by M. B. Shaw
‘Yes, please,’ said Iris, thinking back to the dour old witch she’d met at Pollock Halls this morning, and giving silent thanks for the younger generation’s cavalier attitude towards data protection laws.
Steve was more than happy to meet with Iris at a pub round the corner, particularly when she made it clear that the drinks would be on her. A short but stocky Glaswegian around Iris’s age, he remembered Angus instantly.
‘Sure I knew him,’ he told her, between velvety slurps of Guinness. ‘Pretty well, actually. Lovely guy. We started at the Shack around the same time.’
‘Did you ever meet his partner?’ Iris asked, choosing her words carefully.
‘I saw her now and then, aye.’ Her. ‘I didn’ae know her well or anything, but she came in sometimes to see her man. Walk home together at the end of his shift, you know.’
‘Do you remember her name?’
Steve thought about it, but shook his head. ‘Like I said, I never really knew the lass. All I remember was that she was pretty, she didn’t speak much English and Angus was deadly serious about her. Wanted to marry her, you know. Even before the baby.’
‘Baby?’ Iris’s eyes widened.
‘Oh, aye,’ said Steve, taking another deep gulp of his pint. ‘Did you not know? That was why he left uni in the end. Why he quit his job at the Shack. His missus was expecting.’
Iris’s heart started racing. ‘Can you describe this girl?’
Steve looked worried. ‘Er… dark hair? Pretty, like I said. She was foreign. Spanish or Italian or something.’
‘Would you recognise her if I showed you a picture?’ asked Iris, struggling to contain her excitement.
‘Ach, I don’t know,’ Steve shook his head doubtfully. ‘Mebbe, I suppose. It was a long time ago, and I only saw her now and again.’
Pulling out her phone, Iris showed him the photographs of Beatrice Contorini from her blog.
‘Was this her?’
He looked at the pictures in silence, scrolling back and forth.
‘It could be,’ he said hesitantly. ‘She looks a bit like her – a bit like what I remember. But I cannae say for sure, I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ said Iris, hugging him, to his simultaneous surprise and delight. It wasn’t often he found himself spontaneously embraced by a beautiful woman, certainly not a sober one. ‘You’ve just helped me more than you know.’
Chapter Twenty-nine
The following morning, DI Stuart Haley hung up the phone and leaned back contentedly in his desk chair. Since Jean’s death, he’d been trying consciously to savour moments like this; small flashes of happiness in an otherwise mundane day. A rather good bereavement therapist that his GP had put him on to, back when he struggled to get out of bed in the mornings, had given Haley two excellent pieces of advice. ‘A packet of crisps is not a meal,’ was the first. Hard to argue with that. But it was her second nugget of wisdom that Stuart had really taken to heart. ‘Think of each second of pleasure as a tiny wee flame. Cup your hands around it. Guard it. Maybe blow on it gently. But never ignore it. Because, one day, that light will lead you out of the cave.’
Back then, when everything seemed so bleak and pointless, pleasure had meant things that seemed silly now. Like giving himself permission to enjoy a hot bath, or the taste of chocolate on his tongue. Jean was dead, but Cadbury’s Dairy Milk still tasted great, and that was OK.
Now, months later, the ‘cherishing the moment’ thing had become more of a habit. Something he did because it made life that little bit better, not because he needed it to survive. Today’s good news from his counterpart in Italy was a welcome chink of light in the gloom of the Girls in the Wood case. Small, perhaps. But DI Haley knew better than anyone that these tiny wee flames, in the end, really could lead one out of the cave. So he allowed himself a moment to be happy before picking up the phone to Iris.
‘Guess what?’
‘I can’t. You’re going to have to tell me.’ Iris’s voice sounded groggy on the other end of the line.
‘You OK?’ Haley asked.
‘I’m fine. I got back late from Edinburgh last night,’ said Iris. ‘But don’t keep me in suspense. What’s happened?’
‘OK, so I just got off the phone from the desk in Venice,’ Haley said excitedly, frowning at one of the new PCs who’d just walked into the station wearing felt reindeer antlers and a red nose that flashed on and off and played a tinny version of ‘Jingle Bells’ whenever you pressed it. Idiot. ‘Apparently, no death certificate has ever been issued for Paola Contorini. Not in Rome, not in Venice, not anywhere in Italy. There’s a centralised national database and she’s not on it.’
‘You mean she’s alive?’ Iris asked, baffled.
‘Looks like it,’ said Haley. ‘There are relatively few Jane Does on their system – unclaimed female bodies, homeless, addicts, you know – and none matching Paola’s description. Anyway, the Italians have officially listed her as missing, which is a big step forward, and they’ve put out an alert to forces in the Rome and Venice areas. They’ve also given me a picture of Paola. I’ll send it through to you now so you can post it on your Facebook page alongside her daughter’s. See if we can’t jog someone’s memory.’
‘Will do,’ said Iris. ‘That’s great, Stuart.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘I take it you got my messages last night, about Angus?’
‘Oh, aye,’ said Haley. ‘I should have said. The pregnant girlfriend he never mentioned, back at the university he claimed he never went to? Fantastic.’
‘We’re finally making progress,’ said Iris, happily.
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Haley. ‘Do you really think the girlfriend might have been Beatrice?’
‘I do,’ said Iris. ‘I mean, I’m not certain. But Beatrice ended up buried at the castle. So she must have had some connection there. Why not Angus?’
‘Why not indeed,’ said Haley.
‘And, you know, he lied about it,’ Iris went on. ‘Plus, according to the bouncer I spoke to from his old work, this girlfriend was foreign and definitely looked somewhat like Beatrice’s picture. Are you going to question him?’
‘I think I am, yeah,’ said Haley.
‘What about the chief constable?’ asked Iris. ‘Won’t he come down on you like a ton of bricks, with the case officially closed?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Haley. ‘I think the fact that the Italians have asked for Banffshire’s support gives me some degree of cover. But I’ll need to tread carefully, that’s for sure, with the baron still on the warpath. I’m hoping to use this business with Kathy’s poisoned dogs as an excuse to show my face up at the castle, to see if I can corner our boy while I’m up there. If Jock complains to Roebuck again, then I’ll just have to handle it. Hopefully, I’ll have what I need from Angus by then.’
‘Well, good luck,’ said Iris. ‘Let me know how it goes. And I’ll post Paola’s picture in the meantime. We’re getting closer, Stuart. I can feel it.’
Hanging up, Haley felt the same, a swelling optimism that, at long last, momentum seemed to be on their side with the Girls in the Wood case. He wanted to get up to the castle now, while he still felt energised and on form.
‘Take that off, you prat,’ he said briskly, pinging the young constable’s reindeer antlers as he headed for the door.
‘But it’s the Christmas spirit, sir,’ the young man responded.
‘Bah, humbug,’ Haley growled back, before relenting. ‘Oh all right. You can wear it in here, just don’t take it out on the streets. And try to at least pretend you’re doing some work while I’m gone, would you?’
‘Sir.’
Everyone at the station liked DI Haley. He was one of the good ones.
* * *
Mrs Gregory looked astonished to see DI Haley at the front door of the castle, but she showed him inside with her usual frosty professionalism.
‘You may have a bit of a wait, I’m afraid,’ she sai
d, offering him a seat in the drawing room. ‘I’m not sure where the baron is just now, and I know Miss Miller went out for a walk earlier by herself. She was rather upset.’
‘Hardly surprising, under the circumstances,’ said Haley.
‘Circumstances?’ The housekeeper cocked her head to one side, a touch defensively in Haley’s opinion.
‘The dogs?’ he said.
‘Oh, yes, well,’ Mrs Gregory mumbled awkwardly. ‘That was… unfortunate. But not a matter for the police, surely?’
‘That depends,’ said Haley. ‘While I’m waiting for Ms Miller, I’d like to talk to any domestic staff who work at the castle regularly. Including you, Mrs Gregory, when you have a moment.’
‘Me?’ The housekeeper sounded flustered.
‘We’re not sure yet,’ Haley went on, ‘but we understand from the local vet that the dogs may have been deliberately poisoned over a period of weeks or even months.’
‘Surely not.’
‘If that is the case, we suspect it probably began during the period when Kathy was away for her wedding-dress fittings in Italy. I gather that the animals were showing signs of being unwell the day she returned?’
‘Well, they were a touch off colour, yes,’ Eileen Gregory stammered. ‘But – I took care of Milo and Sam Sam while she was gone.’
‘You did?’
‘Yes. I fed them myself, every day, and I can assure you there was nothing wrong with the meals I prepared for them.’
‘No one’s accusing you of anything, Mrs Gregory,’ Haley assured her, ‘but I will need to talk to anyone who may have had access to the animals during that period. Cooks, cleaners, groundskeepers. Family members. Guests.’
‘Very well,’ Mrs Gregory said stiffly. ‘I’ll get you a list and see who’s around today.’
She left the room, and a few moments later, to Haley’s surprise, Jock’s daughter Emma Twomey walked in. Iris mentioned that Emma had been at the Halloween party, but Haley himself hadn’t seen her since the day the bones in the bothy were found, four long months ago now. His memories of her then were hazy. The heavyset woman he saw now in a tweed shooting skirt and cashmere sweater projected a jarring combination of entitlement and nervousness, simultaneously managing to project an air of superiority and the sort of panicked guilt of a schoolgirl who’d just been caught out doing something illicit by a teacher.
‘Detective!’ she squealed, her large bosom heaving uncomfortably beneath the too-tight cashmere. ‘This is a surprise.’
‘Mrs Twomey.’ Haley nodded a greeting. ‘Here for a wee visit, are you?’
‘That’s right. They moved the wedding rehearsal dinner for-ward to next week for some unearthly reason. Some non-sense about people not wanting social engagements between Christmas and New Year, I don’t know. We were coming for that anyway, so we thought… but what brings you here?’ she asked, frowning, suddenly changing tack. ‘Surely not this business with the bodies, still? Isn’t the case closed?’
‘Not entirely,’ said Haley. ‘My Italian colleagues are still actively investigating. But that’s not why I’m here.’
‘Oh?’ said Emma, the blood rushing to her face and then draining from it again before she sat down on the sofa, wildly flustered.
‘I daresay you heard about your stepmother’s dog passing away last week?’
‘Oh. That.’ Emma seemed relieved. ‘Yes, of course. Poor thing. I’m not a big fan of my father’s – of Kathy – as I’m sure you can imagine, detective inspector,’ she added honestly. ‘But losing a pet is not something one would wish on anyone.’
‘Well, quite.’ Haley nodded. ‘Although it looks as if someone may have wished it on Ms Miller.’
‘I’m sorry to have to tell you that the other little fellow died last night, too,’ Emma went on, failing at first to register the significance of Haley’s comment. ‘Pa found him in his basket first thing this morning.’
Haley stiffened.
‘So of course, he had to tell Kathy,’ said Emma, shaking her head. ‘You could hear the screams all the way down the East Wing. That was what woke us up, before six o’clock this morning. Not that I’m complaining, you understand. I mean, obviously, she must have been devastated. But my husband, Fergus, well, between you and me he’s not what one would call a morning person. Forgive me, detective inspector, but I’m wondering what all of this has to do with the police?’
‘There’s a possibility that the animals were deliberately poisoned,’ Haley replied bluntly, turning around as two young kitchen staff appeared at the door.
‘No!’ Emma gasped.
‘I’m only making preliminary inquiries at this stage. But I’ll be needing a statement from everyone.’
The staff arrived quickly, one by one – two maids, a cook, the full-time gardener and his part-time assistant. Mrs G, unable for the moment to locate either of her employers, returned to give a detailed statement about Milo and Sam Sam’s mealtimes and exercise schedule, and the onset of the animals’ symptoms. From what Haley could tell, she seemed to be genuinely distraught over what had happened. It was obvious that there was no love lost between the housekeeper and her soon-to-be mistress, but she did appear to have applied the same professionalism and thoroughness in caring for those dogs as she did to all her other duties.
Having only arrived yesterday, Emma and Fergus Twomey had little to add. Although Emma did mention that her brother Rory had visited their mother in Edinburgh and ‘stopped by’ Pitfeldy while Kathy was away in Italy. Haley had just finished making a note of it when Jock MacKinnon burst in. Back from a visit to one of his farms, he was his usual explosive self.
‘You again,’ he boomed, glaring at Haley and dismissing everybody else from the room with an imperious sweep of his tweed-jacketed arm. ‘You’re like a bad bloody penny, DI Haley, do you know that? But you won’t stop, will you? I can see that now. Not till I have you actually fired.’
‘We have reason to believe that your fiancée may have been the victim of a hate crime, baron,’ he explained coolly, pointedly not getting up.
‘Hate crime?’ Jock snapped. ‘What on earth are you talking about, man?’
‘I’m talking about the poisoning of Ms Miller’s wee dogs.’
‘For pity’s sake. That is not a “hate crime”!’ Jock sighed heavily. ‘They swallowed something they shouldn’t have, that’s all.’
‘Aye, but how?’ Haley asked. ‘That’s the question.’
‘They’re dogs.’ Jock could barely contain his frustration. ‘Dogs come across all sorts of things, and they’ll eat ninety per cent of them, given half a chance. This is a vast estate, DI Haley, in case you hadn’t noticed. Hate crime indeed,’ he muttered furiously. ‘Did Kathy contact you about this?’
Haley shifted uncomfortably. ‘Not directly, no.’
‘What do you mean “not directly”? Did she or didn’t she?’ Jock demanded.
‘I’m under no obligation to give you the source of our information, baron,’ Haley said primly. ‘But I will say that a concerned member of the public –’
‘It was Iris bloody Grey, wasn’t it?’ Jock fumed. ‘I’ve had just about enough of that woman’s meddling. And yours. The chief constable will be hearing about this.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he will,’ said Haley getting to his feet in as leisurely a way as he could manage.
‘You’re finished this time, Haley,’ Jock hissed spitefully as Haley walked to the door. ‘You picked the wrong man to cross.’
‘As did you, baron,’ Haley replied, looking his adversary square in the eye. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
* * *
Angus Brae saw the familiar figure of the diminutive detective from three hundred yards away. He’d already had a call on his mobile from one of the estate gardeners, so he knew this was about Kathy’s dogs. Milo had died this morning, apparently, and poor Kathy was in pieces about it, out roaming the estate somewhere in a terrible fit of grief. With the rehearsal dinner only a week away, it was ha
rd not to feel that her wedding to Jock was somehow being cursed.
Angus felt for her. Those dogs had been like family to her, and he knew what losing your family felt like. Turning off the engine of his tractor, he climbed down from the cab and trudged across the frozen field to meet Haley.
‘I heard about the dogs,’ he said, offering Stuart his gloved hand in greeting. ‘Do you really think someone did it on purpose?’
‘It’s a possibility,’ said Haley. ‘Won’t be easy to prove, mind you, and it’s not a theory your boss the baron subscribes to. But I think we owe it to Ms Miller at least to look into it.’
‘I agree,’ said Angus.
‘And there is at least the chance that what happened could be connected to our Girls in the Wood,’ Haley went on, casually. ‘Those dogs dug up the remains, after all. Maybe that made somebody angry.’
‘With a dog?’ Angus frowned. ‘That’d be pretty irrational, don’t you think? Pretty screwed up?’
Haley shrugged. ‘No more screwed up than murdering two innocent young women and burying them under a load of rubble.’
Both men slowed their paces and eventually stopped. The ploughed field was exposed, open to the elements, and a cold wind like a razor whistled past them, cutting painfully against both of their faces.
‘This isn’t about the dogs, is it?’ Angus asked, staring down at his heavy work boots.
‘No,’ said Haley. ‘It’s about the girl we found up there. Beatrice.’
‘I see.’
‘She was your girlfriend, wasn’t she, Angus?’
Angus shook his head, eyes still glued to the ground. ‘No.’
‘I think she was,’ Haley said softly. ‘She lived with you in Edinburgh while you were a student. Didn’t she?’
‘No.’ It was almost a whisper.
‘And she was pregnant, wasn’t she?’ Haley pressed on. ‘Beatrice was pregnant with your child. What did your dad have to say about that, Angus? I’ll bet he wasn’t too pleased.’
Angus pressed both hands to the sides of his head, trying to block out Haley’s words.