by Blake Banner
He shifted in his chair, looking around at the walls like they were making him mad. He pointed toward the drawing room again and his face flushed red. “So that he… So that he could gloat and humiliate his wife and me! Together! I ask you, what kind of sick bastard does that, eh?”
He half stood and sat, shifted. He couldn’t keep still in his chair. “But there’s more. There’s more. You don’t know thus. Sal’s shop, that belongs to him. Mah practice, mah surgery, is above the post office, an’ that belong to him an’all. I’m thirty-seven years old. My whole practice is on his wee island. Now, what do yous think is going to happen to me if he decides he’s had enough of Pamela fuckin’ May because she’s too old and fuckin’ wrinkly? If he decides he wants my wife instead of his own? I’ll tell yous what’ll fuckin’ happen. Either he’ll kick me out an’ force me into unemployment on the fuckin mainland, or he’ll keep me here so’s him and his new fuckin’ trophy bride can laugh at me and humiliate me.” He stared at me for a long moment. His breathing was heavy and fast and his face was flushed. He shifted in his seat again and said savagely, “So that’s what the fuckin’ row was about!”
I scratched my chin. The wind was still moaning outside, but I was aware the thunder had grown more distant.
“What time was that?”
He shook his head. “Sal came up one thirty or two. You were there. You saw.”
Dehan said, “And you?”
“I wasn’t going to come. Then I thought, I can’t see my patients in thus state of mind. I had to get it off my chest an’ have it out with the bastard. So I come up and he were out there, in the hall, just standin’ there, leering at me with his stupid face.”
Dehan hid a smile behind a frown and said, “What time? It’s important.”
He sighed, rubbed his face, then ran his fingers through his hair. “Six, six thirty maybe.”
I sat forward with my elbows on the table. “Think carefully, Doctor, where was he coming from, or going?”
He frowned at me like I was crazy. “How should I know? He was just standing there, lookin’ kind o’ creepy. I let’im have it an’ I left.”
I raised an eyebrow. “There were no doors open to suggest where he had been or where he might be going?”
He thought about it, frowned, then shook his head. “No. Well, the cupboard, under the stairs, that was open an’ the light was on. But other than that, no.”
“So the study door was closed?”
He nodded. “Aye, I just told you it was. Why?”
I stared at Dehan a moment. She stared back, then turned to Cameron with a frown. “How was your relationship with Charles Jr.?”
He shrugged, then shook his head. “You’re no going ta pin his murder on me. There was no ‘relationship’ to speak of. We nodded to each other in the street. I never treated him as a patient. The few times we exchanged words he struck me as nice enough. To be honest I thought he was a stuck-up English prick, but he hid it under a veneer of polite deference. But then I don’t like the English very much.” He paused, with an aggressive challenge in his eyes. “Come to think of it, he was no English, he was American, but I don’t like Americans very much either.”
Dehan sighed. “I’m sure there will be a lot of weeping in the streets of England and the U.S.A. when that bombshell gets out on Twitter, Doctor Cameron, but personally I don’t give a rat’s ass because I think the stuck-up prick is not the dead man you’re about to see in the study, but you. But here’s the thing I’m curious about, Doc, how did you get hold of the gun?”
He squinted at her like she was insane. “What?”
Dehan laughed and I smiled and sat back. She spread her hands. “Come on! How stupid do you think we are? More to the point, how smart do you need to be to work it out?”
“What’re you talking about?”
“How did it happen? He showed Sally his revolver one day and she told you about it? She told you he kept it in a drawer in his bedroom?”
“You’re insane.”
“Then, when the affair got out of hand and you saw your marriage, your livelihood and your future going down the can, you decided the old man had to go. After all, if Charles Jr. inherited, he was easy to handle, even if he was a stuck-up English prick. At least he wasn’t screwing half the women on the island, including your wife, right? He wasn’t a threat.”
“Fer the last time, I don’ know what you’re talking about! Yous said it was Charles Jr. who was killed, not Charles Sr.! So what are you on about?”
She nodded. “Sure. You came into the hall. You saw Gordon Sr. outside the study in the hall and you assumed that was where he was going. So you let him have it, then went down to the kitchen. The staff were upstairs preparing the dining room for dinner. You slipped through, up the service stairs and into his bedroom where you found the revolver. Then you went down and out again. Through the window you saw the man you thought was Gordon Sr. sitting at his desk and you shot him. But you made a mistake. It was his son.”
He gaped at us. “You must be absolutely fuckin’ stupid, even by American standards. That is the biggest load of bollocks I have ever had the misfortune to listen to. It is laughable.”
I agreed, and I was pretty sure Dehan did too, but it was interesting to see which way he jumped when he was accused.
I sat forward. “It is not so laughable, Doctor. Leave aside the details for now, you have a powerful motive to want Gordon Sr. dead, and father and son are similar enough to be mistaken through a leaded window or in poor light. You were here, outside the study at about the time of death and you were in an altered, enraged state of mind. Add to that the fact that the storm kept knocking out the lights, I’d put you right at the top of my list of suspects, and however stupid you think Americans may be, I’m pretty sure your Scottish police will think the same way.”
He flopped back in his chair and covered his face with his hands. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ!”
I stood. “I want you to have a look at the body.”
“Why? Is this some kind of fuckin’ trap again?”
I shook my head. “No. You’re a doctor. You’re the only damn doctor we have, so you need to make out the death certificate.”
“So am I a bloody suspect or no’?”
“Of course you are, along with just about everybody else in this house.”
“Uxcept yous.”
“Yeah, except us. Let’s go.”
We made our way through the silent, watching faces in the drawing room and into the hallway. He stood staring, incredulous, at the broken door as I undid the padlock, and we stepped inside the room.
I watched his face carefully as he took in the scene, the wound to the head, the fallen arm, the weapon on the floor. He turned suddenly and looked at the windows, seeing they were locked.
“Thus,” he said, “thus is the same…”
I nodded.
He shook his head. “How could I—how could anybody? That was suicide…”
I shook my head. “No, Doctor, it’s not. Because when they examine the gun, even though they will find his prints on it, they will find no gunshot residue on his hand or his sleeve, just as in the first case.” I pointed at Charles Gordon Jr.’s head. “The entry wound shows no sign of singeing from a contact shot. The trajectory of the bullet, even from a cursory examination, is clearly at a forty-five degree angle and must have been fired from over by the fireplace. All of these facts are identical to the old man’s case. So, even if you accept, which I do not, that the original case was a freak occurrence, the odds against it happening twice, in the same family, in the same house in the same room, are so astronomical as to be impossible. All of which adds up to one thing. This was a murder, staged to look the same as his grandfather’s, and that means whoever did this knows how the old man was killed.”
He stared at me wide-eyed. “Dear God…” Then his face creased into disbelief again. “But why? I mean, he was a twat, but he was a nice guy. There was no harm in ’im. You wouldn’t want t
o kill him!”
A sudden thought made him point at me and then at Dehan. “An’ your notion that I shot him through the window, by mistake, is just plain stupid! He was clearly shot from one o’ them chairs, an’ at that distance there is no mistaking the son fer the father!”
“I know.”
“What?”
“We just wanted to know which way you jumped.”
“You bastards!”
“You’d better believe it.”
“I’m a doctor! Ah don’t fuckin’ kill people.”
Dehan snorted. “I don’t believe that’s a defense at law, even in Scotland.”
He sighed and seemed to sag. Then he hunkered down and opened his black bag. From it he took a form and, after a brief examination of the body, made out the death certificate. After a moment he looked up at me. “Time of death?”
I shrugged and looked at Dehan. She said, “Some time between… You, me and the major were the last people to see him alive, and that was, what, shortly before six?”
I nodded, “And Armstrong found him at shortly before eight. So that’s your time of death. Where were you at that time?”
He scribbled on the form. “You know where I was. I was on my way here, I was shouting at Gordon Sr. and I was on my way home, while my wife stayed behind to play house with the Laird.”
“It’s not a great alibi.”
“Yeah, well, if I’d known ah was goin’ to need one, I’d of prepared a better one.” He stood. “I’m no stupid. If I was goin’ to kill him, I wouldn’a stood shoutin’ at him in the bloody hall. Besides…” He shook his head. “Whoever killed him intended to kill the son, no the father. There was no mistaken identity here. Whoever killed him was sitting in one of them chairs, lookin’ at him. How they got out, tha’s the mystery.”
“Do you mind sticking around for a while?”
“What for?”
“Pamela might need you. Also, I’d like to have you around until I’ve finished asking all my questions.”
He sighed, then nodded. “Fine, but I’m warnin’ you. If that bastard starts on at me…”
I interrupted him. “Don’t say or do anything you’re likely to regret, Doctor. There has already been one tragedy tonight. Let’s try and avoid another.”
He left the room and crossed into the drawing room, closing the door behind him. I stood staring at the two chairs while Dehan stared at the body. She said suddenly, “He has no motive.” Then she shrugged. “Fact is, nobody has a motive. He said it himself, why would anybody want to kill him? He was just a sweet, bumbling, inoffensive guy.” She looked at me for confirmation that I agreed and I nodded absently. “Plus,” she went on, “How old is this killer? Let’s say he or she was twenty back when they killed Old Man Gordon. That makes him or her sixty now, which narrows the field right down—to his mother, his father and Bee. Or the major! None of them is credible, Stone.”
“Mhm.”
“And then there’s opportunity. How the hell do we establish opportunity when we have no idea how the crime was committed?” She gestured at the two chesterfields with both hands. “He is sitting in one of those two chairs. If he is right-handed, logic dictates it is the chair on our left, over there, which gives the correct angle and trajectory for the shot. But apparently this shooter is invisible, because Old Man Gordon was peacefully reading his book and didn’t notice the guy sitting in his chesterfield aiming a gun at his head; and Charles Jr. was, what, doing his accounts? He didn’t see the guy holding his father’s Smith & Wesson either. And after the invisible man or woman with the gun had shot them both, he just beamed up to the Enterprise, like he had never been here. How the hell do we establish opportunity when it is impossible to show how the killer was even here?”
I blinked at her, then smiled. “That’s the clever bit about this whole crime, Dehan. The killer never was here.”
FIFTEEN
We switched off the light, locked the study, and made our way back to the drawing room. As we entered, Bee stood and came toward us with her left hand over her heart and her right hand reaching out for me.
“Carmen, Stone, Detectives, forgive me, but I am not as young as I once was, this has all been a frightful strain on me, you have seen Pamela and Dr. Cameron, could you not take my statement now, and let me get some rest? Perhaps the doctor could give me something…”
“Of course, Bee.” I smiled and gestured toward the dining room door.
Behind me I heard Sally’s voice, harsh and a little shrill. “How long is this farce going to take?”
I turned. Gordon was frowning up at her. Everybody had turned and was watching her. Her pale skin flushed and she looked suddenly embarrassed. I said, “Farce, Mrs. Cameron?”
She glanced around. “We’re all exhausted. It’s been a terrible shock…”
“Not least for Charles Jr. and his parents. What part of this, exactly, do you see as a farce, Mrs. Cameron?”
She bridled and straightened her back where she was sitting on the arm of Gordon’s chair. He muttered something to her.
She drew breath to speak but I interrupted her. “We’ll be talking to you in good time, but given where you’re sitting right now, I’d be cautious about using words like farce, if I were you.”
She went bright red, which didn’t suit the color of her hair, and I turned and followed Bee and Dehan into the dining room. I closed the door and Bee dropped into a chair, removed her hat and placed both hands over her heart.
“Look here,” she said, then looked at me and Dehan in turn. “I know you Americans are frightfully puritanical and you still believe in the flat Earth and that there were no dinosaurs and all that, but, well, you know, it isn’t really like that!”
I burst out laughing.
Dehan’s eyebrows shot up. “You are kidding me, right, Bee?”
I sat, smiling, and said, “Why don’t you tell us what it is like, Lady Jane?”
She reached over and put her hand on my arm. “You have the benefit of Hollywood over there, and your huge television networks, that tell you all how life should be, ideally, and I think that is just super. But over here, you know, it’s all a bit more primal.”
Dehan shook her head and sighed. “Things get pretty primal in the Bronx, Bee. Believe me.”
I gave her a gentle kick under the table and she sighed again.
Bee sat back. “I am quite sure they do, my dear. But that is a different kind of primal. That’s all about fighting and killing and being badass and frightfully macho. This here…” She gave her head a little shake. “It’s all about sex.” She studied Dehan’s face a moment, then repeated, “Sex, sex, sex, morning, noon and night, nothing but sex. It is quite exhausting.”
I nodded. “It would be.”
“And it’s no good moralizing about it. I am quite certain that if there were a god, He, She or It would not have the faintest interest in who was tupping whom, where, how or why. But as He, She or It is merely a figment of our imagination, the issue really doesn’t arise, does it?”
I shook my head. “No. But perhaps you could put a little flesh on the bones for us. In what way, precisely, is Charles Jr.’s death about sex?”
“Well…” She folded her hands carefully on the table in front of her. “Have you ever heard of the Pitcairn Islands?”
“That is where the crew of the Bounty wound up, if I am not mistaken.”
“Precisely. And because they were all living on a small island, they had no religion and they all lived in somewhat primal conditions, they all became obsessed with sex. And precisely the same thing has happened here, on Gordon’s Swona.”
I tried not to sigh. “That is a very interesting perspective, Bee, but again, socio-economic dynamics aside. How, precisely, does this relate to Junior?”
“Well, I mean to say, I should have thought it was obvious!” She leaned across the table toward Dehan. “Do you think that if Charles Senior were not so rich he would be half so attractive? Of course his arrogance and his
stature have a certain appeal, on a very basic, animal level, but it’s his stature, his wealth, the fact that he owns an island and a castle. It all adds up to sex appeal. Without the trappings he would just be obnoxious, and I speak as a woman who has adored him for decades.”
Dehan had adopted a rictus that involved thin lips and narrowed eyes. I examined the walls a moment and finally said, “I am still not seeing it, Bee. Charles Jr.? Connection?”
She heaved a big sigh.
“Well, for goodness sake…! Young Charles was not unattractive? And aside from his father, he was the richest man on the island and destined to inherit everything. He was far too much of a gentleman to kiss and tell, of course, but anyone who thinks that he wasn’t getting his end away is sadly misguided. I mean, a rich, personable bachelor…”
Dehan frowned and grunted. I was about to ask her to be more precise but she went right ahead and did just that.
“Now, I should imagine that you have been struggling, amongst other things, with the question, who on Earth would want to hurt such a charming, agreeable, harmless chap as Charles. Well, the answer is quite simple. Sex. Sex, to paraphrase the Bard, doth make monsters of us all. So the question becomes not who would want to harm Charles but who was jealous of Charles and hence, who was Charles getting his end away with?”
I waited, watching her. She waited, watching me back. Finally I said, “So who was he getting his end away with?”
“You mean aside from the maids?”
“Yes, Bee, aside from the maids.”
“I’m sure I don’t know. But if I were ten years younger, I can assure you I’d have had him by now. And I’m sure I’m not alone in feeling that way.”
I scratched my head. “This is just speculation, Bee. Do you know, for a fact, that he was in a relationship with somebody?”
She shook her head. “But believe me, he was. And if you’ll forgive the crudeness, the screw pool is not exactly vast on this island, is it?”
