Letters from the Dead (Jefferson Tayte Genealogical Mystery Book 7)

by Steve Robinson

  Blair scraped his chair legs back over the flagstones and left the room. Sinclair went to fetch the candles. When he returned, he set them out at intervals along the dining table, lighting each one as he went. Then he lit a few more around the room, gradually filling it with a warm, flickering glow. He sat down again and a few more minutes passed before Blair rejoined them, bringing the smell of stale cigarettes back with him.

  ‘Isn’t this cosy?’ he said. ‘Can we carry on now? I don’t want to be here all night either.’ To DI Ross he added, ‘Before we were interrupted, Damian asked you where all this leaves your murder investigation. I’m sure we’d all like to hear your answer.’

  Ross sighed. ‘It’s a very good question, and one to which I’m afraid I currently have no solid answer.’

  ‘You must have a hunch, surely,’ Niall said. ‘Detectives always have a hunch about things, don’t they?’

  ‘Aye, I have a hunch,’ Ross said, ‘but I doubt you’ll like it. In trying to establish a motive for Gordon Drummond’s murder and, I’ll now concede, perhaps that of Jamie Sinclair, I find myself turning to each of you here and wondering whether you weren’t satisfied with your part-share in the ruby. I’m wondering whether someone took it upon themselves to go to Jamie, and in turn to Dr Drummond, meaning to take the ruby they were supposed to have come back from India with.’

  Macrae laughed derisively at the suggestion. ‘You told us just now Jamie never went to India, in which case he couldn’t have brought that ruby back, could he?’

  ‘No,’ Ross said. ‘But then, none of you knew that Jamie never went to India until a moment ago, did you?’

  Tayte, who had been no more than an observer until now, had something to add to Ross’s line of thinking. ‘Surely someone must have gone to see Jamie before he died,’ he said, and all eyes turned to him. ‘Clearly someone else now has those letters he showed you.’

  ‘How can you know that?’ Blair asked.

  ‘I know it because someone left one of those letters here at Drumarthen yesterday evening.’ Tayte thought about the note he’d found on his windowsill that morning. ‘And I know it because I’ve received a note urging me to find the Blood of Rajputana. Maybe Jamie didn’t have those letters when whoever’s behind this went to see him. Maybe Dr Drummond did. Perhaps that’s why they’re both dead.’

  ‘Because of the letters?’ Niall Fraser said.

  Ross nodded. ‘Why not? Someone finds out where Jamie is. They go to see him and learn that he never went to India. Perhaps they went after the ruby and they’re disappointed to learn that he didn’t have it. Then they turn to the letters—letters Jamie has already said hold a clue to the ruby’s whereabouts. They go to take the letters, hoping to use them to find the ruby for themselves. But perhaps this person discovers that Jamie no longer has them. They learn that he gave the letters to Dr Drummond. So Jamie is murdered, making his death look like an accident to buy his killer time. Then he or she waits for the dust to settle before paying Gordon a visit. The killer takes the letters from him, but this time he’s in a hurry. Damian and Mr Tayte are on their way to see him, so the killer is forced to act, leaving no question this time that it’s murder.’

  ‘Only, his killer can’t work out where the ruby is from the letters alone,’ Tayte interjected, so caught up in Ross’s supposition that he was unable to stop himself.

  Ross nodded. ‘So he or she turns to Mr Tayte here, the professional, asking him to find the ruby, leaving him another of Jane Hardwick’s letters in the belief that the story they tell will help him to do just that.’

  ‘That’s a fancy supposition,’ Blair said. ‘Maybe it fits the scenario well enough, but how do you suppose whoever’s doing this plans to get the ruby once this fella here’s found it? That’s assuming he’s able to, of course.’

  ‘Right now, Ewan, I have no idea. I don’t even know if I’m barking up the right tree, but for now it’s all I have.’

  ‘And you think one of us is doing this?’ Macrae said.

  Ross’s eyes roamed around the table. ‘Have any of you spoken about this to anyone else?’

  Heads started shaking. Then one by one they all said, ‘No.’

  ‘Then tell me,’ Ross said. ‘What else am I supposed to think just now?’

  The room fell silent. In the background, the thunder continued to rumble, growing distant again. It was Damian Sinclair who eventually broke the silence.

  ‘You’re overlooking another possibility,’ he said. ‘On the phone earlier today, when I told you about that letter showing up at Drumarthen last night, and the note Mr Tayte found when he woke up this morning, I also told you there are people who have supposedly been looking for the Blood of Rajputana since it went missing two centuries ago.’

  ‘Aye, supposedly,’ Ross said, emphasising the word. ‘Frankly, these Rajputs you told me about sound like a load of mumbo jumbo to me.’

  ‘Maybe they are,’ Sinclair said. ‘But then again, maybe they’re not. Is it something you can afford to overlook?’

  Ross further loosened his tie. He sat back in his chair, giving no answer, his silence a concession to the fact that Sinclair could be right. As Tayte saw it, Ross couldn’t know enough to rule anything or anyone out just yet.

  ‘Murray’s been gone a while,’ Macrae said a moment later. ‘Is it far to the generator?’

  ‘No,’ Sinclair said. ‘But it’s a temperamental beast. I expect it’s giving him some bother. I’m sure he’ll have it up and running soon enough. He always does.’

  Macrae stood up. ‘Where is it? I’ll go and see if he needs a hand.’

  ‘It’s at the far side of the east wing, but you’d better go around the house if you’re going. The east wing is far too dangerous unless, like Murray, you know exactly where to tread. Once you’re outside, turn left and follow the walls around the building until you come to a steel hatch. The generator room’s in the basement below. Give the hatch a good thump to let Murray know you’re there. He’ll let you in.’

  ‘I’ll be needing my coat then,’ Macrae said as he activated the torch on his phone and shone it out into the darkness beyond the dining room door to see where Murray had put it. He closed the door behind him as he left.

  As soon as he’d gone, Ross sat forward on his elbows and pushed back his thinning hair. ‘Look, I don’t know who’s doing this, and I’m not accusing anyone here of anything just now. If I was, we’d be at the station and you’d all be telling me exactly where you were when Gordon was murdered.’

  ‘Did your forensics team find anything useful at his house?’ Sinclair asked. ‘Any prints on the handle of that knife I saw?’

  ‘The knife was clean, but there were plenty of prints and fibres elsewhere. Something may prove useful, although I believe the doctor not only made house calls, but had frequent callers visit him at home. That will undoubtedly complicate things.’

  Tayte spoke then. ‘Was Dr Drummond’s research still there?’

  ‘Aye, it was,’ Ross said. ‘So I think it can safely be ruled out as a motive for his murder.’

  ‘Was it intact? I mean, did it appear to have been interfered with?’

  ‘That’s hard to say. There were no obvious signs that anyone had taken an interest in it.’

  ‘Would it be possible to see it? While it may help my own research, having me go over it could also prove useful to your investigation.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Well, if something’s missing it might stand out to someone in my profession. Mr Sinclair previously told me that the doctor’s research had been as thorough as his own. As an example, if there’s now a hole in his research files, whatever’s missing could incriminate someone for one reason or another.’

  ‘I like your thinking, Mr Tayte. I’ll see what I can do. Just how is your research going, by the way?’

  Tayte glanced at Sinclair, wondering whether his client was comfortable with him talking about the assignment in front of the other family members. He knew
they all had an active interest in the Blood of Rajputana. Now that Jane Hardwick’s letters had come to light with the promise of a clue to its whereabouts, he figured they would be all the more keen to hear about the missing link he’d discovered in Sinclair’s family history. Sinclair was quick, yet subtle with his response. Tayte noted the almost imperceptible shake of his head.

  ‘I understand your reticence to talk about it here,’ Ross said. ‘But tell me, do you actually believe you have a chance of finding this ruby? Whoever’s behind this clearly thinks you can.’

  ‘I don’t even know if it’s real.’

  ‘What about the letters?’ Mairi Fraser said. ‘Gordon confirmed they spoke of it.’

  ‘It’s not yet certain what part Dr Drummond played in all this,’ Tayte replied. ‘Who’s to say he wasn’t in on Jamie’s scam?’

  Almost everyone shook their head at the suggestion.

  ‘Gordon Drummond was a good man,’ Niall Fraser said. ‘He wouldn’t lie to us.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Tayte said. ‘But no one here has actually read about the ruby for themselves, have they?’

  Everyone shook their head again.

  ‘I’m just saying,’ Tayte added. ‘Like you, I’ve yet to see any proof that this thing’s real. I have a few lines of research I’d like to follow up on—a few names I’d like to look into further—but that’s about it for now.’

  At that point, the lights came back on.

  ‘Ah, that’s better!’ Sinclair said. He got up and blew out the candles. ‘Maybe Callum’s not such a bad mechanic after all,’ he added, directing his comment to Niall, who said nothing in return.

  Ross stood up. ‘I think I’ve heard all I need to hear for now.’ He turned to Tayte. ‘I’ll get you those files to take a look at. If you do come across anything in there, or if your own research reveals anything you think might be useful to the investigation, I’d be more than glad to hear it.’ Turning to the others in the room, he added, ‘And if Mr Tayte here has any reason to speak to you about the family while he’s here—your family history, I mean—I’d be grateful if you’d show him some Scottish hospitality and cooperate with him. If the good doctor’s murder is tied up in all this, you could be doing both of us a great service.’

  The dining room door opened then and Murray came back into the room, wiping his hands on his handkerchief. He was alone.

  ‘What happened to Callum?’ Ross asked.

  ‘I’ve not seen him, sir,’ Murray said.

  ‘He went out to help you,’ Sinclair said. ‘I sent him around the house.’

  Murray began to shake his head, just as Callum Macrae appeared in the doorway behind him, his hair and his coat once again dripping wet.

  ‘I couldn’t find the bloody hatch,’ he said. ‘I saw the lights come on again so I came back.’

  DI Ross went to the door. ‘Well, we’re all done here,’ he said. ‘Thanks for the use of your home, Damian.’

  He was about to leave when Macrae said, ‘Any chance of a lift? I’ll have to sort my car out in the morning. If it’s nae problem, that is.’

  ‘Of course it’s nae problem,’ Ross said, holding the door open. ‘After you.’

  Sinclair remained in the dining room with Tayte as his guests left, not caring to see them out personally. He left that to Murray. With the last of his visitors gone, Sinclair heaved a sigh as he turned to Tayte and said, ‘Thank goodness that’s over with. I don’t care if they never step foot inside this house again. Now, how about finishing off that bottle we were enjoying before Ewan Blair’s early arrival interrupted us? I know I could use a drink.’

  ‘I don’t know about finishing the bottle,’ Tayte said, ‘but sure, I’d be glad to join you.’ He was keen to discuss the evening further, although he sensed Sinclair would sooner forget all about it.

  Murray came back into the room, and Sinclair said, ‘I don’t suppose I can tempt you into joining us for a wee drop of the good stuff, Murray? You’ve certainly earned it tonight.’

  Murray shook his head. ‘It’s kind of you to offer, but the Frasers’ old MG roadster won’t start and I’ve offered to see if I can get her running again. I’ll close the place up after that and get to my bed. I’ve an early start in the morning. The storm’s bound to have caused some damage somewhere on the estate.’

  ‘Very well, Murray. I’ll wish you a good night then.’

  As Murray left them again, Tayte followed Sinclair back into the drawing room and sat down while Sinclair fetched the bottle of whisky and poured them each two fingers. The fire had gone out, leaving a pleasant, homely smell of woodsmoke in the air. It was still warm enough to be comfortable for the short while Tayte expected to be there.

  ‘What’s with Chrissie MacIntyre?’ he said. ‘She never spoke a word all night.’

  Sinclair settled back and sipped his whisky. ‘I wish I knew. She used to be a lively enough lassie when she was younger, although I suspect that was before her boy died. Maybe that’s it.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  Sinclair drew a thoughtful breath. ‘I suppose that would have been about thirty years ago now. Young Conall MacIntyre was fifteen years old when he died. He and Jamie were the best of friends at the time. It shook us all, especially Jamie, but none more so than his mother of course. The wee laddie’s father had already abandoned them. Conall was all she had.’

  ‘It must have been devastating,’ Tayte said, thinking about his own son and wondering at all the worry and heartache he and Jean undoubtedly had in store. ‘Do you mind my asking how Conall died?’ Tayte expected Sinclair to say that his death was due to an illness, or an accident. He wasn’t prepared for the answer Sinclair gave him.

  ‘He killed himself,’ Sinclair said in a cool, very matter-of-fact way. ‘Chrissie came home from the supermarket where she worked one afternoon and found the poor boy hanging at the bottom of the stairs. He’d found some old rope and tied it to the top of the bannisters on the upstairs landing. Then over he jumped.’

  Tayte took a good slug of his whisky. ‘That’s shocking,’ he said, beginning to understand why Chrissie MacIntyre was the way she was.

  ‘On to lighter subjects,’ Sinclair said a moment later. ‘Where do you plan to take your research next, now that you’ve found the missing link, as it were?’

  ‘I’ve been giving that a lot of thought,’ Tayte said. ‘If the plan is to prove the existence of the Blood of Rajputana, and hopefully go on to find it so the doctor’s killer, and perhaps Jamie’s, can be flushed out, then my interest for now is with those people who appear to have been close to it in the past.’

  ‘The Christies?’

  ‘Yes, and this Captain Donnan Fraser I read about in Jane Hardwick’s letter last night. He’s been on my mind, and since Murray announced Niall Fraser when he and his wife arrived this evening, I’ve been thinking it would be good to go and talk to him. Are there any other Frasers in the family?’

  ‘They have a son, but he moved away some time ago. Niall’s the only family member I know of who carries the male bloodline from his four-times-great-grandfather, Lachlan Fraser. I suppose you’ll be wanting to find out whether Donnan Fraser was related to him?’

  ‘Yes, I would. I should be able to find that out easily enough from the records, but family members can often tell you so much more. I’d like to speak with Moira Macrae, too, if that’s possible.’

  ‘Ah, Moira! You’ll love her,’ Sinclair said, and Tayte noted the sarcasm in his tone. ‘Why in God’s name would you want to speak with her?’

  ‘Her age for one. She’s a generation back from everyone else. She may know things about the Fraser family others don’t.’

  ‘She may know a few things,’ Sinclair said, laughing to himself, ‘but she may not choose to talk to you about them, however much DI Ross wants everyone to cooperate with you.’

  ‘It can’t hurt to ask.’

  ‘It can hurt a lot, believe me. If there were a branch of the mafia here
in Comrie, people would be referring to Moira Macrae respectfully as Don Moira. She’s a crabby old boot best left to the likes of DI Ross, if you ask me. I’m glad she didn’t come this evening.’

  ‘All the same, she could have something to say.’

  Sinclair frowned. Then he sighed to himself. ‘Very well. We’ll drop by her house in the morning. Just don’t go getting your hopes up. I doubt she’ll even answer the door when she sees I’m there.’

  Murray came back then.

  ‘Changed your mind, have you?’ Sinclair said.

  ‘I’m not here for the drink,’ Murray said as he approached.

  ‘Did you manage to get the Frasers’ car running again?’

  ‘Aye, I did. The coil-to-distributor lead had come loose, but that’s not why I’m here, either.’ He held something up. ‘I found this in the entrance hallway just now as I went to switch off the table lamp.’

  Tayte twisted around in his seat to better see what it was. It was an envelope.

  ‘It has your name on it, Mr Tayte,’ Murray said as he handed it to him.

  Tayte put his glass down and sat up. Sure enough, the envelope had the word ‘Tayte’ written on the front of it. Nothing more than that.

  ‘What’s inside?’ Sinclair asked, sounding as eager as Tayte was to find out.

  The envelope hadn’t been sealed. Tayte opened it and saw a familiar style of paper—old paper. It was another of Jane Hardwick’s letters. Unfolding it, he saw that it was dated October 1822, a month after the previous letter he’d read. He handed the envelope to Sinclair.

  ‘Do you recognise the handwriting?’

  Sinclair studied it. He shook his head.

  Tayte began to wonder who had put it there, concluding that it could have been left by anyone who had visited Drumarthen that evening. Everyone had passed through the entrance hallway. Everyone had the opportunity to slip an envelope on to the side table in question.

  To Murray, Tayte said, ‘Is there any chance this was on that lamp table before the guests started to arrive?’

  ‘None, sir. I switched the lamp on myself just before you came down. It wasn’t there then or I’d have seen it, plain as I did just now.’