‘Sir Robert John Christie,’ Tayte read. ‘1804 to 1873.’
It didn’t escape Tayte that the year Robert Christie died was just three years after he’d arrived in India. Given the time he must have spent there, certainly if his intention was to travel north from Bombay to Jaipur in search of the Blood of Rajputana, and the time it would have taken to travel back to Scotland, it was clear that he had died soon after his return. Christie had been in his mid-sixties when he made the journey, and it crossed Tayte’s mind that he might have contracted a disease of some kind while in India, which had proved fatal. The records would confirm it, but the cause of death in this case, unlike that of Cornelius Dredger, seemed unimportant. What was important was that if Christie’s trip to India had been a success—if he had managed to find the Blood of Rajputana—he’d had very little time to enjoy it.
‘Mr Tayte!’
The sudden, echoing call made Tayte jump. He spun around, back towards the tunnel he’d arrived by, listening. He wasn’t sure who was calling him, and the footprints in the dust told him to be wary. Then the call came again.
‘Mr Tayte! Are you down there?’
It was Sinclair.
‘In here!’ Tayte called back, supposing he or Murray must have heard the noise he’d made as he fell through the floorboards.
Tayte met Sinclair at the top of the steps. ‘How did you get down here?’
‘Murray helped me. He said he heard something so we came to see what it was. I thought maybe we’d found our intruder. What in the world have you been doing?’
‘I was trying to find out where my visitor went after he left that letter under my door last night.’ Tayte looked down at his suit and brushed some more of the dust from it. ‘I had a bit of an accident.’
‘So I can see. Are you okay?’
Tayte nodded. ‘I expect I’ll have a few bumps and bruises, but I’m fine.’ In the distance he could hear thumping and grating sounds. ‘What’s that noise?’
‘It’s Murray. We saw those stone steps leading to the room above. He’s taking a crowbar to the floorboards so we can get back up again.’
‘But not just yet,’ Tayte said as he stepped aside, revealing the chamber behind him for the first time since Sinclair had arrived. ‘Look what I found. Did you know about this?’
Sinclair’s eyes grew wider as both men shone the torches from their mobile phones into the room.
‘It’s a tomb,’ Sinclair said, as if unable to believe it. ‘No, I had no idea this was down here.’
‘I figured as much, or you wouldn’t have needed me to tell you who Robert was.’
‘So this is Sir Robert Christie’s tomb?’
‘It sure is, and it makes perfect sense. This was once Robert Christie’s house, which he left to his illegitimate son, Angus Fraser, your three-times-great-grandfather.’
‘Aye, of course, and given the family rumour that Angus wanted nothing to do with his biological father, it also makes sense that Angus would wish to conceal the man’s tomb when he took possession of the house.’
Tayte followed Sinclair back down the steps, wondering exactly why that was. He sensed there was a terrible secret buried in India in connection with the Blood of Rajputana, and he fully intended to find out what that secret was.
‘Someone else knows about this,’ he said. ‘My footprints weren’t the first, and the inscription’s been wiped clean.’
‘So it has,’ Sinclair said as he studied it. ‘I wonder who was here.’
‘So do I. There are plenty of other holes in that floor I fell through. Maybe Murray knows something about it.’
Sinclair shook his head. ‘If Murray had found this he’d have told me.’
Tayte couldn’t imagine who else knew about this place, but it had to be someone with access to the house. He reminded himself then that someone had been gaining access to Drumarthen to deliver Jane Hardwick’s letters to him. Whoever that was might also have discovered Sir Robert Christie’s tomb. Unless, of course, that person was Sinclair or Murray. He wondered whether Sinclair was lying to him. It wouldn’t be the first time a client or someone he’d been working on an assignment with had done that, and Sinclair hadn’t been totally honest with him about his reasons for hiring him.
The sound of footsteps behind Tayte drew his attention, and both he and Sinclair turned away from the sarcophagus to see bright torchlight flickering in the tunnel. A few seconds later, Murray appeared at the opening with a look of wonder on his face.
‘I’ve cleared the way back up,’ he said slowly as he gazed around at the chamber. ‘What is this place?’ he asked, directing his question at no one in particular.
When Sinclair reached the top of the steps, he put an arm around Murray’s shoulders and led him back the way they had come. ‘I’ll tell you all about it over a cup of tea,’ he said as they all headed back. ‘All this dust has parched my throat.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Standing at the window in his room, Tayte fastened the buttons on a fresh white shirt as he watched DI Ross’s car arrive. It was late morning. The rain was now so heavy that it bounced off the car’s roof like hailstones as it crossed the bridge and pulled up close to the front door. Ross climbed out and hurried around to the passenger side, where he flung the door open and took out a large, heavy-looking cardboard box.
Tayte tucked his shirt in, eager to find out why Ross was calling at Drumarthen this time. He ran his fingers through his dark tangle of hair, which was still damp from the shower he’d just taken, threw on another of his tan linen jackets, and went down to find out. As he arrived at the top of the staircase, Murray was already at the front door, letting the detective inspector in. Tayte watched Murray take the cardboard box from him before leading him away in the direction of the dining room.
‘This way, sir,’ Murray said to Ross as they went.
Tayte followed after them, entering the dining room to find Sinclair already seated at the table with a pot of tea in front of him.
‘Inspector Ross,’ Sinclair said, standing up as everyone arrived. ‘It seems we can’t keep you from us. I hope you have better news today.’
Ross frowned. ‘I wish I had. Is there any tea left in that pot?’
‘Not much,’ Sinclair said. Then, turning to Murray, he added, ‘Would you bring us a fresh brew, Murray, and a coffee, please, for Mr Tayte?’
‘Thanks, Murray,’ Tayte said as he watched the man retreat towards the drawing room doorway, still carrying the box Ross had brought with him.
Ross pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘I’ve brought Gordon Drummond’s files for you to take a look at, Mr Tayte. I’m sorry it’s taken so long to clear it. I can only let you have them for twenty-four hours.’
‘That should be fine,’ Tayte said as he sat down. ‘I can’t wait to take a look. Maybe I’ll find something in there.’
‘I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed that you do. I could use all the help I can get where this case is concerned.’
Sinclair drained what was left of his tea. ‘I’ll have Murray take them up to your room, Mr Tayte.’ To Ross he said, ‘Now, tell me, inspector, are Gordon’s family history records the only reason you’re here?’
‘No, I’m afraid I bear more grave news. We received a call from a concerned neighbour in the early hours of this morning saying they’d heard what sounded like a shotgun going off in the house next to theirs. No less than four such reports from the area came in soon after that. The house in question belongs to Ewan Blair. He’s been shot dead. No one saw a damn thing.’
At hearing the news, Sinclair almost dropped his teacup as he practically fell into his chair. He began to shake his head as the news sank in. ‘What in heaven’s name is going on here?’
‘I wish I knew,’ Ross said. ‘Chrissie MacIntyre’s still missing.’
‘That could be a good thing,’ Sinclair said, hope in his voice. ‘I mean, if your helicopter with its thermal imaging equipment didn’t find her, surely there�
�s a chance she’s still alive?’
‘Aye, there’s a chance,’ Ross said, but his words lacked conviction. ‘If Chrissie was abducted, though, she could have been taken just about anywhere. A helicopter needs to know broadly where to look.’
‘What about Callum Macrae?’ Tayte asked.
Ross shook his head. ‘The lord knows why he’s not coming forward. For obvious reasons I’m all the more keen to speak with him. You know, I was beginning to wonder whether Ewan Blair was behind all this when he refused police protection yesterday. It seemed like a daft thing to do under the circumstances. When he said he was leaving the area, going somewhere safe, that just aroused my suspicions further. As it turns out, I couldn’t have been more wrong.’
‘When Mr Blair came to see me yesterday,’ Tayte said, ‘he told me the same thing—that he wasn’t sticking around to find out who was next.’
‘Do you know if anyone else was aware that Blair was planning to leave Comrie?’ Ross asked. ‘The timing of his murder tells me his killer probably knew.’
‘I wasn’t here when he called at the house,’ Sinclair said. ‘I was out buying more whisky. I seem to be getting through more of the stuff than usual this week.’
Tayte didn’t like to tattle-tale, but this was serious business. ‘Murray was out on the drive while I was talking with Mr Blair. Maybe he heard Blair tell me he was leaving.’ Tayte thought back to the argument between Murray and Blair, and how aggressive Murray had been. Did he have a motive to kill Ewan Blair? ‘They shared a few heated words before Blair left,’ Tayte added.
Sinclair scoffed. ‘If Murray was ever going to kill Ewan Blair, he’d have done so long before now.’
‘Aye,’ Ross said. ‘It’s old business. Still, I can’t overlook the fact that he knew Blair was leaving Comrie.’
Tayte wanted to ask what that old business was, but just as he was about to, Murray came back into the room. He set a tray down on the table and offloaded its contents.
‘Thank you, Murray,’ Sinclair said.
‘It’s nae bother,’ Murray said. ‘Will you be needing me for anything else just now?’
Ross turned his teacup the right way round and poured himself some tea. ‘Ewan Blair was murdered this morning,’ he said, studying him closely as if trying to gauge his reaction to the news.
Murray drew a deep breath and slowly let it go again. He was speechless for several seconds, and then he said, ‘What’s going on here is nothing less than tragic, but don’t expect me to be sorry that Ewan Blair’s dead.’
‘Did you know he was planning to leave Comrie today?’ Ross asked.
‘Aye, I heard as much when I was outside with Mr Tayte yesterday. I didn’t go out this morning and kill the man, though, if that’s what you think.’
‘I think you wouldn’t exactly tell me if you had, now, would you?’ Ross said. ‘Are there many shotguns here at Drumarthen?’
‘A rack of four,’ Murray said. ‘Two are in regular use on the estate. The other two, though fully functioning, are old collector’s items.’
‘Are they all accounted for?’
Murray’s brow set into a crease, as if realising where the detective’s line of questioning was going. ‘As far as I know,’ he said. ‘I’ve not been out shooting in a couple of days. The cabinet was locked as usual once I’d finished.’
Ross stood up. To Sinclair he said, ‘Do you mind if we go and take a look?’
Sinclair got to his feet. ‘Of course not.’ He turned to Tayte. ‘Mr Tayte, I don’t like to leave you sitting here by yourself. Would you care to join us?’
Tayte stood up, as keen as he supposed everyone else was to see if any of Drumarthen’s shotguns were missing. Sinclair led the way, out to the back of the hall, then through a door Tayte had not used before. It led into a passageway that connected a few other doors before opening out into an area that was now clearly being used for storage. There were antiques of all kinds piled on to tables and scattered here and there on the floor. Tayte imagined this was where Sinclair had put some of those items that had been removed from the east wing to protect them, perhaps intending to sell them at some point. Sinclair walked up to a tapestry that was hanging against one of the walls and pulled it aside to reveal another door.
‘You have your keys, Murray?’
Murray handed an overcrowded ring of keys to Sinclair, who found the one he was looking for and unlocked the door.
‘You can’t be too careful where shotguns are concerned,’ Sinclair said as he opened it.
Behind this door was a small space, no bigger than a broom cupboard. Just inside, fixed to the back wall, was a tall steel cabinet, the gun cabinet, which Sinclair also unlocked. When he opened it, it was clear to everyone looking on that one of the shotguns was missing. There were only three, not four as Murray had said. The second position along was tellingly blank.
Murray pushed forward, wide-eyed, as if unable to believe it. ‘This rack was full when I last locked it,’ he said, his voice raised. He turned and looked Sinclair in the eyes. ‘I didn’t take it. I swear it.’
‘Calm down, Murray,’ Sinclair said. ‘No one’s saying you did. Which of the guns is missing?’
‘It’s one of the antiques. The MacNaughton.’
Ross stepped between them and took a closer look. ‘This doesn’t look so good, now, does it?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Murray said.
Ross didn’t answer. ‘I take it there’s more than one set of keys to these locks?’
Sinclair nodded. ‘I also have a full set, of course.’
‘And where are they now?’
‘They’re in my cardigan, which is on the back of my chair in the dining room.’
‘Mine are always on my person, or by my bedside,’ Murray said, volunteering the information before Ross could ask him.
‘And there are no other sets of keys?’
‘No,’ Sinclair said.
He locked the cabinet again and handed Murray’s keys back to him. Then they all returned to the dining room and sat down again with their drinks.
Ross shook his head, pulling at his tie as he did so. ‘This is a fine turn of events then, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘During the last couple of days, it appears that someone has stolen from this house a pretty secure and well-hidden shotgun, without the need to force any locks, and seemingly having taken nothing else in the process. Then, just this morning a shotgun was used nearby to end a man’s life. It’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think?’
‘I really don’t care for your implications,’ Sinclair said.
Tayte, who had been quietly taking everything in, sipped thoughtfully at his coffee, wondering whether it could yet be proved that the missing shotgun had been used to kill Ewan Blair. ‘Has the murder weapon been recovered?’
‘No, Mr Tayte. Not yet,’ Ross said. To Sinclair, he added, ‘Perhaps you should officially report that one of your shotguns has been stolen.’
‘I’ll be sure to,’ Sinclair said, his tone short. ‘I take it you picked up the message I left for you earlier this morning about last night’s intruder?’
‘Aye, I did.’
‘And has it crossed your mind that whoever put another of Jane Hardwick’s letters under Mr Tayte’s door in the middle of the night may have left with my shotgun? What about the CCTV cameras you’ve had set up? Did they see anything?’
‘I’m glad you’ve asked me that,’ Ross said, and Tayte thought he detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice. ‘They did. Or I should say one of them did. The camera on the upstairs landing showed someone in a hooded cloak running about with what appears to be an electric camping lamp.’
‘A hooded cloak?’ Sinclair repeated. ‘Did you see his face?’
‘No, it was well concealed, as if whoever it was knew those discreet cameras were there.’
‘What about the camera in the main hallway downstairs?’
‘Nothing at all,’ Ross said. ‘I might add that the upstairs camera
showed no one coming up the stairs, either. If you had an intruder last night, how do you suppose he got in?’
‘As I’m sure you can imagine, inspector, there are several staircases here at Drumarthen.’
‘Are you telling me you must have left your back door unlocked last night?’
Sinclair shook his head. ‘No, I checked myself before I went up to my bed.’
‘Then how else could someone have got in without breaking in? The ground floor of this place is like a fortress.’
‘Ladders,’ Tayte cut in. ‘I took a look around outside earlier. Apart from the two doors and the hatch to the generator room, the only way in as far as I can see is via a tall ladder to the first-floor windows. I was meaning to ask whether you keep any lying around outside.’
Murray spoke then, sounding very put-out by the suggestion. ‘Of course we don’t, Mr Tayte. It would be quite foolish to leave a ladder outside your house now, wouldn’t it?’
‘But you must have ladders?’
‘Aye, of course there are ladders, but they’re securely locked away in an outbuilding with the garden tools and machinery. And before you ask, I’ve already checked the locks.’
‘It was just a thought,’ Tayte said, sensing the growing tension in the room.
It was clear to Tayte that DI Ross had either Murray or Sinclair pegged for the person on his CCTV camera images, and perhaps more besides. Maybe he was right. It was hard to ignore the fact that no one seemed to have broken into Drumarthen, and that whoever took that shotgun knew exactly where it was and had the keys required to obtain it. What was going on indeed?
Ross drained his tea and stood up. ‘Right, I don’t want to outstay my welcome so I’ll be on my way.’ To Tayte he added, ‘Do let me know if you find anything useful in Drummond’s files.’
‘I will,’ Tayte said.
As Ross left, he turned back and pointed to Murray as he said, ‘I’ve got my eye on you.’
Neither Sinclair nor Murray proved to be very good company after DI Ross left, so Tayte made himself some lunch and took it up to his room. He was keen to take a look at Dr Drummond’s files, hoping there was something in there that might help him to locate the Blood of Rajputana, or perhaps even shed some light on what was going on in this otherwise tranquil part of Scotland, which in the last few days had seen five murders and one possible abduction. That accounted for six members of a syndicate formed around the ruby by Damian Sinclair’s late brother, Jamie, who had in all probability not died accidentally, but had also been murdered, leaving only Callum Macrae unaccounted for. Tayte wondered where he was, and he couldn’t help but share Ross’s opinion that Macrae’s sudden disappearance so soon after the family gathering at Drumarthen was highly suspicious.
Letters from the Dead (Jefferson Tayte Genealogical Mystery Book 7) Page 20
