The photos taken from atop the battlement, the walkway behind the crenellation, exposed the details of where the melon broke off. Close-ups of the stone base, still attached to the wall, revealed it split at an angle and probably slid off towards the ground.
Duncan forwarded the pictures to L and G's photo lab for processing. Three dimensional images produced from these snapshots would be almost as helpful as examining the scene in real time. Gerald Campbell, the company's resident expert in this process known as photogammetry or photorectification, would be an enormous help.
He gladly opened the next official report. He wanted something to remove his mind from those photos of Stuart. Inspector Smythe and Constable Ainsley took measurements at the site. Duncan would record dimensions when he visited the castle, but for now he trusted their work. The horizontal distance from the merlon to the castle, distance from merlon to crenellation, and measurements of the stone were all noted. He copied these figures into his own file for further calculations. Smythe also commented on the weather conditions. It had rained for two days prior to the accident and the ground was yielding, as Duncan had already deduced. Temperatures hovered well above freezing.
He closed Smythe's report, clicked on the file named, Special Constable, and began reading the summary sheet. It included the time the special constable was called, when he or she arrived at the location, and other pertinent facts. As his eyes moved down the screen, something jarred his brain and he glanced back to the top line item in the summary. Report by Special Constable Donald Merriwether leapt from the screen at him. So that was why Donald had asked if he would need to speak to the special constable! The innkeeper was first to arrive after Caroline discovered Stuart's body. What other secrets did Donald keep?
Duncan's energy waned as the effects of high tea wore off. The photos, reading the details of the crime scene, and the surprise that Donald was special constable all took their toll. He glimpsed at his watch and found it was after eight o'clock. He set his laptop and files to the side and made his way to the phone, ordering the soup Skye recommended. Then he sunk into the bed and waited for a knock at the door.
He must have dozed, because he dreamed he was floating on a river while a young girl kept trying to serve him a meal. "Room service, room service," a female voice called. Then Duncan noticed a woodpecker doing his best to drill a hole in a tree via rapid knocks with his beak. "Hallo, anyone there? Room service," the female voice called again. He shook himself from his dream and realized someone was banging on his door.
"Just a minute, please," he shouted.
He hurried to the door and let in a young waitress. She looked about fourteen years old. He tried to take the tray and tureen from her, but she insisted on placing them on his table. She asked if he required turn down service this evening, and he replied he did not, just more wood for the fire. The girl left his room and he sat down to enjoy his supper.
A wonderful aroma met Duncan when he removed the lid from the tureen. He gazed at the soup, trying to determine its ingredients. It had a broth base with chunks of lobster bobbing amongst shrimp and julienned vegetables. A sprinkling of green herbs completed the consommé. He dipped a large spoon into the potage and took a taste. It was heavenly. He detected lemon grass, shallots, seafood, and various unrecognizable flavors. It was definitely a fusion of Asian and French cuisines. The Blue Bell's chef proved a master with this dish.
While he enjoyed his soup, wishing the tureen larger, a boy delivered the necessary wood for a fire. The young man loaded the fireplace with wood and crumpled newspaper. He used a lighter to ignite the blaze. By the time the flames were raging, Duncan had finished his supper and the boy took away the dishes.
Duncan meandered toward the bathroom and brushed his teeth. Next, he undressed. He would have to sleep in his underwear because his sweats were a filthy mess. He wore those sweats under his jogging pants this morning. Tomorrow, he would check on laundry service. Before climbing in bed, he noticed his files scattered on the floor again. He was sure he left them intact. Perhaps another blast from the flue was responsible? Duncan was beginning to wonder. He searched the ceiling for any vents. One, high on the wall near the roof line, caught his attention. A gust from that vent could blow his papers off the chair. Certainly that was the cause. Sleep came almost immediately after his head hit the pillow.
Chapter 5 - Police Reports
He rose in the morning with a slight headache. The pain in his hip had worsened since yesterday. He limped toward the bathroom. Duncan tried to shower and dress without aggravating his joint. He found he needed to lie down to pull on his pants as opposed to bending. Everything took extra effort and he wondered if Dr. Prew should have ordered an X-ray.
Before tackling the stairs, he decided to finish reading the Police Scotland reports. He propped himself up on several pillows and tried to get comfortable in his bed. He opened his computer and started with Chief Inspector Wallace's work. Wallace had interviewed those at the scene. Caroline Menzies discovered the body of her husband after spending the morning at a neighbor's house. Mrs. Charmicle lived approximately 4.8 kilometers beyond Castle Taye and vouched for Caroline's whereabouts that morning. Caroline had walked to and from Mrs. Charmicle's. Peter and Julia were on a short visit to see their mother in London. Only the mother confirmed their alibis. The report listed no other witnesses who saw the two in London.
"How convenient," Duncan said aloud.
Caroline had not immediately noticed the victim because the accident site was on the north side of the castle. It was only after Stuart did not respond when called for lunch that she searched outside and found him. His location was within an area used for Castle Taye's plant and gardening business.
Wallace's report referenced the special constable's observations. Then, he concluded that part of the castle's crenellation killed Stuart Menzies, a freak accident. The Great Highland Fault, which ran near the village of Taye, produced a miniscule quake four days prior to Stuart's death. The fault was rarely active, so locals noticed this tiny shaker. Wallace named the quake as a possible reason for the merlon breaking away.
Duncan took note that the tremor occurred one day before Julia's arrest. A theory came together swiftly in his mind. Stuart tired of his young relatives living off him. Perhaps he had even told them to look elsewhere for their livelihood. Not having the sharpest brains, the younger set assumed the estate would be entailed to them upon Stuart's death. He had no other known heirs. However, Duncan guessed, Stuart had a will which left everything to his wife. As the youthful duo planned how to off their uncle, a miracle occurred. The Great Highland Fault gave way just a fraction of a centimeter, after no activity for decades. Peter convinced his sister it was time to act. She went along, but had her doubts, and thus partook in that drunken brawl. Three days later, Stuart was dead. Their mum provided a bogus alibi.
To estimate the time of death the investigators attempted to obtain internal temperature readings on Stuart, through his ears and throat. After Police Scotland's National Forensics Lab made adjustments for time lapse and existing conditions, they determined Stuart's internal temperature at the time of discovery was 34 degrees Celsius.
Normal body temperature is 37.5 degrees Celsius. A cadaver loses 1.5 degrees every hour until its temperature equals that of its environment. Contrary to what might be expected, if a body is left outside in the cold, its temperature drops at a slower rate. Taking all this into account, police determined that Stuart died two hours before his wife noticed his body. Thus, Mrs. Charmicle could provide a solid alibi for Caroline.
The only loose end was how the two dropped the stone on Stuart. How could they know it would land directly on him? Duncan doubted they relied on geometry. Also, how did they pry the merlon off the castle? An examination of the battlement, the stone, and the merlon might answer some of these questions. He dreaded climbing up to the top of the castle with his bruised hip. In fact, he dreaded the idea of taking the stairs down to breakfast. Duncan decided
to stay put in his room for the time being.
He sent Angela another message, requesting a copy of the dead man's will. It was still early, so he reviewed Donald's statement.
Donald, acting as a Special Constable, received a call from a distraught Caroline Menzies. Because local police were occupied elsewhere, the call was automatically forwarded to him. She told him there had been an accident at the castle. That was all he got out of her on the phone. Donald immediately telephoned the Scottish Ambulance Service and requested an emergency unit meet him at Castle Taye. Next, he drove to the castle and knocked at the front door. No one answered and the door was locked. He then strode around the back of the castle where he heard the cries of Mrs. Menzies.
He found Caroline kneeling over her husband. She was attempting some kind of resuscitation. He checked for a pulse at once, noting that Stuart Menzies was deceased. Donald paged Chief Inspector Wallace and tried to calm Mrs. Menzies. He briefly questioned her before an ambulance arrived. An emergency worker confirmed that Stuart was dead, but removing the body to the hospital for a post mortem proved impossible due to the weight of the stone.
Soon Wallace arrived on the scene with Inspector Smythe in tow. Constable Ainsley appeared shortly thereafter. Donald turned the investigation over to the professionals, who questioned Caroline and ran down alibis. They had a crane come to remove the merlon from Stuart's body.
Duncan's stomach growled. He checked himself in the mirror and combed his hair. Something about Donald's statement troubled him. Often, Duncan had to let things settle in his mind before a questionable detail popped out at him. He'd let this information roost a while. In the meantime, he composed an email to a private investigator he sometimes used. He needed some additional legwork done. Then, he shut down his laptop, placed the computer in his briefcase and walked gingerly downstairs.
He chose fruit, juice, porridge and toast this morning, not his usual heavy fare. He was still feeling the effects of his spill. He swallowed several pain pills before returning to his room. He hoped his hip would improve as the day progressed. He tried to work, but experienced a strong pull towards sleep. Duncan climbed under his covers and allowed his heavy lids to close. He slept the rest of the day.
A ringing woke him. The room was dark and he remained disoriented for a brief period. Then, he turned on a light and realized where he was. He had slept through until the evening.
He picked up the receiver and said, "Hallo?"
"How are ye feeling, Duncan?" Skye called to check on him. She continued before he could answer, "We haven't seen ye all day. Are ye all right?"
"I think so. Your ring woke me up. I've been sleeping since breakfast," he reported.
"Ye probably needed it. Are ye hungry? I can send up something. What sounds good to ye?" Skye asked.
"I think I'd just like some soup and bread or soda crackers," Duncan replied, looking for the clock to see how long he had slept.
"I can do that. I'll be right up." She hung up before either could say good-bye.
Duncan looked down to make sure he was properly dressed. He had fallen asleep in his clothes, so at least he was prepared to receive company. It wasn't long before Skye knocked on his door and deposited a tray on the table. Again, he had his own tureen of soup. Tonight it was tomato bisque. She had included a basket of dinner rolls, oat cakes, and soda crackers. Skye settled Duncan at the table and poured him a glass of water. They chatted a few minutes and then she left.
"Give us a ring when ye're done and someone will pick up the tray," she called over her shoulder.
He was still groggy from his long nap, so he took his time with the meal. Everything the Blue Bell served tasted delicious. He made a mental note to let Donald and Skye know how impressed he was with their kitchen.
Duncan didn't bother to brush his teeth or call for the tray to be picked up. When finished with dinner, he merely got back in bed and snipped off the light. He fell asleep almost immediately.
Chapter 6 - What's in a Sermon?
He felt much better that morning. His appetite returned and he indulged in another full Scottish breakfast at the inn. After stuffing himself, he drank a pot of strong tea. He had his favorite seat by the window and was in no hurry. Duncan intended to take it easy all day, so he would have energy for the festivities that evening.
"And how are we this morning, Lad?"
Donald gripped the back of Duncan's chair and smiled.
"I'm doing much better, thank you."
He noted the proprietor rested the bulk of his weight on the chair. His arthritis was acting up today. He could see faint signs of pain on Donald's face.
"Please sit," Duncan gestured towards the spare chair at his table, "and keep me company for a while."
Donald hobbled to the chair and eased into the seat. He detected a grimace hiding behind Donald's smile.
"My knee is troubling today of all days," Donald admitted with a sigh. "I'm the master of ceremonies at the ceilidh tonight and I hate to totter so, in front of all the village."
Duncan's eyes lit up.
"Are you giving the riddle?" he asked.
"Aye," the older man answered, looking suspicious.
"Can you give me a hint?" Duncan leaned closer to him and asked in a stage whisper.
"Not on yer life!" Donald slammed both his palms on the table and continued, "With the internet, ye'd be lookin' up the answer before the party. I'm keeping me riddle close to me vest!"
Duncan laughed.
"Well, I've been to many a riddle-telling, so you better not drag out an old chestnut. I might be familiar with one of those," he warned.
"Don't ye be worrying yerself about that," Donald declared. "I've a riddle no one will answer. Then, I'll get to choose next year's as well. It's me third year giving the riddle, dae ye ken?" he said with a wink.
Duncan understood. No one had been able to solve his conundrums the last two years, and he hoped for a similar outcome this year. He wondered if any of the villagers resented Donald's domination of the riddles.
"Do you have a schedule of events? Skye mentioned an afternoon church service. I'd like to attend that and the party."
Duncan hoped he'd be welcome.
"That's wonderful, Lad. The more the merrier. I'm certainly glad ye feel up to it," Donald said, giving him the once over. "Did ye bring a kilt?"
Duncan shook his head. He owned several kilts, but rarely wore them. He kept all but one at his parents' house. It never occurred to him to bring one along on this job. He knew that a kilt remained the standard attire at a ceilidh.
"Do you think Alyn and Sons over in Tyne would be open today?" Duncan asked, panicked.
"No, they close for all bank holidays," the older man replied. Then he lifted a hand from the table, and pointing his forefinger towards the ceiling said, "Don't fear, ye can borrow one of mine!" Duncan hardly thought Donald's kilt would fit, and his expression must have revealed as much because the innkeeper added, "One of me older kilts, from me younger days." Both men laughed. "Stop by the desk later. I'll have one here by two o'clock." He rose slowly to return to his post, then said, "A printed schedule of events is at the bar. Grab one before ye go up to yer room."
He turned in his seat and watched Donald limp around the counter to his own chair. It was painful to see him suffer. Duncan took a large swig from his cup, finishing off the last of his tea.
"Thank you," he called after the proprietor.
He reviewed the Saint Andrew's Day flyer in his room. Taye knew how to throw a party. As Skye mentioned, a church service at four o'clock started things off. It was dark by then, this time of year. At six p.m., the festivities continued with a light meal and all the traditional activities of a ceilidh. The party took place in a gymnasium. He looked forward to the distractions of a celebration.
After reviewing some dance steps in his mind, he turned his attention to his vocation. He began the tedious process of entering facts into his fault tree analysis program. The analysis tree star
ted with a top event, in this case Stuart's death, and continued down through components, or events, leading finally to the basic cause of his death. Simply put, it resembled a decision tree, albeit a complicated one. Once Duncan entered enough pertinent information, the program could interface with other programs. They in turn produced probability measurements and even an animated scenario of the incident.
Duncan chose to run the program with two different top events. He set up one fault tree with Stuart killed by a stone falling from battlement as the top event. The other included Stuart killed by fall from the battlement with stone. He still had to obtain many of the components to fill in the tree branches beneath his top events. He entered whatever data he could and saved the information. This took several hours as he thoughtfully set boundaries, ensured his methodology was accurate, and narrowed his tree components.
Eventually, his program would identify a logical chain of events from the top event down to its causes. Algebraic equations written into the software provided the least number of events necessary to produce the top event. Ultimately, probability measurements would be produced for each scenario. This way, Duncan hoped to pinpoint what caused Stuart's death. Analysis of the information sent by Police Scotland supplied some of the components. A trip to Castle Taye might provide the rest.
Duncan lifted his arms above his head and stretched, groaning in the process. He leaned his head towards his left shoulder and then his right, until his vertebrae cracked. Then, he rolled his shoulders forward and backward. He had hunched over his laptop too long, and now he was stiff and uncomfortable. He checked his watch. It was one o'clock. His stomach remained full from breakfast. Room nine felt stuffy, and he decided some fresh air and change of scenery was in order. He opted for a short drive in the country.
Mystery: The Merlon Murders: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 1) Page 8