Does Your Mother Know?

by Maureen Jennings

  “What was the cause of death, Doctor?” Gillies asked.

  “I’m attributing it to a pulmonary hemorrhage. Tormod had been suffering from advanced liver disease for a wee while now.” For my benefit, although he didn’t look at me, he added, “One of the side effects is that the veins of the esophagus swell and burst.”

  Gillies tuned right in. “Would death have been immediate? There was no call to emergency that we’ve recorded.”

  “I kenna say for certain, seeing as I wasna here, but the likelihood is that it was not a fast death. But he could quite possibly have been asleep when the hemorrhage started.”

  I interjected, probably foolishly. “But he would have woken up choking, wouldn’t he? Was there any indication he tried to get to the telephone?”

  MacBeth scowled. “The Lord was overseeing him, lassie, not me, so I don’t know. Moreover the telephone set is downstairs, which he knew.”

  I was getting irked in my turn with Dr. MacBeth brandishing his claymore in my direction. And maybe in Scottish “lassie” was a common way to talk to women. To my ear, however, it sounded exactly like “little girl.”

  “So, he doesn’t seem to have made the attempt and died on the bed as you found him.”

  “Precisely so.”

  I wasn’t going to argue with the man but that made no sense to me. For one thing, the bed was close to the far wall and to get to the door, and presumably either to the bathroom or to the telephone, MacAulay would have been turning to the other side — to his right, which was not where the towel was or the spatter of blood on the sheet. When I was on the beat, I’d been called to an apartment where a woman had died in suspicious circumstances. It turned out she had choked to death on her own vomit after a three-day binge of Johnny Walker’s cheapest. She was lying half off the couch, where she’d passed out, her head touching the ground, because the instinct to bend over and get rid of whatever was choking up the airwaves was a powerful one. Surely, Tormod MacAulay would have struggled against the red tide of blood surging up from his lungs to drown him.

  “Was there blood anywhere else? The bathroom for instance?” Dr. MacBeth stared at me. “I didna look. This isna Chicago, lass. It’s no a gangland shooting. This man was a patient of mine and he died from natural causes.”

  He was being so preposterous, I didn’t have much recourse. I was a visitor after all, and getting all huffy and challenging the man wasn’t going to get me very far.

  “When did you last see him, Doctor?” Gillies got in smoothly.

  “About a month ago.”

  “What was the state of his health then?”

  MacBeth wasn’t budging an inch. “Bad. The only thing that was going to save him was a new liver, and you know how unlikely that was.”

  I couldn’t tell if the doctor was so prehistoric he’d never heard of transplants or if he was referring to MacAulay’s eligibility.

  Gillies continued, which made things easier. “I take it there was no sign of trauma, Sir?”

  “None.”

  “Will there be an autopsy?” I butted in.

  Another scowl from the doctor. “There is no need to waste good taxpayers’ money when the death is not unexpected.”

  “But it was sudden, wasn’t it?”

  I assumed the Scottish criminal code was the same as the Canadian, in which any unexpected or sudden death must be reported to the coroner.

  I could see on his face that MacBeth was having a little war within. He couldn’t bear to concede my point, but he was still a physician.

  “I suppose you could say that. Although, I repeat, given his condition, this was always a possibility.” He turned back to Gillies, dismissing me. “I’ll sign the death certificate when I go downstairs. And unless the immediate family requests it, his mortal remains will be undisturbed and he will be buried intact.”

  So there, foreign lassie.

  “Have the ambulance bring him to the morgue. Andy will be making funeral arrangements.”

  Again Gillies did something utterly wonderful.

  “While I have you, Sir, I wonder if I might ask you a question on another matter. You just finished the post mortem on the accident victim, Mrs. Sarah MacDonald, didn’t you?”

  “Aye. All done with.”

  “I haven’t had an opportunity to read your report yet. What were your conclusions?”

  MacBeth snorted derisively. “What do you expect? Drunkness killed her. Sarah MacDonald was an alcoholic for years. She was, in common parlance, ‘staggering drunk’ — or ‘completely pissed’ as they say in America. Apparently she picked up some drinking companion at the hotel and they got hickey together.”

  “Did Mrs. MacDonald die from alcohol poisoning?” I asked.

  “Of course not. The direct cause of death was the severance of the second cervical vertebrae when her car went over a cliff and smashed itself on the rocks. She was a foolish woman.”

  “Is that a description in common parlance or a medical opinion, Dr. MacBeth?”

  “Eh?”

  “Miss Morris is from Canada, Dr. MacBeth,” interjected the sergeant. “She has a different kind of experience from us. I’ve told her, in this part of the world everybody knows everybody else.”

  “Quite so.”

  I couldn’t resist the opportunity to push.

  “I suppose there’s no doubt that Mrs. MacDonald was the driver of the car? Given the nature of her injuries, I wonder if that is something you could determine”

  He frowned. “That’s more a question for the sergeant here than for me. All I know is she broke her bloody neck when she was flung out of the car.” He addressed Gillies. “Have you found the other woman yet?”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  “If you ask me she’s at the bottom of the sea. She’ll wash up at the Butt one of these days. They usually do.”

  Of course he had no inkling of who I actually was, but the brutality of his words were like an assault. Gillies couldn’t let it go any further.

  “Actually, doctor, Miss Morris is here because the missing woman is her mother.”

  “What? I thought you said she was a police officer.”

  “I am. Both. The daughter of the missing woman and a police officer from Canada.”

  He stared at me, hardly abashed. “Well, I’m sorry for your loss.” This remark could not be pursued because there was a call from downstairs.

  “The ambulance is here, Sir.”

  “Will you see to the removal, Gillies? I’ll go on ahead to Stornoway.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The doctor paused in the doorway. “You should put a fresh steak on that eye,” he said to Gillies.

  A fresh steak! I’d expect him to bring out the leeches.

  He left and Gillies touched my hand.

  “Take a deep breath.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said ungraciously. “Not in here.”

  “Will you take care of Andy and his girl then? They might get upset seeing the body brought out. I’d better stay here.”

  “Okay.” I paused. “Would you mind if I checked out the bathroom?”

  “There’s a toilet downstairs to the right of the front door.”

  “No, I meant this one. I’d like to see if there’s any blood in there.”

  His expression was kind. “Why don’t we both have a look round after they’ve all left. Set your mind at rest.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  I made my way downstairs, aware my legs were shaky.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I walked out to the patio. The rain had stopped and high, dry stone walls gave protection from the prevailing wind, so that the corner was pleasantly warm.

  “Hello, everybody. Sergeant Gillies has asked me to let you know that the ambulance men will be removing Mr. MacAulay’s body. They will take him to the morgue at Stornoway.”

  Andy MacAulay looked up, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief.

  “Thank you.”

  You can’t fake the
kind of distress he was experiencing, and my heart went out to him. His fiancée jerked her head in my direction. “Andy’s had a dreadful shock. I hope you’re not expecting him to say anything.” I recognized the accent now — there was an American northeastern clip. His hand was locked in hers, and she had the fierce look of a woman who is ready to stand by her man no matter what: aggressive, ready to throw me out bodily if necessary.

  She frowned. “Didn’t we see you at the airport?”

  “Yes, you did. My name is Morris. Christine Morris. I’m with the Canadian police force.”

  “Well this is Andy MacAulay, and I’m his fiancée, Coral-Lyn Pitchers. That’s Coral as in reef — not Carol — and Pitchers as in baseball.” She reeled it off as if I were officially taking notes. I had the impression she was accustomed to being interviewed, perhaps because of her involvement with the Lord’s Day Observance Society. But I’d guess that even earlier than that, she’d had to divert lewd jokes from the male population. Her dress wasn’t tight-fitting at all, but she was snugly belted at the waist, and she couldn’t hide the size of her unusually ample breasts.

  The other woman had turned from her sea watch and she came forward with her hand outstretched.

  “Hallo to you, Miss Morris. I’m Lisa MacKenzie. I worked for Mr. MacAulay.”

  I was right about the piercings. She had a silver ring through her left eyebrow and several in each ear. She was older than I expected from her slim build and spiky hair, and was pale and drawn, but quite in control of herself.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” I had no official right to ask her, of course, and I didn’t know how the other two would react, but I could tell she needed to unburden herself of the experience of finding a decaying corpse.

  “I have a key.” She paused, and I caught the look that Coral-Lyn threw at her. So did Lisa, and her voice got an edge of defiance. “I am... that is, I was... employed by Mr. MacAulay. I do odd jobs, gardening, tidying, and so on.... Keep him company.”

  “Do you live here?”

  She looked a little discomfited.

  “He was kind enough to let me have the use of the spare room. I’m a student in Skye, so it was easier for me to stay two or three days at a time. Mostly on the weekends.”

  Suddenly, she stared at something over my shoulder and I guessed the ambulance men were bringing down MacAulay’s body. Andy and Coral-Lyn didn’t notice, since she was busy whispering comforting words into his ear.

  I brought Lisa’s attention back to me. “How soon after you came into the house, did you go upstairs?”

  “Not right away. There was a dreadful smell, and I thought something had been left in the rubbish bin and gone rotten. I went into the kitchen to look, but the bin was empty. I threw open some of the windows.” She bit her lip. “I realized the house was unnaturally quiet. Tormod always played his radio or sometimes the television, but I couldn’t hear anything. I called out to him a few times, but of course there was no answer.”

  She paused and I could see her remembering what happened next. I nodded sympathetically.

  “I went up to the bedroom.”

  Andy and his fiancée were both listening now.

  “As soon as I opened the door and saw him on the bed, I knew he was dead. I ran back downstairs and telephoned Dr. MacBeth. Tormod’s been ill for a little while, you see, and Dr. MacBeth was his doctor.”

  “What did you do after that?”

  “I telephoned Andy on his mobile phone and asked him to come at once.”

  “We were still at the airport,” said Coral-Lyn. “We knew something was dreadfully wrong and we got here as fast as we could. By the time we arrived, Constable Fraser was here.”

  “Dr. MacBeth told me to telephone the police,” interrupted Lisa. She was anxious to show Coral-Lyn she had done all the right things, but I could sense the antagonism between them.

  “Did you go upstairs?” I asked Andy, wanting to get an answer out of him that wasn’t monitored by his fiancée.

  He shook his head. “The constable confirmed that Granda was dead and recommended we come outside and wait until Dr. MacBeth arrived. Coral-Lyn was feeling quite sick because of the ... because of the odour.”

  “I’m very smell-sensitive,” interjected Coral-Lyn as if it were a mark of virtue. She got the conversation back from Andy.

  “We were completely devastated, of course. I mean, we knew he wasn’t in the best of health, but when Andy saw him last, which was Thursday afternoon, he was quite well, wasn’t he, Honey?”

  “Oh yes.”

  She touched Andy’s head. “He’s so upset because he usually comes to visit Granda on Fridays, but he had a meeting that kept him late at the church, so he couldn’t come. He thinks that, if he had been here, he might have been able to do something. Isn’t that right, Honey?”

  Andy nodded.

  I gave that a respectful beat, then asked, “Did he say anything about expecting visitors the following day?”

  “No, not at all.”

  Andy blinked, averted his eyes, and touched his finger to the bridge of his nose. Coral-Lyn kept her eyes fixed on me. “Why do you ask?”

  “The nearest neighbours, Mr. and Mrs. MacLean, said they saw a car coming from the direction of the house on Friday night.”

  The door to the patio opened and Gillies came out.

  “Your granddad has been moved to Stornoway, Andy.”

  Coral-Lyn jumped up. “We’d better get going then. We have a lot of arrangements to make. Come on, Darling. I’ll drive us.”

  Andy got to his feet and she took his hand. He let himself be led out like a small boy.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Lisa said, “I don’t know about you both, but I could stand a strong cup of tea. Shall I mash some, Gill?”

  “Please.”

  “How about a drop of malt in it?”

  “Great. We could do with it.”

  Actually, he looked fine, but I sat down on the iron bench, aware once again of his tact.

  “I’ll be back in a tick,” said Lisa. She seemed revived at having something to do, and also, I guessed, because Andy and Coral-Lyn had left. It was my turn now to stare towards the grey sea.

  If you ask me, she’s at the bottom of the Atlantic.

  I couldn’t absorb the notion that my mother, after surviving all the years of turbulence and heavy drinking, might have died in a car accident.

  Unexpectedly, a patch of blue sky had appeared overhead, and the capricious sun shone apologetically into the patio. In each corner was a large cement flowerpot, filled with yellow daisies and trailing ivy. Lisa’s job, I assumed. I yawned, suddenly feeling very sleepy. I could hear a bee buzzing near my leg, but it wasn’t interested in me, only its hunt for nectar. I was sorely tempted to swing my legs around, stretch out on the bench, and fall into blissful unconsciousness. I glanced over at Gillies, who was watching me.

  “You’re exhausted. As soon as we’ve downed the tea, I’ll drive you to the hotel. There’s not a lot more you can do here.”

  “Isn’t there? I feel as if I should be doing something, though.”

  “This isn’t exactly your case, Christine. We’ll get to the bottom of it, I promise.”

  I liked the way he said my name, and his tone was kind, not the least dismissive. I leaned back against the hard iron bench and closed my eyes. The sun was so soft and warm. I felt as if my face was being caressed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  In fact, the tea, which was very strong, British-style, woke me up. Lisa had added the whisky directly to the tea, which was probably a sacrilege, but it certainly gave it a nice kick. By the time I had downed the first cup, I was awake and raring to go. Lisa had disappeared while we had the tea, saying she needed to do some heavy work out in the front flower bed. Gillies didn’t say much, once again taking his cue from me, which I appreciated. I just muttered banalities about the strength of the brew, the prettiness of the garden, the effect of the whisky.

 
“Do you want some more?” he asked, reaching for the teapot, which was underneath an embroidered tea cosy.

  “No, thanks. That’ll do me for the next week, I think.”

  He grinned. “If you stay with us for a wee while, your kidneys will get stronger.”

  “Or be wiped out completely.”

  “Aye, that too.”

  “I don’t want to tread on any toes, or be intrusive, but I wonder if I could talk to Lisa.”

  “What do you mean, talk?”

  “Talk the way I would with any witness to a... sudden death. There’s a procedure we follow.”

  “I can’t imagine any reason why not, if it’s what you want to do. Frankly, I’d be interested to see you in action.”

  “Hey, come on. It’s not anything you wouldn’t do.”

  “Let’s see then.”

  He got up and walked to the edge of the patio, leaned around the wall, and called, “Lisa. Thig an-seo, tapadh leat.”

  I heard her call a response, also in Gaelic.

  Gillies came back and sat down, and in a moment Lisa appeared, wiping her hands on the linen gardening apron she was wearing. There was a strong whiff of smoke around her, and I gathered she had been pulling on more than one kind of weed.

  “You rang, Sir?”

  “Miss Morris wants to ask you some questions. Is that all right by you?”

  She shrugged. “Of course.” She turned to me. “What do you want to know?”

  The question was put politely enough, but she was wary, as if she were emotionally shifting to the balls of her feet like a boxer ready to handle whatever came his way. I didn’t know why and didn’t particularly care. Probably to do with the companion thing. She seemed young to be shacking up with a sick old man, but that wasn’t any concern of mine. At least not at the moment.

  “You heard me mention to Andy and his fiancée that Mr. and Mrs. MacLean apparently saw a car leaving the house on Friday night. Do you have any idea who that might have been?”

  “No. Why do you ask?” she echoed Coral-Lyn’s words. Gillies helped me out. “It’d be interesting to talk to whoever it was came here, see how Tormod was.”

  She frowned. “I don’t know what you’re getting at. He was ill. Dr. MacBeth told him weeks ago there was a danger of him hemorrhaging.”