by Rob Wyllie
'I spoke to you briefly on the phone,' she said in way of introduction.
'Ah yes. About the Macallan twins. Elspeth and Kirsty.'
'That's right Dr McLeod. My firm is working for the executors of their father's will. There's this rather awkward provision that we're trying to straighten out.'
McLeod nodded. 'Yes, I think I remember Roderick telling me about it once. Some covenant that an old ancestor put in place, is that it?'
'Yes, that's right. So were you friends with the late Commodore then?'
He gave her a wry look. 'I wouldn't say friends exactly. We knew the family of course, given they own the estate and half of the village too, and they were all patients of ours. We played golf occasionally as well, although that could be rather frustrating.'
She laughed. 'I've never played, but my dad did when he was younger, and he usually came home swearing to himself. Or swearing at himself more accurately.'
'Yes it is a stupidly annoying game, but that's not what I meant. No, what I meant was that arithmetic was never Roderick's strong point.'
'You mean he cheated? Maggie asked, open-mouthed. 'I would have thought that's a capital offence up here.'
He shrugged. 'Everybody knew about it in the club. It's not a reputation that anyone would aspire to, but there you are.'
'Yes, well it was a terrible thing that happened, at Ardmore House.' She wasn't here to dig into the circumstances of the double tragedy, but she left the statement hanging in the air just in case Dr McLeod was prepared to venture an opinion as to what lay behind it all. But she wasn't surprised when he didn't.
'And now there's a will to be sorted out,' he said, his tone now businesslike. 'So what is it you want to ask me in that regard?'
She smiled. 'The will provides that the house and estate must pass intact to the eldest surviving offspring, but no-one seems to know if that was Elspeth or Kirsty, and the twins are each claiming it is them. So you can see my difficulty. Obviously, we wondered if there was anything in their medical records that would prove it one way or the other.'
'Yes, I see,' he said, stroking his chin. 'As it happens, I anticipated your question and so dug out the old paper records. We're all computerised now but we still have the old buff envelopes. But no, there doesn't seem to be anything in them which states which is first born. As you know, had they been born in Scotland it would have been a different matter, because here unlike Canada, the time of birth is entered in the register. Although to be fair, I don't think it is always recorded accurately. But that's irrelevant of course.'
'It must have been a terrible time for the family,' Maggie said.
'Yes it was, with Roderick stuck over in Canada with two newborn babies and his young son Peter. To be fair to the Navy, they arranged pretty rapidly for him to be posted back to Scotland. They found him a desk job here at the Ardmore base so that he could move back into the family home.'
'So who looked after the children then?'
McLeod smiled. 'Yes that was the priority of course. They managed to find a live-in nanny, who stayed with them for quite a few years. Until he married Alison in fact.'
'A nanny?' Maggie said, her eyes narrowing. 'And I assume you know who she was. Who she is, I should say?'
He nodded. 'Yes, of course. Susan McColl is her name, old Jim McColl's daughter. He was a local farmer, up at Ardrishaig. Long dead of course and the farm sold off.'
'But this Susan, I'm sure she must still be alive?'
'Susan? I'd imagine so. She was around forty then, so she wouldn't be that old now, perhaps in her early seventies I'd guess. But she moved away from the area, what, it must be twenty-five or more years ago.' He gave her a wry look. 'She married a sailor you see, as many ladies around here do. I seem to recall they moved down south when he was posted to another base. Portsmouth or Plymouth, I always get them mixed up. But I remember her married name. Susan Priest. He was a Petty Officer, worked in the ordnance stores as I recall. John or Jim, I think it was one of the two.'
'And she would know I guess, which twin was the elder?' Maggie asked, then thinking out loud, 'but goodness knows how we would track her down.'
McLeod nodded again. 'Yes, I expect she would.' Then out of the blue he said, 'But you could always ask my Flora of course.'
'Flora?' she said, feigning surprise. And hoping that her acting wasn't so bad as to arouse suspicion.
'My daughter. Dr Flora Stewart. She works here in the practice.' There was no disguising the pride in his voice. 'She was great friends with the twins when she was growing up, and they were always round our house.'
'Yes that would be great,' Maggie said, thinking that it would be exactly the opposite.
'She's not in today unfortunately,' McLeod said. 'She's up in Glasgow on a course. But she'll be back in tomorrow as usual. I'm sure Elaine could fit you in. And of course I'll ask my wife Elizabeth this evening. She would probably know too, now that I come to think of it.'
'Yes, well that would be great,' Maggie said, relieved, 'but we're actually heading back down south tomorrow so it will have to wait for another time. But thank you for your help Dr McLeod.'
He shrugged. 'I'm not sure I was much help but I hope you do get it sorted out. Now, is there anything else we can do for you today?'
She laughed as she got up to go. 'No, nothing I can think of thank you.'
She knew it was cowardly, but she wouldn't be bothering Elaine the receptionist with a request for an appointment, not right now at least. She planned to have a glass of wine or two back at the hotel and think through the next steps in her Jimmy-Flora reconciliation plan. Because now that Lochmorehead was so central to the Macallan matter, it would be silly if he didn't arrange to meet her at some point.
◆◆◆
It was only quarter to five when she got back to the hotel, finding Jimmy and Frank already propping up the bar with pints in hand, in the company of a uniformed WPC who was sitting on a bar-stool drinking a mug of tea.
'Hi Maggie,' Frank said, beaming a smile. 'Great to see you. This is WPC McDonald, Lexy to her friends. Lexy, meet Maggie Bainbridge. She's a lawyer beneath the innocent disguise so be careful what you say.'
Maggie laughed. 'Nice to meet you Lexy, and as Frank well knows, I'm actually a lapsed lawyer.'
'Once a lawyer, always a lawyer,' he said. 'Anyway, can Jimmy get you a drink? Usual chardonnay, is it?'
'That would be nice. I'm just going to give Ollie a call and then I'll join you.' She smiled then slipped out to the reception area.
It was one of the downsides of the job, having to leave her adored little boy back in Hampstead with their Polish nanny, but Marta was an absolute gem and she knew he was being well cared for, both physically and spiritually. She called her home landline number and it was answered by her son almost before the first ring.
'Mummy mummy,' he yelled, his voice crackling with excitement, 'I've been picked for the football team. I've to play in a flat back four.'
'That's amazing darling,' she said. 'It's a very important position I'm sure.' After the call she would ask Jimmy or Frank to explain to her what it meant, not that she was likely to understand any of it, if past experience was anything to go by.
'The first game's on Tuesday. Will you come to watch? Please mummy, please.'
She laughed. 'Of course I will, and I'm sure you'll score lots of goals.'
'Defenders stop goals mummy, they don't score them. Except from set pieces,' he said importantly. That would be another thing she would have to ask the Stewart brothers about. Jimmy and Frank Stewart. She'd known them barely two years and in that time they had become the most precious people in her life after her little boy and her mum and dad.
'I'll be back home in time for tea tomorrow darling,' she said. 'I can't wait to see you again.'
She heard his sigh of disappointment, guessing correctly what had prompted it. 'Marta said we could go to McDonalds mummy.'
She laughed. 'Well that sounds like a very good idea. I'll be ther
e too if there's room for me. Now go and have some tea and be good for Marta. And don't stay up too late. I love you darling.'
'And I love you too mummy.'
It made her feel so much better to hear Ollie's sweet voice, and again she marvelled at his resilience after all they'd been through together. Recently he'd began to speak of his father again and she was fine with that, because the last thing she wanted to do was air-brush him from Ollie's life. Philip had been a complete pig to her but he'd been a good dad, and she owed him some respect for that at least.
'Everything ok?' Jimmy asked as she returned to the bar. 'Your wine's waiting for you, by the way. Large one, of course.'
'Naturally,' she smiled. 'Yep, everything's great. So Frank, how have you got on today? You were going to Helensburgh Jimmy said. Wherever that is.'
'Nice wee seaside town,' he replied, 'and we got on no bad, no bad at all. But look, I didn't tell you guys the last time we met, but the case we're working on is the Morag McKay murder. Morag Robertson as was. It was the husband's sister we went to see. Jess Sinclair.'
She could see Jimmy tense up. 'Jesus Frank, that was a horrible thing, with the wee toddler being murdered as well. So why has it landed on your lap then?'
'Long story. The short version is, her man didn't do it. There was a forensics screw-up over the time of death and he was still two miles under the Atlantic when it actually happened.'
'And you're trying to find out what did happen?' Maggie asked.
Frank nodded. 'Indirectly. Our job is to see if there's enough evidence to open the case up again, but it'll be the local prosecutors who'll make the final call. The prevailing view amongst the brass is that it should stay firmly closed. Too many skeletons buried in too many cupboards.'
'And how's it looking?' Jimmy asked.
'Well funny you should ask,' he said, winking at Lexy, 'because I think you two might very well be able to help us with that.'
Maggie shot him a suspicious look. 'So is this why you got Jill Smart to authorise some budget for us?'
'Well, yes and no,' he said defensively. 'Then, I didn't have anything specific in mind. Now I do.'
'So come on, are you going to tell us what you want us to do?' she asked.
'No,' he said, 'not until I clear it with Jill. But let's just say that pretty soon, you're going to get the chance to speak with Police Scotland's esteemed Chief Constable Sir Brian Pollock. And in the flesh too. In London.'
Chapter 17
They'd had a great night in the Lochmorehead Hotel, he had to admit that. The food had been wonderful, a traditional Scottish menu but served with an international flair, and the drink flowed freely, though not for his brother's designated driver WPC McDonald, who had nonetheless not let her sobriety dampen her spirits. There were plenty of laughs, and for Jimmy, it had been brilliant to be in the relaxed company of two of his best mates in the whole world, even if one of them was his boss and one of them was his big brother. That was the thing he missed most since coming out of the army, the camaraderie, the bonding that only came from facing danger together and suffering terrible loss, yet somehow managing to come through it unscathed. Physically unscathed that was, because no one ever came through it mentally undamaged, no matter how much of a hard man you pretended to be. He'd come to learn there was really no such thing as bravery. It was just that some guys had been better at disguising their fear than others, and he had been one of them. Brave guy that Captain Jimmy Stewart. He knew people used to say that, but the appearance of bravery came with the territory when you were a bomb disposal officer. You knew very well that every mission could be your last, with a Taliban booby-trap waiting to blow you to bits, but it didn't stop you from doing your duty. Brave guy that Captain Jimmy Stewart. What a joke that was.
Because if he was so bloody brave, why was he continuing to bottle the big question that might finally end the burden of sadness that he carried with him every day of his life? Flora, will you take me back? Maggie, bless her, had steered clear of the subject during their visit, but had raised it on the flight back, with a gentle diplomacy he was grateful for.
'You were glad Flora was away in Glasgow, weren't you?' she had said. 'I could tell, and I don't blame you for that. But you'll have to face up to it sometime, don't you think? You can't put it off forever.'
And of course she was right, but that sometime didn't have to be right now. Kick the can down the road. That was the expression opposition politicians liked to use when they accused the government of deliberately delaying an important decision, and that was exactly what he was doing now. But what was the big brave soldier so afraid of, the bomb-squad veteran with a five-year stint in the Helmand hell-hole under his belt? He knew of course what it was. If Flora said no, that was it. The end. Finito. So who could blame him for kicking that bloody tin can down the road as far as it would bloody well go? Now, two days later and back in their Fleet Street office, he tried to push it all to the back of his mind as he and Maggie planned their next moves, case-wise.
'So this nanny, Susan McColl,' she said. 'I guess tracking her down needs to be our priority, but I'm not sure where we would start. Any ideas?'
'That shouldn't be too hard you know,' he said, thinking on his feet. 'From what my father-in-law told you, her husband served for a number of years at the Ardmore base, so his records will be online on the government website. It's pretty good, I've used it to track down a few of my old mates since I left the army. And failing that, there's any number of associations for old service personnel. We'll find him, don't you worry about that.'
She smiled. 'Sounds like a job for you then.'
'Aye, no bother, I'm on it.'
'And then there's Elspeth and the dinner date,' she said, giving him a wry look.
Yes, the bloody dinner date. He'd thought about it quite a lot, and the more he thought about it, the less he liked the prospect. His brief and fatal affair with the Swedish country singer Astrid Sorenson had taught him of the dangers of being in the public eye, and it wasn't exactly going to help his mission with Flora if he was photographed at some fashionable restaurant with the beautiful influencer Elspeth Macallan.
'Well boss, I've been thinking about this,' he said, pursing his lips. 'I'm not so sure it's a great idea to be honest.'
'Well it's up to you,' she said, 'and I won't push it, but it might help us with the matter quite a bit. And it's not as if you would be deceiving her after all. A date is just a date, it doesn't mean you're looking for anything else. And you can tell her everything of course, about Flora I mean. She'll appreciate your honesty I'm sure.'
He laughed. 'What, you mean the same honest Elspeth that might be lying about being the first-born twin?'
But when he thought about it some more, he realised she was probably right. He hadn't been on many first dates but he vaguely remembered that there was always that tell me about yourself moment. So fine, he would go on the date, and if and when it came up, he would tell her everything and that would all be very straightforward.
'Alright, you know what,' he continued, frowning. 'I'll do it. Take one for the team. Again.'
'And what about Kirsty?' Maggie said.
He grimaced. 'I'm not asking her out too, forget that. Besides, I don't think her husband would be too pleased.'
'I wasn't thinking that. What I mean is, are we just going to use Elspeth to find out which one of the twins has done a deal with Alison?'
'Aye,' he nodded. 'If she denies it, and it's odds-on she will, then I'm hoping I'll be able to tell if she's lying.' Inside, he wasn't so sure, but he would worry about that later. 'So what are you going to be doing whilst I'm doing all the work?'
'Me?' she grinned. 'I'm going to bunk off early to watch my son playing in a flat back four behind a diamond midfield.'
'I've always preferred the wing-back system myself,' he said, pleased to have left her mystified.
◆◆◆
It hadn't been quite as easy to track down ex-Petty Officer Priest as he'd
hoped it would be. It turned out that to get onto the Government Gateway website you needed an obscure layer of passwords and permissions that he didn't possess, and most of the paraphernalia involved in registering a new account was, for security reasons, delivered by post, meaning it would be at least seven working days and perhaps more before he could gain entry. So he texted an old army pal who had a desk job in the central payroll department, and whom he guessed would have access to all the service pension records, and wouldn't worry too much about data protection either. He'd received a prompt reply - see what I can do mate, with a thumbs-up - but four hours later he hadn't heard anything and he didn't like to push it. But then finally it came through. Petty Officer J R Priest. 12 St Alban's Road, Winchester, Hants. Nothing else. No phone numbers, no email, but he wasn't really surprised. After all, names and addresses were in the public domain, you only had to check the Electoral Register so no data protection issues, but emails in particular were a different kettle of fish. A quick google and a browse of a couple of telephone directory sites didn't help. If he wanted to speak with the Priests, he was going to have to jump on a train.
He looked at his watch. Five twenty-five. He could be at Waterloo in twenty minutes and then it was about an hour and a half's journey and then no more than fifteen minutes' walk. All being well, he'd be on their doorstep at about half past seven, still pretty civilised for most people. Of course, they might not be in, but he could leave a note through their door asking him to contact him. It was a bit impulsive, he knew that, but wasn't that what private investigators were meant to do, dashing all over the place chasing up leads?