by Blake Banner
He’d stood, staring at me, and shaken his head: “Na’ye mind. Ah ken the way.”
The flames burned a good three feet high, wavering against the blackened bricks. The wood crackled and sparks showered onto the hearth. Ian Cameron, standing on the black and white checkered floor beneath us, the light from the study door lying slantwise, casting his shadow long behind him. “I will destroy you!” he had said, “So help me God, I will fucking destroy you!”
I had assumed he was talking to Gordon Sr. It was hard to imagine anybody feeling that strongly toward Gordon Jr. I sighed and turned to Dehan. “Come along, Miss Scarlet. Let’s stop messing up the crime scene. It’s not ours to mess up.”
With a face that was on the mad side of reluctant she moved toward the door and stopped. Brown was there, staring at Gordon Jr. with tears in his eyes. He looked up at Dehan, “Mr. Gordon, madam…”
Dehan seemed nonplussed for a moment. I stepped toward him and said, “He’s been shot, Brown.”
He frowned at me, struggling to understand. “Who…?”
“We don’t know. We have to wait until the police arrive.”
He looked around the room. “It’s the same…”
I nodded. “Almost exactly the same.”
“They’ll put it down to suicide again. But Mr. Gordon wouldn’t, sir. I know he wouldn’t.”
Dehan stepped closer to him. “What makes you say that?”
His bottom lip curled and the tears spilled from his eyes. “He was happy go lucky… He wasn’t…” He pulled the handkerchief from his breast pocket, mopped his eyes and blew his nose. “Forgive me, sir, but…” He spoke quietly, looking at his handkerchief. “He wasn’t like the others, if you know what I mean.” He looked me in the eye. “He had no…” He hesitated, then his face twisted with anger. “He had no agenda! He wasn’t trying to get anything from anyone, he was happy to take life as it came, day to day.”
I nodded. “I understand.” I sighed. “Look, we have a very delicate situation here. My wife and I are very experienced police officers, but we have no jurisdiction. This scene must be preserved until the police arrive. The door needs to be sealed. Can you see to that?”
He studied my face for a long moment, then stared at Dehan. “Are we just going to leave him like that?”
I nodded. “I’m afraid we have to, until they arrive.”
He took a deep breath. “I understand. I’ll find a chain and a padlock, sir, and leave the keys with you.”
“That will do fine. Thank you.”
He moved to the cupboard by the ballroom, switched on the light, disappeared inside and reappeared a moment later with a tool kit, a length of chain and a strong padlock. While he set about securing the door, Dehan and I crossed the hall and pushed into the drawing room.
What we found there was not an attractive sight. Gordon was in a large armchair by the wall, apart from the rest. He looked pasty and sick. Sally was sitting on the arm of that chair, stroking his head and muttering things to him. They both looked up as we came in. He looked anxious. She looked like she was trying to read us.
Pam had returned to her chair by the fire. She had curled up on herself and had her face in her hands, rocking back and forth in silence. Bee had also returned to her place on the sofa. She looked startled, as though somebody had just shouted at her and she couldn’t get over it. She was silent, but she had a small, floral handkerchief and kept dabbing her eyes with it. The major was sitting beside her, frowning resentfully at the fire. I looked for Bob Armstrong. He was in a chair by the library, scowling at the window.
I closed the door and looked at the parents of the dead man. The mother alone, trying to convince herself she had not just slipped into hell, the father across the room being consoled by one of his mistresses. I glanced at Dehan.
“There’s a picture of dukkha in action if ever I saw one.” I looked over at Pam and raised my voice, “Mrs. Gordon, Mr. Gordon…” I waited till they were both looking at me. “I am afraid your son is dead. He was murdered at some point during the afternoon or the evening. We are both very sorry.”
Pam screamed. It was a scream of pain, deep and visceral. She fell on her knees, clutching her chest with her hands, staring up at the ceiling, her mouth open wide and her wet face flushed almost purple. Bee gasped, not at the news but at the state of Pamela. She rose and went to her but Pamela turned on her like a savage animal, spitting, “Get away from me! Get away from me! You murdering, thieving bitch!”
Then she was on her feet, rushing across the room, screaming at her husband and at Sally, “Are you satisfied? Are you fucking satisfied? All you ever wanted was to destroy your family! Well now you’ve done it, you piece of fucking shit!”
Sally stood. “Pam, for God’s sake! He’s just lost his son!”
Pamela’s neck swelled, her tendons stretched, and her face turned crimson as she screamed in Sally’s face, “My son! My son! My fucking son! Not his! And not yours, you filthy, thieving whore!”
She gave a small gasp. Her eyes went very wide and her legs seemed to turn to jell-O. Dehan stepped over to her and caught her as she keeled over. Between us, we moved her to a couch by the wall and settled her on it. I studied the major’s face a moment, then Bee’s, and decided she had more of a grip on things.
“Bee, she’s in shock. She’ll soon start to get very cold. Can you arrange for Brown or one of the maids to bring her a blanket?”
She frowned. “Yes, absolutely. And some tea, I think. A good cup of tea. Pull ourselves together…”
She hurried to the bell by the wall and pressed it. Meanwhile, I went to where Gordon was sitting motionless, staring at nothing. I rested my ass on the back of the sofa and watched him a moment.
“Mr. Gordon, are you able to listen to me and take in what I am saying?”
He blinked a few times, then scowled at me. “Yes. Of course I am.”
“Our cell phones have no signal, and the landline is dead. There is no way of contacting the police until the storm subsides.”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“I’ve had Brown seal the room. It’s a crime scene and nothing must be touched until the police get here.”
He stared at me like I’d said something outrageous. Then he frowned across the room at where Armstrong was sitting, then back at me. “That could be days,” he said. “It could be two or three days before we get a signal, or the ferry can land.”
“Well, is there a radio on the island? Surely you have a police station with a radio.”
He shook his head. “This is a private island. There is no police station here. And no radio.”
I looked at Bob, then at Sally. “What do you do when there is an emergency? What does your husband do if there is an accident, or somebody gets ill? You must have some way of contacting the mainland when there’s a storm.”
Bob ignored me, Sally shrugged and Gordon said, “We cope. The way people have always coped out here.”
I sighed. “Mr. Gordon, this is not a game. Your son has been murdered and…” I hesitated.
He looked up at me, frowning, narrowing his eyes. “What? What aren’t you telling me?”
I sighed again and spread my hands. “It is a restaging of your father’s murder.”
There was no mistaking the horror on his face. His skin looked like a corpse’s skin. His eyes bulged and his pupils went to pinpricks. His voice when he spoke was thick. He said, “No…”
“I’m afraid so.”
He shook his head. “No, this is, this is madness. It can’t be. How…?”
Armstrong’s voice bellowed across the room. “How?” We all looked. He stood and took two steps toward us. “How? I’ll tell ye fuckin’ how! Because he done it! He murdered his own feckin’ son! Tha’s how!”
Sally got to her feet. “Robert Armstrong! What are you talking about?”
“He’s a thieving, murdering bastard! Tha’s what I’m talking aboot!”
“For your information, Charles has been
with me all afternoon and all evening!”
He sneered. “Well, there’s a big, feckin’ surprise! An’ where was his wife? Screwin’ your feckin husband? Yiz make me sick to my stomach, the whole, disgusting, thieving, filthy lot of yiz!”
Gordon got to his feet. He was trembling violently. “I did not kill my own son…”
Armstrong advanced another step. “Do you expect anyone here to believe tha’? Do you? Let me tell you something, there is nothing! Nothing! That you are no’ capable of! You are a sick, sick man, Charles Gordon!”
Gordon turned to me. He was sweating profusely. “Find who did this. Find who murdered my son. I will pay you any amount you want. Just name it. But find the man who killed my son. I am the Laird. I am a local magistrate. This island belongs to me. I give you the jurisdiction. If there are problems when the police arrive, I will assume full responsibility. As of now, I am employing you as private investigators. Find my son’s killer and bring him to justice!”
I looked over at Dehan.
She shrugged. “It’s not like we’re going to be doing much honeymooning.”
I grunted. She had a point, and the fact was I was pretty sure I had it cracked already. I just needed to confirm a couple of points before I reeled the killer in. I turned back to Gordon. “Alright, Mr. Gordon. You have a deal. But the minute we get a signal, or the landline is fixed, we contact the cops and they take over.”
I took a moment to look at everyone in the room. After a moment, I said, “Is there anybody here who objects? Is there anyone who does not want me and Detective Dehan to find Charles Gordon’ Jr.’s killer?”
It’s not the kind of question you want to answer in the affirmative. There was no reply at all and after a moment I turned to Sally. “Where is your husband right now, Mrs. Cameron?”
Her cheeks colored and her eyes were bright. I saw her breathing quicken and she fought hard not to glance at Gordon. “I assume he’s at home.”
“You had a fight?”
“Why would you say that?”
I raised my eyebrows and waited.
Dehan stepped up beside me and repeated, “Did you have a fight?”
She shrugged. “It was nothing serious. A disagreement.”
Gordon groaned and lowered himself into his chair again, covering his eyes with his hand. I kept my eyes on Sally. “What about?”
“He didn’t want to come here tonight. I did.”
“And did he?”
“What?”
Dehan said, “Did he come here?”
She hesitated.
Gordon said, “Yes. He did. He was here earlier.”
“You spoke to him?”
He nodded, then amended, “It was more a case of him speaking to me.”
I nodded a few times, chewing my lip. Finally, I said, “I need him brought here, now. Major…”
He stood.
“Will you go with Brown? Bring him here. Do not under any circumstances tell him what has happened. Tell him that Mrs. Gordon is not well, that she needs immediate help. She is distraught and needs sedating. Tell him it is a matter of the utmost importance and it is very urgent that he comes to the castle straight away. Can you do that?”
“Yes, yes, of course!”
“Good, go, quickly.” He hurried away, calling for Brown, and I turned to face the room. “OK, now listen up, let me tell you how this is going to work.”
I stood and walked to the fireplace, where I could see all of them staring back at me.
“We’re going to need to talk to each one of you in turn, to get statements from you. It’s going to be slow and tedious, and laborious, but make no mistake, every single one of you in this room is a suspect. And when your own police arrive here, you’ll be even more of a suspect, because they won’t have had the advantage I have of having spoken to you all already, and got something of your stories.
“So we are going to take each one of you, by turns, into the dining room, get your statement, ask you some questions, and then you’ll be free to do whatever you like, except leave this house.” I smiled. “Not that there are many places you could go, if you did. Any questions?”
There was no reply, only the howl and scream of the wind and the stuttering flash of light outside the window. While I’d been talking to Gordon, the red-haired maid had brought some tea and a blanket, and Pam had come around and was now sitting huddled on the sofa staring at her husband with no particular expression on her face. I glanced at Dehan and she nodded.
I said, “Mrs. Gordon, do you feel up to answering a few questions?”
She nodded without looking at me. “Let’s get it over a done with.”
“I don’t know if you heard, Brown and the major have gone to get Dr. Cameron. When he gets here, I suggest he gives you a sedative and you try to sleep.”
She didn’t react. She spoke almost mechanically. “My son is dead. No amount of sedatives can change that. Let’s just find that bastard who did it.”
She threw off the blanket, got unsteadily to her feet, and we followed her into the dining room.
THIRTEEN
She sat at the foot of the long table and Dehan and I sat on either side of her. I studied her a moment. She was staring at the tabletop. I was aware that for her in that moment everything seemed unreal, because reality was too painful to face.
I said, “Mrs. Gordon, I think you were still unconscious when I explained this to your husband. It’s something very important that you need to understand.” She raised her eyes and frowned at me, like she couldn’t get how anything but her son’s death would ever be important again. I held her eye and said, “Your son’s murder was an almost exact reenactment of his grandfather’s murder.”
Her frown deepened as she struggled to understand what it meant. “But, that can’t be…”
Dehan leaned forward. “What is it,” she asked, “that makes it impossible?”
Pam looked at her quickly, her eyes flicking over her face, like she was trying to fathom why she was asking the question. “Because the old man committed suicide.”
I shook my head. “You must realize by now, Pam, that he did not, that he was murdered.”
And Dehan added quietly, “And for forty years nobody has been able to work out how. So that means one thing…”
Pam stared at her in horror.
I supplied the words that Dehan had left out. “Whoever killed Old Man Gordon may also have killed your son. So I am going to ask you straight out, Mrs. Gordon. Do you know who killed the old man?”
Her eyes shifted to my face, then drifted to stare at nothing but the nightmare images inside her own head. After a moment she said quietly, “No…” but it didn’t sound like an answer to my question.
“What does that mean, Mrs. Gordon?”
“I never believed…” She looked at Dehan, as though she thought she might understand what she was saying. “I never believed Charles was capable of killing his own father. I knew he resented him. I knew there was a lot of anger, but I always had it in my mind that all that resentment and anger covered up a need to be loved. He didn’t want to kill him. He wanted to hurt him, to make him pay attention! That’s why I never believed that the old man was murdered.”
She looked from me to Dehan and back again, searching for confirmation that what she was saying made sense. I was still wondering what it was exactly that she was saying. She must have seen that because she went on, looking into my eyes.
“I mean, why would he?” Suddenly her face twisted with anger and bitterness. “All he ever wanted was to hurt people. That is the joy of life for him! Causing pain and humiliation. Believe me, he would have got far more out of seeing his father’s face at our wedding than out of killing the poor old bastard!”
She raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the drawing room. “And if he looks upset now, it’s not for the loss of his son! Oh, God no! It’s because he won’t have him there to torture, torment and humiliate anymore!”
Dehan leaned fo
rward. “Mrs. Gordon, Pam, I’m a little confused. I’m not sure what you are telling us here. Because on the one hand it sounds as though you’re saying Charles Gordon Sr. would not have killed his own father and his son, because he would prefer to torment them, but on the other it sounds as though you’re suggesting he did. Can you clarify this for me?”
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and gave a long, shuddering sigh.
“I don’t know what I’m saying.” She opened her eyes again, then looked back at Dehan. “I’m telling you I never believed that the old man was murdered. He was always going on about how it was murder, and the fellow who came up from London. But I never believed it. It didn’t make any sense to me. Who would want him dead? But now, you’re saying this to me, and the only person who’d had any kind of motive was Charles… But I can’t believe it. His own father, his own son!”
I sighed and flopped back in my chair. “Where were you this afternoon and this evening, Mrs. Gordon?”
She gaped at me. Her jaw dropped and her eyes went wide. “You think I killed my own son?”
I shook my head. “I think that is very unlikely, but I still want to know where you were, because then maybe you can confirm where other people were. If we can nail down everybody’s whereabouts up to cocktails, then it won’t be hard to spot the person with no alibi. That’s the theory, anyway.”
She closed her eyes.
“I left you at the inn. That must have been one or one thirty. I’m not sure. I walked back because I wanted to clear my head. I went up to my room and had a wee lie down. But then, about three or so, he came in and said he needed me to leave the bedroom because he was entertaining!”
Her face flushed red. I nodded that I understood. “Did he tell you who he was entertaining?”
“He didn’t need to.” Her face and her voice were savage. “His latest fancy is Sally Cameron. It’s not the first time he’s had her here, but he’s never been quite so blatant about it before.”
Dehan raised an eyebrow. “What would make him become blatant like that, do you think?”
The room went very quiet. It was the same question I was about to ask. Pam stared hard at her hands and her jaw worked, but she didn’t say anything for a good while. Eventually she shrugged and shook her head. “Old age? Complacency? The knowledge that he can get away with blue bloody murder and nobody will raise a fucking finger to stop him?”