‘I think you’ll find,’ the voice started to say, and then the crackling got worse for a bit and then another voice broke in.
‘I’ll put the kettle on but we’ve only got bourbons today if you’re after a free biscuit.’
There was a buzz, and she pushed at the door to get in. Sergeant Macdonald was waiting in the foyer. He greeted her with a welcoming grin.
‘Haven’t seen you for a while,’ he said, leading her through towards the tea-room.
‘Aren’t we going to go to an interview room?’
‘Is this a formal call?’
‘Not exactly. It’s a sort of informal enquiry.’
‘You were about yesterday when they found young Jackie Whitmore, weren’t you?’ said the sergeant jovially. He suddenly seemed to realise what he was saying, and put on a serious face for a moment before the grin broke through again.
‘I was right on the spot,’ she said.
‘So they tell me.’
The tea-room was occupied by two uniformed officers who had their feet up. One was reading the paper and the other was watching sport on a tablet.
‘Anybody for a top-up?’ said Sergeant Macdonald.
‘Better not,’ said one of them. He glanced at Amaryllis. ‘All right?’
‘Just tell me one thing,’ said Amaryllis. ‘Are you two really the hard men from Dundee?’
The two strange officers looked at each other and burst out laughing.
‘Is that what he’s been telling you?’ said Sergeant Macdonald, filling the kettle at the tap.
‘What who’s been telling me?’ said Amaryllis.
‘Charlie. He was wondering how long it would take you to get the idea. He’s been waiting a while to catch you out.’
The door opened and Jason Penrose wandered in.
‘Is it cool with you if I look at a couple of squares in the far corner?’ he said to the sergeant, before turning and catching sight of Amaryllis. She saw that the black jeans were dusty and his shoes didn’t look too clean.
Sergeant Macdonald frowned. ‘Can you put them back exactly right?’
‘I think so. If I’m wrong, we can have it looking just as it was before in no time.’ Jason grinned at Amaryllis. ‘Would you like to see what I’ve been up to?’
His blue eyes were bright and he exuded energy. Whatever he was up to, he was really enjoying it.
‘Wait till the lass has had her coffee,’ said the sergeant. ‘Do you want one too?’
Amaryllis resisted the urge to say ‘What’s going on here?’ in case she sounded too much like Christopher. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what Jason was doing.
‘You said there were bourbons,’ she said instead, taking a seat at the table opposite the two policemen who apparently weren’t from Dundee. ‘Where are you from, then?’ she asked them.
‘Oh, we’re on loan from Alloa,’ one of them said. ‘It’s the quiet season there.’
‘All the villains have gone to Edinburgh,’ said the other.
‘And Pitkirtly,’ said the first.
‘I thought you’d been arrested,’ she said to Jason. ‘I came to get you out.’
‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘That was just a misunderstanding.’
‘Where’s Inspector Armstrong?’ Amaryllis asked.
‘Inspector who?’ said one of the policemen from Alloa, and chuckled.
‘He’s away on a cruise,’ said the sergeant, bringing over the coffee. ‘Do you want one bourbon or two?’
After coffee Jason took Amaryllis and Sergeant Macdonald to see what he’d been doing. He led the way along a corridor and out through a back door to a small area of ground that might have been described as a garden if it hadn’t been so unkempt. There was some evidence of Jason’s activity in the form of a network of string and sticks at the far end near the security fence.
‘I never knew this was here,’ commented Amaryllis.
‘Ah well, we have to have some secrets, even from you,’ said the sergeant.
‘I know about it now, though.’ She glanced around, eyeing the fence for signs of weakness.
Jason led the way through a nettle patch to the rough grass where he appeared to have been working, and paused, apparently for cries of admiration and wonder. He had started digging in one square, but as far as Amaryllis could tell, it was just a small hole, considerably less big and interesting than the one they had found Jackie Whitmore in.
She stared at Jason. ‘What are we supposed to be looking for?’
‘I think this police station may be built on the site of something else.’
‘Yes, probably a demolished house or something,’ said Amaryllis. ‘This building hasn’t been here all that long.’
‘No, something older than that. Perhaps even Roman.’
She sighed. She might have known this was all to do with his Roman obsession. The more everyone else mocked it, the more determined he became… The seed of an idea floated into her mind and planted itself there.
‘There’s something that could be the remains of a mosaic over here, in the corner,’ he continued, eyes gleaming. ‘I just want to uncover a little more, so that I can collect a quick soil sample.’
‘If this is Roman, hadn’t we better get a proper archaeologist in?’ said Sergeant Macdonald.
Jason gave him a reproachful look. ‘I’ve been trained to do this, you know. I’m quite capable of taking a soil sample without wrecking the whole thing.’
‘Isn’t the Council archaeologist already coming to have a look at the hole at Pitkirtly Island?’ said Amaryllis. ‘Maybe we could get him to have a quick glance at this while he’s at it… Just for a second opinion. Of course, if it’s a really important discovery we’ll probably have to cordon off the police station. You wouldn’t want any criminal elements interfering with a Roman pavement, would you?’
Both men regarded her suspiciously.
‘What gave you the idea there was something Roman in here, anyway?’ she continued. ‘Did you just get a feeling about it – the ghosts of ancient Romans trying to fight their way to your consciousness? Or was there some sort of evidence?’
‘One of the old maps in the library,’ he said shortly.
‘Why didn’t you bring some of the FOOP crowd along? I’m sure they’d be interested.’
‘Look, what is this? An interrogation? Are you going to shine a bright light in my eyes in a minute, and demand to know what I’ve done with the secret blueprints?’ he said irritably. ‘I don’t think the police would want a whole crowd of us poking about out here, that’s the only reason I haven’t shared this with any of the others yet.’
For a few seconds Amaryllis considered the possibilities of interrogation, perhaps with a little mild torture thrown in. Then she thought about the likely consequences in terms of her chances of getting elected to the Council.
‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘But I expect they’ll want to know all about it.’
‘When I’m ready to release my findings, I will – all right?’ he snapped. ‘Now can I please get on here?’
‘He’s a bit tetchy this morning,’ Amaryllis commented to Sergeant Macdonald on the way back to the tea-room. ‘Do you think he got out on the wrong side of the bed?’
Too late she remembered he was staying with Tricia Laidlaw, and the question could have been interpreted as a bit suggestive. But Sergeant Macdonald didn’t take it that way, fortunately. He rolled his eyes.
‘Don’t ask me. I only work here. At least I try to. We’ve got plenty of paperwork to catch up on with Inspector Armstrong away. And then there are the two deaths.’
‘Two deaths?’
‘Young Jackie Whitmore and the other one. We’re waiting for forensics on both of them.’
‘The other one? Was that definitely a human bone, then?’
‘You know I can’t tell you that,’ he said reproachfully. ‘Any more than I can tell you the likely age of the thing. Although I will say the police lab people laughed when I asked them if it wa
s prehistoric. Not unless you think there were dinosaurs roaming around in the last century as well, they said.’
‘There are still some about today,’ said Amaryllis.
She took Sergeant Macdonald’s hint and left soon after that. She had found out more than she had expected about what Jason Penrose was doing. It seemed extremely unlikely that he had really unearthed anything of archaeological interest behind the police station, so the question of what he was playing at remained in her mind. She was still distracted enough by this not to notice Mr Whitmore standing outside his shop as she approached. Comforting victims’ families was definitely not in her job description. But somehow she didn’t have it in her to pretend she hadn’t seen him or even to cross the road to avoid him, which she would prefer to have done. Damn! She had definitely been spending too much time with Christopher. Or perhaps it was that Community Engagement woman.
‘Morning, Mr Whitmore.’ She hesitated, for once unsure of what to say next. ‘Are you all right?’
He certainly didn’t look all right. Although he had always been a big beefy man, and that hadn’t changed, his cheekbones seemed to have pushed their way through the mass of flesh to become prominent suddenly, his mouth was drawn into a tight line and his eyes were red.
‘I’ve been better,’ he said. ‘Ms Peebles, do you know what’s happening?’
‘What’s happening – about Jackie?’ she said.
He nodded silently.
‘The police are waiting for some results,’ she said. ‘They wouldn’t tell me any more than that. Have you spoken to them?’
‘They came here,’ he said. ‘They wouldn’t say much to me either. I suppose they’re thinking I had something to do with it.’
He seemed resigned to being under suspicion. Perhaps he had been on the wrong side of the law before he had the paper shop, and of course Jackie herself had been a convicted criminal. He was probably used to it by now. Amaryllis was surprised to feel a quick surge of anger about that before she pulled her thoughts together.
‘They’ll get at the truth, Mr Whitmore. It won’t bring her back though, will it?’
‘You’re right about that. Thanks.’
He retreated into the shop. She was relieved he hadn’t invited her in. But then, he probably saw her as being on the same side as the police. If only he knew about some of the things she had done in the past. Just as well he didn’t, though, was her final thought on the subject.
Chapter 13 Confidences
Any day that started with a boat trip, a shipwreck and a police chase was never going to be a good day, Jock McLean reflected as he trudged past the supermarket after the early morning adventure, shoes squelching and trouser legs splattered with mud. At least he had managed to avoid being arrested at the Cultural Centre. He was unreasonably annoyed when he saw Tricia Laidlaw coming towards him. Normally he would have been pleased to see her but since finding out about Jason Penrose living under her roof, he had begun to suspect her of having a dark side.
‘Oh dear,’ said Tricia once they were within a few feet of each other, ‘what’s happened to you?’
‘Nothing,’ said Jock.
‘I mean, how did you get all that mud on your shoes? And your trousers...’
‘Oh, that,’ said Jock. ‘I went too near the edge of the water.’
It wasn’t exactly a lie. In fact it was more or less true, except that he had made it sound as if he had been approaching the water from a landward direction.
‘Did Amaryllis have anything to do with it?’ she enquired.
‘Um, I suppose so.’
‘You’ll have to change before your stint as Santa, won’t you?’
He scrutinised her face closely to see if he could detect any hint of amusement, but she seemed quite serious.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Actually, Amaryllis and I got into a bit of trouble with a boat.’
At least that made it sound as if he wasn’t just getting too old to see where he was going and too clumsy to keep himself from falling in the river. He was tempted to tell her the whole story and try to wring a bit more drama out of it, but then he remembered Jason Penrose and decided not to share any more information with her. Not that Jason didn’t know all about it already. He might even be planning to entertain her with an account of it later.
That was why, when she smiled encouragingly and said, ‘Let’s have a coffee in here and you can tell me more,’ he found himself following her into the cafe near the foot of the High Street and ordering coffee and scones for two. Jock just hoped the smell of river mud wouldn’t put off the other customers too much. But maybe he was being hyper-sensitive.
‘It’s a funny thing,’ she said. ‘Jason went out first thing this morning and he hasn’t come back yet. I wonder where he’s got to... You didn’t see him when you were in paddling, did you?’
‘Um,’ said Jock, pretending to think hard about his answer. He didn’t really want to talk about Jason at all, except possibly to warn Tricia against the man.
‘Of course he’ll probably just have gone out with some of those people he’s working with,’ said Tricia after a moment. ‘I expect they’re digging somewhere... Only they won’t be able to go to the Island at the moment, will they?’
‘No,’ said Jock. ‘I hear the hard men from Dundee are looking after things there. You wouldn’t want to get the wrong side of them.’
‘The hard men from Dundee? Who are they?’
‘Oh, just some extra police that have been drafted in. According to Charlie Smith.’
‘You don’t want to believe everything Charlie Smith tells you,’ said Tricia darkly.
‘I suppose not,’ said Jock. ‘But he usually knows what he’s talking about where the police are concerned.’
The coffee and scones arrived.
‘Do you think they’ll catch somebody soon?’ said Tricia. ‘It must be awful for Mr Whitmore, all this waiting to hear. And why should anybody want to kill Jackie Whitmore? She was just a wee girl. Never mind all that trouble with Neil Macrae. She could have grown out of it all and done something useful with her life.’
‘It could still have been an accident,’ suggested Jock, buttering a scone and looking to see if there were any little pots of strawberry jam. Tricia handed him one but it was only apricot.
‘Or a mistake,’ she said.
‘A mistake? How would that work?’
‘Maybe they thought she was somebody else.’
‘Hmm,’ said Jock, nodding and munching at the same time. ‘Do you think the police will have thought of that?’
‘Oh, surely. They must explore every avenue – mustn’t they?’
From what Jock knew of the police these days, they didn’t have the manpower to explore even the main highway, never mind all the side roads.
‘They’re probably still waiting for forensics,’ he said, hoping he sounded as if knew what he was talking about. For all he knew it wasn’t even called forensics any more, but Evidentiary Logistics or something.
‘Or maybe she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ said Tricia. She heaved a sigh. ‘That could happen to anybody.’
Jock remembered it had happened to Tricia’s son Darren, more or less. He mustn’t ask about Darren now, or it might remind her of that.
‘How’s Darren getting on these days?’ he asked immediately, and then screwed up his face in embarrassment. He tried to cover it up by taking a gulp of coffee. No wonder he didn’t venture into the social minefield very often.
‘He’s fine,’ said Tricia, showing no sign that she had noticed his clumsiness. ‘Rosie’s thinking of sending him to college in Dunfermline on some animal course.’
‘That’s good,’ said Jock, relieved that his blundering had at least led the way to more solid ground. He could cope with this. ‘Darren wasn’t bad at school, you know. He just didn’t apply himself as much as some of the others.’
‘He was distracted by his father leaving us when he was in second year,’ she said.<
br />
This was getting too close to home for Jock, whose wife had run off years before on some flimsy pretext he had now shoved to the back of his mind. He didn’t think of her very often, but he was still in touch with his son. He swallowed the last gulp of coffee and stood up.
‘Better get on,’ he said. ‘This Christmas stuff is taking up a lot of time.’
‘I’ve been meaning to ask you,’ said Tricia, ‘why did you agree to do it in the first place?’
‘Amaryllis,’ he said.
‘Ah.’
They left the cafe together but went their separate ways after that.
Jock walked on up the hill, pausing only when he tripped over a little white dog. Its owner, who didn’t have it properly under control, shouted at him. Some people were just too quick-tempered for their own good.
He had almost made it home without further incident when somebody called to him from across the road.
Fighting an almost irresistible urge to make a run for it, he turned to see who it was. A vision in a long flowing purple dress which looked totally unsuitable for the likely temperatures in December in Pitkirtly, even with a shapeless cardigan flung on top of it, waved at him. She plunged into the road without looking, narrowly missing a cyclist who made several rude gestures at her, and arrived by his side only slightly out of breath.
‘Hello, Tamara,’ he said. What could the woman possibly want?
‘Jock! Are you all right after this morning?’
‘Yes. I haven’t been home yet to change though,’ he said, hoping she would take the hint.
Instead she tucked her hand in his arm and said in a low, husky voice, ‘I need to talk to you.’
Why on earth were all these women making a bee-line for him today? He didn’t even wear after-shave on a normal day, and this morning what he liked to think of as his manly smell of Imperial Leather soap and tobacco with a light, not unpleasant overlay of healthy perspiration was probably playing second fiddle to the aroma of river mud that decorated his shoes and trouser legs.
Not that Tricia was superficial enough to be swayed by some after-shave named after a hollow, transient celebrity, but he would have thought Tamara might be.
The Christmas Puzzle (Pitkirtly Mysteries Book 8) Page 9
