Nine Ten Begin Again: A Grasshopper Lawns affair

by EJ Lamprey

  Hamish looked more unhappy than ever, but took a deep breath and nodded.

  ‘Could we possibly go to your room?’ He seemed to hear what he’d said, even as her eyes rounded in astonishment, and he went purple with horror. ‘I didn’t mean—I only meant I wanted to speak to you, and Donald of course if you prefer, in total privacy!’

  ‘Oh, Hamish, yes, no problem. We’ve got two rooms and have been using one as more of an office. Get your coffee, I’ll get another one too, and we’ll go on up.’

  He seemed to relax as they entered the room, and perched on the very end of the sofa under the window. Rather than risk embarrassing him any further by sitting next to him, she turned round the dressing table chair and sat on that.

  ‘Do you want to wait for Donald?’

  ‘Not really. To be honest, I was wondering if you could speak to your niece on my behalf. She’s mebbe more likely to listen to you than to me, she doesnae ken me at all.’

  ‘So you need the police?’

  ‘Yes—but you’ll understand when I tell you. I couldn’t just go into a local polis station.’ He took another deep breath. ‘You know my youngest son was killed. He was quite a wild lad, drugs and running with a bad crowd, so it wasn’t entirely a surprise but still a shock, of course. The polis came to see me, told me he’d been knifed and left in an alley. He was carrying identification but I had to formally identify the . . .his body. He looked,’ Hamish looked down and told his coffee, very quietly, ‘he looked peaceful. Younger. Less angry. The Trust said to take off as much time as I needed, to cope with the shock, and organize the funeral.’

  He went quiet and Edge waited. It was over a minute before he looked up again. ‘The next day I got a photograph of him dead in the alley, taken before the polis had found him. Nothing else. Only the print. Put through the door, not posted, plain envelope. It shook me quite badly. I couldn’t think how someone could think I would want it. I threw it away, then I got it out the bin but put it in a drawer, I couldn’t bear to look at it. The day after, I got another plain envelope through the door. A photo of my grandson at playschool.’

  ‘Oh, Hamish.’ Edge put down her coffee and leaned forward, horrified.

  ‘Yes. Well. I phoned Stuart, of course, immediately. The boy was fine, already home. I went around to the house, and we talked about it for hours, what it could mean. Sean, too, my other son, we phoned him and he joined us. Whether I should tell the polis, but what could I say, that someone was threatening me? There hadn’t actually been a threat. Finally Sean came home with me. He has a telephone that can record conversations, and we’d agreed wee Hamish would be kept home from playschool. We’d wait to see if anything else came in. Sean set up his phone, left—and had a crash on the way home. His brakes failed. He was fine, just very shaken, got the AA to look at the car there and then, to look for sabotage, before he phoned his insurers to collect the car. They said the brake fluid had drained away, the seal was loose, but it could have been an accident. There was no obvious sabotage, nothing like that. Then I finally got a phone call. I recorded it but it wasn’t threatening, not at all. Very friendly man, saying he’d phoned to see if he could help. Of course I thought one of the lads must have got him to phone, he was so normal, and quite shocked about Sean’s accident and the photographs. He asked what I was going to do next. I said I was feeling very shaken and he suggested taking a bit of time off, if the Trust would let me. I said they’d already offered me time. He said it could all be coincidence but I should probably go to the polis. He said I should first warn the family to be careful, not open the door to strangers, check the brakes before they drove anywhere, keep wee Hamish home from school, be very careful for a while. Good advice.’

  He stopped as the door opened and Odette whisked in, nose-bumped Edge and eyed Hamish with caution.

  ‘God, freezing out there. Are you still working—Hamish! This is a surprise. I thought you had a long drive ahead of you?’ Donald shrugged off his heavy greatcoat to throw it onto the bed, and laid the back of his cold hand against Edge’s cheek. ‘Feel that. Sunny Devon. I don’t suppose you got coffee for me? I’ll phone room service, either of you want anything while I do?’

  ‘I’ll get you coffee.’ Hamish stood up eagerly. ‘Edge can bring you up to date. I’ll be back in a minute.’ He hurried from the room and Edge told Donald what he’d said already. Hamish was as good as his word; she’d barely finished when he returned with an anxious glance into Donald’s frowning face as he joined him on the sofa.

  ‘I’d have gone to the polis anyway,’ Donald said abruptly. ‘There’s no innocent way you could have got that first photo, but I can see that you would have been bewildered, not threatened, when it arrived. Then knocked completely off balance by the second. Not sure why you still didn’t go, even when the caller suggested it. Who was he, anyway?’

  ‘That was why I didn’t. I hadn’t caught his name as I’d been fumbling to switch on the recording function, and I couldn’t afterwards remember if he had even given it. I phoned the boys, and they both said they hadn’t spoken to anyone else, so how did this man know if he wasn’t behind it? Which then made all his warnings into threats. Ken, don’t open the door, keep the bairn home. Like he was toying with us. You probably think that sounds paranoid.’

  ‘No.’ Donald shook his head. ‘You’d be completely off-kilter. So what happened next?’

  ‘Then I did get paranoid. I got a phone call from Jemima Bateman. Introduced herself, very nice, very solicitous. She’d been told I was thinking of taking a sabbatical but that I was concerned about leaving the Trust in the lurch. She said if she could help at all, she would be very willing and I could tell the Trust that Patrick Fitzpatrick could vouch for her, if I wanted to suggest her.’

  He avoided looking at Edge, who had stiffened.

  ‘Patrick’s been the Trust accountant for a long time, I’ve known him for years. But I hadn’t even thought of a sabbatical, ken, let alone discussed it with anyone. I’d been thinking of coming to you, Edge, even then, to talk to your niece, but that slammed the door on that immediately. I knew you and Patrick were old friends. I couldn’t come to you to say Patrick had suggested a replacement bursar so I could go away and that it all stank to high heaven.’

  ‘Because you knew I’d want to phone him.’ Edge nodded. ‘Did you phone him?’

  Hamish sighed. ‘I did. Of course. I asked him if he knew a Jemima Bateman and he said yes, he did. I said I’d been wondering if she would be suitable as a bursar, if I asked for a sabbatical, and he said she probably would, if she was available. A politician doing a bursar job, come on, how likely was that? And he didn’t ask why I was thinking of a sabbatical. I thought that would have been a natural question.’

  ‘Patrick is very tactful. He’d have heard about your son. But yes, I can see how that could also look suspicious. Do you want me to phone him?’

  ‘No!’ Hamish looked horrified. ‘When the family are safe, not before. Now that there are two deaths, I thought your niece could organize protective custody. That’s why I came here, to ask you.’

  ‘So you did know she was dead. I thought you were very unconvincing when I told you.’

  He looked sheepish. ‘I’m sorry. I haven’t trusted anyone since—well, since this all started. The Patrick connection, it was a shock seeing you here. I hid and watched you leaving the shop, realized you were, er, together. A couple. I followed your car here in a taxi so I knew where you were staying. I’d just reached home again when I got a phone call from Stuart, my oldest boy, to tell me about Jemima. The threat is real, and that means the threat to my grandson is real. I came straight back here determined to tell you everything and get you on my side. And to make sure whoever the next bursar is, they’re protected.’

  ‘I’ll phone her right now. Donald, do you think we should drive back early, straight after we finish tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Much better to ask Patrick face to face when you can see his reaction, but only once Ham
ish’s family is safe, and the sooner we can do that, the better. Hamish, what are you going to do? Stay in hiding?’

  ‘Well—if you’re going back, and if Kirsty believes the story, could I come back with you?’

  Donald hesitated, then nodded. ‘You’ll have to share the back seat with Odette, but she sleeps most of the way.’

  He added to Edge, when Hamish had thanked them again and left, ‘I thought we had a few more days, now we don’t even have the drive back on our own. Oh well.’

  ‘You were the one who wanted a steady supply of murders. Can’t get everything you want in life.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll call Kirsty now. What did you want to do about something to eat?’

  ‘We bought that champagne this afternoon for the weekend, and those cheese biscuit things. Room service? We’re going to be busy solving mysteries when we get home. Could be weeks before we get round to each other again. Not that I mind, but you get a little tetchy without plenty of attention.’

  ‘Weeks? Really? I hadn’t realized. Well, then, I suppose we really should.’ She nodded demurely. ‘Spend the evening in, I mean. No need to worry about attention, though, not on my behalf. We should get an early night, catch up on our sleep. Long drive tomorrow.’

  He grinned appreciatively. ‘That’s probably best. And I should probably sleep in here, for that matter. Anyway, phone Kirsty, give her my best.’ He paused in the doorway, then turned back. ‘You were kidding, right?’

  ‘Kirsty? Is this a good time, can you talk?’ Edge shooed him away, smiling, and turned away to talk to her niece.

  Chapter 9 - Friday December 9th

  Return

  ‘Really? This one?’

  Donald kept his voice down, as Hamish was sleeping in the back seat, and wryly glanced across at Edge who was dreamily smiling as she listened to the radio.

  ‘“Bewitched, bothered and bewildered”? How could it not be one? Don’t laugh at me, I never went through this in my teens, where every song seems it was written only for me. Anyway, you’re the one who keeps retuning the radio to the local oldies waveband. And glancing over whenever you hear one you think applies.’

  ‘You put out a wave of pheromones,’ he explained patiently. ‘It’s like being poked on the arm. And you weren’t even born when this was a hit, you’re an impossible romantic. I never made a mixer tape in my teens, I shall make one for you. Edge’s Soppy Songs.’

  ‘That would be lovely, see how many you get right. Although, as I no longer have a tape player, maybe something a tiny bit more up to date would be good too. Switch to Classic FM, if you like, or Radio Two. Do you want me to drive for a while?’

  ‘I’ve driven the M6 so often I could do it in my sleep. Unless you want a turn, are you bored?’

  ‘You’re much more patient than I am in heavy traffic. We must have been mad, doing this on a Friday afternoon. Thank God for the toll road but we’ll still be lucky to get back by ten. I’ll phone Vivian again when we pass Manchester—we’ll have a better idea by then when we’re arriving—but it looks like we’ll have to catch up tomorrow.’ She glanced into the back seat at Hamish, still asleep, and dropped her voice. ‘Kirsty’s not yet confirmed how they’re going to handle the protection, but Iain’s taken it on so it’ll be done. I’m a bit shattered by the Patrick connection, Donald.’

  ‘It isn’t necessarily a connection. I mean, he may not be behind her phoning, I’d be surprised if he was. All she said was that he would confirm her ability to do the role, and he did.’

  ‘But at the lunch, when he came through he said she’d been appointed before he became a Trustee. Which is true enough, but he didn’t say anything about supporting her appointment.’

  ‘Devil’s advocate here: if he’d come through to investigate a sheaf of complaints, he wasn’t really about to say an extremely unpopular woman was there because of him. Whether he had engineered it, or whether he had innocently agreed she was capable.’

  ‘No, you’re right. As soon as we know Hamish’s family are safe I’ll phone and ask him to come over for tea or something. I can’t really go to his place, it would look odd. I never did in the past.’

  ‘If you invite him over, won’t he think it’s because you want to see him?’

  ‘I do want to see him.’ She gave him a puzzled glance and he shook his head slightly impatiently.

  ‘You’ve been dating the man a few times a month for what, five years? More?’

  ‘It’s not really dating, Donald. He dates several women who are determined to marry him, and he knows with me he can relax. We flirt a little, laugh at each other’s jokes. And he knows about you.’

  ‘Knows what?’

  Edge glanced again into the back, but Hamish was still sleeping, his mouth slightly open.

  ‘Knows I am hopelessly besotted. He wished us good luck. He also said he thought I’d need it.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘No, it’s probably almost exactly what I would have said if he’d told me he’d settled for one of his harem. Which I think he will do, fairly soon. He’s a nice man—well, I thought he was a nice man. That’s why I’m shocked.’

  ‘He’s obviously not the caller, Hamish would have recognized his voice. Do you think it was Thomas or Simon?’

  ‘It’s likely. Oh, I thought of a way we could separate Thomas and Simon. Couldn’t we ask Seb’s Hugh? If he says Simon is in the office, when we know Thomas is at the Lawns, that would do it.’

  Donald drove for a while in thoughtful silence. ‘Hugh might be able to look into what Simon’s doing, as well. Find out if there’s any link to the Lawns at all. Mind you, I don’t know if banking honour allows it.’

  ‘He dislikes Simon very much indeed. He might stretch a point. Worth asking.’ She reached across and turned up the radio slightly as “I need a hero” played, smiling mischievously at Donald. ‘You have to allow me this one. You’ve been my hero in the past. My life saver. Literally.’

  ‘Hush, you’ll wake Hamish. I find it a bit odd to be a soundtrack.’

  ‘You never know, you may hear one that reminds you of me one of these days.’

  He grinned. ‘You bowled me over in your Grease outfit; it has its own song and the words are entirely appropriate. I’ll serenade you one day if you get me drunk. Even teach you the dances, I toured with the show long enough.’ He paused. ‘It didn’t worry you at all, Patrick wishing you luck?’

  ‘Everything in life needs good luck. I think we’re pretty lucky already. I thought the trickiest part would be spending time together but this whole trip, I’ve never once found myself giving you odd looks and wondering why you were there, or why I was. I didn’t expect you to last the whole two weeks, it must be said, although I’m glad you did. You must have a ton of things to do when you get back.’

  ‘Yes, I do, but I was enjoying myself. I kept thinking I’d stay just one more day. But then I’m very placid, you’re the neurotic one.’

  She huffed with laughter at his complacent expression, and reached into her handbag as her mobile phone rang. ‘Oh, good, it’s Kirsty. Hello, darling, should I put you on speaker phone?’

  Donald reached over to turn down the radio volume.

  ‘Rather not. I’ll tell you first and I can repeat it if you want to go on speaker afterwards. Is Hamish with you? Okay, going through the questions you raised. Hamish’s son Stuart gave us the photographs and recording. Three sets of prints on both photographs, but they belong to Hamish and his sons, which is about what we’d expect. The photographs have gone to the techies for proper checking, but we obviously hoped for a quick lead. We listened to the recording, asked Thomas Morrison to come in, and the voices match. However, he agreed immediately that he had phoned Hamish—he’d heard from Joey what was going on and was genuinely trying to be helpful. Joey is his uncle. We tried to phone Simon Henderson at the bank, to try for a voice match, but he’s on sick leave for work-related stress, working from home. The director he reports to refused to give us his address or c
ontact details unless he’s being charged with something, which of course he isn’t. They wouldn’t even give us a photograph of him, so the only one we have is his LinkedIn one. It could be Thomas, but it’s not a given: the man in the photo is younger and thinner, wears heavy glasses. Patrick handed over the Trust accounts earlier in the year to his partner, but they both went to the Lawns this morning to do a thorough audit, in view of Jemima’s death. He says everything is in good order, nothing looks odd and not a penny is missing from any of the accounts. I met them there and he seemed exactly as he always was. Friendly and normal. He asked after you and said to say hello. There was no way I could ask about his talk with Hamish without letting on that Hamish had been in touch, and you’d asked me not to say anything about that. So far the only things that look ominous are the photographs and Jemima’s role, and we’re no further forward on that. That’s why I didn’t want to go on speaker phone. I’m not saying Hamish got the wind up about nothing, but we’ve got nothing to act on unless the techies can give us something on the photies. Iain’s under pressure now to justify putting full-time security on the family, so the younger brother and his wife have moved into Stuart’s. We’re getting an alarm and CCTV fitted now, and a patrol car will do regular checks. If you could drop Hamish off there, they’ll all be safely in one place. I’m sorry, that’s the best we can do under the circumstances.’

  ‘No, I understand. Did you speak to Joey yourself? I mean Thomas has always said he’s was Joey’s nephew, he’s not going to change that story.’

  ‘And Joey told Katryn he was. So no, I didn’t speak to him. To be honest, I didn’t think Thomas was that bad. Unappealing, but not villainous. He certainly didn’t call me or Katryn Doll, but Vivian was in Frail Care to see Matron about her cough, she came across to see how we were getting on with the audit and he was there in the office, doing some work for Katryn. He did give her a rather foul smile but he could genuinely fancy attractive older women. Or think that they want a man to be heavily flirtatious. He probably thinks he’s being charming.’