Authors: Janet O'Kane
She pulled a clutch of paper napkins from her pocket, then fumbled and dropped them. They floated apart, each following its own trajectory, finishing up strewn around her feet. Ray must have known what was coming next, as his arrival beside his wife was swift enough to coincide with the loud wail she let out. Grabbing Hazel firmly by the shoulders he propelled her towards the kitchen.
Without a word, Eric moved behind the bar and started to refill people’s glasses. A dominoes player got up to put more logs on the fire, while someone else picked up the napkins. The sound of voices resumed and gradually rose in volume. Zoe accepted the roast potato Kate offered her but declined an invitation to start their own game of dominoes. She was soon being entertained by Dod’s reminiscences about Kate’s grandfather, although every now and then she could hear muffled noises coming from upstairs.
Robbie Grant and his wife prepared to leave. The woman turned round as she reached the door and said, ‘What you should all be asking yourselves is where that son of his has got to. Jimmy and Robbie think he can do no wrong, but he cannae fool me.’ She hurried outside to join her husband.
There was a clamour of voices at this signposting of a new direction to take.
‘Gone again, has he? I’m not surprised.’
‘They two didnae get on at all. Hated each other they did.’
‘He was lucky his dad took him in.’
Dod leaned over to Zoe. ‘If Gregor – that’s Jimmy Baird’s son by his first marriage – becomes prime suspect, there’s a few round here’ll be right pleased.’
‘Does he live in Westerlea?’ Zoe asked.
Kate answered. ‘He moved in with Jimmy and Chrissie a few weeks ago. Rumour has it that he’d done a spell in prison and had nowhere else to go when he got out.’
‘Jimmy denied it, of course,’ Dod said. ‘Claimed he’d just had a run of bad luck and came back here to sort himself out. Chrissie wasn’t happy about it.’
‘Gregor and Chrissie didn’t hit it off?’
‘They fought like cat and dog,’ Dod said. ‘Gregor isn’t the sort to be ordered around by a woman. Different to his dad. It’s a funny thing, we all felt sorry for Jimmy because Chrissie ruled the roost, telling him where to go and what to do. But now it looks as if she’s gone and he’s completely lost without her. I went to see him this afternoon, and all I can say is thank goodness for that wee dog. It’s all he has left, the poor old bugger.’
‘So Jimmy thinks the body is Chrissie’s?’ Kate asked.
‘He seems convinced, although they won’t let him see it. You’ll understand why, Doctor.’ Dod lowered his voice. ‘I reckon he thinks Gregor killed her.’
‘No way,’ Kate said. ‘Jimmy dotes on him.’
‘So why won’t he let me try to find Gregor and tell him what’s happened? It’s not natural he doesn’t want him here.’
Out of the corner of her eye Zoe saw Kate glance towards the door, but she did not look round until she felt a tug on her ponytail. Turning to protest, she found herself face to face with Neil Pengelly. His brother Peter was close behind.
Neil winked at her, pulled off his hat and swept a hand over his bald head. Kate often joked he was like an amputee who could still feel the limb he had lost, because of this habit of pushing nonexistent hair out of his eyes.
‘Doctor Moreland, I hear you’ve been getting yourself into a spot of bother.’ Neil removed his thick sweater and placed it on the back of Zoe’s stool, forcing her to lean forward. ‘Make mine a pint of Belhaven Best, please, Big Man. And one for Pete too.’ Despite several years in Scotland, the singsong quality of his Cornish accent remained.
Zoe was appalled to feel her face redden. She looked at Neil and frowned. ‘If anyone’s going to find a body, best it be a doctor, don’t you think?’
He stared at her for longer than she found comfortable, but did not respond. Eventually she broke free and said hello to Peter, who had moved into a space next to Dod. Resembling Neil in height, build and colouring, it was as though he had searched for a way of differentiating between himself and his elder brother and gone for the easy option: a head of thick, shoulder-length hair which he frequently tucked behind his ears.
Speaking to Ray but with a sidelong glance at Neil, Peter said, ‘I’d prefer a whisky.’ His voice was a deeper version of Neil’s.
Neil nodded without taking his eyes off Zoe. ‘This patient was beyond the reach of even your care, Doctor, from what I hear,’ he said, then saw her stony expression. ‘Okay, not funny. How’s the cold? Still sneezing?’
‘It’s moved onto my chest now.’
Damn. She must sound like a teenager.
Neil’s gaze briefly fluttered downwards, then he looked her in the eye again. ‘Sorry to hear that.’
‘I suppose there’s only been one topic of conversation in here tonight,’ Peter said.
‘How did you guess?’ Zoe drained her glass and put it down on the bar, shaking her head at Dod as he indicated his willingness to buy her another.
‘Have they identified the body?’ Neil asked.
‘Not officially,’ Kate said, ‘although everyone seems certain it’s Chrissie Baird. She was last seen on Sunday, out selling Remembrance Day poppies. Did she come to Larimer Hall?’
‘No, we’re too far out of the village,’ Peter said. ‘Not even Jehovah’s Witnesses can find us.’
‘And anyway, she wouldn’t have called on you, Neil, would she?’ Dod said. ‘For some reason she didn’t approve of you. Something to do with young Alice, wasn’t it?’
‘I’m not to blame for her silly little daughter taking a shine to me,’ Neil said. ‘I didn’t encourage her.’
‘Maybe not, but she still ended up sitting in your lap here a few nights, didn’t she?’
‘Dod, if you drank as much as she did, you’d end up there yourself,’ Neil said. He, Dod and Peter laughed.
Zoe wondered if Chrissie Baird’s daughter had received more encouragement than Neil was admitting to. Not that she cared. She was about to suggest to Kate that they leave when Ray spoke, taking her by surprise. He moved quietly for such a big man, and had slipped back behind the bar without her noticing.
‘That woman would go anywhere she could poke her nose into other people’s business,’ he said.
Several heads moved in agreement.
Dod passed his glass over to be refilled. ‘Been on the receiving end of it yourself, haven’t you, Ray?’
‘She may have left this place nearly a year ago,’ Ray said, ‘but she behaved as if she still owned it. I came down one evening last week and found she’d nipped in behind the bar and poured Jimmy a pint, rather than wait for me to come and do it. Trust me, I told her where to go.’
‘Aye, and I heard her say you should treat her with more respect,’ Dod said. ‘She had a right nasty tongue on her sometimes.’
Ray’s large face went red. ‘My point is that Chrissie Baird loved snooping round where she wasn’t welcome. Me and Hazel, we’ve nowt to hide, but maybe someone else has.’ He turned to join in with a lively discussion about Scotland’s chances in the forthcoming rugby international.
Kate raised her glass of orange juice to Zoe. ‘See, I said you’d be a ten-minute wonder.’
‘You were right. I’m glad I came out – thanks for making me. But can we go once you’ve finished your drink?’
‘Of course.’
Neil was listening in and had other plans for them. ‘You must let me buy you both a drink before you go.’
‘Not tonight, thanks,’ Zoe said.
Neil put on the little-boy face she was starting to recognise. ‘Please don’t go.’
‘I’m exhausted. It’s been a difficult day and I have to work tomorrow.’
‘We need to talk about last night, don’t we?’
‘Not here.’ Although red wine never used to have this effect, Zoe felt her cheeks burning again.
‘But I’ve come up with some really great ideas for your kitchen, now I know what you’re looking for.’
Zoe handed him his sweater and took her jacket off the stool. ‘Another time.’
As she pulled the pub’s front door shut, she glanced back inside. Neil had forgotten her already and was gesturing to Ray for another pint.
Despite feeling exhausted after a poor night’s sleep and still suffering from flash-backs of her gruesome discovery the day before, Zoe felt her mood lift as she drove to work. It would be good to have some structure to her day, to be left with less time to dwell on things. She encountered a farmer on a quad bike moving sheep along the road with the aid of his sheepdog, but rather than fume with a city-dweller’s impatience, she stopped the car’s engine and watched in admiration as the black and white collie darted to and fro to keep the heaving mass moving forward. According to Kate’s father, the shape of Mac’s head suggested he had some Border collie in his genes, but she could not believe this of a dog who often failed to obey even the simplest command.
She drove into a space reserved for staff in front of the single-storey building which looked more likely to house a small manufacturing business than a health centre. It would have disfigured the old part of the village, but its red brick exterior and steel window frames were not out of place on the modern estate where more than half of Westerlea’s residents lived. The front door opened automatically. Halfway in, Zoe paused then stepped back outside.
No, she had not imagined it. A shiny new brass plaque bearing her name,
Dr Zoe K Moreland
, followed by her qualifications, had been mounted underneath those of the partners. She sighed in exasperation. Margaret Howie, the practice administrator, was a stickler for doing things properly, which must be why she had ignored Zoe’s request and made sure the plaque included the middle initial Zoe preferred not to use.
‘Good morning, Doctor. How are you?’ Margaret was sitting at the reception desk, sorting through repeat prescription requests. She self-consciously touched her hair, which was a few shades lighter than when Zoe last saw it.
Every GP’s practice Zoe had known was blessed with a treasure like Margaret. Invariably female and usually nearing retirement, their familiarity with their patients’ lives exceeded that of any doctor or database. Margaret was a useful ally; Zoe decided not to mention the plaque.
‘Fine, thanks. That new hair colour really suits you.’
Margaret beamed. ‘My Hector says it takes years off me.’ She looked keen to chat, but Zoe continued walking towards her consulting room.
Once there, she switched on her computer to open up the GPASS system and read the list of patients she would be seeing that morning. As usual, only a few of the names were familiar, which was hardly surprising, given that she had only worked there a little over three months. A busy session lay ahead, so thank goodness she didn’t have to wade through a tottering pile of buff folders anymore. The medical records of any patient registered with the Westerlea practice could be summoned at the click of a mouse.
She turned her head on hearing a soft knock on the door and saw Paul Ryder, the practice’s senior partner. Aged about sixty, he had a neatly trimmed grey beard and wore one of his many tartan ties – reputedly all gifts from grateful patients – over a blue shirt. He clutched a plastic phial in his left hand.
‘What a terrible experience for you, my dear. Absolutely ghastly.’ Paul came in and sat down, placing the urine sample on Zoe’s desk. ‘You sounded fine yesterday, but how do you feel now? The effects of shock can take their time coming, though of course I don’t need to tell you that.’
In Zoe’s experience, people often go overboard with expressions of concern to hide the fact that they don’t actually give a damn about you. Paul’s solicitude, though, was always genuine, something recognised by his devoted patients. Few of them chose to see Zoe, except if Paul was unavailable or the nature of the problem made consulting a woman doctor preferable. According to Margaret, if he ever decided to remarry, candidates for the post would fill the waiting room.
‘It’s not something I’ll forget in a hurry. Although, to tell the truth, I didn’t examine it closely. As soon as I realised what it was that Mac had led me to, I went for help.’ The wriggle of guilt in her stomach reminded Zoe this wasn’t strictly true.
‘The memory will fade. But again I don’t need to tell you.’
‘It’s still nice to hear.’
‘DCI Mather was impressed with you as a witness.’
‘I can’t think why. I didn’t know much, and he wasn’t with me for long.’
‘From what I hear he’s very thorough, so your observations must have been useful. If this dreadful business can be resolved, Mather’s the man to do it.’
‘Do you know him?’ Zoe asked.
‘Only by reputation. I used to play golf with his predecessor, Bill Brady. Scored a hole-in-one the day before he died. And I’ve met his mother, Bette, on several occasions. She’s a marvellous dancer, used to do it professionally. Her son must have inherited her show-business gene because I remember hearing that he plays the bagpipes to a very high standard.’
Zoe tried and failed to imagine this. ‘Coming from the Borders should help him in his investigations,’ she said. ‘People round here will be more inclined to open up to him than someone parachuted in from Edinburgh, don’t you think?’
‘I’m not sure if that’s necessarily the case. He’s been away for most of his adult life.’ Paul absentmindedly toyed with the urine sample. ‘Even if he feels he still belongs, it’s possible not all the people he has to deal with will accept him back as readily.’
‘Were you able to tell him anything useful?’
‘I told him what I could, general things like Chrissie’s weight, height and so on. I didn’t bother him with her nut allergy and wilful refusal to have any internal examinations, of course. I also suggested he contact Derek McCracken, the dentist, although these days Derek spends more time being a lay preacher than looking into people’s mouths. But the police don’t really need us any more, now they’ve got DNA testing. If they didn’t have to wait so long for the results, we would never see them at all.’
‘I’m not sure if DNA will be any use in this case. I read somewhere that it’s destroyed by very high temperatures.’
‘In that case they may be forced to fall back on her dental records.’