Gently with Love (9 page)

‘When did Fortuny go up there?’

‘On Saturday. He couldn’t get away before.’

‘And it was only after he’d gone that you told Alex.’

She breathed smoke but said nothing.

‘When was that?’

‘The same evening.’

‘Did Alex and Earle drive together?’

She shook her head. ‘After Earle had gone Alex got worried so he went up too.’

‘What day was that?’

‘Tuesday. Alex rang me after Earle had left. He said Earle was raving. He thought he ought to be there to stop him doing anything stupid. He set off straight away. Alex drives a sports car. He thought he could catch Earle on the road.’

‘But he didn’t.’

She sniffed. ‘Otherwise it might have been a different story. When Alex got there it was all over and they were carting off the body.’

‘Let me get this clear.’ I said. ‘They would both have spent Tuesday night on the road.’

‘Of course. It’s too far to drive in one day. Alex put up at Stirling.’

‘What time did he get to Kyleness?’

‘He got there at four. Earle had arrived soon after lunch. Earle saw Anne. Then he went off to the hotel to have it out with Nigel.’

‘But when Alex arrived it was all over.’

‘Earle seems to have met Nigel coming from the hotel.’ She took a shaky puff. ‘It’s rather confused. I didn’t want to hear too much about it.’

‘Any witnesses?’

‘I don’t know! You’ll have to find all that out when we get there. My God. what I need is a cup of coffee, and if you’re a gentleman you’ll stop now and buy me one.’

I am a policeman and I think like a policeman, but Verna was a mother and she could read my thoughts. I wondered if it had occurred to her before that Alex’s part in the tragedy was, to say the least, interesting. Perhaps not. It may have needed my questions to clarify that point in her mind. And to prove to her that I really was a gentleman, when we left the motorway I bought her a coffee.

W
E SPENT THAT
night at Crieff, which was far enough up the road for me; Dornoch, another one hundred and sixty miles on, we reached shortly before noon the following day. Sadly, the rain was falling in buckets and obscuring some of Scotland’s finest scenery. We had come by Sma’ Glen and the Ag and the group of great firths about Inverness. They were all rained off. Through the smoking wrack one caught an occasional Blooming of waters, but such prospects as that from the A836 were completely shuttered by swirling mist. It may be that the weather suited our mood and that a sparkling day would have seemed inappropriate; but I think I could have supported a tragic attitude just as well with a better view of the scenery. It was not to be. We entered Dornoch in the middle of a hissing downpour. I idled the Sceptre along the modest street, located the police station, and parked.

‘Do you want to see Earle?’

Verna shook her head decidedly. ‘I couldn’t face him. It’s ten to one that he’ll blame me for everything that’s happened.’

‘Seeing you might cheer him up. He would like to know you were rooting for him.’

‘George, I need someone to cheer me up. You’ll be the best thing for Earle right now.’

I hesitated. ‘It may take a time.’

‘That’s all right, I’ll have lunch. And George . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘You needn’t mention I’m here. There’ll be time enough to go into all that later.’

I reached for my hat, shrugging, and prepared to dash through the sheeting rain. This was the moment of the trip to which I had not been looking forward. Police protocol is a jealous institution even where it concerns adjacent authorities, and here, in what was virtually a foreign establishment, I could expect a shoulder as cool as Ben Nevis. They might not in so many words tell me to go and jump in the Firth, but I felt that they would not pass over a fair opportunity to imply it. Lucky my skin was thick. I made my dash and pushed through swing doors into reception.

A sergeant was sittting alone at the counter with the occurrence book open before him. He observed my appearance with a gleam in his eye. I knocked the water from my hat and approached him.

‘Is it still raining out there, sir?’

I remembered my diplomacy and smiled. At first sight he had seemed an elderly man but this was due to his hair being almost white. He had slow, grey eyes and in them the look of amusement lingered. I soon dispelled it. I flashed my warrant card. He examined it carefully before proceeding.

‘Would you be here on official business, sir?’

‘No. But I have information for you.’

He considered this: it was, I knew, the only ploy that would get me in.

‘Are you reporting an offence – would you be wanting to speak to traffic?’

‘Nothing like that. My information concerns a man you are holding here.’

‘Sambrooke, sir?’

‘Sambrooke.’

Now his eyes were very wary. ‘Aye, well it’s kind of you, sir. Perhaps you’ll just give me a hint of what it’s about.’

That was the last thing I intended doing. ‘I want to speak to the officer in charge of the case. I have certain knowledge of the prisoner that may be of assistance to him.’

‘Aye, but I doubt if he’s just available. You had best leave it with me to pass on.’

I smiled. ‘It is essential I talk with him.’

‘You may have to wait for quite a while, sir.’

Stalemate. But just then a door opened and a long, cautious face peered out. It was followed by a tall, lean body that drew itself stealthily round the door.

‘What’s the problem, Snowy?’

The sergeant looked stubborn. ‘This man is an English police officer, sir.’

‘Is he now?’ The newcomer came forward. ‘Well, that’s a breed we don’t see very often.’ He peered at me with interest. ‘And what can we do for him?’

‘It seems he wants to talk to you, sir. It’s about Sambrooke. It’s not official. I was thinking you would be engaged.’

‘Is that the truth?’ He looked at me keenly: his eyes were the bluest I had ever seen. ‘Well now, it is likely he has come a long way to have this crack with me in Dornoch. Where are you from, man?’

I told him.

‘Jings!! He’s all the way from the top.’ He made a little weaving motion. ‘You’d best come in. I can give you twenty minutes till lunch.’

He led the way into a small, pleasant office that smelt of pipe smoke and looked out on to the street. I was over the first hurdle. But I might yet be out again on my ear.

W
E INTRODUCED OURSELVES.
His name was Sinclair and his rank Detective Inspector. He was forty-fivish and his long face had deep, vertical lines at each side of the mouth. It was a humourless face except for the eyes and surmounted by short, reddish hair. He spoke with an accent that I took to be Sutherland but I learned later that he came from Harris. I introduced myself in full, with the Central Office addition and I didn’t hesitate to add that my department was homicide. He heard me glumly.

‘Aye. But you’ll not be here out of pure curiosity.’

I decided to waste no time in producing my twopennorth. ‘You ran a check on Sambrooke. He was clean with CRO. But he had some previous trouble with Fortuny which is relevant to your case.’

‘Did he now. What was that?’

‘A case of common assault. Fortuny brought a charge. Sambrooke was convicted and fined at Bow Street Magistrates’ Court on 22 September last year.’

Sinclair stroked his rather stubbly chin. ‘Now that’s a very convenient tie-up.’ He sent me a curious look. ‘And did you know that it’s just on an assault charge that we are holding the lad now?’

‘So I was told.’

‘And it’s true. I don’t like to rush a serious business. But you will understand it is just a matter of time before I come in with a fresh sheet.’ He stropped his jaw again. ‘And if I may say so, this is a small matter to fetch you from London. It could have gone in the post, man, with the taxpayers putting on the stamp.’

I smiled, but Sinclair stayed poker-faced. ‘There is, of course, more to it.’

‘So I am thinking.’

‘I know the Mackenzies, the family who are involved in the case.’

‘Is that so?’

‘I knew the girl’s father. He used to be a police officer in the Met. I was at his wedding and met his people. I am driving his widow to Kyleness.’

‘Then perhaps like that you will be acquainted with Sambrooke.’

I nodded. ‘I’ve met them all except Fortuny. So you see I know the background of the case very well. I thought my knowledge might be of service.’

Sinclair bunched his mouth and stared hard. ‘You ken Sambrooke.’

‘I’ve admitted it.’

‘You ken the girl is head over heels in love with him and that he is as crazy about the girl.’

‘Yes, I know that.’

‘So what would you be doing – you, who are such a friend of the family – coming here with information to drive a nail into Sambrooke’s coffin?’

I made my face blank. ‘Sooner or later you were going to hear about that.’

‘Aye, I would. It didn’t need you to come fifty miles out of your way.’

I let a glimmer come into my eye. ‘Naturally, I wanted to make the best of it. I’m a friend of the family, and I couldn’t let you think that I was on the wrong side of the fence.’

‘Aha. You are wanting to put your spoke in.’

‘I would sooner come in on your spoke.’

‘You will be for getting this laddie off.’

‘I’ll be for helping you convict on the facts.’

Sinclair wagged his head. ‘You’re a smooth-spoken mannie and I doubt I should not be listening to you. Just tell me one thing. For what single reason would I not be showing you the door?’

‘Because you have doubts yourself about Sambrooke. You would dearly like to see him get off.’

Sinclair did a quick double-take, then he sighed. ‘I’m thinking you’re the man you should be,’ he said.

H
E MOTIONED ME
to a chair. We lit our pipes; his was a big, natural briar. He filled it with that tarry-smelling coarse-cut mixture that every Scottish tobacconist keeps a jar of. He lit up with care and puffed solemnly until the pipe began to flavour. His blue eyes were sending me little glances. Outside, the rain kept tumbling down.

‘How well do you know this Sambrooke?’

‘I doubt if he would use a knife.’

‘But he is given to violence.’

‘Not to my knowledge. He was provoked when he attacked Fortuny.’

‘But he is an excellent sort of liar.’

I shook my head. ‘Just the reverse. If Sambrooke told a lie you could spot it straight away.’

Sinclair drew smoothly on his pipe. ‘There was a fight, you ken. Sambrooke is free with admitting that. He met Fortuny coming down from the hotel and there were words, and then he thumped him.’

‘Any witnesses?’

‘None. The road takes a turn there by the cliff. It is blasted out from the rock. There is maybe room to park a car.’

‘What’s Sambrooke’s story?’

‘Just that he thumped him.’

‘And the knife?’

‘He won’t have the knife. He says he gave Fortuny a hiding and left him lying insensible by the rocks.’

‘How soon was the body found?’

‘Straight away. There is a footpath to the road from the quay. Iain Mackenzie was coming up from his boat and he spotted the body at the foot of the cliff. It was trapped by the outlying rocks. Iain Mackenzie rang us. Then he fetched his men from the hotel and they went down on a rope. But Fortuny was dead.’

‘Stabbed.’

‘Aye, stabbed. He had a couple of wounds in his shoulder. But it was the fall on the rocks that killed him. It is a matter of one hundred and fifty feet.’

‘And the knife?’

‘We have not found it, and I am thinking we never shall. The murderer would just have tossed it into the sea and it’s not a place for putting in divers. It is deep and there’s heavy surf. We were lucky the body stuck in the rock. No doubt the intention was to heave it in too, and then likely we would not have seen it again. The blood at the top was scuffed into the ground, and what would have sent us there looking for it?’

I released smoke. ‘How soon did you get there?’

‘Not more than an hour after it happened. When the patrol car arrived they were hauling the body up the cliff.’

‘What put you on to Sambrooke?’

‘The girl was hysterical. She was out with the rest of them on the cliff. One of the patrolmen asked her some questions then Sambrooke jumped in and tried to stop him.’

‘So he was arrested.’

Sinclair puffed. ‘In the first place for grievous assault on an officer. Duggie Mackay lost a tooth. That is what we are holding the laddie on now.’

‘But then he volunteered a statement.’

‘Aye.’

‘Admitting the fight but denying the murder.’

Sinclair nodded. ‘And that he has stuck to through hell and high water. I have been easy with him and tough, and as devious as a man may be. It is all one, you cannot budge him. Yet still the facts call him a liar.’

‘Is that your opinion?’

Sinclair hunched his lean shoulders and took several deep pulls. ‘It is the knife,’ he said at last. ‘I cannot get over that. Though it is clean out of character, I am willing to agree.’

‘Have you thought that it might have been Fortuny’s?’

‘Aye. I put it to Sambrooke.’

‘Once Fortuny had a knife pulled on him. It may have given him ideas.’

Sinclair eyed me. ‘Is that a fact?’

‘It’s a piece of gossip that came my way.’ I didn’t think it necessary to mention that the gossip had come from Earle. ‘I don’t know what you’ve been told about Fortuny but he had a character both for women and fighting. He was also a person of few scruples. He certainly had enemies besides Sambrooke.’

Sinclair jetted smoke. ‘And you’ll be telling me?’

I gave him a resumé of what I knew. I told him of the interrupted wedding and of Earle’s discovery of a rival in Fortuny. I enlarged on Fortuny’s character and described the episode when the knife was pulled. I touched on Verna’s machinations and the bribe she had offered Fortuny. Sinclair heard me out silently, with slow, regular draws on his pipe.

‘So this Fortuny had a record of violence.’