Shadows of Death (27 page)

‘Nora, this is Dorothy Martin. There’s news. Would it be convenient for Alan and me to come round to see you?’

‘I’m not at home, dear. I had a little shopping to do. Suppose I come to you. What time’s best?’

‘The sooner the better.’

I decided it was too early for tea with a capital T, and anyway I didn’t have time to make any sort of pastry, but it’s never the wrong time for small ‘t’ tea. I was assembling cups and saucers, sugar and milk, when Nora tapped on the door and came in.

‘Sit down, and let me put the kettle on. I was just making a pot of tea.’

She smiled at the obvious and put her shopping bag on the floor, but not before pulling out a small box with a picture of a dog on the front. ‘I brought Watson a little treat. I hope you don’t mind his eating between meals, but I thought he deserved a hero’s reward.’

‘Oh, then my news isn’t news at all. I suppose it’s all over the village by now. And Mrs Graham was so worried about publicity!’

‘It’s hard to keep a secret in so small a community. The fish had called at the home in the midst of the commotion, and of course he brought it back with him.’

After a moment I identified the fish with a delivery person rather than the scaly breed. ‘With embellishments, no doubt,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘We’d better give you the unadorned version, so you can set people straight.’

So we sat and drank tea and told the tale. ‘So you see, you were quite right about where to find Mr Norquist,’ I concluded. ‘In the arms of his mum. A fate, incidentally, I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Now that I’ve actually met the woman, I’m filled with even more admiration for your good offices.’

Nora sighed. ‘She’s got much worse in the past few months. When she still lived at home, she could be quite entertaining in a mean-spirited way. You know the sort of thing. Ripping everyone up the back, but being funny about it. It got to the point that Theodore wouldn’t visit her, because he’s too kind a man to listen to her malice. I can’t say I actually enjoyed it, but at least it kept her off the subject of poor Charlie and his sins.’

‘If I’d been Charlie, I’m afraid one of my sins might have been matricide,’ said Alan. ‘That’s a truly poisonous woman.’

‘And she’s well and truly poisoned her son. It’ll take me some time before I can forgive her for that.’

‘Furthermore, she’s turned him, at least temporarily, into such a basket case there’s no hope of questioning him about any of the recent disasters on these islands.’ Alan ran his hand down the back of his neck. ‘And until we can do that, I think we’re stuck for answers.’

‘Are you still seriously considering Charlie as a murder suspect?’

‘I don’t know, and that’s the truth!’ Alan spoke as explosively as he allows himself to get. ‘Everyone who might have wanted Carter dead has an alibi of sorts, so logically no one killed him. Nevertheless, the man’s dead. Am I to believe that one of Charlie’s
Them
killed him out of revenge, or for a sacrifice, or …?’ He raised both arms in frustration, and Watson came over to comfort him.

‘I suspect we can leave
Them
out of it,’ said Nora with the hint of a smile, ‘but what strikes me is that, until you can question Charlie, he’s still in great danger. I know you must keep him on your list of suspects, but I quite absolutely refuse to do so. That means that the real murderer has a very great interest in keeping Charlie quiet. Perhaps permanently. Have you given him a police guard?’

Alan smacked the table. ‘I never thought I’d have a vicar’s wife teaching me my business! By heaven, that ought to have been the first thing I thought of. I don’t have any authority to order police protection, but if you’ll excuse me, I’ll phone Baikie right now and hope to heaven he’s in the office.’

He pulled out his phone and went upstairs, and I poured us more tea. ‘Poor Alan,’ I said softly. ‘This has been a pretty strenuous holiday for him.’

‘And for you,’ said Nora.

‘It’s different for me. I’ve gotten to be fairly good at solving crimes, much to my amazement, but it isn’t and never was my job. Alan takes it personally when he can’t unravel a problem, even though he’s not official anymore, and he hates it, just now, that he forgot to take that precaution about Charlie. Though I will say I’d have thought the dragon at the mouth of the cave was adequate protection against most hazards.’

Nora smiled again. ‘I don’t think Patricia Graham cares very much for her job, and that makes her snappish. It isn’t a peaceful place to work, is it?’

‘Not exactly, but Miss Peters seems to cope. I think she likes the patients, which must be a big help. Mrs Graham doesn’t, and I’m sure they know it. Oh, Alan, what did he say?’

‘He was already on it,’ said Alan. ‘Is anything stronger than tea on offer?’

Oh, dear. Alan was really down in the dumps. And alcohol in the middle of the day would just put him to sleep. Both of us, in fact, since I wasn’t about to let him drink alone. And then we’d wake up feeling logy, and more useless than ever.

‘I have the very thing,’ said Nora, reaching once more into her bag. She pulled out a small parcel and spilled its contents out on the table. ‘Marion’s chocolate tarts. You know Marion, at the bakery? These are a weakness of mine, and quite sinfully delicious. Everyone knows chocolate is the cure when the Dementors strike, and I would say, Alan, that you’re very nearly demented.’

Well, that launched us into a discussion of J.K. Rowling’s wonderful books, and that led to talking about our own Harray Potter and how he might be getting along in Spain, and Alan was eased out of his slough of despond.

‘And I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,’ said Nora as she picked up her bag, ready to leave. ‘I’ll ask Theodore to go and visit Charlie. They’ve not always got on terribly well, because of Charlie’s peculiar theology, but Theodore may be the one person he trusts. Charlie’s not afraid of him. Well, no one could be, could they? It could be that Charlie will talk to him. No promises, but it’s worth a try.’

‘If I weren’t already married to you,’ said Alan, devouring the last chocolate tart after she’d left, ‘I’d marry that woman.’

‘In the interest of selfless love, I’d give you your freedom. Especially since you’ve scarfed all the chocolate. Unfortunately she’s already married, too,’ I pointed out.

‘Drat. And to a clergyman, to boot. Ah, well. What’s on the agenda in that case, my dearest love?’

‘Well,’ I said, going to the front door and locking it, ‘I thought we might take a nap. So to speak.’

We were awakened some time later from our contented slumbers by the tootle of my phone. I had a little trouble finding it, but fished it out of a rumpled pocket just in time. It was Nora.

‘Dorothy? I hope I didn’t wake you.’

Honestly, the woman’s a witch, I thought. ‘Well, actually …’

‘I
am
sorry. I hope you had time for a nice nap. That was just what you both needed.’

I had the uncomfortable feeling that she knew exactly how our nap had begun, as well. And then I decided I didn’t care. ‘It was delightful, thank you,’ I said demurely, and made a face at Alan, who was leering from his side of the bed.

‘I thought,’ Nora went on, ‘that you’d want to know right away that Theodore has talked to Charlie.’

‘Oh, good! Did he say anything that made any sense?’ I turned up the volume on the phone and held it so that Alan could listen in.

‘Not a great deal, but Theodore did grasp the idea that the poor man is terribly frightened, and not just of his mother. He had to be reassured again and again that no one could get in to see him.’

‘He’s still at Sinclair House, then?’

‘Yes, it seemed best. There are people to look after him there. Of course his mother is also nearby, which isn’t the best circumstance, but she won’t be for long, and she positively can’t get at him. No one can, except the staff, and of course Theodore. The policeman at the door is very large and about as moveable as the Old Man of Hoy, Theodore says.’

‘Well, that’s something, at least. Is there anything we can do to move things along?’

‘I can’t think of a thing, unless you want to put up an extra prayer or two for Charlie’s swift recovery.’

‘We’ll certainly do that. You’ll keep us posted?’

‘I will. Don’t worry too much, Dorothy. It will come right. I can feel it.’

Given her extraordinary ability to see into other people’s minds, that remark reassured me considerably.

‘W
ho’s the Old Man of Hoy?’ I asked Alan after I ended the call.

‘What, not who. It’s an amazing rock formation on the island of Hoy, very near here. We haven’t seen a lot of Orkney, have we, what with one thing and another. Would you like to take a tour of the islands? There are cruise boats.’

‘I would love to do that! As Nora says, there’s not much else we can do until Charlie is able to talk to us, or at least to Baikie. Let’s do it. Are they all-day cruises, or can you do one in an afternoon and evening?’

We walked down to the ferry building and discovered there was a tour leaving in fifteen minutes. There was just time to go back and let Watson out into the patio (a proceeding of which he took a dim view) and grab my ginger capsules before jumping on the boat.

It was a wonderful day. The way to see Orkney, I became convinced, was by water. Our other water trips had been accomplished in a hurry, in iffy weather, and for the purpose of getting someplace. This time the weather was perfect and our object was to relax and see what was to be seen.

The first thing was the Old Man of Hoy, which stands over four hundred feet high and looms over the sea like a primitive cathedral tower. Then we cruised around the Mainland, seeing magnificent beaches and bays, ruins of medieval defences, seals and otters playing on rocks, puffins and so many other birds I couldn’t identify. We sailed close to Shapinsay, where I caught a tantalizing glimpse of Balfour Castle. ‘We have to come back,’ I said over and over to Alan.

We had a sandwich supper on the boat, so when we finally got back to the flat, tired and sated with sun and sea air, we had no appetite for a real meal. ‘Cheese and biscuits and some wine?’ I offered, and Alan helped me set it out. We sat and munched contentedly.

‘Alan, it was lovely to get away from it for a day, and it helped clear my head,’ I said when I’d nibbled all I wanted. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

Alan chuckled. ‘So have I. You first.’

‘Well, it’s nothing very spectacular, but it’s occurred to me that we have three principal suspects, all of them with at least partial alibis for the presumed time of the murder. Right?’

‘Right.’ Alan was almost purring. I looked at him suspiciously, but went on, ‘But the trouble is, all their alibis depend to some extent on each other. X alibis Y, who alibis Z, who alibis X, in a neat little tail-chasing circle.’

‘Exactly.’

I sighed and took another sip of my wine. ‘You’re way ahead of me, aren’t you? So if one of the three is an unreliable witness …’

‘And that, dear heart, is why we have a police guard over Charlie Norquist. He’s about as unreliable as anyone could be. I don’t mean that he’s untruthful. On the contrary, I think he’s almost painfully honest. It’s just that his grasp of reality is problematic.’

‘And that’s throwing roses at it. Alan, I do feel so sorry for that man!’

‘As do I. That mother of his has twisted him in to a corkscrew, and I don’t know if all the psychiatrists in the world can straighten him out.’

‘All the king’s horses. Yes.’ I stood. ‘Have you had all you want?’

‘And more than I need.’

‘Then let’s go for a little walk to work off some of it. There’s still nearly an hour of daylight left.’ We cleared away, snapped on Watson’s leash, and set out.

The village had its own special charm late at night. All the shops were closed and very few people were abroad. What gulls could be seen were perched with their heads tucked beneath their wings, ignoring any humans or dogs that came their way. We startled a cat or two, abroad on the prowl, but they were apparently of a more amenable temperament than poor old Roadkill, and passed by Watson with no more than a disdainful sneer.

I stopped to look in one shop window, where one light glowed softly on a display of paintings. Most of them were Orkney scenes, but one caught my attention. ‘Look, Alan. That’s one of Penny’s, isn’t it?’

Our friend Penny Brannigan, a Canadian ex-pat living in Wales, was a talented amateur artist in water colours. She loved painting the Welsh countryside and the occasional castle, and here before us was a splendid view of Conwy Castle, one of my favourites. ‘It’s great that she’s in a gallery here. I wish she were here right now. She’s given us valuable hints in the past.’

Alan nodded and yawned. ‘Sorry, love. Too much fresh air. Let’s call it a day.’

Watson was disposed to argue the point, but he gave in to force majeure and trailed after us, the picture of an abused, unloved dog.

I woke the next morning from a dream of freight trains, wondering if something had gone wrong with my bedside clock. The room was gloomy, about a three-in-the-morning (for mid-summer Orkney) shade of grey, but the clock read eight-thirty. Then I heard the pounding of the rain on the roof, what my dreaming mind had turned into the roar of a train. Neither Watson nor Alan was in the room, and I couldn’t hear, above the rain, any sounds of habitation from the kitchen below. I would happily have curled up under the covers again, but I already had that logy, headachy feeling that comes from sleeping too long. I heaved myself out of bed and into the shower.

I felt quite a lot better once I was clean and dressed, and could smell toast and coffee in preparation. Alan greeted me with a kiss and a smack on the rump. ‘Glad to have you back among us, Sleeping Beauty. Scrambled, boiled, poached, or fried?’

‘Scrambled, please, with some of that lovely salmon if we still have any. Have I mentioned lately that I think I’ll keep you?’

‘No, but I’m glad to hear it. It’s a filthy day.’

‘I can tell.’ Watson lay in a corner, still damp from his morning outing, with Alan’s wet shoes beside him. ‘I’m glad we got our sightseeing in yesterday. Oh, that’s heaven.’ I sipped from the steaming, fragrant cup he handed me. ‘I don’t know who first figured out that you could take some red berries and do a lot of unlikely things to them and come up with this magic brew, but I owe them a great debt. Have there been any developments while I was doing my Rip Van Winkle act?’