A few minutes later she was bundled up into Hugh’s police car and whisked away into the centre of Laxey. Hugh pulled into the police station car park and grinned at Bessie.
“At least the rain has stopped,” he remarked.
Bessie looked up at the grey skies and grinned back. “Could start again any time,” she replied.
“Hardly surprising in March,” Hugh shrugged.
They climbed out of the car and headed into the station through the back door. Bessie had never entered from the back; when she visited Doona she always came in the front way. Doona’s desk was in the building’s lobby, and Bessie had never had any reason to go past it into the station itself. Now she looked around with interest at the small offices that they passed as they made their way into the building.
She was disappointed in what she saw. Many of the doors were closed, but the ones that were open just looked like ordinary offices. Their occupants could have been advocates or insurance agents as much as policemen. She saw no sign of Vikky Pierce, or indeed anyone else. The station felt almost deserted.
Doona had told her that there were a few small temporary holding cells in the basement of the building, but Hugh didn’t take her anywhere near those, either. Instead, he escorted her into the lobby and left her with Doona while he went to let Inspector Rockwell know that she had arrived.
“Oooo, there you are,” Doona squealed when she spotted Bessie. “How are you? Was it frightfully awful?”
Bessie hugged her friend and was surprised to find tears welling up in her eyes as she was squeezed tightly. Doona was in her mid-forties, twice-married and twice-divorced. She was a few inches taller and about thirty-five pounds heavier than Bessie. She wore her heavily highlighted brown hair in a short bob and alternated between thick glasses and contact lenses that artificially gave her sparkling blue eyes.
“Oh now, don’t you be crying,” Doona told her. “That widow woman has used up every blessed tissue in the whole station and I haven’t had time to pop out to buy more.”
Bessie smiled. “Vikky Pierce? She used more than a few tissues at my house as well. In between gossiping and eating like a horse.”
Doona shook her head. “Come and sit down. Inspector Rockwell won’t be ready for you for a bit. You can tell me all about it.”
Bessie handed the bag with the police blanket to her friend and then slid into the chair next to the reception desk that Doona manned. She smiled at Doona, feeling lucky that they had met and become good friends before today’s events.
“Fastyr mie,” she told Doona.
“Oh aye, fastyr mie,” Doona replied with a laugh.
“We really have to stay in practice,” Bessie insisted. The friends had met a few years earlier in a beginning Manx language class for adults. While neither had developed any proficiency in the native language of their homeland, they had quickly become close friends.
Doona had grown up in the south of the island. She and Bessie only crossed paths when Doona moved to Laxey to take the job at the Laxey station as a civilian officer, following her second divorce. At their first language class Bessie had confessed to feeling bad that she had never learned the language that her parents and especially her grandparents had spoken. Everyone laughed when Doona announced that she had just signed up in the hopes of meeting single men. It was especially funny since the class consisted of six women, all falling somewhere between Bessie and Doona in age.
“I’ve signed up to start again in April,” Bessie told Doona. “I’m taking Beginning Manx again, since I haven’t exactly mastered it.”
Doona laughed. “I’ll sign up, too. Maybe this time there will be some men in the class. Or maybe the teacher will be a single middle-aged man looking for the perfect woman.”
“You’ll be lucky if there’s a stray man in the class,” Bessie laughed. “Marjorie’s teaching it again, so you’re definitely out of luck there.”
Doona shrugged. “It’s fun anyway, even though I’m terrible at it.”
“It’s a tough language,” Bessie told her. “I heard my parents speak it occasionally and I still can’t manage it.”
“They should have taught it to you,” Doona sighed.
“Once we moved to America, they didn’t see any advantage to doing so. And once we’d moved back, I moved out.”
Doona nodded. She knew Bessie’s story well. “I should be glad they didn’t teach it to you as a child,” she remarked. “If they had, we wouldn’t have met.”
“I guess we would have met today,” Bessie said wryly.
“Yes, I guess so,” Doona laughed. “Anyway, what happened?”
Bessie fought back a sigh. “I went for my regular morning walk and nearly tripped over a dead man. Luckily, that's an unusual morning for me.”
Doona nodded. “It's pretty unusual for us as well,” she confided. “And from what I hear, he didn’t get dead accidentally.”
Bessie stared at her friend. “What do you mean?” she demanded.
“I can only tell you what I’m hearing through the grapevine,” Doona told her. “None of this is official. But I’ve heard he had a knife stuck in his chest.”
Bessie sat back in her chair, stunned by the news. “But no one gets murdered on the Isle of Man,” she argued. “Okay, there was that man in Douglas in 1982, but he was from across and brought his troubles with him.”
“There’s more that goes on than makes the papers,” Doona confided. “But even so, Laxey has always been one of the safest places on the island.”
“What else don’t I know?” Bessie demanded. “I know the widow was brought in for questioning; how did she seem to you?”
Doona shook her head. “I could get fired for talking about an active investigation,” she told Bessie with a frown.
Bessie frowned herself. “What good is having a friend on the inside if I can't get any good skeet out of her?” she demanded.
Doona grinned. “I told you the most exciting thing I know,” she reminded her friend. “And I can tell you that Inspector Rockwell is stepping on just about every set of toes he can find,” she whispered.
“Why am I not surprised?” Bessie asked. “He seemed like the type when I met him on the beach.”
“Oh, he is,” Doona agreed. “Inspector Kelly isn't very happy with the way the CID is taking charge. He thinks that, since Laxey is his jurisdiction, he should be in charge. Inspector Rockwell insists that the CID trumps local jurisdiction. At this rate, the Chief Constable might have to separate them.”
“Men!” Bessie rolled her eyes. “They should all be focussed on finding the killer, not worrying about who gets to be in charge.”
“I think they're both more interested in who gets the credit when the killer gets locked up,” Doona said. “The family is important across. This case is going to get lots of publicity, here and there. I think Mr. Pierce already has the Chief Constable on speed dial so he can keep up-to-date with developments. There will be lots of plaudits for the person who catches whoever did it.”
Bessie groaned. She liked to think of Laxey as an undiscovered gem; the last thing she wanted was any publicity.
“I just hope young Hugh gets some of the credit when it comes,” Doona told her friend. “He has his faults, but he's really a good kid and he works hard when he has to.”
Bessie wasn't sure she totally agreed with her friend's assessment of the young policeman, but she didn't argue. “Surely you can tell me your impression of Vikky Pierce?” Bessie asked.
“I didn't get much chance to form an impression,” Doona told her. “Hugh brought her in and turned her over to Inspector Rockwell pretty sharpish.”
“She wasn't left sitting around in the waiting room like I am, then.”
“I hope you aren't complaining!” Doona giggled.
“Not really,” Bessie grinned. “So you didn't even meet the devastated bride, widowed just days after the happiest day of her life?”
Doona snorted. “It's not my place to say,” she sai
d, “but she didn't seem too devastated when she sailed in here. I recognized your clothes, by the way. You shouldn't have.”
“I didn't want to leave her sitting around in a soaking wet silk nightie,” Bessie answered. “Especially in my house.”
Doona laughed. “What a mental image that creates,” she giggled. “Still, I bet Inspector Rockwell will want the nightie.”
“Why on earth would he want that?” Bessie was shocked.
“To test for blood stains and stuff,” Doona told her. “Surely you realised that the widow is the chief suspect.”
Bessie nodded slowly, her brain struggling to keep up with everything that was happening. “I guess I didn’t really think about it,” she said after a moment. “I mean, I didn’t really think about it being murder. I just assumed he had a heart attack or something.”
Doona patted her hand gently. “Murder is hard to imagine.”
Bessie shook her head. “I might have made lunch for a murderer?”
“You made her lunch?” Doona choked back a laugh when she saw the look on Bessie’s face. “I mean, that was really nice of you, but why?”
“It was lunchtime,” Bessie said weakly. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“I was getting the impression that you didn’t like her very much,” Doona remarked.
“I didn’t like her one little bit,” Bessie said tartly. “But I didn’t think of her a suspect. I really didn’t think about the dead man. I’ve had a lot of different experiences in my life, but this is the first time I’ve found a body. I guess I should have thought about it more before I invited the woman into my home.”
“You should indeed,” Doona said. “There’s no telling what the woman is capable of.”
Bessie just stopped herself from shaking her head again. “It all just seems slightly unreal. People don’t just stab other people, not in my world, only in my favourite fiction.”
Doona shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot since I took this job with the police. But this is first murder we’ve had to deal with in Laxey. Luckily, it is pretty unusual.”
She got up and took a couple of short steps to the kettle that was on a table behind her. As Bessie sat lost in her thoughts, Doona made tea for them both.
“Here,” she handed a mug to Bessie. “I’ve made it extra milky and sweet. It will help for sure.”
Bessie made a face. She’d drunk considerably more than her normal amount of tea already that day, but she forced herself to drink the warm liquid. She could almost feel its warmth spreading through her body and restarting her stunned brain. “There must be other suspects,” she said now.
“I guess the whole family has to be looked at,” Doona agreed. “And the staff and anyone else who comes along. I don’t know that much about it, yet, but I guess I’ll be typing all of the reports as they come in. Of course, I can’t tell you anything until it’s all over.”
Bessie thought about that for a moment. “I understand,” she assured her friend. “I just hope they sort it out quickly.”
“I’m sure we will.”
The voice from the hallway startled both women. Bessie turned her head and met Inspector Rockwell’s eyes. He looked amused by the idea that he had interrupted the conversation. Behind him, Bessie could see Patrick Kelly and Hugh having a chat.
“I just need a few minutes of your time,” Inspector Rockwell told Bessie. “Just to get a formal statement of exactly what you saw today.”
Bessie nodded and got to her feet. Doona had busied herself with paperwork as soon as Rockwell had appeared. Bessie managed to catch her eye as she rose.
“Thank you for the tea,” she said formally.
Doona winked at her. “No problem. Good luck.”
“I hope I don’t need it,” Bessie muttered as she walked slowly across the room. One advantage of her age was that she could take her time crossing to the man. She didn’t mind him thinking that she was slow; it gave her time to compose herself. She reached his side and smiled up at him.
“I’m not quite as fast as I used to be,” she smiled, determined to be friendly.
“We all have to get old, I suppose,” the man answered absently.
Bessie bristled at the remark, but kept her smile firmly in place. Old was not a word she liked to associate with herself, even if it might be accurate.
Rockwell led her back down the short hallway to one of the offices that had been shut when she and Hugh had arrived. He ushered her inside and waved her towards a chair.
Bessie took a quick look around at plain wood furniture planted haphazardly in the unadorned white room. She supposed it must be an office, because of the furniture, rather than a room intended for questioning suspects, but the space could hardly have been any more cold and unwelcoming.
“The Laxey Constabulary has kindly arranged for me to use this office during my investigation,” Inspector Rockwell told Bessie as she shifted around in the hard wooden seat, struggling to find a comfortable position.
“It needs a bit of decorating,” Bessie told the man, as he took his own seat behind the desk. She was surprised when he laughed at her words.
“Decorating is the last thing I’m concerned with,” he told her. “I’m trying to find a murderer. This room is perfectly serviceable as it is.”
“I suppose,” Bessie shrugged.
“Right, I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” the inspector told her. “So I’d like to get right to my questions, if that’s okay.”
“Certainly,” Bessie agreed.
“I’m going to record this and take notes as well, if that’s okay?”
“It’s fine.”
“Terrific.” The man smiled briefly and then consulted the notes he had on the desk in front of him.
“You’re Ms. Elizabeth Cubbon, correct?”
“Actually, it’s Miss Elizabeth Cubbon,” Bessie told him. “While I applaud modern women for finding a title that allows them to hide their marital status from all and sundry in the same way that men can use ‘Mister’ to do so, I’ve never been fond of ‘Ms.’ as a title for myself. I’ve never married, but not due to lack of opportunity. I’m quite content with my status as ‘Miss’ Cubbon, thank you.”
Inspector Rockwell blew out a long breath and then made a short note on his paper. “Right, so then, Miss Cubbon,” he said carefully, “how old are you?”
“I hardly see why that is any of your concern,” Bessie told him sharply. “What does my age have to do with your investigation?”
Another long breath was coupled with a long pause before the man spoke again. “We gather a certain amount of information from all of our witnesses, regardless of its immediate obvious relevance,” he said eventually. “A witness’s age can be important for understanding how he or she sees the world, for example. A twenty-year-old will see certain things very differently to a sixty-year-old.”
Bessie sighed. “Age isn’t something that I worry about,” she told the man. “The last interesting thing that happens when you age is getting your free bus pass at sixty. I’ve had mine for a good many years now. I suppose I should be looking forward to a telegram from the Queen, but that’s still a good many years into my future.”
Rockwell looked as if he might press her further for a moment and then he frowned and made a few more notes on his papers instead. “Perhaps we can come back to that topic later,” he muttered as he shuffled through the sheets on his desk.
Not bloody likely, Bessie thought to herself, biting her tongue hard to keep herself from saying it out loud.
“Okay then, Miss Cubbon,” Inspector Rockwell smiled. “Can you please just take me through the last twenty-four hours or so. Start with yesterday afternoon and run me up to now.”
“Yesterday?” Bessie frowned. She wanted to argue that yesterday didn’t much matter, but she felt like she had been arguing with the inspector enough already.
“If you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” Bessie finally said grudgingly. “Let’s see,
yesterday I had lunch at home. I had soup and a small chicken salad sandwich. Then I spent some hours working on the research for a paper that I’m due to give at a conference at the Manx Museum later this year. I had dinner with my advocate and his family. His wife was kind enough to collect me and then he drove me home after dinner.” Bessie took a breath.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Inspector Rockwell held up a hand. “Can I just get the name of your advocate, please?”
“Doncan Quayle, Sr.,” Bessie answered without further comment.
Inspector Rockwell glanced at her and then made another note. “Sorry, please continue.”
“After dinner I read for a short time and then I went to bed. I slept until six, got up and dressed and had some breakfast and then headed out for my morning walk. Not far from home, I nearly stumbled over the body of a man. I called the police from my home and waited with the body until Hugh Watterson arrived. When yourself and Inspector Kelly arrived, I was told to wait at home and I returned there, along with the dead man’s widow, who had turned up in the middle of everything. We kept each other company for a few hours. I made some tea and then soup and toast while we waited. Eventually, Hugh arrived and took Mrs. Pierce away. Some time later, he returned and collected me and brought me here.”
“Thank you,” Inspector Rockwell said. “Now I have just a few questions.”
Of course you do, Bessie thought sourly.
“Do you know what time you went to bed?”
“It would have been somewhere between ten and eleven,” Bessie told him. “I usually try to get eight hours of sleep, but I was in the middle of a good book last night and I read a bit later than I usually do.”
“Do you remember waking up in the night at all? Did you get up for a drink of water or anything like that?”
Aunt Bessie Assumes: An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Page 4
