“Have you seen Ken Fraser?” Rex asked the student.
“I haven’t. He’s not in the cloakroom. I’ve just come from there.”
“That’s odd. Did he go oot?”
Jason shrugged and continued on his way. Rex continued on his and discovered, to his annoyance, that he could not get the electricity to turn back on. “Blast it,” he muttered. He tried again to no avail and shut the small metal door. He called the power company on his cell phone to report the outage and found himself on hold for fifteen minutes. Meanwhile, he could hear voices and laughter coming from the living room. At least his guests were having a good time, but that could not be expected to last once the house got really cold and all the candles and lamp oil ran out.
He reflected on how much firewood he had stockpiled in the shed and calculated there was enough to see them through the night. The bedrooms didn’t have natural wood-burning fireplaces. Perhaps Ken Fraser was tucked up in a bed upstairs? He’d had a lot to drink, so anything was possible. That would certainly be better than him lying outside drunk or hurt somewhere. Rex wished he had enough light to properly explore the lodge inside and out.
“Hello, hello?” he said into the phone, hearing a click, but, no, he was still on hold.
Fortunately, he had a refurbished vintage AGA that ran on gas, and they would be able to heat up the soup Helen had prepared. The stove gave out heat as well, so at least the kitchen would be a bearable temperature. And he had plenty of blankets. The guests could camp out on the living room sofas and armchairs until the alcohol wore off and they felt able to drive home. Coffee. How could they make coffee? He’d think of something even if it was only the instant kind.
“Yes? Hullo!” Finally. He explained his dilemma to a sympathetic female voice of the Highlands and, at the end of the call, after a quick check of the downstairs rooms, returned to the living room and inquired whether Ken had turned up yet. He had not, and no one appeared unduly concerned.
“No luck with the electricity,” he informed the guests. “But I reported it.” He hesitated a moment. “I’m going to look ootside for Ken,” he said.
“He won’t be out there,” Alistair remonstrated. “You’ll freeze to death, dear man.”
“Well, he must be somewhere,” Vanessa said. “He’d not have disappeared into thin air, would he?”
“He might have gone to fetch something from his car and slipped on ice. Anything might have happened.”
Rex knew this to his cost, something dreadful having happened at the lodge in more clement weather.
“I’ll go with you,” Alistair volunteered with a deep sigh. “John?”
The medic cursed under his breath. “Fine, but let’s check the other rooms first. He may have wanted to find a quiet place to curl up in and nurse a hangover.”
“Aye, I thought of that. I looked downstairs.”
“If he’s not upstairs, John and I will certainly help you search for that pompous ass,” Alistair repeated his offer.
“Me too,” Drew said, rising from the loveseat to Julie’s obvious consternation. She clamped shut her lips and folded her arms above the blanket that had covered both their laps.
“Can I do anything?” Helen asked with concern.
“If you could heat up that beef and barley soup and maybe some bread rolls, that would be grand.”
Flora offered to help and rose from the sofa, pulling her blue mohair shawl tighter around her shoulders.
“Good,” Jason said. “I was beginning to get peckish again.”
“Leave some for us,” John pleaded, “while we go brave the elements.”
“I should go with you.” Jason spoke with detectable reluctance.
“Just sit tight, mate, and take care of the ladies.”
“I can do that.” The student put a friendly arm around Zoe, a stupid grin plastered over his face.
The young actress giggled and shrugged him away. “Get off me, you big lump!”
Jason moved over to where Vanessa Weaver was seated and did the same with her. She laughed. “Don’t let my husband catch you. He was lethal in his youth, you know. His plane went down in enemy territory and he had to fight his way out, killing half a dozen Germans.” However, she seemed content enough to have the young man’s arm around her, clearly enjoying the attention. Rex thought Jason probably wouldn’t risk a similar manoeuver with Señora Delacruz. He might get a slap in the face.
While Helen, Julie, and Flora busied themselves in the kitchen, the men convened in the hall, discussing how best to organize the search, the objective being to cover as much ground as possible in the least amount of time. They started putting on their coats and anoraks, all but Rex who took a candle and climbed upstairs to look there first. The floorboards seemed to creak more than usual, and bumps sounded in the attic above. He checked all four bedrooms and the two bathrooms. Ken was nowhere to be found.
He brought down extra layers and gloves for the search, as well as the flashlight he kept by the bed. He gave it to John while he donned the additional clothing.
“I have a more powerful torch in my car,” Alistair said.
“Good, we’ll need it.”
When Rex opened the front door, sleet flew in his face, stinging his eyes. Cautiously, he walked into the courtyard and looked about him. Black ice and wet gravel glinted among the guests’ vehicles. The station wagon belonging to the Weavers stood closest to the front door, the Frasers’ dark blue sedan just beyond it. Alistair’s silver Porsche, then Drew’s white BMW, the professor’s Morris Minor, and the students’ old jalopy were positioned in receding order of arrival. Helen’s Renault and his own car were parked in the old stables that had been converted into a garage. The exposed area of driveway was crisscrossed with tire tracks, the snow fluted at the edges like pastry crust where he had cleared it that afternoon.
The biting cold served to wake him up even as his extremities went numb. How much he would have preferred not to have been out on this particular night looking for an errant guest! The wind chill made the experience all the more miserable, and he felt rotten about having to subject three of his guests to the unpleasant task, especially as there was no knowing what they might find.
6
a grim find
On the steep, wooded hillside around him loomed dark Scots pines, dripping birch trees, and junipers. Ghostly contrails of mist floated among the tall trunks. The moon was barely visible through the glowering clouds, casting the lodge and outbuildings in dense shadow, the front door under the stone porch a solid black rectangle. Had the electricity been on, the mysterious caller might have rung the bell—unless nobody had been outside to begin with. The wind rapped the branches of the overgrown vine against the door, but not as loudly now. The gale seemed to be dying down.
Alistair and John had diverged to search the stables and the back of the house and loch. Rex shivered to think of the wind-rippled wavelets in the gray lake. No one in Ken’s state could survive the chill of the water for long. Alistair, who had taken his powerful flashlight, re-joined him with a hopeless shrug of the shoulders. He played his beam around the recesses of the courtyard and between the parked cars. Diamond crystals glinted in the orb of his light on the ground sheened with frost at their feet.
“No sign in the stables or meadow,” he reported, his breath fogging in the cold air. “I searched every nook and cranny. What’s a cranny, anyway? Sod this sleet,” he cursed, swiping at his eyes with a gloved hand.
John came up shortly afterward, shaking his head ensconced in a black beanie hat. “I don’t think he’s oot here. If he is, I hate to think what state he’ll be in, especially if he went into the loch. I couldn’t see far because of the mist.” The medic clutched his mitted hands together for warmth.
“Perhaps we should all three search the loch and walk a short way up the shore,” Rex suggested. “Just to be certain. Wh
ere’s Drew?”
“He stayed behind to explore the house first, the canny beggar,” John said, clearly miffed.
“He’s taking his sweet time about it,” Alistair remarked.
The men moved off in the direction of the loch.
“I’ve found him!” Drew yelled from the front door. “He’s in the broom cupboard. He must have crawled in there to keep warm.”
“Is he okay?” Rex demanded, turning back, gruff from anxiety and cold, but relieved they would not have to search by the open loch, fully exposed to the wind.
“I cannot tell. I think he’s unconscious. Perhaps John should come and take a look.”
The trio trooped back inside the lodge, stamping the slush off their boots and shoes on the mat. Rex divested himself of his anorak while John approached Drew standing outside the broom closet. Rex took stock. Located opposite the blank wall of the living room, whose door was farther down the hall, the closet was not visible to anyone in the room, unless they were positioned in the doorway. The house agent stepped aside for John who held the flashlight Rex had given him.
“This is the last place I looked,” Drew said.
There was little room in the closet beneath the stairs, which housed mops and a vacuum cleaner, or Rex would have thought to look in it. As it was, he could see Ken Fraser in a comatose stupor slumped up against the far wall with his knees to his chest, before John’s crouching body hid him entirely from view. After a few minutes, the medic backed out of the space and turned a concerned look upon the three men waiting for news.
“He’s not breathing. No pulse. I closed his eyes. I’m afraid he’s gone.”
“Dead?” Alistair asked in shock. “Are you sure?”
“Course I’m sure.”
“Was it the booze?” Drew asked. “Alcohol poisoning or something?”
“Possibly. It would be better if I could examine him properly. But we need to get an ambulance here at once just to be safe.”
Alistair got on his phone while Rex made arrangements to take Ken into the living room. He called Helen from the doorway and asked her to cover the sofa by the side window.
“We have a body,” he explained. “We found Ken Fraser in the broom cupboard.”
Helen gasped, clamping a hand to her mouth. “Dead?” she finally managed to ask, echoing Alistair.
“Think so, but we don’t know how he died. John and Drew are bringing him oot now.”
She tore the festive tiara from her abundant blond hair. “I can’t believe this,” she said, on the verge of tears.
He took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I know, lass. And tonight of all nights.” Or any night, for that matter.
“Well,” she said wiping away an incipient tear. “We had better just deal with it. It’s not like we haven’t before.”
“Helen,” he said, cupping her chin and lifting her face to his. “Just when I think I couldn’t love you any more, I find that I do.”
Her bottom lip trembled, but she managed a smile. “I suppose I’d better get a sheet and whatnot.” She hurried up the stairs to the armoire on the landing. He regretted putting her through such a situation again, and marveled at how she always came up trumps.
He entered the living room with his flashlight and tried to rouse Catriona in her armchair. Her eyes were closed, and she did not respond. He dreaded having to inform her that her husband was in all likelihood dead. He shook her more forcefully and repeated her name. Her head lolled to one side, her graying auburn hair falling over her face.
“John,” he shouted hoarsely.
Drew and the medic were laying Ken’s body on the sofa as Alistair and Helen stood by in silence.
“What’s the matter?” John asked approaching.
“You had better check Catriona. She’s not showing any signs of life either.”
John swore abruptly and flew to her side. The other guests were beginning to ask questions from where they sat around the fireplace. They probably thought Ken was sleeping and the others were simply making him more comfortable. Rex told them he would explain in a minute and to keep their seats in the meantime. He heard some murmurs of concern but his attention was now directed to something puzzling as he looked over at Ken. He was sure the gray and white scarf around his neck had been loosened during the course of the night, but now it was knotted securely. Perhaps Ken had grown cold inside the closet and tightened it.
Acting on a hunch, Rex went over to the body and, bending over, untied the scarf. On the left side of Ken’s neck he noticed a small puncture wound oozing blood. A lot more had been absorbed by the scarf. Upon closer inspection, he saw the hole contained a sticky dark brown residue.
“What the heck,” Alistair began beside him, peering at the man’s neck with the aid of his flashlight. “What is that?”
“I don’t know. Best call the police.”
“She’s dead,” John announced from halfway across the room.
“Did you see this when you were checking his vitals?” Rex asked the medic now standing beside him.
“No. I just reached inside the scarf to the right to check his pulse. That looks like a wound made by a knifepoint. It’s almost completely round. Look, here’s his pipe,” John said pulling the object from the dead man’s trouser pocket. “Stone cold. What happened here?”
“Damned if I know,” Alistair said. “It couldn’t be a snake bite or something, could it?”
The only poisonous snakes in Scotland were adders, but not in winter, and not in one’s home, Rex thought. Mostly, one saw them around boulders out on the moorland in summer and in the spring.
“You’d expect to find two perforations from a snake, and I only see one. And the location on the body is unlikely,” John said.
“Especially if it was covered up with the scarf.” Rex straightened to his full height and asked, “Did you see something similar on Catriona?”
“I didn’t notice anything.” John went back to the armchair, and Rex followed. The medic examined Mrs. Fraser’s neck, moving her hair away on each side and at the back. There were no similar marks. Nor anywhere else on her exposed skin, which was limited to her neck, face and hands. She wore stockings in her shoes beneath the dove-gray satin pantsuit.
At that moment, Vanessa Weaver spoke behind Rex, jolting him from his disturbing reflections.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” he asked.
“I said, ‘What on earth is going on?’ You keep examining the Frasers like they were dolls.”
“Dead bodies,” John corrected. “Something strange is going on, Vanessa. And until we find oot what it is, we could all be in danger.”
Vanessa cried out, her hands flying to her throat.
Rex stared in surprise at the young man. “Where’s your bedside manner, John? No need to frighten everybody more than is absolutely necessary.”
“She needs to stay away unless she can be of assistance,” the medic said shortly. “I’m trying to think what could have killed this woman.” He looked over Catriona’s neck and throat again.
“The plaster on her thumb,” Rex said of a sudden. “Check there.”
The medic did so, unpeeling it. It had lost some of its adhesiveness. “Aye, look here,” he told Rex. “The cut is deep and round. Quite a bit of blood. Don’t know how we missed it. Some has escaped the plaster.”
“It’s dark. Excuse me, Vanessa.” Rex gently moved the interior designer aside. “Hm, the cut is deeper than she received from the glass, I’ll warrant.”
“But not as deep a wound as on Ken,” John said peering at the victim’s thumb with his flashlight. “I hope I haven’t disturbed any evidence if this is a crime.” He glanced up at Rex. “Well, I suppose it must be, right? What caused the roundish wounds on the bodies, I cannot say, but something pointed, obviously.”
“What are you talkin
g about?” Mrs. Weaver demanded. “What’s all the blood from?”
“We don’t know,” Rex replied. “Vanessa, do you mind sitting back down and trying to keep the guests calm? I’ll be over once I know a bit more.”
She went reluctantly and was immediately besieged by questions from the other guests. Rex tried to tune them out. He pinched his eyes shut and tried to think clearly.
“Is there dark stuff in the blood?” he asked John.
“Aye, in the wound. Darker than dried blood. What is it? It’s not powder.”
“Perhaps we should check the old gentleman and make sure he’s not dead too.”
_____
John made his way over to the wheelchair by the fire. “Sleeping soundly,” he reported. “Regular, if wheezy, breathing and pulse. I don’t suppose he’s a suspect?” the medic asked in an attempt at levity when he re-joined Rex.
“Well, if he is, he’s far down the list. But perhaps he heard or saw something the rest of us didn’t.”
“Unlikely. His chair is facing into the corner.”
“Wheelchairs are moveable.”
“His is an old-fashioned one without much mobility other than forward and backward propulsion. When he wakes up, I’ll tell him he can hopefully get an electric one on the NHS.”
“I don’t know how much time he spends in it,” Rex said. “I’ll have to ask Vanessa.”
“Quite a bit, I suspect. His arms are strong for his age. I noticed that when I helped him into his chair when we arrived. Pushing yourself around in one of those requires some effort, since you have to propel them manually. That will build up your muscles.”
Alistair came and put an arm around John. “You can look after me in my dotage.”
“And I thought you were only after my body,” the young medic quipped.
No doubt John’s flippancy derived from having seen too many casualties from traffic accidents and other everyday tragedies. Alistair, like Rex, a prosecutor of the most heinous crimes, was accustomed to death in all its forms too. However, it was worse when the deceased were guests at your party.
Murder at Midnight Page 6
