by Carly Reid
Dalkinchie was still charming though, even when the weather wasn’t. The picturesque High Street boasting its many independent shops still give her a lot of pleasure after two months living in Scotland. She knew that Donald Donaldson’s law firm had its offices in the High Street, and her plan was simply to start at one end and walk slowly down, taking a good look at all the buildings as she passed. She could have looked up the address, but both the walk and the exploration appealed to her.
She started at the Village Hall with the library, museum and her own office next to it. Moving down the High Street past Gillespie’s restaurant, Jessica saw again the little cobbled nooks and crannies that Dalkinchie High Street was known for. During the summer, the High Street had been a riot of colour, with hanging baskets and colourful planters full of blooms. She paid careful attention to door signs and street numbers as she walked, and soon found a little brass plaque engraved with ‘Donaldson’s Family Solicitors and Attorneys at Law LLP’.
The adjacent door opened inwards and Jessica followed a short flight of stairs upwards to a half-landing where she continued on to the second floor offices of Donald Donaldson’s practice. Here, the stairs opened out on to an upper floor gallery area. It was plush, carpeted in a tartan pattern with several large pot plants – real, Jessica noted – and a checked two-seater sofa placed beside the bannister with a small occasional table beside it. On the table, brochures and magazines were arranged in a fan shape. There was a door bearing a polished brass plate marked ‘Secretary’, and two further doors along the corridor, as far as Jessica could see.
Now that she was here, she wished she had changed into something more suitable – not that she had anything much with her in Scotland other than the jeans she was wearing today. Oh well, it wasn’t worth worrying about now. She moved to the first door and gave it a gentle tap. Immediately from within a voice answered, “Come in!”
Jessica turned the brass doorknob and eased the heavy door inwards. It opened into a large square office with a rectangular desk directly opposite the door. Everything seemed carved from heavy dark wood, and here the carpet was still soft and expensive, but striped instead of tartan. Behind the desk sat a figure, framed by the light that streamed in from the window directly behind her. For a moment Jessica was discombobulated by the silhouette, unable to see her properly. As Jessica’s eyes adjusted she first saw a neat bun, and then the face of a middle aged woman, eyebrows raised questioningly. As her sight further resolved she took in more about the woman who was wearing a collared shirt with an ornate brooch at the neck, and neat stud earrings.
Jessica made her way hesitantly into the room.
“Good morning,” the woman said. “Do you have an appointment?” As she spoke, she drew a large leather bound appointment diary towards her, and flipped it open efficiently, using the silk marker in the book. She had been writing something when Jessica entered, and now used the pen to scan down the list of days and appointments. When she found no record of anyone due at this moment, she looked up, questioning.
Jessica hastened to reply: “No, I just came in hoping I might be able to speak to Mr Donaldson. It’s regarding a friend of his. Do you think – would he be available to speak to me?”
The woman pursed her lips and shook her head slightly, glancing over the day’s meetings. “Normally we would insist on an appointment. However, I can see that Mr Donaldson is not very busy today, and he might be willing to fit you in. Can I have your name please, Miss – ?”
“Sure. It’s Jessica Greer. I have met Mr Donaldson, a couple times actually, and it’s about Patricia Wilcott. They are friends.”
“Thank you.”
If Donald Donaldson’s secretary thought that this would make it more likely that Mr Donaldson would see her, she and her professional demeanour did not give anything away. Instead, she picked up the receiver of the telephone on her desk, and pressed a single button. When the connection was made at the other end, she stated the facts simply: “I have a Miss Greer here hoping to see you, Mr Donaldson. She doesn’t have an appointment, however I have reviewed your diary for the rest of the day, and I think you should be able to accommodate her briefly unless you have something more pressing.”
Jessica waited. The secretary nodded. A couple of ‘mm-hmms’, and then she said:
“Yes, I will let her know. One moment.”
She replaced the receiver, and looked up at Jessica and smiled – a genuine, if taut smile. “You are in luck, Mr Donaldson feels he has time for a short appointment today. If you give me a moment I will show you through. Please just take a seat out in the waiting area, and I will be right with you.”
The woman smiled at Jessica but made no move. Jessica thanked her, and stepped back out to the waiting area, closing the office door before taking a seat on the sofa.
She glanced to her side at the magazines on the table. Most of them seemed aimed at people whose life circumstances were very different to her own: people who took cruises, who needed to make elaborate life insurance plans, or who were looking to ‘plan their estates’ whatever that meant. Briefly her mind wandered into imagining a Scottish country estate with stables, gardens, maybe a walled garden. A fountain. A building a bit like Castle Drummond but with more turrets. Perhaps, why not, an orangery, although she only had the vaguest idea what one was – some sort of conservatory maybe? Was that what ‘estate planning’ meant? Were there really enough people with land and property like this for Donaldson Family Solicitors to make a viable living?
Around five minutes later, the woman emerged from her office and nodded to Jessica. She was carrying a polished black leather folder. She motioned for Jessica to follow her down the corridor to the farther away of the two doors, which she knocked and entered straight away.
“Mr Donaldson, the papers you required. I’ll start work on the remaining ones immediately. Here is Miss Greer as discussed. Please let me know if you require any refreshments.” As she spoke she smoothly slid a sheaf of closely printed A4 pages from the folder and placed them neatly on the corner of the desk within. Everything was precise, squared off, aligned.
She withdrew from the room.
“Miss Greer!” Donald Donaldson’s welcome was hearty, and he got up from behind his own solid wooden desk and walked towards her with his hand outstretched, then vigorously shook hers. His hand was clammy, but also cool. “Do take a seat.” He drew the chair out slightly and gestured.
Jessica sat down on the padded chair, shifting uncomfortably. She started by placing her hands on the desk but then moved them to her lap, loosely clasped. “Mr Donaldson, thank you for agreeing to see me this morning. I know that you are close friends with Patricia Wilcott. I heard yesterday of some…developments in her case? And I was wondering if you knew of anything I could do to help Patricia, or any way I might…”
Jessica trailed off. Now that she was here, in Donald Donaldson’s office, this didn’t seem like such a good plan. The solid weight of the heavy wooden furniture in the office, the sheer respectability and gravitas of their surroundings – it all made her and her theories feel and seem a little ridiculous. Who did she think she was, some sort of super-sleuth? The lined bookshelves, the sturdy and sensible looking rubber plant in the corner, the Roman blinds hanging in the sash windows, these were all the trappings of professionalism and success. What did she have, beyond an overactive imagination and a few wildcat theories? She glanced down at her hands, suddenly conscious of her chewed fingernails. And now, she noticed further, a slight grubbiness to one leg of her jeans, in the faded yet distinct mark of a paw print. Willow.
Donald Donaldson was still standing, leaning on the edge of the desk as he replied. “Patricia, yes, of course. I met you at her house at the weekend. A terrible business, terrible indeed. I’m not sure how you believe you can help, however? What assistance could you give? I’m sure Patricia is grateful for your support, but the matter is being handled by the police now, and I believe that’s the best thing for it. I have c
onfidence that they will sort the matter out, no matter how unpleasant, and I am unsure whether your involvement can be of much use. And obviously, as a friend of the Wilcotts and with a professional connection too, I am very limited as to what I can say. Very limited indeed.”
Jessica wondered what he meant by “unpleasant”. Did he, too, suspect Patricia? As her solicitor, she assumed he was up-to-date with the case.
“Well, you see, there’s been a lot of talk – ”
“Oh, I wouldn’t pay any attention to idle gossip!”
Jessica flushed. No, perhaps she shouldn’t have. She began to feel as if she had made a terrible mistake. She was out of her depth here, a silly little girl who didn’t know anything. There was nothing to be gained by believing local stories.
“I’m sorry, Mr Donaldson. You are totally right. I shouldn’t have listened. It’s just that Patricia and I had breakfast yesterday morning, and she told me about what’s been happening, and I wondered – ”
Donald Donaldson splayed out his hands and began to move back behind the desk. He took his own seat opposite Jessica, and looked quizzically at her across the large leather inlaid surface. “Well as you’re here, Miss Greer, I suppose there’s no harm in you filling me in. I should know what’s been said locally, and certainly everyone clams up when they see me coming! How did you find Patricia, yesterday?”
Still stinging from his earlier dismissal, Jessica was grateful for the apparent change of heart and thought back to their time in the cafe. “She was in quite good spirits I thought, considering,” Jessica, remembering Patricia’s demeanour earlier the day before, tried her best to convey it to Donald Donaldson.
“Considering her husband’s death? Yes, well, as you’ve no doubt picked up for yourself, Desmond and Patricia didn’t always have the happiest of relationships. I’m certainly not saying that she would have wished him dead – I’m not saying that at all – but I do believe that now he’s gone, she’s feeling some…freedom, I suppose is the best way to put it. There is no harm in saying that, it’s just the truth of the matter.”
Jessica considered his words. Had she picked up on this on Sunday evening at the Wilcott house? Perhaps. However, it wasn’t exactly what she had meant.
“Erm…I was actually talking about her daughter, and all the trouble she is having coming to the U.K. But I agree with you, Patricia seems to be coping well with her husband’s death although she’s obviously shocked and upset. But yesterday it seemed as if it was her daughter’s situation that was on her mind and now, being under suspicion with the poison being found in her house, well it just must all be – ”
Donald Donaldson leaned forward, cutting her short. “Can I just stop you there Miss Greer. The situation with Helen Wilcott, you say…And something about poison?”
Jessica realised that she wasn’t being clear. Her thoughts were muddled. The two things weren’t connected, of course. Once again, she had the feeling of displacement, a ‘silly wee lassie’ putting her thoughts and theories where they weren’t needed. She took a breath and started again: “Patricia told me about Helen when I had breakfast with her yesterday morning. Then, late yesterday afternoon, I heard that…something had been found in Patricia’s house, and that it may have been involved in the death of Desmond Wilcott. No one seems exactly sure what happened, but I thought I might be able to throw some light on the situation, and I wanted to speak directly to Patricia if possible, to find out where it was discovered.”
Donald Donaldson looked grave. Then he spoke up: “Patricia must really have trusted you to tell you the situation about Helen. I didn’t realise you had grown quite so close. I must say, that’s one of the things that really does make the case against her look quite bad.” He shook his head.
Jessica didn’t understand. Was he also aware of the single plane ticket to Australia? Was it the case, in fact, that Patricia knew she would be travelling alone because she had planned the death of her husband? Could that really be what Donald Donaldson was hinting?
“I’m not sure I know what you mean. Why do her daughter’s problems have anything to do with her husband’s murder?“
Donald Donaldson didn’t immediately reply, looking at Jessica then turning his chair slightly to look out of the window. Then he stood up, and moved over to a heavy sideboard against the side wall.
“Let me get you a glass of water Miss Greer, and we will start again.” He poured from a tall pitcher standing on a silver tray and handed the glass to Jessica before returning to his own side of the desk. Jessica drank about half of it quickly, only now realising that the stuffiness of the building had dehydrated her, and her mouth felt dry and sticky. Donald Donaldson waited until she had finished before speaking.
“What exactly did Patricia tell you about her daughter’s situation?”
“Just that she and her husband had split up, and it was making it difficult to return to the U.K. because neither parent wanted their child with the other. Also, the little girl doesn’t yet have a passport, as I understand it.”
Donald Donaldson brought his fingers together lightly under his chin. He looked off to the side. “That’s correct, insofar as it goes. It’s not the whole story however.” He sighed. “Right. Please understand that what am I about to tell you, I do as a friend of the Wilcotts and with the knowledge that your own relationship with Patricia is clearly more developed than I had originally realised.
“In addition to the moral support Helen receives from her parents, she has often received financial support as well. They have paid for certain items she wanted for the child, plus on one occasion they paid for her flight home for a holiday – this was before the child was born. Helen didn’t have a well-paid job you see, and since the child she hasn’t worked again. Since her problems with her husband began, and now their subsequent separation, Desmond had been reluctant to step into the role of provider. He was a conservative man, who believed in the commitment of marriage, and he very strongly felt that Helen should have tried harder with Mark, and that she had made the decision to move on too quickly. He didn’t feel that getting involved with financial support was the right thing to do under these circumstances, and indeed he cancelled a planned trip that he and Patricia were going to make to visit.
“Patricia, naturally, disagreed. She wanted to give Helen all the help that she needed, and to fly out there straight away. It was a large bone of contention between them. Very large indeed.” Donald Donaldson had shifted his gaze as he spoke, and he was now looking directly at Jessica, the expression on his face unreadable.
Jessica was stunned; Patricia had not mentioned a word of this. Suddenly, it was clear why Patricia had rearranged her solo flight and done so in the privacy of the hall.
In the light of this new information that Donald Donaldson clearly saw as a potential motive, did Jessica believe that Patricia could have murdered her own husband? Patricia struck her as a clever woman, not one who would be stupid enough to book a solo flight and then feed her husband toxic marmalade on the same day.
And there was still the matter of the poison. Why would she tell the police about it, and say that she had found it? Surely that meant she was innocent? Particularly if, as Jessica suspected, it had been found in the trophy she had looked at, meaning that it had turned up after she had visited – after Sunday night. She decided to tackle that. “It’s true that I didn’t know all that. I guess that’s enough for a case against her? But that’s why I wanted to speak to her – she can’t have hidden the poison. I mean, the poison wasn’t there!”
“What on earth do you mean Miss Greer? The poison wasn’t there? Wasn’t where?”
“I mean that if it’s where I think it was, then it wasn’t there on Sunday – oh it’s complicated. I just really need to speak to her but I don’t have a contact number. Would you be able to get a message to Patricia? It would be really good if we could meet and talk.”
As Jessica spoke, the telephone on Donald Donaldson’s desk gave two short rings and a bu
tton flashed red.
“That will be Marissa with my next appointment. Miss Greer, perhaps we should meet again, and you can explain more clearly what you mean by the poison – do you mean that you know what happened? I’m really quite unclear – ”
Jessica, flustered, shook her head. “No, no. Please, if you can just pass on my number. I just have one question for Patricia, and then I’ll understand more. Here, can I use this pen?”
She scribbled her cell phone number on a torn off piece of paper she had fished from her pocket and handed it across the desk to Donald Donaldson. “Just, please, tell Patricia I think I know something that might help. I’m really sorry to have taken your time Mr Donaldson. I’m grateful. Thank you.”
“I’ll do my very best to help out, Miss Greer, within certain limits of course. I’ll make sure Patricia gets your message. Yes, indeed.”
Jessica nodded and stood up, struggling slightly in her hurry to get out from between the desk and the chair. The heel of her sneaker caught in the thick plush of the patterned carpet as she backed away from the desk. Stumbling, she turned and bumped into Marissa who had silently come in the door holding another thick folder.
Embarrassed, she apologized and turned again to Donald Donaldson to check if he had noticed her awkwardness. Instead she found him fixedly staring, not at her, not at Marissa, but at something behind her shoulder. Jessica turned around and looked roughly in the direction of his gaze, but noticed nothing other than an old portrait beside the open door through which she now swiftly exited.
* * *
It took Jessica an hour to recover her scattered emotions. Luckily, the outer newspaper office was quiet today, and although Grant was in, he was both hard at work on something and understood that Jessica needed some time.