Authors: Aline Templeton
‘Who knows? Anything could happen, if it’s a good party.’
Andy’s voice sharpened. ‘Louise, you’re not taking this seriously, are you?’
‘Thought you’d never notice. He’s asked me and I’ve accepted. I’m going.’
‘No, you’re not. As your superior officer, I’m forbidding it.’
She had to take a deep breath and count to ten. ‘It may come as a shock, Sergeant, but even if I’m only a humble constable your awesome power doesn’t extend to my social life. Though of course, it’s awfully sweet of you to be concerned.’
‘Louise—’
‘Of course, you can go and clype to Mummy. “Boss, Louise won’t do what I tell her! It’s not fair!” But she can’t do anything if I don’t answer the phone – and I won’t. I’m switching it off right now. And don’t come round – I’m not answering the door. Sorry – must dash. I’m just going to have a lovely relaxing bath before I get my slap on.’
Grinning, she could hear his bleating protests as she rang off. The smile only faded as she went through to the bathroom. Andy had sounded really concerned. Was she just letting her contrary nature override her common sense? She was, of course she was.
But she couldn’t climb down now. And anyway, she’d known Randall since uni and at bottom he was just a pussycat. Wasn’t he?
DC Lizzie Weston finished taking the statement from a householder whose garden ornaments had been stolen, assured him, untruthfully, that they would indeed be investigating the case and then before someone else could nobble her, slipped outside again.
It was a different person who took her call to the Kirkluce headquarters, but the message was exactly the same. She could talk to someone who would take it forward to DI Fleming if necessary.
That wasn’t the point. Well, it was partly the point, of course: she had important information relating to a murder enquiry and it was her duty to pass it on to the appropriate authority.
But she wanted DI Fleming to know that it was her, Lizzie Weston, who’d taken the risk of incurring the vengeance of her inspector by doing her duty. She wanted to be able to ask her directly about a transfer and even if she hadn’t quite decided how she’d do it, she wasn’t going to give up yet.
Her husband was a farmer, wasn’t he? Surely she could find out the name of the farm and get the phone number.
DI Fleming was in an irritable mood by the time Macdonald, Campbell and MacNee arrived in her office. DSI Rowley was on her back already, demanding miracles, and she’d been forced to endure a gleeful phone call from DI Taylor in Dumfries, washing his hands of the Connell Kane case so energetically that she could almost hear the water splashing.
To add to her annoyance, the SOCOs were dragging their feet. She’d hoped to find the papers that had been removed from Sea House on her desk by now, but they hadn’t appeared.
‘For the moment there’s little to go on,’ she told her team. ‘No useful fingerprints or footprints and the fingertip search didn’t produce anything either.’
She gave Macdonald and Campbell a brief report on the woman who had arrived on Eleanor Margrave’s doorstep on the night of the storm and the outcome of the interviews with Skye Falconer, Jen Wilson and the Stewarts. Macdonald reported on Philippa and Randall Lindsay, including his threats.
Fleming listened, frowning. ‘I don’t like the sound of that. I’ll tell Louise not to go.’
Macdonald looked uncomfortable. ‘I tried that. She’s made up her mind – said it’s her social life, not official, and it’s none of my business.’
She knew it was unfair to feel annoyed with Andy when he’d only done what any responsible sergeant would have, but with the situation he and Louise had set up between them, he should have been able to predict her reaction if he tried telling her what to do.
She sighed. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! I’d better have a word with her myself.’
Macdonald cleared his throat. ‘Er … she said she was going to be incommunicado.’
‘Did she?’ Fleming said grimly. ‘Tam, what do you reckon?’
MacNee considered. ‘It’s not exactly the Glasgow East End on a Saturday night when Celtic’s lost, is it? It’s a nice wee village with party guests who aren’t going to stand by and watch someone being duffed up. Anyway, what do you reckon to your chances of stopping her if she’s got the bit between her teeth?’
‘You’ve got a point there. Right – there’s not a lot more we can do
tonight, then. I’ve got someone on to the Border Agency to find out when Skye Falconer came back from France, and it occurred to me that with Jen Wilson’s car being parked outside the house, one of the neighbours might have noticed if it wasn’t there, so the uniforms are asking about that. Anything else?’
‘Lindsay,’ Macdonald said. ‘He admitted that he’s lost his job, by the way, or “resigned” as he put it and I wondered about embezzlement – he’s just the sort. He told us when he travelled back from France so we ought to check that too.’
‘And when Will Stewart came in from Canada,’ MacNee put in.
Fleming nodded. ‘I’ll put that in hand now. I’m going to take the briefing in half an hour but I don’t see why you shouldn’t knock off now. I’ll want you in promptly in the morning.’
The atmosphere in Jen Wilson’s house had felt strained since the police visit in the morning. They were both being too chatty in a forced sort of way, Jen thought, as if they were afraid of what might slip into any silence. They said things like, ‘So lucky the weather’s holding up for the party,’ and ‘How many people do you think they’re expecting?’
She had taken most of the afternoon to do a much-needed tidy-up of her little courtyard garden and Skye had spent it baking, though to Jen’s certain knowledge the tins were all full already.
The trouble about gardening, and baking too she suspected, though she’d never tried it herself, was that it left your mind free to wander and there were a lot of places that were mental minefields just at the moment.
What was happening wasn’t her fault, Jen told herself. She hadn’t been party to the worst of what had gone on; faced with competing imperatives, she had done her best. It was beyond any control and she was frightened now, as well as being tortured by grief and regrets. It
was as if a huge boulder was starting to roll down a hillside, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it.
As she came in, grubby and tired, and went to run a bath, she thought longingly of just changing into her pyjamas and snuggling down on the sofa to watch some mindless TV. There was no one to stop her doing just that.
She daren’t, though. After what had happened, and given some of the people who would be gathering tonight, the party risked producing the effect of a lit match thrown into a tank of petrol. She might find herself caught up in the conflagration but it would be worse not to know what was happening.
Cat Fleming and Nick Carlton were sitting at the kitchen table still surrounded by the debris from tea – dirty mugs, a plate with three biscuits left on it and a fruit cake, diminished considerably from its original size – though it was almost six o’clock when Marjory Fleming came in.
She laughed and took the last flapjack. ‘Gran’s obviously been here. Lucky you, Nick – it would have been jammie dodgers from a packet if she hadn’t refilled her famous tin and done a mercy run.’ Despite her advanced age, Marjory’s mother Janet Laird still kept up the supply of home bakes for her daughter’s deprived family.
‘Oh yes,’ Nick said smoothly. ‘Cat said you were a hopeless cook.’
It was quite unreasonable that Marjory’s hackles should rise. Her lack of culinary skills was a standing joke in the family, one she played up herself too. Coming from a stranger, it was different, though. The way he said it was plain rude and she found herself remembering wistfully Cammie’s one-time girlfriend Zoë who had struggled so valiantly to find something good to say about Marjory’s veggie lasagne.
‘After that remark, I shall make a point of ruining your steak,
Nick,’ she said, trying not to sound as if she meant it. ‘That’s what we’re having tonight and I’m on.’
Cat said sharply, ‘I can do it. I thought you wouldn’t be back till late anyway, Mum, with all the important stuff you have to do.’ Clearly Marjory hadn’t been forgiven for her sharp remark last night.
‘It’s the eye of the storm, really. There’s not much we can do until evidence starts coming in and we have lines to follow.’
‘Don’t you have a “hunch”?’ Nick said, doing quotes with his fingers. ‘I thought detectives always had “hunches” that miraculously turned out to be right.’
‘No, not actually. I’m afraid we have to be boring and work on the evidence.’ For the sake of her relationship with her daughter, she mustn’t lose her temper. ‘Cat, perhaps you could clear the table, instead. You could put away the bakes before I’m tempted to have another one. Where are Dad and Cammie?’
‘Oh, up the hill,’ Cat said. ‘There’s a sheep with the botts or rabies or something. Or maybe just a heavy cold.’
‘Or hiccups,’ Nick said. ‘Your dad needs your brother along to say “Boo!”’
They both found that uproariously funny; Marjory smiled dutifully at the feeble joke. Perhaps she was losing her sense of humour.
‘And you two townies didn’t feel you needed some fresh air? Shame on you,’ she said lightly. ‘Got any plans for this evening?’
‘We thought we’d go into Kirkluce and look for a pub,’ Nick said. ‘That’s if we survive supper, of course.’
Oh, very funny. Marjory managed to join in the laughter. ‘Just for you, I’ll hold the arsenic,’ she said, then seeing Cat’s suspicious frown, went on hastily, ‘There are a couple of nice pubs – I think the Black Bull has live music on a Saturday night.’
‘Some of the old gang are around. I’m going to text round and see
if we can get together. I want them to meet Nick.’ Cat smiled up at him proudly.
Feeling guilty, Fleming made a mental ‘must try harder’ note. She went to fetch the steaks from the fridge. ‘Want a beer while I’m here?’ she said over her shoulder.
‘Thanks,’ Cat said. ‘We’ll take it through to the sitting room. Come on, Nick.’ Just as she opened the door, she turned.
‘Oh, I forgot. Someone phoned wanting to speak to you. A woman – she wouldn’t leave a message.’
‘Oh?’ Marjory said, without much interest. ‘A journalist, probably. No doubt she’ll phone back. Say I’m still out if she does.’
‘Well, ready to go?’ Jen Wilson said as Skye Falconer came downstairs. Her friend really was looking very pretty tonight, with her hair loose and curling round her shoulders, tendrils framing her delicate features. Her sea-green eyes were sparkling and the patches of nervous colour on the cheekbones warmed her pale skin. As she reached the bottom step Jen could see that she was trembling a little.
She looked so fragile; despite her own concern, Jen reached out a hand to touch her arm comfortingly. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she said.
Skye looked at her for a long moment. ‘Do you think so?’ she said, her voice flat, and she walked past Jen to the front door.
Timing was key to this whole thing. As she sat in her car, parked a little way along the lane that led to Ballinbreck House, Louise Hepburn looked at her watch for the tenth time. She didn’t want to miss anything, but if she arrived too early Randall Lindsay would have no difficulty in spotting her and chucking her out.
The trouble was that she had no idea what their checking system would be. Informal, no doubt, but gatecrashers would obviously be a problem so the most likely thing was a list at the door with names ticked off against arrivals.
There had been only a trickle of guests coming along the road to start with but it was becoming a flood. In a few minutes Louise would have to make her move.
It was dusk now as she walked along the inside verge beside the other parked cars. Just ahead of her, she could see the entrance to the drive and yes, there was a table where a woman with a list was sitting, a couple of sturdy-looking men standing beside her. It was all very relaxed, though: if they were bouncers they were more interested in chatting to friends as they appeared than keeping an eagle eye on all comers.
Dare she risk Randall having forgotten to take her off the list? No, she decided, she couldn’t. He had been too angry to forget to do that. Gatecrashing was the only possibility; she’d had quite a talent for it during a misspent youth and she considered tactics now.
Over the wall that bordered the rough ground beside the house? Awkward, when she didn’t know what lay on the other side of it, and very conspicuous if there was no cover. Saying ‘Press’ and vaguely waving a card had worked in the past at small events – people were usually so ludicrously flattered to think they might be in the papers that they waved you through – but the consequences if she was caught doing that would probably include dismissal from the Force. Blagging was out.
Getting in with a noisy group that would confuse the checkers was the most promising, she thought, as a gang of young adults came along the road, laughing and pushing each other. They’d obviously got up to flying speed before the party and it was easy for Louise Hepburn to move out from behind the cars unnoticed and tag on the end.
It was getting dark now, anyway, and in the confusion of so many people arriving together there was no problem about ducking into the shrubbery by the gate. She worked her way along, looking for a quiet area before she emerged onto the lawn.
Light was pouring from every window in the house and huddles had gathered under the little gazebos and the outdoor heaters. An orderly queue had formed round the barbecues and the delicious smell of chargrilled meat filled the air.
Louise felt her stomach groan, but having been disinvited to the party she didn’t really feel she could eat food she hadn’t paid for. She was grateful, though, when a jovial man said, ‘Hey! You haven’t anything to drink – that won’t do!’ as she passed and pressed a bottle of lager into her hand. It made her less conspicuous.
The Homecoming party was warming up. It was going well: there were a lot of reunions under way with exclamations of surprise and hugs of greeting. Whatever anyone said about Philippa Lindsay, she’d made a lot of people happy tonight.
As Louise moved about in the gathering shadows, she had two objectives: one, to avoid being spotted by Randall and unceremoniously ejected; two, to get up close to the Lindsays and the Stewarts, the only Cyrenaics she knew by sight, who with any luck would attract the others to them at some stage.
Louise spotted Kendra immediately. She was standing on the gravel in the pool of light just in front of the sitting-room window, holding on to a man’s arm and laughing up at him – Will Stewart, perhaps? He was certainly buff, with an attractively warm smile; Louise wouldn’t have minded doing a bit of hanging on his arm herself. Logie was there too, talking to another couple but Louise could see his eyes flicking constantly to his wife. She made her way towards them, apparently casually.
And there was Randall, a cigarette in his mouth, coming out of the front door and heading straight towards them – and her. He was casting a swift look around the garden as he approached, eyes narrowed against the smoke – checking to see if she’d defied him and got past the gate, no doubt. Louise’s heart skipped a beat and she melted quietly round the side of the house.
She could hear their greetings quite clearly – yes, the man was Will – and could hear, too, the couple who had been talking to Logie being hailed by another couple then excusing themselves and moving away, across her line of sight. She had found, she realised, an ideal position; there was a large bush just behind her where she could take refuge if anyone came too close.
Randall and the Stewarts were talking more quietly now. Straining her ears, she could hear comments about the police enquiries, but
there was nothing, as far as she could tell, that was anything out of the ordinary in what they said.
Suddenly she heard Randall say, ‘Well, well, well! Look at this!’
Risking a peep round the corner, she could see him striding across the gravel towards two women. The taller one he ignored; he bent to embrace the smaller, slighter one, sweeping her right off her feet.
‘Skye! I don’t believe it! I didn’t know you were back, sweetie. Why didn’t you tell me?’ He set her down and escorted her back to the Stewarts, his arm possessively round her waist. ‘Look what I’ve found!’
‘Hello, Randall. Nice to see you too.’ That came from the taller woman, sounding acerbic as she followed them across the gravel.
Randall half-turned and said over his shoulder, ‘Oh, sorry, Jen. Just so surprised to see Skye, you know.’
With every eye riveted on the new arrival, Louise was emboldened to work her way a little closer. Will was facing her way and she saw a quizzical look on his face. She could see, too, Skye’s expression as she approached. Her eyes seemed luminous with some intense emotion – anxiety, fear, even. She stared at him as if he were the only person there.
At his side, Kendra visibly tightened her grip. Her voice was shrill as she said, ‘I thought you’d abandoned us for good, Skye. What’s brought you back?’
She got no answer; Skye didn’t even turn her head.
‘Darling, you haven’t anything to drink.’ Randall squeezed Skye closer to him, as if to break the spell. ‘Red, white, beer?’
She ignored him, moving now towards Will. She held her arms up like a child and he shook Kendra off and went to meet Skye. As he embraced her she gave a little sob.
‘Hey, hey!’ Will laughed down at her, holding her to his side. ‘What’s all this? It’s a party – no tears allowed! Randall, where’s the wine you were talking about for the ladies?’
It broke the tension. Reluctantly, Louise moved back into the darkness, but not before she had seen the look of fury on Randall’s face as he went to fetch the wine, the ugly pursing of Kendra’s lips – and the small, satisfied smile Logie gave as he turned to talk to Jen.
‘I’ve been watching you,’ an unwelcome voice said in her ear as a hand touched her shoulder. ‘You don’t seem to know anyone. Are you shy?’
The man who spoke was middle-aged, kindly-looking. Taking her cue from him, Louise looked down modestly. ‘I hate parties, really,’ she murmured. ‘I just thought there would be people I know, but—’
‘Come on, love, there are now,’ he said. ‘I’m Mike. What’s your name?’
‘Samantha.’ She heard herself say it with astonishment. Where had that come from?
‘OK, Sam – come and meet the lads. Need another beer?’
Helpless in the face of such relentless kindness, Louise gave in.
She hadn’t expected it to be quite so hard to bear. There they all were, the Cyrenaics – with two missing. Julia – well, Julia had to some extent opened herself to destruction, but Connell, Connell! The thought of him stabbed her with a spasm of pain as if someone had turned a blade to deepen the wound in her heart.
Randall handed her a glass of wine without looking at her so that she had to make a grab at it and even so, slopped it on her shirt. He was making a fool of himself over Skye; she had eyes for no one except Will and they had drawn a little away from the others to have a quiet conversation, but Randall had butted in crudely, with the excuse of bringing her wine. He set down a bottle of red and a bottle of white at his feet so that there could be no excuse for sending him away again.
Mechanically making conversation with Logie, who was in a happy mood now Kendra had been frozen out and had come to join him, Jen saw Will give a little shrug as Randall monopolised the conversation,
then hail someone across on the lawn and move off, with Skye’s eyes following him.
Kendra gave a spiteful little titter. ‘My goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone make such a dead set at a man! Will’s obviously embarrassed.’
‘Oh, Will’s used to it,’ Logie said jovially. ‘Has to beat them off with a stick. Though I think myself he’s got a bit of a soft spot for little Skye there. Wonder where she’s been hiding all this time? Do you know, Jen?’
‘She’s staying with me at the moment, but she hasn’t wanted to talk about it,’ Jen said with perfect truth. ‘Randall certainly has a soft spot for her too, doesn’t he?’
‘Such a little tramp!’ Kendra oozed venom.
Logie laughed. ‘Oh well, we were all pretty relaxed about it, back in the day. And look, here comes another of Will’s conquests.’
Philippa Lindsay, trim in tight-fitting jeans and a fuchsia silk shirt, was standing on the front doorstep, her blonde hair gleaming under the overhead lamp. Her eyes raked the garden, then as she homed in on her prey she called ‘Will! Will!’ and hurried over to him.
Kendra turned to stare up at her husband. ‘Philippa? But she was never one of the Cyrenaics!’
‘Well,’ Logie said, with what Jen thought was a smug smirk, ‘not officially, maybe, but …’ He shrugged.
His wife’s eyes went to slits. ‘You didn’t, did you?’
He had drunk enough to be unwise. ‘Oh, sauce for the goose, sweetie. Water under the bridge now.’
Giving him the sort of look that could strip paint, Kendra walked off. Would she, Jen wondered nervously, go over to Will and Philippa, talking earnestly together now, and cause a scene?
No, she wouldn’t. She had gone to talk to an older couple, clients of the restaurant, perhaps. Logie looked after her, blinking.
‘Shouldn’t have said that, should I?’ he said. ‘I just get so sick of her going on, Will this, Will that. Sooner he goes back to Canada the better.’
‘Mmm,’ Jen agreed. ‘Oh look, my glass is empty. I’m just going to get a refill.’
She moved off, then paused, looking round. Randall had Skye to himself, her back right against the wall of the house now; she was looking trapped, making restless, fluttering movements like a butterfly pinned alive to a board. Logie had bumbled off after Kendra, who ignored him as he joined in the conversation.
And Philippa and Will – Kendra might not have known what had gone on there, but Jen certainly had and she believed that the whole ghastly chain of events had been put in motion by Philippa’s determination to entice Will back.
They were certainly engrossed in their conversation. Men weren’t very good at disguising boredom, eyes always roving to find an excuse to move on, but Will’s eyes were fixed on Philippa’s face.
Did Charles Lindsay know about this? It was no wonder that he wasn’t here. Lucky man, Jen thought bitterly. She’d give a lot not to be here herself.
No one, no one at all, had mentioned poor Eleanor Margrave, or Connell either. She could almost smell the sweet, sickly odour of death: the flowers of evil were blooming in this garden tonight.
And who, Jen wondered uneasily, was that woman she had noticed earlier taking a keen interest in their conversation when they were standing in front of the house, who was now positioned a little back from a knot of cheerful partygoers, obviously eavesdropping on what Philippa and Will were saying to each other?
Apart from the initial problem of having to invent Sam’s CV on the spot in answer to friendly questioning, Louise felt she had landed on
her feet. Mike and his pals, old school chums, were easy-going and chatty and with her declared shyness she was able to stand on the edge of the group nodding, laughing and not saying much.
In fact, it had been interesting to hear local opinion on the subject of Eleanor Margrave’s murder. It had naturally caused a considerable sensation but the consensus was that she’d disturbed a burglar, up from the south likely and planning to do over the prosperous-looking houses round the edge of the bay.
‘Just unlucky she disturbed him, if you ask me. And he’s probably away back there by now,’ Mike said comfortably.
‘One of these unsolved crimes, likely,’ another man said. ‘The police nowadays are useless unless someone walks in and confesses.’
It was hard not to rise in her own defence, but Louise managed to nod wisely and sip at her lager. She had positioned herself so that she had a clear view towards the house and across the front garden, and though she couldn’t hear anything that was being said she could observe the silent dramas: Will walking off; Randall downing glasses of wine much too quickly; Skye retreating from him until there was no space to retreat further; some sort of spat taking place between Logie and Kendra.
Then she heard someone calling, ‘Will! Will!’ A tall, blonde woman was coming out of the house, a woman who bore a strong resemblance to Randall Lindsay. Philippa, she guessed, and a moment later heard Will say her name as he came to meet her and kiss her on both cheeks. Then, with a stroke of luck, they stopped and stood together only a few feet away from Louise.
Her only problem was that Mike and his friends were getting, if not drunk, certainly very cheerful indeed. Their voices were rising, their laughter was getting louder, and anyway the conversation Philippa and Will were having clearly wasn’t intended for a wider audience.
There seemed to be a lot about places and times – trying to arrange
some sort of meeting, Louise guessed. It seemed to her that Will was causing the difficulty – even stalling, she thought.