Her question seemed to be directed at Amaryllis, who chose to ignore it.
The softly spoken woman said in an undertone, ‘Maybe they would rather we didn’t contact anyone on the outside just yet.’
‘Why ever not?’ said the other tartan twin. She had a Birmingham accent while the other twin had been pure Glasgow. This could be evidence for them having only a distant genetic connection, or perhaps just another boring migration story, thought Amaryllis gloomily.
‘Maybe they aren’t ready to release any of the facts yet,’ said the soft voice that was beginning to grate so much. ‘They probably have to contact the next of kin first.’
‘This is the right place to find next of kin, pal,’ said the first tartan twin loudly. The softly spoken Canadian glared at her as if she had laughed in church or something.
‘Ms Peebles? Could you come this way, please?’ said one of the uniformed police officers, appearing at the door.
The police had taken over the library, having consigned the interviewees to the meeting room to wait for their turn in the limelight. They had dragged some of the tables about to make a temporary office space near the Careers section and, with an army recruitment poster above his head Detective Chief Inspector John Smith looked as if he were trying to drum up support for some war or other.
‘So, Ms Peebles, you went into the fire exit corridor to see for yourself what had happened,’ he began, once she had sat down and the formalities were finished.
‘I thought there might be something I could do,’ said Amaryllis.
‘Were you already in the library before the incident occurred?’
‘No, I went in when I heard the noise.’
‘The screaming?’
‘Yes... Why was she screaming, by the way? What was she doing, going into the fire exit corridor in the first place?’
‘I can’t say at this stage,' said Mr Smith primly. Wouldn’t it have been more sensible for you to remain where you were and wait for the police?’
‘I didn’t know what had happened, and I thought with my experience I'd better have a look for myself – ‘
‘Ah, yes, your experience.’ He sat back in his chair, and bumped his head on the shelves behind him. ‘Are you a trained killer, Ms Peebles? Do you want to consult a lawyer at this point?’
‘Yes, I’m trained to kill under certain circumstances. And no, I don’t feel the need to consult a lawyer. I’ll let you know if I do.’
Amaryllis experienced a sudden powerful longing to have Christopher by her side, with his calm logical approach and endless reserve of pointless optimism.
‘So you entered the fire exit corridor. Can you describe what happened next?’
‘It was dark, so I switched on my torch. I saw that the fire exit itself was blocked by boxes and that there was a step-ladder leaning against the wall. I saw what I thought was a bundle of old clothes, but when I stooped to have a closer look, I saw – ‘
She paused. It was hard to describe what she had seen. ‘I thought it was a human body... That was when you came along.’
‘You won’t be surprised to hear that it was a human body. We think it was the body of – he consulted his notes – a Mrs Lorelei McAndrew , of Texas. Do you know – did you know- Mrs McAndrew?’
‘I’ve never met her as far as I know.’
He slid a photograph across the table. It was a copy of a page from a passport. Mrs McAndrew had a lot of blonde hair, a feature so distinctive that it distracted attention from the face below it.
‘We also found a folder of family history information under the body,’ said Detective Chief Inspector Smith. ‘But one of the pages was missing.’
‘What makes you think that?’ said Amaryllis, temporarily forgetting that she was the one being interrogated.
‘There was a ragged edge, where something had been torn out... According to other documents found in her bag, which had not been stolen, she was a licensed genealogist.... Do you take an interest in your family history, Ms Peebles?’
‘No,’ said Amaryllis. ‘Do you think I should?’
He ignored that. ‘So you didn’t have any dealings with Mrs McAndrew in a personal or professional capacity?’
‘No.’
He heaved a sigh.
‘In that case, Ms Peebles, it only remains for me to ask what you thought you were doing breaking into the police incident room at two o’clock in the morning?’
‘I didn’t break in,’ she said. ‘The door wasn’t locked. That was a security breach in itself; surely that’s what you should be investigating.’
He thumped his fist on the table.
‘Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t investigate!’
‘Oh, dear, sorry I spoke,’ said Amaryllis, who wasn’t easily intimidated.
‘What did you hope to gain by impersonating a police officer and –‘
Amaryllis stood up and leaned towards him across the table. He leaned back, bumping his head on the shelves again.
‘For the record, I’m not answerable to you, and I don’t bother impersonating police officers. My own security clearance is at least a mile higher than yours, and I believe I out-rank you if we were going to bother about such things. If you don’t get off my case, I will take it right to the top and make sure you have to direct traffic in Achiltiebuie for the rest of your life!’
As she straightened and strode off, the Army recruitment poster came away from the wall and draped itself attractively over Detective Chief Inspector Smith’s head.
‘Don’t leave town,’ said a muffled voice behind her.
Amaryllis, she chided herself as she left the library, are you really so starved of excitement that you have to wind up a poor little rural policeman? She resolved to send the nearest station a box of Roses and a bottle of whisky at Christmas. It was the least she could do.
Chapter 13
Cousins and other strangers
When he saw Maisie Sue McPherson, Jock McLean mumbled something and started to leave.
‘No need to rush off, Jock,’ said Christopher, taking Jock’s arm in a grip which, although not made of iron, was as strong as he could manage. ‘We were just talking about you, Maisie Sue, weren’t we, Jock?’
‘Well, that’s nice,’ said Maisie Sue, sounding rather sceptical. ‘So have you two been digging up your ancestors? Have you found out anything exciting?’
Once again Christopher felt that premonitory ripple down his spine. He just knew that Maisie Sue was preparing to tell them all about her own ancestral research, which would probably have quilts woven into it somewhere.
‘Nothing exciting apart from me turning out to be a first cousin of Brad Pitt, and Christopher having ancestry that goes right back to Old King Cole,’ said Jock, who seemed to have shared Christopher’s premonition but who was prepared to try and second-guess Fate.
‘I only started to take an interest through my quilting,’ said Maisie Sue, ignoring Jock as she had always done. ‘I found something real interesting hidden in the back of my grandmother’s Old Mill by the Stream quilt....’
It was no use. They were doomed.
Eventually Christopher’s grip on Jock’s sleeve loosened as he became more and more exhausted listening to Maisie Sue’s narrative flow. Jock seized the opportunity to wander off, perhaps to try and light his pipe in the church porch, something which Christopher suspected was strictly forbidden by the minister.
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ said Maisie Sue. ‘I was just moving on to the story of how I found out about my great-grandmother’s single-handed trek across the Rockies and her fight to the death with a mountain lion.’
For some time Christopher had been scanning the hall as she spoke, searching for someone who might provide him with an excuse to escape. Now he was immensely cheered to spot Amaryllis coming in the main door and pushing through the crowd. He willed her to approach them and break up the conversation.
Instead, as if she had sensed his wishes reaching out to her and c
ontrarily decided to do the opposite, she stood on the edge of a group of family researchers, staring at him and Maisie Sue. Christopher felt as he imagined an animal in a zoo would feel. Especially a small deer with a tiger watching from the other side of the fence.
‘It was the lion’s paw quilt that gave me the first clue,’ Maisie Sue recommenced. ‘It’s the most unusual pattern you’ve ever seen... made in orange and white – it’s way too faded now to make out the detail, but I guess she must have made it out of an old dress of hers. That’s what they usually did, back then. Old dresses, old shirts, old sheets... nothing was wasted. I guess those were the days of real re-cycling...’
‘Excuse me, Maisie Sue,’ said Amaryllis. ‘I’ve got somebody here who needs to speak to Christopher urgently.’
Strange how one minute she had been standing staring from a distance, and the next she was right by his elbow. Had she discovered a technique for teleportation? It wouldn’t surprise Christopher, and certainly it might be a help to her in some of the situations she encountered in her work. She had been followed over by Mrs Stevenson and Big Dave, who was looking as if he had had about enough of family history and its associated mental ailments.
‘Oh. It’s you,’ said Maisie Sue unenthusiastically. ‘I’ll just go and make myself busy somewhere else, then.’
She stomped off crossly. She and Amaryllis had never got on, and Mrs Stevenson wasn’t one of Maisie Sue's biggest fans either.
‘What is it?’ said Christopher.
‘What is what?’ said Mrs Stevenson.
‘What do you want me for urgently?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ said Big Dave. ‘Aren’t you grateful to us though?’
‘Yes – thanks a million,’ said Christopher. ‘No – sorry, I really mean it. I was just about to have to listen to the story of Maisie Sue’s great-grandmother crossing the Rockies and wrestling a mountain lion.’
‘And quilting about it afterwards?’ said Amaryllis.
He nodded gloomily. Then he noticed Mrs Stevenson’s expression and said, ‘So how’s the networking, Jemima? Found any lost cousins?’
‘Yes, I have, actually,’ said Mrs Stevenson.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. There’s one over there somewhere.’ She waved a hand back towards the centre of the crowd. ‘Jim Halloran from Australia, and his wife Lottie. He’s a first cousin on my mother’s side. The Murrays.’
‘Goodness,’ said Christopher, genuinely surprised and pleased for her. ‘Didn’t you know about him before today’
‘No, not as such... His mother’s name was in the family Bible. The one I found at my Auntie Mima’s. But I didn’t know his father’s name. They were mostly girls in that family.’
‘That’s great!’ said Christopher. ‘So it was all worthwhile then?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Mrs Stevenson. ‘And there’s another one.’
‘Another relative?’
‘Another cousin,’ she said. ‘Jim met her while we were all still in the Cultural Centre, but he hasn’t seen her in here – maybe she’s gone off somewhere. It’s a pity to have missed her. I never thought I’d ever have a cousin Lorelei.’
Amaryllis, who had looked as if she wasn’t paying attention, jumped perceptibly.
‘Lorelei? That’s an unusual name,’ she said. ‘Do you know her second name?’
Christopher knew the question was important from the tone she spoke in and the way her body tensed as if she were a cat about to pounce. He couldn’t imagine why it mattered, but it definitely did.
‘McAndrew, I think,’ said Mrs Stevenson. ‘Why? Do you know her?’
‘Not personally,’ said Amaryllis. ‘Jemima, would you like to sit down somewhere? Will we see if the minister has more chairs stashed away somewhere? Dave? Christopher?’
‘I’m not tired,’ said Mrs Stevenson.
‘But you need to pace yourself,’ Amaryllis was telling her as Big Dave and Christopher went to get the chairs. They brought back one for each of the women. Amaryllis almost certainly didn’t need one, but Christopher had a feeling she might want to sit next to Mrs Stevenson when she broke the news that her face and body language were already broadcasting to anyone who was tuned into the right frequency.
They set the chairs down a little way away from the main groups around the refreshments and the computers. Amaryllis sat close to Mrs Stevenson.
‘I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news, Jemima.’
Mrs Stevenson glanced up at Big Dave, who moved round and took her hand.
‘Your cousin, Lorelei McAndrew, has been found dead in the fire exit corridor at the Cultural Centre. From the way the police are carrying on it seems as if she might have been deliberately killed.’
Mrs Stevenson gasped. ‘Oh dear,’ she said breathlessly. ‘That’s terrible.’
‘How do you know all this?’ said Christopher. ‘Did the police tell you?’
‘I happened to go into the fire exit corridor, and I happened to see,’ said Amaryllis. ‘I’ve spoken to the police and they’ve eliminated me from their enquiries. I expect they’ll be along later to take names and addresses.’
‘So I’ll never meet her now,’ said Mrs Stevenson sadly. Then she brightened up. ‘Well, I’ve managed without her all my life – her mother, my Aunty Dotty, never kept in touch with my mother when she moved to America, so that’s how it goes.’
‘Have they got suspects?’ said Big Dave.
‘There’s a small group of people who were in the library when the police arrived,’ said Amaryllis. ‘I’m not sure if they’re actually suspects. I suppose in theory everyone who was in the building at the time could be a suspect.’
‘But a lot of them were with other people all along, though,’ said Christopher.
‘It isn’t up to us to worry about that,’ said Amaryllis enigmatically.
‘So what happened with the woman who was screaming?’ said Big Dave.
‘She must have wandered into the fire exit corridor – looking for the toilets or something – and fallen over the body,’ said Amaryllis.
Christopher felt disproportionately aggrieved by this.
‘I thought I’d told everybody where the toilets were. It was one of the questions people kept asking me. If there was anybody in the building who didn’t know, I’d be very surprised.’
‘All right, all right,’ said Amaryllis.
‘Do you think this has anything to do with Ms Farquharson?’ said Big Dave.
‘Why should it have?’ said Mrs Stevenson. Christopher saw the way she looked at Amaryllis. Her eyes narrowed. ‘What do you know about this, Amaryllis?’
Why are Amaryllis’s thoughts an open book to Jemima Stevenson when I can’t even begin to guess at them? Christopher asked himself. He supposed it must be one of these gender things.
Amaryllis sighed and nodded. ‘It’s a fair cop, Jemima. I don’t know how you do it – but, yes, I do have some idea.’
‘What is it, then?’ said Christopher, surprising himself by sounding snappy. He must have been spending too much time with Grumpy Graham. He tried to look less grumpy somehow, unknitting his brows and curving his mouth up at the corners.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ said Big Dave. ‘Are you feeling all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ said Christopher. ‘I’m just interested in what Amaryllis has to say.’
‘I managed to speak to the police last night,’ said Amaryllis. ‘They let slip that Ms Farquharson had been pulled out of the Forth at Kincardine. I don’t know if that means she drowned, but it could be that she did.’
‘How terrible!’ said Mrs Stevenson. ‘They wouldn’t tell you any more, though?’
‘No, I had to leave then,’ said Amaryllis, cutting the story short.
‘How did you come to be talking to them last night anyway?’ said Christopher, even more suspicious now.
‘So here you all are!’ said Maisie Sue suddenly, materialising behind Big Dave in that unnerving way she had. ‘That’s
nice – I can finish telling you about my great-grandma and the mountain lion. Of course, this was a woman who could kill an elk with her bare hands – ‘
‘I’m sorry, Maisie Sue,’ said Mrs Stevenson unexpectedly, ‘but this is a Pitkirtly Family History Day, and unless this story has anything to do with Pitkirtly it isn’t really on topic. We need to focus on the town itself just for this one day. You can come and see us in the Queen of Scots some other time and hear all about your great-grandma.’
‘Not if we see you first,’ muttered Big Dave under his breath.
‘Why, that’s real neighbourly of you, Jemima,’ smiled Maisie Sue. ‘I don’t have any folks from Pitkirtly, so I guess I’ll just take myself off for now.’
Christopher noticed that the smile lasted only until she had crossed the room, and that the look she flung back at them was far from friendly. His mobile rang at that moment, which was quite a surprise as he hardly ever switched it on, and had only given the number to two or three other people.
‘Hey, Chris,’ said Graham. ‘Any chance of you coming over to look after the Centre for a while? I’m needing my lunch break, and somebody has to be here to keep an eye on things while the police are in.’
He sounded almost friendly for once, and Christopher almost gave in, but he couldn’t.
‘I’m meant to start my shift at the supermarket in fifteen minutes, Graham, otherwise I would. Sorry. Will I send Andrew over? There's no sign of Clarissa but she'll be about somewhere.’
‘Send Andrew,’ said Graham. ‘This is no place for a wee girl.’
In Christopher’s experience women were more resistant to shock than men, not to mention being more resilient in almost every way he could think of, but he didn’t make any comment on Graham’s sexist views. He agreed to find Andrew and dispatch him with all possible haste. It wouldn’t do for Graham to miss his lunch break, after all.
Big Dave, Amaryllis and Mrs Stevenson agreed they all needed a cup of tea after hearing the news, so Amaryllis went to stand in the tea queue, which was snaking twice round the hall by this time. Christopher caught sight of the minister, now wearing a hunted look as she got caught in the middle of what looked like a heated argument between Maisie Sue, who hadn’t left the building after all, and a black man with a tartan bonnet on. He thought she was almost certainly regretting having agreed to let the swarm of family historians take over.
2 Reunited in Death Page 8
