by Carly Reid
“Aye.” Magnus performed the operations with a few deft clicks of the mouse. “Now, what are we looking for?”
“I’m not sure yet. There was just something…I will know when I see it again. I just want to get an idea of who was standing in front of The Ram’s Heid before the procession started, and where they were.”
“I hope you won’t be disappointed. I only really started taking a lot of photies when the MacNaughton came oot.”
Jessica replied absentmindedly, already focusing on scrolling through the images. “No, that should be fine…”
She flicked through the photos for a few minutes, occasionally zooming in on a particular detail. Yes, there was Bill Johnston, as he emerged from The Ram’s Heid to sort out the electricals. And there was Amy, off to the side in front of one of the windows as the McNaughton took to the small platform stage to begin his speech. In the background, Bill Johnston was going back into the pub. There she was herself, she realized – her own back, observing the scene, notebook in her gloved hand.
In the next group of photos, Amy could clearly be seen heading into the pub, too. Jessica selected those images, and sent them to print as she returned to look at those from earlier in the evening. Magnus was correct, he hadn’t taken many, but those he had taken had some interesting details in them. As Jessica studied them she began to see the sequence of events of the evening take place in her mind. She selected a couple of those to print, too.
Lastly she looked at the photos of the procession itself. These were more of a jumble – people on the move behind the procession, colors, lights, a bustling throng. As she scrutinized them however, she was struck by the detail. It was still possible to make individuals out. Sometimes she could recognize a person by their coat or scarf. Once again she saw herself, walking up towards the Village Hall along with the rest of the crowd. Plenty of Santa in his carriage, although she had scrutinized those earlier in the day – for a moment she looked hopefully at one photo which depicted Santa sitting up straight, sack of gifts loosely held in hand, waving to the crowd with the other hand. It had looked as if Amy was in the background of that photo, but as Jessica looked closer the likeness disappeared. Just another person with their hair in a long plait over one shoulder. She clicked print on her third selection.
Magnus had been waiting patiently up until this point – very patiently, Jessica thought, considering she really hadn’t filled him in on what she was looking for. Now, however, he was clearly agitating to get going.
“Are you nearly done there Jessica? I’m needing to get away – I’m taking more photies at the Cheese and Wine tonight, and I dinnae want to be late.”
“Don’t worry Magnus, these are the last ones I need.” Jessica walked to the printer, and collected the photos. “Let’s go.”
Cheese, Wine and Confessions
The Village Hall had been transformed for the Business Association’s Christmas Cheese and Wine. Lower lighting and long, draped tablecloths gave the place an air of sophistication it hadn’t had for Yule Night. Easels were dotted about the hall, displaying the list of items up for auction and suggested starting prices. Two long tables held the refreshments, and the chairs were arranged in rows facing the stage. The stage curtains were closed, with a large banner reading ‘Drummond and Dalkinchie Business Association’ suspended in front of them. In front of the stage was a podium set up with a microphone, awaiting the auctioneer.
As she entered the room just in front of Magnus, Jessica realized she had forgotten about the dress code, and was still in the jeans and cardigan she had worn all day. Everyone else was in various stages of formal dress, including Reenie who had changed into a long skirt paired with a velvet top. Grant always wore suits, but had added a pocket square. Ealisaid looked lovely in a patterned vintage style dress with a Peter Pan collar.
Jessica recognized other faces, too, likewise dressed formally. Samantha Johnston wore an off-the-shoulder fitted black dress. Amy Matthews was wearing sequins, and had her long hair loose, flowing down her back. Malcolm McEwen looked proud and happy, wearing tartan trews and a bottle green jacket, accompanied by his wife Sarah on his arm, who complemented him in her emerald velvet cocktail dress.
At the front of the hall, near the podium, the MacNaughton stood in his full dress kilt. Next to him was Neil Campbell in full evening dress, waving a small wooden gavel around as he spoke.
Jessica glanced at herself, then at Magnus. They stuck out like sore thumbs. Oh well, no matter. Before they could greet anyone, Murdo and DI Gordon arrived, both wheezing and out of breath.
“We had…to park…miles away!” Murdo explained to his brother. Magnus smiled and gave Murdo a kindly pat on the back. DI Gordon looked frantically around the room. They all spotted Ian Johnston at the same moment, as he emerged into the hall from one of the other doors. He had not changed either, still in the same clumpy boots and tatty old coat as before. Murdo moved swiftly, cutting off Ian Johnston’s exit by standing between him and the door Ian had just come through. He was followed by the Detective Inspector.
“Mr Johnston, some new information has come to light that strongly indicates that the murder of your brother Bill Johnston took place earlier on Friday evening than previously thought, and we are going to have to speak to you further about your whereabouts at the start of the procession.”
The crowd gasped and went quiet. Ian Johnston began to vigorously defend himself.
“I was nowhere near the pub that early on. I didnae have anything to do with killing my brother. I grant you, we hadn’t spoken in years. But why would I turn on him now?”
DI Gordon interjected.
“Because he was jeopardizing your latest contract perhaps? Losing the Lochside Hydro contract would have seriously affected your business. In fact, as far as we can see, it may even have put you out of business altogether.”
“Put me out of business? I’d have liked to have seen him try – and he did, a few times, although I always saw him off. My contract wi’ the Hydro was in no danger. They wernae happy that he kept interfering, but they knew Bill wis just a troublemaker. I’ll tell you again, I wis nowhere near the pub at that time and I’d like to see you prove otherwise.”
Jessica stepped forward.
“Actually, Mr Johnston, I can do that.”
She waved the printed photos in her hand. All eyes swiveled to look at her.
“We’ve got timestamped photographs from Friday night, a whole sequence of them that show exactly where you were during the evening. You were outside the pub at the beginning of the procession. And here’s the proof.”
She handed over a couple of photos to the Detective Inspector who looked them over quickly, then waved them towards Ian Johnston.
“Care to explain these, Mr Johnston? This is you, on Yule Night, beside the Christmas Tree outside the pub. And in the background of this one you have actually been caught slipping in the side gate beside The Ram’s Heid! Is that how you did it? Went through the back of the bar and caught your brother as he was changing into his suit?”
“No!” Ian Johnston’s denial was vehement. “I did not kill my brother. I wis just at the pub to…to go in for a wee drink once the crowds died doon.”
“You really expect us to believe that?” DI Gordon’s tone was scoffing. “If you were just going for a drink, why sneak around the side?”
“I –” Ian Johnston didn’t say anything further, he just stood grasping for the words, opening and closing his mouth like a fish.
“I know why.”
Heads turned as Amy Matthews stepped forward, the sequins of her dress catching the light. She faced Ian Johnston.
“I knew I had checked those connections! You sabotaged the electrics, didn’t you? Made the sound system fail?”
Ian Johnston didn’t say anything. Then he looked downwards, and said something very softly.
“What was that?” Amy’s voice rang out clearly, full of indignation.
“I said, aye. Aye, I did loosen
the connections.”
He looked up again, regaining energy as he spoke.
“Well, you can hardly blame me, can you? Bill wis always trying to ruin my business! Spreading false rumors aboot stolen goods…tax fraud…calling up the contracts and making life hard for me. Just this one time I thought I’d have a wee joke at his expense.”
“At my expense, you mean!” Amy had turned pink, and her eyes glittered in anger. “I got the blame!”
The Detective Inspector stepped forward, clearing his throat.
“Excuse me, could we return to the matter in hand? What did you do, Mr Johnston, after you loosened the connections?”
“I just stayed behind the gate until the coast wis clear and the crowd moved away, then I went into the pub.”
“A likely story –” began the Detective Inspector, but Jessica interrupted him.
“Actually, I think that’s true. Look, I’ve got another photo.”
She handed another photograph to DI Gordon. He looked at this one then passed it back to Jessica in frustration.
“I don’t know what I’m looking at. Can you explain?”
“Look!” Jessica pointed to the photo. “You can’t see his face, but that is Ian Johnston, I’m almost sure of it. It’s his arm, the arm of his coat. The mended patch there, it’s exactly like his.”
The Detective Inspector looked up at Ian Johnston who obligingly stuck out his left arm. Murdo, beside him, called out:
“I can confirm, Sir, that there is a worn patch here on the arm of this coat. It looks like it has been pattern darned with a blue thread…no, here, I’ve made a mistake. That’s just a simple running stitch.”
The Detective Inspector looked at the photo, then up at Ian Johnston, then at the photo again and finally at Jessica.
“But this photo – it was taken –”
“After the float with Santa had already left, yes. With the imposter Santa on board.”
“So that means that it couldn’t have been Ian Johnston.” DI Gordon looked to Jessica for confirmation
“I already telt ye that!” There was no relief evident in Ian Johnston’s voice, only the usual grumpiness.
DI Gordon spoke directly to Jessica.
“You eliminated Ian Johnston. Who else? Did anyone else turn up in those photos of yours?”
“No. I thought I saw Amy in one of them, but I was mistaken.”
“Ah yes, Amy Matthews. What was it you said about her? That she may have set Ian Johnston up?”
“You said what?” Amy had barely calmed down from her interaction with Ian Johnston, and now she directed her fury at Jessica.
The latter tried to placate her. “No, Amy, I said I thought that Ian Johnston might think you had set him up – I honestly didn’t know what to think. You must admit, it doesn’t look good for you. I wasn’t sure for a while. But I am pretty sure now. You had a lot to gain from Bill Johnston’s death, and a lot to lose if things continued the way they was going. You argued with him on Yule Night, and followed him in to The Ram’s Heid just before he was murdered. We only have your word that you went for a drink and then went home. I spoke to some witnesses that believed that Santa could have been impersonated by a woman. And you did seem very keen to point the finger at someone else.”
Amy stood very straight. When she spoke, her voice was small, but not shaky.
“I didn’t do it. I’ve got no proof, I went home on my own and didn’t see any of my neighbors, but I didn’t do it.”
“It’s all right, Amy, I know you didn’t.” Jessica smiled at the young woman.
DI Gordon’s head whipped to Jessica. “You do?” Jessica ignored him, instead directing her next remark straight at Ian Johnston.
“There’s something I am not clear about. I can prove that you were not the person who strangled your brother, but why did you run off from the pub this afternoon? I think I know, but I just wanted to be sure.”
Ian Johnston looked at her. “For the same reason that I’m here now.”
The Detective Inspector looked nonplussed, but Jessica nodded. “You went to find her, didn’t you.” It was a statement, rather than a question. Ian Johnston’s eyes met hers, and he replied.
“I went to the Hydro and she wisnae there – this was the next place to check.”
DI Gordon looked from one to another again. “Who? Who are you talking about?”
Ian Johnston wheeled around and pointed, exclaiming: “Her!” at the exact same moment as Jessica said, “Samantha Johnston!”
“Me?”
Samantha Johnston’s hand flew to her chest. “Ian, I am not sure how you think I can help – I am very sorry about what happened to Bill, but –”
Ian Johnston’s voice was low and treacherous. “It was you that killed him, it must have been. There was no love lost between me and Bill, but you, you really hated him. I know you did. I don’t know how you pulled it off, but you must have done it somehow. And made it look like it was me!”
DI Gordon interjected. “Mrs Johnston has an alibi for Friday evening.”
Samantha Johnston continued. “That’s right! I was in Gillespies all evening long, so I am not sure how you think I managed to murder my ex-husband. At the time he died I was enjoying my lemon cheesecake – and very nice it was too!” She had faintly emphasized the word ex.
Jessica spoke up. “Well, he wasn’t actually murdered during your dessert, Mrs Johnston. No, he was killed much earlier – probably just as you ordered.”
For the first time Samantha Johnston looked a little uncertain.
“What – what do you mean? Bill did Santa’s grotto that night, just like he always did. He was murdered in the pub after that.”
At this, the Detective Inspector placed a hand on Jessica’s arm as if to suggest she not say any more, but Jessica wouldn’t be stopped.
“No. That was an imposter. Someone murdered Bill as the Christmas lights were turned on, took Bill’s place on the float wearing a Santa suit, and handed out gifts in the grotto. Then that someone walked up the hill to The Ram’s Heid, made sure they were seen arriving, went to the rest room and threw the extra Santa suit out of the window – where we found it earlier today. This someone not only knew Bill’s habit of going to The Ram’s Heid after the grotto, but knew that Ian Johnston would be there too – a useful scapegoat.”
Jessica paused. She took a deep breath.
“Unfortunately – for you, that is – they left a bit of a trail.” She passed another photo to DI Gordon, and pointed out a detail on it. He raised one eyebrow.
“You see, Mrs Johnston, they knew all that because you told them. You did plot to murder your husband, although you didn’t carry it out yourself. You got someone else to do it for you.”
Samantha Johnston seemed lost for words. When she eventually found her voice, she replied: “Oh…really? And exactly how, I mean who…” She cut herself off, and drew herself up straighter. “You don’t have any evidence.”
“I’ve got this time-stamped photo of a car, parked beside the pub when the owner claimed to be at home, laid up with a bad cold.” She handed over the photo to DI Gordon, this time ensuring she pointed out the time stamp, and the distinctive number plate on the gunmetal Range Rover. NE17 CAM.
“Plus, we have the Santa suit.” She looked to DI Gordon for confirmation. He nodded.
“It has been exposed to the elements for a few days, but I’m confident we’ll get some DNA from it. It’s probably best if you both cooperate with the investigation from now on.”
His tone was chilly. His expression meant business. He looked squarely at Samantha Johnston. Her face began to contort, rapidly turning a dark red. She turned her head, and started to shout at Neil Campbell.
“You idiot! I told you to move the suit!”
“You told me…? That’s ridiculous. You were meant to move it, not me! How on earth did you expect me to go creeping around the pub again? I’m sure you said that you’d go back for it.”
“No! I
made it perfectly clear! It was your job!”
“Oh yes, and what was your job again? Sitting with your friends, and enjoying an expensive meal, that’s right. While I did all your dirty work!”
“My dirty work? You wanted him dead just as much as I did! Let’s get married, you said. We will be a power couple, you said. Just the small inconvenience of my husband standing in our way! This is all your fault – and I didn’t lay a hand on anyone. It won’t be me that goes down for it.”
“Why, you –”
The next events happened in a blur. Neil Campbell made a run for Samatha Johnston, raising his gavel-holding hand as he went. Then the MacNaughton intervened, easily bringing Neil Campbell to the ground with a well-timed tackle. One knee held Neil Campbell flat on his front as the MacNaughton grabbed his wrist, and forced him to relinquish the wooden gavel. It was all over in seconds.
“Is that what you’d call a citizen’s arrest?” Murdo asked. He was still standing beside Ian Johnston, who looked sickened again, much as he had earlier.
“No, Constable Smith.” The Detective Inspector replied. “This would just be a standard arrest.”
Christmas Eve
Ealisaid walked around the large table, placing dishes of cranberry sauce and something that she called bread sauce at strategic intervals. She had pushed several of her tables together to make one long dining space.
Jessica, who had been helping with the preparations all afternoon, stood back and surveyed the result. It looked spectacular. You wouldn’t have been able to tell that there were several café tables under there – it looked seamless. Ealisaid had produced an enormous, heavy sea-green tablecloth which blanketed the tables and draped beautifully to the ground. Her accessories were of a red tartan – tartan napkins, tartan place mats and tartan ribbon wound around the sprigs of mistletoe she had dotted around on the table. In the centre, two creamy church candles sat on antique gold holders.
This Christmas Eve dinner had been a plan of Ealisaid’s all along, and she had ramped it up after the events of the Business Association evening. Instead of doing a full Christmas dinner, she had instead opted for a themed buffet, with platters of cold roast turkey and baked ham sitting on the counter, potato salad, fresh bread, a carrot dish that contained slivered almonds, and red pickled cabbage. The sauces would complement the meats, and Ealisaid had also added a grainy Scottish mustard for those who liked it. To follow, there were oatcakes, cheeses, grapes and Christmas cake.
