Amanda sat back from the table, looking stunned. “That bastard committed this building before he even ran it past the board.” She shook her head as if trying to get the words to sink in.
“Did Jenny say when they were hoping to open?” I asked Beth.
“She said they made her a job offer starting next month.”
“Do you know if Jenny told anyone else about Manorcare?”
“I don’t know,” Beth replied, looking at Amanda. “She told me she was going to talk to a friend who might be able to help. Maybe she just didn’t manage to before…” Beth trailed off and dabbed her eyes with a tissue.
“Did she say who she was going to talk to?” I asked.
“No. Just a friend.”
“When did she go for the interview?”
“Let’s see, it was the same day I went to the dentist last week, must have been Friday.”
Four days before Jenny was found dead. She’d known for four days and hadn’t told Amanda. Maybe she’d decided it was too late. Maybe she didn’t want to be blamed for rocking the boat, but more likely she’d told Sheila. All the girls confided in Sheila. Had Sheila confronted Urquhart with this information? Had she threatened to expose him to his fellow board members?
Beth went on to reminisce about Jenny and eventually Amanda and I escorted Beth upstairs to Jenny’s room. Her mother had refused to come and take any of the dead girl’s belongings, so between us we helped Beth sort through Jenny’s meager possessions and pack them into boxes.
When we’d finished, Beth ran her hand lightly over the top of the carton she was holding. “It seems such a sad way to end, and so little to show for a life. Margie and I’ll keep a few mementos, but the rest will have to go to charity, I suppose.”
We saw Beth out the front door and Amanda slumped against the doorframe, the tears she’d been holding in check sliding down her cheeks.
“I can’t believe Urquhart would do this. He’s a smarmy bugger, but why didn’t Jenny tell me what was happening? What am I saying? I know why she didn’t. She told Sheila instead, and Sheila tried to address the problem head-on like she always did.” Amanda took a deep, shuddering breath.
Neither of us said aloud that Sheila might have ended up paying with her life for her boldness. This was information that simply had to be shared with the police.
“I’m so sorry everything seems to be crashing down at once.” I followed Amanda back into her office. She flopped into the chair at the desk and gestured to a folding chair in the corner, waving her hand as if to evaporate the stack of papers already sitting on it. I picked up the pile and moved it to the top of a file cabinet before perching uncomfortably on the metal chair.
“On top of everything else, Lila Ross called in a rage this morning,” Amanda said. “The police had been there and searched the house top to bottom before taking Duncan down to the station to question him.”
“At least they are aggressively pursuing Jenny’s case.”
Amanda ignored the hint. “Lila, of course, could care less about Duncan. She was focused on the negative press and how it would tarnish the family name. When she’d calmed down a bit, she hinted that the Ross family might see fit to substantially increase their donations to the shelter if it turned out that Jenny was lying. She implied that some of the other girls might have a ‘clearer’ view of what happened,” Amanda said bitterly.
“What did you say?”
“What can you say to someone like that? I told her I had no control over what the girls said and, besides, they’d all already spoken to the police.”
“Bet that went down well.”
Amanda sighed. “She called me a few very unladylike names and slammed the phone down in my ear.”
“Does Ross have a solicitor?” I asked.
“Who else?” Amanda shook her head. “Richard Urquhart.”
I was struck once more by how closely the board was enmeshed in each other’s lives. Tied together by secrets and lies that ultimately gave Ross and Urquhart considerable leverage over each other. Could Ross have killed Jenny at Urquhart’s request because she was interfering in his shady business dealings? Had Urquhart had Sheila killed because she challenged him on the Manorcare deal? Had Ross killed Sheila because she threatened to expose what he was doing to the girls? Too many options and too little information.
“You have to admit the authorities are making progress in their investigations. They need to know this information and they need to know about the ransom note.”
“No,” Amanda snapped. “We follow the instructions. Period.”
“Okay, okay.” I raised my hands in resignation. “Are you expecting Sam today?”
“He was supposed to be here first thing this morning, but he didn’t show.”
“Right, I have a few personal matters to take care of this morning,” I said vaguely, “but I can stop back later this afternoon. If he’s here, I’ll try to talk to him. After that we should get Nora up to Balfour and get her settled in. Maybe we can do a swap. Do you think you could find room at the Rest for one more guest?”
“There’s Jenny’s room,” Amanda said doubtfully. “It’s almost ready.”
“Actually, that would be perfect. I have a young woman who works for me and I’m going to send her over here to pose as a new resident. I’m thinking she may be able to do a better job than we can at getting the girls to share information.” I rose to go and followed Amanda out the door, quietly slipping the ransom note and the envelope it arrived in into my pocket.
I wanted to share in Amanda’s belief that a ransom request might mean that Sheila was still alive, but I wasn’t optimistic. We had twenty-four hours to wait for instructions. That was twenty-four hours to find Sheila, or twenty-four hours for a killer to cover his tracks. Either way, I needed professional help—now.
Chapter 12
Amanda was adamant and terrified, but excluding the police wasn’t an option as far as I was concerned, and the demand came addressed to me, not to her, so it was my decision to make. I returned to the car and carefully removed the ransom note from my pocket. It was probably too late to save any meaningful fingerprints, but I’d do what I could. My head was full of visions of Sheila being taken from the Rest. Dragged away and held hostage or, worse yet, already dead. In the end, I did what I always did. I reached out to Michaelson. This wasn’t his jurisdiction, but I knew he’d help me to get the help I needed. I dialed his cell number and quickly brought him up to speed on the ransom demand that had arrived at the Rest.
Michaelson didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Go to the police immediately.”
“That’s what I’m doing,” I said.
“Not me. The local police. Without them you haven’t a prayer of catching the person and you could end up forking over money and still not seeing your friend alive again.”
“I know that,” I said, trying to hide the exasperation in my voice. “But I don’t want to be seen going to the police in Edinburgh.”
“Okay, don’t go in person. Call the police. I’ll get you the name of an officer there you can trust.”
“I’d appreciate that, but what if they insist on seeing me in person? They don’t know me. They’ll want to see if I’m telling the truth.”
“They might not.”
“You know they will. Look, can’t I talk to you and have you relay the information to your contact?”
Michaelson sighed heavily on the other end of the phone. I could almost see him playing with the unlit cigarette in his hand. “This is well beyond my jurisdiction, Logan, but I’m willing to talk to my colleagues and see how they want to handle things.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Have they set a time and place for the ransom to be delivered?”
“They said I’d get instructions tomorrow. I’m not sure how or when.” I took a moment
to summarize Beth’s information about Manorcare. The police would value it or not, but they needed to know.
“Right, I’ll pass the information along,” Michaelson said. “Meanwhile, keep your phone handy and I’ll be back in touch soon.”
* * *
—
I’d reached out to the police and I was willing to give them everything I had so far, but my gut told me that finding the person who sent the ransom note wasn’t going to lead us to Sheila. The demand took too long to come, and the “kidnapper” provided nothing to prove he actually had Sheila. No personal trinket, no voice recording. The ransom was a crime of opportunity, I was sure of it.
My phone blipped and I checked quickly to see if it was Michaelson. The message that appeared on the home screen was an address for former board member Chris Burley over in the suburb of Juniper Green. Once again Patrick had come through, and quickly. I started the car and swung out into traffic. Talking to Burley would be better than sitting here while I waited to hear from Michaelson. I wanted to find out what, if anything, he knew about Urquhart’s shady dealings, and whether he’d left the board of his own free will.
Juniper Green was a pretty area along the hill line to the east of town, but the block of flats the Burleys called home left much to be desired. The low, two-story building was made of 1960s cinder block. Cheerless, but efficient. I knocked on the door of number 247 but got no reply. As I turned to leave, a figure stepped out from the apartment next door. Tight-cropped gray curls sat atop a hard-worn face with thin lips supporting a bobbing cigarette. The husky frame below was wrapped in a wildly floral apron.
“Lady of the house is at St. Anne’s, if that’s who you’re after,” she announced without warmth.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Actually, I was looking for Mr. Burley.”
“Expect he’s down at the allotment. If he’s around, that’s where he stops. Down the lane there t’ the left. His is the fourth or fifth space along. You’ll know it. It’s the only one with plants actually growin’ in it.”
I followed the direction of the pointing finger and passed a line of bedraggled-looking allotments whose owners I imagined spent more time hiding in their sheds with a beer and the newspaper than they did in actual horticultural pursuits. Chris Burley’s plot was immediately obvious. Trellises had been staked out in neat rows around the edge of the space, the next ring was covered in dark plastic, then a swath of pansies, some early planted onions, and a selection of glass jars covering fall plantings and protecting them against any lingering frosts. In the middle was a small shed for storing tools, and next to it, in a garden chair, sat Mr. Burley, looking as if he were in the central ring of hell.
He looked up at me with the eyes of a man whose life has betrayed him. Melancholy oozed from him like jelly from an overstuffed doughnut. I felt badly for intruding, but I’d come too far to turn back now.
“Mr. Burley?”
“Aye. Can I help you?”
“I hope so. My name’s Abi Logan and I’m a friend of Amanda Forrester’s.”
Burley rose and retrieved a box from the shed and turned it upside down before offering me the chair he’d been sitting in. “Sorry, I only have the one chair. Don’t really get visitors here.”
I took the offered chair and Burley sat on the box and pulled out a cigarette. “Mind?”
I shook my head no and tried to think of the best place to start. “Amanda asked me to take the seat on the board of the Shepherd’s Rest that you recently vacated.” I watched Burley take a long drag on his cigarette, staring down at his fingers as he slowly blew the smoke out of his nose and mouth. An oddly meditative gesture, but hardly a wholesome one. “I understand you have a lot to deal with at the moment and I hate to bother you,” I began, “but I have to say I’m feeling a bit like I’ve been a bad luck omen for the shelter since I turned up at the beginning of the week. Things seem to be going badly wrong.”
“Not sure how I can help with that.”
“I could use some insight into the people I’m working with.”
“Wasn’t really close to any of the board folks except for Amanda and Ms. Templeton.”
“And you were friends with Sheila Kinkaid, weren’t you?”
“Aye, she was a good lass.”
“Did you know she’s gone missing?” That got Burley’s attention, and from the look on his face, it was news to him.
“Missing? You mean she and the bairn ran off?”
“No. I mean she disappeared and left Nora behind.”
“She’d never. Never.” Burley frowned. “Has Amanda called the police?”
“She has.” I didn’t mention the ransom. “The police are looking for her, but Amanda’s asked me to help. We’re really worried about Sheila.”
Burley finally sat up straight and looked me in the eye. “What can I tell you?”
“Let’s start with your fellow board members. What can you tell me about them?”
“I’ve known the Templeton kids since they were wee ones,” he began. “I worked for their mother for more than twenty years. Designed all the modern gardens at the estate and maintained them until Moureen passed on.”
“But then you left. Why?”
“Kids were going in a new direction. I wasn’t sure at first, but it seems to have worked out for them.”
“So you disagreed with the kids over the handling of the estate?”
I saw a fleeting look of pain pass across his face. “What do I know about these things anymore? In my day being a farmer was barely a subsistence occupation. I was afraid Colin was steering them down a path to ruin, but look at them now, they’ve got fancy greenhouses and watering systems and posh cars. Greer tells me it’s all because of the booming demand for organic veg and such. Restaurants are willing to pay top dollar for locally sourced crops.” Burley shook his head. “Wish I could get that much for the spuds and beans I got here.”
“What about Duncan Ross?”
“Didn’t really know him well. Not like we socialized.” Burley’s tone was bitter.
“Did you know he used the girls at the shelter as childminders for his kids?”
“That he did, God help them.”
I waited for Burley to elaborate, but he didn’t. “One of the young women from the shelter died earlier this week after returning from a sitting gig at the Ross home.”
Burley crushed out his smoke and lit a second one. I noticed a slight quaver as he touched the tip of the lighter to the cigarette. “The police have arrested Duncan Ross on suspicion of drugging her.”
Couldn’t swear, but I thought I saw a ghost of a smile. “Sheila didn’t like Ross one bit,” Burley said. “Didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him, she used to say. I’m guessing she’d heard a tale or two from the girls, but she never told me.”
“What about Urquhart?”
“Sheila didn’t think much of him either.”
“And you?”
Burley ignored the question. “Do you remember Sheila talking about Urquhart’s plans for the shelter?” I prompted.
“Sheila wasn’t happy about it and she was angry with me for leaving the board. She said I was abandoning Amanda to the wolves.”
“Surely she understood that your wife needed you?”
“My wife’s in nursing care. She barely knows me now. Sheila knew that.”
If Burley wasn’t committed to sitting at his ailing wife’s side, why had he resigned? “You knew Urquhart was threatening to move the Rest to a new facility. Can I ask if you planned to vote for or against the move?”
“He sprung it on us the week before I left. Campbell Street is no place for a group of vulnerable women to be stuck on their own and certainly no place for a sweet girl like Nora.”
“Did Urquhart put pressure on you to vote with him?”
“He tried,
but I wasn’t changing my vote, no matter what he did.”
I continued to watch Burley, his shoulders slumped and his eyes downcast.
“How did he try to get you to change your vote?”
“Doesn’t matter. It didn’t work,” Burley said, studying the glowing end of his cigarette.
“But they got you to give up your position on the board, didn’t they? I’m not just being nosey. It could be important to what’s going on at the Rest. What did Urquhart do?”
Burley stood and stretched stiffly before walking a couple of paces down the path. He stood with his back to me as if ashamed to face me, and I had to strain to hear what he said. “It was my own fault. I should’ve been suspicious from the get-go. Urquhart and Ross invited me to Ross’s home for a drink one night. Said they wanted to have a chat about some trust business. I guessed what it was about, but I was stupidly curious to see how far they’d go. Thought maybe they’d offer me money. Was my chance to show them that they weren’t as superior as they thought. I’d just tell them where to put their stinking money.”
“From what I’ve seen of the two of them, they’d sink to just about anything,” I coaxed.
“We had some drinks but they didn’t really spend much time talking about the shelter at all. Urquhart was just pouring the drinks like we were old friends. That should have been my first clue that something was wrong.”
“Urquhart was pouring the drinks?”
“Aye, he made himself right at home. Like it was his house, not Ross’s.
“What happened next?”
“I have no idea. All I know is I woke up the next morning in my car on the side of the Queensferry Road. No idea how I got there at first.”
“I’m guessing they had some photographs to help fill in the blank spots in your memory.”
Burley turned and looked at me. “How did you know?”
“Not as uncommon a scam as you might think. So Urquhart and Ross had compromising photos of you and suggested you change your vote.”
Died in the Wool Page 15
