‘There’s somebody to see you.’
He opened his eyes again. The light was a paler grey. Charlie was standing over him, a mug in his hand.
‘I’ve brought you some coffee. Mrs Ramsay’s downstairs waiting to speak to you but I thought you might want this first.’
‘Thanks, Charlie... You didn’t need to give me a bed here – I could have gone home.’
‘Ha! No, you couldn’t.’
Charlie put down the cup on a bedside table and left again. A little while later Keith went down to confront the Chief Inspector.
‘How are you today, Sergeant?’ she said cheerfully.
He winced. Her voice was too loud. He noticed she had brought a uniformed constable with her and he had a notebook at the ready. This must be an official interview.
‘Sorry I caused all that trouble.’
‘It wasn’t your fault. I was the one who sent you round to the manse... We have them both in custody, by the way. They might make bail. A dog-collar usually does the trick.’
‘Both...?’
‘Mr and Mrs Cockburn. But I suspect she was the driving force. A Lady Macbeth if ever I saw one.’
Keith blinked. He hadn’t seen Mrs Cockburn as that sort of person at all. He vaguely remembered suspecting her of being afraid of the minister. But maybe the boot was on the other foot.
‘Are you sure they’re both in on it?’ he enquired.
‘To be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure what they’re in on yet,’ said Sarah Ramsay, frowning. ‘It could be anything from multiple murder to drug-dealing to absent-mindedness. We’ll need to drill down into this a bit more. Tell me what you can remember from last night. Don’t try and make sense of it just yet. Tell it the way it happened.’
This seemed like good advice, but when Keith started his account he kept forgetting details and having to go back to them. He saw the constable crossing out sections of his notes and scribbling in extra bits here and there. He wasn’t surprised when the man gave him a dirty look.
Charlie hadn’t been present for the first part of the interview, but the Chief Inspector called him in to ask for more information about Keith’s arrival at the Queen of Scots.
‘We don’t know who brought him,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you didn’t see the car?’
‘No, but I think Jock McLean did. He came back early from the Beetle Drive and raised the alarm. But by the time we ran out, it had gone.’
‘Did he say anything about the make or colour?’ said Sarah Ramsay.
‘We were all too busy clustering round Keith and making sure he was still with us,’ said Charlie regretfully. ‘I didn’t talk to Jock about the car at all.’
‘Oh well, I’d have to go and see him anyway, I suppose.’
‘I could come with you,’ Keith offered, a bit less enthusiastically than usual.
‘Good heavens, no,’ she said. ‘You’re taking at least a day off to recover. And if I find out you haven’t been resting, I’ll take you off the case altogether… Do you live on your own?’
‘Yes.’
‘Stay with Charlie until this evening. He’ll look after you.’
Charlie nodded. ‘I certainly will. Starting with breakfast. Do you like your steak well done or rare?’
‘Um.’
Charlie laughed. ‘All right, coffee and toast it is then.’
Keith had to admit he felt a bit better after a few slices of toast. Were there magical life-giving qualities about toast, or was he still in the grip of the barbiturates from the night before?
He felt so much better that he wanted to get back on the case, and that was when he realised why Chief Inspector Ramsay had been content to leave him with Charlie. Together they cleaned the bar area, had another cup of coffee and cleaned the front step, had a couple of biscuits and opened up for the lunchtime rush, which consisted of Jock McLean and Christopher, both keen to find out if he was all right.
He had forgotten it was Saturday. Funny how he sometimes lost all track of time when he was immersed in a case. Well, now he had thought of the word ‘immersed’ he had to admit to himself he had been more or less drowning in it. Except that drowning would have been an inappropriate term in the circumstances.
‘I suppose Amaryllis is out canvassing,’ he said.
‘Missing her, are you?’ asked Charlie with an evil smile.
‘No, of course not.’ Keith didn’t want to admit even to himself that he was disappointed that Amaryllis hadn’t accompanied the two men down to the Queen of Scots, but for once he would have liked to hear her opinion about things now that matters had developed further.
‘She isn’t,’ said Jock suddenly.
‘Isn’t what?’ said Keith.
‘Isn’t canvassing. At least, if she is she doesn’t have that spotty wee sidekick with her.’
‘You mean Stewie?’ said Christopher, coming over to their table with two pints of Old Pictish Brew and a packet of crisps in his pocket for Keith, who had been warned not to drink alcohol yet, but who couldn’t face Diet Coke or any of the more pointless alternatives. If there was indeed anything in the world more pointless than Diet Coke.
‘Yes. I saw him on my way down here. Hanging about outside the Petrellis’. Up to no good, I’m guessing.’
‘The Petrellis’?’ said Keith. ‘What was he doing there?’
‘Lurking,’ said Jock gloomily.
‘He’s a friend of Giancarlo’s,’ Christopher pointed out.
‘Giancarlo’s away,’ said Jock. ‘You must have seen Amaryllis sulking about it.’
‘I didn’t notice,’ said Christopher.
‘I tailed him down to the Petrellis’ the other day,’ said Keith. ‘When was it? Charlie might remember. He was there too.’
‘What was Charlie doing there?’ said Jock suspiciously.
‘Walking the dog... Hmm. Maybe we should pop round there now and...’ Keith hesitated as he realised he wasn’t supposed to leave the Queen of Scots.
‘Get an ice-cream?’ suggested Christopher.
‘Yes,’ said Keith. ‘An ice-cream. Even the Chief Inspector can’t complain about that. It’s medicinal.’
Charlie made a token attempt to stop them, but Jock and Christopher promised faithfully to bring Keith back immediately, and Jock even offered to leave the wee white dog at the pub as a guarantee of good behaviour, but Charlie pointed out that the wee white dog shouldn’t even have been there in the first place.
Halfway up the road to the restaurant, they encountered the whirl of black leather and red hair that was Amaryllis.
‘She’s at the Petrellis’! I can’t believe I didn’t work it out sooner. I’m going to throttle Stewie!’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Christopher.
‘You’ll see,’ she told him.
Chapter 20 What was lost is found
At first Christopher was irritated about being the last to know something, yet again, but as they approached the restaurant Jock muttered to him, ‘Do you know what we’re doing here?’
It was slightly cheering not to be the only one who was completely baffled, and yet Jock didn’t seem to display his bafflement on his face to quite the extent Christopher always felt he himself did. Maybe he practised in the mirror or something. On the other hand, the idea of Jock practising anything in the mirror made him feel a bit queasy.
There wasn’t exactly a lunchtime rush at the restaurant, just as there wasn’t at the Queen of Scots. The rest of the population of Pitkirtly must have gone to Dunfermline to do their weekly shopping. The manager of the local supermarket often complained about that. Still, he managed to stay open just with people purchasing odds and ends they had forgotten about, and perishables such as bread and bananas. Having worked in the supermarket for a while, Christopher knew all about that.
‘I’ll go round the back in case they make a run for it,’ murmured Amaryllis, and slid round the corner like a dark shadow. She was back in her natural environment, and obviously enjoying
it. Christopher almost hoped she didn’t win the Council election. She would be furious, of course, but it would be worth it in the long run. He knew she hadn’t yet realised how soul-destroying the task of running West Fife would be.
‘Come on, then,’ said Keith to the other two.
‘I’d better wait out here with the dog,’ said Jock, evidently getting cold feet. ‘I don’t think Mrs Petrelli would let him inside anyway.’
‘You could tie him up to those railings,’ said Keith, indicating the fence that bordered the next-door garden.
‘He wouldn’t like that,’ said Jock.
‘Mr Wilson?’ said Keith.
‘OK,’ said Christopher.
They marched into the restaurant. There was an ice-cream counter at one side and tables and chairs at the other.
‘Mr Wilson!’ said Mrs Petrelli, emerging from behind a large potted palm. ‘I haven’t seen you for a long time. Would you like ice-cream? Do you have a favourite flavour?’
‘I like strawberry,’ said Christopher.
Keith gave him a small, sharp kick as if to remind him they weren’t really here for the ice-cream.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Petrelli. How are you getting on without Giancarlo?’
‘Sergeant Burnet – do you like ice-cream too? Or would you prefer something more substantial?’
She certainly didn’t seem like a woman with something to hide. On the other hand, maybe she didn’t know she was hiding anything. Christopher himself wasn’t sure what it was. Being friendly with Stewie wasn’t exactly a crime. It was just weird.
‘Is it all right if I ask you something, Mrs Petrelli?’ said Keith.
‘Yes, of course. I have nothing to hide.’
Was that a flicker of anxiety in her eyes? Or just a trick of the light? Christopher wished he were better at reading people’s expressions. He was beginning to feel redundant here.
‘Do you miss Giancarlo a lot? Isn’t it lonely being here without him?’
It was an odd line of questioning.
‘I miss him, yes, of course I do. He’s a long way from home. I worry about him all the time. But,’ she shrugged her shoulders, ‘what can I do? He’s a big boy now. He must make his own way in the world.’
‘Have you ever thought of taking in a lodger?’ said Keith. ‘Renting out your spare room?’
‘Well, of course, I have Stewie,’ said Mrs Petrelli.
‘Stewie?’ said Keith.
‘He’s a good friend of Giancarlo. He doesn’t pay me much rent, but he sometimes helps with the ice-cream sales. Not in this cold spring, of course, but he can help a lot when summer comes.’
‘Ice-cream sales,’ Keith repeated, nodding.
‘And there’s his friend now too. They’re no trouble and I enjoy having the young people about. It reminds me of...’
Her brown eyes were sad. Christopher wondered if Giancarlo would ever come back from America. Maybe he would get rich and send for her to join him. Amaryllis would be disappointed, but it would probably be best for the boy.
‘His friend?’ said Keith.
‘They have separate rooms, of course,’ said Mrs Petrelli. ‘I don’t think they’re romantic friends. He told me she needed somewhere to stay in a hurry, and that she didn’t want to go out much. He sometimes brings her downstairs, when all the customers have left for the night.’
‘Are they both upstairs now?’ enquired Keith.
‘Do you want to speak to them? I don’t know if she’ll come down at this time of day. But you can speak to them in my sitting-room if you want.’
This was so tortuous that in a way Christopher wished Keith was like some of the American cops you sometimes saw on television, who just stormed people’s houses first and asked questions later. But then he had always preferred a more subtle approach. It probably worked better in Pitkirtly than it would in Chicago.
Mrs Petrelli glanced round the restaurant area as if to make sure no more diners had sneaked in while her attention was diverted, gave a quick instruction to the waitress, and led Keith and Christopher through a door and up the stairs.
There was a flurry of movement above them, running feet and a couple of shouts. Then Amaryllis appeared at the top of the stairs.
‘It’s all right – I’ve locked them in,’ she announced.
‘What are you doing there? I thought you were just going to wait round the back,’ said Keith.
‘Just making things a bit simpler,’ she said.
‘Oh yes, by getting yourself arrested for wrongful imprisonment,’ he muttered.
She flounced off. They followed, and found their quarry in a small kitchen. The two young people weren’t making a noise or a fuss about being locked in, but were sitting at the tiny table, both staring miserably ahead. The newcomers crowded into the doorway.
Stewie looked the same as usual. The girl looked even worse than she had appeared the last time Christopher had encountered her. Her hair was greasy, and trailed down one side of her face, almost covering her left eye.
‘Sammy?’ he said gently.
Stewie nodded. The girl didn’t move or speak.
‘Is this...?’ said Keith, stepping forward into the space. He took a long breath. He seemed to be preparing himself for something.
‘It’s all right,’ she said to him suddenly. ‘I know about Craig. You don’t need to tell me.’
She blinked once or twice, but if there were tears in her eyes she was determined not to let them fall.
‘How did you know?’ said Keith.
‘Stewie told me.’
‘What are you doing here?’ said Keith.
She was silent again.
‘Hiding,’ said Stewie. ‘She’s hiding from people who want to kill her.’
‘Sammy,’ said Amaryllis, ‘this is Sergeant Keith Burnet from the police. He’s going to help you.’
Her tone was so authoritative that Christopher didn’t see how anybody could fail to have confidence in it. Certainly Sammy stared at Amaryllis for a moment and then nodded in response.
‘I want you to answer all his questions,’ Amaryllis went on, ‘so that we can protect you from these people, whoever they are, and ensure they’re brought to justice.’
Sammy looked as if she might speak for a moment, but there was silence.
‘OK, Sammy,’ said Keith. ‘Because I’m on my own here – I mean, without any other police officers around – I can’t really question you properly. We can either get somebody else to come here or we can go round to the police station where we can look after you better.’
‘Mrs Petrelli and me have looked after Sammy all right,’ said Stewie, his face going bright pink.
‘She’s eaten nothing but my own pasta,’ said Mrs Petrelli, backing him up in the best way she knew. ‘And our ice-cream. Pistachio is her favourite.’
Christopher had inadvertently tried pistachio ice-cream once. Even now the colour made him feel ill. He grimaced, but he felt he had to intervene in the conversation to prevent any misunderstandings. ‘I don’t think Keith was talking about food,’ he said. ‘He meant that it will be harder for anybody to get at Sammy if she’s in the police station. Anybody who wants to harm her, that is.’
‘No, not at all!’ exclaimed Mrs Petrelli indignantly. ‘It’s perfectly safe. We have steel doors and special locks here. My husband insisted... That was during the bad times,’ she added in a more subdued tone.
Mr Petrelli had been a gangster whose activities had caused mayhem. Of course he would have turned his home into a fortress.
‘I can’t go out there,’ whispered Sammy. ‘They’ll find me.’
‘We can get a car for you,’ said Keith.
She shook her head. She seemed to be willing to trust the people in this building, up to a point at least, but not to venture outside this small world she and Stewie had created.
‘What about your parents?’ said Keith. ‘Can we bring them over? Would that help?’
She blinked back tears again, but
nodded agreement.
‘OK, then,’ he said. ‘That gives us somewhere to start. I’ll get on to it. The rest of you, stay exactly where you are and don’t do anything.’
After Keith had left the kitchen, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he did so, Christopher glanced apprehensively at Amaryllis. He had an idea that being told to stay exactly where she was would make her want to do exactly the opposite.
It was all right at first. She seemed to have decided it would be satisfying enough to question the girl before Keith got back.
‘Sammy – you don’t have to say anything to us, of course, but I think I may have found your tablet. At the harbour. Did you go and hide in the kiosk after that?’
Sammy nodded. A single tear trickled down her face.
‘They took Craig,’ she whispered. ‘I ran away. I thought they’d got the tablet, but they must be still looking for it.’
‘Do you have any idea why they took Craig?’
‘It was the camera footage,’ she said in a trembling undertone. ‘They didn’t like it.’
‘What was it they didn’t like?’
Another tear trickled down her face. Christopher wanted to intervene and stop this, but his curiosity got the better of him and he couldn’t bring himself to call a halt.
‘We were practising,’ said Sammy. ‘With the camera and the tablet. We accidentally filmed them.’
‘When was this?’ said Amaryllis.
‘A while ago. Before we thought of using the Folk Museum.’
‘So the artwork involved film, did it?’
The girl nodded, looking more miserable by the minute. ‘We wanted to create a scene, and record people’s reactions to it. It was a conceptual artwork. With elements of time-based media.’
The art jargon sounded wrong coming from her, but it flowed off her tongue easily enough. It took Christopher a while to work out what she was actually saying.
‘So you were planning to set something up in the Folk Museum and then leave the camera running and record people when they saw it?’ said Amaryllis. She sounded more amused than shocked.
Death in a Cold Spring (Pitkirtly Mysteries Book 9) Page 18