‘I’ll help all I can,’ Honey said.
‘Aye. Do that. Yon lassie of mine’s in a rare taking. No doubt her young man’s taking it hard?’
‘Very hard.’
‘He would.’ Mr Fulson nodded sadly. ‘That’s a good man she’s got there. Maybe he’s a bit slow, but that’s a wound he got in the service of his country and it won’t have done his genes any harm. Not that I approved of the Iraq war, mind, but no way was it his fault. His duty was to go where he was sent. And I’d just as soon she took up with someone who lives close by. They’ve been good for each other. I’d hate to see anything tear them apart.’
Honey resumed her patrol. There was no response to her shouts and whistles. She had to abandon her efforts when, from a distance, she saw a Porsche at the door of Thack an Raip. She composed her face and strode back across the fields.
Chapter Six
The Porsche, as she expected, had brought Jeremy and Hazel Carpenter but not Sandy. Hazel explained that they had dropped Sandy at home at his request. Honey refused to be hurt or disappointed. She quite understood that Sandy had his own life to lead; he might also be unsure of her movements and wary of being stranded somewhere in the surprisingly empty countryside that can still be found around Edinburgh. But with so much supercharged emotion on the loose, she could well have done with his advice and the comfort of his presence. It was impossible to remain detached while the sufferers were young people for whom one had been developing a certain fondness.
The cottage was in the throes of modernisation and decoration. Paint pots stood where vases of flowers might have been expected. Most of the dingy wallpaper had been stripped, leaving white stripes like stalactites, but the Carpenters were unperturbed. They had lived through similar disruption as the castle was brought up to date. They accepted chairs at the kitchen table. Jackie and Andrew sat with hands tightly linked but they looked at Honey, who realised that she had been elected spokesman – which, she decided, was one of the penalties of official status.
‘Somebody came in the night,’ she said. ‘A diesel vehicle, about the size of a Land Rover. The padlock was cut off the gate of the run, apparently with bolt-cutters. The dogs may be running loose but this looks more like the deliberate taking of particular dogs, for reward or out of desire.’
This was old news to Andrew and Jackie, yet Honey saw them both flinch.
‘But that’s awful! I can see how it might look,’ Hazel said. In her distress, her faint Bostonian accent became stronger. She ran her fingers through her always unruly hair. Her face had no pretension to beauty but it was pleasantly animated and as long as her hair was dressed she managed somehow to please the eye. With her hair in unintentionally comical disarray the effect was clownish. ‘From your viewpoint, I mean,’ she said, sniffing. ‘Those two very pretty little dogs, working so well and being admired by everybody, anyone might lust after them.’ She smiled suddenly, bringing sunshine to her otherwise undistinguished face and relieving it for a moment of its comical expression. ‘I do. I’d kill to have them. And all right, so obviously it makes one of your best starting points. But I think I can save you a lot of time here. I’ll phone Ian Argyll. You met him yesterday. In theory, Jeremy’s the laird. Ian considers himself still a servant of the castle, but in fact he’s the boss of everything for miles around. He’s related to everybody and he runs the village like a benevolent despot.’
‘We can vouch for him, absolutely,’ Jeremy put in. ‘I’ve known him for most of my life. There’s no doubting his honesty. He doesn’t need money and he doesn’t give a damn about dogs. We offered him one of Suzy’s pups, as a gift. He looked at the litter, said they were “Awfu’ bonny”, then turned away and went on talking about replacement windows.’
‘I’ll call him now,’ Hazel said. There was a faintly interrogatory note in her voice and she waited for a second or two before taking out her own phone. Honey knew the value in some cases of getting as many of the public as possible motivated to help. Hazel keyed in two digits and waited. Soon, Ian’s deep voice could be heard, distorted by the smallness of the telephone’s speaker. ‘Ian,’ said Hazel, ‘you remember those two spaniels that came with the young couple, the ones who performed so well. The dogs were stolen during the night. It’s possible that somebody followed them home. In a diesel vehicle, if that helps. Would you mention it to all your aunts and cousins? Get any news that you can and make sure that you hear if anybody has suddenly come by one or more new dogs or some money.’ She listened for a moment. The faint voice could be heard in the room, but without words. ‘No, of course we don’t think that any of your relatives stole the dogs, but somebody may have heard something and you could all keep your ears wide open. That pub of yours is the hotbed of all the gossip for miles around. We’d be very grateful. Thanks, Ian.’ She disconnected. ‘Who else?’
‘Henry Colebrook,’ Jeremy said.
Hazel nodded. ‘Ah, now here you find us at a disadvantage. You probably know more about him than we do.’ Andrew and Jackie looked puzzled. ‘Well, he lives somewhere near here.’
‘This is the first we ever knew of it,’ Jackie said. ‘We met him for the first time at the shoot but without ever knowing that he was a neighbour. Andrew only moved here quite recently, when the tenant who had been here since his aunt left him the house suddenly left. And then he was a bit of a hermit until I came along. And I’d been at boarding school rather a lot until not long ago. And I went on a lot of school trips and stayed with friends. Dad was always afraid that I might find it dull, cooped up on the farm, but I don’t. And I didn’t. Then, since I met Andrew, we’ve been rather preoccupied with each other. And the dogs.’ Her voice broke and her eyes filled with tears again. Andrew put an arm round her and whispered in her ear. She shook her head. ‘No, I’m all right,’ she whispered.
After an uncomfortable pause, Hazel said, ‘He did seem a little surprised when we mentioned that you and he had adjacent postcodes. Well, I’ll tell you what little we know. It was this way. We came back from the Eastern Med on a cruise ship after Jeremy’s last research trip. Jeremy backs his early history with a lot of archaeology. Well, he’d worked hard in rough conditions and we felt that we owed ourselves a holiday. Mr Colebrook was a fellow passenger, travelling on his own, and he was put at our table, so we became pally enough to exchange drinks and chat a bit. He was very quiet and not too forthcoming, but that’s rather the way Jeremy is for most of the time, so we liked him all the better for that. We were already planning yesterday’s shoot, to get at the pheasants before they all wandered off and to thin out the older grouse, but like you we don’t know a lot of people. Jeremy had been writing and researching constantly to keep his granddad in his top-of-the-range nursing home until the old man died; I’m a comparatively recent arrival and we live a reclusive sort of life. So when we found that he was an experienced shot and lived within driving distance, we invited him. And I must say that he kept his end up. He turned out to be a good shot and when he forgot to feel sorry for himself he could keep up with the best of us, walking.’
‘That’s a bit unfair,’ Honey protested. ‘About being sorry for himself, I mean. Arthritis tends to ease off a bit when you get moving, or so my ageing relatives tell me. Then you stiffen up when you sit or stand around.’
‘I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. I hope I never find out for myself. Anyway, he sold up his business a few years ago,’ said Jeremy. ‘Since then, he’s been living a rather solitary existence. He said that his life at the head of a chain of supermarkets, with filling stations and delivery services and all kind of side interests, had been one long process of listening to people who couldn’t express themselves clearly and who then got indignant when misunderstandings developed. He preferred to retreat into books and music.’
Honey knew exactly how the old man had felt. She was usually very sociable but sometimes, usually when defence lawyers had been belabouring her, she wished that she too could withdraw from the world, seeing nobody but
Sandy. ‘He doesn’t sound a very likely suspect,’ she said. ‘Who else can’t Ian vouch for?’
‘The Calders,’ Andrew said, breaking his long silence.
‘Keith and Molly?’ Honey said. ‘I know them both. I can vouch for them absolutely. Keith might cheat the taxman but he wouldn’t stoop to dognapping. He’s comfortably off; and he knows that I know his daughter well, so I can very easily find out if any new dogs have passed through his hands. Who else?’
‘There was Sam Clouson, the local vet,’ said Jeremy. ‘He seems all right but we don’t exactly know him except for his attending to Suzy and the pups. He must be making a good income —’
‘And spending it,’ Hazel said.
‘— all right, and spending it. He has a bit of a reputation. Girls, some of them quite young. He could be paying maintenance all over the place.’
Honey shook her head. ‘We’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, a well-trained spaniel can be valuable, but a spayed bitch without her pedigree does not have much market value.’
‘A well-trained working gundog can fetch a few hundred,’ said Jeremy. ‘That can be a lifesaver to a desperate man. His wife holds most of the money in that family – she was the daughter of a merchant banker – and she cracks the whip now and again. About money, mostly – I don’t think she puts as high a value on fidelity. But I can’t see him putting a good practice and a lucrative marriage at risk by chancing a very damaging lawsuit or a prosecution.’
‘All that you’ve said suggests that he’d have no reason to go in for dognapping,’ his wife pointed out.
Jeremy nodded. ‘Let’s move on, then. Hannah Phillipson.’
‘She was probably a mistake,’ Hazel said. ‘She lives about eight or ten miles west of the castle, with a clinging, fluffy sort of woman. They have a smallholding, run a few sheep and grow some vegetables. They try to be self-sufficient. They also have a bit of a craft workshop and Hannah does dressmaking and things. She made up the new curtains for us.’
Andrew emerged momentarily from his despond. ‘Are they lesbians?’ he asked curiously.
‘Who knows? They would deny it,’ said Hazel. ‘To be fair, there is a man around somewhere. It may be a ménage à trois. I met them at a meeting to protest about a proposed wind farm. That led to the new curtains. Then, when Hannah started hinting, I couldn’t turn my back without seeming rude. Anyway, there was nothing wrong with her. I don’t know why men get uptight about women in the shooting field,’ she added. ‘I thought the days of that sort of sexist attitude were long gone.’
‘Don’t you believe it!’ Honey said. ‘I’ve never understood why some men resent seeing women shooting.’
‘I’ll explain,’ said Jeremy. ‘Forget about shooting being a male preserve and man being the hunter. The fact is that the presence of ladies makes it very awkward and uncomfortable for the man who needs a pee.’
‘We’ll have to put up some canvas screens. Anyway, Hannah shot well, behaved politely and thanked everybody afterwards.’ Hazel paused and a slight frown drifted over her brow. ‘She knew the drill all right and yet she undertipped George Brightside, the keeper. That suggests a shortage of cash. My guess is that she shoots mostly for the pot. I slipped her an extra pheasant out of a sort of pity. I think that’s all, except for my nephew, the skinny boy who never spoke much. I can vouch for him and anyway I know where he was last night.’
While she spoke, there had been the sound of a small car. PC Webber was back at the door. Jackie hopped up to let him in. Honey introduced him around and explained his presence.
‘I had a de’il of a job finding your mannie,’ he said. ‘I tracked him down in the end. Then I had to go find the lady who was his alibi. But it checked out in the end. He was in bed.’
Honey was still busily recording the discussion. She looked up. ‘What about the beating line? Which of them made a fuss of the dogs?’
‘All of them,’ Jackie said. ‘Except Mrs Clouson, the vet’s wife. She doesn’t like dogs much.’
‘Most of the rest were villagers and connected to Ian Argyll, one way or another,’ Jeremy said. ‘We can leave them to him. There was Johnny Cruikshank. We don’t know much about him – he lives at the smallholding, but what his status is there I wouldn’t know, probably wouldn’t want to. Miss Phillipson brought him.’
‘But he was nice,’ Jackie protested.
Honey refrained from pointing out that niceness was not proof of innocence. ‘We’ll look at him,’ she said. ‘If he’s innocent we may as well get him out of the way.’
Jackie nodded reluctantly. ‘Well, all right. But I was much less taken with the man working what looked like a spaniel collie cross. The rather dark, rough sort of man with stubble and a woollen cap. His dog was good, though.’
‘That would be Pat Kerr,’ Jeremy said. ‘We don’t know much about him. He lives somewhere in or close to the village and I’ve seen him driving a van. He was one of George Brightside’s first recruits. If George can’t vouch for him, he’ll certainly need to be looked at. He and Cruikshank seemed to be acquainted.’
‘I think that’s all,’ Hazel said, ‘except for the four teenagers, and I think that they all came with Ian Argyll.’
Honey put down her pencil and stretched her cramped fingers. Since her promotion, her hand had lost its cunning and her shorthand had almost deserted her. ‘Before we start galloping off in all directions,’ she said, ‘I think that Jackie should see whether your emails have produced anything. I suppose Mr Argyll will phone as soon as he’s learned anything. But,’ she shifted her eyes to PC Webber, ‘you could check whether any strays have been found.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Jackie pulled the computer closer and switched it on. PC Webber got up, intending to use his radio from outside. They were interrupted by a rap on the door. Andrew jumped up and went to answer it. They heard a voice say, ‘Is the local Bobby here? I phoned the station and I was told . . .’
Andrew stepped back and a man appeared in the doorway, his head of red hair glowing in the sunlight against the dark room. Despite herself, Honey drew in her breath. Webber was still standing and it was clear that the newcomer was the taller. ‘I’m Daniel Colebrook,’ he said. ‘Are you here about my father?’
‘What about your father?’
His face fell. ‘Oh. I thought you must know. It seems that he never arrived home last night.’ Daniel Colebrook looked round and realised that the small room was inhabited. ‘Perhaps we could speak outside?’
‘Maybe that would be best.’
‘One moment,’ Honey said briskly. ‘There’s no mistaking who you are. When you came in at the door I thought, against the light, that it was your father coming in. I see now that you’re younger. Your father is Henry Colebrook, who was shooting at Tinnisbeck Castle yesterday, right? We were all present there, except for Constable Webber. We may have something to offer. What can you tell us?’
Daniel hesitated. ‘This is Detective Inspector Laird,’ Allan Webber said.
‘Ah.’
Andrew brought forward the last unoccupied chair and the newest comer settled onto it. Honey noticed that he had the same square jaw as his father, the slightly Roman nose and blue eyes set slightly close together, but his face was broader across the cheekbones and his ears protruded slightly.
Honey introduced him around. ‘Now,’ she said. ‘Begin at the beginning. For the record, your father is . . .?’
‘As you said, Henry Colebrook. Of Moonside House. It’s just over the hill past the farm from here. I live in Lasswade. My older brother, Vernon, lives just a mile or two away in Corrie Cottage. You know it?’ Allan Webber nodded. ‘He phoned me this morning. Maggie McLaghan, my father’s housekeeper, had phoned him. My father isn’t there this morning and there’s no sign that he slept there last night. That’s unheard-of for him. Vernon phoned Tinnisbeck Castle but didn’t get an answer, so he was going to go there while I came here.’
‘Vernon’s out of luck,’ Jeremy said. ‘D
oes he have a mobile phone?’
‘His was stolen just the other day. He never used it much anyway.’
‘Then you’ve no way of saving him a long and fruitless journey. Our housekeeper’s gone visiting so the castle’s empty. Your father certainly isn’t there. He decided not to stay to dinner last night. He said it would make him later than he liked to be and that he’d probably call in for a quick meal at one of the hotels much nearer home.’
‘That sounds like him. For a formerly successful businessman he’s very shy.’
‘You resemble him strongly,’ Honey said.
‘In all except the shyness.’ Daniel smiled, increasing the resemblance. ‘We all do – Vernon perhaps more than I do. We have a younger brother as well, Leo, but his resemblance to Dad isn’t quite so strong. He takes rather after our late mother. I know which are Dad’s favourite hotels, I’d better go and phone them.’
‘Now, hold on a minute,’ Honey said. ‘Your father hasn’t been missing for long enough to be officially a missing person, and I don’t think that wasting a few minutes of your time will do anything other than give him a chance to turn up of his own accord. Does your father have any worries?’
Daniel looked surprised at the very idea. ‘Not that I can imagine. He lives modestly and quietly on an annuity and a few investments. His health is generally good.’
‘Could he have any enemies?’
‘I doubt it very much. If he does, it would have to be somebody from years ago. Since he retired, he doesn’t meet enough people to make enemies.’
‘If he’s been in an accident or been taken ill, you’ll certainly hear soon.’ Honey paused. ‘We’re here discussing two young dogs that were also on the shoot and that seem to have been stolen.’
Daniel’s eyebrows, which were as red as the rest of his hair, almost disappeared into his ginger thatch. ‘You’re surely not suggesting that my father had anything to do with that?’
Cold Relations (Honey Laird Book 1) Page 5