Entry through the front door was impossible. Colin had made sure of that. I used a plant pot to break the side window out. The air caused the flames to leap higher, but I pulled on the weakened planks until I opened a space large enough to slip through. I entered, staying low and putting my arm over my mouth, trying my best to breathe through the fabric of my shirt. I shoved the barrel from the top of the trapdoor and burned my finger grabbing the metal ring that pulled the door up. As soon as it was open, the smoke flooded down into the cellar. Grant was waiting below with Sheila in his arms. He’d used the crate and the shelving unit as stairs and, although he was still a good three feet below floor level, he managed to hold her limp form over his head, passing her up to me.
I had to drag her out of the shed by her arms. It must have hurt like hell, but her other options were worse. The back corner of the shed was beginning to give way and I left Sheila alone in the grass as I ran back into the building. Grant was standing there holding Patrick, who had been screaming in pain but was now frighteningly silent. I grasped him under the shoulders and pulled him out of the hole, once again dragging him out through the burning wreckage and leaving him on the ground next to Sheila.
Back in the shed once more, I found Grant standing holding Liam. I reached down, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and dumped him on the ground, trusting him to find his own way out. He began to bark the moment I let him loose. The final problem was Grant. His tower of shelves was just too short for him to use it to pull his way up to floor level. I looked around for inspiration. But the stress and Liam’s incessant barking weren’t helping my thought process. I began to cough and Liam grabbed my tattered shirttail in his teeth and tried to pull.
“He’s right,” Grant said coughing, too. “Get out.”
Liam tugged forcefully and sent me sprawling sideways. As I scrambled to sit up I saw one of the ceiling beams crashing toward the ground. It narrowly missed me. Choking, I lurched to the edge of the hole to see if Grant was still okay.
“Get out,” he yelled. “I’ve got this.”
By jumping from his position on the top of the box, he could just reach the fallen beam as it stretched across the opening to the cellar. He grabbed hold with his hands and swung his legs up onto the floor of the shed like a kid on a jungle gym and started inching his way out of the hole. I ignored his protests, taking hold of his legs and pulling until we were both sprawled on the floor of the smoke-filled shed. The last thing I saw was the flames shooting higher as the fire caught hold of the dried bunches of lavender mingling the heavy scent of flowers and death.
Chapter 21
The whole ordeal seemed to have lasted for hours, but from the time I started to climb up the shaft until the fire department arrived was less than fifteen minutes. The professionals arrived just as Grant and I succumbed to the overwhelming smoke. We were carried out and given blankets and oxygen. In the distance, I could see the medical crew loading Patrick and Sheila onto stretchers.
It was still pitch-dark outside. The only light came from the fire vehicles and the waning glow of the now decimated shed. Grant and I were led to a low wall that separated the more formal gardens adjacent to the house from the crops, and we sat together trying to stay warm. I could see Greer talking to two policemen outside the drug lab. She looked dazed. If she knew what Colin was up to, she was doing an award-winning job of faking ignorance.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Michaelson striding along the gravel path toward us. The anger radiated off of him like heat from a furnace.
“You damn near got yourself killed, Logan, and you dragged two other people with you. Why couldn’t you just let us do our job?”
There really was no good answer for that. “We should’ve waited,” I admitted. “But last night, worried sick about Sheila, it seemed like a better idea than it does at the moment.”
Michaelson shook his head in disbelief. “We’re not incompetent, you know. I shared your photos and information with Elliot. He quickly linked the lab to a drug operation that’s been a blight on the entire area. Stirling included. I’ve been called in to help officially and we were on this.”
“Have you found Colin yet?”
“We’re looking.”
“What about Urquhart?”
“He’s being brought in for questioning and we’ll figure out what his role was in all this. For now, I need to get your story.”
Between bouts of coughing, Grant and I traded off explaining what led us to this point. Michaelson made several admonitions along the way, but in the end even he conceded and said, “Sheila would likely be dead now if not for you.”
* * *
—
Grant and I were loaded into an ambulance and taken to the hospital in Edinburgh to be checked out. Sheila was admitted for observation. She was dehydrated and weak but was expected to recover. Patrick was in stable condition but would be sporting a cast and a bandage over the stitches in his head for the next few weeks. Thankfully, he’d extended his arm to break his fall and not taken the full brunt on his head, or he’d likely be dead. The thought continued to send shivers up my spine.
It was late morning before Grant and I were cleared to leave, me bandaged around the waist like a mummy. Brenna drove Nora down from Balfour to be with her mother and she’d remained behind to drive Grant home. The look she gave me was hardly civil, and I heard her chastising Grant as she followed him out the door. She might be on her way out, but she wasn’t leaving quietly.
I stuck around and waited for Trish to come over from the shelter with some of Sheila’s things. We’d left them in her room with Nora and Amanda. Neither of them was budging from her side. Trish insisted that we share a taxi back to the Rest, where she propelled me into the kitchen and began making a strong pot of tea.
“Now that the big drama is over, I’ve got some more news for you,” she said in an unusually quiet voice. “You know, I’ve been making friends with Cheryl, the lass ’cross the hall. It took a while, but she’s finally told me what really happened the night Jenny died. It’s been weighing on her mind and she needs to talk. She swore me to secrecy, but I told her I had a friend as might be able to help, and she said she’d think about sharing her story.”
I was interested but exhausted. “Can’t you just tell me?”
“I will if I have to, but I’d rather you hear it from her.”
“Alright then. Let’s go see her.”
“Right you are.” Trish poured another mug of tea and led the way upstairs. “Cheryl, I got a cuppa tea for you.” She knocked as she spoke and then proceeded to open the door without waiting for an invitation.
Cheryl was curled up in her bed under a brown duvet. Her eyes were red and she looked as if she hadn’t slept in some time. At the sight of me, she slipped down farther under the covers like a guilty child.
Trish placed the cup on the table next to Cheryl and sat down on the end of the bed, straightening the covers. “This is my friend Abi, like I told you I think she can help you.”
“You didn’t tell me it was Amanda’s friend.”
“I was Trish’s friend first,” I said softly.
The head beneath the blanket shook back and forth. “I changed my mind. I can’t,” she said. “They’ll send us to jail.”
“I’m sure not,” I soothed. “Maybe things aren’t as bad as you think. Why don’t you tell me what happened with Jenny and we’ll see what we can sort out.”
Cheryl slowly sat up and reached for the mug of tea, cupping her hands around it like a lifeline. She refused to meet my eye.
“Come on, luv,” Trish coaxed. “You need to tell someone and I promise, Abi can help you.”
Cheryl remained silent, but the tears were running down her face, leaving small rivulets of mascara in their wake.
“How ’bout if I start,” I offered. “I know that Jenny went off to baby
sit at the Rosses’ home the night she died. I know that Duncan Ross came home and began his usual routine, but this time Jenny was ready for him. She taped the whole thing and sent it to Karen, who shared it with the cops. I also know Ross’s wife came home early and messed up Jenny’s plan. I know the wife gave Ross an earful before going up to pack a bag, and insisting on taking Jenny back to the shelter. I was told that Jenny complained of feeling faint—not surprising after the events of the evening, and Mrs. Ross herself brought Jenny a glass of water before bundling her into the car.”
There was no response from Cheryl so I continued. “Now, that struck me as odd. Mrs. Ross barely lifts a cocktail for herself. Why would she get a glass of water for a guest when her housekeeper was standing right there?”
Cheryl shrugged, trying to look uninterested, and Trish piped in with “Maybe she was trying to seem like she cared.”
“Or maybe she put something into Jenny’s glass before she gave it to her,” I suggested. Cheryl’s eyes immediately flew to mine. “You mean you think Mrs. Ross might have given her something?”
“I think it’s highly likely. Mrs. Ross took Rohypnol to help her sleep. I think she slipped a dose into Jenny’s water, hoping that she’d have forgotten the whole unpleasant episode by the morning. The last thing Lila Ross wanted was her husband being publicly charged with sexual assault. If the alleged victim was fuzzy about what happened the next day, it would be ‘he said she said,’ especially if Jenny’s phone was missing. Who’d believe her?”
Cheryl’s eyes grew wide. “You know that, or you think that?”
“The police are looking into it,” I fibbed. They weren’t yet, but I was going to insist they did.
“Tell your side now,” Trish urged. “I told you it might not be as bad as you think.”
Cheryl took a deep breath. “Jenny wasn’t the only one that Duncan Ross hit on.” She began in a barely audible voice. “You know that. It was all of us. All the time. Karen, Jenny, and me, we’d had it.” Cheryl put down her cup and drew her knees up to her chest, curling herself into a ball. “We came up with a plan to stop him from doing this to other women. Jenny agreed to be the bait. She wanted to do this. To take back control of her life.”
I nodded encouragingly but didn’t interrupt.
“She was to go over to the house and take care of the kids and get them to bed. When Ross came home, she knew she’d have a fight on her hands. Her plan was to record the encounter on her cellphone. Her saying no, and him being the arse he always was. She was planning to get his DNA on her and then go to the cops the next day and file a claim for assault.”
The perils of too much CSI on television, I thought. Everyone was now a forensics expert.
“But there was more to the plan than that.” Cheryl paused for a moment, then continued, more slowly. “You see, I take Rohypnol to help me sleep. Been taking it for a while now. We figured if we gave Jenny one and she went to the cops in the morning, she could claim that Ross’d drugged her and assaulted her. With the DNA, it would be enough to get him in big trouble.”
“But things went wrong when the wife and the housekeeper showed up,” Trish interjected, unable to resist participating in the unfolding story.
Cheryl nodded. Jenny was smart, she sent the voice file to Karen as soon as she taped it, but then she couldn’t help bragging to Ross. She told him she had proof of what he’d done, but she told him she might be convinced to not share the audio with the police for a price. She told him she wanted a down payment and then more each month, enough for all of us.”
“What did Ross say?”
Jenny said he was furious, but there was nothing he could do. He gave her two hundred quid he had around the house and she said that was fine for starters. But with Mrs. Ross on the scene, Jenny decided to take advantage of the witnesses and pretended to feel light-headed. She told us later that it would support her story that Ross had drugged her.”
“Are you sure Lila Ross knew what Jenny and her husband were arguing about?”
“She must have. Jenny said she kept calling Ross a fool, said she wouldn’t let him drag their family reputation through the mud, just because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.”
“Then what happened?”
“Mrs. Ross drove Jenny back to the shelter and we met here in my room as planned. Had a shot of Dutch courage, and then Jenny took just one of my pills. It seemed to work very fast. We thought maybe it was because she wasn’t used to it. Karen and I had to carry her across the hall and put her in bed. I was supposed to wake her in the morning,”
“But when you went to see her, she was dead.”
Cheryl took a shuddering breath. “It was horrible. I never want a shock like that again. I totally panicked. I was sure it was my Rohypnol that killed her.”
“What happened to the money?”
“Jenny gave it to Karen to hide.”
“And Jenny’s phone?”
Cheryl shook her head. “We still don’t know where it is. She said she had it at Rosses’ house but must have lost it on the way home. She was pretty out of it, but at least we had the recording.”
I thought back to my conversation with Maria. She said that Lila Ross was screaming about having to clean up her husband’s messes. I could see now, she was the fixer, the one who couldn’t stomach long-term blackmail and the destruction of her family’s reputation and was determined to stop it. Initially I made the mistake of thinking Duncan and Lila might have both given Jenny a dose of Rohypnol, inadvertently doubling the effect. But it wasn’t him, it was all Lila. She insisted on getting the water so she could drug the girl. Not just a little Rohypnol in her water to make her forget what had happened that night, but a large dose. Large enough to still be in Jenny’s bloodstream the next morning. Enough to kill her, especially when combined with the booze and the Prozac. Lila must have found a way to lift Jenny’s phone in the car as she began to get disoriented, before she dumped her off at the shelter.
Cheryl looked miserable. “After they arrested Mr. Ross, I tried to tell Karen we should let the police know what happened, but she said no. Said we’d be blamed, so she told me what to say about Jenny being out of it, and talking about a drink. Just stick to the story, she said. The way she figured, Ross had done enough horrible things down the years, he needed to pay, even if he hadn’t actually done this thing.”
“Justice isn’t interchangeable,” I insisted. “You can’t let him be falsely charged with manslaughter.”
Cheryl was crying again and Trish moved up and put an arm around her shoulders. “Karen said he’d buy his way off. His kind always does. She just thought the arrest and the publicity might at least scare him into thinking before he tried it again.”
What was justice in this case? Jenny was dead and nothing would bring her back. Abused by Duncan Ross, drugged by his wife, her friends, and even her own hand. In the end, the only one who intended to kill her was Lila Ross, but proving that would be nearly impossible unless she confessed. So, who would be held accountable? Not Duncan and Lila Ross. I was sure of that.
Chapter 22
I took Cheryl with me to the police station in Edinburgh and left her with one of Elliot’s men. I told her to tell the truth, but to be very specific about the drink Jenny was given by Lila Ross. The police would have all the information they needed. I could only hope that they could make the charges stick.
Michaelson was still at the station, adding his bit to the ongoing drug investigation, and I finally had the chance to meet Harry Elliot in person. He was a short, stocky bulldog of a man. Efficient, no-nonsense, and no fan of mine. Still, I was dying to know about Colin, so I asked.
“Colin Templeton was picked up at the airport in Glasgow attempting to leave the country,” Elliot said. “He’s not said a word, just asked for a solicitor.”
“Not Urquhart, I presume?”
“No. Richard Urquhart has been brought in for questioning as well. He and Templeton will both be in need of a good brief. Templeton particularly.”
“Has Urquhart said anything?”
Elliot stood as tall as he could manage. “The investigation is ongoing. I couldn’t possibly comment.”
“He must have known what was going on,” I began.
“It’s too soon to speculate, Ms. Logan.” Elliot excused himself and left me alone with Michaelson. I’d clearly been dismissed.
Michaelson steered me down the corridor toward the front door.
“What’s with the bum’s rush?” I demanded. “Trying to get rid of me?”
“Elliot’s already less than pleased about your involvement in this case. He got chewed out by his boss and he blames me. Last thing I need is to be seen talking to you around here.”
“Fine. Then escort me off the premises and into the nearest coffee shop.”
Michaelson pulled out a cigarette as soon as we cleared the front steps. “No.”
“Then walk with me. Just while you finish your smoke. Come on,” I wheedled. “You don’t have to tell me anything you can’t.”
“I won’t tell you anything I can’t.”
“Fine, just tell me this: Does Elliot still think Amanda was involved in any way?”
Michaelson set off down the sidewalk at a good clip, taking the time to compose his response before answering in a low voice. “She and Greer both deny any knowledge of Colin’s drug operation. Fortunately, with the evidence from the lab on the Templeton property and testimony from some of the restaurants he was using as distributors, we should have a solid case.”
“A case for drug dealing, I’m sure, but what about kidnapping. Has Sheila been able to tell you anything?”
Died in the Wool Page 25