The Siamese Suicides: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder & Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 6)

by Victoria Benchley

  "It's ground beef and pork Chorizo, a Spanish sausage," a waitress he'd never met said, having observed their exchange. "I'm Brit, by the way. It's topped with streaky bacon and aged Orkney Cheddar. That shredded stuff on top is called pulled pork," she said before retreating from the dining room.

  Because it was still afternoon, the restaurant hadn't opened yet. Margaret expected her staff to show up around three-thirty p.m., taste whatever was on the menu that night, and get ready for service. A constant drizzle could mean business would be slow tonight. He finished his meal, enjoying every morsel, and watched the small staff dribble in.

  "That looks scrumptious!" he exclaimed when his mum placed a shallow dish down on the table.

  "It's apple and blackberry crumble with custard. We're thinking of adding more desserts to the menu."

  He took a bite, proclaiming, "It's a winner," with a full mouth.

  "I know. So, you enjoyed our combination Scot-Spanish burger?"

  "It's an even bigger winner. Maybe the best burger I've ever eaten."

  "We're thinking of calling it Mondo's Choice Burger. What do you—"

  The ring of his cellular interrupted Margaret.

  "Go ahead and take your call. Thanks for your help today, and I'll see you later."

  Duncan glanced at his mobile. John Wallace lit up the screen.

  "Hallo, John. What's happening?"

  "Your plan worked, Duncan. Ainsley sang like a bird, and everything he said jives with your forensics. I think we've got her."

  "So, she masterminded the whole thing?" He already knew the answer.

  "Pretty much. The niece and nephew proved to be the variables they couldn't quite control. And you, of course. They never counted on your fault tree thing-a-ma-jiggy."

  "Fault tree analysis," he corrected the chief inspector.

  "Yes, well. We've got her now. She was just a little too smart for her own good."

  "She's an American, John. You haven't exactly got her."

  "She has dual citizenship. The U.S. hasn't refused us extradition in a case like this. The warrant's already been issued and the wheels are turning. I think she'll be brought back for trial."

  "I'll believe it when I see it. But thank you for calling to let me know how things went with Ainsley."

  "Oh, yes. I forgot to mention. He's being sent back to Greenock next week. In the meantime, they've placed him in solitary to protect him."

  The two said their goodbyes, and Duncan tucked into his crumble, which had cooled considerably. Before his third bite, his cellular pinged again. He recognized the ring tone and answered without even glancing at the screen.

  "Angela?"

  He hadn't heard from her except by vague text messages since she returned to London. He hadn't confided anything regarding William Ainsley to her, not wanting her to worry unnecessarily. Now that it was all over, he needed to share the details and hear about her meeting with Hadley.

  "Hello, Duncan. How are you?"

  "I'm fine. How are you?"

  "I've been better. I'm sorry I haven't spoken with you since that morning, and I'm sorry for my behavior when I left. Can you forgive me?"

  "Of course, Darling. But what's got you so down?"

  He could hear her release a long sigh on the other end.

  "Angela?"

  "Yes, I'm here. I had a terrible meeting with Hadley. He became completely unhinged when I told him I planned to leave L and G."

  "You're planning on leaving the firm?"

  "Well, yes, I was. I decided my promotion didn't matter in the big scheme of things. I know I'm competent and—"

  "You're more than competent, Darling."

  "Thank you, Duncan. Anyway, I explained all about the responsibilities I'll have preserving Sunny's legacy and how I just wanted some time off before those begin, to prepare myself. I tried to break it to him gently because he had always been good to me."

  "What happened?" He was getting a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach regarding Hadley Cocoran, Mr. Burning Man himself.

  "He went on a tirade, yelling and screaming. He said he'd been covering up my incompetence for a year and a half and just what was I going to do without him. He implied there was more than business to our relationship. He shouted some truly vile things. His office door remained closed, but I know everyone could hear him. I'm so embarrassed!"

  Duncan fought off the rising tide of anger he felt towards Hadley and tried to comfort his lass.

  "Oh, poor Darling. I hope you didn't give any credence to anything he said. I'm sure your co-workers don't. He's a liar. You're the one who made him look good. I'm convinced he's the incompetent one. So much so, that he told Clarence Begbie he'd be getting a check before I'd even completed my investigation. Shall I fly down there and deal with him man to man?"

  "No, Duncan. I—"

  "How about I send Big Mo? I'm sure he'd tear him limb from limb for you."

  "No, Sweetheart. I can't even laugh at your jokes right now. Walking out of the office was so humiliating. I had planned to give notice and finish out my time, but I haven't gone back. I've just hunkered down in my apartment the last couple of days."

  "Didn't anyone call you? From the firm, I mean."

  "I turned off my phones and won't listen to my voicemails."

  "Listen, Darling. I know how much that promotion meant to you. But you don't need it to validate your worth. If you complain about his behavior, I'm sure—"

  "No, Duncan. I don't want anything else to do with him. I don't need the money or the job, and I certainly don't want to explain everything to Human Resources. He screamed about you as well. He claimed he only offered you the Begbie job to help me out."

  "Like everything else out of his mouth, that's a lie, Angela. He offered me the case because he wanted to find weaknesses to exploit in our relationship. I've no doubt that job in France was his way to separate us, keep us apart. Divide and conquer, you know? He had it bad for you, Little One."

  "Really?"

  "Of course. I recognized it the first time I met with him. I think he's pretty much finished at L and G, anyway. John Holcolm has his number, and I expect they'll be letting him go, if they haven't already. So maybe you should listen to some of those messages."

  "Will you listen to them for me? I just don't want to expose myself to his despicable accusations again."

  "Of course I will. Why don't you get on the next plane up?"

  "I took the train this morning. It just pulled into Waverly."

  "That's the best news I've heard in several days! I'll come round and get you straight away."

  "No, I'm going to meet with Dr. Brightly. She agreed to fit me in and I really need it after everything. Can we meet somewhere for dinner later? I'm craving that Scottish salmon I had at the Silver Chalice the other night."

  "Anything else Scottish you're craving?"

  "Maybe."

  Duncan whispered a few sweet nothings into the phone and the two signed off. He continued eating his now cold crumble, taking care to spoon all of the rich sauce from the bottom of the bowl. His mum's custard couldn't be beat. He allowed his mind to wander, going over the events of the past few weeks. So much had happened. Angela's moods understandably swung to extremes. He felt proud that he'd weathered that storm so far, remaining understanding and supportive. The thought of Hadley Cocoran made his blood boil. He'd like to give him a proper trouncing for hurting and humiliating his fiancée. At least she was out from under his clutches for good.

  His thoughts turned to Begbie and Wainwrithe and their art scams. He caught himself shaking his head. He finished his dessert, in spite of his dinner plans, and leaned back in his chair. He'd gone for a run each morning that week, so a few extra calories wouldn't kill him. The rain picked up outside, shifting from drizzle to downpour. Duncan watched as the locals trod up and down the street, some utilizing umbrellas and others pulling their coats up around their heads as they dashed home or into a shop. As soon as the lass called him to say she'd
finished with Brightly, he'd head for the Silver Chalice.

  He stewed on Doctor Helen Brightly a while. He didn’t care for some of the advice she'd been giving Angela. He felt it contributed to her pulling away at a time when she should lean on him more. He hadn't seen the quirky head shrinker all week. In fact, he didn't run into any of her clients, and when he checked her window, the lights had always been off. Something pricked at the back of his brain. He'd learned to pay attention when that happened. The small tickle in his mind became an unavoidable nagging, and he focused on recalling the last time he saw Helen.

  He ran into her, unexpectedly, on Grassly Close, and she'd been rude or had given him a rude look. No, it wasn’t in front of the office. It was on another street, outside a restaurant. The Cat's Cradle! He had been the rude one, stomping off because she acted superior. He had resembled an indigent, though, after his row with Begs. Well, he would apologize when they next met, and hopefully, Angela would soon stop relying upon her advice.

  He wondered if Big Mo remained a customer. He'd have to ask his mum about that, maybe warn her about the man's criminal connections. Ach! She'd find out about Harold's link to the numbers game then.

  Something still bothered him about his office neighbor. Why does she keep popping through my head? She's meddling in my relationship, but we should have a break from her. She's out of town, after all.

  Duncan's thoughts froze. If Doctor Brightly was in Malta, as she'd bragged to him on the street, why did Angela think she could meet with her now? Something felt very wrong, very wrong indeed. He tried to recall exactly what his fiancée had told him on the phone. Helen had agreed to fit her in. Had the psychologist returned early from her vacation? He glanced outside. A sharp wind blew the rain, mostly drizzle now, at a slant. Would anyone come home early from an island in the Mediterranean for this? He shook his head.

  "What's wrong with you?" Margaret asked.

  He stared at the plate his mum took from the table, trailing his gaze up to meet hers.

  "Something's the matter," she added, a definitive tone in her voice.

  "I think so," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Angela's back in Edinburgh but—"

  "That's wonderful!" she interrupted. "Now, maybe the two of you can get everything worked out. I'm sure it's just a bump in the road."

  "Yes, but bad things come in threes, Mum," he said with furrowed brows. His lips formed a thin, taut line as he stared at nothing in particular.

  "Whatever do you mean? You're not supersti—"

  Duncan jumped from his seat and ran from the restaurant, shoving chairs and a table from his path. He jerked the door of his car open, leaping inside. He didn't know where the idea came from, but somehow, he knew that Begbie's attack was not the final negative event to befall them. Something dreadful was yet to come.

  He sped across Edinburgh towards his office while his thoughts galloped at light speed. He took every shortcut he could think of. The Jaguar bumped along cobblestones between buildings in narrow wynds and screeched to a halt in front of traffic lights on major thoroughfares. His mind raced as he drove. Peter's suicide and Sunny's tragic demise certainly counted as bad things. The vicar's death, not so much. True, the saint's passing was sad, but he'd lived a long and rich life and didn't suffer at the end. No, he felt some kind of evil still lurked close, waiting to harm him or his loved ones.

  He realized he'd never seen Angela with Doctor Brightly, and his fiancée had never gotten a good look at his former cleaning lady. The woman he'd recently spotted on the stairs had to be her, back to exact some kind of revenge. He guessed she'd been the one meeting with his lass all along, posing as the psychologist. Angela never once mentioned being in the doctor's office. But she did speak of talking in the hall. No wonder Helen seemed surprised when he'd mentioned the improper diagnosis of her as a people pleaser. He remembered the man in the shabby vehicle who always seemed present around Grassly Close. Perhaps he was the janitor's accomplice.

  He dialed 999 on his mobile and waited for an operator.

  "Police Scotland, what is your emergency?"

  "My name is Duncan Dewar. I believe a crime is in progress at number eight, Grassly Close, Old Town."

  "What kind of crime, Sir?"

  "I don't know for certain. I recently worked with Detective Donaldson on a case involving a cleaning lady named . . . uh . . . I think it was Anders or Anderson, something like that. I believe she's broken into my office building and may be holding my fiancée hostage."

  "Please stay on the line, Sir. I see you're calling from a mobile number. You aren't headed there now are you?"

  "Aye."

  "Please pull over and wait for an officer to handle this. I'm getting Detective Donaldson on the other line now."

  He bit his tongue. He had no intention of pulling over and waiting for Police Scotland.

  "Sir?" the operator's voice broke over his speaker system.

  "Yes."

  "The detective says that Miss Anderson is in custody. She couldn't—"

  He jerked his automobile to a stop in front of his office and sprinted into the building, glancing up to see if the lights were on in any windows. All remained dark. Duncan took the steps three at a time, his anxiety growing by the second, and smashed through the door in his office, not bothering to use his keys.

  "Angela, Angela!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. He held his breath in hopes of hearing a response.

  Nothing. He realized the loud, rhythmic pounding of his heart might obscure her answer, so he screamed again between gasps for air. He ran out on the balcony, nearly slipping on the wet stones, and called again. Pausing to listen, he thought he heard a muffled sound coming from somewhere above. He looked up, but all the windows appeared closed. He glanced at the structures to each side, but the same held true there. Although the rain had ceased, the temperature remained cold and the buildings shut up tight.

  Think, Duncan, think!

  He raced back inside and up the stairs to Helen's office. Fueled by fear and adrenaline, he burst through that door as if it were made of matchsticks. The reception area proved empty as did her exam room. He checked both loos, finding them deserted as well, before hurrying to the third floor. An idea came to him just as he prepared to knock down the barrister's entry. His gaze shifted to the back stairs that led to the roof area where he'd taken Angela to watch sunsets.

  Oh, no.

  A terrible, sickening scenario played out in his mind. He threw up a quick prayer, pleading for Angela's safety. Duncan felt a calm hit his emotions as reality seemed to slow to a snail's pace. Suddenly, he knew exactly what to do. He climbed the steps one at a time with an unhurried, deliberate pace. His insides felt as though filled with heavy lead, and each movement came with an effort. He could see the opening to the roof had been left ajar. As he approached the top stair, he heard a scuffle. He tore past the metal door and slid to a halt. What he saw terrified him.

  Chapter 17

  Déjà Vu All Over Again

  Beyond the door frame, light from a bulb on the small landing reflected off a thin blade held to Angela's neck. Against the narrow, waist-high wall that separated the roof from a fifteen-meter drop to stone pavers below, he could make out two figures.

  As his feet skated to a stop several meters from the pair, his brain took in the details of the scene. Angela's wide eyes signified surprise, fear, and disbelief. Her attacker, clad entirely in black, stood at her side, holding a knife to her throat with one hand and tugging a fistful of her hair with the other, pulling her head and shoulders over the ledge. Hair covered the fiend's face, but small, dark eyes peered at him through long, sparse strands.

  "Don't do this," he heard himself say in a calm voice that belied his racing mind and pulse.

  "You're going to suffer the way I did. The way Peter did!" a voice hissed.

  He caught a glimpse of white teeth forming a twisted smile. Another yank to Angela's hair brought her centimeters closer to falling.

&nb
sp; He imagined the lass hurtling over the edge and shook the image from his mind. This assailant wouldn't be so quick to accomplish that foul deed. The villain would want to torture them both before acting. He hoped he'd have time to stop her as his brain scrambled to come up with a plan.

  A drop of blood appeared at the knife's point and trickled down Angela's neck as she was forced back, nearer a plummet. The soles of her high heels scraped against roof tiles as she fought to maintain her balance.

  "Your friend, the one who's been driving you around and following me—he wouldn't want you to get hurt. He must care a great deal for you, Julia. He got you out of that rehab facility."

  He glanced towards the girl, knowing she must still suffer some negative effects from her fall from Castle Menzies. Everyone thought she'd be paralyzed for life, but apparently, soft ground allowed her not only to survive, but to walk and climb stairs. His fiancée wouldn't be so lucky. Duncan saw one of Julia's feet protruding at an odd angle away from her leg.

  It was Julia he'd seen in the stairwell, and she must have hidden on the roof as he searched the building. He hardly recognized the lass. Serious injury had aged Peter's sister from the appearance of a teenager to a middle-aged woman. All her youthful prettiness had fled, replaced by hardship, rage and bitterness.

  He attempted to raise his palm in her direction, but Julia made a show of applying more pressure to the knife, so he took a breath, prepared to make his move, and dropped his arm to his side. As he hoped, her gaze followed the movement of his limb.

  Duncan took advantage of the brief diversion, springing towards the women. He pounced on Julia, provoking a shriek of pain from the girl. She moved in a defensive manner, pulling the knife towards him, which freed his fiancée from the threat of a slit throat.

  In a quick move, he grabbed the hand which clutched Angela's hair, giving it a sharp twist back towards her victim's head, and rendered another cry from the miscreant. She released her grasp. At once, he shoved Angela as hard as he could, sideways, hoping to throw her clear of the scuffle. As Julia clawed at his face with her free hand and tried to bring the weapon into play against him, he grabbed the girl's other wrist, slamming it down on the wall repeatedly. She dropped the knife and it bounced over the edge.