Murder Most Scottish

by Blake Banner

  “That is a very compelling theory, Dehan. Who else?”

  “Bee has to be up there.”

  “You think so?”

  She frowned at me and nodded, then began pacing into the shadows again, toward the dais.

  “I had a chat with Bee before I joined you in the study. She’s been in love with Charles Sr. since she was a kid. But, get this, she also had an affair with his dad. In fact, according to her, his dad warmed the sheets with just about every woman Charles Sr. was involved with.”

  I sighed. “I can’t say I’m all that surprised. If Oedipus had lived in this house, he would have needed a shrink. But explain to me how that would give Bee motive to kill him?”

  She sat next to me on the small divan and put her elbows on her knees. “Revenge. For giving the man she loved permission to marry…” She shrugged with one shoulder, “Not just marry, but marry a publican’s daughter. It was the ultimate rejection and humiliation, the ultimate insult to her and her sister. Her sister was the right woman for Charles. With her dead, Bee should have stepped into her shoes. But instead…”

  I nodded. “But instead he allows him to marry this slapper.”

  She frowned. “Slapper?”

  “A London term for a loose woman. You have a point. And revenge gives us one more suspect, perhaps two.”

  “Mother Armstrong and her son. But that is a lot of speculation, Stone. We don’t know how close they really were.”

  I made a face that was skeptical. “How old would you say Armstrong was? Fifty-six? Fifty-eight? That makes him about sixteen or seventeen at the time of Old Man Gordon’s murder. If he heard about the old man’s change of heart, which he might well have done if he was working here as the gardener, that gives him a powerful motive…”

  She nodded. “True.” She nodded again, raising her eyebrows. “Especially if he thought the old man had already changed the will.”

  I pointed at her. “That will. That will is at the heart of all this, Dehan, and I’ll tell you something else. It is still a powder keg. I have a bad feeling. I don’t think we’ve heard the last of this.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t put my finger on it, but I have a prickling at the back of my neck that says…”

  I hesitated.

  Her frown deepened. “What?”

  “Dehan, I have a bad feeling. I think there is going to be another murder.”

  “What? C’mon! You’re suffering from a combination of work deprivation and Scottish brooding.”

  I laughed. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to change for dinner, I’m going to slip into my ravishing red with the split up to my hip, we are going to have martinis before dinner and we are going to forget all about Old Man Gordon and these crazy people. And tomorrow…” She leaned across and stabbed my chest with her finger. “As soon as this storm has blown itself out, we are going to take that ferry and spend a day visiting distilleries and remote towns and thinking about something that is not a cold case.” She spread her hands. “Honeymoon, right? And these guys have Scotland Yard. It was called that for a reason, you know!”

  I laughed out loud.

  She laughed too. “To deal with crazy Scots murderers!”

  “You’re right. Hey, you want to dance?”

  “Now? Without music?”

  “I have a respectable baritone and I can hum a Strauss waltz with the best of them. But you have to put your feet on mine so I can guide you and not tread on your toes.”

  We did a couple of circuits of the ballroom, with Dehan standing on my feet and laughing helplessly while I twirled and pranced and hummed the Blue Danube, and the gale did its best to drown out my respectable baritone. After the second circuit, the door opened and a large figure stood silhouetted, watching us. I came to a halt, Dehan stepped off my shoes and turned to look, still giggling quietly.

  I couldn’t make out his features, but I could see it was Charles Gordon Sr. After a moment he spoke.

  “My son tells me you’ve been inquiring about my father’s death.”

  “As a matter of fact, we were. We run the cold cases unit at our precinct and we were curious. We didn’t mean to intrude.”

  He remained immobile. It was unsettling not to be able to see his face or his expression. After a moment, he said, “It’s not a cold case. It was ruled suicide.”

  “So I understand. As I say, it was just a passing interest.”

  He took a step into the room. “You think it was not suicide?”

  The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. I took a step toward him, partially blocking Dehan. I kept my voice level. “There are details that are hard to explain: the absence of powder burns, the absence of gunshot residue, the angle of the shot…”

  “You don’t need to convince me, Stone.” He took another step closer and now the gray light from the French windows touched half his face. One eye peered at me, hard, calculating. “I said it was murder from the start. The inspector agreed with me. But he was overruled. They closed it as a suicide.” He shook his head. “My father would not have committed suicide, not in a million years.”

  I nodded, then shrugged. “Well, as I say, Mr. Gordon, we just had a passing interest because of our work back home…”

  Dehan stepped forward. “Did you ever suspect anybody?”

  “Mrs. Stone…” For a moment it sounded like an answer to his question and I frowned, confused. Then he said, “Yes, I had my ideas, but I was never able to confirm them. You know what they say…” He shifted slightly in the shadows, and I knew he was looking at me again. “Keep your lovers close, but keep your enemies closer.”

  He turned and moved back to the open door. There he paused and spoke, out into the hallway. “We’ll be dressing for dinner.” Then a poisonous smile leeched into his voice. “The Camerons will be joining us again. Such a charming couple.”

  He disappeared toward the stairs and we heard his heavy tread climbing toward the upper floor.

  I scratched my head. “You think we could cross to the mainland this evening? I’ll take my chances with the storm.”

  She leaned her forehead on my chest, laughing softly. “Stone! Where have I brought us? What are they like?”

  “Come on, let’s go get changed. I need a drink. And tomorrow we go spend a day back in the real world. Maybe when we get back, this lot will seem a bit more normal.”

  She looked up at me and nodded. “I guess it was our fault for asking questions in the first place.”

  “I guess.”

  I gave her a kiss and we made our way into the hall. The storm had graduated from moaning and groaning to the occasional scream and wail. We had just reached the landing, where the stairs divided and climbed to the east and west wings, when behind us the door burst open and the howl of the wind filled the hall, and throughout the house we head doors bang and slam. We turned to look. I was surprised to see it was Robert Armstrong. He wrestled the door closed, then stood watching us a moment. Finally he said, “Ah’ve buznezz wuth Gordon.”

  I asked, “Father or son?”

  He shook his head. “Na’ye mind. Ah ken the way.”

  He stood watching us, waiting. We turned and continued up to our room.

  ELEVEN

  Somebody had lit the fire in our room. As we let ourselves in, the first flash of lightning lit up the gardens outside and showed a low, oppressive ceiling of dense, dark gray cloud. Less than a second later, the heavens split and exploded, the lights went out and a second flash illuminated the world with strange jerky, violet light. The flames in the fire wavered and the lights flickered and came back on.

  Dehan muttered something foul in Spanish, closed the door and made her way to the bathroom, stripping off her blouse.

  We showered and dressed with the storm tearing up the sky outside and claps of thunder threatening to smash down the roof, but there was no rain, only the prickling static of the humid, su
ltry air, and the trees bending and swaying through the window in the wild wind, caught occasionally in that eerie, stuttering light.

  I went from the bathroom back into the bedroom, pulled on my dress pants and my wing-collared shirt and poured myself a whisky. While I was trying to tie my bowtie in the mirror above the fire, I heard Dehan behind me. “If I’m Miss Scarlet, does that make you Colonel Mustard or Reverend Green?”

  I turned and told myself silently I must be the luckiest man on Earth. She did a slow turn for me. It was scarlet silk, low cut at the front and insanely low cut at the back. And then there was the slit, all the way up to her hip. She had her hair in a bun and a single pearl at her throat. I raised an eyebrow at her.

  “What kind of demon are you?” I said. “I forbid you to wear that outside this bedroom. In fact,” I added, stepping closer, “I forbid you to wear it in this bedroom. Take it off. Immediately…”

  She took hold of my bowtie and started to tie it. “Behave,” she said.

  “I intend to, very badly…”

  The sky ripped open again, diabolical dancing trees springing at us through the leaded panes against the electric blue and inky turmoil of the sky. And then there was the first patter of rain on the glass.

  Dehan glanced at the window, then frowned at me. “Listen. Is it the wind…?”

  Through the rattles, the moans and the groans, I heard another sound. At first it was like a bark, but then Dehan said, “Shouting,” and walked quickly to the door. She opened it and stepped out. I followed her down the dark corridor to the galleried landing. There, in the hall, was Cameron. He was standing, legs akimbo, pointing savagely in the direction of the study. The study, and whoever was in the doorway, were both out of sight, but the light from the open door was playing on Cameron’s face, and the expression was unmistakable rage. His voice was raised, but he was controlling it, and there didn’t seem to be anybody with him.

  “I’ve had enough!” he said. “I’ve had enough of being humiliated by your damned family! I’ll no take it anymore, d’you understand? I’ll no take it anymore! Yiz can all go to Hell! And take the bitch wuth you!” He took a step forward and his face twisted into a snarl. “But don’t think you’ll get away wuth ut! Believe me, you’ll no get away wuth thus! I’ll make you pay, so help me God! I will make you pay!”

  He turned and stormed across the hall, wrenched the door open and turned again, pointing savagely at whoever stood, silent and out of sight. “I will destroy you! So help me God, I will fucking destroy you!”

  And with that, he stepped out into the storm and slammed the door behind him.

  We returned to our room and, in silence, Dehan finished tying my bow and I pulled on my jacket. Then we went down the stairs in the uncertain, flickering light of the lamps. The study was closed when we got to the bottom, but from the drawing room we could hear voices. I opened the door and followed Dehan in.

  It was like a slightly edited version of the night before. Bee was seated on the sofa in turquoise Chinese silk, holding a gin and tonic, gazing at the fire with miniature flames dancing inside her glass. She glanced at us and gave a smile that was on the weary side of tired.

  Pam was seated in a chair facing us, wearing unremarkable black velvet and holding a glass of beer. When she saw Dehan, she avoided her eye and looked away at the burning logs. I was surprised to see Sally Cameron there after the scene we’d just witnessed in the hall. She was standing with her wild red hair gathered in a bow where she had been the night before, at the French windows, but now she was looking out at the storm through the rain-spattered panes.

  And tonight it was the major who was at the drinks salver, looking over his shoulder at us, holding a decanter and a balloon glass.

  But the main difference was that Charles Gordon Jr. was not there. His father was standing where Ian had been the night before, beside Sally. I watched his eyes travel over Dehan, then shift to me. They were not hard to read. They were hostile and hard.

  The major was the first to speak, with no trace left of his earlier outburst. “Ah! The honeymoon couple! What can I get you to drink? Mrs. Stone, what is your fancy?”

  He poured a generous measure of cognac and hurried across the floor to hand it to Gordon Sr. Then he stood grinning expectantly at Dehan.

  She winked at him. “You know what, Reggie? Why don’t I come over there and show you how I mix a martini?”

  He stammered something and she took his arm and led him away. I glanced at Gordon, who was still watching me. “Jr. not joining us tonight, Mr. Gordon?”

  “I neither know nor care, Mr. Stone. He is a huge disappointment to me, so I try to avoid him.”

  Bee sighed. “He had some business to attend to with the gardener chap, Armstrong. He said he’d join us a little later.”

  I frowned at her. “Bobby Armstrong?”

  She looked curious. “Yes, why?”

  “I saw Armstrong arrive, but that was almost an hour ago. I thought I heard him talking to Ian just ten minutes ago.”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps he’s finished then. No doubt he’ll join us presently.”

  I glanced at Sally. She hadn’t turned around. Gordon was still watching me. Now he smiled. It wasn’t a pretty sight. “That detective’s mind never stops whirring, does it, Mr. Stone?”

  “Never.”

  He leered. “You should be careful. They say that can be a terrible strain on a marriage. It can drive a partner into a lover’s arms.”

  I smiled at him. Dehan approached with two martinis and handed me one. I took it and said, “There are lots of things that can do that, Gordon.” I sipped, winked at Dehan. “That’s perfect.” Then I turned back to Charles Sr., still smiling. “One of them is being an asshole.”

  Bee spluttered and sprayed gin and tonic over her blue dress, and Pam’s shoulders began to shake as she tried to suppress her laughter. Before he could answer, I went on.

  “I have been a homicide detective, in the Bronx, for over twenty-five years. You can imagine that during that time I have met and interrogated some very bad people, cruel and psychotic people. I have lost track of how many, but it must run into many hundreds. They all lied to me, and they all insulted me at one time or another. So I have grown over time to be insensitive to insults, however subtle, and damned good at knowing when people are lying to me.”

  The major stammered for a moment, standing behind Pam’s chair, then blurted out, “It must be fascinating work!”

  I made a ‘not so much’ face. “It’s not like the movies or the TV. Even the ones that aim to be realistic have to elaborate and glamorize things, because the vast majority of homicides are…” I thought about it for a moment and shook my head. “Tragically banal. Time of death is almost impossible to tell in the real world, DNA and fingerprints can take up to three months to get back from the lab, and,” I paused for effect, “ninety percent of murders are committed by a member of the family or a close friend. The motive is almost always sexual jealousy, anger or greed.” I gave a small, dry laugh. “Millions of people every year spend thousands of dollars protecting their homes and their children against outsiders who might break in through the window or the back door, when statistically the real threat already lives in the house.”

  Right on cue, a gust of wind rattled the glass in the windows, a flash of lightning lit up the night and a clap of thunder smashed open the sky, then rolled away across the black ocean. When it had past, there was some nervous laughter and Bee said, “My goodness! With timing like that, you should be on the stage.”

  Sally turned away from the window to stare at me, and Gordon said, “Are you telling me that my father was probably killed by somebody in his own household?”

  Dehan went and stood beside the major, behind Pam’s chair. She answered for me.

  “You’d be in a better position to know that, Mr. Gordon. We’ve only been here twenty-four hours and his death was almost forty years ago. You and the inspector were convinced it wasn’t suicide, so you
must have had somebody in mind.”

  The major swallowed hard, staring at his feet. Bee uncrossed her legs, then sighed and crossed them again, like she was losing patience with their limited range of positions. Pam was staring hard at her husband, and Sally went to the drinks salver and started mixing herself another drink.

  Gordon said, “Is it really only twenty-four hours? It seems so much longer.”

  Sally spoke suddenly in a loud voice: “Jealousy and greed?”

  Rain rattled on the windows. She dropped ice in her glass, then spilled in the gin. The tonic fizzed loudly. The whole room waited. She turned to face Gordon. “Who in this household could possibly have felt jealousy, or greed?” Then she turned and raised an eyebrow at me. “I think this murder, if it was murder, Mr. Stone, must fall in the ten percent of ‘other motives’. But most likely, you know, it was just suicide, like the police said. Is there not something to be said for leaving well enough alone?”

  I gave her my sweetest smile. “We’re just here on our honeymoon, Mrs. Cameron.”

  The dining room door opened and Brown stepped in. He surveyed the room and finally his eyes rested on Gordon Sr. “Should I serve dinner now, sir? Mr. Gordon Jr. is still in his study, it seems.”

  Pam turned in her chair to look at him. “Have you called him?”

  Brown came further into the room so she didn’t have to crane to see him. “Yes, madam. There is no answer.”

  Pam looked at Gordon. Gordon shrugged and sipped his drink. “I’m starving. Serve it now as far as I’m concerned.”

  There was a howl and a shriek and the wind seemed to grow louder. The drawing room door and the windows rattled. I frowned at Dehan.

  She said, “Was that the front door?”