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

by Steve Robinson

  ‘The ruby,’ Murray said. ‘I asked if you found it.’

  Tayte’s eyes narrowed on him. ‘Exactly where have you been all afternoon?’

  ‘I was struck, too,’ Murray said. He raised a hand to the back of his head. ‘When I came round, I found myself tied up in one of the basement rooms where I’d been tidying up.’

  ‘How did you untie yourself?’

  Murray fished in his pocket and pulled out his penknife, flashing the mother-of-pearl handle at him. ‘I cut myself free. And I can’t say I like your tone, Mr Tayte. Just where are you going with this?’

  Tayte stepped away from the wall. If Murray was behind this, penknife or not, without that shotgun in his hands he figured he was more than a match for him when it came to a straight fight. ‘Do you have your phone? Mr Sinclair told me you carried one in case he needed to get in touch with you. He tried your number a few times, but he couldn’t get an answer.’

  Murray shook his head. ‘It was taken from me.’

  ‘But not your penknife?’ Tayte said, thinking it rather too convenient that Murray’s assailant had taken his phone, yet left him with a means to free himself.

  ‘I suppose he was only after my phone,’ Murray said as he put his penknife away. ‘I expect he wanted to make sure I wasn’t able to call for help, and he overlooked my knife. Luckily for you, I might add.’

  With everything that had happened, Tayte didn’t know what to believe. His mind flashed back over the events of that week, and it was easy to convince himself that Murray was behind all the murders, in revenge for his daughter’s death, and now, he might also have killed Damian Sinclair for Drumarthen, which he stood to inherit, possibly along with the Blood of Rajputana, too.

  Tayte stepped away, heading for the side door the hooded figure had previously left the room by. He was taking that ruby with him, too. He didn’t know who he could trust, so he would trust no one.

  ‘I’m getting out of here by myself,’ he told Murray. ‘You can go up and check on Mr Sinclair if you want to.’

  All Tayte wanted was to get out of that house alive. DI Ross could take it from there. He stepped back again, distancing himself further from Murray, checking the floor as he went to avoid repeating his earlier mistake. The light began to fade around him as he left the glow of Murray’s lamp, his eyes on him the whole time. Then, as he reached the door he was heading for, something stopped him. It was something hard and it was pressing into his back. He turned around, and there in front of him was the hooded man.

  The muzzle of his shotgun pressed hard into Tayte again, and with more of a shove this time, pushing him back into the room. Tayte still wasn’t convinced that this man could be one of the Rajputs Sinclair had spoken of, but who was he? The only other person Tayte could think of was DI Ross. Whoever it was, Tayte was all too aware that he was about to find out, or he figured he’d have been shot already. As they drew closer to the light from Murray’s lamp, the hooded figure gave Tayte another shove with the shotgun, pushing him towards Murray. Then, as he turned around, the figure lowered his hood at last.

  At first Tayte didn’t recognise him. Then he was reminded of the photograph Sinclair had shown him, of the athletic-looking, dark-haired man who had been playing extreme paintball in his swimming trunks. His hair was much longer now, and Tayte was also reminded of the figure he’d seen looking up at the house from the other side of the burn the day he’d arrived. Standing before him was the man whose funeral he’d attended just that morning, while all along he’d really been roaming the corridors of Drumarthen dressed as one of Sinclair’s Rajputs, leaving that Sanskrit note and Jane’s letters for him to find. It was Jamie Sinclair.

  Chapter Forty

  Ignoring the double-barrelled shotgun in Jamie’s hand, Murray stepped towards him. He raised his lamp higher and began to study him, as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes.

  ‘Jamie?’ he said, looking confused, clearly still doubting it could be true. Then, as he continued to stare at Jamie in the lamplight, he began to nod his head. ‘My God. It is you.’

  ‘Surprise,’ Jamie said, his tone flat.

  It gave Tayte the impression that Jamie would rather Murray had not known he was behind this, as though he now had to explain himself to someone he knew would be disappointed in him. Tayte had heard that Murray was like a father to Jamie, far more so than Jamie’s real father had been. He supposed that was why. He said nothing, opting to listen to what these two had to say to one another instead.

  ‘It’s a surprise, all right,’ Murray said, his features souring. He sounded angry now. ‘Just who did we bury today? Whose death have I been mourning?’

  ‘No one you know.’

  Murray shook his head. ‘What have you done, Jamie Sinclair? Why?’

  Jamie didn’t answer the question. ‘You’re not supposed to be here,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I needed you out of the way. You should have stayed where I left you. The police were supposed to find you tied up in the basement, none the wiser about what had happened here. I gave you the perfect alibi.’

  ‘I don’t need an alibi,’ Murray said, the level of his voice rising. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong!’

  ‘That’s not how the police will see it. You’ll be blamed otherwise. It’s not too late.’

  ‘Too late for what?’

  ‘I can tie you up again. I’m about done here.’

  Murray screwed his face up. ‘Are you completely out of your mind?’

  ‘You’ll get Drumarthen,’ Jamie said. ‘All this will be yours if you’ll just turn a blind eye.’

  ‘Is that why you’re doing this—so I can have Drumarthen?’ Murray said. ‘Is that why you killed all those people?’

  ‘They deserved it. Every last one of them.’

  ‘Then I’ll ask you again. Why? It can’t all have been for that ruby. Why did you kill them?’

  Jamie was silent for several seconds, as if carefully contemplating his answer. ‘I’ll tell you everything once you’ve agreed to let me tie you up again. I need to know you’ll be okay.’

  ‘You’ll tell me right now, Jamie Sinclair, or you’ll have to shoot me.’

  In the silence that followed, Tayte could see that Jamie was uncomfortable with the decisions he now had to make. If he chewed his lip any harder he’d make it bleed. Tayte didn’t doubt that Jamie would shoot him in a heartbeat, but it was plain to see that he had plenty of affection for Murray. That made it difficult to know which way this was going to go. A lot was riding on Murray, who appeared to be deeply hurt by Jamie’s actions, and the suggestion that he should turn a blind eye for his own personal gain. Murray had to be careful what he said. To Tayte’s mind, Jamie Sinclair was a man who needed extensive psychiatric help. There was no telling how far Murray would be able to push him before the connection between them snapped.

  Murray went over to the outside wall between the curtains and leaned against it, waiting for answers. Tayte went with him, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. With that shotgun still in Jamie’s hand, he certainly wasn’t about to tackle the man unless he had to.

  ‘I’m listening,’ Murray said.

  Jamie came closer, the muzzle of his gun still raised towards them. ‘Then you’ll let me tie you up again?’

  ‘Then we’ll see. You can start by telling me how you faked your own death.’

  Jamie drew a long and thoughtful breath. Then he stared at the floor and slowly began to speak. ‘Gordon helped me. I gave him no choice. I had something on him from way back. I told him I needed to disappear, and that if he didn’t help me I’d ruin him. What he didn’t know at the time was that he was the reason I wanted to fake my death.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Murray asked.

  ‘I mean I wanted to kill him. I wanted to be sure I’d get away with it, too, and no one suspects a dead man.’

  ‘Why did you want to kill him?’

  Jamie scoffed. ‘The good doctor wasn’t as good as most people seemed to belie
ve. He had a dirty little secret—a very dirty secret. You remember my best friend, Conall MacIntyre?’

  ‘Chrissie’s boy. Aye, of course.’

  ‘Well, Gordon Drummond used to interfere with him. He’d often visit Chrissie after her husband left her, and she’d tell herself his interest was in her, but it wasn’t. She knew why he was really there and she did nothing about it—a lonely woman going along with whatever the good doctor wanted, just for his company. Drummond liked boys—boys like Conall and me, and God knows who else. He was the reason Conall MacIntyre killed himself.’

  ‘So you took revenge, both for Conall and for yourself?’

  Jamie nodded. ‘All these years I’ve lived with the scars of what Drummond did to us. I couldn’t take it any more.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell someone about it?’ Murray said. ‘If not your father, then you could have told me. I’d have—’

  ‘Why do you think it hurts so much?’ Jamie said, cutting Murray short. ‘Do you not think I’ve regretted keeping quiet every single day of my life since Conall died? If I’d spoken out, Conall might still be alive. But I felt so ashamed, and who would have believed me, an errant fifteen-year-old boy, over the word of the good Dr Drummond? Yes, I killed him for Conall, and for myself, and I don’t regret it one bit.’

  ‘All right, Jamie. Calm down now,’ Murray said. ‘So you threatened to expose Dr Drummond if he didn’t help you. Not wanting to take the risk of what might have happened if you did, I take it he went along with your plans?’

  ‘Aye, he did. I rented a penthouse apartment in Glasgow where I knew there’d be plenty of potential candidates to literally take the fall for me. I’d single out someone on the street who looked most like me—same height and build, et cetera. I’d befriend him long enough to get a blood sample, which is where Drummond came in. He knew people who could tell him their blood type. If it matched mine, I’d befriend him some more. If not, I moved on. The homeless problem in Glasgow is huge, and single males account for almost half the number. I have a common blood type. It didn’t take long.’

  Murray’s face twisted at the idea. ‘He was an innocent man, Jamie. He’d done you no harm.’

  ‘He was a means to an end, and he had a good time before he went, if that makes you feel any better about it. It was easy to get him blind drunk, and what homeless person would turn down some new clothes to wear—my clothes? The rest was easy. I slipped my wallet into his pocket, tangled him up in my net curtains to disorient him, and then I shoved him over the balcony, leaving it to Drummond and my brother to positively identify me from the mess they scraped off the pavement.’

  ‘But how did you get out of there?’ Murray asked. ‘The police said your apartment door was locked and bolted from the inside.’

  Jamie grinned. ‘Building. Antennae. Span. Earth,’ he said. ‘I BASE-jumped after him. By the time his body hit the ground, I was floating away, unseen by the few people who were out at that time of the morning. If any misdirection were needed, my homeless friend amply provided that too. Of course, I needed money for all this. That apartment wasn’t cheap.’

  Tayte spoke then. He hadn’t planned to, but he’d been wondering where the syndicate featured in Jamie’s plans. It just came out. ‘Which is why you started that syndicate of yours. For the money.’

  Jamie snapped his head towards Tayte as if he’d forgotten he was there. ‘You keep your mouth shut!’ he said, stabbing the muzzle of the shotgun towards him as he spoke. ‘This is between Murray and me.’

  ‘Easy, Jamie,’ Murray said. ‘I’m still listening. So you needed money, and you formed a syndicate to get it, spinning them all some fanciful story about a trip to India.’

  Jamie nodded. ‘I already knew who Robert Christie was. I’d found his tomb in the basement some time ago. It was the missing link for Gordon Drummond. Along with Jane Hardwick’s letters, he was then able to do the research that told us Robert had gone to India and had likely been the one who desecrated Arabella Christie’s grave. I was in little doubt that he’d found the Blood of Rajputana, but I couldn’t work out what he’d done with it.’

  ‘How come you didn’t bust open Sir Robert’s sarcophagus and take a look for yourself?’ Tayte asked, knowing it was the obvious first place to look.

  Jamie laughed to himself, sarcasm written all over his face. ‘You mean apart from all the noise I’d have made, and the risk of discovery?’

  ‘There must have been opportunities when the house was empty.’

  ‘Oh, aye, there were plenty of opportunities, but what would have been the point? I mean, how could Robert have trusted anyone to put such a valuable thing in his sarcophagus after he was dead? I’m surprised you bothered looking yourself.’

  Tayte didn’t answer. He’d reached the same conclusion after he and Sinclair had opened Sir Robert’s sarcophagus, but they’d had to be sure.

  ‘I thought the ruby must be at the house somewhere,’ Jamie continued. ‘I just didn’t know how to find it. That’s where you came in. You’re a clever man. I thought once you knew what I knew, you’d be able to work out the rest for me.’

  ‘I looked at Drummond’s files,’ Tayte said. ‘There was nothing in there about the desecration of Arabella Christie’s grave.’

  ‘There wouldn’t have been, would there? That’s because I took those records out the day I killed him. I left some of them in case you needed a helping hand, but I couldn’t give you too much to go on too soon. I needed time, which is also why I had to drip-feed Jane Hardwick’s letters to you.’

  ‘Time for what, Jamie?’ Murray said. ‘Time for murder? They were your family, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘Don’t give me that,’ Jamie said. ‘They were nothing more to me than unfinished business. I hadn’t planned on killing Drummond so soon after my apparent death. I was going to wait until after my funeral—do it once the dust had settled. Then I heard that my brother and you, Mr Tayte, were going to see him. I was there at his house when Damian telephoned. I was already nervous. Gordon was the only one who knew I was still alive. I was worried he might talk, so I had to do it there and then, before you arrived.’

  ‘But why kill the others?’ Murray asked.

  ‘Because they had it coming to them, and I knew I could get away with it. I planned to start a new life somewhere with a new identity, but I wanted to settle the score here in Comrie first. It was killing Drummond that gave me the idea. If I could get away with his murder, why not the rest? I was a dead man after all. Who would suspect me? I’d wanted to hurt them all for a long time. Now I had my chance. I killed Mairi Fraser for cheating on me, and her husband, Niall, who was supposed to have been my friend, for taking her. I wanted Moira Macrae dead for so many reasons, not least for driving my father into his grave over those paintings. I’d hoped I could someday reconcile my differences with my father, but Moira denied me that chance. Ewan Blair I killed for you, Murray.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to,’ Murray said. ‘I’ve never forgiven him for what he did to my daughter, but I came to my own terms over it a long time ago.’ He paused and drew a long breath as though to calm himself. ‘And I suppose you killed Chrissie MacIntyre because she kept quiet about Drummond’s abuse of her son? Is that why you taped her mouth shut and left her naked body in those woods near Drummond Castle?’

  Jamie didn’t speak. He just nodded his head.

  ‘And what about Callum Macrae?’ Murray continued. ‘I know he used to bully you at school, but that was a long time ago.’

  ‘Aye, but it didn’t stop after we left school. He’s made my life hell over the years, physically and mentally. Sure, he was always beating on me with his mates, but sometimes he’d hurt me in other ways. You remember I once had a budgie?’

  ‘Aye, you doted on that wee bird.’

  ‘I cared for it more than I cared for most people,’ Jamie said. ‘One day I thought the tide had turned with Callum. He said I’d shown him how strong I was for taking his punishments and not telling any
one. For that, he said he wanted to be my friend. He made me part of the gang, so I took him and his mates home after school that day. That was his idea, of course, and it was all just a trick. He knew about my budgie—knew how much it meant to me. When we were up in my room, his mates held me while Callum took the bird out of its cage and slowly wrung its neck in front of me. He said if I told anyone, he’d do the same to me, and I believed him. I killed him for the pain he caused me, and because I could.’

  ‘Does the same go for your own brother, Jamie? Mr Tayte says you struck him. He’s lying upstairs in a pool of his own blood. Is that right?’

  ‘Damian had it coming to him, just like the rest of them. If not for him my father might have loved me. If not for him, I’d have inherited this house. As far as our father was concerned, Damian’s the reason I never existed. Well, now I don’t exist, and Drumarthen’s yours. All you have to do is look the other way.’

  Tayte wasn’t sure whether Murray was thinking about it or not, but the silence that followed worried him.

  ‘I’ve told you everything,’ Jamie continued. ‘Now what do you say, Murray? You get the house. I get the ruby. We both live happily ever after.’ Jamie turned to Tayte then. ‘Speaking of which, I think it’s high time you handed it over.’

  ‘And then what?’ Tayte asked. There was no use denying he had it.

  ‘Just hand it over. Then we’ll see.’

  Tayte reached into his pocket and slowly drew it out. He held it up in his clawed fist and started moving it slowly back and forth. ‘You want this?’ he said, following Jamie’s eyes as they tracked the ruby’s movement. ‘You want to use it to start a new life for yourself? Well, go and get it.’