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

by Steve Robinson

  As Sir John left the room and Jane returned to writing her place cards, she wondered whether Fraser really was out hunting dacoits. Or was he deliberately staying away from the residency and the young woman he had set his sights on until the dust had settled on his murderous activities?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Present day

  After showing the latest of Jane Hardwick’s letters to Sinclair, along with the digital copy of Cornelius Dredger’s death certificate, alerting Sinclair to the possibility that Sir Robert Christie had murdered him, Jefferson Tayte was back in his room at Drumarthen. He’d spent the last hour going through the late Gordon Drummond’s records, and was about a third of the way through the box. So far nothing appeared to be even remotely connected with India or the Blood of Rajputana. He picked up another record and glanced at it briefly before putting it back on to the pile. It was another birth certificate, this time from 1922, offering no connection.

  He sighed and sat back in his chair, finding himself distracted by what he’d read in the latest of Jane Hardwick’s letters. If the events she had written home to her brother about were true, and Tayte had no reason to suspect they were not, then there could be no denying that the Blood of Rajputana was real. Jane had mentioned overhearing the Maharaja of Kishangarh talking to Sir John Christie about it in the previous letter. Now it was as if Tayte had seen it for himself. Jane’s description had drawn such a vivid image in his mind that it was as though he’d been standing in the room with her and Lady Elspeth as Sir John showed it to them.

  ‘And all you gotta do is work out where it is,’ he reminded himself, smiling at the seemingly impossible challenge before him.

  Tayte also found himself thinking about Captain Donnan Fraser again. After all he’d read in Jane’s letters, he found it hard to disagree with her judgement of the man. No smoke without fire, he thought. It seemed irrefutable that the massacred people who had been blamed for Naresh Bharat Singh’s murder and the theft of his belongings were not the murderous dacoits they had been taken for, and yet Bharat Singh’s belongings had supposedly been found among them. Had they been planted there? It was easy to imagine that Fraser could have orchestrated the entire bloody ordeal simply to cover his tracks, as Jane supposed, but had she gone on to prove anything?

  When it came to finding out how past events had turned out, Tayte, unlike Jane, had the passage of time firmly on his side. Having been reminded of Albert Faraday, he made a note to consult The Times Digital Archive, to see if he could view Faraday’s article about the massacre, and perhaps more importantly, find out whether he’d written anything else about the matter.

  ‘One thing at a time, though,’ he said under his breath as he looked at the next of Dr Drummond’s family history records. The Times Digital Archive wasn’t going anywhere, and he was conscious of the fact that he only had a limited amount of time to go through these records.

  Another thirty minutes passed. Tayte reached the halfway stage with nothing of interest to show for it, but then just about all of the dates on the records he’d seen were too recent to offer any worthwhile connections. He had to look at them all, just the same. He had to be thorough, but he supposed he would find the remainder of Drummond’s research more interesting given that the dates on the records he was now looking at were steadily creeping back through the nineteenth century.

  He was just reaching for another record when there was a knock at his door. It was Sinclair, and his dark expression told Tayte that he came bearing yet more bad news.

  ‘I’m sorry for the intrusion, Mr Tayte,’ Sinclair said. ‘I know you’re busy.’

  ‘That’s okay. What is it?’

  ‘We’ve just heard that an item of clothing has been found in the woods near Drummond Castle. It matches the blouse Chrissie MacIntyre was last seen wearing before she went missing from her home yesterday. Drummond Castle is several miles from Comrie to the southwest. It’s no wonder the police helicopter couldn’t find anything when they searched the moorland behind Chrissie’s home.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound good,’ Tayte said, wondering whether it was pure coincidence that the castle Sinclair had just mentioned shared the doctor’s name. The good doctor, he thought, reminding himself of Chrissie MacIntyre’s reaction at hearing Dr Drummond referred to in that way the night he’d met her.

  ‘No, it’s not good at all,’ Sinclair said. ‘The police are out searching the area, but because it’s so large and encumbered by the trees, they’re asking for support from the community.’

  ‘A search party?’

  ‘Aye. I’m heading over with Murray now. I was wondering whether you’d care to join us. With the weather as bad as it is, I’m sure the police will need all the help they can get. I can lend you a raincoat.’

  Tayte was already on his feet. ‘Of course,’ he said, collecting his jacket from the back of the chair. ‘I’d be glad to. Just lead the way.’

  It took Murray twenty minutes to drive the seven miles to Drummond Castle, where the search for Chrissie MacIntyre was being organised. The relentless rain that Tayte had observed since opening his bedroom curtains that morning seemed to intensify as they arrived and were directed to an available parking space. Within seconds of getting out of the car, Tayte’s loafers and the lower half of his tan suit trousers were soaked through. Clear waterproof cagoules were being handed out, and beneath the cover of an open-sided marquee tent, Tayte put one on in favour of the ill-fitting raincoat Sinclair had loaned him, glad to find that he now had a hood.

  From the car park, along with a number of other people who were there to help out, Tayte, Sinclair and Murray were taken back along the road they had arrived by in a small coach that had been laid on to take volunteers to and from each of the search start points. The coach stopped midway into the wooded area where Chrissie’s blouse had been found. As Tayte followed everyone else out of the vehicle, he couldn’t believe how dark it was. It was barely past three in the afternoon, but because of the heavy rainclouds it felt more like dusk. Above him, he could hear the intermittent roar of the wind as it caused the treetops to sway wildly. Tayte had neither seen nor heard the police helicopter, and he wasn’t surprised. He doubted it was safe to fly.

  They were organised into groups of around twelve people. Each person was given a bottle of water and instructions not to touch anything they deemed suspicious or in any way worthy of closer inspection, but to inform their group leader, who in their case was a licensed search officer called Paula Campbell. She handed torches out to those who needed them, although Murray had already taken care of that for Tayte, Sinclair and himself. As the group formed a close line and set off into the woods together after their torch beams, Tayte found himself wondering if Chrissie MacIntyre was out there. It didn’t bode well that her blouse had been found, and he questioned why she was no longer wearing it. He came up with no good answers.

  No one spoke. Apart from the constant static hiss of the rain and the wind, the wood seemed oddly quiet. Tayte could hear no birds singing, no other woodland animals calling to their mates, despite the fact that it was springtime. Every now and then the silence would be punctuated by the snap of a dead branch underfoot, or the occasional sound of a sniffer dog barking in the distance. Beyond that, they walked quietly between the trees, scouring the undergrowth for anything out of the ordinary. An hour in and Tayte found himself wishing he was wearing more appropriate footwear, but it was nothing he couldn’t deal with in light of the reason he was there.

  Sometime into their second hour of searching, Murray stopped walking and put his hand up, bringing everyone else to a stop with him. ‘Officer Campbell!’ he called to the group leader. ‘I’ve found something you might want to take a look at.’

  Campbell came to Murray’s side, where she squatted down to get a better look at the object glowing in Murray’s torchlight. It was an orange drink can.

  ‘We’ve gathered a few empty cans of pop today,’ Campbell said. ‘They’ve probably just been
discarded at one time or another by irresponsible kids, or adults for that matter.’ She took out a clear plastic zip-bag and a pencil, which she inserted into the can’s opening before carefully lifting it out from its bed of leaves and twigs. ‘You never know, though. They can be a rich source of forensic material.’ She slid the can into the bag, then from inside her coat she took out a notepad and a map. ‘I just need to record the Ordnance Survey grid reference and we’ll be on our way.’

  Having also noted down their GPS coordinates for good measure, they were soon walking again. It was a large woodland, and Tayte knew that the odds of them being in the same area Chrissie had been brought to were slim, but he still couldn’t help wondering whether he was about to come face to face with the poor woman, or perhaps another piece of her clothing. Given the circumstances, he doubted the day would see a happy ending for her. He believed that whoever was behind this wanted her body to be found. Why else bring her to the woods at Drummond Castle? Why not the vast moorland at the back of her house? Come to that, why abduct her at all? It was out of keeping with the other murders.

  Time passed, and at length they came to a shallow ditch that because of the heavy rain had begun to fill with water. The group approached it with caution, pausing briefly to shine their torches over it, fully taking the area in before proceeding. At the edge of Tayte’s torch beam he could see a flat overhanging rock. Something colourful beneath it caught his eye and he stepped closer as he focused his torch beam on it. Then he did what Murray had done earlier. He put his hand up and called out to Campbell.

  ‘There’s something here!’ he said. ‘It looks like material of some kind.’

  Tayte wondered whether the pale red-and-white cloth he was looking at was clothing. It was hard to tell because most of it appeared to be beneath the overhanging rock. Campbell joined him, as Sinclair, Murray, and the rest of the group drew closer.

  Campbell knelt down and tried to get a better look beneath the rock. ‘Can you lift this up?’ she said, and Tayte and a few others each grabbed a section of the rock and began to raise it.

  ‘Is it clothing?’ Tayte asked when he felt the rock had been raised high enough. ‘Is there anything else under there?’

  ‘You can lower it again,’ Campbell said, and when Tayte turned to her he saw that she had the material hanging from the end of her pencil. ‘It’s just an old tea towel,’ she added. ‘There’s nothing else there.’

  At that point, Tayte heard a dog barking. It sounded nearby, close enough to hear its intermittent whimpering, as if it had been excited by something. A few minutes later, a call came in on Campbell’s radio with the news that Chrissie MacIntyre’s body had been found.

  An hour later, Tayte was with Sinclair and Murray, back in the car park at Drummond Castle. They were sitting beside a trellis table on foldaway chairs beneath the shelter of one of the marquee tents that had been set up, sipping hot drinks while they waited to speak with DI Ross. He’d called Sinclair not long after Chrissie MacIntyre’s body had been found, to ask if they would wait there for him. He’d said he needed to talk to them. Most of the other volunteers had left by now, although there were still plenty of people about, mostly police officers and other officials. Tayte wished Ross would hurry up. His damp feet were getting cold.

  ‘What do you suppose Detective Ross has to say?’ he asked.

  ‘Whatever it is, it must be important,’ Sinclair said.

  Murray scoffed. ‘Maybe he’s found something to incriminate me again. The man’s had it in for me ever since he heard I helped get the Frasers’ car started that night they all came to Drumarthen.’

  Sinclair reached an arm out and placed his hand on Murray’s shoulder. ‘Don’t you fret, Murray. He’s just doing his job. I’m sure a case like this could lead any man to clutch at straws over who the guilty party is. He’ll be pointing the finger at Mr Tayte here next.’

  Tayte looked surprised. ‘I hope not,’ he said, and before he could add anything, in walked Detective Inspector Alastair Ross.

  It was only just after six in the evening, but Ross looked as though he should be heading off to his bed. His gait was laboured and his shoulders were slumped, as if he was too weary to hold them up. His eyes looked swollen and red against his pale complexion, which along with his thinning hair was wet through from the rain that showed no sign of easing up. He took a plastic cup of coffee from a uniformed police officer as he approached, pulling the knot of his tie down until it was barely visible beneath the collar of his coat.

  ‘Thanks for waiting,’ Ross said. He pulled a chair over and sat down. ‘Ah, that’s better,’ he added as he slumped back and took a sip of his coffee. He had an iPad under his arm which he now rested on his lap. ‘Thanks for turning out today,’ he added. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you so long, but you know how it is.’

  ‘Aye, and it’s nae bother at all,’ Sinclair said. ‘I’m sure I speak for us all when I say we’ve been only too happy to help.’

  Tayte and Murray both gave Ross a sombre-faced nod.

  ‘I don’t mean to shock you,’ Ross said, ‘but as you’re all so close to this, I felt it might be important for you to know some of the details. Poor Chrissie was naked when she was found. Her body wasn’t particularly well hidden, either. There’s no doubt her killer wanted her body to be discovered. I don’t yet know the time of death, but having seen the body, my guesstimate is that she was either killed at her house or very soon after she was abducted.’

  ‘How did she die?’ Sinclair asked.

  ‘Again, it’s too early to be absolutely sure, but it looks as though she was strangled. There are signs of bruising about her neck.’

  ‘Why naked?’ Tayte asked. ‘I mean, it’s not exactly in keeping with any of the other murders, is it? Until now, whoever’s doing this has killed and quickly moved on to the next victim. And why bring her all the way here to Drummond Castle? From what I’ve seen there are plenty of other places to choose from that are much closer to her home in Comrie.’

  ‘I think you’re absolutely right, Mr Tayte. These things have been playing on my mind since I got here. This killer hasn’t cared where the victim’s bodies have been found before now. He’s left each and every one of them right where they died. Why not Chrissie? I can’t be certain yet, but I doubt we’ll find that Chrissie’s murder was sexually motivated.’

  Murray spoke then. ‘It sounds very personal to me.’

  Ross scoffed. ‘You could argue that all murder is personal to one degree or another, of course, but I’m inclined to agree with you. I just wish I knew why.’

  ‘The Blood of Rajputana,’ Sinclair said. ‘That’s what the syndicate was about. That’s what brought all these people together, my Jamie included.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ross said, sounding dejected. ‘All I do know is that someone out there wanted these people dead for some reason, and I need to find out why.’

  Tayte dropped his empty drinks cup into the waste bin that was just within arm’s reach at the end of the trestle table. ‘Do you think all this could have more to do with Dr Drummond than meets the eye? I keep thinking about Chrissie MacIntyre’s behaviour the night everyone was gathered together at Drumarthen House.’

  ‘You mean her scoffing when the good doctor was mentioned?’

  Tayte nodded. ‘She seemed to be scoffing at the suggestion that he was a good doctor for some reason.’

  Ross sighed. ‘Well, if she was harbouring a secret about the man, she’s taken it to her grave. But what about the others? What connects the Frasers and Moira Macrae to Dr Drummond? What connects Ewan Blair and Callum Macrae, wherever the hell he is?’

  That had Tayte stumped. A motive for any single murder was difficult to apply to all the rest. The only things the victims appeared to have in common were that they were family and that, as Sinclair had said, they had all been drawn together to form a syndicate that was connected with a ruby everyone had been trying over the years to find. But why kill these people because of t
hat? Tayte was the one looking for the Blood of Rajputana now, and no one had tried to kill him. Not yet, anyway. As Ross had said, someone wanted these people dead, but what was their motive? Tayte could see why the detective looked so tired.

  Ross drained his coffee. ‘There’s another reason I need to speak with you—particularly with you, Mr Tayte.’

  ‘With me?’

  ‘Aye, another of Jane Hardwick’s letters has turned up. It was taped to Chrissie’s mouth inside a plastic bag, which is why we know her killer wanted her body found.’

  Tayte’s jaw dropped at hearing that. He’d always expected as much, but this was the first time one of Jane’s letters had turned up on one of the victims. The connotations made his palms clammy. ‘So this confirms without doubt that the killer and the person leaving these letters for me are one and the same.’ It was an uncomfortable thought.

  ‘Aye, it does,’ Ross said. ‘Not that it helps any. The CCTV images of the hooded figure at the house are all but useless.’ He lifted up the iPad he’d brought with him. ‘I’m afraid I can’t let you have the actual letter, Mr Tayte. This time it’s criminal evidence and it needs to be processed. Given the circumstances, however, I wanted you to see it as soon as possible, so I’ve taken some photos.’ He woke up his iPad and handed it to Tayte. ‘There’s a photo for each of the pages.’

  Tayte took the iPad from DI Ross, and as he curled over it and began to scan the contents, his excitement grew. ‘She’s written to her brother about the ruby again.’ He paused, still scanning. ‘There are some more of those Sanskrit symbols. It looks familiar. Maybe they’re the same symbols that were written on that note left in my room.’ He flicked to the next page. ‘That doesn’t sound so good,’ he added. ‘There’s a section that says Jane was in fear of her life again.’

  ‘Read it out then, man,’ Sinclair said, impatient to hear what Jane had to say.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Tayte said. ‘Of course.’ Then he began to read Jane’s letter aloud in full for the benefit of those around him.