by JANICE FROST
“Which we both know to be a perversion of the truth.”
“I might have heard the story second hand, but I believed it to be true at the time. You know I always have your best interests at heart, don’t you, Ros?”
I decide not to pick a quarrel. It’s just that Elspeth’s way of looking out for my best interests often serves some end of her own.
“I bumped into Andrew Kelso this morning,” I say, changing the subject. “He’s a professor now.”
“Yes, I was aware of that.” Elspeth’s tone is as dry as dust.
“Why did you never tell me you slept with him after Moira’s death?”
There’s a slight pause before she says, “Oh, so when you say you ‘bumped into’ Kelso, you mean you had a nice, cosy chat.”
“Yes. We went for coffee. Had a bit of a catch-up. So, are you going to deny it?”
“It’s not something I’m particularly proud of, but, yes, he and I had a fling. It didn’t last long. I suppose you’re going to ask how I could do such a thing after what happened to Moira?”
“I’m not judging you, Elspeth. I know you had a lot of issues to deal with at that time. But weren’t you still seeing Piers Thornton? Sounds like Moira wasn’t the only one with a complicated love life.”
A heavy silence follows my words. Have I gone too far?
“I was still seeing Piers, but the relationship was going nowhere. I’d fancied Andrew for ages, but I did nothing about it because he was married. You remember how strait-laced I was back then? I was jealous of Moira because she refused to let moral scruples get in the way of her having an affair with him. Well, after her death, I decided that there was no reason why Andrew couldn’t be mine after all. His wife had told him she wanted a divorce.”
“And was he worth the wait?” I ask softly.
“As is usually the case, the things we want most seldom make us happy. Andrew Kelso was a vain, weak man. But I don’t need to tell you that, Ros, do I? You always knew it.” She gives a sigh. “I’m sorry for what I told you about Innes Nevin. I knew it was mostly hearsay and rumour, but I only checked him out because I care about you. I just have a funny way of showing it, as you know.”
Elspeth has hurt me and apologised to me in equal measure so many times over the years that her words wash over me, leaving no impression at all.
“Regarding Piers,” she says, “our relationship never really recovered after that time he responded to Moira’s flirting. But it would have died a death anyway. He was due to go to the University of Leipzig for a year. And I was going abroad too. My feelings for him weren’t strong enough for me to wait for him.”
“Leipzig? Didn’t Andrew spend a year there as an undergraduate? Don’t you remember those heated discussions you used to have about all that? You were always droning on about how much you admired the GDR’s model of communism — I guess to impress Andrew with your knowledge.”
Elspeth is dismissive. “I can’t really remember, Ros. It was a long time ago. Besides, I’m not that person any more. I’ve learned to embrace capitalism.”
“Piers teaches at Edinburgh Uni now, you know. Haven’t you ever run into him in all these years?”
“Never. Wouldn’t want to either. Look, Ros, got to go. Work calls. Let me know if you’d like to visit on your way back to London.”
The call ends. Something that Lucy said to me a long time ago pops into my head. Elspeth’s your friend now, but watch her when the wind changes direction. I realise that the wind has been blowing from a different direction for a long time now. And even before it changed, I should have been warier of Elspeth Blair. I’m surprised to find that the thought that our friendship is adrift, at the mercy of the prevailing wind, no longer troubles me as it might once have done.
* * *
Innes has arranged to speak with Menzies’s — Bob MacDonald’s —widow via Skype. When her face materialises on the computer screen, there is someone else looking over her shoulder. Barbara MacDonald introduces the young woman as her niece, Amy, who’s there to assist, as “Aunt Barb isn’t very good with computers.” Amy gives us a wave.
“Thank you for getting in touch with me, Mrs MacDonald,” Innes begins, “and for agreeing to this interview. I know it must be difficult for you.” I suspect that Innes hasn’t told Barbara MacDonald that he is no longer a policeman.
“Please call me Barbara. Mrs MacDonald doesn’t sound right anymore.”
Barbara and Amy turn their eyes to me. “I’m helping with the investigation,” I say. They seem satisfied with that.
Barbara, with her dyed blonde hair and plump, remarkably unlined face, looks too young to be Menzies’s widow. There must have been a considerable age gap between them.
“I’ll refer to my late husband as Bob, if you don’t mind,” Barbara says before Innes can begin, “because that’s the name of the man I married. Though who he really was, I don’t have a clue anymore.” Amy presses her aunt’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry you were deceived,” Innes says.
Barbara sighs. “It’s hard to know what to think. One part of me wants to grieve, the other wants revenge. He lied to me every day for years . . . but . . . he wasn’t a bad husband.” Her eyes shine with tears, and she dabs at them with a handkerchief. Beside her, Amy frowns. I wonder what she thinks of her Uncle Bob.
“You had no clue that he wasn’t who he said he was?” Innes asks.
“None whatsoever. It was a complete shock when he started rambling on about his other life. Ditto when I found those documents relating to his life as John Menzies. Until then, I assumed he was muddled because of the dementia. You know, confusing fantasy with reality.” Barbara frowns. “I used to think it was weird he never talked about his time back home in Scotland. He told me he had no family there, no friends he wanted to keep in touch with. And he never showed any interest in going back for a visit. Whenever I suggested going to Scotland for a holiday, he told me this was his home now and he had no desire to go back. I gave up suggesting it in the end.”
Before Innes can ask another question, Barbara says, “He told me he was a widower. Was that true? Or did he leave a family behind in Scotland?”
She’s worried Menzies might have been a bigamist. I can’t imagine how it must feel to share half a lifetime with someone only to discover that you never really knew them at all.
Innes puts her mind at rest. “That was the truth. John Menzies’s wife died two years before he disappeared. There were no children.”
“That’s something, then.” Barbara’s chest rises and falls in a sigh of relief.
“How did the two of you meet?” Innes asks.
“I managed a diner back then. Bob used to come in for breakfast maybe a couple times a week. We talked a lot. He was fifteen years older than me, but we got along real well. We started seeing each other and, pretty soon after, we got married. Bob started his own security business. I kept the accounts. It was a good life until . . . until he got Alzheimer’s.”
“What about money? Was Menz— Bob well off when you first met?”
“Uh-huh. He told me he’d sold his house and business in Scotland. I . . . I never thought to question it.”
“Of course. Why would you?” Innes’s voice is sympathetic. “Did you ever get the feeling that your husband was worried about anything? Did he seem like a secretive person?”
Barbara looks thoughtful. “Like he had something to hide? He had his moods like anyone else, but he got over them. Without drinking, I might add. In all the time I knew him, Bob never touched a drop.”
Barbara seems proud of this aspect of her husband’s character. Alcohol loosens the tongue, I think, cynically. Menzies’s abstinence had been a virtue born of necessity.
“Did he ever go away on his own, or with friends, especially people you didn’t know?” Barbara is silent for a few moments, her eyes focused on something beyond the computer screen. Amy follows her gaze. Barbara looks back at Innes.
“He went fishin’,”
she says. “There’s a photograph on the wall just caught my eye. He’d take himself off to the lake and stay for three, five days at a time. Said he liked the peace and the time to reflect. I guess that’s how he dealt with his moods. Far as I know, he was alone. Truth be told, my husband was a bit of a loner — wasn’t he, Amy?” Amy nods.
“Did anyone ever come to visit him? Someone who’d known him back in Scotland, for instance?”
“No. Far as I know, no one called him either. I checked his emails after he died. I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.”
I lean sideways so that I’m off screen and whisper to Innes, “Looks like he made a complete break with his past. We’re not getting anything here, are we?”
Innes frowns and says to Barbara, “Would you mind showing us the picture that you referred to just now, Barbara?”
“Sure. Bring it over, would you, honey?” Amy goes off screen for a few moments. When she reappears, she has a large, framed picture in her hands which she brings to the screen to show us.
A middle-aged man is standing at the side of a lake, holding up his catch, a giant fish that Amy tells us is a walleye. By his side sits a German Shepherd dog. It looks like Bronn.
Innes nods. “That’s the man I knew as John Menzies,” he says. “Beautiful dog.”
“He sure was. And so good-natured. Bob loved Hans like a child. First dog he got when he moved over here.”
I frown, a memory stirring somewhere deep in my brain. Suddenly it comes to me. Beside me, Innes takes a breath, ready to ask another question. “Wait!” I say to Barbara, who looks surprised to hear me speak. “What did you say the dog’s name was?”
“Hans,” she says. “His name was Hans. Don’t ask me why. Bob rambled on about him a lot in his last days.”
I’ve been leaning into the screen, and now I sit back in my chair. I must look as unnerved as I feel, for Innes asks if I’m okay.
“Andrew Kelso had a German cousin called Hans,” I say, quietly. “Moira met him. In Aviemore, and then in Edinburgh.”
Innes inclines his head just enough to show he understands the significance of what I’ve told him. “Barbara, did your husband ever mention the name Moira Mackie to you?”
“I don’t recall that he did.” She frowns, shakes her head.
Amy stirs, looks at her aunt as if gauging whether she should speak. She says, “Once, when you were out and I was sitting with him, Uncle Bob called me Moira.” Her aunt stiffens, as though dreading further revelations about her dead husband and his secret life. Perhaps to reassure her a little, Amy adds, “He was pretty confused at the time.”
“What did he say?” Innes is sitting very still, as if moving will cause Amy to forget.
“He’d just woken up from a nap. He was pretty agitated. When he saw me, he stared at me like he didn’t recognise me. Then he looked really scared and said something like, ‘Moira? You’re dead. I saw you.’”
Amy shakes her head. “I said, ‘It’s me, your niece, Amy.’ He sort of cowered when I tried to get closer to him, like he was seeing a ghost. Then the fog must have lifted because he seemed to realise it really was me after all.”
I can’t help wishing she’d let him ramble on a little longer.
“Who is Moira?” Barbara bursts out.
Innes clears his throat. “Moira was a student at St Andrews University over twenty years ago. She was murdered. Your husband — then DI John Menzies — investigated her murder. When you contacted me, you said that your husband had confessed to framing someone by the name of Stuart Brogan for murder. Brogan hanged himself. A note of confession was found in his pocket, along with a ring belonging to Moira.”
Barbara gasps and covers her mouth. “Did Bob kill this . . . this Moira?” Amy puts an arm around her shoulder.
“Honestly? We don’t know. We think it’s more likely that he was bribed to plant the evidence on Brogan.”
“Money and a new identity, in exchange for letting that poor girl’s killer go free,” Amy says astutely.
“Yes.”
“What kind of man did I marry?” Barbara asks.
There’s no easy answer to that, so no one replies. It would be an insult to Barbara to suggest that Menzies somehow atoned for his past by living an unblemished life with her. If what Innes and I believe about him is true, Menzies paid for his comfortable new existence at the expense of at least two innocent lives.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Barbara asks.
“Not at the moment,” Innes replies, no doubt appreciating that Barbara has had enough to cope with for now.
“Whatever you find out about my husband, promise you will tell me everything.”
Innes promises. Barbara nods and gives a sad sort of wave as her image fades from the screen.
“Poor woman. She’s going to struggle to reconcile her memories of ‘Bob’ with the reality of John Menzies’s deception. I don’t envy her,” Innes says.
“So where are we now?” I ask.
“Well, we have a new suspect,” Innes says. “What do you know about this Hans? Do we have a surname?”
“It could be a coincidence. The name, I mean. Hans was a German Shepherd dog. Maybe Menzies just thought it was amusing to give him a German name. Hans is probably one of the first German names that most people would think of.”
“Hmm.” Innes asks again, “What about Hans’s surname?”
“I don’t know. Even if Moira ever mentioned it, I wouldn’t remember after all these years. I could ask the others — Elspeth, Shona, and Lucy. Or Andrew Kelso.”
Andrew is the obvious one to ask but Innes cautions me. “Not Kelso. Not yet, at any rate. Perhaps the others, but if possible avoid saying why you want to know. Lucy excepted, of course, as she already knows about our investigation. What can you remember Moira saying about Hans?”
“I think she said he was older than Andrew. She found him boring. Very serious. Sorry, I don’t know much about him, other than that Moira met him a couple of times. The first time was on a weekend trip to Aviemore. And again the weekend she flirted with Elspeth’s boyfriend Piers. She’d gone to Edinburgh with Andrew but had to come home early because Hans turned up. If I remember rightly, she said Hans was having personal trouble and being his cousin, Andrew felt obliged to spend extra time with him.”
“Why was Hans even in Edinburgh at the time? Surely, he wouldn’t have flown to Edinburgh just to discuss his personal problems with Kelso? It’s much more likely that he was in the country already. Was he a delegate at the conference too? Did he live in Scotland?”
“Sorry. No idea. I’m not being much help, am I?”
“On the contrary. You picked up on the coincidence of the dog’s name. We have a new avenue of investigation to pursue. Another possible suspect.” He pauses. “That’s if we assume it’s more than coincidence that Hans was known to Menzies as well as Kelso and Moira.” Our eyes meet. I have one of my light-bulb moments.
“What if Hans is our mystery man? The one Lucy saw speaking with Moira the afternoon she disappeared?”
“Hmm.” No doubt he was ahead of me with this.
“Is there some way to check Andrew’s family background to find out the surname of the German branch of the family?” I ask. “The simplest way would probably be to ask his ex-wife, but she might blab to Andrew.”
“She’s Annie Calder these days. I’ll contact her tomorrow, see if she’ll agree to talk to us,” Innes says. “And we need to speak with Piers Thornton.” He looks thoughtful. “Did Thornton know Hans, I wonder? Given that they both knew Kelso, it’s a possibility.”
“I suppose it’s possible, but I don’t remember Moira saying that Hans was an academic. Piers was here in St Andrews with Elspeth the weekend Hans turned up in Edinburgh to discuss his so-called personal problems with Andrew, so they didn’t meet then. But you’re right, it’s very possible that they all knew one another.”
“Where did Piers go after Elspeth rowed with him that evenin
g?” Innes asks.
“I’d guess the Kelsos’, even though Andrew was in Edinburgh. Piers had stayed with them before and I suppose Hans might have too. So, again, it’s possible that they knew each other.” I look at Innes. “Getting complicated, isn’t it?” He doesn’t answer.
“Who shall we tackle first?” I ask, mentally tossing a coin and coming up with Piers’s face.
“Both Thornton and Calder live in Edinburgh, so we can do the two of them in a day. Assuming they’re both willing to speak with us, that is.”
“What can we say to get Piers to agree to see us?” I ask.
“Hmm. I have an idea about that. It involves borrowing your daughter for the day,” he says.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Izzy is intrigued when I call to ask if she’s free the following day. I explain that I’m making a trip to Edinburgh with a friend and that we’d like her to come along to help us with an important matter. I refuse to give her any more information over the phone, despite her pleas and attempts at blackmail.
“I won’t come if you don’t tell me. And who is this friend? Is it the one you’re staying with? I’m picking up vibes that it’s a man. Are you seeing him?” On and on she goes until out of exasperation, I confess.
“Yes, he’s a male friend. His name is Innes Nevin and yes, we’re sort of seeing each other.” Her excited shrieks are deafening.
“I hope Izzy behaves herself,” I say to Innes the following morning as we wait for her to come out of her lecture. “She’s likely to bombard you with embarrassing questions.”
Innes laughs. “I have a daughter too, remember? I’m up for it.”
We wait by the car. Izzy arrives on time, backpack slung over her shoulder.
I feel a flutter of nerves as I introduce my daughter to Innes. I realise her opinion of him matters to me. Somewhat embarrassingly, she looks him up and down, before saying politely, “Nice to meet you, Mr Nevin.”
“Nice to meet you too, Izzy. Please call me Innes. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“All good, I hope.”
Innes winks. Izzy smiles. I breathe a little easier. I think they’re going to get along.
