by Hannah Reed
“Ye know each other from the supper,” Sean said, scribbling away. “I recognize yer name. Here it is. Morag Lisle.”
I quickly related the details of our meeting, since last night’s conversation with Sean and Vicki had mostly centered around the two dueling men. When I finished, Morag added to my story.
“As ye know, I left the supper right behind the doctor. I’m renting a room in a bungalow a little further up Laurel Crescent. I’d turned off the main road when a figure came out o’ the shadow, right in front of my car. At first, I thought it was a deer, but by the time I realized it was a person, my driver door was flung open. I didn’t have a chance tae escape. He took my belongings and forced me into the boot at knifepoint.”
“Sean,” I asked, “was the last victim a pensioner?”
“Aye.”
Sean and I exchanged glances. This was the second such occurrence, with the robber rushing his victim’s automobile and forcing his victim into the car’s trunk. The only difference was in Morag’s age. She certainly wasn’t a senior citizen. The robber was changing things up significantly.
“Can you describe the knife he used?” I asked, realizing that this attack had to have occurred prior to Stuart’s murder, while he was carrying his in his stocking and sitting cockily at the supper table.
Morag shrugged. “Silver blade, about this long.” She extended her index fingers, indicating approximately three inches, several inches shorter than the kilt knife.
“What did the robber look like?”
“Dark jogging bottoms, had on one o’ those face masks like ye see bank robbers wear on television.”
“That’s him, all right,” Sean said. “What was in yer handbag?”
“Credit card, draft card, a few pounds—normal purse items. This has been a traumatic experience fer me.” She rubbed her forehead. “I can’t think straight right now to come up with an inventory.”
“You are going to have to answer some questions,” I said, gently. “Then Sean will try to track your phone.”
“I need tae go tae my place,” Morag insisted. “I have tae notify my card issuers immediately.”
Sean stepped in, “Ye can do that in a bit. There has been a murder and your presence is required here, right now.”
“A murder?”
Sean hesitated, pleading eyes focused on me. There was no easy way to say it, so I plunged on, “Stuart McKay was found stabbed to death on the street outside Brenda and Derrick Findlay’s home. Inspector Jamieson will want to get a statement from you.”
After a stunned moment, Morag said, “Oh my God, That’s terrible. I wish I’d never asked fer an invitation to that supper! Trapped in the boot of my own car fer hours, and now this! And here it is the middle of the night. I never met any of you before tonight, don’t know anything that might be of help.” Morag’s jawline tightened. “A statement will have to wait until tomorrow.”
Sean took up the challenge. “I’m afraid it can’t wait. Tis a murder, woman. I’ll put ye in handcuffs if I have tae.”
Morag sighed. “Since ye put it that way, it appears that I have no choice. But ye know we all saw and heard the same thing. It’s going tae be repetitious and a waste o’ time.”
And she was partly right. My account of the evening matched hers up to the point when she left the supper, as later did Dallas’ and Vicki’s. Although those two had missed the doctor’s and Morag’s departures while serving up tipsy laird.
It seemed like forever before we were finished and I drove to my cottage, wondering how the inspector had faired with Dr. Teague.
As rays of sun cleared the horizon, announcing a new day, I fell into bed where my feline companion curled waiting and slept hard and dreamless.
Chapter 4
Late morning, and I awoke to find Snookie wrapping her soft white body around the top of my head, purring contently, not a care in the world. Coffee, a shower, and fresh clothing, and I felt almost human again. Strolling down the lane past Vicki’s house, I encountered more members of our animal menagerie. Sheep dotted the hillsides, overseen by the farm’s herding dogs, and the barn was home to Jasper, our feral cat, who was sometimes friendly, but only on his terms.
He stalked nonchalantly over to where I’d stopped and wound between my legs, arching and stretching. Next, Vicki’s two West Highland terriers raced up for attention. Pepper and Coco crowded each other as I bent to stroke them in fair distribution.
Beyond, I could see Sheep Expressions, the farm’s wool and yarn shop, which is popular with visitors and has become a frequent tour bus stop. Vicki would be there preparing for knitting classes or restocking shelves, immersing herself in a kaleidoscope of colors and softness.
Idyllic. Where life slows down. My haven. I like to think that the ugliness of the world can’t touch me here. Today, more than any other day, I wanted to remain on the farm, forget about the murder and pretend that Dr. Teague wasn’t the prime suspect. Unfortunately, as a constable, my wish would not be granted. How had this atrocity occurred? And more importantly, why?
Sun shone from above, but an invisible cloud formed over me as I contemplated the most likely outcome. Our village’s esteemed doctor convicted of first-degree murder. Over a dispute regarding two literary giants. A difference of opinion hardly seemed a motive for murder. There had to be more to it.
What had Vicki said as we left the gathering?
That the two of them had been at each other’s throats before. We’d have to find out the real reason for their animosity toward each other. And the place to start was with the survivor. The Doctor. Jamieson would have grilled him thoroughly by now. The inspector didn’t sleep much during a case, as I’d become aware of during past criminal investigations.
Speaking of the relentless inspector, my cell phone chimed, informing me that Jamieson was trying to contact me.
“Do not wish me a good morning,” he snarled before I even opened my mouth. I hated speaking with him early in the morning and as usual, I considered ignoring his call until later when he wasn’t so crabby. Wishful thinking on my part. I couldn’t bring myself to let his calls go to messaging.
“What is it that you want then?” I replied matching his tone.
“I’ve sent Sean tae get ye. And make it quick. Time’s wastin’.”
“I’m on my way to speak with Vicki about a few things I forgot to ask earlier, regarding previous confrontations between Stuart and the doctor.” I was already standing on the steps leading into Sheep Expressions. “This won’t take long.”
Sean’s patrol car appeared down the lane, traveling my way.
“Get yerself here, Constable. And that’s an order. Besides, yer Vicki doesn’t know anything useful.”
“Where is here?” I wanted to know, but he’d hung up.
Agitated by the inspector’s bullish behavior, nevertheless, I slid into the patrol car beside Sean and immediately asked, “What’s going on?
“Tis not fer the likes of us tae know, it seems. I feel like pullin’ a hair from his nose.”
In spite of my irritation over Jamieson’s brisk summons, I had to smile. “Pull one for me, too,” I replied, noting that we were winding through the center of the village, heading west. “Where are we going?”
“Tae the boss’ house. He gave me directions.”
“Really.” This was interesting. I’d never been there before. The man was usually extremely private and as far as I was aware, didn’t entertain guests, and especially not his team. Which led to the next question. “Why?”
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
So, Sean didn’t know any more than I did. “Any luck tracking Morag’s phone?” Ahead, a red deer leapt across the narrow road followed by another and Sean slowed in case there were more. “Like all the rest of the stolen mobiles. Tossed in a garbage bin. Hers was in one close tae the scene o’ the bugger’s crime.”
“Witnesses?”
“Not a one, at least none that will admit tae it.”
We sped up, took another turn, then another, and grazing fields turned quickly into woodlands. Finally, we arrived in a clearing surrounded by pines and junipers, where we parked on a stone drive and climbed out of the vehicle.
“Tis a hunting box,” Sean informed me, while I took in my surroundings, particularly interested in the inspector’s choice of home.
A box? I’d never heard the reference before. In the states, we’d call this dwelling a lodge. Or a cabin. I studied the wood exterior, which was rather plain, while Sean walked up to the door and opened it.
“You better knock,” I advised him, thinking my suggestion would save him a cursing.
“Boss said tae come right in.”
The simple exterior had deceived me into thinking the interior would be plain also. Instead, the cozy interior was all pine walls, wood floors, and banks of windows. Jamieson sat in a leather chair beside a picture window with a stunning view of the forest. I was drawn to the sight of colorful goldfinches and tits jostling for perches on a bird feeder.
Reluctantly turning from the view, I noticed that the inspector’s left leg was raised, resting on a footstool and supported by pillows. Crutches leaned against the wall within arm’s reach.
“I fell off the curb beside the crime scene and can’t put weight on the bloody ankle,” he said, with a grimace of pain.
“Have you been to the doctor?” I asked, glancing at the crutches.
“Ye mean to our star suspect fer tending?” Jamieson growled. “I didn’t even get a chance tae go tae his home and question him before I did this stupid thing. I’ve been icing it and wrapped it. That’ll have tae do fer now. And the crutches were in my attic, old things, they are. Take a seat, both o’ ye.”
Sean plopped down on the sofa, and I joined him.
“Smart thinking on yer part tae avoid our local doctor.” Sean said, “If the doc is our killer, he might o’ shot ye up with poison, and then we’d have a dead boss on our hands and a double murder.”
“Thank ye fer pointing that out,” Jamieson said to him. “If yer done with wild speculations, we have work tae do. Constable Stevens, ye need tae canvass in the vicinity o’ last night’s robbery, find us a witness, anybody who saw anything out o’ place. And I expect ye tae do better than ye haff been with finding clues to apprehending the Pensioner Robber.”
I chimed in, “We might want to rename him. His latest victim was Morag Lisle, and she’s a long way from retirement age.” I filled him in on the latest heist.
“He’s branching out.” Sean added. “And maybe he’s addin’ murder tae his list of crimes.”
Jamieson looked annoyed. “If ye thought it through, ye’d ask yerself questions and ponder findin’ the proper answers right in front o’ yer nose. Fer example, if he did in fact attack Stuart McKay and leave him dead on the street, he changed his methods tae the extreme. The victim wasn’t inside an auto, nor was he feeble. He was a solid built man, not some weakened old woman. And he was wearing a kilt and traditional weaponry. Hardly a vulnerable target. Our robber is more o’ a coward than that.”
“It was just an idea,” Sean admitted, deflating. “And now eliminated.”
“Stuart might have interrupted the robbery,” I suggested. At the flash in the inspector’s eyes, cold and sharp as daggers themselves, I hastily added. “Whoever was the real target may have been afraid and drove away as soon as the attacker turned from her to Stuart. It’s a possibility, no matter how slim.”
The inspector slowly lowered his foot to the floor and fumbled for the crutches. “And what about the knife? Although the medical report isn’t ready, the M.E. says that the blade wound is consistent with a knife such as Stuart’s. The robber had his own. Why use Stuart’s, then run off with it?”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
The inspector dropped one of his crutches and frowned. “I’ve issued a request, asking motorists tae check their webcam footage both out at Laurel Crescent and in the village fer several blocks surrounding the murder scene, as we’ve done fer all the robberies. With a bit o’ luck, something will show up.”
I picked up the crutch and handed it to him. He tucked it under his arm and glared at Sean. “So, what are ye waitin’ fer? Give it some stick!”
Sean jumped to his feet and for a moment, I thought he might salute. Instead, he fairly shouted, “Aye, sir!” and headed for the door.
“Wait for me,” I warned him. “You’re my ride!”
“Never mind that.” Jamieson waved him off. “I’ll see that she gets back.”
Sean disappeared, and I turned to find the inspector chuckling.
“You enjoy harassing poor Sean,” I said, realizing how difficult it was to tell what his mood really was at any given moment. “And what in the world does ‘give it some stick’ mean?”
“Put some energy into it. That’s all. What? Ye don’t have that expression where ye come from?”
I shook my head. “Hardly. But let’s put some stick into it ourselves. I think we should get you to the doctor.”
“My thought exactly.” Jamieson, unfamiliar with operating crutches, made an awkward start. “I trust ye’ll prevent the good doctor from poisoning me.”
“Depends,” I said, trailing slowly behind as we approached his Honda CR-V.
“On what?”
“On your behavior. I’m going to ask him about putting you on anti-cranky pills though.”
“This injury had tae happen tae my drivin’ foot and force me tae depend on ye, of all people.”
I held the door for him. “Now you’re stuck with me.”
“Aye, that I am.”
As he grappled with the crutches, cursing under his breath, I realized that I was just as stuck with the inspector as he was with me.
And how would we handle that?
Chapter 5
The surgery was located two blocks from the pub. On the way over, Jamieson reiterated what the medical examiner had shared with him regarding direct heart strikes, information I could have lived my entire life without needing to know.
“’Tis hard tae stab the heart itself,” he explained. “The heart lies behind the sternum, protected by ribs and tough connective tissue. Usually a major artery is hit instead, death resulting from massive internal bleeding. Either the attacker would have tae have incredible upper body strength tae penetrate the ribs or have a keen grasp o’ the human skeletal system. The strike was between the fourth and fifth rib, with the knife angled into the left ventricle.”
I thought about that, unwanted images of Stuart’s last moments forming in my mind. “The attacker meant business.”
“Aye, almost like an execution. If this person had been the car robber surprised in the act, he would o’ been fightin’ tae escape, not aiming tae kill. If he did try tae murder our victim, it would o’ been easier fer him tae go fer the kidneys or stomach.”
“You’ve convinced me that they aren’t one and the same,” I replied.
“And here’s another important detail when stabbing fer the heart.” His piercing eyes met mine briefly when I shifted my vision from the road. “The most damage tae the heart is done with the point o’ the knife,” he said. “It has tae be extremely sharp.”
Eyes back on the road, I said, “And Stuart’s certainly was. He made sure everyone knew that.”
“The guests at the table will be our focus unless something presents itself tae lead us in a different direction.”
After parking and getting the inspector upright and moving, we entered the surgery and sat in the waiting room while Dr. Teague finished with a patient. The advantage of having a village physician is the freedom to wander in at will, rather than always needing to schedule an appointment days or weeks in advance. Once the patient left, the doctor locked the door and reversed the open sign. Closed. Teague knew why we were here.
“I see yer favoring yer leg,” he said, noting the crutches beside Jamieson.
“My ankle hasn’t cooperated since I turned i
t last night.”
“I have a meeting soon, but I have time tae take a look,” he said, and we followed him into an exam room. “Up on the examining table with ye after ye remove yer shoe and sock. Ye don’t mind Eden remaining in the room during the exam?”
“Her presence is necessary, I’m afraid.” Jamieson did as he’d been asked.
“This is more than a medical visit, I presume. I heard about Stuart this morning. It was a shock, ye ken.”
He examined the ankle, gently applying light pressure.
“Is it broken?” I asked, imagining long weeks of caregiving in my future rather than a few days.
“An X-ray is needed. Eden, if ye’ll step out fer a moment. It won’t take but a minute.”
I paged through a magazine until I was called back in for the verdict.
“Not fractured, so that’s good,” the doctor said. “It’s likely sprained. I’ll wrap it fer ye, although ye did a good job on yer own.”
“A sprain? I could o’ diagnosed that myself,” the inspector grumbled, perfecting the bad patient. “I didn’t need an X-ray.”
I gave him my best warning stare.
While the doctor tended to Jamieson’s ankle, he asked for details of the murder.
“Ye know I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation,” the inspector replied. “And it’s me that needs tae question yerself. Where did ye go when ye left the Findlay’s last night?”
The doctor finished and I thought his face was a bit pale, although he had to have anticipated some sort of interrogation. “I went to the Kilt & Thistle fer some peace and quiet and a pint, and tae try tae salvage the evening best I could. Nobody likes tae speak ill of the dead, but Stuart was intolerable. The rare occasion when the man wasn’t presenting the hot-headed side of his personality, he was hangin’ his bum out the window, talking nonsense.”
The inspector nodded an acknowledgement rather than agreement. “How long were ye at the pub?”
“Not long as the place was crowded with an overnight group of tourists on a bus who were staying next door at the inn.”