Murder on the Moor

by C. S. Challinor

  He followed the most direct route across the lawn to the jetty where the boat was moored. Rid of its tarpaulin, the bottom had filled with rainwater. Rex looked back toward the house. A distance of not more than thirty feet, but no one looking from a window would have seen anything through the deluge the previous night.

  All the perpetrator had to do was transport the body to the loch, dump it in the boat, and row out as far as possible before dispatching it into the chilly depths. In the low visibility, that person may not have noticed the islet where the corpse was ultimately washed up among the reeds.

  Mulling over his meager findings, Rex entered the house and added his boots to those in the hallway. He compared the samples of soil and plant debris from the flowerbed on his to the mud on the guests’ footwear, and found something of botanical interest. Subdued male voices emanated from the library. Upon walking into the room, he saw that the television was switched on to the news. The newspaper photograph of seven-year-old Melissa Bates filled the screen, her dark hair braided on either side of a heart-shaped face.

  Alistair, standing in the middle of the room, muted the sound when he saw Rex. “Nothing new,” he reported.

  “It’s si—sick,” Donnie stuttered from the sofa where he sat beside his dad. “Who’d want to hurt a wee girl?”

  “I hope they got the sadistic bastard this time,” Hamish replied.

  Rex noticed that the men had all helped themselves to his stock of Guinness. Cans littered the end tables. Rob Roy sat in his leather wing armchair, a beer clasped in his lap.

  “I pray this time they did,” Alistair concurred. “I hope they checked out Collins’ alibi thoroughly first. It’s funny how he always seems to have a good one available.”

  “If it’s not Collins after all, you can’t go on blaming yourself for his acquittal,” Rex pointed out.

  “I know when someone is lying. He’d have to prove he was more than a hundred miles from Rannoch Moor yesterday before I’d believe him, and it would have to be God vouching for him.”

  “Rannoch Moor is a vast stretch of wasteland,” Hamish said, slurring his speech and causing Rex to wonder exactly how many beers he had consumed. “I visited there once and remember thinking I’d never want to break down in a lonely plash like that. They cut down most of the trees, you know, to prevent villains from lurking in the foresh. Have you ever been there, Rob?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “I know it quite well,” Rex told them. “I used to hike across Rannoch Moor, precisely because of the solitude. There’s a lot of wildlife, as you’d expect in such an unpopulated area.”

  Rex actually knew the area better than most. Surrounded by mountains, Rannoch Moor brooded across fifty square miles, rising to over one thousand feet above sea level, the whole substratum of granite gouged by glens, slashed by rivers, and pitted with lochs. Gnarled roots of old pine trees from the ancient Caledonian forest beckoned from the peat. No road connected the moor from east to west, where deep bog swallowed everything put in its path.

  By virtue of being so desolate, it provided a haven for all sorts of bird, animal, and plant life, which he had duly noted on his hikes. The shores and islets of trout-filled lochs attracted goosander, black-throated diver, and red-breasted merganser, while curlew and grouse haunted the heathery slopes. Golden eagles and osprey circled the rocky summits where hare and roe deer roamed undisturbed for the most part. Fragrant myrtle abounded in the bogs and a particular plant grew exclusively in the region, which was indeed a treasure trove for the observant nature lover.

  “No sign of Cuthbert?” he asked in a casual tone.

  “He went off in his daft hat after the ambulansh left,” Hamish told him. “He said your advocate friend Alistair could take over.”

  “Trust that aristocratic twit to shirk his duties,” Alistair remarked.

  Rex could not agree more. The investigation of Moira’s death was not proceeding as anticipated, but he was on one right track. He could feel it in the tingle at the back of his neck—a sure sign he was onto something important.

  Rex left the men to discuss the Moor murders and went to check on the women, who were bustling around in the kitchen, chatting nonstop as women do. However, the chatter ceased when he entered. Presumably they had been talking about Moira.

  “Oh, hello, Rex,” Shona said in a fluster, drying a wine glass. “We’re reheating the venison stew for lunch. There are loads of leftovers from last night, so we won’t starve.”

  “Did you pick up any groceries in the village?” Estelle Farquharson wanted to know. “We’re about to run out of milk.”

  “It skipped my mind.” Rex glanced for assistance at Helen, who was preparing a green salad.

  “I told you, Estelle,” she explained. “We went to find a phone and to get hold of the garage owner. Unfortunately, the villagers don’t seem to feel a pressing need to get anything done in a hurry. I suppose it would all be rather quaint if we weren’t in such a fix.”

  “Well, when is the man with the tow truck due to arrive?” Estelle demanded.

  “Soon,” Helen replied firmly.

  Rex privately thought they might not see him until next week. Equipped with plaid pot holders, Estelle removed the casserole of stew from the Aga and proceeded out the door. “I’m setting up the food in the dining room, buffet-style like breakfast,” she called over her shoulder.

  “She has completely taken over,” Helen remarked, following her out of the kitchen with the bowl of salad.

  Flora brought up the rear with a basket of bread rolls.

  “Any luck with your phone, Shona?” Rex asked.

  Mrs. Allerdice shrugged helplessly. “I must have left it somewhere I can’t hear it. I’ve looked and looked. Well, I suppose it will turn up.”

  Yes, but where? Rex asked himself. “Shona,” he began. “When I saw you standing by the front door last night as I was going down to the library with Alistair, you … well, you looked a wee bit suspicious.”

  She dropped her eyes to the floor.

  “Care to tell me what you were doing?”

  “You won’t tell Hamish?”

  “Tell him what?”

  “I went outside for a puff.”

  “What?”

  “He doesn’t know I smoke. I have to sneak around and hide my cigarettes. I have breath mints so he won’t notice. It’s my one weakness.”

  “Perhaps your husband could help you quit, if you’d just confess—”

  “Not Hamish! He’d kill me. He’d say we cannot afford it, and he’s quite right.” Mrs. Allerdice wrung the dishtowel in her hands. “In fact, I’m getting a craving now.”

  “Listen, Shona. The important thing right this minute is to remember what time it was when you went out for your smoke last night.”

  “Oh, that’s easy. It was ten minutes past twelve. I looked at my watch. I time my smokes so Hamish doesn’t get suspicious. I told him I had to go to the loo.”

  “How long where you outside?”

  “Five minutes. I’d just stepped back inside when I saw you coming down the stairs with Alistair. A second before, I’d heard a very loud thud, like Rob Roy described, only I didn’t mention it earlier because I didn’t want Hamish to find out what I’d been up to. In fact, I thought at the time it might be him coming to catch me oot.”

  “The time is very important,” Rex told her. “If you’re sure it was a quarter past twelve when you heard the sound …”

  “I’m positive.”

  Rex mentally drew up a timeline. Moira’s body had in all probability been dropped from the window at the time Shona stated. He had been in bed for a short while before Alistair came to find him to tell him the news of the latest moor victim. That would explain why Alistair had not heard the sound himself, which he would have done had he stayed in the library. “What you’ve just told me is vital information,” he told Shona frostily. “Now we can pinpoint more accurately the moment of Moira’s death.”

  �
��Aye, I see. I’m so sorry.” Tears sprung to her eyes.

  “There, there.” Rex handed her a paper towel. “I’m glad you came forward.”

  Shona nodded, sniveling. “You won’t tell Hamish?”

  “Not unless I absolutely have to.” Far be it for him to interfere in marital affairs. “What was your husband doing when you left him to come downstairs?”

  “Taking a look at the radiator to see if he could fix the leak.”

  “Did he?” Rex asked hopefully.

  “No.”

  “Ah, well. One other thing … Did you two have an argument this morning?”

  “Aye, we did. But it’s personal.” Mrs. Allerdice pursed her lips together defiantly. This must be a bigger deal than the smoking, Rex deduced.

  “I won’t pry further for now,” he told her. He would see if he could get more out of Hamish. “And thank you for helping with lunch.”

  While the guests were busy flocking around the dining table, Rex began a systematic search of the house for Shona’s phone, starting in the hall and looking in all the obvious places, including inside the umbrella stand, and proceeding to the nooks and crannies in the cupboard beneath the stairs. Fortunately, he’d not had the house a long time, and so only a minimal amount of clutter had been given the chance to accumulate in the storage spaces.

  Next he rummaged through the library, poking around in the open log fireplace, which had not been lit. Useful evidence had been found in a fireplace before in one of his cases.

  Not this time. He straightened up and thought hard for a moment, wondering where someone might hide a compact device—or two, for it was quite possible that if Moira had brought a cell phone with her to Gleneagle, it had been stolen as well. His eyes lingered, unfocused in thought, on the piled logs. The fireplaces in the upstairs bedrooms had been boarded up and wallpapered over, until he’d had the McCallum brothers restore the original Victorian grates. Prior to central heating, coal had been used to warm the rooms. The coal shed! Now that would be a handy place to ditch a phone.

  Just off the kitchen extended a small patio for the trash bins. He accessed the shed by walking under the eaves. Unlikely Shona would look here, he thought, opening the shed door. And why should she? She thought she had misplaced her phone, never imagining someone had snatched it. The interior of the shed was dark. Very little coal was stored here, since it only served to fuel the seldom-used heater in the stable. The reconditioned Aga stove in the kitchen ran on gas.

  After hurrying back inside to fetch a flashlight from the kitchen drawer, he returned to the shed and directed the beam into the sooty corners, without finding what he was looking for. Just to be sure, he grabbed a shovel and turned over the small pile of coals, and almost missed them: two almost identical black cell phones, blackened further with coal dust. Not seeing any fingerprints, he wiped the coal dust off with a rag and slipped Moira’s into his pocket. The other he hid upstairs in the airing closet under a pile of towels.

  “Rex, what on earth are you doing sneaking about?” Estelle demanded from the stairs.

  “Sneaking?” he inquired. She made him sound like Shona Allerdice.

  “I saw you go out through the kitchen door and then scurry upstairs in a most furtive manner. What are you up to?”

  Rex felt like telling her to mind her own business. It was his house, after all. Instead, he reminded himself she had a right to ask. A murder had been committed under his roof and she was no doubt suspicious, and probably not just a little bit scared.

  “Actually, I wanted to ask you if Cuthbert was back from his walk yet? He’s been gone awhile.”

  “The silly man has probably gone and got himself lost. Now then, Rex. I know when I’m being fobbed off. What is all the secrecy about?”

  Damn the woman! He hummed and hawed. “If I tell you, it means taking you into my confidence.”

  “Brownie’s honour and all that.”

  Rex thought quickly. “Well, I bought a gift as a surprise for Helen and hid it in the coal shed. But I was worried it might get damp with all the rain, so I moved it upstairs.”

  Estelle looked charmed. “Well, whatever is it?”

  “I don’t know if I should divulge …”

  “Mum’s the word.”

  “It’s a sheep.” It was all he could think of as he looked at the woman.

  “What?”

  “A toy sheep. Actually, it’s a lamb. Helen’s very partial to them. Lambs hold a special meaning for us. Our love blossomed in the spring, so it’s sort of symbolic.” Rex stared with embarrassment at his feet. Was that really the best he could do?

  “Rex, how terribly sweet!” Estelle bleated. “I never suspected you had a sentimental side to you!” She planted an enthusiastic kiss on his cheek. “I’m sure Helen will be thrilled!”

  “You won’t tell?”

  “Cross my heart, hope to die. When are you going to give it to her?”

  “Estelle! Where the hell is that woman?” Hamish’s voice boomed rudely from downstairs.

  “Oh, drat,” she whispered to Rex. “I said I would help the Allerdice women do the dishes. Hamish is such a tyrant. But I suppose Flora and Shona have been bearing the brunt of the work with Helen.” In a loud voice, she added, “Well, you’re quite right, Rex. It is dismal weather we’re having.”

  With a conspiratorial wink, she galumphed back down the carpeted steps, her shadow magnified against the wall by the lamp hanging from the ceiling in the windowless stairwell. The closer the object to the light source, the larger the shadow, Rex remembered from a school project. If Estelle had been wearing her curlers last night, it would fit Flora’s description of the grotesque apparition.

  Mrs. Farquharson had not batted an eyelid when he mentioned the coal shed. Was she innocent or else adept at concealing her guilt? In any case, Rex realized he would have to be more careful as he pursued his investigation. “‘Softly, softly catchee monkey,’” he chanted under his breath.

  Or was it a question of catching the sheep?

  “A sheep?” Helen asked incredulously, cornering Rex in the dining room after his quick lunch. “You mean a cuddly toy? Urgh. Tell me you didn’t.”

  “To help you count sheep so you fall asleep quicker.”

  “I’ll think of Estelle and get nightmares. What are you up to, Rex?” She cocked her head at him with a look of amused curiosity.

  “I canna tell you just yet. Though it is interesting to note that Estelle is incapable of holding a secret for long.”

  “She confided in Shona, who came to whisper the surprise to me and tell me not to say anything to you.”

  “Women!” Rex rolled his eyes, at a complete loss as to what went on in their brains sometimes.

  “Well, as soon as I heard the cuddly lamb part, I knew something was amiss, so I just tried to act delighted, as was expected of me. Couldn’t you have given me a diamond or something?”

  “A diamond?” he repeated. Did she mean a ring? An engagement ring?

  Helen shrugged in despair. “Oh, just anything, I suppose—but not a cutesy toy!”

  “It’s verra realistic looking. Woolly grey hair, wee brown eyes, a long snout.” He was describing Estelle down to a tee, and Helen chuckled.

  “You are so wicked, Rex! Oh, well, I know better than to waste my time trying to pry your little scheme out of you, but I’m glad you’re onto something.”

  “Well, mebbe.” Rex fingered his ginger whiskers. He had not taken the time to shave or shower that morning and did not have time now. “I should talk to the guests in turn.” He glanced at the cleared table. “Here would be fine.”

  “Shall I leave the water jug and glasses?”

  “Aye. I’ll start with the Allerdices since they’re in the greatest hurry to leave.”

  “I’ll send Hamish in while Shona helps me in the kitchen.”

  “Good idea. I want to ask him who took a peek at Moira’s body while she lay dead in the stable.” And why he had found coal dust on Hamish’s
shoes when he went back to examine the boots in the hall.

  “He’s such a creep,” Helen remarked with a shudder.

  A few minutes later, Hamish entered the dining room and shut the door behind him.

  “Come and sit down, Hamish,” Rex said from the oak table. “I just want to ask everybody a few questions before they leave.”

  “Why are you starting with me?” Allerdice asked in a belligerent tone, the spidery veins lacing his bulbous nose reddening sharply.

  “Because I’m sure you need to get back to the hotel. The Farquharsons and Mr. Frazer planned to stay until tomorrow anyway.”

  Hamish visibly relaxed. “Well, you can talk to Shona and Flora next. The lad went off somewhere with the pony.”

  “This is right awkward,” Rex began, splaying his hands on the table. “But I cannot help but notice that Donnie is a bit slow.”

  “Aye, in some ways. But once you show him how to do something, he’s reliable and willing. And he has a special touch with animals, always brings stray cats and dogs home. He’s kind-hearted that way.”

  “I can see that. And what aboot wi’ girls? How does he get on wi’ women?”

  “You mean a girlfriend? He’s never had one, but he’s only seventeen.”

  “The reason I ask is that Moira’s body was tampered with while she was in Donnie’s care in the stable.”

  Hamish’s already florid face grew an even ruddier shade, infusing with blood all the way to his receding hairline. “Och, he might have taken a quick look, but I’m sure he didna mean her any disrespect.”

  “You were there too, helping him in the stable.”

  “It must’ve happened while my back was turned.”

  Rex wondered. The man would not meet his gaze. “Going back to last night … You spent a bit of time talking to Moira.”

  “She spoke to everybody. Such a nice lass. Verra outgoing. What a shame …”

  “Did you see her after she went upstairs?”

  “No, I never saw her again until she turned up in the loch.”

  Rex shook his head slowly at him. “Now, I know that’s not true. I heard you approach her when she was aboot to take a bath.”