"I'll need to call you with any follow up questions, after I've reviewed all the materials," Duncan stated, as he, too, stood.
"Aye," was all Inspector Smythe said as he left the office and the building.
Duncan was none too happy dealing with the hostile Ainsley again. He reiterated the list of evidence and reports he needed, then pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to the constable. Ainsley only nodded. He didn't write anything down. This might just be a fiasco, Duncan thought to himself. Dealing with the local authorities could be excruciating, especially after so much time had passed since the event. Then, there were those who got defensive every time he raised a question. He shook the negativity off as he left police headquarters. At least the initial break-the-ice-meeting was over. He already had the chief inspector's account of what happened. But, he had learned that asking for a comprehensive list of reports, as he'd done today, often uncovered additional information.
He decided to stroll to the high street and do some shopping before lunch. Tyne, a prime spot for salmon fishing, fueled the tourism which supported the smart shops in the village. The short walk did him good. Happy to be out in the crisp, cold air after the stifling heat of police headquarters, Duncan's face relaxed into a smile.
He entered Alyn & Sons, Purveyors of Fine Men's Clothing & Bespoke Accessories, according to their sign. Duncan halted a few feet inside to take it all in. The shop had a gentlemen's club ambience, and not that of the tawdry gentlemen's clubs of the States, either. The walls were highly polished, rich-colored wood with built-in display nooks. Plaid chairs were positioned throughout the small store, so patrons could sit at their leisure. A wonderful woodsy aroma hung in the air. Duncan saw rows of tweeds, tartans, and a leather goods area housed near the back. It was obvious from the fabrics on the shelves that one could purchase custom made clothing here or buy off the rack.
Typically, Duncan was not one to focus on his attire. However, now he wanted to sharpen his appearance a bit. A young man approached from the rear of the store and asked if he could assist Duncan. The boy was fresh faced and pleasant, younger than Angus but maybe older than Harold. Harold, one of Duncan's younger brothers and only twenty, still had no idea what to do with himself.
"I need three pairs of pants, shirts to match, a pair of dress shoes, plain day shoes, a pair of wellies, and oh, possibly a cap," Duncan said.
Grinning broadly, the boy introduced himself, "I'm Harry Alyn and we'd be happy to help you with that."
As Harry guided him through the shop, Duncan realized this excursion was going to cost him more than he had ever spent on clothes before. He owned his own tuxedo, but this spree would far surpass the cost of his formal wear. He had to tell himself, not a few times, that he had the money and could afford to do this.
"High quality outlasts inferior by years," Harry said, pointing out various fabrics as the two walked through the trouser section.
"What would you suggest?" Duncan asked, knowing he needed help.
Harry looked at his customer with a discerning eye, then directed Duncan to another set of shelves.
"This gray tweed pant, along with a navy sweater and coordinating shirt would look brilliant with your coloring."
Yes, but what about with my hawkish good looks, he wanted to ask but didn't. Next, Harry convinced him that solid charcoal slacks, for day or evening, would be the ticket. Duncan wondered what the ticket would come to in the end!
An elderly man tottered out with a measuring tape. Duncan's pants would need to be shortened. His trousers would be ready tomorrow.
"A muscular frame like yours requires custom shirts," the older man advised.
"Unfortunately, I need ready-made and I need everything today," Duncan replied.
The elderly man nodded. "We'll have everything prepared by four," he said.
Duncan paid his ticket. Harry proved an excellent salesman. In the end, he came away with black dress shoes, brown every day shoes, and black wellies. He also purchased five shirts, two sweaters, wool socks, and a tweed jacket. Harry convinced him a cashmere blend vest and dark green wide wale corduroy pants were necessary as well. This was in addition to the tweed and charcoal pants Harry had first suggested. Duncan bought two caps, a loden wool to match his corduroys and a dark tweed to go with his other clothes. His ticket was astronomical. But, he wanted to stand out from Stove Pipe Stuart, as he now referred to Stuart Menzies in his mind.
The Alyn's, whom he guessed were grandson and grandfather, would make alterations and all the clothes would be ready when Duncan returned. As he left the shop, Duncan realized he'd need another suitcase to get all his purchases home to London. He took a deep breath and tried to convince himself there was no need for buyer's remorse.
On the way through town, a bookstore caught his attention, and Duncan marched there now. He had forgotten to mention the malfunctioning television to Donald this morning, so that gave him a good excuse to acquire a book or two. The bookshop looked magnificent. Duncan peered through diamond paned glass to see a plethora of books. Tomes spilled from the shelves. A sign on the door advertised the local reading group and a local authors' group, meeting monthly at the shop.
Duncan leaned on the door with all his weight, expecting to find books piled against it inside. It gave way easily. A bell attached to the doorjamb rang and he detected that familiar and appealing musty air all good used bookstores contained. Relieved to see the aisles clear of books, he navigated the rows at will. The bell kept ringing, it was on some kind of spring, and he heard a barely audible female voice saying, "Hallo, hallo?" The voice drew closer, but he couldn't see anyone. Finally, a tiny, round woman appeared from behind a bookshelf. Duncan thought she must be a fairy.
Abigail Neward owned Cat's Books. She looked to be in her sixties and had tight little silvery blonde curls covering her scalp. Abigail was free from wrinkles except for those at the corners of her eyes, left there from either laughing, squinting at books, or both. Considerably plump, she probably rarely left the shop. She also wore bright pink lipstick he could have seen from across the green.
Abigail tucked her chin toward her shoulder when she finally spotted Duncan. She gave him a coy smile and fluttered her lashes over large, bright blue eyes. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was flirting with him.
"What can I do for ye, young man?" she purred.
Duncan fought the urge to run. Surely, she was harmless, this fairy woman of the book shop.
"I'd just like to browse around a little, see what jumps out at me," he replied.
"Weeel, don't be surprised if it's me!" Abigail rejoined with a laugh, trundling back from whence she came.
Duncan stood still for a moment until she was gone from view. She worried him a little. He turned down the next aisle and walked to a shelf against the wall. A small red volume caught his eye. He pulled the book from the shelf. The binding was unmarked, so he searched the cover for a title. He caught his breath when he saw it. A Scandal in Bohemia by Arthur Conan Doyle. He knew instantly he had discovered a treasure. This was a rare, special edition of Conan Doyle's short story, usually included in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Published in 1896, only a few years after first appearing in a magazine, it became a huge success. What were the odds he would come straight to this book and pull it from the shelf? He felt the book had been waiting just for him, maybe waiting in Cat's Books for years. Duncan sensed joy rising in his heart. The Sign of Four was his favorite of Sherlock's adventures, but this one had also intrigued him as a boy. He stood there thinking about the story. He hoped this wasn't some sort of sign. A dark cloud began to drift across his heart.
The book told the story of the only female to ever get the best of Sherlock. Afterwards, Holmes referred to her as "the woman". He shook off any negativity and moved on, clutching the book in his left hand. What else could he find here? He wanted to choose his other book by serendipity, just as he'd found A Scandal in Bohemia. He walked along the shelves and turned back tow
ards the center aisle. He crossed that avenue and continued on toward the opposite wall. After some time he found himself in the rear of the shop where customers purchased their books.
Abigail sized Duncan up at the register in the back of the store. It was now obvious why the shop had the name Cat's Books. Duncan could spot five or six large, long haired, fluffy cats lounging behind and on the counter. One with particularly large blue eyes purred and rubbed against his chest. He thought the cat looked a lot like Abigail. Duncan asked about the price of the book.
"Hmm, I'm not sure what that goes fir," Abigail said in her mild accent.
Duncan was pretty sure the crafty Abigail knew the value of every book in the place.
"Let me see if I can locate it on our computer," she added.
Surprised to see a computer in this ancient place which housed old books, he watched as Abigail's fingers flew across the keyboard like a fifteen year old technical wiz.
"Where did you learn your computer skills?" he asked.
"Oh, my nephew, Jimmy Smythe, is a computer genius. Do ye know him?" Abigail asked in all innocence.
So that was who had updated the local police's computer system! That explained Inspector Smythe's smile when Duncan had asked if they had the capabilities to send e-files to him.
"I believe we may have met," Duncan responded.
Abigail glanced up from the computer as if to see if Duncan might be a criminal on the lamb. No, she wobbled her head back and forth, he appeared a law abiding fellow. Abigail didn't believe anyone this attractive could be a criminal, unless he was a gigolo, of course. But this customer was a good Scot lad and they don't make gigolos of those.
"Hmm," Abigail repeated. "That's a costly one. Are ye sure ye want it?"
"How much?" He really wanted the book.
"I could give ye a deal if ye bought two books. What else are ye interested in?"
He sighed. The cat put its paws on his chest and stood on its hind feet, tickling Duncan's cheek with its whiskers as he rubbed the feline's ears.
"Do you have any guidebooks for the area or local histories?" he asked, exasperated.
Abigail smiled and said she had just the thing. She pulled out an old volume from behind the bar, turned and blew the dust off the cover. Then, she proudly placed the book on the counter. He read the title, Sir John Sloames History of Perthshire. It was old, thick, and he was sure expensive. There was no way he was buying this too. Duncan sighed again and told Abigail he only wanted the Arthur Conan Doyle.
"Two hundred pounds," she declared.
He said he'd take the book. He had a small library of valuable books at home and wanted to add A Scandal in Bohemia. Abigail wrapped the book in acid free paper and placed it in a bag for Duncan. She told him to be sure and come again. He thought he might have to, if this case proved difficult and delayed his return to London.
He checked his watch. It was already one o'clock. He still wanted to make the trip to Killin, so he grabbed a sandwich to go from a local pub, and hurried back to his car. He would eat on route.
When he reached the Vauxhall, he saw another officer of the law advancing towards the police station. Duncan figured this had to be the chief inspector. He decided to introduce himself. He jerked open the car door and left his sandwich and book on the seat.
"Hallo," Duncan said, moving towards the police inspector. "I'm Duncan Dewar with L and G. I just wanted to introduce myself."
The police officer shook Duncan's outstretched hand and said, "Hallo, there. I'm Chief Inspector Wallace, John Wallace. Sorry I missed you this morning. Did you get all you needed?"
He noticed the chief inspector's accent sounded much smoother than the local brogues he had encountered.
"Constable Ainsley will email me the necessary files," he replied.
John Wallace seemed friendly enough and more professional than the other officers he met today. Chief Inspector Wallace pulled a business card from his front chest pocket and handed it to Duncan.
"Call me anytime, day or night. My home number's on the back."
Duncan thanked him and the two parted.
Relief swept over him as he drove from Tyne towards Killin. He figured he had a couple of hours to explore there before coming back for his newly tailored clothes. The A827, between Tyne and Killin, demanded Duncan's full attention. He tried to take in the magnificent natural beauty of his surroundings, but the road was too narrow and the occasional lorry worried him. His journey began through a wood of Scotch fir, mountain-ash, oak, and birch trees. For several miles a stone wall lined the right side of the road, while trees encroached from the left. When large vehicles passed his Vauxhall, he tried to hug the easement on his side of the A827, without driving off the road or into a tree.
Finally, the trees and traffic seemed to thin. Duncan caught his first small glimpse of Loch Taye in the distance. He observed pastures and farm houses on each side of the highway, along with sheep and shaggy highland steer. As the A827 curved and rose in elevation, Duncan got a better view of the loch. Here, there were few trees, and the brightness of the afternoon sun in the west forced him to squint. He was developing another headache.
The road dropped in altitude and joined a river. Traffic slowed to a crawl as drivers peered at the wide, rocky bank of the River Dochart. Directly ahead lay Killin. The Vauxhall crossed the multi-arched stone bridge into the village, and Duncan spotted a sign for the visitor's center. He parked in the back of the building, an old, converted mill located on the river, and finished his sandwich before heading inside.
A friendly docent greeted him. "Our tours are over for the day. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Yes," he replied. "I was hoping to find some information on the MacNabs."
"Well, you've come to the right place for that," she enthused. "Just look out those windows in the left back corner. You'll spy the Falls of Dochart and below that the Inchbuie where ancient MacNabs are buried."
"What's an inchbuie?" Duncan asked as he headed for the windows.
He glanced around the visitor center and noticed it was also a small museum for the town. The guide joined him at the back window. She was about the age of a college student and full of enthusiasm. Her name tag read Emma.
She started, "the Inchbuie is that island there." Emma pointed to a land mass in the middle of the river. "Inside the stone enclosure, you'll find a rare effigy of a Highland warrior from the medieval period. It's one of only three in all of Scotland."
They stood looking at the island for a moment. Duncan listened to the rhythm of the water pounding over the falls.
"Is there a MacNab castle nearby?" he asked.
"No, the Campbells eventually ousted the MacNabs, but you can visit the ruins of Finlarig Castle, the Campbell stronghold. Also, there is Kinnell House, the ancestral home of the MacNabs. It's no castle, but there is a standing stone circle on the grounds."
Emma showed Duncan the guidebook she had been holding. She opened the pamphlet to a page with a photo of Kinnell House. It looked like a Victorian stone mansion.
He shook his head. He wanted to learn more about the MacNabs, not the Campbells, and Kinnell House looked too modern to interest him. The docent suggested a book on local history, featuring Clan MacNab. Duncan purchased the book. The prices were much better here than in Cat's Books. He thanked Emma for her help and strolled back to his car. Driving back towards Tyne, he headed east, so he no longer needed to squint to see the A827.
The reverse journey proved far more pleasant than the drive to Killin. The traffic was lighter and the sun was setting behind Duncan. He noticed a small caravan park on his way out of town, more farms, and white picket fences in a small village along the way. He even spotted a traditional, red phone booth outside of a lonely pub. Green and gold hills rose and fell along each side of the roadway in a dramatic fashion.
Back in Tyne, he was surprised to find the village a hub of activity. He secured a parking spot near Alyn and Sons and hurried inside
. Several men roamed around the store, examining fabrics, shirts and shoes. Harry was waiting on a customer, but excused himself after nodding at Duncan, and disappeared into the back. When the elder Alyn appeared with three garment bags and two rope-handled shopping totes for him, Harry resumed helping his client. The shop owner thanked Duncan, gave him his card, and hoped to see him again soon. He said good-bye and lugged his cache back to the Vauxhall.
It was a quick drive from Tyne to Taye. Duncan let out a sigh of relief as the Blue Bell came into sight. It took two trips to transport his briefcase and purchases to room nine. He noticed that Donald raised an eyebrow when he passed the front desk with his loot. The Alyn and Sons logo was boldly printed on the sides of the tote bags, and no doubt Donald was familiar with the Purveyors of Fine Men's Clothing & Bespoke Accessories, as their sign and logo proclaimed.
Turn down service was back, no doubt due to Duncan's earlier complaints. He lined all his purchases up on the bench at the foot of the bed, along with his briefcase. It was then he noted that there were no closets in his room, no armoires for storing clothes. Each tiny bathroom did have a hook on the back of its door, so he distributed his garment bags there. One night stand held a drawer, two shirts fit inside. He'd keep his antique novel in his luggage and his MacNab history book on the nightstand. Shoes and wellies would line up under the bench. He managed to keep everything orderly.
He sat in front of the fire with his computer on his lap. He put his briefcase, on its end, on the floor next to the wing chair. The laptop blinked to life. Duncan went straight for his in box, bypassing the day's current events. An email had arrived from Police Scotland, with attachments, as well as several from Angela and one from Robert.
First, he opened the correspondence from Robert Nolan, his forensic accountant. It was a quick note. Robert confirmed he would start on Duncan's project that day. He smiled. He figured the expert would jump on it. Next, he clicked on one of Angela's messages.
Her first epistle contained a run down on Peter Menzies. She included a great deal of information. Duncan studied the email with interest. Peter was now twenty-four years old. He had an arrest record that revolved around substance abuse. He had good primary and decent secondary school scores, but did not progress beyond that. Angela listed his marks. Peter's father died of a heart attack approximately ten years ago, and his mother relocated to London four years later with a daughter, Julia. Peter received professional counseling after his father's death and following one of his arrests for possession of a controlled substance. Surprisingly, he did not spend any time in jail. He lived in a farmhouse on the Castle Taye estate. His only known employer, ever, was Castle Taye.
Mystery: The Merlon Murders: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 1) Page 5