The Darkness and the Deep (24 page)

After Dorothy Randall’s reticence, this avalanche of information left MacNee feeling almost battered. ‘I’m afraid so,’ he murmured.

‘I can’t imagine how anyone could do this. Vandals, possibly – but I hear that you think it’s something to do with drugs? My ladies here always keep me up to date with what’s going on. Oh, Rhona, thank you so much.’

Rhona set down a tray with a cafetière and a plate piled with chocolate muffins. MacNee accepted one, then was surprised when Joanna took one herself. From the look of her, he wouldn’t have guessed she was into chocolate muffins. But she ate it greedily and then to his astonishment helped herself to another one before he’d even peeled off the paper case on his. At least it stopped her talking long enough to let him put in a question.

‘It must have been kind of a difficult night. When did you hear what was happening? Did you know there’d been a call-out?’

‘The coastguard phoned here first so I told them to contact Ritchie’s mobile. He’d had to go to the new houses because they were having a special open night for prospective buyers and he’d left earlier. Then later one of the reserve crew phoned explaining Ritchie would be late.’

MacNee jotted that down. ‘You didn’t speak directly to Mr Elder?’

Joanna shook her head. ‘I knew he’d be very involved in the rescue – he didn’t need me interrupting.’

‘And you didn’t go along to Fuill’s Inlat yourself? Offer your support?’ MacNee persisted.

‘Do you think I’d have been welcome? They’re serious pros, these guys, and the last thing they need is useless bystanders wringing their hands and getting in the way. No, I had a quiet night in, in front of the telly, until my husband came home and then, of course, we were up till the wee small hours – he was much too upset to go to bed, as you can imagine.’ Her eyes were wide and innocent.

He decided to go straight to the point. ‘Mrs Elder—’

‘Oh, Joanna, please.’

He ignored her. ‘Were you aware of the rumour that Ashley Randall and your husband were having an affair?’

‘No! Is that what they’re saying?’ She sounded amused. ‘Not that it surprises me. Ashley was a bit of a flirt, and in this place that’s all it would take. No, I assure you Ritchie and I have a very happy marriage. In fact,’ she indicated a pile of coloured brochures on the table at her side, ‘we’ve been discussing a holiday when this is all over. Ritchie’s going to need a break – he’s been so stressed that I’m positively worried about him.’ Her voice was level, but she was folding one of the discarded paper cases on her plate smaller and smaller.

MacNee’s instinct as a street-fighter was to go head-to-head, but Marjory had told him often enough that you caught more flies with honey than with vinegar. She’d have been proud of him so far and he didn’t want to put Joanna on the defensive before he had more to go on. He got up.

‘Thanks, Mrs Elder. You’ve been very helpful. And the muffins were great.’

‘I’ll pass that on to Davina. I can’t resist them, myself.’ She led the way to the door.

‘So just to recap. Your husband left at – what? Half-past six or so?’ She nodded. ‘And he arrived back—?’

‘Oh, well after midnight, poor man.’

‘And you were here all evening?’

‘Absolutely.’ The grey eyes were guileless, as they had been throughout the conversation. You’d swear she couldn’t utter an untruth, what with all those lumps of butter unmelted in her mouth. And it might be the truth, at that. But there was still something about her flawless presentation that had MacNee’s antennae not so much twitching as doing a Highland fling.

Out in the hall, Rhona was busy with some dusting and looked up as they came out. ‘Do you want me to show the sergeant out, Mrs Elder?’

Joanna shrugged. ‘Fine. Thanks, Rhona. And goodbye, Sergeant. I hope I told you everything you wanted?’

‘And more,’ MacNee assured her gravely. She went back into her sitting room as Rhona escorted him to the front door. Her presence in the hall hadn’t looked like coincidence to him and he waited with interest to see what was on her mind.

Sure enough, she looked over her shoulder to make sure her boss was safely out of the way, then said, ‘We were just having a chat in the kitchen – you know you asked me about Mr Elder? None of us ever saw anything, but I tell you what’s weird. She’s barely been eating a morsel for weeks now and spending half the day working out, but since all this happened she’s been stuffing her face and never looked near the gym. We were wondering if she’s maybe pregnant – eating for two, ken? – but it’s a funny thing even so.’

‘With Davina’s muffins I can’t blame her,’ MacNee said lightly. ‘But tell me, Rhona, did any of you ever say anything to Mrs Elder about Dr Randall?’

‘Not exactly . . .’

MacNee raised his eyebrows.

Rhona looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, if you ask me he’s a right bastard. Davina just gave her a wee hint a few weeks ago. It’s not right if the wife’s the last one to know.’

Even if you haven’t a shred of proof that there’s any truth in it. The ethics of the gossip circuit! But MacNee said only, ‘What did she say?’

‘Nothing much. Just sort of went a bit pink and let on she didn’t understand. But she knew fine what Davina was saying.’

And had Joanna’s starving herself, MacNee wondered as he got back into his car, dated from the time of Davina’s ‘wee hint’? If your husband was serious about another woman, meaning that you were going to lose a grand lifestyle like this, it would fairly put you off your food, right enough.

So his instincts hadn’t been wrong; she’d certainly lied about her ignorance of the rumours. Had she lied to him about anything else?

Muriel Henderson locked the side door, then followed Enid Davis down the path. It was only just half-past twelve, but the doctors had pushed the patients through in good time this morning, so anything else could just wait till Monday. She’d been keen to get away promptly. It was the first time she’d ever been over the threshold of Enid’s house so she was pleased about the invitation to lunch. Well, she’d sort of invited herself, really, but then Enid was a quiet wee soul who probably wouldn’t have liked to ask.

They were crossing the road when a car appeared, slowing down as it reached the surgery. She clicked her tongue in irritation. ‘If that’s someone needing a repeat prescription and they think we’re going back to open up for them, they’ve another think coming,’ she said belligerently. Her expression was one of uncompromising hostility until the car stopped and she saw who was driving.

‘Oh, it’s you, Constable! I thought you were one of the patients – they’re awful inconsiderate nowadays! I nearly gave you a right telling-off!’

‘I’m glad I escaped that!’ DC Kingsley laughed as he got out of the car – he really was a nice-looking lad! ‘I was in Knockhaven anyway and I just thought I’d drop in and see how you were getting on. But I see you’re on your way home. I don’t want to detain you . . .’

Considerate, too. She beamed at him. ‘Och, not at all. We’re just away round to Enid’s house down the High Street there for a bit of lunch, aren’t we, Enid?’ As Enid murmured agreement, she went on, ‘Actually, there was something that might interest you – you know what they’re saying now?’

Muriel could almost see his ears prick up. ‘It’s all over the village. Willie says it was all just havers about him being scared, he was just upset about it all. Says it was definitely nothing to do with him. What do you think of that?’

He wasn’t impressed. ‘Oh yes, I’ve heard that too.’

Piqued, she went on, ‘But do you see what that means? If it wasn’t those drugs people, it has to have been someone else!’

‘Yes, I suppose it must.’ The signs of impatience were obvious.

Perhaps he wasn’t such a nice young man after all. ‘The point is, it could be someone local, someone we all know. It’s not a nice thought, that. Enough to make your flesh creep.’

‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

He didn’t seem as shocked as he ought to be. Disappointed, Muriel sniffed. ‘Time we were getting along,
if
you’ll excuse us . . .’

With only a brief ‘Thanks,’ he jumped back into the car and drove off, a bit too fast. ‘Well!’ Muriel said pettishly. ‘That’s the last time I put myself out for
him
!’

It wasn’t the last of Muriel’s disappointments. Enid hadn’t made much of an effort for lunch, just tinned soup and ham rolls, when Muriel had been looking forward to some of her cooking. She hadn’t even been offered a wee sherry, just some home-made lemon squash.
Lemon squash!

The table had been set in the kitchen too and despite Muriel’s hints Enid didn’t show her round the house. She’d said, ‘What’s your sitting room like?’ but when Enid just said, ‘Small,’ even Muriel didn’t quite have the nerve to demand to inspect it.

And there weren’t any family photographs or anything to look at. There was one photo on the wall, a view of a loch and hills behind, but since Muriel knew already that Enid came from somewhere up the West Coast it was hardly worth the effort she was having to make just to keep the conversation going. You’d have thought Enid grudged the very food Muriel was putting in her mouth.
Not
a very gracious hostess.

So, when Enid brought her a mug of instant coffee – and not so much as a biscuit to go with it – it was with a certain malice that she said, ‘You’ll have your big chance now, Enid, won’t you?’

Enid looked at her blankly. ‘What do you mean?’

Muriel giggled. ‘With Dr Lewis, of course! Now he’s rid of that wife of his he’ll be wanting someone who can look after him properly.’

Colour rose in Enid’s cheeks. She said stiffly, ‘Please don’t go making stupid remarks like that, Muriel. I like Dr Lewis, yes, and I don’t think Dr Ashley was a good wife to him. She was a right bitch, if you ask me.’

She paid no attention to Muriel’s shocked gasp. ‘But it doesn’t mean I’ve any plan to take her place and quite honestly I don’t think he’d so much as look at me. I’m not deluding myself that I’m his sort. You don’t think so either, so I’d be grateful if you’d stop all this, right now.’

‘Well, really!’ Muriel’s cheeks had gone bright red. ‘I’ve never been so insulted in my life!’ She set down her mug on the table with a bang and stood up. Picking up her coat and bag from the table, she went on, ‘I’ve tried to be a friend to you, Enid, because you don’t seem to have many friends. And after today I’m not surprised. Thank you for the
snack
.’ She laid emphasis on the last word – she wasn’t going to call it lunch – and went out, slamming the door behind her.

She felt positively stunned. Meek little Enid, turning on her like that! Mind you, she’d always said still waters ran deep and she’d believe she was capable of anything after this. If they’d seen the way Enid had looked at her they wouldn’t be searching around to find someone capable of multiple murder.

After all, it wasn’t natural Enid should be so touchy, was it, when Muriel had just been teasing her in a jokey kind of way. Maybe there was more to it; maybe she and Dr Lewis had something going on after all. Perhaps she should just mention it to that young policeman, even if she had decided to be pretty frosty if he came round again. After all, helping the police was her civic duty.

Pleased with her own public-spiritedness, she walked back across the main road to her own, much more satisfactory bungalow in Mayfield Gardens where you had a better class of neighbour – like Dr Lewis, just round the corner – instead of the riff-raff you found in the lower town.

13

‘Eternal Father, strong to save,

Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,

Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep

Its own appointed limits keep . . .’

The voices, led by the muted strains of a silver band, wavered on the damp air. Beneath a leaden sky the crowd surrounded the lifeboat shed and filled its pier, then spilled out along Shore Street, falling silent at the end of the hymn so that the only sound was the moaning of the green-black sea. On a dais in front of the shed the minister, black-robed, raised his hand in the final blessing and the crowd mutely fell aside to allow the three coffins, draped in lifeboat flags and shouldered by men in lifeboat blazers, passage to the waiting hearses.

Behind came the chief mourners: Luke Smith’s parents, his mother leaning heavily on her husband’s arm as if she could barely stand unsupported; Katy Anderson, alone, white-faced, tearless and blank-eyed; Lewis Randall, his face sombre and unrevealing, with his mother in a well-cut coat and black felt hat with a dipping brim. Luke’s parents were taking him directly back home for burial and Ashley was to be cremated at a private ceremony in Stranraer later. Only Rob Anderson would lie in the local cemetery, but there would be a big attendance at the graveside.

Slowly the rest of the crowd began to drift away, most people heading up the hill to the town hall, where the ladies of the Lifeboat Committee had provided tea. Links in this rural area were strong and they came from all over the area, from Kirkluce to the north, Whithorn to the south, Wigtown in the west and a dozen other small communities in between.

Marjory Fleming stood to one side, observing. MacNee, Kerr and Kingsley would all be doing the same somewhere, although she couldn’t see any of them. She could see Nat Rettie, though, who’d been released without charge for the moment at least, standing near the front in his school uniform, with his hands in his pockets and his head lowered. She saw too with dismay the distinctive hennaed head of Kylie MacEwan beside him.

No one was speaking to them; indeed, a little space had been left round about as if no one was willing to risk even coincidental association. Kylie had confirmed that they had been together that evening, though her assertion that they hadn’t been doing anything except ‘just talking a bit’ didn’t exactly instil confidence in the reliability of her evidence. And, thought Marjory anxiously, what effect could all this be having on her own Cat?