Legacy of the Dead Part 24

Setting down his cases, he answered, "I've been in Durham. Where are you going?"

She lifted the hatbox in her hand, its flamboyant ribbon catching the light from the windows. "A delivery. There's to be a christening tomorrow."

He said, "You weren't here in Duncarrick, were you, when those women were murdered out on the western road? In 1912, I think it was?"

"Good heavens, Inspector! What What women?" She looked alarmed. women?" She looked alarmed.

"It doesn't matter. I'd been thinking that Duncarrick was a quiet backwater, and someone corrected me, saying that there had been several murders here before the war."

"That's a fine thing to tell me, walking down these streets in the dark!" She was angry with him, her face flushed.

"It was an old crime, and you have nothing to fear. If you like, I'll just set these in the hotel lobby and walk with you."

She wasn't mollified. "And ruin my reputation for good? They'll be whispering behind their hands tomorrow. And I can't afford it!"

He said contritely, "I'm sorry. I thought the murders were common knowledge. I'll walk down the other side of the street and keep an eye on you."

Ann Tait shook her head. "No. I can look after myself." She turned to go and then swung around. "If you mention a word of this to Dorothea MacIntyre and frighten her to death, I'll see that you pay dearly for it!"

"I spoke to you," he said, "because I thought you might give me me information. It appears that we're both in the dark. But Dorothea MacIntyre won't hear such things from me, I promise you." information. It appears that we're both in the dark. But Dorothea MacIntyre won't hear such things from me, I promise you."

She walked away. He watched her for a time, the swing of her shoulders and the straight back. She had confessed to envy of Eleanor Gray. But he thought that the two women were in many ways very much alike. Independent. Willing to make a life for themselves with their own two hands. Hiding behind a brusque sh.e.l.l because it saved them from pain.

White lace gowns with satin sashes and broad-brimmed hats had pa.s.sed with 1914, along with lawn tennis and picnics on the Thames and a much simpler world. There were thousands of Ann Taits making a living for themselves now, and hundreds of Eleanor Grays looking for a different future. Five years, and a colder, bleaker world of war had reshaped a generation of women as well as men.

AS RUTLEDGE STOPPED at the desk to pick up his key, the clerk handed it to him and then reached into a drawer to find a folded sheet with his name on it. at the desk to pick up his key, the clerk handed it to him and then reached into a drawer to find a folded sheet with his name on it.

In his room he unfolded it and read the brief lines written on it.

Sergeant Gibson requests that you call him at your earliest convenience. convenience.

Rutledge took out his watch and looked at the time. Far too late to find Gibson at the Yard.

He began to unpack, with Hamish rumbling at his back.

IT WAS NEARLY ten o'clock the next morning before Rutledge could reach Gibson. ten o'clock the next morning before Rutledge could reach Gibson.

The sergeant said, "It wasn't a piece of cake. But I found the engraver."

"That's very good news," Rutledge applauded. "I'm grateful."

"You won't be," Gibson retorted, "when you hear what I have to say."

The brooch had been engraved in a back street in Glasgow nearly three weeks before it had been "found" in Glencoe. It was a small shop that specialized in buying and selling jewelry. The owner was frequently asked to remove or change the engraving on items left for resale. But he seldom had the opportunity to use his skills on a piece that had no previous markings on it. He had objected when the man who brought in the cairngorm brooch insisted that the work appear older than it was. But the price agreed on helped overcome any qualms he might have had.

"Could the shopkeeper give you a description of the man who brought in the brooch?"

"Better than that. It had to be left and picked up in three days' time. A name had to be put down on the card."

Rutledge felt his spirits soar.

"Tell me. What was it?"

"Alistair McKinstry."

24.

STUNNED, RUTLEDGE ASKED GIBSON TO REPEAT THE name. He did. name. He did.

"I asked for a physical description as well." But the engraver had relied on the name. "He finally told me that the man was Scots-medium height, medium coloring, medium build. He might remember more if you confronted him with McKinstry. Then again, he might not. He wasn't interested in the man, only the work that he was being paid to do."

Rutledge thanked him and slowly put down the telephone receiver.

He refused to believe it. In the first place, it made no sense. McKinstry had been Fiona MacDonald's champion from the very beginning- Hamish said, "He had access to a key to The Reivers."

Fiona MacDonald had said that McKinstry had probably seen her wearing her mother's brooch. He must have known that it existed. And it would take him only a short time to search Fiona's room for her jewelry.

The brooch had become the final brick in a wall of evidence against her.

But why-?

It made no sense. Rutledge, a seasoned investigator, found it hard to accept. Hard to believe that he had misjudged a man so completely.

He took out his watch. And made a swift decision. His first stop was the police station. But McKinstry wasn't there. Oliver was.

"Where have you been?" he asked jovially. "Still hunting for straws to make bricks?"

"In a way. Look, I'm going back to Glencoe. I want to see the place where the bones were found." It was not something he wanted to do.

"You climbed up there with MacDougal. There couldn't have been much to see. The bones are gone. The place has already been minutely examined by MacDougal's men. A wasted trip, if you ask me."

"I know. Put it down to stubbornness. At any rate, will you give Inspector MacDougal a call and ask him to meet me there? I'd be grateful if he can spare the time."

"All right. If that's what you want." Oliver added, "I'm surprised to see you in Duncarrick again. Any news to give me on Eleanor Gray?"

"Not so far. I've got a list of names to sift through. That can wait until I see the glen again. I'd like to save myself all that trouble."

Intrigued, Oliver said, "You're saying we overlooked something."

"No. I'm saying I might see things differently." He took out his watch, trying to cut the conversation short. "I've got another stop to make before I leave."

Oliver let him go. Rutledge walked back toward the hotel and then went on to the rectory. Mr. Elliot, Dorothea MacIntyre informed him, was out, visiting a paris.h.i.+oner who was ill.

"It's just as well. Do you mind if I step in and leave a message?"

She moved back from the door, blus.h.i.+ng, as if she had failed in her duty because she hadn't thought to ask him for a message. He smiled at her. "It won't take long."

He walked past her, and she turned to a small table under the window, producing a sheaf of paper from the single drawer. It was church stationery. Rummaging, she came up with a pen as well, smiling in triumph as she handed it to him. She was almost childlike in her pleasure.

Rutledge scribbled on a sheet, I came to call this morning I came to call this morning but must leave town for a day. If you have time when I return, but must leave town for a day. If you have time when I return, I'd like to ask you a few questions. I'd like to ask you a few questions. He signed his last name. He signed his last name.

Folding the sheet, he handed it to her. Then he said, "Do you know Alistair McKinstry very well?"

"Know him?" She looked frightened.

"Does he attend services at the kirk? Is he a kind man?"

Relieved that Rutledge wanted only general information and had in no way suggested that she might be a particular friend of the constable's, she answered shyly, "Yes, indeed, he attends regularly. And I think he's kind. He's always kind to me."

"Yes, I'm sure he is." He walked to the door. It was time for the question that had really brought him to the rectory. "When you were cared for in your illness by Miss MacCallum and her niece, do you remember a rather pretty cairngorm brooch that Fiona was fond of wearing?"

She frowned, thinking. "I don't recall Fiona wearing a brooch. She never even wore her wedding ring. It hung on a chain around her neck, where she couldn't lose it. I saw it sometimes when she bent down to settle the pillows or bathe my face."

"But not the brooch."

Trying hard to please him, she said earnestly, "But Miss MacCallum had a lovely brooch! There was a pearl in the center. She let me wear it-for courage-when I came to the rectory to be interviewed by Mr. Elliot."

"Did it help?" he asked, unwilling to cut short her brief burst of enthusiasm. She was pretty when her face was lit from within. Fragile and pretty.

But it was the wrong question. Her face fell. "Mr. Elliot recognized it and made me take it off. He said it was unbecoming to ape one's betters."

Hamish swore. Rutledge felt a strong urge to throttle Elliot. It was, he thought, an intentional cruelty. "Did you tell Miss MacCallum what he'd said?"

"Oh, no!" she said, horrified. "I couldn't! I was too embarra.s.sed. I said only that he was very kind."

As she had just told him that Constable McKinstry was very kind.

DRIVING OUT OF Duncarrick, Rutledge was trying to decide how much weight to give to what Dorothea MacIntyre had told him about the brooch. On the whole, he thought, she was honest and without guile. Confronted, as when he'd asked her about McKinstry and Ealasaid MacCallum had asked about her interview with Elliot, she told lies out of a deep-seated fear of provoking anger. The girl wanted so desperately to please. It was her first-and only-need. Duncarrick, Rutledge was trying to decide how much weight to give to what Dorothea MacIntyre had told him about the brooch. On the whole, he thought, she was honest and without guile. Confronted, as when he'd asked her about McKinstry and Ealasaid MacCallum had asked about her interview with Elliot, she told lies out of a deep-seated fear of provoking anger. The girl wanted so desperately to please. It was her first-and only-need.

Hamish, taking up another matter, said, "I never gave Fiona a ring. I couldna' tie her to me, going off to war. The bracelet was a gift to remember me by, but didna' bind her."

Rutledge had not married Jean in 1914 for the same reason, using the war as an excuse to put off their October wedding. And in the end it had been the right decision. He felt cold now, thinking about living with a woman who hated him-or hated what he had in her eyes become: a broken stranger.

He wondered if Eleanor Gray might have regretted not marrying Robbie Burns when he was home on leave. . . .

There was a woman sitting along the road just by the pele tower. Something about the droop of her shoulders told him she wasn't well.

He searched for a name and came up with it. Mrs. Holden. Her husband was the sheep farmer. . . . Rutledge braked and came to a stop just beside her. "Are you in trouble?" he asked. "Can I take you somewhere?"

She smiled ruefully."The doctor tells me to walk if I intend to regain my strength. But I don't have the strength to walk. . . ."

"Then let me take you home-or to the doctor, if you'd prefer that."

He got out of the car and helped her up from the low stone she'd found to sit on. Under his hands her shoulders felt frail.

Lifting her into the car, he settled her in the pa.s.senger seat. She was white from even that simple exertion.

"I'm so sorry to be such a nuisance!" she said breathlessly. "It's silly of me to overdo my strength and put strangers to such trouble."

Shutting her door, he examined her face. And didn't like what he saw there. "Let me take you into Duncarrick. I think you ought to see your doctor."

After a moment, her eyes closed, she nodded. "Yes. I need to lie down. He'll be glad to let me lie down for a while."

Rutledge backed the car around and said, "Would you like me to find your husband and bring him to you?"

"No, I thank you. He's in Jedburgh today. Dr. Murchison or one of my friends will see that I get home. Talk to me if you will. And just let me listen. It takes my mind off the weakness."

How does a policeman make pleasant conversation with a near-fainting woman? He said, "I've admired the pele tower. The way it was constructed. I understand it's on your property. I'd be interested in hearing its story. What role it played in the days of the Border raids."

She smiled a little. "My father is the person you should have spoken to."

"Did he write a history of Duncarrick?" It was often the retired gentleman or rector who collected the legends and tales pa.s.sed down by word of mouth for generations and turned them into a chronicle of sorts.

"He never got around to it, I'm afraid."

A few sentences more and he'd exhausted the subject of the tower. Rutledge cast about for a new topic. "The name of the inn we're just pa.s.sing. The Reivers. I wonder who chose that. Did the MacCallums have riders in their ancestry?" Riders-reivers-raiders, he thought. Euphemisms for the same b.l.o.o.d.y trade of Border warfare.

Drummond was just coming out of the inn with Ian MacLeod, returning from feeding the cat. The child looked up, eyes s.h.i.+ning, and pointed with excitement to the car. Rutledge waved but didn't stop.

Drummond was glaring after him with murder in his face.

The woman, staring ahead with unseeing eyes, bit her lip. She was in no shape to answer his trivial questions.

"Hold on," Rutledge said gently, touching her hands where they lay trembling in her lap. "We're nearly there."

But he had to carry her into Dr. Murchison's office, her head against his shoulder and her body so light, it was like a feather in his arms.

The nurse came to meet him, having seen them arrive. To Mrs. Holden, trying to smile as she apologized for all the trouble she'd caused, she was all warmth and sympathy.

"My dear!" she said, half scolding, half crooning, as though to a child. "Have we overdone our strength again? Come lie down for a bit and then the doctor will take you home again."

She led Rutledge down a pa.s.sage, not into the sitting room he could just glimpse through a door that stood slightly ajar. Opening another door, she gestured to an elderly sofa that stood under the back windows. While the nurse fetched a pillow, Rutledge settled Mrs. Holden gently among its cus.h.i.+ons, then took the light blanket that had been folded across the high back and spread it over her feet and limbs. As the nurse lifted her head and slipped the pillow beneath it, Mrs. Holden smiled. A wavering smile, and rueful as well.

"I'm so sorry-" she began again.

Rutledge took one of her hands and held it in both of his. "Nonsense. Feel better."

He turned and walked out of the room. The nurse, after a word to Mrs. Holden, followed. She thanked the Inspector for being a Good Samaritan and opened the outer door for him.

"Not at all," Rutledge said. "She seems very weak. Is it serious?"

"The doctor feels it isn't. She caught a chill this spring when she undertook the charity bazaar and was left with a cough. She'd had influenza last year, a very serious case, and was slow recovering from that. Dr. Murchison is trying to rebuild her strength. And sometimes she feels well enough to come into town. The influenza took the heart right out of people. A shame, really."