Murder at Midnight (10 page)

Rex hesitated before he said cautiously, “Tonight is the first time
I’ve met Señora Delacruz, Jason Short, and Zoe and Ace Weaver. The
rest have been to the lodge before.”

The chief inspector reviewed his hieroglyphics. “Jason Short, that’s
Flora’s boyfriend. And Vanessa Weaver’s daughter and husband. Got it. What does the daughter do?”

“She’s an actress, or hoping to be.”

“Looks the part, from what I can see. Wish we had more light. You called the power company, I assume?”

“Of course.”

“I noticed other lights were oot around here.”

“That’s good. Hopefully those residents will have called as well.”

“A fallen tree branch somewhere, I expect. What can you tell me aboot the old man? Looks harmless enough from where I’m standing.”

“He was a fighter pilot in the Second World War. Ace is his nickname. Don’t know what his civilian job was. Quite a sharp cookie for his age.” Rex told the chief inspector about Weaver supplying an alibi for Margarita Delacruz at around the time Ken Fraser disappeared. “By the time I brought the oil lamp from the kitchen, everyone except Ken and Catriona were present in the living room, except Jason whom I bumped into when I went back into the hall to check the fuses.”

Dalgerry made a note. “We need to find oot more on the Frasers. The state of their finances, where they live, any potential enemies, and so on. What did they do for a living, do you know?”

“I think I heard something aboot Ken being involved in an export business, supplying Scottish merchandise to the States. A huge market over there, I understand. Not sure aboot Catriona. They were both interested in genealogy. Theirs in particular. They were an offshoot of Clan Fraser, their ancestors having fallen oot of favour with the illustrious clan in the fifteen-hundreds. Seems a member of their immediate clan, Red Dougal, brought his small band of supporters to Gleneagle and built that castle.”

“There could be a long-standing feud involved, then.” Dalgerry wrote furiously on his pad. “Someone in the family could have wished them dead.”

“I was led to believe they were the sole survivors.”

“Och, just wait and see who crawls oot of the woodwork once news of their death gets oot. I don’t suppose you know if they left a will?”

“I do not. I only know the castle could only be left to a clan mem
ber, and that person had to be married to someone in that branch of the clan.”

“Sounds verra restrictive.”

“It was meant to be, I suppose to make sure the castle stayed within the sub-clan.”

“They had no children?”

“No. I don’t think they’ve been married that long.”

“So, no legally adopted heirs we could look at?”

Rex shook his head decisively. “Not to my knowledge.”

“Pity. Still, the export business might be worth looking into. Partners and such, whether Ken Fraser had stiffed anyone, or else some mafia aspect.”

Rex thought this last lead highly improbable, but the Russians were infiltrating everywhere nowadays. Perhaps they were diversifying into kilts, bagpipes, and sporrans. He held back a chuckle. Sergeant Milner approached them, removing his damp woolen gloves.

“Nothing of much interest so far,” he reported. “I’m having the men follow the deer trail through the trees leading to the road.”

“And what aboot around the window?” The chief inspector
pointed behind him.

“Nothing appears to be disturbed on the ground. I’ll have the examiners dust the window inside and oot, but chances are the killer wore gloves anyway on a night like this. Someone closed it, unfortunately.”

“Aye, I can see that.” Dalgerry turned to Rex for an explanation.

“Helen did, while we, that is, Alistair, John, Drew and I, were looking for Ken Fraser. With the central heating oot, it was beginning to get cold. And we didn’t know anyone had been murdered at that point. We simply thought Ken had gone to get something from his car or else wandered off to a different part of the house.”

“The exterior door to the kitchen was unlocked, you said, so an intruder could have come in that way. It’s a moonless night and not much traffic on the roads around midnight on Hogmanay. Housebreakers often case remote properties over holidays to see if there’s an opportunity to break in while the owners are away. You said you’d seen shoe prints ootside the kitchen door.”

“While I was getting wood from the shed. They were visible in the slush on the doorstep and patio.”

“We found quite a lot of foot traffic in that area,” the detective sergeant said. “But only two different sets of prints on the patio. One shoe and one boot.”

“I don’t think those will be mine,” Rex said. “I stuck to the path on the way to the woodshed. But one set could belong to John. He was searching for Ken at the back of the house and by the loch. And he’s wearing boots.”

“Right,” Dalgerry told Milner. “One set of boot prints to confirm and one set of shoe prints to identify.”

During the ensuing exchange between the police officers, Rex looked about him. The two white body sheets rose eerily out of the dimly lit room. The fire had died down, but enough candlelight filtered through the darkness to illuminate the pale ovals of the guests’ faces as they slouched bundled up in their seats around the coffee table.

He tried to remember who had been standing where at the end
of
“Auld Lang Syne” when the lights went out. Helen had been
beside him for the dance, Julie on his other side, Catriona and Ken opposite, Flora and Jason somewhere to his left. Beyond that, he couldn’t be sure. The circle had broken up and people had moved about in the dark. Catriona had tripped or been pushed back in an armchair. Ken must have wandered off before then or he would have gone to his wife’s aid.

Everybody would have to be questioned regarding their movements around midnight: A tedious prospect, but better to do so while events were still relatively fresh in the guests’ memories, and before they could be influenced by other information. Milner, armed with a flashlight, went to take the guests’ statements. The detective was just crossing the room when suddenly the lights came back on.

The miracle of artificial light! Rex could not have been happier if he had been the first cave dweller to discover fire. His was not the only euphoric reaction. Everyone blinked in the electricity and exclaimed with delight, relieved to have their basic comforts restored. Rex offered up a silent prayer of thanks. He switched on more table lamps. The living room suddenly looked smaller and more welcoming.

“Certainly makes our task easier!” Dalgerry said, rubbing his hands together. “Any chance of a cup of tea for me and the lads, if it’s not too much trouble? And I seem to remember your lovely fiancée made excellent biscuits.”

Was this the chief inspector’s way of dismissing him, or had Helen’s baking made that much of an impression? Still, Rex did not begrudge the police a cup of tea to warm them up. He cocked his head at Helen, and she rose from the sofa and came toward him.

“The chief inspector has requested tea for his team. I wondered if you’d like to keep me company in the kitchen while I make it, and he and DS Milner talk to our guests.”

“I thought you’d never ask. I’m dying to know what he said. Sorry,” she added, wincing at her choice of expression. “Freudian slip.”

_____

As they repaired to the kitchen and started the tea, Rex filled her in on what Dalgerry had imparted, none of which had been very helpful. He left out the mafia angle, and limited the chief inspector’s hypotheses to a family feud or business dealings gone sour.

“So who
has
got a good motive for murdering the Frasers?” Helen asked.

“Me.”

“You? Be serious, Rex.”

“I am. The prospect of this serene spot being overrun by eager reporters and treasure hunters was raising my blood pressure.”

“If the murders were premeditated, who knew about the gold?”

Rex thought for a moment. “Drew Harper, presumably. He was the house agent advising them. He saw Jason poking around the castle. And Catriona, who was a very open and trusting person, would have confided their interest in Gleneagle Castle, over and above the fact they were the heirs and wanted to keep it in the family. Humphrey knew, of course, and may have told Margarita, although she professed to know nothing aboot the gold. Jason, obviously, because he found the coin. He might have thought there’d be more. He might have gone back. That’s a big lure, especially for an impoverished student.”

“According to what Drew said, he wouldn’t be able to sell his old coin or any others he found.”

“There’s always a black market for valuables. Paintings worth millions are stolen from galleries and museums and sold to private collectors.”

Rex removed the hissing kettle from the vintage range, while Helen fetched down the tin of homemade biscuits from the pantry shelf. “Who will inherit the castle now?” she asked.

“I suppose in the normal way of things any family member found to be alive. I’m not entirely sure how that arcane old deed was structured. But didn’t they say they were the last surviving heirs, bar an aunt who disappeared?”

“Who knew the Frasers were going to be here?”

Rex smiled to himself. Helen was asking the questions, clearly intent on cracking the case. Just as well she went along with his morbid hobby, he thought. In fact, on their vacation in Key West, she had proved herself a worthy partner in a most bizarre case involving the owners of a guesthouse.

“Pretty much everybody present knew they’d be here,” he replied. “I would have mentioned who was coming when I invited people. ‘Oh, so-and-so’s coming. You know them, don’t you?’ Or, ‘You might be interested in meeting so-and-so.’ ”

“Maybe someone wanted to kill them for a reason other than the gold.” Helen warmed the large earthenware tea pot and added an ample supply of loose Assam.

“What reason?” Rex inquired. He could not imagine Ken being ruthless in business or resisting the mafia. “They seemed like a very nice, ordinary couple. Ken was a bit of a bore, but boring someone to death is not a motive I’ve ever come across or heard applied literally.”

“Flora doesn’t like them.
Didn’t
, I should say.”

“No?” Rex reflected for a moment. “She barely spoke two words to them.”

“Precisely. And didn’t you say you first met the Frasers at the Loch Lochy Hotel?”

“Perhaps you’re right. Flora was there. I should talk to her and perhaps call Shona for more information. But Flora’s parents don’t know she’s here. They might be offended not to have been invited. I suppose there’ll be no concealing it now. Funny, I never noticed Flora’s attitude. But she and Jason have pretty much kept themselves to themselves all evening.”

Helen gave a discouraged sigh. “We’re not getting very far.”

“Perhaps we’re not meant to. We may be dealing with a truly cunning murderer.”

“It couldn’t be anything other than murder, I suppose?”

“Two well-directed poison darts? I doubt it was an accident and even less that they were self-inflicted. There are easier and less dramatic ways to kill oneself. In any case, the Frasers seemed happy and excited aboot their future.”

“Could someone have killed them in a jealous rage? They married quite late in life. Perhaps a spurned ex was out for revenge.”

“Hard to imagine either of them inspiring fits of passion.”

“Now, now, Rex. We don’t know what they were like when they were younger. But if they had no enemies,” Helen concluded, “it must be the treasure someone was after. There were gold bars as well, apparently.”

With no other leads, Rex made a note to ask Flora about her attitude toward the Frasers. She was a sensitive and secretive sort of lass, and still waters ran deep.

“An art student could have made one of those clay pipes,” Helen pointed out. “Jason sculpts, doesn’t he? He’s probably done some pottery.”

“Margarita or Humphrey could have got hold of a blowpipe on their travels. In fact, anyone could purchase something like that online.”

“True. And anyone could find out about deadly poisons.”

“But where’s the pipe now? Perhaps the police will find it.”

“We’ll have to give the police the mugs,” Helen said, looking in the cabinets. “We’re out of cups.”

“We can run the dishwasher now.” Rex loaded the coffee cups from earlier.

Carrying the tea tray, Rex returned to the living room where the chief inspector and sergeant were busy interviewing the guests. He distributed the mugs of tea to the police taking a break in the hall, while Helen offered her oatmeal and raisin cookies. The crunch of vehicles on gravel brought them both to the door. Two vans and a sedan pulled up next to the squad cars. Scene-of-crime officers clad in white and equipped with cases descended first, followed by a middle-aged woman in a parka and sensible shoes carrying a doctor’s bag, and, finally, a couple of male personnel with folded black body bags.

These made the recent events seem all the more real and disturbing. Ken and Catriona Fraser could not have deserved to die.

11
the mournful morn

The guests relocated to
the library while investigators took photographs and video footage of areas of particular interest. By four o’ clock in the morning, the statements of everyone present at the party, including Rex’s, had been gone over and validated by the chief inspector. Under haughty protest, Margarita Delacruz had been questioned the longest due to the incriminating and inadequately explained dart in her handbag.
If Margarita had not put the dart in her evening bag, why had hers been selected and not one of the others? Had hers simply been the closest to hand?

All but three of the Queen Anne style dining chairs had been
brought into the library to supplement the padded leather desk chair,
two wing armchairs, and an Edwardian daybed, on which Ace Weaver was installed and covered with his traveling blanket. He should have asked Ace, while the old man was still lucid, if he had noticed anything suspicious during the course of the night, but the police had arrived and taken over.

Rex had implored the Weavers to spend the night at the lodge, or what remained of it, even if the police released the guests sooner. He lit the electric fire in the grate. The library felt substantial and timeless, an effect created by the stained wood-paneled walls, shelves stuffed with excess books from his mother’s house in Morningside, watercolours of local flora and fauna, parchment lamp shades, and antique swivel globe atop a tripod table. He loved to work and read in here cocooned from the world.

“I wonder if the investigators have made any progress,” Flora said after a while. “They’ve been at it for ages.”

“They’re certainly going over everything with a fine-tooth comb,” Drew agreed through clenched teeth.

“Shouldn’t be too long now,” Rex said, though he couldn’t really be sure. Dalgerry was nothing if not thorough.

“That Detective Milner was polite enough, but the statements took forever.” Julie yawned and covered her mouth, stretching her stiletto-booted legs from her chair.

The simulated logs gave off a cheerful glow and radiant warmth, making everyone sleepier still. Professor Cleverly nodded off in a wing chair, while Ace Weaver slept soundly, his face half swallowed by a pillow. His wife, curled on a cushion at his feet, propped her head up on one hand, her elbow resting on the daybed, which had been recovered in russet velvet to match the drapes and faded oriental rug on the hardwood floor.

“I would so love to be in my bed,” Zoe lamented. “Can’t you do something, Mum?”

“The detectives were very apologetic, especially in view of your father’s condition, but they can’t dismiss us until they’re satisfied there’s nothing more we can help them with.”

“They’re just waiting for one of us to crack and confess.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Zoe. That only happens on TV.”

Nerves and tempers were beginning to fray. Rex installed himself behind his desk with a compartmentalized box of trout flies before him. He never tired of looking at the delicate feathery creations—red, yellow, and patterned—fashioned around hooks, and which he purchased from a master fly fisherman in Gleneagle Village. He enjoyed standing on the loch shore or drifting out in his row boat, on rare occasions landing a wild brown trout, its back speckled silver. The flies were about the size of the poison darts. He lifted one out. It was, however, somewhat lighter.

“They must have searched everywhere by now,” John com
plained as the clock on the shelf ticked away the minutes. “And they frisked everybody.” A female constable had been brought in the lodge for the women. “So it’s not as though any of us could have stuffed anything down our clothes. I really don’t see the point in keeping us any longer.”

Alistair was beginning to answer when he suddenly turned his head toward the door, where steps and voices could be heard approaching in the hall. Those guests drifting off sat up with a jolt when the chief inspector burst into the room with the detective sergeant on his heels. Rex wondered whether there had been a break in the case or if the guests were going to be told they were free to leave at last.

Dalgerry stopped in the middle of the room and spun on Drew. “Mr. Harper, your shoes, please.”

Everyone stared at the house agent.

“You already took an impression of my shoes.”

“Two sets of prints were found on the patio by the kitchen door. One set belongs to John Dunbar. We believe the others to be your dress shoes, but there are many overlapping prints, and we want to verify they’re a match by superimposing them direct.”

“The prints
are
mine,” Drew expostulated, growing red in the face, but untying his laces nonetheless.

“And what were you doing ootside?”

“Making a call.”

“Rather cold to be on the phone …”

“Overseas call. I wanted to be sure I could get a signal in this remote area.”

“Why not from the front door?”

“Like I said, it was long-distance. I couldn’t hear properly with people still arriving at the house.”

“So you tried calling ootside the front door first?”

“I …no. I just knew it would be difficult to hear. Have you ever made a long-distance call on a mobile phone in the middle of nowhere?” Drew demanded.

“Business?”

“Personal.”

“Care to explain the nature of your call?”

“Not really.” Drew, clutching his shoes, looked ready to chuck them at the chief inspector.

Milner went to retrieve them in a clear plastic bag and disappeared from the room.

“Perhaps at the station, then,” Dalgerry said ominously.

“It was your girlfriend in America, wasn’t it?” Julie accused Drew.
“Why don’t you just come out and say it? That’s why you skulked out the back door.”

Drew had the decency to look abashed. He had been no less blunt when attacking Jason over the coin, Rex recalled. “Fine then. My call was to a Dr. Heather McCall in Chicago,” he told the chief inspector. “I made the call around eight to wish her happy new year before the party got underway. We only spoke for a few minutes.”

Julie stared proverbial daggers at him.

“Correct,” Dalgerry said referring to the handwritten phone records in his hand, having confiscated all the phones.

Rex moved around to the front of his desk and, clearing some objects out of the way, sat on its polished mahogany surface.

“Two minutes and fifty-eight seconds, to be exact,” Dalgerry informed Drew, clearly ignorant of his re1ationship with Julie. “There are a lot of prints for such a short call.”

“It’s expensive calling the States and it was cold, like you said. I pace when I talk on the phone. Especially in freezing temperatures.”

“Shortly before midnight is when I went to the woodshed and noticed the shoe prints,” Rex stated, deflecting attention away from his guest in his discomposure. “John’s would have been added afterward when he went to search for Ken Fraser.”

“Right,” the chief inspector addressed Rex. “If we can account for all the prints, we can exclude the theory that a stranger came in by that way. However,” he said, dragging out the word for effect, “we did find tyre tracks by the side of the road at the top of your driveway. And muddy footprints. Someone stopped there during the night. The prints are still fresh.”

Everyone sat forward in their chairs except Ace Weaver, warmly tucked up on the daybed. This new evidence pointed to an intruder, a less threatening theory the guests would no doubt prefer to entert
ain. Rex could almost hear the relieved breath of eleven people
being exhaled into the room, and none more relieved than the killer’s, he thought, personally of the opinion that the murderer was still among them.

“A broken-down motorist?” he suggested.

“Any tracks leading down the driveway other than our cars’ and those belonging to you lot?” John asked the chief inspector.

“We are trying to ascertain that at present.”

Rex surmised the police would not be able to ascertain much in a hurry. Too many vehicles had churned up his driveway that night.

“It’s possible someone spotted the suspicious vehicle in passing,” Dalgerry went on, his use of the adjective “suspicious” alerting Rex to the fact that he adhered to the intruder theory. “And hopefully that witness will come forward once we make an appeal to the public.”

Rex hoped Dalgerry wasn’t going to go off at a tangent, as he had been known to do in the past. Hopefully, too, he had more concrete evidence.

“There is another item of interest.” The chief inspector paused while he looked around the room to make sure he had everyone’s attention. His gaze alighted on the daybed where Ace Weaver’s sleeping form alone ignored his presence. His bulging eyes lingered on Vanessa seated at the invalid’s feet. He then began walking about the room assessing each of the guests in turn. He stopped in front of Señora Delacruz and proffered a menacing smile. She recoiled in her chair and turned to Professor Cleverly with a look of entreaty. Humphrey sat up straighter, but said nothing.

“When am I going to get my shoes back?” Drew asked, his arms
crossed
in defiance, his narrow feet clad in dark blue diamond-
patterned socks.

“That depends, Mr. Harper.”

Drew was about to say something, but apparently thought better of it. He simply glared at the chief inspector’s back with undisguised contempt.

“A piece of clothing was found snagged on a tree.” Dalgerry whirled
back to face Rex. “Behind your house.”

“Well, then. That underscores the theory of an intruder, doesn’t it?” Julie asked.

“Especially if no one here is missing part of their clothing.” Dalgerry glanced around the room and received puzzled shakes of the head.

He would already know the answer to that since everyone’s
clothes had been patted down and looked over. The only procedure not performed had been a strip search, that Rex was aware of. He was growing antsy. The killer would have had hours in which to compose himself or herself by now, and to think and plan.

“What sort of clothing?” John asked, as a paramedic no doubt used to dealing with the police and not afraid to ask questions.

“I’m afraid I cannot divulge that at present.”

A torn piece of material had any number of explanations for being in the woods, Rex reasoned. It could have been blown there or else left by an innocent hiker; or not so innocent, since that person would have had to be trespassing on his land, but that was a negligible crime compared with two murders. Or it could have been deposited by Helen or Julie. However, in that case, he would have
heard about some ruined clothing. He really couldn’t tell much
without seeing the item.

“How high up in the tree?” he asked.

Dalgerry bared jagged teeth at him in another simulation of a smile. “Perhaps you’d like to step into the hall with me.”

Rex did so gladly, eager to find out what the chief inspector had to tell him in private.

_____

Dalgerry led Rex to the kitchen, where the door leading outside had been sealed off with barricade tape. They sat down opposite each other in the breakfast nook.

“I won’t detain your guests much longer,” Dalgerry said. “None of their statements provided much of interest. Most were just a muddle with a common theme of events: the buffet, the buried gold, the parlor game, the dancing, the power cut, Catriona Fraser falling back into an armchair, the knock at the door after midnight, the search party. But not necessarily in that order, which is mainly based on your statement and that of your fiancée, and of Alistair Frazer and his friend, John Dunbar.”

Once again, Rex was impressed by Dalgerry’s powers of recall.

The chief inspector stretched out his stubby arms. “The bodies have been removed and the crime technicians are almost finished.”

“What was the medical opinion as to cause of death?”

“Fatal paralysis caused by a drug or poison. Dr. Carmichael will know more after performing the autopsies. I told her you thought it might be curare in the entry wounds. She said she’d never had a case like this.”

“I hope we know more soon.”

“I wanted to show you this.” Dalgerry opened a tablet computer that had been sitting on the pine table. He tapped on the screen and turned it around to face Rex. A bird’s-eye view of his property showed the snow-dusted roof of the house, those of the stables and shed, dense areas of treetop, a snaking expanse of gray loch, and contours of hilly terrain.

“The piece of clothing was found here,” Dalgerry said, rising out of his chair and leaning around the wireless device to point with a podgy finger at a spot on the map.

“I’ve used that trail myself. It leads over the glen to Loch Lochy, a five-mile walk. But it’s a bit of a detour from the main entrance to Gleneagle Lodge.”

“Aye. If the motorist came by that way, he would have had to walk up the road half a mile. If he was simply looking for assistance, he would have come down the driveway. You said the lights went oot just after midnight?”

Rex nodded. “Doubtful a motorist who’d broken down would have bothered to walk down the driveway if he thought the lodge was vacant. If he made it to the door and that was the knocking we heard, he must have decided not to stick around for long after the lights went oot.”

“What I’m thinking, Mr. Graves, is that this was no innocent motorist. We think the tyre marks belong to a van, judging by the distance between the wheels. And we got a good impression of the tread. An innocent motorist would have knocked and waited, lights or no lights, having made it that far on foot.”

“Perhaps it was a housebreaker who thought the lodge was
empty. And then, walking around the lodge, saw there were candles and a bunch of people inside. I’d drawn the curtains closed on the bay windows, but not on the side window because I was trying to air the room. The would-be intruder would have revised his plan to break in and rob me.”

“Let’s drop the hypothesis of a housebreaker for now and assume it was a person or persons of more sinister intent, who parked their van and came down by the trail, careful to cover their tracks, but leaving a piece of clothing on a spiky branch. They find the side window open and the house in near darkness and climb in unseen while the guests are preoccupied with the knock at the door, which was simply a diversion created by one of the miscreants.”