Murder on the Moor

by C. S. Challinor

  “Oh, baa!” Estelle expostulated. “Why would any of us wish to harm the poor woman?”

  Ignoring the outburst, Rex continued to plot his course. “Alistair and I went downstairs and saw Shona standing by the front door, acting suspiciously. It turns out she had just been oot for a smoke. At 12:15, she checked her watch, concerned that her husband would find out what she was up to. That’s when she heard the thud of a falling object. The timeline fits in with Beardsley’s comment about hearing a similar noise soon after he went to sleep. Alistair did not hear it because he was on the landing upstairs at the time. The library, where he was spending the night, is just below the bathroom, so he would have heard it otherwise.”

  The policemen nodded, indicating they were with him so far.

  “So, you see, there was a lot of activity in the house. Now,” Rex said, pacing in front of the window, giving onto a misty vista of loch and isolated fir trees. “Between 11:45, when Moira went for her bath, and 12:15, when a heavy thud was heard, there was a half-hour period during which time the murder was committed. I did not hear how the conversation between Moira and Cuthbert ended, but she mentioned a draught, which in retrospect I take to be caused by the opening of the bathroom window, through which we may assume the killer got in. The sound may have been drowned out by the running bath. The window slid open with barely a creak when I opened it this morning.”

  “I say,” Cuthbert exclaimed from his invalid chair. “I felt a blast of cold air myself. I thought at the time what a draughty old place this was and how glad I was that Estelle had packed my hot water bottle.”

  “The window may not have been open all the way at that point,” Rex resumed. “Since there are no curtains or blinds on the window yet, anyone can look in if they got up on a ladder.”

  “This is giving me goose bumps,” Estelle remarked, rubbing the arms of her sweater.

  “How did your conversation with Moira end, Cuthbert?” Rex asked her husband.

  “Very amiably,” Mr. Farquharson replied. “She said she wished she had been my daughter because her own father was a worthless drunk and was never in a position to take care of her. Then she said goodnight as her bath was getting full, and she locked the door behind her. I went back to the bedroom and told Estelle all about the conversation.”

  “Your wife never mentioned anything about it to me when I interviewed everyone after lunch.”

  “Well, I knew Bertie didn’t kill Moira,” Mrs. Farquharson spluttered, “so I decided not to say anything. He was only gone five minutes.”

  “And your trip downstairs in the middle of the night—any positive recollection yet of having done that?”

  The two officers leaned forward in their chairs.

  “As I told you, I may have gone downstairs to use the cloakroom. I have been known to do that almost in my sleep.”

  Strickler and Dawes raised their eyebrows at one another.

  Rex spun on Hamish, whose face flushed to a mottled ruby red. “After you spoke to Moira, you returned to your room. Your wife left you fixing the radiator and was gone five minutes for a smoke. That did not leave you enough time to fetch the ladder, get through the window, drown Moira, and dispose of her body in the loch. Unless you’re a trained assassin.” Mr. Allerdice’s out-of-shape frame clearly did not fit the bill. “That’s assuming your wife’s statement holds up … But let’s accept her story about her clandestine smoke for now. And let’s not forget Flora’s apparition on the stairs.”

  “Look, old chap,” Cuthbert interrupted. “I don’t see you casting doubt on Alistair. I know he’s a friend and colleague and all that, but he did seem quite pally with Moira last night.”

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree,” Alistair replied. “The truth is, I’m gay.”

  Shona sat bolt upright and glanced at her daughter, who had turned as pale as bleached bread.

  “It’s true,” Rex confirmed. “Alistair had no interest in Moira beyond friendship. But I believe he was the catalyst for her murder.”

  Rex gave his guests time to digest this while he planned his next words. There was no easy way to expose this murderer.

  “Alistair was the cause of Moira’s death,” Rex repeated for effect. “That’s why I told you to stay away from him, Helen. The killer thought Moira was a rival for Alistair’s affections. I did not want the same thing happening to you.”

  “A rival to whom?” Estelle asked.

  “Flora.”

  “Flora?” Estelle stared at the girl, who sat still as a statue, eyes downcast.

  “Donnie knew that she was in love with Alistair—”

  “Me?” Perplexed, Alistair stared at Flora in turn, who flinched. “I had no idea.”

  “Moira was flirting with you to make me jealous,” Rex explained. “Fool that I am, I did not understand what game she was playing until Helen pointed it out. Donnie did not see through her stratagem either. He thought Moira might take Alistair away from his sister. He knew Flora had feelings for him. He must have seen the photo of the pair of them in her bedroom.”

  Flora blushed to the shade of beetroot.

  Alistair looked mystified. “What photo?”

  “It was taken at a social event at the hotel in the spring,” Rex explained. “I found it when I was at Loch Lochy this afternoon.”

  “I remember …” The veil of confusion lifted from Alistair’s face. “A wine and cheese party. Dear God. I was there with Bill Menzies. How could Flora have possibly construed that I was taking anything more than a polite interest in her?”

  Flora hid her face in her hands and began to cry.

  “Flora had been disappointed in love before,” Rex went on, hating to humiliate the girl, but seeing no other way around it. “Donnie saw her grief when Brad, the American visitor at the hotel, went back home and never contacted her again.” He gave a final turn of the screw. “The Allerdice siblings are verra close. You said as much, Helen. ‘Flora is a martyr to her brother.’ And, in return, he would do anything for her …”

  “Donnie!” Flora cried. “Oh, Donnie.” She broke down and sobbed openly in her brother’s arms.

  Shona sat rigid, white as her daughter had been when Flora heard about Alistair’s sexual preferences. Hamish covered his face with his large hands and rocked back and forth on his chair.

  “Deny it, Donnie,” Mrs. Allerdice wailed.

  “I did kill her,” her son responded in calm counterpoint. “I did it. I leaned through the window and surprised her in the bath. She asked, ‘What are ye doing, Donnie? Were ye locked oot the hoose?’ I told her I didna mean her no harm and to keep quiet. I was getting rained on so I climbed in. She tried to cover herself up wi’ a face cloth. She was verra pale. I never kenned I had killed her until this morning.”

  Shona Allerdice gave a low moan. Flora pressed her wet cheek to her brother’s.

  “But Donnie,” Rex said. “You knew what you were going to do when you found the ladder in the stable and opened the window. You hid Moira’s and your mother’s phones in the coal shed and cut the house line.”

  “I never.”

  “You took Moira’s mobile from her bag in the hall on your way out to the stable last night. And you would have known where your mother kept hers.”

  “I never!” the boy insisted. “I jist wanted to take a peep at her in the bath. I was standing beneath the window and I saw her looking out at the loch.”

  Rex thought for a moment. “Then it must have been Beardsley who interfered with the phones when he discovered Alistair had been involved in the Kirsty MacClure case. I wonder, did Beardsley borrow your shoes, Hamish?” he asked. “That would explain why the coal dust was on your shoes and not his. They would have been easier to slip on than his lace-up boots.”

  Hamish shrugged. “I have no idea how I came to have coal dust on my shoes. Donnie wouldna’ve borrowed them. His feet are bigger than mine.”

  “It wasna me that took my ma’s phone, or the deed woman’s,” the boy repeated.
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br />   Rex felt the boy was telling the truth. He did not see why Donnie should confess to the murder and then deny touching the phones. The fact that Donnie might be capable of planning the crime down to the last detail had, in fact, stumped him at first.

  “What did you do after you climbed in through the window?” he asked the boy.

  “There was a face in the mirror,” the boy murmured. “It skeared me off.”

  “What face?”

  “The devil’s face, like a mask.”

  “All right, lad,” Rex said, hoping to get him back on track. “You pushed Moira’s head under the water, got her through the window, and carried her body on your pony to the loch.”

  Donnie said nothing. He just shook his head from side to side, eyes wide open. “She’s deed, she’s deed …”

  “You’re aboot the only person that can approach that horse,” Rex told him. “That’s what made me think you might be involved. It was the easiest way to transport Moira to the loch. Rob Roy managed to handle the horse as well, but he was the first person to mention the thud in the night, which I doubt he would’ve done had he been responsible for pushing her body oot the window. Also, he had no reason to kill her.”

  “But what about the intruder theory?” Estelle asked. “The bulky shadow on the stairs with a head like a Gorgon’s?”

  “I believe that was you in your bathrobe and curlers.”

  “Oh, you mean like those mirrors at fairs?” Cuthbert cut in. “I say, old girl—time to revamp the image, what?”

  “Shut up, Bertie.”

  Rex addressed the guests. “Flora may have guessed her brother was involved, so she tried to cover his tracks by mentioning the shadow on the stairs. She embellished her story by saying she saw a weapon. First she said a knife. Then, realizing she might be implicating her brother who carries a sheath knife, she insisted it was a rifle. Everybody had access to Cuthbert Farquharson’s gun.”

  Hamish’s face caved in as he spoke. “I suspected what had happened when I saw Donnie staring at Moira’s body in the stable and mumbling, ‘I’m sorry’ and checking her all over to see if she was really dead. Flora told me she saw Donnie on the landing last night. Frankly, I was aboot to tell you,” he told Rex. “It’s just that—well, my family has been through so much already.”

  “I know, and I’m right sorry, but Donnie will get the care he needs.” Rex raised his eyes to the policemen as a signal that they could take the boy into custody. He had confessed voluntarily.

  There was no more Rex could think of to say. He left the room and went through to the kitchen. Outside he lit his pipe. The sky showed vague patches of blue above the dark-capped hills, but the promise of good weather the next day failed to cheer him. He could not rid himself of the niggling sensation that he had missed something important.

  Helen, slipping through the door behind him, wrapped a consoling arm around him. “I know how you feel about exposing Donnie, but maybe Flora can have a life of her own now. You did what you had to.”

  Rex sucked thoughtfully on his pipe and exhaled a swirl of smoke. “But for Moira’s death, I would never have found out that Beardsley was the Moor Murderer. It was when I was examining the footwear in the hall for traces of soil and vine from the flowerbed under the window that I discovered the Rannoch Rush on his boot.”

  “You caught a child killer, Rex! The entire police force was out looking for him and you found him. Imagine the relief of every parent now that the face of the sexual predator has been unmasked. The—”

  “Wait … What did you just say?”

  “I said, imagine the relief of parents now that the face of the killer has been unmasked … What is it, Rex? You’ve gone pale. Are you ill?”

  He put his hands to his temples in a penny-dropping moment of insight. “I think I have just made the biggest mistake of my life,” he told her, rushing back into the house.

  Rex tore after the police car as it made its way up the hill. Waving his arms, he yelled at it to stop, though it was unlikely the driver could hear him from this distance. Flora turned her head and looked out the back window. Finally the car came to a halt. Rex ran to the front passenger side and motioned for the inspector to lower the window.

  “What is it, Mr. Graves?” Strickler asked.

  “I need to ask Donnie something. It’s important.”

  The inspector pointedly glanced at his watch. “Go on.”

  Leaning into the car, Rex peered through the partition cage at the boy who was sitting handcuffed between his mother and sister.

  “Donnie,” he gasped, striving to regain his breath after his charge up the muddy hill. “Think carefully now before you answer. What did you do with the ladder after you climbed up to the window and spoke to Moira?”

  “Nothing. I ran oot through the bathroom door, down to the kitchen, and then back to the stable.”

  “That’s right. And your sister saw you.”

  “Aye. But she never told.”

  “No, she did not. She thought you might have murdered Moira. Tell me aboot the face in the mirror. Here,” Rex said, taking the notebook from his pocket. “Draw it. I need you to free his hands,” he told the officers. “Can you let him oot?”

  “Mr. Graves, this is highly irregular,” Strickler objected.

  “I know, but believe me when I tell you Donnie Allerdice is innocent of the crime of murder.”

  With a gruff sigh, the senior officer got out of the vehicle and, bidding Flora get out too, helped Donnie onto the road and unlocked his handcuffs.

  “Try to draw exactly what you saw,” Rex encouraged the boy.

  Donnie took the pencil and, leaning the notebook against the roof of the car, drew a triangular face and a series of lines depicting brows and eyes, a nose, and thin lips. He finished up with a fringe of hair at the top of the head and a goatee on the chin. The effect was indeed diabolical.

  “It’s no verra good,” the boy apologized. “She drew it in the steam on the mirror.”

  “It’s recognizable. It’s Rob Roy Beardsley without the specs and full beard,” Rex said, showing it to the inspector.

  “Isna that the man who was arrested earlier?” Strickler asked. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  Rex turned to Flora. “When you saw Donnie—”

  “He was coming out of the bathroom,” the young woman said in a rush. “He paused for a split second when he saw me and then took off down the stairs. I saw the top of Moira’s head in the bath and closed the door. I didn’t know she was dead then. But she wasn’t dead, was she? I really didn’t know what was going on. I thought Donnie had walked in on her by accident.”

  “No, she wasna dead at that point. What about the shadow on the stairs?”

  “That was later on. I was on my way to the stable to see Donnie and find out what he’d been up to. It was Mrs. Farquharson I saw. I made up the bit about the weapon when I found out what had happened to Moira. I wanted everybody to think a stranger had broken into the house.”

  By this time, Sergeant Dawes had joined his partner and was keeping a sharp eye on Donnie in case the boy decided to bolt. Shona had slipped out of the car and stood by her daughter, a hopeful look on her perplexed face.

  “Gentlemen, this is not the person who killed Moira Wilcox,” Rex repeated vehemently, gesturing toward Donnie.

  The pair exchanged weary glances.

  “Mr. Graves, it’s been a verra long forty-eight hours.” Strickler did indeed look done in, badly in need of a change of clothes and a shave.

  “I know,” Rex said, “but the crime could not have been committed by Donnie Allerdice.”

  “And how not?” the sergeant asked.

  “Everything you said back at the house made sense to me,” Strickler added.

  “Except for one thing.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “Donnie left through the bathroom door, not the window. Hamish mentioned that Flora had seen him on the landing. So the door would have been unlocked. Wh
en I went in this morning, Moira was gone and the door was locked. It was locked all night.”

  “Perhaps the boy came back for her and left through the window,” Strickler suggested.

  “No time. Shona Allerdice heard the body fall to the ground at 12:15 a.m. Just before midnight, I was downstairs with Helen, the Allerdice women, and Beardsley. Hamish Allerdice and the Farquharsons were upstairs when Moira went to take her bath. The window of opportunity for murder, probably less than ten minutes from when Cuthbert said he bid her goodnight, was too narrow for Donnie to make a second attempt. He must have just missed running into Alistair on the stairs, according to my timeline.”

  “So, who killed Ms. Wilcox?” the senior officer asked.

  “I believe you have already taken him into custody. The reason Beardsley killed her was because she recognized him. He was convicted of child molestation seven years ago, when they were both living in Glasgow. Moira might have seen his face on the news. He was sent to prison for five years. The next time he molested a child, he made sure the victim would not live to testify against him. After the first three murders, he bided his time for a while and struck again only when Collins was acquitted in the Kirsty MacClure case.”

  “Could you not have figured this oot before?” Strickler inquired.

  “When Moira said something about him seeming familiar, I thought she could easily have been mistaken as he’s verra nondescript.”

  “Sexual predators often are,” Dawes pointed out.

  “Apart from the doubts I had over whether Donnie could have hidden the mobile phones and cut the line, he seemed the most likely suspect. He was absent much of the night, he could control the pony, and he had motive. I knew Flora was lying about the intruder. It’s only when Helen talked about unmasking the killer that I understood the significance of the face Donnie saw in the mirror.”

  Rex referred to the illustration in his notebook. “The addition of a goatee suggests Moira finally remembered who Beardsley reminded her of. Perhaps talk of the Moor Murderer sparked her memory. We were discussing the Kirsty MacClure case last night. She must have drawn Beardsley’s face in the steam to test out her theory.”