Rex excused himself and went to build up the fire before he addressed the remaining guests. As he worked, he wondered who could have crept up to Catriona’s armchair and pricked her thumb as she slept in a drink-induced slumber. Had she gasped from surprise or pain before collapsing in the chair? How long had she been dead and not asleep at all? And who had closed her eyes? It was all rather sinister.
“Of course, everybody’s horribly upset over the Frasers’ passing,” Helen commented when he had finished with the fire. “But they’re not panicking, fortunately.”
“The Frasers did not ‘pass,’ lass,” he said in a low voice. “They were murdered. ‘Passing’ implies some passive event befalling them, like death from natural causes, whereas evidence suggests someone was very active in their demise.”
“Don’t quibble, Rex. Not now. What I mean is the guests are holding up pretty well under the circumstances.”
“They’re in shock, and they probably think, if it was murder, the killer came in from the cold, so to speak. And that this intruder has since disappeared, having achieved his objective.”
“What would that be?”
“That of killing the Fraser couple, no doubt for monetary gain or revenge.”
“But you don’t think so?”
Rex led Helen aside, out of earshot. “I think it likely at least one of our guests is not concerned aboot anything except getting caught.”
Helen drew in a sharp breath. “And who might that be?” It was getting cold in the room away from the fire, and she huddled in her cardigan. No doubt fear had something to do with the gesture as well.
“I honestly don’t have a clue at this point.”
“But it could be an intruder all the same,” Helen persisted, naturally preferring the alternative of a stranger who had long since disappeared from the property. “After all, we wouldn’t have heard a vehicle in the storm. A four-wheel drive would have managed the slope without too much trouble. Did you venture out far enough to see if there were any new tracks? Or they could have left the vehicle at the top of the hill and walked down through the trees. The knock at the door could have been a ruse while the culprit ran to the kitchen door and came in that way. Perhaps he hid in the broom cupboard.”
“Aye, the kitchen door was unlocked. I’ll go and bolt it, though it’s a wee bit late now.” It was then he remembered the footprints in the slush. When was it he had gone out to fetch wood? It had to have been before midnight since he was about to get the champagne.
“He could have come upon Ken wandering about in the dark,” Helen said. “And then snuck in the living room and killed Catriona in her chair while you were on the phone to the power company.”
“I was at the end of the hall for a quarter of an hour. I would have seen someone come oot the kitchen.”
“Well, before, then. Or else he came in through the window in here. It was slightly ajar before I closed it.”
“When did you do that?”
“While you were all out looking for Ken. It was getting cold. And it was dark. What if he’s still in the house?”
“I think someone would have noticed a draught or some noise if someone climbed in. Having said that, I will of course inform the police about the open window and unlocked door.”
Helen’s lips twitched in a wry smile. “Of course you will, Rex. You want them to spend time on a wild goose chase while you solve the crime on your own.”
“Helen! I am duty bound to apprise law enforcement of all pertinent facts, which I fully expect them to explore while, as you say, I pursue my own lines of enquiry.”
With a complicit wink, he called 9-9-9 to report two suspicious deaths at Gleneagle Lodge, his doomed second home and country retreat. For the first time since acquiring the property, he thought about selling it.
He explained to the dispatcher that a call had already been put through for an ambulance and for the police, but there was now no question that two victims were murdered. He confirmed directions to the lodge. “Aye, between Invergarry and Laggan, north of the swing bridge. Also, we have no power. We’re making do with torches and candles, and one oil lamp. Please inform the police of that fact.”
It was one thirty in the morning on the first day of January and not an auspicious start to the year.
7
to catch a killer
The guests had finished the soup and rolls and sat eagerly waiting for Rex to explain the meaning of the two dead bodies in the living room. Rex had said he would eat later; he had little appetite at present. He mulled over what to say. Alistair, John, and Drew stood on the periphery of the group, as though in a separate camp from those who had not been party to the discovery of Ken Fraser in the broom closet and the subsequent realization that his wife had met a similar end.
Rex cleared his throat as he faced his guests, those with their backs to him at the coffee table turning around in their seats. Eight numb expressions faced him in the light of the oil lamp and candles, the professor’s spectacles reflecting flames off their spheres. Vanessa had turned her husband’s wheelchair toward Rex, but the old man was in shadow and Rex could not determine whether or not he was awake.
“As you are all aware, the unthinkable has happened,” Rex announced. “Ken and Catriona Fraser are dead, and I won’t beat aboot the bush: they were most likely murdered.”
Gasps and sobs erupted, although the news could have come as no surprise, since Vanessa would have told them what she knew. Margarita Delacruz, sitting straight and solemn, crossed herself and kissed a silver necklace she wore under her dress, murmuring something in Spanish.
“We don’t yet know exactly how, and we don’t know by whom,” Rex continued. “Now, withoot wishing to alarm you, we must assume, just to err on the side of caution, that the perpetrator is among us.”
This suggestion elicited a chorus of protests and objections. Rex ignored them. “It is, of course, possible that someone entered the house withoot our knowledge and committed the crimes for whatever reason, but that, to my mind, is a less likely scenario, pending further evidence. Naturally, the police have been alerted and will be here shortly. I suggest we all stay put and remain patient. In the meantime, if anyone has any relevant information or suspicions, I would be glad to hear it. If we can facilitate proceedings, the police will be finished with us sooner, and we can all go home.”
He wanted Helen and Julie back in Edinburgh at the earliest opportunity. A person who had killed twice wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.
“Do you think this has anything to do with the previous murder at Gleneagle Lodge?” Flora inevitably asked, with a catch in her voice.
“I don’t at this point, quite honestly,” Rex said. “That killer was caught and I don’t see a connection to the Frasers.”
“I wonder why they were targeted,” Vanessa Weaver remarked. “They were very unassuming people. But what if it was random?” She shuddered at this possibility.
“God, I hope there won’t be a lot of publicity,” Zoe exclaimed. “I don’t want to sound selfish, but it might ruin my chances with the audition.” She looked positively put out and cast a look of blame at Rex.
“Some thoughts are better kept to oneself, Zoe,” her mother chided. “No one wants to be associated with murder, but we must do whatever we can to help.”
“Thank you, Vanessa.”
“But I did try to warn you, Rex. Thirteen guests, you know.”
Well, eleven now, by your calculations, Rex thought, irritated by her senseless remarks. And perhaps still counting …
“Ehm,” began Jason, squeezing Flora’s hand, “are you sure they’re dead and not just unconscious? I’ve been to loads of student parties where people get smashed oot of their brains and pass oot, and don’t surface for hours.”
“John is quite sure. He is a paramedic, after all.”
“Aye, I forgot.” Ja
son rubbed at his brow. “But did they die of too much alcohol? You must have some idea.”
Rex turned to John, offering him the floor.
“We found small entry wounds in their bodies,” the medic explained. “Small and quite neat. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything like this even during training. I mean, I studied snake bites, and if there’d been a pair of holes, I might have thought something like that. But that wouldn’t make sense anyway in the dead of winter.”
“Holes, like from a jab?” Zoe asked.
“I would say so. But a jab alone would not have caused death in the places they were found.”
“And where was that?” the señora inquired.
“In Ken Fraser’s neck, not in an artery or major vessel, and in his wife’s thumb.”
“Her thumb!” Julie exclaimed. “Where she cut herself on the glass?”
John nodded, tight-lipped.
“Could she have got an infection from the glass?”
The medic shook his head. “Don’t think so. And then there’s her husband’s wound, similar but deeper. And more blood.”
Flora made a gagging motion and put a hand to her mouth. Rex hoped she was not going to be sick, and was about to go to her aid when she appeared to recover and smiled reassuringly at Jason, who was also watching her with concern.
“And in each case the wound was hidden,” John added gravely. “By Ken’s scarf and Catriona’s plaster.”
“Which makes it all the more suspicious,” Vanessa contributed to the discussion.
“Wait! Now I get it,” Zoe burst out. “It’s another game, isn’t it?” She pointed to Rex, Alistair, John, and Drew. “They plotted it when they were talking in the hall. Ken is just pretending to be dead and Catriona is still asleep!” She fell back in her seat laughing.
“Is this true?” Vanessa asked, looking confused and turning to Rex.
“I assure you this is no game.”
“If it is, it’s in very poor taste,” Margarita Delacruz remarked.
Helen threw up her hands. “Rex wouldn’t stage something like this. Nor would Alistair. I’m sure John and Drew wouldn’t either.”
“Perhaps we should be searching for the weapon,” Drew Harper said from where he stood beside Alistair. The house agent looked pale and drawn, showing his forty-odd years.
“The police will take care of that,” Julie replied tartly. Evidently, she didn’t care for the fact that Drew had not returned to comfort her. Helen took hold of her hand and squeezed it.
“I just can’t stand this waiting around.” His hands in his suit pockets, Drew shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “The police might be held up. It’s the worst night of the year for crime and accidents, and the icy weather won’t help. Dammit!” He banged his fists into his forehead, possibly wishing he had gone with his lady friend to Chicago, after all.
Rex was of similar mind with regard to searching for the weapon, but was glad not to have been the first to suggest it.
“What if the killer strikes again?” Jason said ominously, causing Flora to sink against his shoulder. The poor girl had already been through enough drama at the lodge to last a lifetime.
“I don’t think it’s one of us,” Vanessa countered, squaring her shoulders and tossing back her red mass of hair in defiance. “I mean, who among us …” Her encompassing glance paused on Margarita and quickly moved on. “It’s unthinkable.”
“I agree,” Cleverly said. “Preposterous. We don’t really know what happened. In fact, we know nothing much at all except that two people are dead.”
“It could have been something that happened prior,” Zoe said, eying the men warily as though they just might be prolonging the charade at everyone else’s expense. “Like some weird flesh-eating bacteria the Frasers caught from somewhere.” She looked over at John, who looked unconvinced, but said nothing. “Why doesn’t someone research it online?”
“I did,” said Alistair. “On my phone.”
“And?” Zoe asked.
“Nothing very useful came up. I think we had better stick with the facts.”
“Spoken like a true prosecutor,” John said with a brief smile.
Rex considered the options. The police might arrive immediately or they might be delayed. In the meantime, he had a dozen anxious people waiting in his living room, one of whom who might be anxious for a different reason. He wanted to catch the killer, or at the very least rattle that person enough for them to slip up and give themselves away by word or action.
“Well,” he took up again. “Let’s make ourselves useful and try to think of what might have caused the wounds to Ken and Catriona Fraser.”
“You seriously expect us to sit here calm as can be in the possible presence of a killer?” Margarita Delacruz inquired with haughty distain.
“I’m afraid we don’t have much choice,” Rex replied. “And let’s everybody keep their hands where we can see them.”
He had a quiet word with Alistair and then started clearing up the soup bowls and plates on the table. Helen rose to help him as did Julie, but Rex told the latter to stay warm by the fire. Drew came over and took Helen’s place, to Julie’s obvious satisfaction. Alistair and John slid into vacant armchairs, preparing for a bout of brainstorming, while Rex took the loaded tray to the kitchen, Helen in tow with the oil lamp.
He deposited the tray on the counter and informed her of his plan to search the guests.
“What if somebody objects?”
“That could be construed as an indication of guilt.”
“What if the culprit already disposed of the weapon?”
“It’s possible,” Rex said. “But they might be keeping it on their person for now.”
“In that case, we need to watch everybody before they can get rid of it. That means escorting everyone to the bathroom. Our guests will feel they are under suspicion.”
“Well, they are. We could pair them with people we trust. Alistair, for instance.”
“And Julie,” Helen said.
“And Flora.”
“Yes, I don’t see her being involved. But Jason? He’s a bit of a prankster, isn’t he? And that business with the metal detector and not telling anyone he’d found a valuable gold coin.”
“But other of our guests have behaved suspiciously. Señora Delacruz is a dark horse. Zoe was rummaging among the handbags. I wonder …”
Helen unloaded the crockery from the tray by the light of the oil lamp. “We don’t know exactly when Ken Fraser left the room, but he was with us for ‘Auld Lang Syne,’ and he never reappeared after the mysterious visitor called.”
“Aye,” Rex said. “The mysterious visitor.”
The one who had not made an appearance.
8
flying death
Finding upon their return to the living room that no headway had been made at the guests’ end, Rex asked the men, under Alistair’s supervision, to turn out their pockets and the women the contents of their handbags, unless they had any objections. None did, or made it apparent that they did.
They should bring in the coats from the hall as well, he said, in case any weapon was concealed in one of them. Still receiving no opposition, Helen piled the ladies’ bags on the coffee table.
Flora pointed to hers, a lacy cream affair stitched with fake pearls. “Be my guest,” she told Rex.
He snapped on a pair of transparent latex gloves from under the kitchen sink that Helen used for cleaning. They were a tight fit, but he didn’t want to compromise any evidence in the event some was found. The police would not appreciate his interference as it was, but time was of the essence. The killer might strike again.
Inside the reticule were Flora’s laminated student identity card, a purse, a smartphone, a brush, and a tube of mascara, which Rex untwisted with her permission, only to find that it
was indeed a tube of mascara, containing a wand whose tip was coated with black makeup. He felt a trifle silly holding it up in his beefy hand, and the younger women giggled.
“Sorry,” Zoe said. “I expect it’s nerves. I always want to giggle when I get stage fright.”
“Put something on,” her mother scolded. “You’ve got goose bumps all over your arms. It’s making me cold just looking at you.”
“I’m fine, Mum. Don’t fuss!”
In his notebook Rex compiled a list of the bag’s contents under Flora’s name and returned everything with his thanks.
“Zoe, is this yours?” he asked, picking up a green leather bag that matched her filmy dress and strappy sandals. She nodded, and he asked her permission to go through it, to which she shrugged in resignation. As the other guests looked on, he upended the bag onto the table and shook it. A compact, a lipstick in the unfortunately designated shade of Killer Red, and an ornate silver money-clip spilled out, along with some loose change and a small packet of spearmint gum. Also, a green velvet ribbon. Rex made an inventory of the items. People started to yawn.
“Thank you, Zoe,” he said, carefully replacing everything once he had checked there were no inside pockets. Zoe retrieved her bag and clutched it protectively to her chest. Alistair, directing the men’s operations, went from guest to guest patting down pockets, first Cleverly’s, then Drew’s, turning up nothing of interest, mainly wallets, keys, and an assortment of cellular phones.
Rex took hold of the next evening bag that came to hand. “And whose is this?” he asked.
“Mine,” said Vanessa.
Murmuring apologies, he unfastened the gold clasp and emptied the contents, which were similar in substance to her daughter’s but more expensive, and included a tin of cough drops instead of chewing gum. A curious object dropped out from among the clutter. At first he thought it was a fly fishing lure, such as he kept under lock and key in his study at the lodge.
“Oh, I forgot about this,” Vanessa said, picking it up off the table before Rex could prevent her. “Did anyone here lose it? I found it on the floor.” She looked expectantly around the table. Alistair had suspended his search and was gazing at the pointed, feathery-tailed object in her hand.
Murder at Midnight Page 7
