A Corpse at the Castle

by R B Marshall

  The men at the other table gave the policeman sideways looks, then made a great show of pushing plates away, balling napkins, and disappearing out of the room as fast as they could without making it obvious they were hurrying.

  Mrs Beaton took her time gathering the plates off their table, no doubt so she could eavesdrop on what the policeman was there for. But she could only spin it out so long, before she had to clear things to the kitchen where presumably she’d have her ear to the door.

  I rolled my eyes, then blushed as Detective Night’s Watch appeared in front of me and nodded at the seat opposite.

  “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, may I join you, Ms Paterson?”

  Drat. He must’ve thought my eye roll was to do with him. I nodded, trying frantically to swallow toast which had turned to cardboard in my mouth. “How can I help you?” I spluttered, spraying toast crumbs everywhere. Nice one, Izzy. Jon Snow won’t forget you now—he’ll have to dry-clean his uniform because of you.

  Pulling a notebook and stubby pencil out of one of the many pockets adorning his jacket, Sergeant Lovely, sorry, Lovell, looked across at me from under his dark eyebrows. “I just need you to confirm your whereabouts yesterday afternoon, Ms Paterson.” His voice was like melted chocolate, but sadly didn’t have that Winterfell northern accent.

  Maybe just as well. It wouldn’t do to have my brain turn to mush when I was being interrogated by the fuzz. I took a calming breath. “I drove up from Glengowrie to deliver some mares to the stud at Balmoral. Then I came here.” I nodded at the dining room door. This time I managed not to douse him in carbohydrate flecks.

  He wrote something in his notebook, then looked at me for a moment, his head cocked and his lips pressed together. “Ms Paterson, I’m afraid I’ll need to ask you to come down to the station and make a witness statement.”

  I frowned. “Now? I need to check on the mares. What’s all this about? Taking a couple of mares to stud isn’t usually something that would interest the police.”

  He gave me a level gaze. “Just an incident at the castle, miss. We’re talking to everyone who was on the estate yesterday afternoon and evening.” His forehead creasing, he scribbled a few more words in his notebook.

  Perhaps I shouldn’t have questioned him. Did that make me look guilty? But you haven’t done anything, Izzy. Get a grip. And maybe not questioning him would have made me look more guilty. Who knew? Obviously not me—I totally wasn’t cut out to be a criminal. But… maybe I didn’t imagine the sirens last night after all? My face coloured at the memory.

  My rambling thoughts were interrupted by Sergeant Sexy, who stood up and pocketed his notebook, narrowing his eyes when he spotted my pink cheeks. “Now would be perfect, Miss Paterson. The estate is out of bounds this morning, anyway; things are cordoned off till this afternoon for the investigation.” Anticipating my next question, he added, “but the horses are all fine and we’ve a vet in attendance just in case.”

  Maybe I’ve watched too many cop shows on TV, but, sitting in that little room with the tape recorder and the CCTV camera and Detective Dark and Handsome sat opposite me, it was hard not to feel guilty. At least he let me drive the lorry here. I’d have totally felt like a felon in the back of a police car.

  The introductions done and recorded, the sergeant gave me a smile. “Nothing to worry about, Miss Paterson. We just need your witness statement to establish some of the facts about yesterday.” He glanced down at his notebook. “Firstly, can you tell me the purpose of your visit here, and when you arrived?” He might have made it sound like a formality, but he still watched me carefully from under those heavy brows.

  Trying to be succinct, I explained about taking the mares to stud. “I arrived at the stud about four o’clock I think and left again probably quarter to five. Then I went to the B&B.”

  “Is there anyone who could confirm those timings?”

  “Well, Mrs Beaton I guess. Hamish and Stan at the stables. Hamish Douglas. I forget Stan’s surname.”

  He wrote in his notebook. “Anybody else?”

  “Craig. Craig MacDonald. He directed me to the stables—”

  “So it was your first time there?” Sergeant Lovell interrupted.

  No flies on him. “Yeah. I’ve only been up here—in Glengowrie—three weeks.”

  His chin tilted. “And where were you before?”

  “London. I worked for BleuBank.”

  This gave him pause. “And now you’re working with horses?” You could almost see his brain trying to process the disjoint.

  “Yeah. It was my hobby before. But I got myself qualified as a horse trainer so I could change career. Although,” guess I should tell him in case he already knows, “I still do some consulting on a part-time basis.”

  “Consulting?” His eyebrows asked the question.

  “IT investigations. Computer security.”

  “Oh-kay.” His brow quirked briefly, then his pencil flew over the page some more. “Returning to your visit to the stud. Once you got there, did you see anyone else who could confirm the timings?”

  “There was some man visited while I was there. The gamekeeper I think. Tall, thin man, talking to Hamish about a shoot tomorrow. Today, I mean,” I corrected myself. “They were going out at nine o’clock.” Reflexively, I checked my watch. Five past nine. Good. I wasn’t late for Hamish. Can’t imagine that would go down well. Although, since the estate was out of bounds, our appointment was probably off. Poor Allegra and Daisy. I’d need to get a number and try to phone him.

  “And after you got to the Beatons?”

  “I did some work, then went out to The Queen’s Arms for something to eat.”

  “What time was that?”

  I puffed out a breath, raising my eyes to the ceiling as I tried to remember. “Just before seven, I think.”

  “And when did you arrive back at the B&B?”

  My mind flipped to the pub. And Craig. And the kiss. My cheeks flushed. “About ten fifteen.”

  Detective Eagle Eyes must’ve noticed my pink cheeks. A dark eyebrow raised just a millimetre. “And can anyone confirm those timings?”

  “I think Mrs Beaton heard me come back. She put the porch light on. At the pub there was the barman who served me when I arrived. An Ozzie guy called Zak. Richard Mortimer the farrier arrived just after me. He spoke to me briefly and then was chatting for a while with another man I didn’t recognise, an older, chunky guy with a handlebar moustache. I was told he was a vet. A few locals were there too—Craig MacDonald was one of them.” I refrained from mentioning that I’d ended up spending the evening with him. “And Mrs Douglas came in quite late, maybe about ten. Oh!” I clamped my hand to my mouth. “She was looking for Hamish.” Dread filled my stomach. “Is everything okay?”

  Before PC Perfect had a chance to answer—although no doubt I’d have got a non-answer—there was a knock at the door.

  A fair-haired policewoman peeked round the door jamb. “Sarge, the initial PM report came back. You need to see this.” She nodded over her shoulder into the corridor.

  With a grimace, Sergeant Lovell shuffled his papers together and stood up. “Excuse me a moment. I’ll not be long.”

  PM. Post Mortem. All the blood drained from my face. Someone is dead. Someone at the castle, from what he’d said about the estate being cordoned off. And Hamish had been missing last night. Could it be him? That could explain why they’re questioning me. I remembered the dagger-like letter opener on his desk. Could someone have stabbed him in his office?

  That thought stilled me for a moment, sympathy for Mrs Douglas washing over me. She’d seemed genuinely worried about Hamish last night, so she’d presumably be devastated if he’d been killed.

  I glanced at the CCTV camera in the corner. I hope they don’t think I’m a suspect. But what was it they said on all the cop shows? Means, motive, and opportunity, wasn’t it?

  If thinking he was a misogynistic git counts as motive, I’m sunk. But how would I have done
it? Knifed him with my rapier-sharp wit? I bit back a smile. But I couldn’t deny I’d been there yesterday. So if Hamish was indeed dead, and if foul play was involved, then I’d surely be a suspect, since I had ‘opportunity’.

  My heart sank further. Should I be asking them to get me a lawyer?

  Three quarters of an hour later, after giving a DNA sample “purely to rule you out of our investigations” and having my fingerprints taken, I was finally allowed go.

  Sergeant Lovell escorted me along the cream-painted corridor from the interview room. “Please stay where we can get in touch with you, Ms Paterson,” he said, swiping his warrant card through a device beside the door leading to the foyer. “I’ll not ask for your passport.” The side of his mouth twitched, the first sign of humanity I’d seen from him. “But please, don’t leave the country or I’ll be getting demoted to traffic duty.”

  I gave him a mock salute. “Don’t worry. It’s hard to even get a day off when you’ve got horses to look after.”

  His hand paused on the door handle. “So you get a day off?”

  “Sundays. In theory. If there’s not a show to attend, or a sick horse to nurse or some other emergency. So maybe if there’s a pig flying or a blue moon.” I shrugged. “I still need to do my horses. No rest for the wicked.” Oops. Bad choice of words in a police station, Izzy.

  Warm brown eyes stared into mine as he held the door open. “What about the evenings? Surely you don’t work all the time? European Work Directive and all that.”

  “Yeah, I usually get evenings off. Although half the time I’m comatose on the couch.” With a wry grin, I indicated my less-than athletic body. “I’m still getting used to all the hard work.”

  He waved me through the opening. “I’m sure it gets easier.” For the first time, I saw him smile, and it was like the sun came out at Winterfell. Almost as an afterthought, he handed me a business card. “Call me if you remember anything else.” His chin jerked up in farewell. “Be careful out there.”

  “Good morning, Izzy,” a voice greeted me as I stepped into the foyer of the police station.

  I startled, my eyes widening as I recognised Craig sitting there in the shadows, wearing his tweed and tattersall work gear, with blue smudges under his eyes. Probably my fault for keeping him up late.

  “Oh, hi,” I said lamely, sure my cheeks were turning pink.

  He inclined his head at the door behind me and raised his eyebrows. “I think you’ve got an admirer.”

  With a jerk of my head, I glanced quickly over my shoulder. Sergeant Lovell was disappearing down the corridor. “Him?” I said incredulously. “No way.”

  Craig lifted a shoulder.

  I blinked at him for a moment, then decided it would be politic to change the subject. “What brings you here? I thought you were off on a shoot this morning.” Even as I said it, I realised the answer. The sergeant had said they were speaking to everyone who was on the estate yesterday afternoon.

  “The shoot got cancelled. They’ve got me here for questioning.” His lips pressed together. “Voluntarily. At the moment.” Glancing across at the desk sergeant, who was squinting at something on a computer monitor, Craig’s shoulders slumped. “But if I’m honest, I’m not sure if that’ll last—I’m their number one suspect.”

  The breath left my lungs. “What? Suspect? What for? And why on earth would they think that?”

  Craig opened a palm. “I’m Hamish’s assistant. So with him gone…” he trailed off, swiping his hat off his head and running long fingers through his curly hair. “They think I was after wanting his job.”

  Ice trickled down my spine. “So… Hamish died?”

  “Aye, I’m afraid so. He was kicked in the head by a horse.” Worry made him look like a little boy caught stealing apples, and my heart twisted.

  So I was right about it being Hamish. But not about the dagger. “But why would they blame you for that? Anyone could get kicked.”

  Hands balling the cap in his lap, he nodded. “Aye. But they came back not half an hour ago, adamant that they needed to ask me more questions.”

  Frowning, I protested, “But isn’t it usually the wife that does it?” Behind me, a door snicked open. “In all the cop shows, anyway. Although Mrs Douglas didn’t strike me—”

  I was interrupted by a throat clearing pointedly.

  The cute constable. Great.

  “We’re ready for you now, Mr MacDonald.” Sergeant’s Lovell’s brown eyes were no longer warm.

  With a sigh of resignation, Craig got to his feet. “I’ll see you later,” he said as he passed me, then flicked me a worried glance. “Hopefully.”

  Chapter Seven

  The look on Craig’s face as he got taken off for questioning stayed with me all the way back to the B&B. He looked stricken, and it pierced me to my soul. Although I didn’t know him very well, I couldn’t believe someone as nice as him would have committed a crime.

  But it seemed like the police didn’t think Hamish’s death was just an accident after all. That must be why they took my DNA and fingerprints. It should rule me out, but they were obviously suspicious of Craig as well, and, because of his job, Craig’s DNA and fingerprints would be in a lot of the same places that Hamish would frequent.

  I hated the feeling of being in the frame for a possible murder. And I’d bet Craig didn’t like that feeling either. But if it wasn’t either of us, then who was it? And why? Driving on autopilot, I churned over the few things I knew.

  One: Hamish was dead. Two: He’d been kicked by a horse, but the police appeared to think it was suspicious. Three: That meant it probably happened at the stables, or perhaps in the fields nearby. Four: It must’ve happened some time between me leaving his office yesterday afternoon and whenever I heard the sirens last evening. Or maybe earlier, since Mrs Douglas was looking for him at the pub. And surely he’d have gone home for dinner after work? So that would leave only a couple of hours in the evening. But wouldn’t he be at home then, rather than the stables? It was very strange.

  I tapped a finger on the steering wheel, mulling it over. Means, motive, opportunity.

  A lot of people would probably have had the opportunity—the estate was so big it must have plenty of staff. But why would someone want to kill the stud manager?

  Yes, I had opportunity. But I had no reason to kill Hamish. Craig might have had a motive, but he was with me in the pub all evening…

  Compulsive sweeper Stan should probably also be in the frame, but one fleeting resentful glance wasn’t enough to build a case on. And was annoyance enough of a reason to want your boss dead? Surely not.

  The child catcher gamekeeper had also been around in the afternoon, but he’d been and gone really quickly. And again, what would be his motive?

  My circuitous thoughts came back to Mrs Douglas. Would she have had grounds to kill her husband? Was he as bigoted towards her as he’d been to me? But then, why stay married? She could surely have divorced him years ago if there’d been any issues.

  Pulling the lorry to a stop outside the guest house, I sighed. Without more facts to go on, I was getting nowhere. But if there was anything I could do to stop Craig or me getting charged with murder, I had to do it.

  I sat taller, flexed my fingers, and smiled grimly. Perhaps this is a situation where I can put my non-horsey talents to good use. I glanced across at the B&B. But first I’d have to stonewall Mrs B’s inevitable questions and gather my stuff so I was ready to go home.

  It turned out that “I’ve been instructed by the police not to divulge any information” was enough to keep the guest house owner from questioning me too closely—for a while at least.

  Instead, she took particular delight in telling me in great detail about how the police had been asking about my whereabouts yesterday, and how she ‘just had’ to tell them she’d seen me outside last night with a ‘young man’.

  Rats. I’d glossed over that with Sergeant Lovell, omitting to tell him that Craig had walked me home. B
ut I probably should’ve mentioned it. Craig might need it for an alibi. Sliding my hand into my pocket to check I hadn’t lost the policeman’s card, I resolved to phone him soon.

  In the meantime I needed to extricate myself from Mrs Beaton’s hallway and pack, and then I had to text Trinity with an update. After that I had some research to do, before the stables re-opened in the afternoon and I could go check on the mares.

  When Mrs B next paused for breath, I checked my watch theatrically. “Oh! You’ll have to excuse me.” Before she could start talking again, I hurried off down the corridor. “I really should get packed so I can get away back to Glengowrie,” I threw over my shoulder.

  Reaching the sanctuary of the lace-bedecked boudoir, I closed the bedroom door behind me and leaned back against the white-painted panels. My eyes closed, I let out a long breath, feeling guilty for not being more friendly.

  Maybe I should’ve stayed to gossip. I might’ve found out more about Hamish. But I found intense people like Mrs Beaton very draining, and it had been a difficult morning already. I picked up my bag and started to throw my stuff into it. Some things are just a bit beyond the call of duty.

  Once I was safely back out in the lorry, I drove along to The Queen’s Arms and parked outside. They were open to serve coffees, and there was an hour or so before I could get into the estate, so I could top up my caffeine levels and do some research at the same time. Result!

  The pub in daytime was a revelation. It smelled of furniture polish and the varnished wood surfaces were gleaming. Somehow it was brighter inside too, and, even though it was still morning, they had the log fire blazing in the grate, making everything seem quite cheery.

  Behind the bar this time was a stick-thin Polish girl in her twenties, dyed blonde hair scraped back into a pony tail, black clothing making her pale skin look almost grey. While she was making my drink, I seated myself in a booth near to the fire and logged in to the wi-fi.