The Woman on the Cliff

by JANICE FROST

  “So, what’s going on? Why all the secrecy? You aren’t going to announce your engagement or something, are you?”

  “Izzy!” I feel myself redden. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Innes grinning.

  “Well, it has to be something mega. You said you needed my help on an ‘important matter.’ I’ve tossed and turned half the night worrying what it could be, so I hope you feel guilty.”

  I doubt that. Izzy used to go out like a light at bedtime, and she was always hard to rouse in the morning. I’m sure she hasn’t changed.

  Innes and I have already discussed how much we ought to tell her. I take a deep breath and begin by explaining that when I lived on North Street, there was a fifth house sharer called Moira.

  “Moira was murdered. Her body was found up on the cliff path. Soon afterwards, a local boy called Stuart Brogan took his own life, leaving behind a note confessing to her murder. Moira had had a short relationship with him and she’d two-timed him. He was very upset when he found out, and it seemed that he was upset enough to kill her. Innes was involved in the investigation into Moira’s death when he was a young police constable.”

  For once, Izzy listens without asking loads of questions. I’m giving her the bare bones of the story. I don’t mention Elspeth’s behaviour towards Moira. I leave out any reference to Moira’s affair with Andrew Kelso. I focus on Innes’s recent communication from Barbara MacDonald, and the possibility that Stuart Brogan might have been innocent.

  When I’ve finished, Izzy says that she can’t understand why I’ve never mentioned Moira, or what happened to her, before now.

  “I suppose we were all deeply affected by her death. We don’t like to talk about it.”

  Is that the reason? Elspeth was the one who least liked to talk about Moira, allegedly because of her feelings of guilt over how she behaved towards her. She was always the one to steer the conversation in a different direction whenever Moira’s name arose.

  Doug once speculated that if Moira hadn’t woken up that time when she crept into her room with the scissors, Elspeth might have been the one to harm Moira. Possibly I fed his imagination by telling him that Elspeth had all but confessed as much to me.

  “You haven’t told me why you need my help,” Izzy says, touching my shoulder. Innes is driving. My daughter catches my eye in the mirror. “Am I right in guessing that ex-Detective Chief Inspector Innes Nevin and you are trying to uncover the truth about what happened to Moira?”

  “Yes,” I say. “We’re interested in speaking with a man called Piers Thornton. He knew Moira. He’s now a professor of history at Edinburgh University. We didn’t want to arouse his suspicions by asking if he’d talk to us about Moira, so we thought perhaps you could pose as a prospective student. I emailed him yesterday. He agreed to meet us, but if you feel uncomfortable about it, we can pretend you weren’t able to come along.”

  I feel slightly guilty about presenting our plan to her as a fait accompli, but there hasn’t really been time to explain until now. Besides, I know my daughter. She loves a challenge and a mystery. Innes and I have discussed the possible risks to her from this venture. We won’t be taking any.

  “I never realised you could be so devious, Mum,” she says, grinning. “Count me in. Innes, are you going to play Daddy?”

  Innes laughs. “That’s the plan.”

  “So, tell me what I need to say. Luckily I did history A level, so at least I can ask some convincing questions.”

  The rest of the journey is taken up with rehearsing our parts. Piers Thornton has arranged to meet us in the history department reception area at one, and will show us around. If we need additional information, he can give us a little extra time after the tour to answer our questions.

  It is twelve fifty when we arrive. Izzy looks composed. She’s not the type to be nervous. The bruises on her face have faded but are still visible. Innes has advised her to say that she was mugged if Thornton comments.

  Innes and I have discussed the possibility of him recognising me. It’s extremely unlikely, given that he met me only once in a darkened hall. Still, a tremor runs through me when he walks into the reception. He’s a connection with Moira and the past. He might even be harbouring a sinister secret about what happened to her.

  “Mr and Mrs Nevin, and Isabella?” he says, smiling, and shakes hands with each of us in turn. It’s hard to resist staring at him, looking for any resemblance to the young man I met that night at the disco, but my memory of him is blurred and outdated. He looks like the man with the buzz cut in the picture Innes and I saw on the internet.

  “We’re very grateful to you for agreeing to show us around at such short notice,” Innes says. “We can’t make the open day, and Izzy has her heart set on coming here. She wants to apply as soon as she can.”

  “Not a problem,” Thornton says at once. “I’m always delighted to meet prospective students and it’s not often I have the time to do so. You’ve caught me on a day when my schedule is less hectic than usual. May I ask why you were keen to speak with me rather than one of my colleagues?”

  Izzy is ready with her answer. “One of my history teachers is a bit of a fan of yours. She’s always going on about your books and articles. When Dad said he was going to call and see if we could arrange an impromptu tour, I told him to ask for you. It’s so cool that you’re available.”

  Thornton smiles indulgently. He takes us through a door and into a corridor. There are offices on each side, all bearing the name of a department member. One is Thornton’s. We walk past it and through a set of swing doors into a stairwell. We ascend some stairs and Thornton points out seminar rooms, the department library. Lastly, we look at the lecture theatres where first-year lectures are held. As we walk, Izzy, Innes and I ask the sort of questions that a prospective student and her parents might ask.

  By the time we arrive back at Thornton’s office, there’s little else to find out, but when he asks if we’d like more time, we say yes. Izzy excuses herself, saying she has no more questions and she’d like to wander around on her own for a bit. Thornton looks a bit surprised. He wishes her all the best in making her application to the university.

  “So what else can I help you with, Mr and Mrs Nevin?”

  Innes asks about entrance qualifications, something we’ve covered already. Thornton explains again. I ask about academic and pastoral support.

  Then, just as we are finishing up, I say, “Do you know, I think we’ve met before.” Thornton stares at me as if he’s hardly noticed me until now. I can almost hear his brain scratching through stray memories for a trace of the woman before him. He frowns, the search evidently having produced no results.

  “I’m sorry . . .”

  “Oh, no need to apologise. I didn’t expect you to remember me. It’s just that your name sounded a bit familiar. And I have a bit of a gift for remembering faces. As soon as I saw you, I had that déjà vu feeling, you know?”

  Thornton nods uncertainly. He shifts in his chair. I’ve knocked him out of his comfort zone. Does he have a reason to be cagey about meeting people from his past?

  “We met in St Andrews, I think. At a disco at the students’ union. You were with my friend, Elspeth Blair. It was aeons ago — you probably won’t remember. Oh, and I was Ros Anderson back then.”

  “I remember Elspeth,” Thornton says coolly. “We dated for a couple of months.”

  “You met one of my other housemates too, I think. Moira Mackie?” I frown, pretending that I can’t quite remember.”

  Thornton’s eyes narrow ever so slightly. “Yes, I remember Moira, but only because of what happened to her. It was in the news. And of course, as we just said, I was with Elspeth at the time.”

  “Yes, it was a terrible tragedy.”

  Our eyes meet. Thornton’s are dark with suspicion. “At least the police got their man. Must have been some consolation to the poor young woman’s family.” He picks up some papers from his desk, shuffles them, glances at the smartwatch
on his wrist, indicating that we’ve overstayed our welcome. I plough on regardless.

  “I worried when Elspeth came home alone after the disco. She was so angry with you for flirting with Moira that she didn’t care where you stayed. It was far too late for you to go back to Edinburgh.”

  My words tumble out, apparently at random. I wonder what Thornton will make of this new direction the conversation has taken. “I assumed you stayed with Andrew Kelso. You were his student once, weren’t you?”

  “Er . . . yes. I spent the night at the Kelsos’, though Andrew wasn’t there. Away at a conference, I don’t doubt. As I recall, the baby was sick with croup or whatever babies get. Cried half the night. I returned to Edinburgh the following day.”

  “Did you ever see Moira again after that night?”

  “Why on earth would I? I wasn’t interested in Moira, as I kept telling Elspeth. If she hadn’t been so blinded by jealousy, she might have seen that.” He looks at his watch, less subtly this time. “No offence, but I have to get on.”

  “I’m sorry. I got carried away with the past. I suppose I’ve just always wondered what really happened to Moira.”

  Thornton freezes. “We know what happened. That local boy she was seeing lost his temper when he found out about her and Andrew.”

  I nod. Thornton’s patience has run out. And I think he guesses at the real reason for our visit. He’s going to be even more put out by my next question, coming out of context and after he’s as good as told us to get out. “Did you ever meet Andrew Kelso’s German cousin, Hans?”

  Thornton bristles. “Andrew never mentioned a German cousin to me. Look, I appreciate you were affected by your friend’s death but I hardly knew her, and I really don’t have time to chat.”

  I shrug. “Moira met him. In Aviemore, and in Edinburgh. I just thought you might have met him too, given your friendship with Andrew.”

  A vein on Thornton’s forehead throbs. “No. I’m sure I didn’t.”

  Innes tugs at my sleeve. “You’ll have to excuse my wife, Professor. She’s been haunted all these years by what happened to her friend. It’s become a bit of an obsession, to the point that she’s convinced herself that the police never caught the true killer. I’ve told her it’s ridiculous. The police don’t make mistakes like that.”

  Innes gives me a patronising look. I have to remind myself he’s playing a role. “Come on, love. We’ve taken up enough of the professor’s time already. And Izzy’s probably wondering why we’re taking so long.”

  We thank Thornton again. I feel his eyes on my back all the way along the corridor from his office.

  “I overdid it, didn’t I?” I say to Innes anxiously, as soon as we’re out of earshot. “That question about Hans was way out of context. He’ll either think I’m crazy or it’ll make him suspicious.”

  “It was a bit out of left field,” Innes agrees. “But if he had nothing to do with Moira’s death, he’ll have no reason to be suspicious. At least the questions sounded more convincing coming from you. I’d have sounded like the policeman I am . . . was.”

  “Did we learn anything?” I ask. “Anything that we didn’t know already, I mean.”

  “There’s one thing I picked up on,” Innes says, turning to look back up the stairwell. He steers me to the exit. “The Kelsos claimed that their baby had croup the weekend Moira vanished. I find it hard to believe he was struck down with the same ailment two weeks before that, when Thornton turned up looking for a bed for the night.”

  I stare at Innes, impressed. “Meaning that the Kelsos lied about their alibi?”

  “It’s easier to lie convincingly if you stick to a partial truth. I don’t doubt they were telling the truth about their son’s illness . . .”

  “They just switched around the weekend he was sick.”

  Innes shrugs. “It’s a possibility.”

  “If so, then Annie Kelso lied for Andrew. Is still lying for him. Why would she do that now, when she owes him nothing, and he could be a murderer?”

  “Perhaps she knows her husband didn’t kill Moira, but that he was up to something that weekend, and it was something she wouldn’t want to become common knowledge.”

  “So, it could be something that would bring shame on her as well as Andrew?”

  I take a while to imagine the moment when Annie Kelso demanded that her husband tell her the truth about his whereabouts at the time of Moira’s murder. What had he told her?

  Innes looks as puzzled as I feel. “Of course,” he points out, “it could be that Kelso convinced his wife of his innocence and she lied to save him having to answer a lot of awkward questions when the police came to call. And of course, we can’t discount the possibility that Annie Kelso might have known that her husband killed Moira, and lied to protect him, or to spare their son from ever knowing that his father was a murderer.”

  I give a sigh. “So many possibilities. How do you begin to find the truth amidst so much clutter?”

  “Good solid police work, plus a certain amount of guesswork.” Innes gives a wry smile. “And sometimes a bit of luck.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “So how did I do?”

  We meet up with Izzy in a café near the history department. She looks at us over a cone-shaped blob of cream floating atop a tall glass. She claims it’s a coffee but it looks more like a dessert.

  “You were a star,” Innes says.

  “Great performance. Thanks, Izzy.”

  “How did it go after I left? Did you get the information you needed from Professor Thornton?” She lowers her voice. “Is he a killer?”

  “We had an interesting conversation,” I say, putting my finger to my lips.

  “Okay, so you don’t want to talk about it here, right? I get it,” Izzy says.

  “Time for a quick lunch before we speak with Annie Calder?” Innes asks. He had contacted Kelso’s ex-wife the previous day. She’d been reluctant to meet with him again, but he’d managed to persuade her it was important.

  Izzy, who’s already eaten, says, “If you don’t need me this afternoon, I think I’ll go shopping for a couple of hours. There’s a shop on Rose Street that a friend told me about.”

  We agree to call her when we are finished speaking with Annie Kelso.

  “What about Elspeth?” Izzy asks as she’s shrugging into her coat. “Did you find out if she’s free this evening?”

  On the drive over, Izzy had expressed a wish to see Elspeth while we were in Edinburgh. To be honest, I wasn’t keen on Elspeth meeting Innes again, but he suggested that it might be useful for him to question her, subtly, about the past.

  “Oh, yes. I almost forgot to tell you. Elspeth’s invited us to eat at her place. I suggested we go out, but she insisted on Duncan cooking for us. Apparently he’s one of these people who can rustle up a feast out of leftovers.”

  “Well, if it’s as good as the lasagne he cooked for us last time, I’ll need thirds,” Izzy says. She kisses me on the cheek. “Hope your next interrogation goes well. Laters.”

  She breezes off, leaving Innes and I alone. As soon as Izzy is out of sight, he takes my hand. At his touch, my entire body tingles with desire and happiness. I sense he feels it too. Our eyes meet and we smile shyly, like a pair of teenagers discovering the wonder of love and sexual attraction for the first time. I’d like nothing more than to leave the café, go somewhere private and make love all afternoon.

  “What you’re thinking,” Innes says, with a twinkle in his eye, “that’s what I’d like to do too.”

  The waitress hovers near the table with our order. I feel slightly embarrassed, as though Innes and I must be very obviously oozing sex.

  “One ciabatta with brie and cranberry, one with ham and cheese. I’ll be back with your drinks.”

  We’re just another middle-aged couple to her. Probably look like we’ve been married for years. As I take a bite of my ciabatta, I contemplate how it might be, spending the rest of my life with this man. Would Doug appr
ove? I think he’d give me his blessing.

  “Penny for them,” Innes says. He reaches across the table and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His hand lingers on my cheek.

  “Just . . . memories,” I say, knowing he’ll understand. He’s a widower, after all.

  “They’d want us to be happy.”

  “Yes.” I press his hand against my cheek and put it to my lips. I haven’t felt like this about any man since Doug. It’s like waking in wonder after a long sleep.

  * * *

  Annie Calder, as she is now, lives in a modern house in the New Town.

  “You’re late,” she says by way of welcome.

  “Sorry. We’ve walked quite a distance to get here. It seemed the better option, given the traffic,” I say.

  “I’ve no idea why you’ve come,” Annie says, addressing Innes. We are still standing on the doorstep. I didn’t expect to be met with open arms, but this reception is borderline rude. Innes doesn’t introduce me and, to my relief, she doesn’t seem interested in knowing who I am. “You’d better come in. But I’d be grateful if you’d be quick. I have things to do.”

  The door leads into a wide hallway with a parquet floor. We follow Annie into a tastefully furnished living room filled with light. The décor is neutral, restrained and lacking in personality. Annie sits down but doesn’t invite us to do the same. We sit anyway. There’s no way she’s going to offer us a cup of tea.

  “So, how can I help you this time, Inspector?”

  Innes doesn’t correct her. “Well, to begin with, I’d like you to confirm again that Andrew Kelso, your then husband, spent the weekend of Moira Mackie’s murder at home with you and your sick child.”

  “How many times do I need to repeat myself? Yes. Andrew was at home with me and Karl all that weekend. Karl had croup. We took turns walking the floor with him. It was exhausting.”

  “How long had your son been sick?” Innes asks.

  “Since the day before. He had a fever and a bad cough.”

  “Am I right in saying that croup generally doesn’t last longer than forty-eight hours?”