A Tangled Thread

by Anthea Fraser

  Nina said in a low voice, ‘If Sally had lived just a few months longer she’d have learned about all this. I don’t know whether to be glad or sorry that she didn’t.’

  Blaircomrie

  A hundred and twenty miles to the north, Jim Scott was continuing his personal mission at the Stag and Thistle. By now he was on first-name terms with several of the regulars and that evening, for the first time, he dared to introduce Johnnie Stewart into the conversation.

  ‘That guy who was stabbed a while back,’ he began casually, ‘did they ever find out who did it?’

  His companions sobered, avoiding each other’s eyes. ‘No,’ one answered after a moment. ‘Bad business aw roond. The polis hae been here more than once but nothin’s come of it. Seemingly someone lay in wait fur him, thinkin’ he’d had one ay his wins at poker.’

  ‘And had he?’ Scott enquired, sipping his beer.

  ‘Och aye,’ came the laconic reply. ‘He aye won, that ’un. Lucky in cards – horses and dugs tae, frae aw accoonts.’

  ‘And unhappy in love?’ queried Scott with a lop-sided smile.

  ‘Only he could tell ye that.’

  Scott turned and leant against the bar, surveying the room and nodding at those who caught his eye. ‘Who’s that fella at the corner table? I’ve never seen him speak to anyone.’

  ‘Och, you’ll nae get any sense outta auld Jock. Lives in a world ay his ain these days. Get within a yard o’ him and he’ll nab ye and start spinnin’ his tall stories. A guid poker player, though, till the drink addled his brain. If he’s nae too far gone he comes up the stair tae watch us play.’

  Could be just the man he needed, Scott reflected. He straightened. ‘Then I’ll go and do my Christian duty by having a word with the old soak.’

  ‘On yer ain heed,’ rejoined the man at the bar, ‘but I warn ye – dinna believe a word he says!’

  Arming himself with a tankard of what his quarry was drinking, Scott made his way to the corner table.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked cheerfully, setting down the tankard in front of its other occupant. At closer quarters the man wasn’t as old as he’d thought, though he was unquestionably very drunk. His bloodshot, rheumy eyes moved from Scott to the tankard in some surprise; it seemed he wasn’t used to anyone approaching voluntarily, let alone being supplied with a free drink.

  ‘Guid oan ye,’ he muttered, pulling it towards him.

  ‘I hear you were quite a poker player in your time,’ Scott ventured and received a surprisingly sharp look.

  ‘Better’n yon mob plain the noo,’ Jock responded, reaching for his glass. ‘An’ nae cause fur cheatin’ an’ aw.’

  Scott’s ears pricked. ‘Surely no one here cheats?’

  Jock snorted. ‘I’d no’ say that. Nae man keeps winnin’ a’ the time wit’oot cheatin’.’

  The hairs on the back of Scott’s neck began to stir. He said carefully, ‘Anyone specific in mind?’

  Jock flashed him a look and merely grunted in reply. Careful, Scott warned himself; don’t want him clamming up.

  ‘I suppose, being a good player yourself, you’d soon spot it if someone did cheat?’

  Jock emptied his original glass and reached for the tankard. ‘Could dae wi’ a wee chaser,’ he muttered.

  Scott went back to the bar and ordered one.

  ‘He’s sized ye up fur a sucker!’ warned the man he’d been speaking to.

  Scott merely smiled, paid the barman and returned to the table. In his absence Jock appeared to have sunk lower into the mists of drunkenness and he doubted the wisdom of the chaser which, nevertheless, he put down on the table. Too bad if plying the man with drink made him totally incomprehensible.

  ‘So what are the signs of cheating?’ he began.

  At first it seemed Jock was not going to reply, but then he mumbled something that Scott couldn’t catch. ‘Come again?’

  ‘Winnin’ every bluidy game.’

  Scott took a gamble. ‘Like Johnnie Stewart?’

  Jock’s face darkened. ‘Aye. I warned him often enough but he paid nae heed. Robbin’ ’em blind he was, week efter week. Warned him that wan day he’d get some o’ his ain medicine.’

  Scott was holding his breath. ‘And he did, didn’t he? Someone robbed him?’

  Jock nodded with satisfaction and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Said I’d teach him a lesson, but he paid nae mind. “Puir auld Jock”, he called me, like I waur beneath his notice. But I showed him, reet enough.’

  Scott swallowed convulsively. Could this conceivably be a confession of murder? Even if it were, who would believe him? The man seemed barely capable of standing.

  ‘Someone did, certainly,’ he agreed, and jumped as Jock thumped his fist on the table.

  ‘Said I showed him, laddie!’ The rheumy eyes were flashing. ‘Think I’m no’ able? Weel then, wha’s this?’

  He fumbled in the depths of his jacket pocket, struggling to free what was inside it, and withdrew an old wallet, shabby and dirty but made of good quality leather. Barely breathing, Scott watched as his companion opened it, pulled out a crumpled snapshot and tossed it on the table in front of him. It showed a couple sitting on a park bench in the sunshine. And the man, beyond any shadow of doubt, was Johnnie Stewart.

  Tentatively he reached for it, but Jock snatched it up and tucked it firmly back inside the wallet. ‘Believe me now, do ye?’ he challenged, but Scott was incapable of replying.

  SIXTEEN

  ‘So how was the family get-together?’ Nigel enquired on the Tuesday morning.

  Victoria raised her shoulders. ‘I suppose, not having a benchmark for such events, the answer is as good as can be expected.’

  He laughed. ‘Which means what?’

  ‘There was understandable caution on both sides but we all behaved fairly well till almost the end, when Richard inadvertently opened a bag and a cat jumped out.’

  Nigel raised an eyebrow. ‘Care to elucidate?’

  ‘It appears that a member of staff at his school comes from the same neck of the woods as the Gregorys, and when he asked if they knew her it became painfully obvious that David had had an affair with her.’

  ‘Oh dear!’

  ‘Yes, it was all very embarrassing.’

  ‘How did Richard and Georgia feel, meeting new half-brothers?’

  Victoria bit her lip. ‘It seemed water off a duck’s back as far as Georgia was concerned,’ she said after a moment. ‘But I suspect Richard was more upset than he let on. No one would think it, but beneath that controlled exterior he has his insecurities and this is proving a big one.’

  Bloody Greg! she thought privately; Richard had always been unsure of his father’s affections and the sudden appearance of an older half-brother seemed to have trebled his doubts. ‘No doubt he wished it was David living with him rather than me,’ he’d said bitterly on their return home. ‘Father was delighted with him, William said; more than he ever was with me.’

  ‘Darling, that was when he was a baby!’ Victoria had comforted him from an aching heart. ‘And he wasn’t delighted enough to stay with him, was he?’

  ‘Will you see them again?’ Nigel enquired, breaking into her thoughts.

  ‘No need,’ she said crisply, and after a glance at her face he did not pursue it.

  They were kept busy for the next hour or so but as the shop temporarily emptied Victoria was hoping for a quick coffee before another influx. The chance was denied her, though, as the doorbell chimed and a tall young man came in. He looked vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t until he approached her that the elusive memory clicked into focus.

  ‘DS Finch!’ she exclaimed and Nigel, who was checking the ledger, looked up.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said, looking around him. ‘No customers?’

  ‘Mid-morning lull.’

  ‘Just as well, because I was hoping for a private word. I’ve some excellent news for you; it’ll become public later today but I felt you deserved to be th
e first to hear it.’

  They looked at him expectantly and he continued, ‘Largely thanks to you, we’ve managed to track down the gang who’ve been robbing country houses and were responsible for the death of Mr Lancing.’

  Nigel looked bewildered. ‘I’m delighted to hear it, but … thanks to us?’

  Finch nodded. ‘You provided two clues which proved vital: the names of the couple who’d been behaving suspiciously and the key you found in the picture frame.’

  Victoria gasped. ‘They were connected to the murder?’

  ‘Indirectly, yes. We apprehended them along with several of their associates, and – the icing on the cake – the key you handed in led to a cache of miniatures, snuff boxes and other artefacts from the raids.’

  There was a moment’s stunned silence. Then, ‘How did you identify it?’ Victoria asked.

  ‘We’d a stroke of luck there; someone at the station recognized it as coming from Swan Securities; he’d moved house recently and used the same facilities.’

  ‘But why was it hidden in the frame?’

  Finch held up a hand. ‘Look, I’m giving you this ahead of the press release because you were a valuable part of the investigation, but there’s a limit to what I can tell you.’

  ‘Please!’ Victoria wheedled. ‘It would have taken you longer to find them without us!’

  He hesitated.

  ‘Please!’ she said again, and he capitulated.

  ‘All we’ve established so far is that the key was supposed to change hands in the framing shop – who incidentally had no part in it – but the man who should have met the key-holder wasn’t there. He was at a loss what to do, and when someone came into the shop behind him he panicked, thinking he’d been followed, and, not wanting to be found with the key on him, wedged it into the frame of the nearest picture and fled.’

  ‘Was he being followed?’ Nigel interrupted.

  ‘I doubt it – certainly not by us. Anyway, he waited half an hour or so, then went back to retrieve it; but by then the picture had gone, and all the assistant would tell him was that it had been collected. He’d been in too much of a panic to register any details of the painting, just its approximate size and that there’d been a sticker above it reading Local Artist.’

  ‘So our theory was right!’ Nigel said with satisfaction.

  ‘What about the earlier thefts?’ Victoria asked. ‘Might this lead to more being recovered?’

  ‘A lot will have been passed on by now but we’re hopeful of retrieving some items.’ Finch glanced at his watch. ‘I must be on my way. Thanks again for your help; it gave us just the lead we needed.’

  Richard was finding it difficult to concentrate that morning. Added to all his other concerns, he was now worrying about why the family solicitor – in the guise of his father’s executor – should have been summoned to Scotland. Would Tyson have returned home by now, or still be north of the border? He resolved to phone him at the end of school and find out what was behind it.

  He took a quick look round his study to check there was nothing he needed to take with him, then opened the door at the precise moment that Maria was hurrying past with an armful of exercise books. Instinctively he reached out, seized her arm and pulled her into the study, closing the door behind her.

  She gave a little half-laugh. ‘Is this wise, Richard? Someone might see us.’

  ‘Someone already has,’ he said tightly.

  She looked alarmed. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because a note was left on my desk reading, How do you solve a problem like Maria?’

  She gasped, her hand going to her mouth. ‘Do you know who wrote it?’

  ‘It could be anyone, couldn’t it?’

  ‘But – that’s awful! Does Mr Hill knows?’ Hill was the headmaster.

  ‘I doubt it; he’d have called me in before now.’ He passed a hand over his face. ‘Thank God it’s almost the end of term; it’ll have died down by September. We must just be extra careful for the next few days.’

  ‘Then why risk bringing me in here?’

  He straightened. ‘Because I’ve something to tell you.’

  She glanced towards the door, anxious about the time. ‘What?’

  ‘I met someone you know at the weekend. Someone from Stonebridge.’

  ‘Really? Down here? Who was it?’

  ‘We were in London actually. And it was my half-brother.’

  ‘Your half-brother lives in Stonebridge? Why didn’t you say, when I first told you where I came from?’

  ‘Because I didn’t know.’

  ‘That he lived there? Surely—’

  ‘I didn’t know I had a half-brother.’

  She considered that for a moment, then shook her head. ‘Sorry, you’ve lost me. Anyway, I didn’t know anyone called Lawrence in Stonebridge.’

  Richard said deliberately, ‘His name is David Gregory.’

  She froze, those wide eyes that had so captivated him widening still further. ‘David Gregory is your brother?’

  ‘Half-brother,’ he corrected. ‘Small world, isn’t it?’

  She moistened her lips. ‘What did he … say?’

  ‘Enough.’ He paused. ‘Didn’t it strike you that we look alike?’

  ‘I … just a little, I suppose.’

  ‘We’re obviously a type you find attractive.’

  She flushed. ‘That’s unfair, Richard.’

  ‘Is it? Isn’t that why you kissed me that first time?’

  ‘No! Please don’t think that!’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what I think; we’ve come to the end of our Thursdays.’

  ‘Not quite; it’s sports day tomorrow – I’m helping out with the teas, making sandwiches for my sins – but there’s another day before we break up. At least we’ll have that.’

  He stared at her, despising himself for his longing, even now, to hold her. Yet could he make love to her, knowing that David of all people had preceded him? ‘I think not,’ he said.

  Victoria was full of the news about the robberies when she returned home that evening.

  ‘Remember me telling you about the key we found and that odd man who came into The Gallery?’

  Richard nodded without removing his gaze from the television.

  ‘Well, guess what! The key was to a safe deposit box containing loot from the stately homes robberies!’

  She waited expectantly and when he made no comment, said impatiently, ‘Well, what do you think of that?’

  ‘Well done,’ he said.

  ‘“Well done”? Is that all you can say?’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’

  She stared at him for a moment. ‘You really are impossible sometimes, Richard,’ she said, and went to the kitchen to prepare their meal.

  The weather had been getting steadily warmer over the past week, and by the following day the heatwave was fully established.

  ‘I shall be stewing all day,’ Victoria said resignedly at breakfast; on Wednesdays she helped out at a local charity shop. ‘It’s stuffy at the best of times and by this afternoon it’ll be unbearable. But what about sports day? Will the children be able to run in this heat?’

  Richard raised his shoulders. ‘It’s now or never; there are only two days of term left. At least we have air con in the classrooms, thank God.’

  ‘But you’ll have to put in an appearance, surely?’

  He nodded. ‘Though with luck from the shade of the pavilion balcony.’

  ‘Well, never mind; this time next week we’ll be preparing for Malta, and won’t mind how hot it gets!’

  London

  Paul Devonshire was meeting Vivien for lunch, and, having arrived early, was filling in the time by checking emails on his tablet. There was nothing of interest so, hopeful for news about Greg, he clicked on the website of the Blaircomrie Gazette and struck gold.

  ‘My God!’ he exclaimed under his breath, just as his daughter joined him and pulled up a chair.

  ‘No, only me,’
she said. ‘No obeisance needed.’

  He looked up absently. ‘Sorry, darling, but the Gazette is excelling itself today! Fresh evidence has come to light about the collapse of that shopping mall and the firm that built it is coming under further scrutiny. Police have named the hit-and-run driver who killed one of the firm’s employees as – wait for it! – one of its directors, and finally – and this is what I was looking for – there’s breaking news about Greg’s murder. It says here “A source close to the inquiry confirmed that a suspect is being questioned and a charge is believed to be imminent”.’

  ‘And I thought Blaircomrie was a quiet little town,’ Vivien observed.

  ‘Well, it’s certainly put itself on the map now.’ He closed his tablet. ‘Unless Jill watches the lunchtime news she won’t have heard of it; I wonder if I should phone to warn her?’

  ‘Not before lunch,’ Vivien said firmly. ‘I only have an hour, remember, and I’m starving. Let’s have a look at that menu.’

  Blaircomrie

  Jock Drummond was being dried out, which promised to be a lengthy process, but his responsibility for the murder of ‘Johnnie Stewart’ was in little doubt.

  ‘So,’ Mackay remarked to Grant, ‘despite the wild theories put forward, our Johnnie wasn’t stabbed because of any fatwa or because he knew why the mall collapsed, but for the most mundane of reasons – he was just too lucky at cards. It’s a funny old world.’

  Foxclere

  It was set to be the hottest day of the year and Jill and Edward were enjoying their pre-lunch drinks under a garden umbrella.

  ‘So what was the report on the family meeting?’ he enquired, gazing over the sunlit lawns.

  ‘Georgia said they were very pleasant, but I’m glad I didn’t go,’ Jill confessed. ‘Greg treated their mother extremely badly and I don’t think I could have faced them; I’d have felt guilty, somehow, for snatching him away from her.’

  Edward said gently, ‘I’m sure you don’t need telling how ridiculous that is.’

  She turned to him, her eyes worried. ‘He and Sally had been lovers when he was at university and he made use of her afterwards by staying with her when he was working up there. He’d already returned home by the time she found she was pregnant and she refused to tell him. Georgia said she’d told her parents she didn’t want to force his hand.’