1 Aunt Bessie Assumes (5 page)

“I just hope young Hugh gets
some of the credit when it comes,” Doona told her friend.  “He has his
faults, but he's really a good kid and he works hard when he has to.”

Bessie wasn't sure she
totally agreed with her friend's assessment of the young policeman, but she
didn't argue.
 
“Surely you can tell
me your impression of Vikky Pierce?” Bessie asked.

“I didn't get much chance to
form an impression,” Doona told her.  “Hugh brought her in and turned her
over to Inspector Rockwell pretty sharpish.”  

“She wasn't left sitting
around in the waiting room like I am, then.”

“I hope you aren't
complaining!”  Doona giggled.

“Not really,” Bessie grinned.
 “So you didn't even meet the devastated bride, widowed just days after
the happiest day of her life?”

Doona snorted.  “It's
not my place to say,” she said, “but she didn't seem too devastated when she
sailed in here.  I recognized your clothes, by the way. You shouldn't
have.”

“I didn't want to leave her
sitting around in a soaking wet silk nightie,” Bessie answered.
 
“Especially in my house.”

Doona laughed.  “What a
mental image that creates,” she giggled.  “Still, I bet Inspector Rockwell
will want the nightie.”

“Why on earth would he want
that?” Bessie was shocked.

“To test for blood stains and
stuff,” Doona told her.
 
“Surely you
realised that the widow is the chief suspect.”

Bessie nodded slowly, her
brain struggling to keep up with everything that was happening.
 
“I guess I didn’t really think about
it,” she said after a moment.
 
“I
mean, I didn’t really think about it being murder.
 
I just assumed he had a heart attack or
something.”

Doona patted her hand
gently.
 
“Murder is hard to
imagine.”

Bessie shook her head.
 
“I might have made lunch for a murderer?”

“You made her lunch?” Doona
choked back a laugh when she saw the look on Bessie’s face.
 
“I mean, that was really nice of you,
but why?”

“It was lunchtime,” Bessie
said weakly.
 
“I wasn’t thinking.”

“I was getting the impression
that you didn’t like her very much,” Doona remarked.

“I didn’t like her one little
bit,” Bessie said tartly.
 
“But I
didn’t think of her a suspect.
 
I
really didn’t think about the dead man.
 
I’ve had a lot of different experiences in my life, but this is the
first time I’ve found a body.
 
I
guess I should have thought about it more before I invited the woman into my
home.”

“You should indeed,” Doona
said.
 
“There’s no telling what the
woman is capable of.”

Bessie just stopped herself
from shaking her head again.
 
“It
all just seems slightly unreal.
 
People don’t just stab other people, not in my world, only in my
favourite fiction.”

Doona shrugged.
 
“I’ve seen a lot since I took this job
with the police.
 
But this is first
murder we’ve had to deal with in Laxey.
 
Luckily, it is pretty unusual.”

She got up and took a couple
of short steps to the kettle that was on a table behind her.
 
As Bessie sat lost in her thoughts,
Doona made tea for them both.
 

“Here,” she handed a mug to
Bessie.
 
“I’ve made it extra milky
and sweet.
 
It will help for sure.”

Bessie made a face.
 
She’d drunk considerably more than her
normal amount of tea already that day, but she forced herself to drink the warm
liquid.
 
She could almost feel its
warmth spreading through her body and restarting her stunned brain.
 
“There must be other suspects,” she said
now.

“I guess the whole family has
to be looked at,” Doona agreed.
 
“And
the staff and anyone else who comes along.
 
I don’t know that much about it, yet, but I guess I’ll be typing all of the
reports as they come in.
 
Of course,
I can’t tell you anything until it’s all over.”

Bessie thought about that for
a moment.
 
“I understand,” she
assured her friend.
 
“I just hope
they sort it out quickly.”

“I’m sure we will.”

The voice from the hallway
startled both women.
  
Bessie
turned her head and met Inspector Rockwell’s eyes.
 
He looked amused by the idea that he had
interrupted the conversation.
 
Behind him, Bessie could see Patrick Kelly and Hugh having a chat.
 

“I just need a few minutes of
your time,” Inspector Rockwell told Bessie.
 
“Just to get a formal statement of
exactly what you saw today.”

Bessie nodded and got to her
feet.
 
Doona had busied herself with
paperwork as soon as Rockwell had appeared.
 
Bessie managed to catch her eye as she
rose.
 

“Thank you for the tea,” she
said formally.

Doona winked at her.
 
“No problem.
 
Good luck.”

“I hope I don’t need it,”
Bessie muttered as she walked slowly across the room.
 
One advantage of her age was that she
could take her time crossing to the man.
 
She didn’t mind him thinking that she was slow; it gave her time to
compose herself.
 
She reached his
side and smiled up at him.
 

“I’m not quite as fast as I
used to be,” she smiled, determined to be friendly.

“We all have to get old, I
suppose,” the man answered absently.

Bessie bristled at the remark,
but kept her smile firmly in place.
 
Old was not a word she liked to associate with herself, even if it might
be accurate.

Rockwell led her back down
the short hallway to one of the offices that had been shut when she and Hugh
had arrived.
  
He ushered her
inside and waved her towards a chair.

Bessie took a quick look
around at plain wood furniture planted haphazardly in the unadorned white
room.
 
She supposed it must be an
office, because of the furniture, rather than a room intended for questioning
suspects, but the space could hardly have been any more cold and unwelcoming.

“The Laxey Constabulary has
kindly arranged for me to use this office during my investigation,” Inspector
Rockwell told Bessie as she shifted around in the hard wooden seat, struggling
to find a comfortable position.

“It needs a bit of
decorating,” Bessie told the man, as he took his own seat behind the desk.
 
She was surprised when he laughed at her
words.
 

“Decorating is the last thing
I’m concerned with,” he told her.
 
“I’m trying to find a murderer.
 
This room is perfectly serviceable as it is.”

“I suppose,” Bessie shrugged.

“Right, I don’t want to take
up too much of your time,” the inspector told her.
 
“So I’d like to get right to my
questions, if that’s okay.”

“Certainly,” Bessie agreed.

“I’m going to record this and
take notes as well, if that’s okay?”

“It’s fine.”

“Terrific.”
 
The man smiled briefly and then
consulted the notes he had on the desk in front of him.

“You’re Ms. Elizabeth Cubbon,
correct?”

“Actually, it’s Miss Elizabeth
Cubbon,” Bessie told him.
 
“While I
applaud modern women for finding a title that allows them to hide their marital
status from all and sundry in the same way that men can use ‘Mister’ to do so,
I’ve never been fond of ‘Ms.’ as a title for myself.
 
I’ve never married, but not due to lack
of opportunity.
 
I’m quite content
with my status as ‘Miss’ Cubbon, thank you.”

Inspector Rockwell blew out a
long breath and then made a short note on his paper.
 
“Right, so then, Miss Cubbon,” he said
carefully, “how old are you?”

“I hardly see why that is any
of your concern,” Bessie told him sharply.
 
“What does my age have to do with your investigation?”

Another long breath was
coupled with a long pause before the man spoke again.
 
“We gather a certain amount of
information from all of our witnesses, regardless of its immediate obvious
relevance,” he said eventually.
 
“A
witness’s age can be important for understanding how he or she sees the world,
for example.
 
A twenty-year-old will
see certain things very differently to a sixty-year-old.”

Bessie sighed.
 
“Age isn’t something that I worry
about,” she told the man.
 
“The last
interesting thing that happens when you age is getting your free bus pass at
sixty.
 
I’ve had mine for a good
many years now.
 
I suppose I should
be looking forward to a telegram from the Queen, but that’s still a good many
years into my future.”

Rockwell looked as if he
might press her further for a moment and then he frowned and made a few more
notes on his papers instead.
 
“Perhaps we can come back to that topic later,” he muttered as he
shuffled through the sheets on his desk.

Not bloody likely, Bessie
thought to herself, biting her tongue hard to keep herself from saying it out
loud.

“Okay then, Miss Cubbon,”
Inspector Rockwell smiled.
 
“Can you
please just take me through the last twenty-four hours or so.
 
Start with yesterday afternoon and run
me up to now.”

“Yesterday?”
 
Bessie frowned.
 
She wanted to argue that yesterday
didn’t much matter, but she felt like she had been arguing with the inspector
enough already.
 

“If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Bessie
finally said grudgingly.
 
“Let’s
see, yesterday I had lunch at home.
 
I had soup and a small chicken salad sandwich.
 
Then I spent some hours working on the
research for a paper that I’m due to give at a conference at the Manx Museum
later this year.
 
I had dinner with
my advocate and his family.
 
His
wife was kind enough to collect me and then he drove me home after
dinner.”
 
Bessie took a breath.

“Sorry to interrupt,”
Inspector Rockwell held up a hand.
 
“Can I just get the name of your advocate, please?”

“Doncan Quayle, Sr.,” Bessie
answered without further comment.

Inspector Rockwell glanced at
her and then made another note.
 
“Sorry, please continue.”

“After dinner I read for a
short time and then I went to bed.
 
I slept until six, got up and dressed and had some breakfast and then
headed out for my morning walk.
 
Not
far from home, I nearly stumbled over the body of a man.
  
I called the police from my home
and waited with the body until Hugh Watterson arrived.
 
When yourself and Inspector Kelly
arrived, I was told to wait at home and I returned there, along with the dead
man’s widow, who had turned up in the middle of everything.
 
We kept each other company for a few
hours.
 
I made some tea and then
soup and toast while we waited.
 
Eventually, Hugh arrived and took Mrs. Pierce away.
 
Some time later, he returned and
collected me and brought me here.”

“Thank you,” Inspector
Rockwell said.
 
“Now I have just a
few questions.”

Of course you do, Bessie
thought sourly.
 

“Do you know what time you
went to bed?”

“It would have been somewhere
between ten and eleven,” Bessie told him.
 
“I usually try to get eight hours of sleep, but I was in the middle of a
good book last night and I read a bit later than I usually do.”

“Do you remember waking up in
the night at all?
 
Did you get up
for a drink of water or anything like that?”

Bessie shook her head.
 
“I’ve always been a good sound sleeper,”
she told the man.
 
“I didn’t wake up
once.”

Rockwell nodded, but looked
unhappy.
 
“Right, do you always go
for a walk in the morning?”

Bessie nodded.
 
“Every morning, if I’m able, regardless
of the weather,” she told him.
 
“I
believe our bodies are ‘use it or lose it.’
 
I like to keep my mind sharp and my body
as fit as I possibly can.”