for one day and never quite remembered.
With the fire going and the doors and windows open, the room came to life. I found a set of flame yellow sheets and a primrose printed duvet cover in the airing cupboard and began to make up the bed.
It was a somewhat academic process. If Lee failed to appear at least one of us was going to have to stay awake all night and the odds were that one would be me. I thought so at any rate. Caroline was less convinced, but then she believed in the power of the mortise locks.
She followed me as I carried the bedding through to the room and watched as I wrestled with the pillowcases.
‘When was the last time you had a decent night’s sleep, Kellen?’ she asked, tucking in the bottom sheet. ‘You can’t stay awake for ever.’
I spat out a mouthful of cased pillow, tossed it on to the bed and handed her one end of the duvet cover.
‘No problem. I can watch the dog learning how to be a cat. Wouldn’t miss it for worlds.’ We fitted the duvet into the cover and threw that too on to the bed. ‘One of us has to stay up, just in case our friend with the knife comes back. It may as well be me.’
Caroline sat on the end of the bed and folded her legs into a respectable half-lotus. Very impressive.
‘I want to do my share, Kellen.’ She sounded serious.
My dear, you have no idea.
‘When was the last time you stayed awake past midnight?’ I asked, forgetting the obvious.
‘Two nights ago.’ Her lips were a fine, pressed line. ‘You were there, remember?’
Touché.
‘All right.’ I gave the mattress a quick test bounce. It sagged dangerously in the middle. ‘I’ll do the early shift, then come up and wake you. It’s easier to stay awake if you’ve already had some sleep.’
‘Is that a promise?’
‘It’s a promise.’
‘Right. I’ll turn in.’ She slid off the bed and went to poke at the fire. A banner of flame curved upwards, lighting some of the old soot in the chimney, and for a moment the wall seemed to burn, taking the old air in the room with it.
Good things for laying ghosts, fires.
Caroline used the poker to turn the knob on the grate and the blaze died down to a steady glow.
She turned round, her face ruddy in the heat. ‘Kellen?’
‘Mmm?’
‘I’m sorry about Janine.’
Me too. These things happen.
‘Thanks.’
I stayed and kept watch on the fire for a long time after she had gone.
Lee arrived a while after midnight.
I sat with a coffee by the fire watching, as I had said, while the cats taught Tîr how to use the cat flap and then took her out hunting in the night. Periodically, she came back, as if retracing her steps to memorize the route. Or possibly she just wanted to check that I was still awake. Difficult to tell.
On the second or third time, the clatter of the flap was underscored by a creak in the floorboards behind me. The dog flopped to the floor by the fire as ever, but the pale blue eye followed a shape that moved across the back wall.
It was barely worth turning ro
und.
‘You could always knock.’
‘Then I wouldn’t know how bad your security was.’
‘Really.’
‘Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your new locks.’
‘You’re too kind.’
‘The windows need a bit of attention though.’ Her voice was light and acerbic as ever, but there was a weary undertone. She moved round into view. ‘Sorry I’m late. Things to do.’
‘Tea?’
‘Thanks.’
She kept my seat warm while I hunted through the pantry for something she could drink. There was a box of camomile teabags at the back of a shelf by the fridge.
I waved one at her across the room. ‘This OK?’
‘Fine. Thanks.’ She didn’t look up from the dog. ‘What’s this?’
‘My new familiar.’
‘Oh?’
‘Donated to the cause by Inspector Stewart MacDonald of the local constabulary.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Good question. He called her Tîr. I suspect he feels she belongs here. Or he wants me to think so.’
‘Mmm.’ She shifted down to sit on the floor and introduced herself carefully. The dog moved slightly to give her room and then moved again as a pair of the younger cats piled in through the flap and demanded fire space.
The tea smelled strongly of used cat litter but apparently it was supposed to be that way. I found a cold beer in the back of the fridge and sat down on the floor at the other end of the hearth rug. Only one bit of recent news seemed relevant.
‘Laidlaw knows someone broke into Malcolm’s place.’
‘Mmm.’ She didn’t sound like it was news.
‘MacDonald thinks he knows who it was.’
‘As long as he only thinks, there’s no problem. He can’t have proof. There isn’t any.’
‘No. But it may be worth you keeping out of the way when he’s around.’
‘Right.’
She played absently with the cats and kept her attention on the dog. Now and again, she looked as if she was going to say something, then she changed her mind and bit back the breath. I drank my beer and watched the pale reds and golds in the dog’s coat glimmer in the firelight. Very peaceful.
At that time in the morning, there’s no rush for anything.
Eventually, she made up her mind.
‘How are you?’
‘Stable.’ It was true. Painful in places that used not to hurt. But stable all the same. ‘Why?’
She looked me in the eye and there was a warning there that said I might not be as good as I thought.
‘What’s up, Adams?’
‘Bridget’s gone.’
Gone. Medical-speak. A way of referring to the recently deceased without mentioning the fact of death.
I know she’s gone. I’ve seen the body.
I looked at Lee. ‘What kind of gone?’
‘Gone. No longer here. The body in her slot isn’t her. It’s somebody else and that somebody else was supposed to have been cremated this afternoon. They’ve done a body switch. They cremated Bridget instead.’
Denial is the first line of defence.
‘They can’t do that,’ I said with blind conviction. ‘It’s not legal.’
‘Neither is murder. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.’ She stood up and walked over to the window to look out at the night. ‘I’m sorry, Kellen. I should have seen it coming.’
‘How do you know it’s not her?’ I’ve seen enough of Lee’s forensic post-mortems in the past to know that I’d have difficulty recognizing my own lover after the first half-hour. Human distinguishing marks can be distressingly superficial at times. ‘You can’t be sure.’
‘I’m sure. I left some . . . markers when I did the first PM. The body that’s left isn’t her. I can prove it if I have to.’
‘We could do a dental screen – find out who it is.’
‘We could, but I know who it is. Sally Wentfield. Caucasian woman, similar height, similar build, similar age. Easy to switch. That’s not the point.’
‘What’s the point?’
She shrugged, loosely, as if trying to rid herself of the guilt. ‘It narrows the list of suspects down to less than a dozen. No one outside the department knew she was there bar you, me and Caroline.’
‘And Stewart MacDonald.’
‘True.’ She nodded thoughtfully and pulled a piece of paper from an inside pocket, unfolding it on the table in front of us. ‘Do you want to add him to the list?’
‘I don’t know.’ I don’t want to have to think about that.
I ran my eye down the list of departmental names. The only one that rang any bells was Professor Peter Gemmell. I folded the sheet under his name. ‘Why did the Prof sign the post-mortem, Adams?’
‘I asked him to.’
‘I gathered that. Why?’
‘Two reasons.’ She ticked them off on her fingers. ‘One, if there’s going to be an inquest, I don’t want to be the one to stand up in court and make statements, not if Laidlaw’s around. The man is perfectly capable of adding two and two and getting any number he wants. The Prof is far better at handling him than I’ll ever be. They like each other. It’s a useful asset.’
The mind boggles.
‘And really?’
‘Really?’ She angled her mug and eyed the tea leaves with interest. ‘It was as good a way as any of getting him involved. He signed the form so he had to at least look at the bits. It was enough to get him to prick up his ears and take notice. We went over her together earlier this morning.’
‘Anything useful?’
‘Maybe. You were right about temazepam. There wasn’t enough in there to kill her.’
‘So why did she die?’
‘I don’t know. The Prof’s running a full toxicology profile on Bridget’s plasma in case there was anything else in there. He’ll do the same on Malcolm if we can find the samples. We should have some answers by the end of the week.’
For what it’s worth.
‘What are we going to do now?’
‘I don’t know.’ She caught a half-grown kitten on its way towards the fire and balanced it on her knee. ‘I suppose we could lock everyone from the department in a sealed room with our favourite Chief Inspector and wait until they crack. Shouldn’t take too long.’
‘Or we could try to make a more rational list. It doesn’t have to be someone in the department, just someone who knows their way round. It’s not that difficult to get in. All you need is a white coat and a stethoscope. Or a known face. I could walk in there tomorrow and no one would bat an eyelid.’
Me and half of Glasgow.
‘Possibly.’
The cat levered its way on to her shoulder and tried to make a nest in her hair. She prised it loose and dropped it back on to the floor on the side furthest from the fire. ‘The list names everyone who’s been through the department in the last five years. If you can think of any others, stick them on the end.’
There’s only one. The kind of person who could walk into pathology and wander around unchallenged, even if he wasn’t wearing a white coat. I found a pen on the breakfast bar and wrote ‘Inspector Stewart MacDonald’ at the bottom. Unlikely but not impossible.
I handed the list back. ‘Guilty until proven innocent, right?’
‘Right.’
It was too late to think coherently and we were both short of sleep. I took the list and put it deep in a folder on the desk in Bridget’s office. Time enough later.
Lee stayed on for a while, finishing her tea, and we talked over ways to make the farmhouse more secure. She left eventually, to drive home and sleep in her own bed. It wasn’t a good time to start sharing the spare room.
A promise is a promise. At four thirty, I woke Caroline and fed her tea and toast until she looked reasonably awake. Then I retired to the sagging mattress and spent the rest of the night in a series of uneasy, disjointed dreams full of fire and burning bodies and amber eyes that sh
one in the dark.
The smell of fresh coffee and a warning tingle down my spine that had nothing to do with the dip in the bed dragged me back to the here and now. A faint image of mist on water overlaid the afterthought of the nightmares, blotting them out.
‘Sweet dreams?’ A voice near my feet.
I opened my eyes slowly.
Lee, looking very much the better for a decent night’s sleep, leant on the curved bedstead holding a mug of coffee in both hands. She blew gently over the top, sending a cloud of coffee-flavoured vapour floating across the space towards me. Sunlight angled in through the small, square window in the roof above my head, catching the dust in the air, making a pillar of sparkling light between us. Noise from the garden filtered in through the open side window and I could hear the local blackbird raising a racket that sounded rather more aggrieved than the average dawn chorus.
I sat up, pulling the duvet around my shoulders like a back-to-front cloak.
‘What time is it?’
‘Eleven-ish. Sunday.’
Lee moved round to put the coffee on the bedside table. I shifted my feet and she sat on the end of the bed, haloed by the iridescent column slanting down from the window. Very picturesque.
She smiled and shook her head, leaning backwards out of the light. ‘Relax. Everything’s peaceful. Your new dog is developing a nicely rounded identity crisis, courtesy of the cats. She’s spent the morning learning to stalk birds in the vegetable patch. Young Caroline is tending to the livestock and after that we’re going to reinvent the ancient craft of laying alarm wires. There’s nothing else that needs doing urgently. We thought you might appreciate a long lie-in.’
I did.
I hugged the coffee mug to my chest like a long-lost friend and felt the caffeine burn through the late-lie fog in my brain, revealing a cluster of memories. Only one mattered. A dull, dragging, darkening memory that took the edge off the morning.
‘Bridget’s gone?’ I asked. Just to make sure.
‘Yes.’
Lee put a hand in her pocket and brought out a white-capped blood tube, holding it up between finger and thumb so that the sunlight glowed through it on to the bed. The contents had separated, plasma to the top, the cells a thick layer of sediment at the bottom. As I watched, she rocked it gently in the light. Amber fluid mixed with red sludge to make whole blood.
