Does Your Mother Know? (32 page)

“She claims she was not driving, that Mrs. MacDonald was. As the accident resulted in a death, it would be helpful if we could find somebody to verify that.”

He watched me, transfixed.

I continued. “The woman also says that Mr. MacAulay had a visitor that night while they were there. This person didn’t stay more than a few minutes, but there is a possibility that they might have seen the car drive off and witnessed who was driving.”

“Yes?” He stared at me, trying to keep his bottom lip from trembling; at the same time, he wasn’t going to give me an inch if he could help it. To hell with it, I was losing patience.

“Andy, were you the one who came to the house that night?”

“Friday? No, of course not. I already told Gillies, I hadn’t seen Grandda since Thursday. No, it wasn’t me. No.”

I threw out a line, baited. “Your landladies said you were intending to visit him, but you were late at the church.”

“Right. That’s right, I was.”

“What time did your church meeting finish?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Of course. Why would you? I understand you usually bicycle over to Shawbost to visit Miss Pitchers. Good for you. That’s quite a distance.”

“It’s not so bad when you’re fit.”

“And in the rain, too. Friday was pretty miserable, I hear.”

“I’m used to it.”

I put on my best Columbo confused-bimbo expression. “Now, I’m a stranger here. Wouldn’t you have had to go past the scene of the accident on your way to Shawbost?”

“I would not.” The words leapt out of his mouth, loud and unconvincing. “What I mean is, yes. It is that road. But I didn’t see the accident. It must have happened earlier... I mean later. Look here, I don’t like answering all these questions. I’m not sure you have a right to be talking to me like this.”

He was absolutely correct, of course, but some ugly suspicions were circling in my mind and I didn’t care. After a while, too many people throwing evasions at you as if you were stupid was extremely irritating. I opened the trapdoor.

“Your bicycle was in Mr. MacAulay’s shed on Sunday. When did you leave it there?”

He fell through. There was no way to escape it. “I don’t know. Thursday. It must have been when I went over on Thursday.”

“But you just said you went on your bike from here on Friday evening.”

Fear made Andy suddenly bold. He had nice brown eyes that most of the time must have been soft as a cow’s, but now they hardened in anger.

“I’m not going to answer any more questions. I haven’t been charged with anything. You have no right.”

He stood up and started to walk to the door. I darted after him and got in front, forcing him to stop. He’d have to shove me out of the way to get past.

“According to Ms. Morris, they were forced off the road by an oncoming car, just along the way from Dail Beag. The car was way over on their side of the road and, as they swerved to avoid it, they went over the cliff. The driver didn’t stop to see what had happened.”

He stared at me with an expression of utter horror on his face. This was the first time he had heard this.

“The car was a small, red one. Could have been a Nissan or a Ford.”

Joan hadn’t seen the car that clearly, but the MacLeans had. They’d seen in when it was leaving Tormod’s house shortly after the accident. They thought it was a Vauxhall, but I knew it wasn’t.

“Miss Pitchers drives a Nissan rental car, doesn’t she?” A mute nod. “She must have been on her way to pick you up from the church. The Misses Stewarts said she dropped you off at your lodgings on Friday night. Quite late, about midnight. The timing fits. It was a wet night and visibility was bad, perhaps she didn’t realize what she’d done. She likes to have her music up loud, I noticed.”

Andy swivelled away from me and studied the notice board in front of him as if there were a message posted there that would save his own life. His shoulders were shaking and he thrust his fists deep into his pants pockets.

“Can you tell me what happened that night?” I asked in as soft a voice as I could. I touched him lightly on the elbow.

“No! You have no right!” he yelled. Then, shrugging me off, he bolted through the door and raced back into the church.

I was squeamish about questioning a suspect in a possible criminal act. I didn’t want to charge down the aisle of a sacred place, either. And if I caught up with him, then what?

I ducked out the side door I’d seen next to the meeting room. I’d guessed correctly. Andy was unlocking his bicycle from the stand, and as I hurried over to my car, I saw him head out of the driveway and down the hill.

Cursing my clumsiness with the unfamiliar gears, I set off after him. But I didn’t have to worry about losing him. Just as I turned out of the driveway, I saw a small Nissan was coming up the hill. Both the car and Andy stopped. He flung down his bicycle and got into the car, which did a tire hissing U-turn and roared off. I shifted into third gear and followed.

We must have been driving for ten minutes max, when I realized we were close to the accident site. I spotted the police tape fluttering ahead at the curve of the road. Coral-Lyn, whom I could see clearly now, suddenly pulled over to the side of the road, not quite stopping;
the passenger door flew open, and Andy started to get out. She didn’t give him a chance to step clear. The door swinging open, tires peeling as if she were in a juvenile drag race, she took off. Andy lost his balance and fell to the ground. The car swerved as she leaned over and closed the door, then she straightened up and the car disappeared around the bend in the road. Andy lay where he had fallen.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

I pulled over into the passing place and got out. Andy was sitting up. The side of his face was scraped, but he seemed all right. He was moving anyway. As I approached, he gazed up at me in utter bewilderment, as if I had materialized out of the air. I crouched beside him.

“Are you okay? Can you stand up?”

“I don’t know. I think I’ve broken my ankle.” I helped him to his feet and he winced. He couldn’t put any weight down – it was too painful. I checked his ankle; it had already ballooned out and was dangling at an unnatural angle.

“Here, put your arm around my shoulder. Let’s get you to the car.”

He managed to hop the few feet to the car. He was crying uncontrollably.

“I could have been killed. Oh, Lynnie, how could you?”

“Where’s the best place to take you? There’s a hospital in Stornoway, isn’t there?”

He stopped and faced me. His breath was fierce this close to my face and his nose was wet with mucous.

“No! We’ve got to go after her. She’s not in her right mind and who knows what she’ll do?”

“Are you saying she’s suicidal?”

“She could be. It won’t be the first time. Please, Miss Morris, I’ll be fine. You must go after her. She’s heading for the Butt.”

“If she’s suicidal, we’d better get the police involved. Do you have a mobile phone?”

“No, I left it at home. Please, there isn’t time. If we can catch her, I might be able to talk her into some sense.”

By now, he’d hopped around the car and was getting into the passenger seat. I didn’t have much choice. I got in and drove off. The Nissan was long out of sight.

“Just keep on this road. It’ll take us there.”

“How do you know where’s she’s headed?”

“She believes God will speak to her up there. She’s done that before. I hadn’t known her that long, and we were up there just walking on the cliffs. She suddenly decided that she had to trust in God and asked Him to reveal His will to her. She ran, literally ran, to the edge of the cliff and held out her arms as if she thought she could just fly over.”

That didn’t sound too promising.

“The wind is so strong up there sometimes,” he went on, “I had to pull her away. She was so wild that day, I didn’t know her.”

“But nevertheless, you got engaged.”

That was a bit insensitive of me, I admit, but I’d heard stories like his ad nauseum.
He/she was so sweet when we first met, they just had these off days
. Hey, put the light on and read the text, folks. These insane traits aren’t going to vanish because you have so-called love stars in your eyes.

“She was so, er... ” he turned quite red. “She is very warm-hearted. I thought she loved me. I’ve never had anybody love me like that before.”

He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. I wished I could offer him a tissue to mop up and blow into, but I didn’t have anything. All this time, I was driving as fast as I could round the tight turns, as the road continued to wind around the foot of the hills. The sheep were scattered on the slopes and on the verge of the road. I hoped they’d stay out of my way. Then the road straightened out and we were driving through a village.

“Shall I stop and get somebody to phone the police?”

“No, please believe me. I’m the only one she’ll listen to. Look! There she is.”

I pushed down the accelerator, but I was already way over the speed limit, and it wouldn’t do anybody any good if I rolled the car and killed us both. I tried to maintain a speed I could handle and still keep her in sight.

“Why is she in such a bad state?”

“She thinks she’s lost everything she ever dreamed about.”

“Which is?”

“Just everything. The house... me, I suppose... I told her I didn’t think I could stay engaged.”

Suddenly, he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, sobbing. I could hardly hear what he was saying.

“I feel terrible.... What we did.... was very wrong.”

It isn’t easy racing along a narrow, unfamiliar road in a strange car with a young man crying his guts out right beside you. I didn’t know if he was suicidal as well. I decided not to risk it, and I slowed down and pulled over onto the verge. He gasped at me.

“Why have you stopped? We must keep going. Please.”

“Andy, we’re not going anywhere at the moment. What are you saying? What did you do that was wrong?”

He was a sorry sight, red gravel burns on his cheek, tears and snot all over his face, and wide dilated pupils.

“It wasn’t anything.... We just took her briefcase. I didn’t want to, but Coral-Lyn said we had to... ” More tears. Another story I’d heard before: abnegating responsibility. He looked frantically at the road. “She’s almost out of sight. Please keep driving. I’ll control myself, I promise I will. I wouldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to her.”

I didn’t want to be left with that guilt either. “Andy, you’ve already handed me a pile of bullshit. If I think you’re lying again or not telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth, you’re on your own. You can walk to the Butt. I won’t help you.”

“I’ll tell you, I promise. Please drive.”

I shoved in the gear and, with a perceptible jolt and a little spit of dirt from the wheels, we started off again. I picked up speed and we saw the Nissan, further off but still visible.

“So, tell me what happened on Friday night. What really happened — no crap.”

He groaned, but the floodgate was opened and he started to talk, almost gabbling he was so keen to tell all.

“I biked over to see Grandda about ten o’clock. I go every day, but I was late because we had a meeting at the church and we couldn’t settle anything, so it ran late. We’re trying to help one of the churches select a new minister — Oops, watch out!”

The warning was because the red and white postal van was hurtling towards us. He’d probably moved out to avoid a sheep. I leaned on my horn and the driver ducked back to his lane, giving me a cheery wave of the hand as he went by. More adrenaline rush.

“Carry on,” I said to Andy, who seemed to have temporarily lost his train of thought.

“I almost didn’t go because the weather was bad, but I didn’t want to disappoint him. He liked company.” Several sniffs at this point and another wipe with his sleeve. “I got there at... it must have been just before ten o’clock. I could hear voices even before I opened the front door. There was a car in front of the house, so I knew he had visitors. I walked in the way I always do. But I only got as far as the hall, because he heard me and came out of the living room right away. He looked really upset and he said he had company and he couldn’t see me tonight. I asked him if anything was wrong, but he said, ‘No, nothing is wrong.’” Andy paused, remembering. “Then he said something very strange... he said, ‘It
has
been wrong, but it won’t be any more.’ I could hear a woman carrying on in the living room —”

“Carrying on how?”

“Crying. She sounded quite hysterical. I actually got a glimpse of her when he opened the door to go back in. It was Mrs. MacDonald, the estate agent. There was another woman I hadn’t seen before, who was trying to calm her down. I didn’t know what to do. Grandda was almost shoving me out of the door. So I walked to the shed
where I’d left my bike and got through to Lynnie on my mobile.” He pulled his sleeve over his hand and wiped his face off. “She told me to wait there, and she’d come over right away.”

“Because of the estate agent?”

“That’s right. It seemed odd that she was there, because Grandda had agreed to sell the cottage and the land to Lynnie’s father. Mr. Pitchers wants to turn it into a centre for religious studies.” He let out a hiccup. “Lynnie’s father is a man of strong character. She has two older sisters who have married ministers, and her dad is so proud of them.... I think sometimes Lynnie has felt overlooked.” He glanced over at me, offering the insight tentatively, as if this awareness of psychology was a foreign language. “When she and I met and when Grandda said he would sell Mr Pitchers his house, I think she felt as if she were going to join the charmed circle.” He wiped again. “I do believe my position as a deacon of the church was a large part of my appeal.”

His voice was dripping with self-pity, but I wasn’t about to reassure him. His insight into his fiancée sounded accurate. Sometimes I think sibling rivalry is
the
most overlooked motivating factor in many major crimes. Think King Lear.

We had raced through another village, and now the houses were getting more spread out. The grey sea stretched to the horizon on the left.