It was so good Mary Berry probably made it. I forgot what we were doing at the estate as I ate the little cake, thoroughly invested in the experience. It was gone in three bites, and I had to forcibly hold myself back from reaching for a second.
Fletcher gave me a raised eyebrow that said, ‘Are you done?’
“What?” I mouthed back, and she lightly jerked her head towards Mrs MacPherson.
Oh right. The investigation.
I focused back in, but Mary was busy enjoying her tea and hadn’t noticed my momentary lapse. “Mr MacPherson said he’s working on a new project that he thinks will help…” I searched for the right phrase, “restore tradition, but he wouldn’t tell us much about it. Would you be willing to give us a little sneak preview?” I smiled at her, trying to ramp up the charm though that kind of faux geniality wasn’t exactly natural for me.
“I only know a little bit about it,” Mary admitted. “Raymond has his projects, and I’ve got my own charities. You know how it goes.” I didn’t, but I nodded in agreement. “I do know he’s working with this up-and-coming technology company on it.” Her eyebrows drew together, and she set her cup down on its saucer. “I think they’ve hit a bit of a snag on it recently. Raymond has been in a rather foul mood for the past week or two.”
Though it wasn’t hard proof, it was a good enough verbal confirmation that MacPherson was in business with New Wave Industries. Both parties had a lot to lose if the deal went south--say, because a scandal broke. MacPherson would lose the tech and whatever plans he had for it, and New Wave Industries the money. They both had motivation for the murders.
“Did he say why?” Fletcher asked.
“This deal is very important to Raymond. He’s been saying that it could be the most important thing he’ll ever do, but it sounds like there’s something threatening it.” Mary smiled and gave a little shrug. “He won’t tell me what though. He says it’s best if he deals with it on his own. Now, is there anything else? I really should be getting back to my gardening.”
“No, that’s it for now,” I said, and Fletcher nodded with agreement. It seemed like Mary truly knew nothing about her husband’s business. “Mr MacPherson mentioned that your daughter is out of town, but you have a son as well, yes? Is he home? We’d love to speak with him as well.”
Mary’s brow furrowed just slightly at the mention of her daughter, but she moved past it, only missing one beat. “I believe he is. I’ll have Emily take you to him.”
Emily opened the door out of the sitting room as if summoned by her name.
“Be a dear and take them to see Ray, would you?” Mary asked, and Emily nodded. “Oh, and send Alexis back in if you see her.”
“Right away,” Emily agreed, and once again, we followed the neatly dressed personal assistant through the humongous house.
“I thought you were Mr MacPherson’s assistant,” I said, glaring at the patriarch portraits as we walked past to make sure none of them was about to move. “Do you often do things for the rest of the family as well?”
“I started as Mr MacPherson’s PA, but my position has grown to encompass the rest of the family as well,” Emily explained. “I handle most of the day to day operations here. My salary was adjusted accordingly, of course.”
“Do you know about his new project then?” I asked. I wondered who Hamish had talked to for his article and what it was that had given him away. Were we opening ourselves up to the exact same fate now?
“That’s one of the few things I don’t have a part in,” Emily admitted, and she almost sounded a little bit disappointed to be left out of the loop. If MacPherson had been the one to instigate the murders, then her lack of involvement would end up saving her. “Raymond Jr. should be returning from his run in just a few minutes. We can wait for him outside.”
We left the hall of portraits behind, and I was able to breathe a little easier once we’d closed the door on those watchful eyes. The three of us cut across the huge main hall, footsteps ringing dully on the tile floor, the sound swallowed by the upper reaches of the vaulted ceiling. Emily had to put her shoulder against one of the double doors in order to shove it open, and she almost bowled right into a blonde man dressed in black entering from the other direction.
“Sorry, Mr Kingston,” she said as he sidestepped her, grasping her arm to help her keep her balance.
“Don’t worry about it, Miss Emily,” he said. He had a South West English accent, his words as smooth as his smile.
Kingston’s wool coat did nothing to hide the muscles banded across his shoulders and arms, his black turtleneck neatly ironed and tucked into his trousers. He wore his blonde hair slicked back, and there was a scar running down his cheek and over his jawbone. There was a look in his eyes that said he’d seen violence and knew how to enact it, the expression barely bound by the blue line of his pupils.
Something about him sent a shiver down my spine.
He tipped his hat to Fletcher and me, holding the door for us as we stepped out into the sunlight. I didn’t like having to pass that close to him.
“Who was that?” I asked Emily once the door was closed and Kingston was gone.
“That’s Mr MacPherson’s personal bodyguard,” she answered. “I think he’s ex-military or something. He’s nice enough. English. Mostly keeps to himself.”
“How long has he worked here?”
“Just a couple of months, I think.”
Fletcher looked back at the closed door with a raised eyebrow. “Does Mr MacPherson need much protecting?”
Emily shrugged. “I think it’s mostly for show. But I guess you never know.”
Fletcher and I leaned against the stairs’ stone railing as we waited for Raymond Jr. to return from his run. Emily stayed with us, so there was no chance to discuss what we thought of MacPherson, even if I didn’t think there were hidden eyes and ears all over the property.
We didn’t have to wait long. A minute later, Raymond MacPherson III came jogging up the drive from the direction of the woods, blonde curls bouncing across his forehead. He was dressed in a grey jumper and black shorts, socks drawn up to his knees, but he didn’t really seem to be sweating as he came to a light, bouncing halt at the foot of the stairs.
He offered us a brilliantly white smile, though it was mostly directed towards Emily, and he began to stretch, kicking one heel up onto the railing and leaning over the extended leg. Fletcher rolled her eyes at the man’s obvious peacocking.
“Raymond, these people are here to speak with you.” Emily returned Raymond’s smile, but I noticed that hers had a bit of a tight edge to it. “If you have a moment.”
“Sure,” Raymond drawled. He swapped legs up on the railing, reaching towards his foot to deepen the stretch. A single lock of hair flopped into his face as if it had been trained to do so. “What can I do for you folks?” He turned his attention more fully towards Fletcher and me. There was a deep-seated confidence in his eyes, no doubt born from his family’s money and the fact that he’d probably never been told no.
Fletcher moved down a couple of steps so she was within easier conversational distance. “We’re interested in doing a project on your family and its long contribution to Inverness,” she explained. “Are you very involved with your father’s work or do you have your own ventures?”
Emily gave me a nod to signify that her work here was done and then scooted around me and back into the house. Fletcher could do most of the questioning this time. I had a feeling that Raymond would respond best to the flattery of a woman, even if she played for the other team. So I leaned up against the railing and made my posture casual but interested.
Raymond rotated his foot and with it, the rest of his body, until it was parallel to the railing so he could stretch a different part of his leg, and he bent his torso over it, arm swinging up and over his head to engage his upper body. The hem of his jumper slipped up to reveal his hip bone and part of his midriff in what was no doubt a totally contrived move. I didn’t know how
Fletcher kept a straight face watching his posturing. I was having a hard time with it, and it wasn’t even directed at me.
“Father’s priming me to take over for him one day,” Raymond said proudly. “He’s been bringing me into the business more and more lately.”
“Oh?” Fletcher asked like that was the most interesting thing in the world. “Are you helping him with his current project?”
Raymond dropped his foot back to the ground and pushed that single curl from his face, locking it back into the prison of pomade encasing his hair. “The Active Eye deal? Sure. I helped negotiate the price.”
A flutter of excitement lanced through my chest. I could tell that Fletcher felt it, too. Her spine straightened just a little bit, and her fingers flexed at her sides. “Really? Can you tell us more about that?” She moved a step closer to him and softened her smile, even batted her eyes a little, which I thought was laying it on a bit thick, especially since it definitely wasn’t a natural expression on her.
Luckily, Raymond couldn’t tell that she was putting on an act. A matching grin spread across his overly-chiselled features as he moved right up to the base of the stairs so he could tilt his head back and stare up into Fletcher’s face.
“Well--” he began, but the doors burst open at just that moment, and the elder Mr. MacPherson swept through, closely followed by Kingston who stood with his arms folded. If he had a weapon on him, it was cleverly concealed.
Raymond’s words shrivelled up in his mouth when he saw the thunderous expression on his father’s face. It was directed towards us, his brows an angry V across his forehead, his lips so white they were practically invisible against the two red splotches on his cheeks.
“Game’s over, you two,” he snapped. “Get the hell away from my house.”
Fletcher blinked a couple of times, and I painted what I hoped was a perfect mask of confusion and innocence on my face. “I’m sorry? I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean,” I lied. Maybe we could still salvage this? I doubted it.
MacPherson turned the full force of his glare on me, and it definitely withered my spine a little bit. “Then allow me to repeat myself, Detective Inspector MacBain. I don’t know what you’re playing at, coming here under false pretences, but you’d better leave before I decide to get in touch with your Chief Constable.”
His eyes told me two things. One, he knew exactly why we were here and what we were after, and two, he was more than capable of ruining both our careers if we didn’t do as he said. And since we had nothing concrete to link him to our three murders, we had to do as we were told.
“We were actually just about to leave, weren’t we?” I said, glancing at Fletcher, and she nodded emphatically. “Sorry to bother you, Mr MacPherson.”
MacPherson’s expression didn’t change. “Kingston, make sure they actually make it to their car.”
“Yes, sir.” Kingston inclined his head and then skirted around MacPherson, motioning for Fletcher and me to turn and walk down the steps. His eyes were impossible to read, professionally blank. With no other choice, we did so, Raymond squinting at us suspiciously as we passed him. I was sure he was about to get an earful from his father for being so willing to give the details of the Active Eye deal so easily.
Kingston stayed less than a foot behind us the whole way back to the car, breathing silently, his steps light on the soft ground. I didn’t bother trying to ask him what he thought of the MacPherson family or his boss. I knew I would only get stony silence for my trouble. It took us three tense minutes to round the estate, and Kingston watched with his arms folded as we climbed into the car and set off down the drive. I glanced repeatedly in the rearview mirror until the road turned and he was out of sight. He never moved, never even seemed to blink.
“Are you utterly creeped out, too?” Fletcher blurted the moment we could no longer see Kingston as if she thought that he would be able to somehow hear us with his eyes. “That was the strangest, most plastic family I have ever met.”
“Very strange,” I agreed and fell silent for a moment as we passed by the front of the estate. The MacPherson men were gone, disappeared inside so they could argue in private, and it was like the whole scene had never happened. Plastic was right. The place seemed alive--the plants rustled in the breeze, sunlight glinted off the windows, but everything was just a little too perfectly in order like the uncanny valley of a science fiction android’s face. “We should still talk to Jonas MacDonald, but I’m thinking MacPherson is our killer.”
“Not him personally, though,” Fletcher said. “I don’t think he’d be the kind to get his hands dirty, but he definitely orchestrated it.”
So who was the pawn? Was it Kingston? If he was ex-military, he’d certainly have the skills to pull off all three murders.
Before I could ask Fletcher what she thought, someone stepped out of the trees and into the road, and I had to slam on the brakes as hard as I could to avoid hitting her. Fletcher braced her hand against the dash as the car rocked, and we came to an awkward, stalled halt, tyres screeching.
A young woman stared back at us. She had Mary MacPherson’s nose and looked an awful lot like a female version of the young Raymond. Her hood was thrown up over her head, strands of auburn hair falling out the front, and she looked distinctly nervous as she hurried towards the car, head darting every which way to check for watchers in the woods. I restarted the engine and unrolled my window, leaving the gear stick in neutral so I could take my foot off the clutch and put on the handbrake.
“Hello,” I said. This had to be Beatrice, the daughter MacPherson had just told us was out of town.
“I’m Bee MacPherson,” she said, licking her lips as she leaned over to speak with us. Under her light jacket, she wore a red and black flannel shirt, black trousers, and scuffed up trainers, a far cry from the polished exterior of the rest of her family.
“Your father said you were out of town,” Fletcher said, leaning around me so she could see better.
Bee grimaced. “Of course he did.” She straightened slightly, glancing over the roof at the trees to make sure we were still alone. She then held out a folded scrap of paper. “Listen, this is my address. We can’t talk now, but meet me there. Say, nine o’clock.”
I accepted the note. “We’ll be there.”
Bee nodded a couple of times, and some of the anxiety drained from her face. “Good. Good. We’ve got a lot to talk about. I should go before someone realizes I’m actually gone. I’ll see you tonight.” With that, she slipped back into the trees to circle around and approach the estate from some direction other than the main road.
I tucked her address into my pocket and rolled up the window, setting off towards the gate on the other side of the woods. Fletcher twisted around to see if she could catch one last glimpse of Bee, but the young woman was gone. “So she seemed very scared,” Fletcher said.
“She definitely knows something,” I agreed. “Do you think that’s the ‘her’ Hamish Murray mentioned?”
“Maybe. If she is, we shouldn’t have left her there.”
“Surely, MacPherson wouldn’t hurt his own flesh and blood,” I pointed out. “That seems to be all he cares about.”
We fell silent as the iron-wrought gate appeared. It swung open as the attendant spotted our approach, and he lifted a hand in farewell as we eased through. I saw him lift a radio to his mouth once we were past, probably phoning up to the estate to let MacPherson know that the intruders were finally gone.
Fifteen
I was glad to put the MacPherson estate behind us. There’d been a never-ending shiver down my spine the entire time we were there. Raymond MacPherson II seemed the kind to eat people who crossed him, and there was no doubt in my mind that he had set up the murders of three people in order to protect his investment. Hopefully, Bee would be able to give us solid proof tonight that we could use to arrest him and get justice for his victims.
“Are you up for heading back to New Wave Industries one last time
?” I asked. “Maybe we can shake something loose.”
“If I were Jonas MacDonald, and my big sale was in jeopardy, I’d probably be on site,” Fletcher said. “I say we roast him. MacPherson already knows we’re onto him, so what’s MacDonald going to do? Tip him off again?”
The time was edging towards six o’clock, but I figured there would still be someone left in the office to let us inside if we flashed our warrant cards hard enough. It was time to put the pressure on. If we applied enough of it, someone would crack eventually.
I sped a bit more than I probably should have as a law-abiding police officer, but that just meant we arrived at New Wave Industries that much quicker. There were employees leaving the building in ones and twos every few seconds, all dressed in the uniform polo and khakis. Unsure if the door was locked at this time of day and unwilling to find out, Fletcher and I timed our approach so that I could snag the handle just as a woman walked out, pretending to hold it open for her so we could let ourselves inside.
The receptionist was still at her desk, a different woman than the last time we were here, and I wasted no time slapping my badge onto the counter. “Is Jonas MacDonald in?” I asked. I offered her a smile that was polite but also wouldn’t take no for an answer.
The woman froze at the sight of the police badge before her. I gave her a moment to recover since most people never encountered an inspector at their place of work. “Mr MacDonald?” I prompted.
“Yes, he’s in today,” she said, shaking her head to focus again. “But he specifically said that he’s not taking any visitors.”
“We’re not really visitors, are we?” I pointed out, leaning an elbow on the counter. “I’m sure he’ll make an exception.”
“I’ll give him a call,” she said, eager to push this matter up the chain of command. I nodded to say that that would be great and then pulled back to give her a little more room to make the call. She glanced up at Fletcher and me worriedly a couple of times as the phone continued to ring with no answer, but eventually, she perked up and said, “Mr MacDonald? Two police inspectors are here to see you. Shall I send them up?” I could only hear a faint buzz from the other line as she listened. She placed her hand over one end of the phone and looked at us. “Mr MacDonald would like to know if it’s urgent?”
The Hidden Eye Page 23