Loch of the Dead

by Loch of the Dead (retail) (epub)

  I was going to suggest somebody led them to another room to question them in private, but McGray had no such scruples. He stood up and grabbed Dominik by the collar. ‘Where have youse been?’

  Dominik blinked and looked at McGray’s hand as if it were an alien thing. ‘You . . . you’re missing a finger. Did you know that?’

  ‘Answer me,ye twat!’

  Calcraft did, after a loud hiccup. ‘Out.’

  ‘Out where?’

  ‘Just out.’

  McGray made to punch him but I managed to stop him in time.

  ‘You will not get anything meaningful out of them right now. We need them sober. A statement from a couple of dribbling drunks will not be acceptable in court.’

  McGray sighed in frustration and thrust Dominik away. The young man nearly fell on his back, but Boyde jumped closer and held him up.

  ‘I want them locked up ‘til the morning,’ said McGray. ‘We’ll question them then.’

  Dominik grinned stupidly and lifted his chin. ‘You’ll do no such thing.’

  McGray produced his gun and there was a general cry. ‘The fuck I will, ye pretty boy. Consider yerself under arrest.’

  ‘This is an outrage!’ Mr Koloman roared. ‘You have no right to do this!’

  ‘Course I do! I’m bloody CID.’

  ‘My son could not possibly –’

  ‘Yer pretty son came round Thurso at the worst of times.

  And he was out there just as that sorry constable got murdered. D’ye see my point?’ Mr Koloman simply gulped, red with rage, and McGray turned to Miss Fletcher. ‘Yer the housekeeper. Take me to suitable rooms to lock up these blootered bastards. And I want all the keys.’

  I saw the hint of a smile on Miss Fletcher’s face. She rose to her full height and when she shoved Dominik and Calcraft out of the room she did it with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

  Everyone in the drawing room went mute. All eyes fell on me, ranging from the scared to the amused to the inexplicably indignant. I felt a throbbing in my temples and was tempted to send everyone away, grab a carafe of wine and drink myself to sleep.

  I took a deep breath instead. ‘Now, we all need to calm down. As I said, I will question you one by one.’ Before you have time to concoct alibis, I thought. ‘Until I am finished, I want everyone to wait here.’

  Plunket, the astoundingly wide cook, raised a shy hand as though she were in school.

  ‘Yes?’ I said, feeling like a cantankerous schoolmaster.

  ‘May I fetch some tea? For the nerves, you see.’ She was rubbing the back of the crying scullery maid.

  I sighed. ‘Very well. But do not wander.’

  17

  It was still remarkably early, but the sky was already lightening.

  McGray and I sat in a small yet charming breakfast parlour, overlooking Loch Maree. Mrs Plunket left us a large pot of strong coffee and then excused herself. Like us, she had not slept, yet she still had to prepare the breakfasts for the family.

  I spread my notes on the table. ‘This wide woman was in the kitchens sorting the servants’ supper and preparing some sort of marinade for tonight’s dinner. The scullery maid was serving supper for the other servants; most of them were gathered in their below-stairs dining room. They have all vouched for each other and the details they told us match. Mrs Glenister and the girl Tamlyn left the table early to prepare Mrs Koloman’s and the girls’ chambers and clothes. Glenister left the girl alone when Mrs Koloman called her, as you might remember. Boyde also left early; he says he went to the cellar to decant some more wine and then leave fresh carafes in the drawing room and bedrooms. We both saw him open the door when Miss Natalja came back crying for help; I am satisfied he would not have had time to leave the house, slaughter McEwan and then return.’ I shook my head. ‘So everyone has an alibi, except for Calcraft and Dominik, who are still to answer to us.’

  McGray looked at the notes intently, rearranging the sheets as he muttered to himself.

  ‘I ken Calcraft ‘n’ Dominik are our main suspects . . . but . . .’

  ‘Oh, for the love of God, say it.’

  McGray raised an eyebrow. ‘What if,... the twins did it?’

  I did not blink. I simply lounged in my seat. ‘Do you mean ... aided by Miss Fletcher?’

  McGray nodded. ‘Aye. The gal’s like a weathered battleaxe; she looks strong enough to lift a man and hang him like that.’

  ‘And she must know about knots,’ I said. ‘She took my uncle and me to the islands on a boat; she seemed quite experienced.’

  And she had a good motive, from what ye’ve told me.’

  ‘Of course she had. But why would the girls be willing to assist a murder? Or to witness it and say nothing about it? Why cover for Miss Fletcher?’ I rubbed my temples, feeling my head throbbing again. ‘Perhaps Miss Veronika was not ill at all. It might all have been an act to get herself taken away.’

  ‘If that’s the case, maybe even the parents knew . . . They were very reluctant to let ye treat the lassie.’

  I poured myself some coffee. ‘That was strange, yes, and the mother’s insistence on injecting her with laudanum. Then again . . .’ I took a sip of the excellent Colombian brew and shook my head. ‘Let’s not read too much between the lines. That entire theory seems . . . disjointed, illogical. If I had daughters, I would not casually send them out to slaughter men. Also, McEwan had been working here for years; they could have killed him any other time – without CID inspectors nearby.’ I stood up and paced. ‘However, I should definitely examine Miss Veronika; she might need further medical attention. And we must also question the people at the inn; that is the nearest dwelling and almost certainly the last place where McEwan was seen alive.’

  ‘And we should also inspect the islands. Don’t forget the wee light and the boat we saw last night.’ McGray lounged back, gulping down his coffee. ‘Ye’d think that a case like this, in the middle o’ bloody nowhere with just a handful o’ folk around, would be simpler.’

  I smirked. ‘I do not expect anything to be simple any more. It saves me a good deal of disenchantment.’

  Nine-Nails agreed, and I suddenly realized this was a momentous event: we were discussing the intricacies of a case without calling each other names, without arguing, and giving good thought to each other’s theories. It had only taken eight or nine months and four very serious cases. I preferred not to bring attention to the fact.

  McGray pressed his fingertips together, the stump of the missing one sticking out. ‘I’ll go to the inn and then to the islands ‘n’ see what I can find out. I’ll take Miss Fletcher with me.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to do that?’

  McGray chuckled. ‘Why? D’ye think she’ll beat me up if I ask blunt questions? She might do so if it were someone as lanky ‘n’ lily-livered as ye.’

  ‘I meant are you sure you can stand another trip over water?’

  ‘Och, shut up! It’s a proper ailment.’

  ‘Well, it is ironic that the man who has just called me lily–’

  ‘I said shut it, dammit! In the meantime ye can stay here, examine the sick lassie and question the two drunken sods. Ye adore –’

  ‘I do not adore questioning people,’ I retorted, though well aware it was close to a blatant lie.

  McGray laughed as he pushed his chair back. ‘Aye, right. And go to sleep a wee while, Frey. As usual, ye look fuckin’ hideous. I’ll go to the inn right now; if the people that work there are involved in some way, we’d better find out soon.’

  ‘Are you going there right now? Will you not sleep?’

  ‘I bloody rarely sleep, remember?’

  I’d not realized how tired I felt until McGray mentioned sleep, and I was very tempted to go to the guest room the Kolomans had arranged for me. I peeped inside and saw the four-poster bed bursting with pillows, the Gothic window that overlooked the loch, and the ancient-looking tapestry that decked the main wall. I sighed, closed the door and walk
ed on to Miss Veronika’s chamber. The other interrogations could wait until I had rested; the ill girl could not.

  Tamlyn, the young maid, was stepping out of Miss Veronika’s chamber carrying a sponge and a basin of lavender-scented water. When she saw me she started, spilling some of the contents on the floor. She curtsied and hurried away before I could say a word.

  I knocked at the door. ‘Mrs Koloman?’ No answer. ‘I have come to check on your daughter.’

  I was about to knock again when she replied, ‘Come in, Inspector.’

  I opened the door and walked in cautiously, as if stepping on a tightrope. The curtains were shut and the only light came from a small oil lamp. The room was pretty much what I’d expected: crammed with books on science alongside fashion patterns, hand-drawn designs scattered everywhere, and cuts of silk, muslin and linen.

  Mrs Koloman sat by the four-poster bed, looking terribly pale and red-eyed. Her distress struck me as genuine, unless the woman was a very good actress – and God knows I’ve had enough of actresses.

  ‘How is she faring?’ I asked, approaching as one might a scared deer. Veronika lay quietly, wrapped in heavy blankets embroidered in red and gold. Her snow-white nightgown, and her skin almost as colourless, again made me think of a ghost. At least she appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

  ‘Much better,’ said her mother. ‘The laudanum helped.’

  I had to contain a disapproving grunt. ‘May I examine her? I had some medical training at Oxford.’

  ‘There is nothing to examine. The worst of the pain is gone.’

  ‘I insist, ma’am,’ and I added a white lie, ‘for my own peace of mind.’

  Mrs Koloman took her time to reply. ‘Do it, if you have to. But you’ll understand I must be present, for the girl’s decorum, you see.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, though thinking she had not objected to her daughter’s unabashed flirting or her scandalous clothes. In fact, in her long-sleeved nightdress, buttoned up to the neck, Veronika was wearing more clothes in bed than she had at dinner.

  ‘Inspector, do you have instruments, or should I supply them?’ Though delivered with courtesy, the question was a clear challenge.

  ‘I was not expecting an emergency such as this. If you have instruments, I would appreciate the use of them.’

  Mrs Koloman picked up her small leather case and put it on the bed. She simply opened it and waited. More challenge.

  I rummaged through the shiny, well-kept instruments and the tiny vials. ‘You keep an enviable assortment of medicines.’

  ‘I do. It is a necessity, if you spend a good deal of the year in a place as remote as this.’

  I pulled out a fine stethoscope and listened to the girl’s heartbeat. ‘Would you prefer to live in town? Your husband can certainly afford it. I am surprised your name is not widely known in London circles.’

  She did not reply, her arms crossed tightly, so I proceeded to examine Miss Veronika. I could feel the vigilance of the mother, so I made a conscious effort not to touch the girl’s skin with anything other than the stainless-steel chest piece. Veronika stirred slightly at the touch of the cool metal, but then was calm again. Her heartbeats were rapid but normal, and her airways sounded clear.

  ‘Was abdominal pain the only symptom?’

  ‘Yes. She complained of nothing else.’

  ‘No rashes or swelling?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘And her ablutions were normal, if you need to know as much.’ I blushed. ‘Do you still think she was poisoned?’

  ‘That is one possibility.’ I felt the girl’s forehead: no fever. ‘And you only gave her laudanum?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I mused, folding the stethoscope and putting it back in place, exactly as I’d found it. Miss Veronika had no obvious symptoms. The pain could well have been entirely neural . . . or feigned, but I could not be sure until I examined her properly or had the chance to talk to her, lest she’d not mentioned all her ailments to her mother.

  ‘Ma’am, would you mind if I spoke to your daughter? May we wake her up?’

  Mrs Koloman gathered breath and very consciously avoided my question. ‘I hear you locked up my son.’

  ‘We did what was necessary. Your son was present in Thurso right after the clergyman died. He also was outside at the exact time the constable was being murdered. You must understand –’

  ‘I know my son!’

  ‘Madam, you will excuse my curtness, but I have seen many sentenced men whose mothers swore they knew their children.’

  ‘Why would he want to murder a poor priest in a godforsaken port? Or a good-for-nothing constable?’

  It was my turn to gather breath. ‘Ma’am, let me remind you that your son has not been sentenced yet. If he and his footman, Calcraft, are innocent, I can assure you –’

  ‘Please, don’t condescend to me.’

  ‘Very well,’ I said, tired of acting the conciliator. ‘I need to ask you a few questions too. Shall we go to another room? I can see you do not want your daughter disturbed.’

  Mrs Koloman did not reply, but she stood up, kissed Miss Veronika’s forehead and extinguished the lamp’s flame. We went to the corridor, which was as silent as a grave, and Mrs Koloman led me to her own room. She had a small personal parlour adjacent to her bedchamber – as in most wealthy families, she and Mr Koloman had separate bedrooms. In her parlour, which must be her solitary haven, there were only two armchairs and a little table with a basket of needlework. She picked it up and began working on a very intricate design, sulking as she waited for my questions.

  ‘Ma’am, the first thing I wanted to ask you is how is your other girl faring?’

  ‘I hardly know. The poor thing was far too distressed to talk.’

  ‘Have you talked to Miss Fletcher?’

  Her hands went still.

  She tried to do a new stitch but in the end had to put the embroidery aside. ‘I . . . I feel guilty even mentioning this . . .’

  I leaned forward. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I think I saw Millie sort of . . . I cannot say smiling but she certainly wasn’t overridden with shock. I can’t blame her, though. She wouldn’t be human if she didn’t feel some joy after that man’s death. What that wretch did to her was abominable. He should have brought her justice but instead he laughed at her disgrace.’

  I interlaced my fingers. Was she simply trying to throw the scent away from her son? I could tell any direct questions about Dominik would only upset the lady. I should lead my questioning there as if treading on eggshells. ‘Miss Fletcher’s disgrace was, I am afraid, caused by your late brother-in-law.’

  Mrs Koloman looked away, gnashing her teeth. I gave her time; she eventually spoke. ‘My husband was far too patient with his brother. I can tell you this now that he is dead: Maximilian was a fiend. He had mistresses on every shore, impregnated girls and then paid them to have the problem removed. Millie nearly did. I was the one who persuaded her otherwise. I arranged everything with the priest.’

  ‘Some would say your son took after his uncle —’

  Too abrupt, I thought, but it was too late already.

  She pointed a finger at me. ‘My son is nothing like that monster!’

  ‘He certainly leads a very similar lifestyle.’

  She took a deep breath, returned the basket to the table and stood up. ‘I need some sleep. You should get some too.’

  And she raised a hand, showing me the way out.

  She closed the door with a thump, and in the corridor I found McGray and Uncle Maurice. They were both ready to depart.

  Uncle stared at the door as if trying to see through. ‘Did the mother talk to you? Did you manage to see Miss Veronika?’

  I walked a few yards, asking them to follow me, before I answered. ‘Yes. It is a really odd condition. I cannot even speculate –’

  ‘Is she in pain?’ Uncle cut in.

  ‘She doesn’t seem to be, but again, I cannot tell if that is because of the opiates or b
ecause the pain has truly receded.’

  ‘Keep an eye on her,’ said McGray, handing me a jingling set of keys. ‘And everyone else we’ve locked up. Please, don’t mess things up while we’re away.’

  ‘When have I – Oh, never mind.’

  ‘That wee silver one is for the chest in Mr Koloman’s room where I locked all the other duplicates. Only we have access to those places.’

  I shoved the bulky set in my breast pocket. ‘And we have been here for only one night. I hope things do not continue at this rate, or even in this manor we will run out of rooms to lock suspects in!’

  18

  McGray and Maurice walked down the granite steps just as Smeaton and Miss Fletcher got the carriage ready.

  ‘The weather today is decidedly Scottish,’ Maurice remarked, looking at the gloomy, grey sky. In the dull light the neat gardens, with their moss-covered sculptures and their symmetric yew borders, looked more like a sad, misty graveyard.

  ‘Aye, as if fucking England was a bloody Mediterranean paradise,’

  ‘I happen to be French.’

  ‘French! Yer a tenth-generation sodding émigré, are ye nae?’

  Maurice shook his head. ‘I beg your pardon. I hardly understand half the words you say – and the half I do understand makes even less sense.’

  They jumped into the carriage and not a word was said until they reached the inn. McGray handed Maurice a piece of paper with the message and the addressee. ‘Now, I’ll say this slowly enough so even ye can understand: Pleeeaaasse, haaaave thiiiis . . . deeeliveeerrrred . . . aaaas . . . diiiisscuuuu . . .’

  ‘Oh, so you are not only vulgar but also mildly retarded!’

  McGray brought a hand to his forehead. ‘Och, ye . . . bloody . . . fro–’

  ‘Do step out, my good man, before you give me more ammunition.’

  McGray snorted, kicked the door open and jumped out, along with Miss Fletcher. He pointed at Smeaton. ‘Make sure that pseudo-Froggie gets to the telegraph and sends that message. And then get ‘im straight back to yer master’s house. Did ye get it?’

  Aye, I’ll–’

  And as much as I cannae stand the miserable sod, if I hear he’s missing even one o’ his bloody Frenchie hairs, ye’ll have to deal with this.’ He raised a fist and Smeaton simply nodded, driving the carriage away.