by John Burke
‘So did we,’ said Nick grimly.
‘Were you involved in any way with events this morning?’
Nick told her. When it came to the point of Anna and Lesley being locked in Jilly-Jo’s suite, Sergeant Elliot moved protectively closer to Anna.
‘In that case,’ said McAdam as Nick finished, ‘I’m afraid we shall need a statement from you.’
‘Meaning we still can’t go home?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ With an undertone of malice, McAdam looked at Lesley. ‘I’m sure that with your past experience, Lady Torrance, you’ll be the first to realize that strict procedures have to be adhered to.’
‘Yes. But could we please get through it quickly?’
‘I do think that you ought to be able to get away first thing tomorrow morning, unless of course there are some snags which crop up as we go along.’
She acknowledged the arrival of Dr Fairlie, who said, ‘I don’t believe this,’ and went towards the Fiat and its contents. Then she turned back towards Alec Chisholm.
‘Now, sir. Perhaps we’d be more comfortable inside while you tell me exactly what has been going on.’
Chapter Twenty
Again the sun was shining. And again they had done their packing, and this time the luggage was stowed away in the boot of the Laguna. Everything was in order. But Lesley was still wary, unable to believe that this time they would really be allowed to drive away.
The fact that DCI McAdam was there first thing after breakfast was not reassuring. She was perfectly capable of thinking up a whole new lot of questions which would involve further delays.
Instead, she said: ‘I thought you’d like to know we’ve had a message from your friend Inspector Percy at Arts and Antiques. The Skeoch Cumming . . . is that right?’
‘Skeoch Cumming, yes,’ Lesley confirmed.
‘Apparently it has shown up, along with the Raeburn from the Westerlaw burglary, in Antwerp. Seems to have been shipped six months ago from Rosyth to Zeebrugge, and then on to Antwerp.’
‘That’s great. Thank you.’
McAdam hesitated a moment before putting her hand out to Lesley. ‘I think it’s a pity you didn’t stay with us. You obviously have so much to offer.’
‘I’d never have made the grade.’
‘That’s not the way I hear it.’
‘I’d never have been ruthless enough.’
‘So you think I’m ruthless, DI Gunn? If I may call you that for a few minutes?’
‘You’re dedicated in a way I never could be.’
‘‘Dedicated’?’ McAdam mused on this, and seemed to like the word. Then she said brusquely: ‘Well, mustn’t keep you. I’ve said goodbye to you once before, Sir Nicholas. And you, Lady Torrance.’
‘And this time,’ said Nick, ‘you’re praying it really is goodbye.’
‘Have a safe journey home,’ said McAdam, cool and correct. She was already drawing her old armour around her.
‘No wrong turnings this time,’ he promised. ‘And provided we don’t run into any more escaped prisoners, or highwaymen, or Border reivers on the rampage, maybe this time we can get home without incident.’
As they drove out of the yard, Anna waved to them from her front door. Sergeant Elliot was standing attentively nearby.
‘Wonder if he’s any good at mounting security on self-catering cottages?’ said Lesley.
‘Or helping to turn Balmuir Lodge into a hotel, instead of catching villains?’
There was a few minutes silence as Nick concentrated on the turns in the road, and slowed to make sure that the next signpost bore a legend that made sense. When they had at last reached something with pretensions to being a main road, heading due east, he relaxed.
‘What do you suppose will happen to poor old Alec? They can hardly let him off, can they? Accessory after the fact, or something — isn’t that the jargon? And imprisoning you and Anna, obstructing the course of justice. If he needs a good lawyer, I’m inclined to offer him all the backing he needs.’
‘Of course they can’t turn a blind eye. It’ll all have to go before the procurator fiscal. But at a guess I’d say he’ll get a hell of a roasting in court, and a sentence of two, maybe three years in prison. Suspended.’
‘I hope so.’
Lesley was unwinding the tangle of recent events in her mind. One odd strand got itself snarled up. ‘It’s just struck me, whatever’s going to happen to Jilly-Jo? She’s a bit of a loose end in all this.’
‘In real life there are always loose ends. But I somehow don’t think Jilly-Jo will be on the loose for very long.’ Nick reached for his sunglasses as they breasted a rise and came face to face with the morning sun. ‘And on the subject of real life, what the hell did you think you were doing, walking into trouble all on your own? Sneering at Miss Marple and Poirot and those sort of plots, and then doing what every professional knows you don’t do.’
‘I was never in any real danger.’
‘Oh, weren’t you? Every silly thriller has a moment when a silly woman goes on her own into a dark cellar or a deserted warehouse only to find it’s not deserted. Not waiting for backup, or letting anyone else know. You of all people — a so-called professional!’
‘Ex-professional,’ said Lesley sheepishly.
‘And from now on you’ll stay that way. No more dabbling.’
‘No, sir.’ She brooded for a minute. ‘Though mind you, if I’d been in charge down at that workshop, the first thing I’d have checked on would —’
‘That’s enough.’ Nick accelerated so vigorously that she was jolted in her seat. ‘Let’s get way, way out of here before you get done for impersonating a police officer.’
He drove fast but carefully. All at once he was desperate to get home. Not so that he could lord it as the laird of Black Knowe and be surrounded by his own sycophants, the way men like Brunner wanted the world to be run. It was simply that he wanted to be at home with his wife, and they could be arranging that home and living in it at their own pace, amid their own belongings. Simply living — and loving.
They stopped for coffee at a wayside cottage which also sold vegetables, herbs and duck eggs, but Nick was impatient to be on the road again, veering south-east until, as they approached the Borders, a welcoming castle of clouds soared into pinnacles and distorted battlements.
‘Do you suppose they’ll really have finished the work on the house?’ said Lesley.
‘They’d better. Though I’m wondering’ — he was keeping his eyes on the road but grinning — ‘if it was wise to start, after all. Will we be able to combine that with other heavy responsibilities?’
‘What responsibilities?’
‘Oh, I was just thinking. I wouldn’t want a repetition of the muddled way I came into the baronetcy. You know, someone dying childless, a brother coming in from the side and all the rest of it. I’d prefer the inheritance to be straightforward.’
‘What are you getting at?’ But she was beginning to smile herself.
‘It would save a lot of hassle if we could be sure of Black Knowe staying in the direct line without problems.’
‘Oh. Ah, yes. Though I wouldn’t mind having a couple of them. And one could keep trying.’
‘One could?’
‘Well, two would have to keep trying.’
‘I don’t think one should look on that as an arduous responsibility.’
‘So long as you agree.’
‘Oh, I agree,’ said Lesley as the car came over the crest of the hill and they saw the tower of Black Knowe bathed in sunshine on its knoll ahead of them.
Then they both let out a groan. At the foot of the tower was a huge skip filled with strips of wood and plaster, lengths of twisted piping, and some shards of broken glass.
‘They haven’t finished,’ said Lesley. ‘They’re still at it.’
As Nick stopped a few yards away from the skip, young William Kerr came round from the side door.
‘Sir Nicholas. Good to see you back, sir.�
��
‘You haven’t finished,’ Nick accused him.
‘Oh, but we have. Sorry about the skip being still here. It’ll be gone twenty minutes from now. McRobert is fetching the loader right now.’
Lesley breathed a sigh of relief.
‘No problems?’ asked Nick. ‘You didn’t unearth any hidden treasures, or a priest’s hole, or some hidden corpses, or anything?’
‘Well, now.’ Kerr looked at him slyly. ‘Now you mention it, there were some corpses.’
Nick felt a chill down his spine. Hadn’t they had enough trouble, this last year, with a murdered body found down the flue of Kilstane Academy? He looked at Lesley and could tell that she was chilled by the same memory.
‘You mean there was more than one?’
‘Twenty-four, actually. Starlings. When we were putting in the new flue pipe for the heating in the old fireplace, we found them. Mummified. Must have sat on top of the lum to warm their backsides, and the fumes made them drowsy. And in they went.’
Nick took Lesley’s hand and led her through the main door into the lower hall. ‘Let’s go and look at our new quarters. And,’ he added warningly, ‘there’s no need for you to start worrying about whether those starlings did, after all, meet a natural death. No need to call in Forensic.’
‘Farewell, Detective Inspector Gunn,’ whispered Lesley.
*
Anna had made her last inspection of the Stables Cottage kitchen and checked that it was re-stocked with the basics she provided for every newcomer. She was about to go through and give a few final flourishes with a duster when the doorway was blocked by a solid, impressive figure.
‘Sergeant!’
‘Er . . . the name’s Rab, actually. Rab Elliot. I just dropped in to say goodbye. The boss is wrapping things up, and I don’t think we’ll need to bother you again. I’m . . . Mrs Chisholm, I’m so sorry things went the way they did. It’s been rotten for you.’
‘I’ll cope,’ said Anna stiffly.
He edged into the kitchen and looked round it with an appreciative nod. Did he think there were still some clues to be found, something that would impress his DCI?
He said: ‘I’m due for some leave soon.’
For a moment she thought he was going to have the nerve to suggest a dirty weekend. Then he went on:
‘I rather like the look of this place. I can do with a quiet week to think things over. I’ve had rather a hectic time recently.’
‘I’d have thought a bracing week at the seaside, or a walking tour round the Summer Isles, was more in your line.’
‘I do enough walking in the course of my duties, even though I’m not in uniform any longer.’
He was treating her to an awkward, puppyish look while at the same time running his hand along the work space beside the sink. There was a slight hiss as the new, full pot of marmalade she had placed there went skidding along the surface, to cannon off the electric kettle and fall to the floor.
She held her breath, watching it go and envisaging the sticky mess she would have to clean up yet again.
The jar rolled a few inches and came to a halt, unbroken.
Maybe that was a good omen.
*
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