Human Face

by Aline Templeton

  He’d made all the right noises when he thanked her for coming but it wasn’t hard to work out that he’d have preferred that she hadn’t and her back went up like a cat about to spit – Oh yeah, typical Edinbugger, she thought, and so toffee-nosed that he feels drinking with a humble PC is beneath him.

  Actually, now she thought about it, she didn’t really know why she had come except with a vague idea that she could explain to him that they’d done all that needed doing already, and maybe find out why he’d been sent all the way from Edinburgh to check up on them. But she could hardly do that with Vicky Macdonald and Daniel Tennant at the other end of the bar, earwigging so obviously you could almost see their wee feelers waving.

  Asking him about his journey and whether his room was comfortable kept them going for a few minutes, and answering his polite enquiries about her work here took up a bit more time. But the pauses grew longer and more uncomfortable and she started to feel anxious. Had there been some complaint about the way she’d dealt with the case, and was his reluctance to engage socially because tomorrow he was going to have to discipline her? She couldn’t afford any more black marks on her record.

  Nervousness prompted her to make more and more random contributions to the conversation to fill in the gaps, and it was a relief when he finished his beer and stood up.

  ‘If you’ll forgive me, I think I’d better go and find some supper. I’ve arranged to drive across to Broadford to talk to Sergeant Buchanan tomorrow morning – will I see you then?’

  It was her day off but she’d insisted to Rab Buchanan that she’d come in anyway so she could emphasise how thorough she had been.

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m going to be giving you my report.’

  ‘Good. Thanks very much for taking the trouble to come in,’ he said, and this time he smiled.

  She was right – it was a nice smile.

  As Kelso left the bar, Vicky Macdonald scrambled off her bar stool and hurried after him.

  ‘Inspector!’ she called.

  He stopped, swore inwardly, and turned round. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she gabbled. ‘It’s just – you’re here to investigate Eva Havel’s disappearance, aren’t you?’

  ‘To review the investigation, yes.’

  ‘I need to talk to you. I knew Eva, you see, and—’

  ‘You are …?’

  ‘Vicky Macdonald. And Daniel Tennant is with me in the bar – he was to fetch her from Balnasheil Lodge the day she disappeared, so if you could bear to wait for your supper and come back to talk to us—’

  ‘I will be very happy to hear what you both have to say once I have been briefed by my colleagues, madam. If you would like to phone the police station in Broadford and make an appointment—’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  Her voice went flat. He saw her enthusiasm drain away, which was unfortunate, but a public bar was no place for interviews. He also had a strong suspicion that she wanted to complain about the local investigation and was trying to nobble him before he’d been briefed. He said a polite ‘good evening’ and walked on to the dining room.

  She’d said her name was Macdonald, he thought suddenly. The barman’s wife? They hadn’t said a word to each other the whole time. Perhaps that was just coincidence: Skye was Macdonald country after all, but he made a mental note to check.

  The elderly couple he’d seen earlier were in the dining room and there were two middle-aged men at another table. They didn’t look like holidaymakers and Kelso glanced at them with mild interest as he waited to have his order taken.

  It hadn’t quite struck him that he’d be under the spotlight every moment he spent in a public place; thank God he’d thought of stashing a bottle of Scotch in his suitcase – he might be spending a fair amount of time in his bedroom. It could all get a bit suffocating, but it was quite likely that the case of Eva Havel’s sudden departure would prove to be as straightforward as it looked on paper and he might be on his way by the day after tomorrow. He might even take time to fit in a bit of hillwalking before he left.

  He hoped that Sergeant Buchanan, his liaison with the local force, would prove to be a more solid type than the flaky little PC who’d been trying to make an impression – which she had, of course, but perhaps not the one she’d been planning to make.

  It had been a trying afternoon. When he’d removed the papers from the filing cabinet, Adam Carnegie had been possessed only by the need for damage limitation and he had made no effort to be systematic. The particular file that Harry needed to check had proved elusive and Harry, in any case, was running him ragged. He was blaming Adam for everything and Adam wasn’t going to take it. They were in this together and Harry wasn’t going to be allowed to forget it.

  They were both on edge, of course. The police seemed to have lost interest in Eva, at least, but now they knew someone was sniffing around the charity, Harry was having to trawl through all the accounts to check that the barrier between official and unofficial – very unofficial – records was solidly in place and everything that should be destroyed had been destroyed. That would take a few days yet and Harry hadn’t responded well to being cooped up here.

  He liked city life and high living and the meals here had proved a trigger point. Harry fancied himself as a gourmet and though Vicky Macdonald was a very good cook, the food after Beatrice’s ministrations became all but inedible.

  They’d pretty much smoothed over the blistering row they’d had this afternoon. At the time, he thought Harry would actually have decked him if it hadn’t been for Amber, who wasn’t about to let that happen. For the sake of peace he’d had to promise to keep her in the run when Harry was about.

  If there wasn’t to be another eruption, he’d better go and check on the situation in the kitchen. Beatrice was in a state about supper already, thanks to Harry. It simply couldn’t go on like this; he’d have to tell Vicky she’d need to work evenings until he left.

  That would please Beatrice and he was well aware of the need to keep her happy. There was more work to do on her; she hadn’t yet made the will he wanted her to make and he knew why, too. She was using the marriage clause in her trust as a weapon to get him to marry her – as if! Sometimes he really loathed the fat cow.

  And she was dangerous, too. She knew far too much and he had seen the constraint in her manner since he came back, and he knew what that was about. Sometimes he felt he was walking along the edge of a cliff himself. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  Harry would be looking for supper any time now. He went out of his flat and along to the kitchen where he could hear signs of activity, pinning a smile on his face.

  The smell of burnt food hit him as he opened the door. Beatrice, her face streaked with tears, was scrubbing at the caked-on mess on top of the stove and a pot, burnt on the bottom, was sitting in the sink.

  ‘It boiled over!’ she wailed as she saw him. ‘I thought I’d heat up the soup early so I could have it ready quickly when you wanted it, and then the phone rang with a query I had to check in the office and I just forgot about it and it was burnt and all over the stove when I came back.’

  She burst into tears again. Adam gritted his teeth. ‘You can’t do everything, sweetie,’ he said. ‘I can’t let this go on – it’s upsetting you. We’re going to have to get Vicky across instead.’

  The sobs stopped and Beatrice’s face brightened. ‘Oh, Adam, that’s so thoughtful of you! I just get so fussed, with Harry, you know—’

  ‘Yes, I know. You won’t have to do it any more. Never mind about the soup – we’ll just have the rest and fill up on cheese. What’s the timing?’

  ‘Oh.’ Beatrice gave a helpless look about her. ‘Well, it’ll be a good while. The oven needs to heat up before I put it in and with all this I forgot to do it—’

  Adam’s temper snapped. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Beatrice! Just forget all about it. We’ll go across to the hotel tonight.’

  He had heard the tears start again as he left but he
had been too annoyed to care. Harry wouldn’t be pleased about that either – the food at the hotel was pretty dire.

  Now, in the old-fashioned dining room at the back of the Balnasheil Hotel, Harry tasted the wine they had ordered and pulled a face. ‘Which do you think will be worse tonight, the stew pretending to be boeuf bourguignon or the salmon in soggy croûte?’ he said, rather too loudly.

  Adam frowned him down. ‘Shh! Here’s Fiona coming.’ He produced a charming smile as he looked up at her. ‘So what specials has Douglas got in store for us tonight?’

  She beamed. ‘He’s done his beef bourguignon, and he’s been experimenting with a Thai green curry – unless you want the salmon en croûte, of course.’

  ‘Difficult choice,’ Adam said, trying not to catch Harry’s eye.

  ‘I’ll be brave,’ Harry said. ‘Hit me with the curry.’

  ‘I’ll join him. Thanks, Fiona.’

  She wrote it down but didn’t move away, bending over to say confidentially, ‘We’ve got the police in tonight, have you heard? That gentleman over there.’ She contorted her neck in a gesture to indicate him without pointing or turning round. ‘Come up from Edinburgh. Not very friendly.’ She gave a little sniff of disapproval.

  Adam saw Harry stiffen. ‘From Edinburgh? What for?’

  Fiona gave one of her little titters. ‘Well – he didn’t say, of course, but some folks have been wondering what happened to your housekeeper. Left very suddenly, didn’t she?’

  Adam felt cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. ‘I was in Paris at the time,’ he said stiffly. ‘I don’t really know anything about it.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’

  She still didn’t move off, though; she just stood there, staring at him expectantly with those slightly protuberant eyes, her nose all but twitching. His right fist bunched in his lap and he could almost feel the delicious soft crunch it would make as it landed square in the middle of her face.

  Harry said coldly, ‘The curry, all right?’

  As Fiona at last went off, he looked across the table at his companion. Adam found he couldn’t look away, skewered by his unblinking stare.

  ‘You got me into this,’ Harry said. ‘Now get me out. And eat up when it comes. We’ve a lot of work to do.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Beatrice Lacey was feeling happier this morning. She’d been upset about the meal last night, but now Adam had promised that she’d never have to do it again she wouldn’t have the worry hanging over her all day – and it showed he cared that she’d been unhappy, too. She enjoyed her toast, thickly spread with Nutella, then bathed Rosamond, dressed her in a pink frilly dress and settled her in her little crib and went down to the office.

  Adam was about already. The door to his flat was standing open, as was the door to the cupboard where all those files had been yesterday, but it was empty now. She was glancing at it with mild curiosity when the front door opened and Adam himself appeared, looking preoccupied. It was raining gently outside and his hair was damp.

  He jumped when he saw her. ‘Oh – Beatrice. You’re – you’re down early today.’

  Her happy mood started to evaporate. He was on edge, she could tell. She was surprised into saying, ‘Is something wrong, Adam?’ and saw his brow darken.

  ‘No, certainly not,’ he said sharply. ‘Why should there be?’

  Her glance went involuntarily to the open door and he followed her eyes. ‘Oh – the cupboard. That was just some stuff that should have been cleared out long ago. All right?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Beatrice hoped her voice didn’t reflect the hollow feeling inside. ‘I’ll – I’ll just get on, then.’

  As she went towards the office he called her back.

  ‘Beatrice, those files in there – they were all from a business of Harry’s, nothing to do with me. I know how discreet you are, sweetie, and of course I rely on that absolutely. I hope the day won’t come when you would ever be anything else, but if you were to find yourself in a position when you had no alternative but to talk about it, remember they belonged to Harry.’

  ‘Of course!’ Beatrice cried. ‘I would never say anything that would cause you trouble, Adam. You know that.’

  She hadn’t meant to put an extra emphasis on those last three words but somehow it had happened. She saw him register that, and stiffen.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice flat. ‘You’ve always been – very loyal.’

  ‘Well, naturally.’ She tried to lighten her tone and gave him a little, strained smile. When she reached the office and shut the door, she leant against it, her hand to her racing heart. Something was wrong, very badly wrong, and she could do nothing to help her idol. All she could do was wait, and fear.

  Still feeling anxious, PC Murray presented herself at the Broadford police station before the night shift had gone off duty at eight and was left kicking her heels in the waiting room until Sergeant Buchanan arrived.

  ‘Well, well, well, you’re bright and early,’ he said. ‘Nervous?’

  ‘Why should I be?’ she snapped.

  ‘You tell me. You’re the one who met him last night, aren’t you? What’s he like?’

  She thought for a minute. ‘Cool – both kinds of cool, probably. Very polite, pure Edinburgh – you know, “east-windy-west-endy”. Not just what you’d call a fun guy.’

  ‘Right. So tell me – what’s he going to say we’ve fallen down on?’

  Murray bristled. ‘By “we” you mean me, don’t you? Nothing. Checked it all yesterday, couldn’t see anything I missed. Eva left of her own accord and I couldn’t see anything to suggest that she didn’t. Daniel Tennant was just dumped and doesn’t want to believe it. I don’t have any need to defend my procedure.’

  ‘Oh aye. Funny you gave up your day off to come in, then.’

  ‘I came in,’ she said bitterly, ‘because there’s nothing I want to do. I’ve got a brain and if I don’t find something soon to occupy it in this dreary hole it’ll start to rust and bits will fall off.’

  He laughed. ‘Fair enough. We’ll be in his hands, though – I don’t know how he’ll want to play this. I’m still wondering why they sent someone up, and so quickly. There’s something we’re not getting, Livvy.’

  She’d thought that herself and now she was feeling really uneasy – not that she was going to admit it. ‘He’s welcome to waste his time going over all the same ground I have,’ she said defiantly. Then, pointing through the glass door to the car park, she said, ‘That’s him now,’ and Buchanan went to let him in.

  Sergeant Buchanan was, thankfully, as solid a citizen as DI Strang could have wished: middle-aged, big, burly, with close-cropped greyish hair and an outdoor complexion. He didn’t look entirely comfortable in the new Lycra high-necked uniform shirt – they didn’t flatter the older officers whose fitness standards possibly weren’t quite what they might have been – but he was in the old-fashioned style of coppers whose very presence spelt reassurance. From his accent Strang guessed he was a local man and that like the old man at the pier he too would, as they said, ‘have the Gaelic’.

  There was coffee waiting for them in the sergeant’s office though, having allowed himself to be seduced by the allure of a Scottish breakfast, Strang declined the biscuits that were also on offer. The effects of a fried potato scone might take some time to wear off.

  PC Murray, though, attacked them with the enthusiasm of one whose own breakfast had been a cup of black coffee. She was looking more professional today with the dark pink hair scraped into a tight, scrubby ponytail under her hat; without her make-up she looked very young.

  She showed signs of nervousness when he asked her to make her report but she got more confident as she went on and it was quite intelligently presented. In the pause that followed, her eyes flicked first to her sergeant then back to Strang.

  ‘Thank you, Constable,’ he said. ‘Good – very competent.’ She gave a modest smirk and threw a triumphant glance at Buchanan as Strang looked at
the papers he had taken out of his briefcase.

  ‘The other contact you presume Eva Havel to have had – any evidence?’

  ‘Er – no.’

  ‘The barman at the Black Cuillin, Murdo John Macdonald – I don’t see him mentioned in the report. Did you talk to him?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Murray’s face was turning red.

  ‘You didn’t think he might have known if Eva Havel had been noticeably friendly with anyone else when she was in the bar?’

  Murray went on the defensive. ‘It wasn’t necessarily someone she met here. I didn’t think we were trying to trace her, just looking to see if there were any suspicious circumstances, and there weren’t. It was clear she was intending to leave – she told Tennant she was, and Miss Lacey saw her packing. All her clothes had gone. Once Vicky Macdonald left she was alone in the house and she was a grown woman—’

  ‘Yes, of course. I understand the reasoning and you may well be right. My concern is that the fact that she’d been packing and the absence of any indication of disturbance prompted a conclusion that ignores the breaking of the very specific arrangement Havel had made with Tennant – something that both he and Mrs Macdonald agreed was uncharacteristic. She didn’t have a car or access to a boat herself so it would be reassuring to find some backup for the theory that she was fetched by someone else, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Murray mumbled. She didn’t look at him.

  Buchanan gave her a sympathetic glance. ‘I don’t know how much background they’ve given you, sir, but the lassies that work over there at the charity never stay very long – here today, gone tomorrow, you know? Foreign lassies,’ he added significantly.

  Strang raised an eyebrow. ‘Legal?’

  ‘Never been asked to investigate, sir.’

  ‘Right. I’ll be doing an interview with Murdo John Macdonald first, if you can point me to his house, then I’ll head over to Balnasheil Lodge.’ He read from his list. ‘Inhabitants: I understand that’s Beatrice Lacey, Adam Carnegie, possibly Vicky Macdonald if she’s at work today – that all?’