Human Face

by Aline Templeton

  She had been up promptly herself this morning. When she informed the chief constable of the latest developments, he had called her to a meeting immediately in some alarm. This was certain to bring the media down upon them and at the moment Police Scotland couldn’t afford bad publicity.

  When she arrived, he was clearly in a difficult mood. The First Minister, apparently, wasn’t happy and didn’t like to suffer alone, and the CC worked on the ‘pay it forward’ principle. Borthwick wasn’t feeling too chipper herself now.

  It was hard to see how this could have been handled differently but the press, with the advantage of 20/20 hindsight, would undoubtedly be able to find something. However professionally Kelso Strang might be running the investigation, he could be used as a stick to beat the Serious Rural Crime Squad with – newly promoted, bereaved …She could write the script and she wouldn’t be given a starring role.

  They were crossing the cliffs now and the pilot circled so that she was able to look straight down. From the air, the surly grey sea looked flat, the only movement the waves creaming white against the darker rocks. The scene had a sort of unreality, the boats far below like toys peopled with tiny figurines.

  She could see two of them, one heading off round the headland, obviously on its way in to Balnasheil, and another still working between a curved ridge of rocks and the cliff. There was obviously some activity going on there, but she couldn’t see what it was.

  ‘Round again, ma’am?’ the pilot asked, but she shook her head. The sooner she could touch base with Strang the better.

  He must have heard the chopper. He was waiting in front of the house when she landed.

  ‘They’re bringing her in, ma’am. We’re just preparing an incident room at the old police station across in the village and there’s a cell there that’ll do as a makeshift morgue,’ he said.

  ‘That was quick,’ she said, surprised. ‘To be honest, I’d thought they could search for days and we might never recover a body at all. The pathologist came up with me but more in hope than expectation.’ She indicated the man who was just getting out of the helicopter.

  ‘I spoke to the officer in charge,’ Strang said. ‘It’s a curious configuration there, apparently. The rocks have created what’s almost a sort of semi-lagoon and with the way the current runs, the body got driven in and caught in an underwater crevice. Not in a very good state, admittedly.’

  ‘Even so, that’s more than we expected,’ she said. ‘So—’

  ‘That’s not all. One of the divers spotted what could be bones when he was down. They’ve brought in another boat to investigate.’

  ‘Good grief! The other girl? The same thing happened to her too?’

  ‘A bit early to say that, but it’s at least possible.’

  ‘Right.’ Borthwick assimilated that. It didn’t make her feel any happier. ‘So where are we going now? Here or across the bay? It would certainly be more convenient there.’

  ‘Don’t think they’ll be ready for us yet, ma’am. The place was all but derelict but we’ll manage once the cleaners have done their stuff.’

  The site was quieter today. The SOCOs who had come in the chopper had gone to the patio and were putting on their white overalls but the pathologist came across to join them.

  Strang briefed him on the situation and pointed him towards the jetty, where a motorboat was just coming in. He saw, with some annoyance, that PC Murray was in it.

  ‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ he said to Borthwick, then walked down to speak to her. ‘I thought you were to oversee the cleaning at the police office, Murray?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Just came to tell you it’s finished. I got started last night.’

  Performing penance, was she? No harm in that, he thought, and said more kindly, ‘Good. Do you know when the equipment is arriving?’

  ‘They’re unloading that now.’

  ‘Excellent. Thanks for letting me know.’ He turned away, but she was still hovering.

  ‘Was there anything else, sir?’

  ‘No, that’s all. You can get back now.’

  He swung round, and almost bumped into Borthwick as she spoke over his shoulder. ‘Good morning, PC Murray.’ She was smiling. ‘So – what has DI Strang got in store for you this morning?’

  Murray didn’t miss a beat. ‘He hasn’t had time to tell me yet, ma’am.’

  Borthwick looked at him enquiringly.

  Strang hesitated. He could say that tasking her was Sergeant Buchanan’s business, not his, but not without sounding thoroughly pompous. He wasn’t going to be bounced into letting her attach herself, though.

  ‘I don’t have anything for her at the moment. With the Carnegie investigation in abeyance—’

  Borthwick pulled a wry face. ‘I’m afraid it’s not – not any more. Forensics have done their tests on the knife and unfortunately the one on the desk beside Carnegie wasn’t the knife that killed him.’

  Murray gaped at her. Strang said, with obvious satisfaction, ‘Ah. I wasn’t at all convinced, myself. The SOCOs weren’t pleased but yesterday I ordered a full-scale crime investigation anyway.’

  Borthwick was impressed. ‘That’s good, Kelso. It’s vital we keep ahead of the game. No, they’ve established that it was one of his own knives placed beside him to mislead. The fingerprints showed he had gripped the knife, all right, but that could have been at any time and the clincher was that it’s not the right shape of blade. So now, with the bodies from the sea as well, it will all have to be massively scaled up. I need to go over your ideas for the operation, so let’s go to the room we were using yesterday. PC Murray, could you seek out the housekeeper and see if she can be persuaded to make coffee for us?’

  ‘Yes, of course, ma’am.’ She hurried away across the grass.

  He and Borthwick followed more slowly while he filled her in on what Beatrice Lacey had disclosed. The case was snowballing. Strang should be feeling nervous but what he actually felt was anxious – anxious that now it was a serious, high-profile case he’d be demoted. It would be a false move; if the SRCS model was shown to be inadequate at the first major case it had encountered, the failure wouldn’t go unnoticed by the media. And she’d said, in effect, that he ‘had the ship’. If she wanted to take over, she’d have to prise his hands off the wheel.

  He tried to assess from her manner what she was thinking but she was hard to read. Calm, cool, on top of whatever happened – that was her shtick.

  But if things went wrong, it wouldn’t only be his head on the block, it would be JB’s too.

  She’d got another chance. And there was going to be no fancy footwork this time; honesty would be Murray’s watchword and she was going to keep her opinions to herself too.

  Vicky Macdonald wasn’t in the kitchen and Murray went along the corridor to tap on the door of her room, looking at her sympathetically when she said, ‘Come in.’

  ‘Sorry to dig you out,’ Murray apologised.

  Vicky had dark shadows under her eyes and she looked as if she’d been crying, but she gave a resigned smile. ‘Looking for coffee? It’s all right, you’re not the first. Sergeant Buchanan and the other guy from Portree were in earlier. They’ve – they’ve found poor Eva, haven’t they?’ Tears sprang to her eyes.

  Murray said gently, ‘I guess they have. Not official yet, but—’ She shrugged.

  ‘At least she’ll get a decent burial.’ She took out a tissue and blew her nose. ‘Well, I suppose everything will be winding down here now.’

  Murray hadn’t thought that might come up but she couldn’t say yes, it would, because it wasn’t true – and anyway, everyone would know soon enough. As she followed Vicky along the corridor into the kitchen, she said awkwardly, ‘I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that. They’ve discovered that Mr Carnegie didn’t kill himself, after all.’

  She said it just as she stepped into the kitchen, and heard Harry Drummond’s voice say, ‘Ah, Vicky, there you are—’ and then stop short, just as Vicky spun round, saying, ‘W
hat?’

  ‘What did you just say?’ Drummond echoed.

  ‘I can’t go into detail,’ Murray said, wondering if she’d gone into too much detail already. She certainly wasn’t authorised to question them and she was determined to watch her step. ‘I understand his death is now being treated as suspicious.’ That was what they always said on the telly so presumably it was all right.

  Drummond, she noticed, seemed to have aged overnight and the way he sat down on a kitchen chair suggested he’d done it so he wouldn’t fall down. Vicky was looking aghast.

  ‘You mean – they think now that one of us did it – me or Beatrice or Marek, or you, Harry? That’s – that’s awful! I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Drummond snapped. ‘We’re not in some Agatha Christie novel, you know – the isolated house with no communication with the outside. We’re ten minutes from the mainland if you’ve a boat – and they’re not hard to come by around here. And you said yourself someone came up by car, Vicky.’ He licked his lips, as if they were dry, then addressed himself to Murray.

  ‘You lot should probably know that I was a bit worried about some of Adam’s connections. Wouldn’t have cared for some of his acquaintances, myself. That’s probably the direction you should be looking in.’

  She was starting to get a bit out of her depth here. ‘You’ll have to talk to DI Strang. Which reminds me – I’m meant to be getting coffee for him and DCS Borthwick. Can you manage that, Vicky?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said automatically, and switched on the kettle though she was looking a bit shell-shocked. ‘What were you wanting, Harry?’

  Drummond took a moment to collect himself. ‘It was just about meals, that was all. Are you going to be cooking tonight, or should I make other arrangements?’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Vicky said vaguely. ‘Of course I can do something for you – in fact, there’s that hare needing to be cooked before it goes off. I could—’

  Drummond said hastily, ‘No, no, no, don’t bother. I don’t really feel like jugged hare. I’ll just go to the hotel.’

  A little silence fell when he had left. Then Vicky said, ‘It’s so awful – and scary, too. Someone killed Adam in cold blood and even if he was a murderer and totally deserved it, this makes it all much worse.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Murray wasn’t up for an ethical discussion, right at the moment. Conscious of DCS Borthwick waiting for her coffee, she said, ‘I’ll set out the mugs on a tray, shall I? Oh, and I don’t suppose you’ve any of that fab shortbread left?’

  Vicky gave a wan smile. ‘I think there’s some in the larder.’ She opened the door at the other side of the kitchen, then stopped. ‘That’s odd,’ she said.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘I can’t smell the hare. It was stinking the place out, getting high enough for Adam’s taste. But – hang on, I’m just going to look.’

  A moment later she reappeared. ‘The hare’s gone,’ she said blankly. ‘Someone’s taken it.’

  Borthwick’s meeting with Strang had finished and the activity in the grounds at Balnasheil Lodge had been stepped up again. Uniforms were to be bussed in from Broadford and Portree to begin a fingertip search of the grounds, and the police boats, along with a couple of local ones, were running a shuttle service from Balnasheil Harbour.

  PC Murray, using dispensing coffee as an excuse for staying in the room, had reported the mysteriously missing hare and had definitely done herself a bit of good with the DCS by suggesting that it might have been laced to drug the dog. Even DI Strang had broken the habit of a lifetime and looked impressed when she’d pointed out that if so, Miss Lacey getting blood poisoning from the dog bite would hardly be surprising.

  She was feeling a lot better about herself today; she’d told the cleaners to have an office for the DCS organised as top priority and it should be ready by now, so she’d demonstrated both ingenuity and efficiency. She just hoped the DCS was noticing.

  It was Murdo John Macdonald’s motorboat that was waiting ready at the jetty. He was standing ready to give a hand if needed as they climbed aboard; DCS Borthwick took it, Strang spurned it and she accepted it herself, quite deliberately, looking up into his face as she did.

  He stared steadily through her. He was haggard-looking and his longish hair was untidy, as if he hadn’t bothered to comb it this morning. She could even feel his hand trembling, just slightly.

  He would know by now that they were bringing in Eva Havel’s body – had probably even seen it arriving. Was he haunted by the image of his own beloved Veruschka, having suffered the same fate?

  Not that there’d be enough of her by now to bring in, poor girl. There’d been a fisherman lost off a trawler in the spring whose body had been washed ashore three weeks later; Murray hadn’t seen it herself but the description that went the rounds had given her bad dreams. Put her off crab completely.

  As she watched him casting off she could almost feel the emotional tension in every line of his body. She couldn’t read his mind – but he’d opened up to her a bit before. Perhaps he might do it again. She’d been warned off doing unauthorised interviews but there was a stubborn part of her that just wasn’t listening.

  A murder case was a challenge. She might feel Carnegie had got primitive justice, but to succeed in this would be validation for her ambitions. Officially and unofficially, she was going to give nailing the killer to be handed over for justice – of the legal sort – her very best shot.

  Beatrice Lacey, much against her will, was discharged from hospital early in the afternoon. They disregarded her protests about not being fit and her complaints about stiffness and bruising; she had responded well to the antibiotics, they said, and as long as she finished the course of pills they had given her, she wouldn’t need any further treatment. And exercise, a nurse had pointed out with what Beatrice felt was unnecessary emphasis, was the best treatment for stiffness.

  She’d told the ambulance driver that she didn’t want to go back home but he wasn’t disposed to be sympathetic.

  ‘Look, love, that’s where I’ve been told to take you so that’s where you’ve got to go. This isn’t a taxi. Right?’

  ‘But it’s dangerous!’ she said wildly. ‘I could be killed too!’

  They hadn’t told him she was a nutter. ‘You’re all right, dearie. Don’t worry,’ he said in an elaborately patient voice and drove on down the Balnasheil road, muttering under his breath. If she just squatted there it’d be a bugger trying to get her out.

  The police presence was apparent as he reached the harbour and an officer stepped forward and held up his hand to stop him.

  ‘Where are you headed? The road over to Balnasheil Lodge is blocked.’

  ‘Well, isn’t this your lucky day?’ he said to his passenger. ‘You can tell the policeman here all about your problems.’ He went round to open the door.

  Beatrice ignored his supporting hand, gave him a cold look and walked past the officer and into the hotel. She pinged the bell on the reception desk several times until Fiona Ross appeared from the back.

  ‘Yes? Oh, it’s you, Miss Lacey! Are you all right? I heard you were in hospital.’

  ‘They’ve turned me out. So I shall need a room here, Mrs Ross.’

  Fiona Ross felt conflicted. On the one hand, having a direct in to the big story would be gratifying indeed, but she didn’t owe Beatrice Lacey any favours, snooty old cow, and there was considerable satisfaction in saying sweetly, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry! I’m afraid any free rooms are booked in case they’re needed by the police.’

  Beatrice glared at her. ‘But surely you can make room for me? Balnasheil Lodge has always given you our patronage.’

  Fiona gave her a tight little smile. ‘Awfully sorry.’

  ‘Surely, one room—’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Oh!’ She caught her breath on a sob. As she turned away, she said, ‘And if I’m the next one to be murdered, it’s all your fault.’

  Fiona stared at
her. ‘She looked quite wild,’ she told her husband afterwards. ‘I don’t know what’s going on in that place, I’m sure.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The police office was buzzing now, with cars and vans parked outside and uniformed and plain-clothes officers coming and going. There were interview tables set up in the waiting room and when DCS Borthwick and DI Strang arrived, DC Tennant was sitting at one, talking to Harry Drummond, who jumped up as soon as he saw them arrive. He was looking thunderous.

  ‘Inspector! Good,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you can explain to this man that I need to get back to Glasgow. He is insisting I remain here at his convenience. I gave him full cooperation when he asked to see the charity’s records and we’re just going round the houses all over again. And I simply can’t see that what he is asking me now has anything to do with my friend’s murder.’

  Borthwick’s eyebrows went up and she and Strang exchanged glances. ‘News travels fast,’ she said dryly.

  Murray, who had come in behind them, took a step backwards, trying to make herself smaller. She felt her cheeks go hot as Strang gave her a sharp look. Well, what was she meant to do? She’d got in trouble before for telling a lie and now she was going to get laldy for telling the truth. He didn’t say anything, though, just waited while Borthwick introduced herself and explained that while they had no authority to keep Drummond there, she was sure he would not want to hinder the investigation by being unavailable for immediate questioning.

  ‘As you can imagine,’ she said, ‘we will now have to conduct more interviews in depth. In fact, if DC Tennant can spare you now I’m sure DI Strang can arrange for you to make a full statement that can be given to you tomorrow at the Lodge to read through before you sign it.’

  Drummond was emollient. ‘Of course, of course. I’m not sure there’s anything I can add to what I’ve told you already but I’m naturally anxious to help, not least since the thought of a knife murderer loose in my immediate vicinity isn’t exactly reassuring.’