“And you didn’t wake during the night?”
She shook her head. “I’m usually quite a light sleeper, but I don’t think I even stirred until morning. I suppose I was very tired after everything that’s gone on lately.”
“That may be.” Ranald made more notes. “Where is Miss Rainsby? I’d like to speak to her as well, if I may.”
“She went into Edinburgh to have lunch with a school friend of hers and do some shopping. I don’t expect her home until this evening.”
“Very well, we’ll speak to her another time.”
“What is this all about?” Lady Louisa demanded. “Why are you asking all these things? Why did you ask about my jewelry? If someone has stolen it, does that mean you’ve caught him?”
“No, my lady,” Ranald said. “Those particular pieces of jewelry were found in a locked drawer in Mr. Hugh Barnaby’s office desk, along with a list of dates and places we’d like to ask you about.”
“Dates and places?” Drew asked. “What dates and places?”
“That’s what we’d like to find out.”
“Mr. Barnaby?” Lady Louisa said. “Mr. Barnaby had my jewelry? How could he have got it? Why did he have it?”
Drew watched the inspector’s face, knowing from his utter lack of expression what would come next.
“Was Mr. Barnaby blackmailing you, Lady Rainsby?” Ranald asked at last. “Those jewels would make a handsome payment, I should think.”
Louisa’s hold on Drew’s arm was growing painful. “Blackmail . . . ?”
“But they always seem to get greedy, don’t they?” Ranald continued. “Asking for more and more until there’s just nothing to do but end the matter.”
“No,” she breathed.
“Had he found out you’d murdered your husband in order to keep him from signing that new will?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“The new will that excluded you for reasons of which you are well aware?”
Her lip quivered. “No.”
“What were those reasons, Lady Rainsby?”
She looked pleadingly at Drew. “I don’t know. I don’t know of any reasons. He never said such a thing to me.”
“And then,” Ranald insisted, “you decided if you’d done one murder, no reason not to carry on with another?”
Drew glared at the inspector. “Look here, Ranald—”
“No!” Lady Louisa cried. “No, no, no! I never did anything of the sort. Drew, tell him—”
“This seems nothing but conjecture,” Drew said. “What proof do you have?”
“The jewelry.”
“Stolen.”
Ranald shrugged. “The list.”
“Rubbish.”
“The will.”
“Unsigned,” Drew said. “Besides, Lady Rainsby was home the night of the murder. You could ask a number of witnesses to corroborate that. All of them would swear to seeing her go up to bed directly after dinner.”
“They could swear as to her going up,” Ranald conceded. “But could they swear as to her not coming down again?”
Drew pressed his lips together. He had no answer for that. Not yet.
“Forgive me, your ladyship,” Ranald said, looking almost smug, “and no disrespect meant, but I’ll have to ask you to come down to the station for more questioning regarding the murders of your husband and of Mr. Hugh Barnaby.”
He took her by the arm, but she pulled away from him, all ice and self-control now.
“You’d be wise to engage a solicitor to be present during questioning,” he added mildly.
“Her solicitor has just been murdered,” Drew reminded him, “and hadn’t you ought to caution her about her statements being used against her in court?”
“Yes, well, it’s not an arrest,” Ranald said. “Not quite yet. Merely questioning. But if you would like to telephone a solicitor’s office, your ladyship, you may do so now.”
Again she looked at Drew with pleading eyes. “I don’t know of anyone. Mr. Barnaby always saw to everything for us here in Gullane.”
“I’ll see to it, Lady Louisa.” Drew helped her to her feet. “I don’t suppose I might—”
“You will be informed when her ladyship is allowed visitors,” Ranald said, sounding as if Lady Louisa was indeed under arrest. “For now, you’d do as well to stay put.”
“But my daughter,” she said. “Someone must tell her—”
“Now that would be an excellent job for our amateur sleuth.” The inspector took firm hold of Lady Louisa’s arm, not allowing her to pull away this time. “Do let Miss Rainsby know that we have made progress in the case,” he told Drew. “We will be keeping her informed. Sergeant Shaw.”
Shaw glanced at Drew and then opened the study door to show the inspector and his prisoner out.
Thirteen
Nick came downstairs just as the inspector’s car pulled away from the house with Lady Louisa in custody.
“I seem to have missed all the best bits,” he said. “Not exactly a shocker, though, after what you told me last night. What do you think?”
“I’m not convinced about Lady Louisa’s guilt, but now Joan makes much more sense.”
“I would have thought the indomitable Mrs. Pike would have been in the middle of everything, threatening to chain herself to the inspector’s rear axle rather than see Lady Louisa taken away.”
“I’m given to understand Mrs. Pike finally convinced Mr. Pike to take her to visit Count Kuznetsov in his time of need.”
Nick nodded sympathetically. “I see.”
“And to buy a new hat.”
“Naturally.”
Drew considered for a moment. “I suppose this means the count will be released. They really didn’t have much of a case against him. I’d very much like to have a talk with him about why he so badly wanted to come to the Open. I can’t help but think there’s much more to all this than just a pleasant little family killing.”
Joan came back from Edinburgh about teatime with a stack of parcels and a much more serene expression on her face. Drew gave her a moment to hand her parcels to one of the maids, and then he took her into the drawing room and asked her to sit down. He hated to upset her, but she had to be told that her mother had been charged with her father’s murder and Hugh Barnaby’s as well.
“Why?” Joan fumbled in her handbag. Hands shaking, she removed a cigarette from her case and lit it. “What—what did they say? Why would she have killed Mr. Barnaby anyway?”
“Before I give you the theory the police seem to have concocted, I’d like to know your thoughts on it. Can you think of any reason she’d do such a thing?”
Joan shook her head. “She hardly knew him. My father was the one who dealt with him, and that wasn’t very often, at least that I’d heard of. I suppose there’s the will my father asked Mr. Barnaby to draw up. I don’t understand that part at all, but he’d already told the police about it. It’s not like Mother was trying to make sure nobody knew about it. Why should she kill him over it now?”
“I’ve wondered the same thing,” Drew said. “It hardly makes sense.”
She took a deep, slow drag of her cigarette. “It’s not at all like her. What do the police say?”
“They think he was blackmailing her.”
“Then why would he tell the police and you about the new will?”
“The more I think about all of this, the more I’m convinced this bit about your mother is all wrong. And Kuznetsov is wrong, too. I’m thinking your father’s and Barnaby’s deaths are part of something much bigger.”
Her eyes widened. “You don’t think Mr. Barnaby had anything to do with my father’s death, do you?”
“I don’t know for certain,” he admitted, “but I have wondered.”
“But it doesn’t make sense. Why would he want to help someone kill my father?”
“Perhaps because your father knew more than he should? Or was a threat to the killer? And then perhaps Barnaby himself became a thr
eat, because he knew what the killer had done.”
She looked away, gnawing her lower lip, her brows pulled together.
“The police claim he was blackmailing your mother,” Drew said. “Do you think he was the sort who’d do that?”
“I didn’t know him really, so I don’t know what he might have done. Dad never talked to me about his personal affairs. He just said Mother and I would be taken care of should anything happen to him and that we needn’t worry. I just want you to find whoever’s behind all this. Mother’s been through enough as it is.” She took a few more puffs on her cigarette. “I have to go see her. I can’t just leave her there in jail.”
“Better to wait a bit,” Drew advised. “They probably won’t let anyone see her just yet. Tomorrow we’ll telephone and see what we’re allowed to do.” He gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “I don’t believe she’s guilty, and I haven’t given up trying to find out who is.”
She nodded, her lips trembling into a smile. “I’m so very grateful, Drew.”
“But you must understand, I might uncover things you won’t like.”
“As part of this something bigger you were talking about?” There was a tinge of fear in her dark eyes. “What is it?”
“I know you’ve heard Mr. MacArthur talk about Germany and Italy and other events taking place in the world just now.”
The fear turned to annoyance. “I always wished Dad would biff him one on the nose. They got into some rows over that, I can tell you, but surely you don’t think Mac would have killed him over a political tiff, do you? It’s ridiculous.”
“No, but I’ve wondered if Mac might have gone beyond just talk.”
“You mean spies, state secrets, and all that? Don’t be silly. Mac? No. I never liked him, but no.”
It wasn’t just Mac, of course. There was the blonde, Lisa Shearer. Perhaps Barnaby had been part of it, too. Drew remembered some of the things he’d said when they’d met in Barnaby’s office. And, worst for Joan, there was Jamie Tyler. Were they all in it together?
“I don’t have anything but speculation just yet, so I’m telling you this only because I don’t want you to worry about your mother, no matter how bad it seems at the moment.”
“Thank you, Drew. I mean that. I just couldn’t take any more bad news just now.”
“I know it’s been rough. Hold tight and we’ll get it all sorted, right?”
She nodded, blinking hard. “I trust you, Drew.”
He couldn’t disappoint her.
Drew made his way to the clubhouse at Muirfield and requested a private room. He thought he might have some difficulty because he wasn’t a member, but when he told the proprietor he was working on behalf of the late Lord Rainsby, the man was eager to cooperate, saying he would send Jamie Tyler to Drew the moment he came in from the course.
Drew settled into one of the clubhouse’s overstuffed chairs. A few minutes later he heard two sharp knocks on the door and then it swung open.
“Mr. Tyler,” Drew said.
The caddie’s professionally pleasant expression turned cool. “Oh. You again.” He shut the door and, arms crossed over his chest, came to where Drew sat. “Well?”
Drew nodded toward the chair opposite his own. “A few words, if you don’t mind.”
“No bother for me. I’m done for the day.” Tyler wadded up his cap and stuck it in his back pocket. Slicking back his hair with one hand, he sat down.
“All right, here it is, and I want the truth.”
Tyler lifted his dark brows, an incredulous half smile on his face. “You do, do you? Or what?”
“Or I’ll let Inspector Ranald handle the questioning in future.”
Tyler’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want to know?”
“Do you happen to know where Joan Rainsby was Friday night?”
The caddie was silent for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Where does she say she was?”
“I really haven’t the patience for games. If you happen to know where she was that night, then say so.”
“There are certain things a gentleman doesn’t discuss.”
“A gentleman does,” Drew told him evenly, “if it has to do with a murder investigation.”
“What do you mean? What has that night to do with the murder investigation? Her father was killed nearly two weeks ago.”
“Look here, either answer the question or tell me you’re not going to. Either way, tell the truth.”
“If you like. Makes me no odds. I’m only trying to be discreet about a lady. Anyhow, she was with me.”
“What time was that?”
The caddie shrugged. “Maybe one or so, until about quarter past two. More or less anyhow.”
“Where?”
“In the stables, out there at Thorburn Hall.”
Drew exhaled, nodding. That lined up with when he found her coming back into the house that night. “All right. How did you leave?”
Tyler smirked. “In very good spirits.”
“Were you in a motor car?” Drew asked, unamused.
“No.”
“Do you own a motor car?”
Tyler snorted. “On what I make?”
“You didn’t drive one that night?”
“No, I walked from the village. It was a fine night and it isn’t far. Why do you ask?”
“What about Saturday night?” Drew pressed.
“I stayed in. I walked the course four times that day and I was tired.”
“I suppose someone can vouch for that,” Drew said, watching his eyes.
“Maybe. Why?” Tyler asked. “What’s this about?”
“Do you know a man called Barnaby? A solicitor by trade.”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“He was murdered Saturday night. In his office. On the high street. Have you heard about it?”
Tyler pressed his lips together. “I’d heard there was a murder. Not much more than that.”
“You never met him? Never heard of him?”
“Why should I?”
“He was the Rainsbys’ solicitor. Took care of all of Lord Rainsby’s legal matters here in Scotland.” That only earned Drew another shrug. “Miss Rainsby never mentioned him?”
“Not that I can remember. Discussing solicitors was rather far down on the agenda whenever we met.”
“I can well imagine.” Drew was silent for a moment, considering how to proceed. “And what about the lady herself? Now that her father can no longer object, do you intend to marry her?”
For only an instant, there was an odd look on the caddie’s face, but it was immediately replaced with his usual slow, knowing grin. “Make an honest woman of her, eh?”
“It’s been known to be done.”
Tyler snorted. “I’m not much of the marrying kind. Not that I wasn’t tempted once she threw herself at me. Thorburn Hall wouldn’t half be a nice change from carrying bags all day.”
Drew pressed his lips together. The chap really was a first-class swine.
“But I can’t see myself being tied to anyone the rest of my life.” Tyler leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “There are too many girls I’ve yet to meet to be leg-shackled to just one.”
“Girls like Lisa Shearer?”
Tyler lifted one dark brow. “Who’s that?”
“You don’t know her?”
“Can’t say I do.”
Drew kept his expression blandly neutral. “My mistake, then. I’d heard she was seeing one of the caddies at Muirfield. Must be someone else.”
“Understandable.” Again Tyler looked smug. “I know a lot of girls.”
“I imagine you do, a man of the world such as yourself. I suppose you get about quite a bit. So, what’s your take on world events?”
Tyler looked baffled. “Not really my game.”
“Surely you have an opinion about what’s going on in Germany and Italy.”
The caddie snorted again. “What should I care? None of that puts a ha’penny
in my pocket or beer in my mug.”
“And if it did?”
Tyler’s jaw tightened. “What do you mean?”
“If you could turn a profit? Perhaps sell a bit of information here or there that might be of use to someone with such leanings?”
The caddie’s eyes flashed, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “Why, I’d sell, man. Anything for a few pence, eh? Britain? Germany? You know my type. I can see it in your face. Well, you have the right of it, as no doubt you always do. Jamie Tyler’s my country. The only one I’m loyal to, anyway.” He crossed his arms and slumped back into his chair, jaw set hard. Clearly he was done.
Drew pushed a pound note across the table to him. “Thank you for your time.”
Tyler didn’t move. “I’m dismissed? Sir?”
“Do as you please.”
Drew left the room, not knowing whether or not the caddie had taken the money.
Drew walked out of the clubhouse and, thanks to information provided to him very unofficially by Sergeant Shaw, made his way to the home of Miss Ethyl Grahame. She had a room at Mrs. Kensington’s just round the corner from Barnaby’s office. It was a stolid but respectable two-storied house with abundant red roses in the front. Soon he and Miss Grahame were seated in the small parlor. As was proper, the door was not quite pulled to.
The woman sat on the sofa peering at him through her spectacles with red-rimmed eyes. “I don’t know that I can tell you anything, sir. You were there.”
Somehow she looked older than she had the last time he saw her. Perhaps it was the dowdy cotton dress and shapeless cardigan she had on. Perhaps it was the bedroom slippers that must have been at least a decade old.
“What did you tell the police about that day?”
“There wasn’t much to tell. I’d just got into the office when I noticed that smell . . .”
She was tearing up, so he gave her an understanding smile. “I suppose you liked working for Mr. Barnaby.”
“Well enough,” she said, settling again. “I’d been employed by him for the past thirty-two years. Well, I say Mr. Barnaby. I started as private secretary for Mr. Ingram, who was head of the firm at the time. Then he went to keep bees in Sussex, and we always thought it was quite amusing, you know? Just like Sherlock Holmes.”
Death at Thorburn Hall Page 19
