No Stranger to Death: A Scottish mystery where cosy crime meets tartan noir: Borders Mysteries Book 1 (14 page)

Smiling at her for the first time, Gregor batted his eyelids. ‘Thanks, Doc.’ Seconds later he left her room without a backward glance.

Feeling she had been outmanoeuvred in some way, Zoe looked again at the scanned-in notification about Gregor’s treatment for his sprained ankle. It contained nothing significant, and she was about to close his file when she noticed where the hospital was located.

Newcastle upon Tyne.

Where Chrissie had been going. Where Alice lived.

Newcastle is a big place; Zoe remembered spending a weekend there with Russell before they got married and wishing for more time to enjoy it properly. Gregor and Alice could both easily be there at the same time without seeing each other. But his overreaction to the letter from the hospital piqued Zoe’s curiosity.
If he was in touch with Alice, why lie about it?

Zoe clicked her mouse to send the page to print. She did not go along with Margaret’s husband’s judgment. Gregor Baird seemed wily enough to have killed his father and his stepmother. And stand a good chance of getting away with it.

She swivelled round to the printer, picked up the copy letter and stared at it. Deep in thought and still facing away from the door, she had no idea Walter was in the room until he rapped his knuckles on her desk, making her jump.

‘Surgery finished?’ Walter asked.

‘Yes. Is there something you want?’ In case that sounded curt, Zoe made an effort to smile.

‘Just a chat.’

Walter sat down. He didn’t usually do this.
In fact, when was the last time he had been in her room?

‘Are your patients still more interested in you than their ailments?’

‘Not everyone has heard about me getting caught up in the discovery of Jimmy Baird’s body, thank goodness.’

‘You do have the unhappy knack of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘I hope the old saying about things coming in threes isn’t true. If it happens again, DCI Mather will think I’m getting some weird kick out of killing people and pretending to find their bodies.’

Walter’s laugh was more polite than comradely, but it was a start. For the first time in ages they were having a normal conversation.

‘We’d understand,’ he said, ‘if it all got too much for you.’

‘It takes more than a couple of dead bodies to upset me.’

‘There you go, joking again. No one would blame you if you decided to call it a day.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Relocating to a new job can be difficult in the best of circumstances. After losing your husband you must have hoped that by coming here things would improve.’

‘And they have.’

‘But you’ve been let down by your builder and now I hear you crashed your car in the snow.’

‘“Crashed” is too strong a word for it.’

‘All the same, Zoe, I think you should consider whether coming to Scotland was the best of ideas.’

Zoe stared at an ink stain on her desk, hardly trusting herself to speak. Then she looked him in the eye and said, ‘All the same, Walter, you should realise that I’m not leaving.’

His mister-nice-guy approach having failed, Walter stood up and flounced out. The trembling in Zoe’s legs when she got up a few seconds later forced her to admit how upsetting this latest spat had been, and when she passed Paul’s consulting room she briefly considered confiding in him about Walter’s hostility.
But what good would that do?
The men had worked together for eight years, they were partners. She was only the hired help. During her interview, Paul had mentioned a partnership ‘further on down the line’, but she realised now this was never going to happen.
Maybe Walter was right, and she should think about moving on.

Paul’s voice rang out. ‘Leaving without saying goodbye?’

Zoe stopped in her tracks. ‘Sorry. I was miles away.’

‘Can I have a quick word?’

Oh shit, Walter’s already given his version of their encounter.
‘Of course.’

‘It’s naughty of me to hinder you like this,’ Paul said. ‘You must want to get away. But I’m curious to hear how you found Gregor Baird.’

Zoe sat down. ‘He’s having trouble sleeping.’

‘That’s hardly surprising. What did you think of him?’

‘Margaret forewarned me about the bewitching effect he has on women, but I must be immune to it. Although my reaction to him could be tainted by the possibility that he’s a double murderer.’

‘If he’s not, it’s a terrible thing to be suspected of,’ Paul said. ‘I hope the police sort the matter out soon.’

‘How well do you know him?’

‘Hardly at all, although I knew his mother very well. I diagnosed her final illness and did my best to keep her comfortable through it. Lovely woman. An excellent cook.’

‘So I hear.’

‘But Gregor? You know what young men are like – they’d do anything rather than consult a doctor.’

They exchanged looks of frustration, after which Paul apologised again for keeping Zoe back and wished her a good afternoon.

She got up, relieved that was all he wanted, then sat back down again. ‘Paul, can I ask your advice?’

‘Of course.’

‘This is about Gregor too. I’ve noticed something in his records that could mean he’s been lying to the police.’

Zoe slid her copy of the form about Gregor’s sprained ankle across Paul’s desk. He read it and looked up, obviously puzzled. Zoe pointed out the address of the hospital then told him about her patient’s insistence that he was not in touch with his step-sister, who lived in the same city.

‘He may be telling the truth,’ Paul said.

‘I know.’

‘But you want to tell the police about your suspicions?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think, Zoe, that you should remember the GMC’s guidelines. Confidentiality is central to the trust between doctors and patients. Without it, they won’t seek our care. If you find something too difficult to deal with, confide in me or Walter. But share nothing with anyone outwith the practice.’

‘You’re telling me to leave it?’ His response was disappointing, though not surprising.

‘Even if you’re right and he was lying, it isn’t anywhere near being proof that Gregor killed anyone, is it?’

‘No, but –’

‘And he could simply have been in Newcastle and not seen Alice.’

Paul was talking sense, and if anyone had come to Zoe with the question she would have given them the same answer. But he hadn’t spoken to Gregor, hadn’t seen the man’s unease. Gregor had lied to her, she knew it.

‘You look frustrated, Zoe. Patient confidentiality can be such a burden. At the moment I’m struggling with a patient who’s desperate to get pregnant. What she doesn’t know is her husband had a vasectomy before they met, but I’m not allowed to disclose this. All I can do is try to persuade him to be honest with her.’

‘I don’t envy you that one.’

‘Anyway,’ Paul said, in the tone of someone wanting to get back to work, ‘I expect the police won’t simply go on what Gregor tells them.’

‘You’re right. So they won’t need my information.’ Zoe stood up to leave. She knew how much scrutiny Mather and his team would be putting Gregor under, but that wasn’t the point. If she could help speed up their investigation it was surely her duty to do so. Or was she motivated by a far less honourable sentiment, such as the antipathy she felt towards him?

‘It’ll come right in the end, my dear, you’ll see,’ Paul called after her as she left his room.

Even accompanying Roger Daltry in a loud rendition of ‘Can’t Explain’ failed to stop Zoe brooding as she drove the short distance home. Regardless of what she had inferred from his medical records, it was hardly plausible that Gregor had conspired with Alice to kill their respective parents. Although, as Kate pointed out, once you accept the reality of a murderer in your community, anything else must be regarded as possible.

She puzzled over what motive the pair would have had. Horseshoe Cottage might fetch more than Jimmy paid for it, but that still would not be a great deal by today’s standards. Of course, matters could be complicated by Jimmy dying so soon after the death of his wife, but a lot depended on whether they had left wills.
And what if Jimmy had formally adopted Alice?

Zoe braked sharply. She had nearly missed her turning.

Chapter 16

That afternoon, Zoe was pleased to see a yellow van parked outside the coach house when she and Mac arrived there on foot. The feeling did not last long. She discovered the van had a solitary occupant: Gerry Hall, champing on a sausage roll and reading
The Daily Record.

Zoe rapped on the side window and Gerry looked up, startled. He thrust his half-eaten lunch back in its paper bag and tossed the newspaper on to the empty passenger seat before opening his door.

‘I’ve been to check on progress, Doctor, and left you a note. Aye, a note.’ He pointed towards the coach house.

‘And what does it say, this note?’ Zoe spoke in as pleasant a voice as she could muster. It was her own fault, after all. Gerry’s habitually gloomy expression belied the optimistic messages he kept on delivering. She should have questioned before now his assertion that the work would take no more than eight weeks.

‘I ken you’re no happy with how we’re getting on. We’re right busy now, but I’m taking them off other jobs to finish yours. The men’ll be here tomorrow. Aye, tomorrow.’

‘How do I know they’ll finish my job this time?’

He looked affronted. ‘You have my word. As I promised that boyfriend of yours –’

‘Who?’

‘My good friend Neil. As I promised him, we’ll no stop until we’re done. You’ll be in for Christmas. Aye, Christmas.’

A little later, as Zoe walked up the drive to Larimer Hall, she absentmindedly tugged at Mac’s lead every time he tried to follow a promising new scent.
How should she react when she caught up with Neil?
Her indignation in The Rocket last night had dwindled to the amused exasperation she seemed destined to feel towards him, no matter how badly he behaved. And she supposed she should be grateful for his apparently successful intervention on her behalf with Gerry Hall, although the appreciation she felt was tempered by concern about how it had been achieved. The last thing she wanted was to be portrayed as a feeble woman dependent on her man to get things done.
Not that Neil would admit to using such a tactic
. She could imagine his indignant expression if she dared suggest it.

Relying on the bell in the workshop to announce her arrival, she opened the front door and waited in the hall for someone to appear.

The disappointment which flared up when she saw Peter was reflected in his manner towards her. After a brief glance he turned his attention to Mac. ‘Hello, boy. How are you after our little accident?’

‘He’s fine, thanks,’ Zoe said. ‘His leg was a bit stiff the morning after, but that soon passed.’

‘Good, I’m glad.’

Zoe waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she asked, ‘Is Neil in?’

‘No, he’s gone to see a customer.’

‘Will he be long?’

‘Shouldn’t be.’

‘Can I come in and wait?’

‘If you want.’

Zoe followed Peter down to the kitchen, where Bert and Tom were out of their basket, batting a scrap of paper between them in the half-hearted manner of bored teenagers playing football in the street. When Mac approached them, tail wagging and eager to join in, the cats seemed relieved to have an excuse to stop and jumped in unison onto the windowsill.

‘Tea?’ Peter asked, approaching the Aga.

‘Yes please.’

‘Did you walk?’

‘Yes.’

‘Snow’s all cleared now, at least.’

‘Thank goodness.’ Struggling to find something to talk about, Zoe told him about her mishap in the snow on Saturday afternoon. ‘I’m beginning to think there’s something in Kate’s suggestion that I replace my car with a four-wheel drive’.

Peter’s smile reminded Zoe how much he resembled his brother. ‘Wait and see what the rest of the winter has in store,’ he said. ‘Whatever folk might tell you, snow like that is usually short-lived. I can only remember a couple of times when it lasted more than a day.’

He passed Zoe a mug of tea and pushed a newspaper across the table towards her. ‘I must get back to work.’ Having discharged his responsibilities as host, he disappeared into the workshop, shutting the door behind him.

Zoe glanced at the paper’s front page then started to flick through it. She stopped at page five, her attention grabbed by the headline ‘Borders body in bonfire: Another death’. A small photograph, obviously taken with a mobile phone, of Westerlea’s Guy Fawkes bonfire lighting up the evening sky, was next to a larger, more professional image of a young blonde. The caption read, ‘Alice Watson, daughter of the first victim’. For some reason, Zoe was surprised Tom’s ex-wife had kept her married name.

The article told her little she did not already know. It scrupulously pointed out that the cause of Jimmy Baird’s death was as yet unconfirmed, while still implying that with one murder in the family it was only a matter of time before this second death would be upgraded to the same status. Possessing little in the way of new facts to give its readers, the newspaper relied instead on the human interest aspects of the story. The interview with Alice was billed as an exclusive, a reporter and a photographer having been dispatched to Newcastle to record her feelings.

Alice could not shed light on who might have wanted to kill her mother, because she was ‘such a good person, always helping others’. She suggested Chrissie may have been killed for the money she had collected selling poppies, a simplistic theory Zoe considered more suited to an inner-city, drugs-related crime. The journalist described Alice as being ‘devastated at the loss of the woman who was her best friend’. The twins were not mentioned.

On the subject of her step-father, Alice was less emotional. ‘Why would anyone want to kill him? He was just an old man.’ She revealed the dog which died with Jimmy had been his sixth Jack Russell terrier, all named after whisky distilleries. When asked about her step-brother, she responded, ‘We haven’t spoken for ages’.