by R B Marshall
“Why, what’s wrong with ’em?”
“You know I don’t eat meat.”
“They’re veggie-burgers, you pillock.”
“Oh.” My face flamed. “I’m really sorry, I should’ve known better. But they look so real?” She’d arranged the patties in a burger bun with a layer of cheese as topping and a side salad garnish.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Now sit down and eat up!”
For five minutes, not a sound was to be heard in the room apart from Jorja snoring softly in her basket, and the occasional groan of delight from me. “These are really tasty,” I said, finally. “What’s in them?”
“Mainly lentils, but there’s also cooked rice and spices. I’ll share the recipe with you later.” Her fork stopped in mid-air and she looked at me across the table. “So what did you find out about the McDades while I was cooking?”
I sighed. “Nothing much on social media, except that Jason has an over-inflated sense of his own abilities, and Francine is a bit of a socialite. Pat was all work and no play.”
“Did you not say he was in the Horseman’s Guild?”
“Yes, but I looked into that before, when Hamish died, and there wasn’t much to discover that made any sense. Really, we could do with someone on the inside.” Then my eyes widened, and I caught her gaze. She had exactly the same expression on her face that I did.
“Termie!” we both said at the same time.
“D’you think he would tell us anything?” I found it hard to contain my excitement at the idea.
She shrugged. “Won’t hurt to ask.”
“But you’re not seeing him till the weekend.” I deflated at that realisation.
“It’s only three days to wait. It’ll be worth it if he spills the beans.”
Nodding, I stood up and began to clear the dishes off the table. “Okay, see what you can find out for me.”
Trinity filled the kettle to make coffee. “So weren’t there any evidence of Mrs Mac and Jason having an affair?”
“Not that I could see.” I thought on that for a moment. “I’d really need to get hold of their phones to find that out.”
“Can Gremlin not hack into phones?”
“Sadly not. But I think the police might have access to technology that will, so they’re probably already checking out that angle.”
“What about the number two reason? That’s gotta be the next place to look.”
“Money, you mean?”
“Yeah. I mean, if old droopy drawers stands to inherit millions from Pat’s empire, that’s proper motive for murder, innit?”
She had a point there.
Chapter Ten
If I wanted to understand Pat McDade’s financial situation, I had an ace up my sleeve.
Devlin Connolly was a colleague and friend who lived in Dublin. We’d first met when we worked for the same bank in London, and he’d helped me to uncover a financial scandal. Dev was my go-to guy when I needed to ‘follow the money’, as he was much better at uncovering banking details than I was.
Opening an instant messaging app, I send him a text.
Me: Evening, Dev, how’s things with you?
Dev: Deadly, thanks.
I blinked. Then I remembered that ‘deadly’ was Irish slang for ‘brilliant’, and I breathed again.
Me: Great. You’ll never believe it, but I’m investigating another murder, and I need your help with the financials
Dev: You’re never serious?
Me: Unfortunately. He was a client, and when I went round for a meeting, I found him dead at his desk.
Dev: Brutal! Are the police subcontracting you again?
Me: No, I’m worried I’m a suspect, so I want to try and work out who killed him before it gets pinned on me
Dev: Understandable. How can I help?
For the next ten minutes, I brought him up to speed on the case as I understood it so far. Being the accommodating chap he was, he agreed to get started right away, and tell me his findings as soon as possible.
Me: Be sure and send me your bill once you’re done
Dev: Don’t be an eejit. Can’t have my mates going to jail!
Me: Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. And thank you. I’ll owe you one.
Dev: Live long and prosper, Izzy!
With that, he was gone. But a weight had lifted off my shoulders. With Dev on my side, if there was anything weird going on with Pat’s business, we’d find it out.
I’d just finished messaging with Devlin when my phone rang, and I startled so hard I woke Jorja up. “Sorry,” I murmured, giving her a quick pat while I glanced at the caller ID. Sergeant Lovely.
“Hi Dean, I didn’t expect to hear from you.”
There was a brief pause. “Is that so? Can I ask why not?”
“Just,” I felt my cheeks colouring up, even though he couldn’t see me, “with me finding a dead body and everything.”
“That was actually one of the reasons I was calling. We found something on Mr McDade’s computer that we wanted to ask you about. Could you drop into the station tomorrow?”
I chewed my lip. “I could head up after lunch. I’ve to show my licence and insurance papers anyway, so I could get that out of the way too.”
“Your licence?”
“Did I not tell you? I got stopped for doing thirty-two in a thirty limit.”
“That’s—unusual,” he said, his tone guarded. “Normally we’d give a little leeway for speedo inaccuracy.”
“Exactly what Trinity said. But the constable wasn’t having any of it. I think I’m going to get three points on my licence. And a fine,” I added, sadly.
“Leave it with me. I’ll have a look.”
“Thanks. But it sort of helped in a way—it proved where I was at five o’clock the day Mr McDade was killed.”
“Ah, yes, I remember reading that in the report.” There was another pause.
“What was the other thing you wanted to speak to me about?”
“I—uh,” he cleared his throat. “It’s like you said. Because you’re a person of interest in this case, it means I won’t be able to see you until it gets resolved. It’s not what I’d have wanted, but…” he tailed off.
“But it’s the rules?” I suggested. “Don’t worry, I was expecting that.”
“I’ll be sure and take you for a slap-up meal afterwards, to celebrate. And I’ll be at the dancing on Sunday. It’s a public class, so it’s not an issue with the higher-ups. If you’ll be there, that is?” he added as an afterthought.
“Yeah, I wasn’t exactly the star of the class last week, was I? But I’ll be there to support Trinity. And don’t worry about the murder, I’m sure the police—I mean, you guys, will get to the bottom of it soon.”
“I certainly hope so. See you tomorrow.”
At that point, Trinity reappeared, wearing a lemon-coloured Lycra top with a fuchsia pink floaty skirt over lime green leggings. “What d’ya think about this for Saturday’s class?” she asked, striking a pose.
My eyebrows raised of their own volition. It looked like she’d been channelling my mother’s fashion sense. “Just warn everyone to bring sunglasses with them, and you’ll be fine.”
Chapter Eleven
With a few butterflies doing a samba in my stomach, I approached the front desk in the foyer of the police station. I’d been here so many times now that I probably qualified for a loyalty card.
The first time, I’d been giving a statement after the stud manager at Balmoral had been killed. Then I’d been interviewed here again on Tuesday night after I’d found Mr McDade dead. But it hadn’t got any more welcoming since my initial visit. Institutional decor meant fluorescent lights, cream paint on the walls and blue linoleum on the floor. A row of plastic chairs lined the wall to the left of the front door, and a noticeboard on the right-hand side was overflowing with posters and leaflets pinned higgledy piggledy on top of one another.
A grey-haired man looked up from a computer behind
the counter. “Afternoon, miss. How can I help?”
“Hello. It’s Izzy Paterson for Sergeant Lovell, please.” Thankfully, I remembered to ask for him by his proper name. ‘Sergeant Lovely’ might’ve earned me a strange look.
The desk sergeant waved an arm at the chairs. “Have a seat, miss, and I’ll call him for you.”
Instead of sitting, my eye was drawn by a lost dog poster on the board, and I went over to check it wasn’t for Jorja. It had only been a couple of weeks since I’d found her abandoned by the side of a road, and she’d already become an integral part of my life, so I’d have hated to lose her now. But she was such a sweetie, if I was her original owner I’d have been beside myself to know what had happened to her.
Fortunately for me, the dog in the photo was a spaniel, not a Jack Russell, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Before I had time to check out the other posters, the door to the interior of the station snicked open and Dean appeared, making me gasp. I’d forgotten how handsome he looked in his uniform.
“Ms Paterson, thanks for coming.” His face was a mask of propriety, showing no hint that we’d met before, let alone shared a kiss.
He approached me with his hand outstretched, and, as I clasped his palm, I felt the familiar tingle that his touch evoked. Not for nothing had I mentally named him ‘Sergeant Sexy’. He smelled deliciously of vanilla and his voice was smooth as melted chocolate, making it hard to think straight when he was around.
Swallowing, I managed to croak out, “No problem,” before he led me through to an interview room at the end of a long corridor, and motioned for me to take a seat.
Glancing up at the CCTV camera in the corner, as if to draw my attention to it, he pressed a button on a machine at the end of the table, and cleared his throat before stating the date and time and introducing us both, for the benefit of the recording. “Now, Ms Paterson, I invited you here today to chat some more about your meeting with Mr Patrick McDade on Tuesday last. You said in your statement that he wanted to hire you for an investigation?”
I nodded, then noticed Dean’s eyes cut to the audio device. “Yes,” I said, remembering that my head bob would be inaudible. “But I never found out what he wanted. It was too busy in the shop, which is why he said for me to come back later.”
The policeman pulled his notebook out of his pocket as he asked the next question. “He didn’t share any suspicions with you? About his staff, or business colleagues, or family?”
“Not at all, sorry.”
“Any mention of evidence, or clandestine meetings?”
I recognised that phrase from the document on Pat’s computer, but couldn’t let on that I’d seen it. “No,” I said quickly.
But not quickly enough.
Dean’s mouth quirked fractionally, like he didn’t believe me, but he covered it up and carried on with the next question, scribbling something on his notebook as he spoke. “I understand you’re currently training a horse belonging to Mr and Mrs McDade?”
“Yes, Darcy. He’s a show jumper.”
“A horse that is ridden on a regular basis by one Jason Cotton?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
His pencil flew across the paper again. “Did you ever notice anything, ah, unusual in the relationship between Mr Cotton and Mrs McDade?”
So the police were suspicious of Jason and Francine as well! I hadn’t been imagining things the other day. “I suppose—yes, they looked quite friendly at one point yesterday when Jason came to ride Darcy.”
“Only at one point?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Okay.” Dean wrote a few words more, then looked across at me with those brooding brown eyes, and I just about melted on my chair. “If you see anything irregular about them in the future, could you please give me a call? I think you have my card.”
“Of course.”
He sat for a moment, just staring at me—unaware of the effect he was having on my insides—then snapped his notebook shut. “Thank you for your time, Ms Paterson,” he said, all efficiency and regulations, and switched the recorder off. “Let me take you back to the front desk.”
“Is that it?”
He nodded, and I managed to lever myself off the seat on legs that felt like they were made of water. Out in the corridor, and away from the cloud of pheromones in the interview room, my brain spluttered back into life, and I remembered there was another reason for my visit today.
Fishing in my inside pocket, I pulled out some papers. “I brought the lorry insurance documents for the constable. Where will I find her?”
Dean halted, then glanced around him as if to make sure nobody would overhear. “You don’t need to any more. I got the charge dropped.”
My eyes saucered. “You never did?”
“There was an irregularity in the form. One of the fields had been filled out incorrectly. It’d never have stood up in court.”
“Are you serious?” I had to stop myself from throwing my arms around him and giving him a hug. “You’ve just made my day. Thanks so much.” I risked a quick touch of his arm, hoping nobody would walk out into the corridor at that moment. “I owe you one.”
On the drive back to Glengowrie, I used the time to speculate about Pat McDade’s murder.
It was one of those overcast, grey days, where the sun never makes an appearance. In some ways that made the colours of the mountains, moors and forests that I passed more varied, as if the subtle variations in hue were more visible when not illuminated by the harsh light of day.
But there seemed to be nothing subtle about Pat’s murder, and all the clues appeared to point to Francine, possibly aided by Jason. Except… I remembered the faint bruising that had been the only sign of injury I’d spotted on his body.
Would Francine have been capable of killing a man, presumably with only a blunt instrument as a weapon? She was such a wispy woman, a strong wind could blow holes in her.
For that matter, would Jason be strong enough? He was taller than Pat, but not exactly built like a fighter—lean and mean might be a better description. He looked like the sort of guy who’d been brought up on a diet of white bread and chips in a household where vegetables were a swear word. Would he even know how to do away with someone?
There was another suspect too, when I thought about it—one who was definitely strong enough, from what I’d seen. The colonel. Was revenge a solid enough motive for murder? Maybe. But not as strong a driver as love or money. So Francine was still my number one.
I’d just passed through one of those ‘now you see it, now you don’t’ villages, where a few houses line either side of the main road for no apparent reason, when my phone rang.
The number wasn’t one I recognised, but it also didn’t look like a spam call, so I pressed the green hands-free button. “Hello, it’s Izzy speaking.”
“Izzy, darling, it’s Francine McDade here.”
It was as if thinking about her had somehow telepathically encouraged her to phone me. A chill ran down my spine. “Afternoon. How are you doing today?” Trinity would be proud of me, making solicitous enquiries after my client’s wellbeing, rather than doing my usual task-focussed thing of diving straight into business.
“Jason and I have been discussing—”
My eyebrows crept up my forehead. Not only had Francine skipped the small talk and switched immediately to the point of her call, she had been conferring with a man who might possibly be more to her than just an employee.
“—my lovely Darcy’s preparation for the Royal Highland Show. To that end, we’ve entered him for the Discovery and Newcomers classes at the Glendoig show next weekend. We’ll be with you on Monday and Thursday next week to jump him, and if you girls could get him ready for the show on Saturday morning, we’ll come for him in the lorry about eight thirty.”
I blinked at her audacity. It obviously wasn’t just Jason who thought I was there to be his personal groom. Sucking air through my teeth, I chose my words carefully. “Uh, Mrs McDade, I�
��m afraid Trinity and I are already busy getting the queen’s horse ready for the show.” I crossed my fingers on the steering wheel, and hoped we could still get an entry for Eagle so I wouldn’t be caught in my lie. “But you or Jason are welcome to come over any time after six o’clock to get him ready.”
At the other end of the phone line there was a moment’s silence, and I began to worry if I’d riled her, rather than outfoxed her. “My dear, would it make any difference if we paid you a bonus, so you can get him ready for us? Perhaps fifty pounds?”
I pressed my lips together to stop a laugh from escaping. Francine obviously wasn’t as airy-fairy as she appeared. Now who was outfoxing who?
She obviously interpreted my hesitation as a bargaining technique. “Sixty?”
“I’ll speak to Trinity and let you know. She might be interested—we could get him ready the night before.”
“Very well. We shall see you and discuss further on Monday.” With that, she rang off.
The Glendoig Show. That was a new one on me, but of course I had only recently moved to the area, so I hadn’t got a handle yet on all the local events. Pressing a couple of buttons on the hands-free console, I dialled Trinity. “Hiya, how’re you doing?”
“All good, thanks. I’ve been keeping mesel’ busy mixing up a batch of feeds. I’ll go in and make a start on dinner soon. Are things okay? Was there any problems getting your licence to that policewoman?”
“Everything’s fine. Actually, the charges got dropped, would you believe? The form wasn’t filled in correctly.”
“Might that have anything to do with a certain handsome sergeant?” There were no flies on Trinity, she was sharp as a pin.
“Possibly. But, why I’m phoning—I just had a call from Mrs McDade. They’re taking Darcy to a show next weekend and they offered a sixty pounds bonus if you’d get him ready by eight thirty on Saturday morning. Are you interested?”