3 A Reformed Character (7 page)

Chapter 8  Death-watch beetle

The Donaldsons, whose address Christopher decided Amaryllis must have obtained by semi-legal means or alchemy, were out.

'There'll be things for them to do,' said Christopher. He didn't specify the things, not even to himself. There were always grim things to do when somebody died. He started to worry about who would do them for him when he died, told himself it didn't matter anyway if he wasn't there to be bothered about it, and fell into a state of mild and mellow sadness which was quite unsuitable for the spring.

'How did you know we were at the Petrellis?' said Amaryllis. It was an apparently idle conversational gambit, but Christopher knew from experience that she rarely asked anything idly.

'I wasn't looking for you,' he said. 'I just happened to be passing. I've got to back to work on Monday, so I thought I'd go for a walk while I still could..'

'So you just happened to be passing,' said Amaryllis. 'You thought you'd pass that way just in case Victoria happened to be about.'

'What is it with you and Victoria?' said Christopher.

'No, what is it with you and Victoria?' said Amaryllis, greenish eyes flashing, hair looking spikier than ever. They faced each other in the middle of the road.

'With me and Victoria?'

'And don't start that!'

'Don't start what?'

'Don't start repeating everything I say! It's really annoying!'

'You started it!' he said, exasperated almost beyond bearing. Then he thought of something she had done before, and paused. 'You're trying to pick a fight, aren't you?'

She looked more fiery than ever just for a moment, then laughed. 'Nothing gets past you, does it Christopher? I was planning to sneak off and try and have another look at the old railway yard.'

'Another look?' said Jock, who had kept clear like the wimp he was while it looked as if there would be fireworks, and now joined them again.

'Have you had a look already?' said Christopher. 'Without us?'

He tried not to sound too much like a child whose mother had left him at home when she went to Disneyland, but he had a horrible feeling there was a primary-school whine in his voice. But Amaryllis seemed almost relieved that this had come out. Maybe she had developed a guilty conscience at last. Some part of him hoped not: in a way he would have liked Amaryllis to stay just the way she was when he had first met her. It could get very confusing if people changed.

'Yes, I admit it, I went round there yesterday. And to the house. I couldn't get into the house though - it's too soon. There's still police tape round it.'

'It's not like you to be put off by a bit of tape,' said Christopher with feeling, remembering past exploits.

'Come on then,' said Amaryllis. 'It's not far from here.'

Christopher wasn't the most observant person in the world, but he couldn't help noticing, as she strode off along the river front walkway in front of them, that she wasn't walking with quite her usual air of agility. It was almost as if her joints were starting to stiffen up with age. But she wasn't that old, not that he had ever guessed, even in the privacy of his own mind, how old she was. You could presumably retire from spying at any age.

Jock nudged him. 'You've noticed something, haven't you?'

'There's something not quite right - ' said Christopher just as Amaryllis turned back towards them and said, 'What's the matter with you two, gossiping like a pair of old women?'

They caught up with her, one on each side. Christopher's arm accidentally brushed hers as he fell into step, and she flinched.

'What's wrong?' he said quietly.

'I bumped my elbow earlier. In the kitchen.'

'Hmm.'

They walked a bit further in silence.

'The yard's just across the railway line and down towards the shore a bit,' she said, opening the little gate that led them across the tracks. Christopher immediately imagined being mowed down by some massive steam engine, or worse still by one of the quiet modern trains that would be almost on you before you heard them, but Amaryllis and Jock seemed to think it was all right so he crossed meekly, and volunteered to close the gate behind them at the other side.

The old railway yard was even less impressive than its name suggested: the shell of a workman's hut, and some old concrete coal bunkers. A lot of cigarette ends. And somebody had carelessly dropped a baseball bat by one of the bunkers. Christopher frowned as he glanced at it. He had the vague idea they were sometimes used as weapons as well as for playing rounders or the fancy American equivalent thereof. It had been a bit irresponsible to leave it lying around here where children could get hold of it. Or maybe children did play rounders in here. It wasn't as dangerous as some of the places he had played when he was young: the nearest quarry, the coal tip by the eastern shore, the ruins of a small castle with its own well. But he didn't think today's risk-averse parents would approve of the proximity of the railway line.

'This is it then,' said Amaryllis. She didn't even glance at the baseball bat. 'This is the glamorous hang-out of Darren and Giancarlo and the rest.'

'Giancarlo wasn't there that night, was he?' said Christopher, not entirely sure of his facts. 'I thought it was just Darren and Alan Donaldson and Zak somebody and Stewie somebody else.'

'Zak Johnstone,' said Amaryllis. 'You're right, there was no mention of Giancarlo. But maybe he was there anyway.'

'Or maybe he wasn't,' said Christopher. He didn't want to start another argument.

'Victoria didn't say anything about him either,' said Jock. 'She didn't seem all that pleased when I asked her about him. Was he part of the gang or not? I think he's a bit younger than Darren.'

'Doesn't mean they can't be friends,' said Amaryllis.

'Odd that Darren and Victoria didn't mention him though,' said Christopher. 'We wouldn't even have known he existed if Jock hadn't said something. Back at the caravan, I mean.'

'Oh, that's right, blame me,' said Jock.

'Nobody's blaming anybody,' said Christopher.

They turned and walked back towards the yard entrance. When they were nearly there, two young men came round the corner from the direction of the railway line quite fast and almost met them face to face - except that they both then executed rapid U-turns and ran back the way they had come.

'Zak Johnstone!' said Amaryllis, not giving chase the way Christopher might have expected.

'Wasn't that the talking ham?' said Christopher uncertainly.

'Yes - the other one might have been. I'm sure the one on the left was Zak. He's got the same big nose and curly hair as his mother.'

'Aren't we going to chase them?' said Jock. 'I like a good chase scene.'

'No,' said Amaryllis casually - or was she trying too hard to be casual? Christopher couldn't work it out.

'There's a train coming,' said Jock.

'We'll catch them anyway, in that case,' said Amaryllis. 'They won't have time to get across.'

But when they got up to the railway tracks, the boys had already darted across the track in front of the train, which ambled along with an apparently endless string of coal trucks. They just had to stand and wait as the trucks trundled past.

'We'll catch up with them some other time,' said Amaryllis. 'Let's go and have another look at the murder house. Maybe they'll have taken the tape off by now.'

Christopher was puzzled and not entirely happy about the new law-abiding Amaryllis. Not long ago she would have ignored something as flimsy as police tape, ignoring or circumventing it at will. He had got used to her taking risks so that he didn't have to. Or maybe, he mused, that wasn't the right way round. After all, he had been the one who had risked his life and made an idiot of himself on the cliffs at Kinghorn.

They came to the small new housing development. It was a mid-market kind of place, a bit like the area where he lived except that his house had been built in late Victorian times when it had been thought that Pitkirtly might become a commuter town. That hadn't actually happened until the 1990s, when housing everywhere else had become too expensive for most people.

A few of the houses were finished but most were in different stages of construction. They stood at a safe distance from the murder house, pointed out by Amaryllis but in any case clearly marked out by the police tape, and stared at it. The exterior seemed to be more or less complete, so it would have been a dry and relatively cosy place for Darren to spend the night, but some essential features such as the front steps were missing.

'Do you think they're still doing forensics in there?' whispered Christopher. It seemed somehow wrong as well as risky to speak loudly.

'Probably,' said Amaryllis.

'Are you following us, or what?’

The voice came suddenly and loudly from behind them. They turned in unison. The boy called Zak and his friend, who may or may not have played the part of the talking ham, stood about a metre away, watching them. There was an air of menace about them.

‘Not,’ said Amaryllis. ‘What made you think we were? Guilty conscience?’

Christopher cheered inwardly at this sign that the old Amaryllis had not disappeared for ever.

Zak made a disparaging sound. ‘Guilty? I don’t think so.’

The boy formerly known as the talking ham blushed.

‘Who’s your friend, Zak?’ said Amaryllis. ‘Is this the famous Stewie, by any chance?’

‘I’m outta here,’ said the ham, and started to turn away. Zak grabbed him by the arm.

‘No need for us to leave. We’ve not done anything.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Amaryllis.

Zak shrugged his shoulders. Stewie – if it was indeed him – shook off Zak’s hand and stared at the ground.

‘What about the night Alan Donaldson was murdered? Did you do anything wrong then?’

‘Shut up about Alan. He was a friend of ours,’ muttered Zak.

A man came out of one of the half-finished houses across the road. He stared at them, waved his arms and shouted something incomprehensible. When they all ignored him, he advanced towards them. Christopher now noticed he was waving a hammer, and instinctively took a step back, bumping into Jock, who was also in retreat. Zak and Stewie, who hadn’t seen the man because they were facing the wrong way, started to laugh at them. Amaryllis stayed exactly where she was.

‘Hey, you lot, get out of here! There’s nothing to see!’ The man’s words became clearer as he approached. Zak turned to look, took Stewie’s arm again and hustled him away. Their steps accelerated as they headed out of the estate.

‘Go on, then!’ said the man. His voice was still raised. His face was very pink and his eyes seemed to be gazing into the distance, as if he wasn’t really there. Christopher guessed who he was, and said quietly to Amaryllis, ‘I think we should go now.’

‘But – ‘

‘No, I mean it. Come on.’

‘Parasites!’ shouted the man after them, but they didn’t look back to see whether he was still waving the hammer. Christopher considered the possibility that he might be a champion hammer-thrower, and speeded up a bit. He and Jock had a kind of walking race to see who could get out of range first. Amaryllis acted as rearguard.

‘He was a bit cross, wasn’t he?’ she commented.

‘I think that was Mr Donaldson,’ said Christopher. ‘Alan’s dad. He wasn’t cross, just upset.’