by Manda Scott
A merlin, wings folded in a stoop, dropped into the gap between the trees and cut like a knife through the air above the cairn, twisting in pursuit of the lark she was chasing. The lark passed straight along the line of the mound, heading for the sanctuary of the woodland, and for a fragmented moment the two birds, wren and lark, were side by side at the top of the cairn. In that moment, the wren opened her throat in the first notes of the song and the merlin, caught by the noise, changed her aim.
Talons struck flesh in a burst of feathers and the song died in mid-note. The impact carried both birds halfway along the mound, then the falcon braked in the air, turned a tight half-circle and brought her prey back to the cairn to feed. She settled on the roof stone, less than fifteen feet from where I stood, and our eyes were level.
Black, black eyes glared at me across the white sea of the fog.
I closed both of my own down to slits so that there was no reflection and stood still as the rocks of the cairn.
The bird gave a high, tonal cry – of victory or annoyance – then bent her head to the wrecked body at her feet and began to pluck. It was swift and businesslike. Snowstorms of mouse-brown feathers scattered out with each angry twist of the head. Wing primaries and tail feathers spiralled downwards and vanished. The head twisted off and rolled over the edge of the flat rock to drop like a stone into the carpeting mist. In the space of a few hundred heartbeats, the falcon cleaned and ate her kill, pausing every few mouthfuls to wipe her beak neatly on the edge of the stone.
When it was over, she raised her head to glare one final time – a look that held pride and anger and defiance all in one. Then she threw herself up and out through the gap in the trees to the open sky.
I never really believed in omens. Bridget and Lee were more into that kind of thing. Both of them, at different times, spent patient hours trying to convince me that some things were worth listening to and some were mere noises in the wind. Later, professional training threw in texts of theory that spun a world of Jungian synchronicity in which nothing ever happens by chance. I don’t believe any of it, but I know the theory and it still makes me feel deeply uncomfortable – especially when the messages are all of doom and gloom and I am expecting to die anyway.
I stood there, staring at the top of the cairn after the merlin had gone, and for a long time the only thing I could think of was that either Bridget or Lee should have seen it rather than me, because I hadn’t got a bloody clue what it meant.
In time, I pulled myself together and walked forward to look at the cairn. The roof stone felt heavier than usual and the moss clung a little more tightly. It moved eventually, sliding sideways to reveal the hollow interior of the cairn. Without a torch or the angling sunlight, the cavity was impossibly dark. Whatever might have been inside remained invisible this time.
I lifted the plastic vial of blood from my pocket, prised the lid off with my thumb nail and reached deep into the depths of the cairn. I had imagined more of a ceremony than this, but the dead wren was a far more appropriate epitaph than anything the Stewart mind could ever conjure. The tube angled outwards in my hand and I ran it round as far as I could reach, tipping all that was left of Bridget in a crimson dribble over the inner surface of the stones. When it was nearly empty, I poured the final few drops on to the hard earth at the base and then drew out my arm, dragging my fingers tentatively past the sharp spur of stone that stuck out half-way up the near side.
My hand came up coated in cobwebs and small creeping things dangled from the cuff of my jacket. But nothing moved and nothing bit and the wind whispering through the trees said nothing I wasn’t expecting. And Malcolm’s watch, not at all surprisingly, had gone.
The midges came a short while later and drove me back home along the path through the woods to the burn’s edge and from there across the field to the house, where the murmur of voices and the smell of cooking from the kitchen said that the riders were back.
Eleven
Later on, Inspector MacDonald appeared at the back door as I was setting the table for dinner. His grin had that harmless look to it that meant he was there for a reason, even if he was back in his moleskins again. There are times when I doubt if that man actually owns a uniform.
‘Evening.’ He looked around the empty kitchen. ‘Are you on your own?’
‘Kind of. Your young mole is out with Caroline, feeding the horses.’
‘I heard you were taking her out on a ride.’
‘No. I had to go to Anatomy. The lady of the house took her instead.’
‘Very good.’ He nodded amiably and perched on the arm of the chair nearest the dinner table. ‘Fine evening for the time of year.’
Last time he said that, he dumped a dog on the doorstep. I looked at him sideways.
‘Is this a social call?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I just thought you’d like to know that Ms Donnelly did call your colleague Dr Kemp on the afternoon she died. The call was logged on his mobile phone. The practice says he spent the afternoon playing golf with his father-in-law.’
‘That figures.’
‘Aye. They didn’t think he would have missed a game for a case of food poisoning.’
‘I should think not. He was only a doctor, after all. Why go out to see someone when they’re ill? Did you ask him about it?’
‘Not yet. He’s not been in at the practice. I’ve been trying to trace him all afternoon.’
‘He’s probably back at the eighteenth hole by now. You’ll just have time if you hurry.’
‘Aye, you could be right.’ He grinned affably. ‘But it’s the golf-club dinner this evening. Maybe I’ll have to accept the invitation for once and go along for the company and the conversation.’
MacDonald in full dinner regalia. The imagination reels. I looked at him and rolled my eyes. ‘Have fun.’
‘I’ll do that.’ He eyed me curiously. ‘What were you doing in Anatomy?’
Ever the policeman.
‘Looking for blood samples from Malcolm Donnelly.’
‘And why would you do that?’
Good question.
Remember the wren.
I took a deep breath. ‘Because it’s not impossible that Malcolm died of insulin poisoning too and if he did, there should be something to see in the blood samples now that we know we’re looking for the human not the bovine type.’
I finished laying the places and turned round. He was leaning back on the table, watching me with the mildest interest. ‘Were you thinking that perhaps the police might like to have a look too?’
‘I was thinking that perhaps we could run the assays and then hand you the results. If we’re wrong, then at least we haven’t wasted your time.’
He chewed the edge of a fingernail abstractedly. ‘Does the phrase “obstructing the course of justice” ring any bells, Dr Stewart?’
‘Vaguely.’ I counted four plates from the cupboard and put them in the lower oven of the Rayburn. ‘As I remember, it was one of Chief Inspector Laidlaw’s little runes. The kind of thing he chants before breakfast to keep the doctor away.’
‘Aye. Well, I’d be a bit careful if I were you. Otherwise he might chant it out loud in court one day and then the doctor would be out of the way for longer than she might find comfortable.’ He rubbed the side of his nose. ‘Of course, if the blood samples were to be handed over to the authorities in the morning, then everything would be all right.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ I handed him a bottle of red wine and the corkscrew and left him to use them as he saw fit. ‘Did you find anything in the eggs?’ I asked.
He brightened. ‘We did indeed. Human insulin in the whites. As you so rightly predicted.’
‘Both of them?’
‘Indeed.’ He nodded cheerfully. ‘And apparently the yolks are packed with stuff by the name of Hen’s Teeth. Just the kind of thing the punters will pay through the nose for.’
‘And kill for?’
‘Maybe so. They’ll kill each other, right eno
ugh. Your friend Dr Adams did a post-mortem on a lad called Danny Baird last night. He was one of their couriers before they cut him off short.’
I’ll ignore that.
‘Would they have killed Malcolm for the Hen’s Teeth?’
‘They might have done.’ He frowned as if the idea were novel and not entirely savoury. ‘I can’t think why they would, mind you, but it’s possible.’
He put the bottle down on the table and tossed the cork in the bin. A man of interesting habits. ‘Chief Inspector Laidlaw came back this afternoon, a mite earlier than expected,’ he said, appositely. ‘He was reading my report when the lab rang in with the results of the samples. He’s well pleased with that. Hen’s Teeth’s been something of an obsession for a wee while now. Now he’s dead keen to go in and look at the place where Dr Donnelly used to work – since that’s where the chickens came from in the first place.’
I stared hard at the centre of his forehead, where the eyebrows didn’t quite meet, and avoided catching either eye. ‘Is he going to look tonight?’ I asked.
‘He is.’
‘Can they get a warrant at this time of night?’
He rubbed the side of his nose and gazed at a convenient horizon. ‘Not in a hurry. It will take them a wee while to get the paperwork done. And there’s a bit of a furore out near Kippen. One of the local dignitaries has died and there’s the odd . . . irregularity that needs himself to sort out. He’ll not be ready to go much before midnight, I shouldn’t think.’
‘Right.’ I let out a long, slow breath. ‘You’re in for an exciting night.’
‘It looks that way.’ He reached into his pocket, lifted something out and laid it on the table. ‘I thought you might be looking for this,’ he said.
Malcolm’s watch sat there between a knife and fork. There was the finest dusting of white powder caught in the cracks of the leather strap.
‘Anything useful?’ I asked.
‘I don’t think so. Nothing that would stand up in court.’
‘Pity.’
‘Aye.’ He looked thoughtfully at the newly laid table, then slid off the arm of the chair and switched around one of the place settings.
‘WPC Philips is left-handed,’ he said, as if the previous conversation had never taken place.
He was gone long before the others came back in from the barn.
The dog knew that he had been. She followed his trail in through the door and dropped to the floor beneath the arm of the chair. Caroline was too busy rescuing the various pans on the stove from their state of impending incineration to notice anything, but Elspeth, looking at the cack-handed place setting, made her own deductions.
She watched me curiously as I went through the motions of cleaning the old silver cruet. ‘Has the boss been in to see you?’
‘He’s just left.’ I didn’t look up.
‘Any news?’
‘He’s planning to go to the golf-club dinner tonight.’ I put the salt on the table and went to work on the pepper. ‘Is that news?’
Curiosity gave way to doubt and then to a resigned amusement. She smiled slowly and it almost reached her eyes. ‘Well, it’s different, anyway.’
I looked up and smiled back. ‘I bet he looks wonderful in a kilt,’ I said. ‘They’ll love him.’
‘They probably will. He’s a good one with the pipes if you get him going.’
The mind boggles.
‘The man’s the original polymath. Is there anything he can’t do?’
She smiled properly this time, a bright, eye-warming smile, and shook her head. ‘He’s not too good at playing politics with the men in grey suits,’ she said.
‘I can imagine.’
We were almost on the verge of our first real conversation then, but Caroline interrupted with a plea for help to dish up the meal and we settled down to a quiet family evening. The conversation was gently amusing and mostly involved a woman-by-woman dissection of the remainder of Rae Larssen’s circle, spiced and improved by the gentle lubrication of the wine. I listened with half an ear and gave it little concentration. Most of my attention was focused hard on the phone, willing it to ring.
Lee finally called from a box on the other side of town as we were clearing away the plates. I excused myself and took the portable handset outside into the yard. The reception’s better and there is less chance of being overheard.
‘Hi. How’s things?’ Her voice, even on the phone, hummed with compressed energy.
‘Everything’s fine at this end but you might have problems. MacDonald called in earlier. Laidlaw’s back.’
‘I know.’ Laughter rippled across the top. ‘He’s got half of the SCC flitting about like bats in a rainstorm. The road to Kippen’s hellish busy for the time of night.’
‘Very funny. Have you checked the eggs?’
‘Not quite. The assay’s running now. Why?’
‘I gave a pair to MacDonald. One from here and one from Andrews’ farm. He ran them through the SCC lab. They’re packed with endorphins, both of them.’
‘Fine. So we were right. What’s wrong with that?’
‘Laidlaw. He’s read MacDonald’s report and he knows about the Hen’s Teeth in the eggs. He’s planning a raid on the lab. MacDonald thought they’d get the warrant by midnight.’
‘No problem. That’s plenty of time.’
‘Go easy, Adams. He could be wrong.’
‘He could be lying, too. Don’t worry. I’ll keep my eyes open.’
If he’s lying, we’re dead. I don’t want to think about that. Too late now.
‘It really doesn’t matter at this stage,’ I said. ‘We’ll know who did what by the morning.’
‘True. Is Janine all set?’
‘She’ll be here at eight.’
‘Good. See you later.’
‘Take care.’
‘Sure.’
I called Janine straight after that to check that she had got my note. I was half-way through relaying a message to Rae Larssen’s crystal-clear answer-phone when the woman herself picked up the receiver to tell me that my lover had already left, complete with kit. Much more importantly, she issued a personal invitation to the two extraneous members of the household, which meant that the second half of my note had also got through.
Some days the world is not as bad as I think.
Back in the kitchen, Caroline and Elspeth had moved on to the coffee. The conversation had progressed with the courses and settled into what sounded like a fairly intense discourse on the politics of outing. The kind of conversation that could run for ever if there was nothing else to talk about. I helped myself to a glass of water and sat down, waiting for a convenient break in the flow.
Caroline noticed me first. ‘What’s up, Kells?’
‘Would you like the good news or the bad news?’
‘Both.’ Elspeth, relaxed and easy. ‘First rule of police-work. Don’t underestimate the value of new information.’
That’s nice. I didn’t know she was working.
‘But mustn’t tell us which is which,’ said Caroline, not entirely soberly. ‘Bridget taught me. First rule of advocacy: never subscribe to your client’s bias.’
This could become seriously wearing.
‘Fine. If you insist. Undifferentiated news as follows.’ I ticked them off on my fingers. ‘One, Janine is coming here for the evening. Two, she wants to talk to me. Three, Rae has invited you two to her place for a genteel soirée à trois.’
Silence.
Caroline looked across at Elspeth. ‘I think we have just been invited to take ourselves elsewhere.’
‘It sounds that way.’ She said it lightly, but Elspeth Philips was looking at me, not at her hostess, and her eyes were asking questions that were not in her voice. The wine glass in front of her was as full as when I first served her. And I thought I was the only one staying sober for the evening.
Caroline stood up and began to clear the table. Of all three glasses, hers was the only one that was empty.
‘Do you want us to go, Kellen?’ she asked.
‘I’d appreciate it if you did.’
‘Will you call us when you’re finished?’ asked WPC Philips. Not the kind of question you would expect at all from a disinterested bystander. Or even an interested dinner guest.
Her eyes searched my face. Disconcerting. Too disconcerting for words.
‘If you like,’ I said. It seemed the best way to get them out of the house.
They left shortly before eight in Elspeth Philips’ white Escort with a promise from me to call them as soon as it was safe for them to come back.
Janine arrived just in time to miss the washing up and brought a complete hacker’s workshop with her. Computer, modem, disk drive, printer and yards of connecting cables.
We cleared the desk-top in the study and she set everything up, while I relit the fire and then sat on the floor, watching the flames, seeing images of the bird in the woodland flickering up to the chimney in the smoke. My mind wandered through the dark labyrinths of imagery and didn’t like what it saw.
‘You all right?’ Janine spoke quietly from behind me. She was sitting easily in the chair by the desk, watching me with eyes like a hunting cat, pensive and not unfriendly.
I turned to face her. ‘I’m fine. I was thinking.’
‘Want to tell me?’
‘I saw a merlin make a kill today, in the clearing in the wood. She had the choice between a wren and a lark. She killed the wren because it sang. I was thinking that life can be very unjust at times.’
‘Only if you think like a wren.’
‘True.’ I stretched out on the floor, looking up at her. ‘The difference between victim and hunter.’
‘Very poetic.’ She smiled. ‘Which are you?’
‘Tonight? Both probably. It’s a very fine dividing line at times. If you can do what we need to do with the computer, it might swing the balance.’
She smiled peacefully and stretched out a leg so that her toe covered mine. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘I know.’ I sat up and caught hold of the foot, squeezing her toes. ‘It’ll be over, one way or another.’
‘Then we can talk?’
‘Then we can talk.’
