Mince Pies and Murder

by Carly Reid

  It was strange, the types of motives people had. DI Gordon had told her that money was the one they looked for first, followed by crimes of passion, and matters of pride and reputation. In this particular case, everyone seemed motivated by money. Craig, because he was in debt to the victim. Amy, because being failed on her apprenticeship would mean she couldn’t afford to continue living in her current home. And Ian Johnston stood to lose a highly lucrative contract if his brother were able to prove his methods were illegal.

  It stands to reason that he would want to silence him before he could do that. Jessica thought to herself.

  “Morning, Jessica! Can I get you a wee cup o’ tea?”

  Murdo, friendly as ever, had managed to lay his hands on an electric kettle, some mugs, and supplies for making hot drinks. He was a favorite of Mrs Menzies, who was the caretaker of the Village Hall and ran the place with precision. No-one dared mess with her. If you found yourself on the wrong side of Mrs Menzies you might as well kiss goodbye to your social life. Everything happened in the Village Hall.

  Jessica had popped into Lissa’s on the way to the Hall, so she declined Murdo’s offer. Undeterred, he made himself a cup of tea, slowly and with great deliberation.

  “My wee granny always said that those who squeeze the teabag shouldnae be allowed to make the tea! ‘Always leave it standing to brew’, she said. ‘And never put the milk in first.’ Mind you, she’d no’ often be caught making the tea in a mug anyway. A proper, warmed teapot, and she preferred leaves – a spoonful for each person, and one for the pot. Oh, she was a grand woman, and she made the best tea.”

  Jessica smiled. However, DI Gordon, who already had a drink in front of him, was barely concealing his impatience, Jessica thought. She could definitely detect it in his overly-measured breathing. Murdo was fond of rhapsodizing about tea, so it was probably something DI Gordon heard a lot.

  “Is it not ready yet Murdo?,” he asked. “Surely that will do. I’m keen to get talking to Jessica, here, and then get on with the rest of the day.”

  “Just a wee minute…that’ll do it.”

  Murdo carried his mug over carefully, his face wearing its perpetually cheery expression. Jessica wondered how he could remain so happy when working on difficult cases, but Murdo had explained that justice and fair play was really important to him. He didn’t like bad things to happen in the world, but when they did – it was important to work out who did it, and make sure justice was served. Murdo sat down with his tea, and DI Gordon began to speak.

  “So, Jessica, we spoke a couple of days ago and you felt that there might be some promising leads. Once again, we are grateful for your assistance in this matter. We have had to interview everyone who was present in The Ram’s Heid that evening – a very lengthy task, as you might imagine, and one that is not over yet. Remarkably, so far no-one remembers seeing anything at all.”

  Jessica was surprised, and before she really thought about it said, “But they must have seen Santa arrive –”

  “Oh yes, everyone remembers Bill’s arrival. He was wearing the suit, as you say, and was very distinctive. Apparently, however, he made his way straight to the bathroom – presumably to get changed. The pub was very warm, although the stove was being allowed to die down. It was full of people. After that, no-one remembers anything at all until the glass broke, and Craig went to clean it up. In fact, some of them don’t even remember that. It was very noisy, and those further away from the bar wouldn’t have heard the sound of glass breaking above the conversation and the music. It wasn’t until Craig came running and shouting for help that they paid any attention. A pub full of people, all having a lovely night – and not one of them seems to have noticed Santa Claus being murdered.” DI Gordon shook his head, and sighed.

  “So anything you have to offer us will be very welcome, Jessica.”

  Jessica led with her big news first.

  “I think I may have found something out that gives Ian Johnston a motive, after all.”

  As she explained her recent discovery, both the Detective Inspector and Murdo listened intently, DI Gordon taking notes in his small, black notebook. Murdo nodded a few times, as if to confirm what she was saying was true. She supposed he had heard the rumors in the past too.

  “You say that there may have been proof that Ian Johnston was behaving illegally in some way? Using stolen goods or engaging in some kind of tax fraud? Did his apprentice…” The Detective Inspector consulted his notes, “…Amy Matthews give any indication of what that proof might be?”

  “No, she didn’t.” Jessica felt deflated. She should have asked better questions. Maybe insisted on searching Bill Johnston’s office. Pressed Amy for anything she could remember at all, anything…

  “No matter.” DI Gordon was talking again. “If there’s something like that going on, we should be able to find it. It might take some time, but I’m sure Mr Johnston will want to cooperate fully with us, and make his affairs completely transparent. We can have them examined with a fine tooth comb. Was there anything else?”

  Jessica’s heart sank. She had hoped that the police would want to act immediately on this new information, and that she would therefore be let off the hook. Unfortunately it now looked as if she was going to have to share what she knew about Amy, and Craig.

  She started with Amy. DI Gordon didn’t give much away, taking further notes, occasionally uttering “mmm-hmms”. Murdo, however, was another story.

  “I cannae believe it. A wee slip o’ a lassie like that. She’d never be able –”

  DI Gordon interrupted.

  “There’s not much point speculating on that, Constable Smith. If Bill Johnston was taken by surprise, it would be entirely possible for Amy Matthews to carry out the act. He was not a very big man, and she appears quite strong to me. What really matters is the sturdiness of the weapon, and it was a very tough nylon cord on the fake beard.”

  Jessica moved on to Craig. Here, she was more hesitant, realizing as she spoke that his motive was clearer, and his opportunity more obvious too. After all, he had definitely been in the pub that night. And, according to Cat, had gone AWOL at just the right time too. If Murdo had any thoughts – and he did, if you went by his face which was turning all sorts of colors – he kept them to himself this time.

  DI Gordon leaned forward, pencil in hand. He was as animated as Jessica had ever seen him.

  “Well, now, that’s very interesting. Very interesting indeed.”

  Jessica stayed silent. She didn’t want this to be ‘interesting’. She wanted DI Gordon to dismiss it as wild speculation, to come up with some reason why it couldn’t be the case. She didn’t want to even think of her friend Craig being the culprit, even although she knew that being the person to discover the crime often pointed to the criminal. She wished she had listened to Reenie, and stayed out of it, or could wind back time to the weekend before she had heard of this. In fact, why not wind back further to the day before Yule Night, and stop any of this happening in the first place.

  But, even as she mused, she knew that she had done the best thing. Ealisaid herself had urged Craig to come clean. If he was innocent – once again, Jessica gladly remembered that Ian Johnston now had a motive as well, and had also been in the pub that night – he had nothing to worry about. They could prove it.

  And if Craig was guilty? Jessica tried to stop her thoughts right there, but they continued despite her efforts.

  If Craig was guilty, then he would get the punishment that he deserved.

  * * *

  Murdo and DI Gordon left the Village Hall, after thanking Jessica and informing her that they would be checking out Ian Johnston’s motive as a matter of priority.

  Jessica sat for a little longer in the warmth of the Hall, her stomach churning. The clock on the wall tick-tock-ticked the afternoon away. She came to a decision. She had felt obliged to follow through on the agreement and tell the police what she had found out. But, she reasoned to herself, the alternative also h
eld. What was stopping her from telling Craig what they knew?

  Her decisive momentum carried her all the way out of the Hall, following the High Street as it dipped down, and then climbed back up again. She didn’t even pause to wave in at Reenie or check how busy Ealisaid was. The day was once again cold, and after the warmth of the Hall it had been an initial shock, slicing through her coat. Now, as she swung her arms and walked in long strides up towards The Ram’s Heid, she felt her temperature return to a comfortable level.

  The village seemed busier today, with more people than usual out and about – probably doing their last minute Christmas shopping, Jessica thought. She smiled and said hello to a few people, once again reminded of her part in the community here.

  As she reached the cobbled area outside the pub, Jessica’s speed slowed and her stride became an uncertain footstep. Now that she was here, it was hard to think of how to phrase the tale so that it didn’t sound like she had gone to the police and tattled…which, she reminded herself, she basically had. She lingered by the Christmas tree for a moment, trying to calm her thoughts and think through potential solutions, while looking as if she was just admiring the decorations. Although – as she looked at it, it was clear there was a problem. As early darkness fell, it was clear to see that some of the lights weren’t working, and the way they were positioned meant that a whole section of the tree was dark. Jessica moved around the whole tree, looking for other, similar sections – and as she did so, noticed a familiar figure standing by the side of the pub. Ian Johnston.

  Wherever the police are looking, they are in the wrong place, she thought. There was a small fence on the left side of the pub with a gate in it. As she watched, Ian Johnston furtively tried the gate. It took a couple of tries – it was clearly cold and stiff – but he managed to pry the catch open. Then he slipped through the gap, leaving the gate ajar. He hadn’t seen Jessica, who from his vantage point had been mostly behind the Christmas tree.

  Jessica only considered her options for a moment before following him.

  Santa's Beard

  Jessica hung back briefly behind the gate before slipping through herself, once she could see that he had rounded the far corner of the building. What could he be doing? The narrow lane beside The Ram’s Heid was banked on the left side by a wall, and on the right by the pub itself. Jessica walked slowly, as quietly as she could on the cold, slightly frosty concrete path. Underneath a window – that must be the ladies’ restroom, she reasoned. Past a heavy wooden door painted black. That was probably the door to the cellar. It remained closed, and showed no sign of having recently been opened. Ian Johnston had walked straight past it. Jessica slowed down as she approached the corner herself. She wondered whether she had made the right decision. Would anyone hear her, if she shouted? With thick stone walls to either side and only a tiny chance that there might be anyone in the restroom at this time of day…Jessica’s nerve failed her. She froze. She could hear Reenie’s voice in her head.

  “You might end up attacked or worse yourself.”

  Jessica was nearly at the corner now. She couldn’t hear anything, but the cold day had deadened sound. She didn’t want to turn her back in case Ian Johnston came back around the corner, and saw her retreating. She wondered whether she could safely walk backwards, carefully stepping back down the path until she reached the gate. Had there been any trip hazards? Jessica cursed herself for not paying more attention.

  As she stood for a moment, paralyzed with indecision, suddenly it was too late. Without sound or warning, Ian Johnston moved back around the corner and loomed up ahead of her. He looked as surprised as she felt, his shock of gray hair standing on end – more than usual? – his eyes wide and staring.

  Jessica didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She was aware of her mouth gaping uselessly. She sensed rather than saw Ian Johnston’s right arm slowly rise, but couldn’t tear her eyes away from his panicked gaze. Did he have a weapon? He probably had some heavy tools… Jessica willed her body to obey her and leap back out of the way, but for some reason – the cold, the fear – she just couldn’t move. Ian Johnston’s arm continued its slow, inexorable rise.

  Everything seemed as if it was happening in slow motion. Jessica was convinced that if she shouted, it too would be slow, distorted and incomprehensible. Not that she could. She still thought that no-one would hear her anyway.

  Ian Johnson thrust a fist towards her face. At this Jessica’s reflexes did take over and she jerked backwards. Perhaps now her feet would start working too.

  But he hadn’t intended to hit her. Dangling from his clenched hand was something grayish-white, something that had perhaps once been fluffy but exposure to the elements meant that it was now sodden and partially frozen in chunks.

  “I thought I heard something. Look!”

  Jessica still wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but Ian Johnson was clearly upset.

  “And that’s not all, come and look!”

  He went back again around the corner. Against her better judgement, Jessica followed.

  Ian Johnston was standing just round the corner, underneath another frosted window – which, Jessica concluded, must belong to the men’s restroom. Beyond where he was standing stood an electricity generator, and as Jessica now noticed, a cable snaked from it around the corner and presumably back along the lane. It must be powering the lights. Beyond the generator were two large dumpsters, one grey and one bright blue.

  Ian Johnston wasn’t paying any attention to the generator. He was looking only at the pile of damp cloth lying on the ground directly underneath the window. A pile of red cloth. In an instant, Jessica knew exactly what it was.

  Ian Johnston’s voice shook as he uttered the words. “It’s a Santa suit! Bill’s Santa suit!”

  * * *

  He knelt down, and before Jessica could stop him, gathered the whole suit up in his hands. The straggly, damp beard was still clutched in his fist. He looked at Jessica with bewilderment. “How did it get here?”

  Jessica didn’t know what this meant, but she did know that they probably shouldn’t have disturbed the pile of cloth. Well, it was too late now. She also didn’t know whether Ian Johnston was simply a very good actor, but he seemed full of genuine bewilderment at the find. At least it appeared that she was no longer in any immediate danger. She took a deep breath, and replied honestly.

  “I don’t know, but perhaps we should tell someone.”

  At that moment, Craig emerged from behind the dumpsters and walked past the generator. He had an unlit cigarette in his hand.

  “I thought I heard voices. What’s going on out here?”

  Together, Jessica and Craig managed to get a shocked Ian Johnston, still carrying the damp Santa suit, into the pub. Craig led them past the dumpsters and in through a back door, which led to a small kitchen and store room. There was a narrow table and a couple of chairs in there too. In response to Jessica’s whispered warning, Craig spread a black plastic garbage bag over the table and they convinced Ian Johnston to place the Santa suit on top of it. He spoke in a stilted manner, although no-one had asked him anything.

  “I was only asked to check on the – I nearly tripped over – it took me a minute to realize it wisnae…I just don’t understand. What could Bill’s suit be doing there? And why did someone want me to find it?”

  Jessica asked Craig to discretely call Murdo. She didn’t know where the police had gone, but wherever they were was clearly now the wrong place.

  Ian Johnston leaned against the counter in the cramped back kitchen, and rubbed his hand over his forehead. Jessica noticed he was slightly clammy and his complexion looked gray. Craig returned and Jessica spoke brightly. It sounded forced and unnatural, even to her.

  “Why don’t we all go and get a seat in the bar? Maybe even a drink or something…would that be OK, Craig?”

  Craig glanced at Ian Johnston and followed her lead.

  “Great idea, Jessica. Let’s do that. I’ll bring over some teas. It�
��s quiet just noo, it won’t start filling up for a couple of hours yet. Just regulars.”

  Craig led them through to the main room in the pub, via the bar. Jessica had never been behind the bar before, but there was no time to focus on that at the moment. They ushered Ian Johnston over to one of the booths near the fire, although it wasn’t lit yet. Jessica sat with him while Craig went to make the teas. There was only one man in at present, a wizened old chap with a flat cap pulled down low over his eyes. He sat perched on a stool at the far end of the bar, reading the newspaper and not paying any attention to anyone else. Craig must have turned a radio on, because suddenly from nowhere music began to play. It was Christmas music of course – no-one was playing anything else.

  Jessica tried to engage Ian Johnston in conversation but his answers were monosyllabic. She did manage to establish that he was checking on the generator because some of the lights had gone out. That much was true, she had noticed it herself. Apart from that, he wouldn’t be drawn on anything. He did seem to look a little better though, and his color was almost back to normal when Craig brought the teas over on a large tray.

  “Murdo said he’d be here soon,” he said in an aside to Jessica as he placed the tray on the table. Ian Johnston nodded his thanks, and picked up the tea. He drained half of it in one huge gulp, apparently unaffected by the temperature, then resumed staring into space. Craig gestured to Jessica to follow him back over to the bar. Unsure, she glanced at Ian Johnston. He still seemed slightly unaware of his surroundings. Jessica hesitantly got up, and moved over to the bar.

  “What’s up?” She noticed that Craig had a copy of The Herald – today’s copy in fact. She hadn’t seen one herself yet. They were finalized on Tuesdays, printed overnight and made available for sale on Wednesdays.

  “Jessica, I don’t get any of this at all. How could the suit be out the back? I clearly saw it on Bill when…when I found him. It disnae make any sense. But look!”

  Jessica looked where Craig was pointing. He had opened the newspaper to the centre spread, where Grant had featured Friday night’s events. There was the short article she had written, surrounded by the photographs she and Magnus had carefully selected the day before. Despite the current situation, Jessica felt proud. They had chosen well, and it looked good. Then she turned her attention to the photo Craig was pointing at. It was Santa on the cart.