Does Your Mother Know? (27 page)

I handed him the tape and he inserted it into the machine. My voice came on, noting date, place, and time then, “Take a deep breath... ”

He gave me an amused smile. And on it went. On this second hearing, I picked up more things. Joan’s distress as she described the scene at Tormod’s house was over the top. I hadn’t believed her story about Sarah going to Tormod’s on a business matter, but it was obvious that, whatever the argument was about, it was white hot. As we listened, I could see it was a struggle for Joan not to burst out crying again. She hid it by drinking more tea. When she described being in the car and the near-collision with the other car, I thought there was no doubt Joan had been in the passenger seat and Sarah MacDonald had been the one driving. But the mystery person who was checking her out was vague, and this part of the story was not as convincing. Not that Joan was lying, but whether the visitor was a fantasy or real was less sure.

I saw Gill making notes at this point. We went right through the conversation we’d had after she was out of the trance, then my voice recording that the tape was switched off, the time, and the date. Brenda’s pencil stopped its rapid movements. In the ensuing silence, it seemed as we collectively let go of the breath we had been holding.

“My, that was most impressive. I’m sorry we had to upset you all over again, Mrs. Morris.”

She nodded acknowledgement. “What happens now?”

“Brenda will type up the transcript of the tape and this interview, and then I’ll have you come in and sign that it’s all correct and so forth. Then I will pass it on to the procurator fiscal, and after that... it will be in his hands.”

“So you’re not going to arrest me?”

“No, I’m not. I want you to agree not to go anywhere without letting us know, but certainly you are free to leave. Where are you staying?”

“With me,” said Duncan. “We’re old friends.”

“I gathered that,” said Gillies. “And I assume you are the one who picked up Mrs. Morris’s suitcase from the B & B?”

Duncan shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, that was me. She needed her things.”

“You know that impersonating a police officer could be considered an offence.”

“Come off it, Gill. It’s me, Duncan MacKenzie, you’re talking to. The woman asked me if I was Sergeant Gillies come to get the suitcase, and I sort of went along with her. It seemed easier that way. I didn’t outright lie, for goodness’ sake.”

That wasn’t how I’d heard it, but I knew how easy it was for these matters to get confused. Maybe it was the way he said. Impossible to prove, and Gillies for one didn’t seem to think it worth bothering about.

“Well don’t do it again, or I’ll do turn and turn alike and go in the Seo Sinn instead of you. Then where’d you be?”

Duncan laughed out loud. “Thrown out of the competition, most like. You’ve got a voice like a corncrake.”

We’d all forgotten about the stenographer in the corner, but she stood up.

“I’ll start on this right away, shall I, Sergeant Gillies?”

“Thanks, Brenda.”

“And thanks for bringing the tea,” I added my two cents’ worth for the feminist cause.

Duncan pushed back his chair. “If that’s everything for now, I’m going to take Joan to see my new granddaughter, then we’ll go out for supper, then back to my house.”

“Before you go, I’ll return your handbag and the overnight bag we got from the car.”

“I hope everything’s still in there,” said Joan with such a suggestive expression that I almost choked on my cookie. Gill grinned back at her.

“It’s all intact.”

She turned to me. “Will you give me a ring tomorrow, Christine? You’re not going to go back to Edinburgh right away, are you?”

“No, there’s not much point. I might as well stay here until Saturday, then I’ll have to fly back to Canada. What about you? How long were you planning to stay?”

“For a while longer. I took an open-ended ticket.”

Prepared for any contingency, I see.

“Shall we go then?” said Gillies.

“Say ‘hi’ to little Anna for me,” I said.

“Be right back,” said Gill again. And they left me staring at the chalkboard.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Gill was indeed right back.

“You’re very good at that hypnosis thing, Chris. I almost went into a trance myself, just listening to you.”

That’s not a result I’d particularly like to achieve with an attractive man.

“What do you think about what she said?” I asked him.

He hesitated.

“Listen, you won’t offend me. As far as I’m concerned, there are still several unanswered questions. I’d be interested in your opinion.”

“Okay. But you must admit, it’s a bit odd to be talking about your mother like this, as if she’s a case.”

“Don’t worry about it. Tell me what you think.”

He picked up one of the pencils from the box and began to make doodles on a piece of paper.

“I’d rather you start. Are you concerned about who was driving the other car and where they are?”

“That actually wasn’t uppermost on my mind but, yes, who were they? Are you going to pursue it?”

“Of course. Given what we’ve heard, the procurator will have to order some kind of investigation. What are the unanswered questions, if it’s not that?”

“The first thing that leaped out was that huge time gap from the time we believe the accident happened, which we assume was about eleven-thirty, to the time she showed up on Duncan’s door at four-thirty. If she’d been lying unconscious on the grass somewhere, surely she would have been in bad shape when she did arrive at Duncan’s. He certainly acted as if she’d been out walking for half an hour, max. He made no attempt to get her medical attention.”

He’d made a note on the paper. “Shall I deal with the questions one at a time?’

“Sure.”

“Given she banged her head, it’s quite likely she was in and out of consciousness. There are places to shelter among the rocks, and she grew up in the area, so she might know them instinctually. As for Duncan not rushing her off to the hospital, I’d classify that as an island characteristic that is a throwback to the time when you had to pay hefty fees to the doctor, who didn’t necessarily know what he was doing, or else why was he practising here in the back of beyond.”

“All right. We’ll put that one in the grey area. Second unanswered question: Why was there such a scene at Tormod’s that Sarah MacDonald ran out, threatening to ‘tell everybody’? What was he promising to make up to her? Mrs. MacNeil told me that Sarah was engaged to Iain MacAulay when she was young and that Tormod disapproved of the match and broke it up. Is that what this is all about? But why now after so many years?”

Another note in his neat handwriting. “Maybe Tormod was doing another gazump right back at Sarah. Remember, the realestate transaction still wasn’t final. Perhaps he changed his mind and reverted to the original offer.”

“I’ll concede that as a possibility, but I’m puzzled as to why Joan would be so vague about it. Surely it would have been obvious what he was doing.” I put on my best Scottish accent. “Och, Sarah me lass, I’ve gone changed me mind and I’m not selling the Swedes the property after all.”

He laughed gratifyingly. “That was good. They weren’t Swedes, by the way. Norwegians, I believe. Anyway, go on.”

“She was extremely upset when she was reliving the scene at Tormod’s house. You heard her. That is way out of proportion with what she said was going on.”

“She did know him when she was a child. It’s upsetting to see somebody years later when he’s sick.”

“True, but she never referred to that once. I thought her reaction was extreme.”

“All right, I’ll give you that. But if she wasn’t upset to see him poorly, why was she crying like that?”

“An unanswered question.”

“Next.”

“We know who picked the flowers, but I’m still uneasy about this tidy-up that happened. Who did it?”

Gill raised an eyebrow. “Why not Tormod?”

“It doesn’t feel right. His visitors have rushed out after a huge row, he’s not a man to put things away, according to Lisa, and some things were out of place.”

“I don’t always put everything back in the usual place. My ex-wife used to complain about it all the time. ‘How long have you lived in this house and you don’t know where the pots go?’ Maybe tidying up was his way of calming himself down.”

“A woman maybe. Did you ever do something like that?”

“No. I’d chop wood.”

“Okay. I’ll put the Molly Maid issue in the grey area too. Joan referred to Tormod as ‘Uncle,’ but I assume that is a courtesy title.”

“It is. Technically, Tormod and Joan were cousins, but he was a lot older and she would have called him ‘Uncle.’ By the way, Joan is the English equivalent of Shona.”

“She hasn’t explained yet why she chose the names she did, but in passing, Mrs. MacNeil mentioned a Morrison family. I’d bet Joan just abbreviated that.”

A little doodle on the notepad. “I did wonder who came to the door? Remember she said, ‘There’s somebody at the door.’”

“A man from the village.”

“What?”

“I took a course in Romantic poetry in university and, according to legend, Samuel Taylor Coleridge — who was in the middle of writing a brilliant poem, ‘Kubla Khan,’ while under the influence of a controlled substance — was interrupted by a knock on the door. A man from the village. He couldn’t finish the poem.”

“Ah, ah. I see you are a woman with an astonishing breadth of knowledge.”

“How perceptive of you.”

We both laughed, and I felt a little rush of happiness. We seemed so comfortable with each other in spite of the circumstances. I felt as if we’d known each other a long time, not just a handful of days.

“I’ll have to assume the visitor was one of the neighbours, who wouldn’t have had any reason to inform us because we have not been treating Tormod’s death as a homicide.” He put down the pencil. “Chris. Now
I
have a question. I think the issue of what happened at the accident is more or less settled. I believed your mother when she said Sarah was driving. We know she had an over-the-limit blood-alcohol reading, which would slow her reaction times. Joan walking away from the site is understandable, as is the temporary amnesia... ”

“So what’s your question?”

“Why are you so focused on what happened at MacAulay’s house? We know he was very ill and could have hemorrhaged at any time and, according to Dr. MacBeth, that’s what happened. There was no trauma to the body, no indication of foul play. Yet you’re worrying at it like a terrier. Is this just a function of the overactive police profiler’s mind at work or...”

“Or what?”

“Do you have some reason for wanting your mother to be in trouble?”

“No, of course not.” But even to my ears my answer was too fast.
“I’m just a case, am I?”
I knew I didn’t want her to be involved in any nefarious death, nor for her to be in trouble, but Gill was quite right. I couldn’t let it go. This was a case, and the fact that my own flesh and blood was involved didn’t stop me
gnawing at it. I felt compelled — probably neurotically, I admit — to tie up loose ends.

“Anyway, you’re right. What I came for seems to have been cleared up. She can’t be accountable for vehicular homicide.” I realized our official connection might be over. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. I do appreciate it.”

“It’s my job. I’m the family liaison officer.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“I’m the one assigned to be a contact person with the family if there’s a police matter. I talk to them, pass on information, and so forth. They don’t have to deal with different officers all the time. It’s much easier for all of us.”

I absorbed that for a minute. I could hear Joan’s voice.
I’m a case now, am I?
Were those dinners and hugs all part of the job?

My face must have been transparent, because he suddenly got up and came over to me, bending over the chair with his hands on the arms.

“Wipe those evil thoughts out of your head. I took you out because I liked your company.”

He was so close I was in danger of seeing him cross-eyed, so I leaned back a little. He had brown eyes slightly flecked with gold. The shinty bruise was starting to turn yellow.

“The feeling is mutual.”

I was aware of what Paula had said: “They think you’re not interested in them and they get discouraged.” Unfortunately, I was experiencing breathlessness, and the problem wasn’t that I would appear indifferent but that, at any moment, I might throw myself on his bones.

Who knows what would have transpired next if the extension phone hadn’t rung. Not a man from the village, but equally as disruptive. With a grimace, Gill went to answer it.

“Sergeant Gillies here. Will you speak up, Ma’am, I can hardly hear you... ” Suddenly, he looked alarmed and signalled to me to hand him the notepaper. I did so, placing it on the desk and grabbing the pen for him.

“What are you referring to, Ma’am?... Will you please identify yourself?... Who are these people?... Ma’am?... Damn.”

He replaced the receiver. The caller had obviously hung up. Quickly, Gill pressed the connecting button.

“Phil. That call that just came through. The woman didn’t by any chance give her name did she?... No, eh? But she asked for me personally? Okay. Thanks, Phil.” He disconnected. “That was warning message number two from our Royalist friend.”

“Was it recorded?”

“No, we only do that for emergency calls.”

“Quick. Write down everything you remember about the call. Sound of the voice, as exact words as possible. Don’t embellish it at the moment. Write it line by line, with a space for your replies.”

I moved away to be completely out of his orbit, and he did as I asked.

He finished and handed me the paper.

1.
I told you before they are out of control and you haven’t brought them in yet.

2.
You know, I told you before. We’ll all be blamed if they pull it off.

3.
No, I can’t do that.

4.
It’s the White Dog group. They’ve lost it.