7 A Tasteful Crime

by Cecilia Peartree

  But putting this together with the blue lights at the front of the building and the fact that someone had already died, it felt suspicious.

  Amaryllis had a brief struggle with her conscience. Annoyingly, her conscience won. Now she knew she had been spending too much time with Christopher. She sighed, abandoning her outrageous project for the day.

  Lugging the banana suit with her, she made her way round to the car park and the front door of the Cultural Centre. She was just in time to see Christopher being put into a police car and driven off at speed. She waved at the driver and shouted ‘Hey!’ but it didn’t do any good.

  There was an ambulance at the front of the building too, and a police constable on guard. In the only stroke of luck she had experienced so far that day, he turned out to be Keith Burnet.

  ‘I thought you might be interested in this,’ she said to him, holding up the banana suit with the bloodstain to the front.

  ‘Well, I’m not,’ said Keith sharply, not even looking at it. ‘You can take it away again.’

  ‘That’s not very nice,’ she said. ‘And you’re going to get into terrible trouble if you don’t take me seriously.’

  He sighed. ‘Not half as much trouble as you’ll get into for wasting police time – again. Just get lost before I tell Inspector Armstrong.’

  ‘Ha!’ said Amaryllis. ‘There’s a bloodstain on it. What do you think of that?’

  She pointed to the rusty mark and waited.

  ‘So what?’ said Keith.

  She began to count the seconds until he changed his tune. She got up to five.

  ‘Wait a minute! Let me see that!’ He peered at the stain without touching anything. ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘Round the back. In the bins.’

  ‘You shouldn’t even have touched it. Now you’ll have contaminated the evidence and I’ll be the one who gets into trouble.’

  ‘You should have found it first, then,’ said Amaryllis. ‘Have you got a bin-bag or something I can put it in? I think it’s starting to rain.’

  He disappeared into the building for a few moments and came out with a black bag.

  ‘Put it in here. You can come up to the station later on and give us a DNA sample.’

  ‘I think you’ll find my DNA is already on file,’ said Amaryllis, squashing the banana suit into the bag.

  ‘I’m not surprised, the number of times you’ve been in trouble,’ he muttered.

  ‘I’m just a helpful member of the public,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t want you to miss any of the evidence. The bin-men are on their way just now. This could have disappeared without trace. There might even be more evidence round the back for all you know.'

  ‘Just out of curiosity,’ he said, ‘what makes you think this could be evidence? There wasn’t any blood in the McLaughlin case.’

  ‘Something else has happened since then, hasn’t it?’ she challenged him.

  ‘Can’t tell you that,’ he said. ‘More than my job’s worth.’

  The next moment he leaned forward and said in an undertone, 'Can you keep an eye on the door for a minute? I'd better go and put some crime scene tape round the bins. Even if there isn't anything there, I don't want to get into trouble over letting evidence get carted off under my nose... Just don't let anybody wander into the building. There are some - things - going on in there. There are people who won't be very pleased if they get interrupted.'

  'Are you sure you want to trust me with this vital task?' said Amaryllis.

  He laughed as he disappeared round the corner. 'Just don't tell anybody I did, that's all.'

  She positioned herself outside the front door and stood there clutching the black bag with the banana suit in it. Of course she should really rush up to the police station and get them to let Christopher go. But, apart from the fact that she knew he was completely incapable of committing any crime more serious than dropping litter - and he would only do that if he had a cast-iron motive, and probably one that involved the public good - she remembered she had been quite miffed with him when he had appeared to harbour feelings for Deirdre. Perhaps a few hours in police custody would cure him of that.

  But why on earth had he been taken away in a police car at all? Something was going on here, and she wouldn't rest until she found out what it was. The rain was getting heavier in any case, and she didn’t think she should risk the evidence getting wet. She turned and peered in at the door. The foyer looked dark and deserted. Then there was a sound from further inside the building, and as she watched, a trolley came into view, wheeled by two paramedics. On the trolley was something she recognised as a body-bag, and it looked very much as if it was occupied. Another death?

  Putting down the black bag and pushing it towards the corner of the foyer with her foot, she held the door open for the trolley to get through.

  'Where's Constable Burnet gone?' said one of the paramedics suspiciously as they emerged into the open.

  'I've sent him round the back to investigate a suspicious package,' said Amaryllis. She had no idea if they would accept her without question as Keith Burnet's superior officer or not. She didn't really care. Their job wasn't to expose fake police officers, but to remove the body, if that was indeed what was on the trolley.

  'Where are you going with that?' she asked, as casually as she could.

  The paramedic who had asked about Constable Burnet gave her another suspicious look. 'The usual place,' he said.

  'Along to the police mortuary at Rosyth,' said the other one. 'The doctor wasn't sure if the blow on the head killed her, or the shelves. Or something else again. She’s got swelling and distortion of the features. As if she’d been poisoned.’

  Amaryllis nearly questioned this. Poisoned as well as hit on the head? And how could shelves kill someone? Did they suspect Christopher of administering the poison or the blow on the head? She came to her senses just in time and said with a shrug, 'The knock on the head accounts for the blood, then.'

  Poisoning, however, would more or less rule out blood, especially if it had worked instantly as in Eric’s case. Curious. Amaryllis didn’t like incongruous details. She frowned.

  'It certainly does,' said the talkative paramedic as they loaded the victim into the ambulance. 'Quite a bit of it, too.'

  The other one kicked him, perhaps accidentally but more likely not, Amaryllis thought. She turned her back on them and walked back to her post in the doorway.

  Unexpectedly, she heard a voice behind her.

  'What the hell are you doing here? I thought you'd be up at the police station by now, holding Christopher's hand.'

  She didn't have to turn round to know Deirdre had appeared at her shoulder. The expression on the woman’s face would have curdled milk.

  Chapter 20 Ruthless Interrogation Techniques

  Christopher hadn't expected to be invited to the police station to help Inspector Armstrong with his enquiries. He felt he was actually the least likely one out of Zak, Oscar and Deirdre to have done anything wrong. It didn't help that Oscar had been taken away just before he had.

  'You must be running out of space at the station by now,' he commented to Inspector Armstrong during the short ride to Pitkirtly police station. The inspector said nothing. It was tempting to fill the silence with more mindless chat, but Christopher didn't want to anger anybody. He imagined his best chance of being released that day was to keep calm, keep telling the truth and not get agitated and say something silly.

  He had been slightly alarmed to see Amaryllis waving at the driver. She would quite likely make some ill-conceived attempt to rescue him and end up embroiling them both in something that had got completely out of control. He smiled to himself at the idea, although he didn't know why on earth it should make him smile.

  They got to the all-too-familiar building and went in. Christopher quickly found himself being ushered along the corridor towards an unfamiliar door.

  'Sssh,' said Inspector Armstrong. 'Not a word to anybody about this.'
/>   It was the staff tea-room. The desk sergeant was heating something in the microwave, and a constable Christopher hadn't seen before was relaxing with his feet on the table. Inspector Armstrong pushed them off.

  'We've got a visitor, constable. Show some manners.'

  A visitor? Was Inspector Armstrong using the term sarcastically? Or was Christopher actually a guest and not a suspect? He began to regret having phoned Jock McLean and asked him to fetch Penelope. Her arrival here to provide him with an alibi would certainly over-complicate things. It might even turn out to be the factor that decided whether they really did arrest him or not.

  'Tea or coffee, Mr Wilson? Would you like a biscuit? Or something more substantial? Do sit down, by the way.'

  'A biscuit?' said Christopher uncertainly, still unwilling to believe in this scenario. 'Coffee?'

  Inspector Armstrong put the kettle on and started ferreting around in the cupboard, presumably for biscuits. It was as if he were channelling Charlie Smith, who might have done very much the same if he had still been here.

  'Am I under arrest?' said Christopher nervously.

  'Oh no, no, no, no,' said Inspector Armstrong with an unnerving smile. 'I just thought it was well past time to tap into your unrivalled local knowledge.'

  He put some iced ring biscuits on a plate and set it on the table.

  'The interview rooms are all occupied at the moment,' he said, 'and anyway it’s about time for a coffee break. We really do just need an informal chat with you. Away from prying eyes and ears.'

  'You must be a bit over-stretched today,' said Christopher.

  'Yes, indeed. We've had to ask for reinforcements from Kincardine. Bit of a local crime wave. But I gather it isn't completely without precedent.'

  'I suppose not,' said Christopher, picking up an iced ring biscuit and nibbling at it, just for something to do. He vaguely wondered again what would happen if Penelope turned up offering him an alibi he didn't really need. Would that be suspicious in itself?

  'So, Mr Wilson.' The inspector brought over two mugs of coffee and gave one to Christopher. 'How many keys are there for this Cultural Centre of yours and who are the key-holders?'

  'There are only three sets,' he said, happy to be on secure, familiar ground. 'I keep one set with me all the time, and Zak Johnstone has another set, and there's a spare set in my desk drawer in the office.'

  'Ah,' said Inspector Armstrong, regarding Christopher over the top of his mug, which had an unseasonal reindeer on it. The reindeer's nose was glowing red. Was it one of those mugs which reacted to heat, so that the nose would go back to whatever the normal colour was for a reindeer's nose once the mug cooled down? And why was he even thinking about reindeer's noses anyway?

  'Yes, I had a spare set made after an incident when I lost all the keys to the building at the same time and I couldn't even lock up.'

  'Do you have any reason to think an unauthorised person may have had access to the spare keys during the past couple of days?' Inspector Armstrong paused. 'Somebody from the television company, perhaps?'

  Christopher's heart almost stopped. He had realised as the inspector was speaking that the spare keys had been in his desk drawer all the time the TV crew had been in the building, and that there was almost nobody who hadn't had access to them.

  'Um,' he said.

  'Are you sure the keys are still in your desk drawer now?' said the inspector.

  If this was an informal chat, Christopher was very glad he hadn't been brought here for a formal interview. They probably kept a rack and thumbscrews for those. Or maybe that would be against health and safety legislation.

  'I haven't looked today,' he said.

  'When did you last see them?'

  'Probably Friday.'

  'So before all this nonsense kicked off, then?'

  'Yes.'

  'So quite apart from the people who normally go in and out of your office in the course of a working day, anybody from the TV crew and any other random person who happened to be passing could have taken them.'

  'Yes,' said Christopher again.

  'I was afraid of that,' said Inspector Armstrong. 'So anybody could have accessed the Cultural Centre last night and committed at least one major crime. Great. Fine.'

  At that point there was a lot of noise outside the staff tea-room. It resolved itself into Penelope Johnstone squawking about justice and Jock McLean's lower growl telling her off for being a silly female. Christopher put his head in his hands.

  'Oh, dear,' said Inspector Armstrong. 'I suppose we'd better let them in... Constable.'

  The constable, who had apparently been deep in a magazine, dropped it on the floor and stood up suddenly to open the door.

  'You can come in,' he said, sternly. 'But you'll have to be quieter than that, otherwise the inspector will put you all under arrest.'

  Penelope advanced majestically into the room, Jock McLean and Darren Laidlaw following like members of her court.

  'Mr Wilson!' she said, seeing Christopher. 'What have they done to you?'

  'Given me coffee and biscuits?' said Christopher. He was even more nervous now that his rescuers had arrived.

  'I can provide this man with a rock-solid alibi,' said Penelope to Inspector Armstrong.

  'That's interesting,' said the inspector. 'What times would that cover, then, Mrs Johnstone?'

  'Last night,' said Penelope. 'He was with me.'

  'All night?' said the desk sergeant, who had been scoffing his microwave meal with apparent relish up to that moment, incredulously.

  'Well, not exactly,' said Penelope, her face turning a very unbecoming shade of purple. 'But I just know Mr Wilson didn't leave the house. He wouldn't have, in any case. Zak and I would have been quite unprotected. And if there's a murderer on the loose...'

  'That reminds me,' said Inspector Armstrong with a friendly smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, 'I've been meaning to bring you and your son in for questioning, Mrs Johnstone. I believe Mr McLaughlin visited you as part of the Open Kitchen programme.'

  Penelope sat down suddenly.

  'I told you it was a mistake to make such a noise and fuss,' Jock McLean told her without a trace of sympathy. 'You've just gone and attracted their attention. Best to keep a low profile, you know.'

  'And you, Mr McLean,' added the inspector. 'I believe you were actually present at the time of Mr McLaughlin's death.'

  'I gave a statement to your lad who came along to the scene,' grumbled Jock.

  'That doesn't mean you can't give me another one at some stage,' said Inspector Armstrong firmly. 'If we didn't have a full house at the moment, I'd ask you to come into an interview room so that we can review your account of events and see if there are any gaps. As it is, you'll have to wait your turn. If I can be assured of your good behaviour in the meantime, I would be happy to leave your turn until later. The same goes for you, Mrs Johnstone. I know you don't want to spend any more time at the station than you have to, so I'm being generous.'

  He sighed heavily.

  'You might as well all go now. I'm getting tired of this conversation... You too, Mr Wilson. We'll get back to you if we need you again.'

  Chapter 21 Jock McLean gets results

  ‘I wish I could have seen my Mum,’ said Darren as they were all about to leave the police station.

  Jock felt obscurely guilty. He hadn’t even thought about Tricia Laidlaw when they had been on their mission to save Christopher from a fate worse than coffee and biscuits. And yet Darren must have been thinking about her all the time. Maybe he had even been afraid to say anything for fear of drawing the attention of the police to himself.

  In the reception area Jock swung round and confronted the hapless constable who was covering for the desk sergeant. He had already got into trouble for letting them all in the first time.

  ‘Just a minute,’ said Jock. ‘We need to see Mrs Laidlaw. This is her son, and he has an urgent message for her.’

  ‘Urgent? What do you mean by t
hat?’ said the constable sternly. Jock could tell he wasn’t going to give up without a struggle this time.

  ‘It’s life and death,’ said Jock without batting an eyelid. He smiled to himself. He had learnt one or two tricks from Amaryllis in the time they had spent together.

  ‘Why are you smiling then?’

  ‘That wasn’t a smile,’ said Jock. ‘I was covering up my strong emotional reaction.’

  The constable didn’t actually say the words ‘Yeah, right,’ but he looked as if he were breathing them into the air in front of him.

  ‘What is this urgent news, then?’ he said wearily.

  ‘She has to go and save her sister’s life,’ said Jock. He paused for thought. This was harder than it seemed when Amaryllis did it.

  ‘In what way would that be?’ said the constable.

  ‘By donating a kidney,’ interrupted Darren. ‘That’s what it is. She’s the only person in Britain whose kidney matches.’

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ said the constable, slamming a pencil down on the desk. ‘All right, I’ll find out if you can see her. But we’ll be carrying out a full investigation of whether this story’s true or not before we do anything about letting her go.’

  He disappeared through the door behind the desk.

  ‘That was great, Mr McLean!’ said Darren. ‘She’ll be out of here in no time.’

  Almost as he finished speaking, the side door opened and Tricia Laidlaw came out with the inspector.

  ‘Thanks for your co-operation, Mrs Laidlaw,’ he was saying in a friendly manner. ‘We may need to ask you a few more questions, but we can always come round to the house for that.’