Read The Magdalena Curse Online
Authors: F.G. Cottam
The Magdalena Curse (25 page)
By the time Hunter had finished reading this account, Elizabeth had set off back to the Black Boar for her appointment with Sergeant Kilbride. Adam was just stirring on the sofa. Hunter got up and put the pages in his desk drawer and went into the kitchen to make tea for himself and his son. He thought in reading the account he had learned something of what Miss Hall had sent him to the keep in the Austrian Tyrol to discover. Then the kettle boiled and switched itself off. His mind returned for a moment to Magdalena, and he had the rest of it in a sudden revelation. He was sure of these conclusions. He was less certain of how they could help him. But it was a start, he thought, stirring milk into Adam’s tea.
‘Dad?’
In that single syllable, uttered from the sitting room, the fear was palpable. He would have to find a way. He would have to. Elizabeth was right. Adam could not endure much more of this without it inflicting permanent harm.
What had once been the stable at the Black Boar was now a dining room. The Boar had gastropub pretensions. The parlour in which Ruth Campbell had been tried, in which her sacrilegious act of levitation had been performed, was now the lounge bar. The fire still burned the same pine logs from the same forest in the same generous grate. Sergeant Kilbride was seated at a table close to its warmth when Elizabeth walked into the pub. The lunchtime trade had thinned. McCloud stood behind the bar polishing glasses, his bald pate gleaming under the optic lights, his small brown eyes missing nothing.
Meeting Tony Kilbride like this would do nothing for her reputation, Elizabeth thought. He was tall and blond and good-looking and, in common with very few Scottish police officers, spent a lot of off-duty time in the gym. And it showed. He stood and greeted her with a kiss. There had never been anything between them other than professional respect and a strong personal rapport. But McCloud did not know that. Oh, well. She took off her gloves and unbuttoned her coat. She had been here only a couple of hours ago with the Hunters. She had returned just now at the wheel of Mark Hunter’s Land Rover. Should McCloud venture into his pub car park, he would be apoplectic with the potential for gossip she was providing him with. And all of it was coming over the course of a single day.
Tony Kilbride was nursing a Diet Coke in a half-pint glass. He did not look like he was staying long. Elizabeth said, ‘Are we going somewhere?’
‘That depends on how you react to what I’ve got to say.’
She sat down. He did too. She owed him a drink at the very least for the favour of the new locks on her cottage door. But she needed to hear what it was he had to say before going to the bar. ‘You got your DNA match?’
He nodded. ‘Aye, we did. Does the name Cawdor mean anything to you?’
‘One of my ancestors had some dealings with a man named Cawdor. It ended badly for him. Actually, it ended badly for both of them. But it was three hundred and fifty years ago. Nobody revives a feud after that length of time. Do they?’
‘I don’t know,’ Kilbride said. ‘I do know we got a DNA match from the material at your cottage with a maths teacher called Andrew Cawdor. And I do know he teaches at the school attended by the Hunter boy.’
Elizabeth stood. ‘Let’s go,’ she said.
‘You want to confront him now?’
‘No time like the present,’ she said. ‘Leave it another night and I might find myself homeless. They might escalate things and burn my cottage to the ground.’
They travelled in the Land Rover to the school. It was much better on the snow and ice of the roads than Kilbride’s patrol car. It was less ostentatious and with the four-wheel drive engaged, it was quicker. They would arrive by about 4.30 p.m. There was every chance that the man they were looking for would be there. The teachers did not finish their working day for another hour after that. The children got out at 4 p.m. The timing was ideal. Kilbride said he did not wish yet to caution Cawdor formerly. He just wanted to talk to him. They had no clue as to the identity of the man’s accomplice. He might be panicked into providing that, but would likely say nothing if formerly charged with a serious offence. But the evidence was irrefutable. They had one of the culprits for sure. It would come to court. The police would prosecute, even if Elizabeth chose not to press charges.
‘From where did you extract the DNA?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘Yes.’
‘You have some snapshots tacked to a pinboard in your kitchen. One of you and your mother had been spat upon. It was a spontaneous gesture of contempt or loathing and it will convict him. His emotions got the better of him. The obvious question is why does he feel so hostile towards you?’
‘I don’t know,’ Elizabeth said. ‘But something else bothers me. Schools do criminal record checks on their staff. They’re generally very scrupulous about it. But you had Andrew Cawdor’s DNA on your database. So he must be a known offender.’
‘He was arrested once for being drunk but never charged. He was with that silly arse troublemaker Tom Lincoln; they’re drinking buddies. They both did swabs voluntarily in the police cell we locked them in to sober up. We were after a sex offender at the time, knew it was someone local, they fitted the age profile and we wanted to eliminate anyone we could from suspicion to identify the right guy quickly.’
‘Did you catch him?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you kept the sample Cawdor provided on your database?’
‘Aye, we did.’ He turned to her. ‘And we could have an impromptu debate about civil liberties. But aren’t you glad we did?’
They were at the school. The headmistress, Mrs Blyth, was a patient of Elizabeth’s. So were two or three other members of staff there. But that number did not include Andrew Cawdor. They went first to Mrs Blyth’s office to ask for permission to speak to him. She didn’t ask them why it was they wanted to do so. Discretion was one of her professional requirements. If the matter was serious, the details
would be disclosed over time. She took them to a classroom where he was supervising a detention. He grew pale when he saw Elizabeth. But he agreed to talk to them privately. Mrs Blyth took the key to the library from a ring on the belt of her skirt and said it was an ideal location for a confidential chat. Elizabeth liked Mrs Blyth. But taking the library key from its heavy ring, she reminded her of a gaoler.
would be disclosed over time. She took them to a classroom where he was supervising a detention. He grew pale when he saw Elizabeth. But he agreed to talk to them privately. Mrs Blyth took the key to the library from a ring on the belt of her skirt and said it was an ideal location for a confidential chat. Elizabeth liked Mrs Blyth. But taking the library key from its heavy ring, she reminded her of a gaoler.
Cawdor clutched his briefcase to his chest, wrapped in his arms. He was dark-haired, pallid and thin, and Elizabeth judged him to be in his mid-forties. There was a tiny spot of blood on the collar of his shirt from a morning shaving nick. He was a hopeless bachelor type. He wore designer glasses, the heavily framed sort shaped as narrow rectangles. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the thickness of the lenses he required. The cloth of his charcoal grey suit was too light for the weather. His leather-soled shoes slipped on the packed snow of the path to the library and she found herself fighting not to feel sorry for him. She reminded herself that the worst violation had been cleaned up by Tony Kilbride and his team. She had not been obliged to face it. And, symbolically at least, this man had spat in her face.
Elizabeth had not been in the library at the school before and thought it beautiful. The circumstances of her visit to it were not ideal. But she thought she might ask Mrs Blyth if she could come back another time. The stained glass in the windows alone was worthy of proper study. In summer light, this little hexagon of carved masonry and polished wood with its shelves of old books would be an enchanting place.
They sat at the librarian’s desk, which was at the centre of the single room the building housed. Elizabeth looked at Cawdor, looking back at her through his trendy spectacles. There was nothing opaque about the look. There was fear there, she thought, or wariness. But mostly there was hatred.
It turned his thin mouth into a grimace. He could not have concealed so strongly felt an emotion. But he didn’t attempt to. He must have worked out what had led them to him and realised the futility of denying it.
It turned his thin mouth into a grimace. He could not have concealed so strongly felt an emotion. But he didn’t attempt to. He must have worked out what had led them to him and realised the futility of denying it.
‘Someone has orchestrated a campaign of terror against Dr Bancroft,’ Kilbride said. ‘I want to ask you if you can tell us anything about it or about the motives for it.’
Cawdor picked his briefcase up from the floor where he had placed it next to him and rested it on his knees. He undid its brass catch with a click, opened it and took out a transparent plastic folder containing photocopied classroom worksheets. He spread the worksheets on the desk and fanned them out. ‘Adam Hunter is studying “A” level maths,’ he said.
‘The boy is ten years old,’ Kilbride said.
‘This is not a hothouse school. And his father would not sanction the sitting of any formal examinations until Adam reaches the appropriate age. But this is the level of work we have to set him to retain his interest and enthusiasm. That’s across the board, by the way. Not just in the one subject.’
‘I’m a patient man,’ Kilbride said. ‘But this seems somewhat tangential to the point.’
And that was an excellent pun, Elizabeth thought. Tangents were a feature of geometry. The calculation on the worksheets described geometric formulas, co-ordinate geometry and curve-sketching.
Cawdor addressed his words to her. ‘You’re called Bancroft. But it is Campbell blood that runs through your veins. In this locality the Campbell name is remembered for its proven association with macabre and sinister practices,’ he said. ‘Colonel Hunter was not aware of your ancestry when he had Adam put on your patient list. But I was.’ He reached into his briefcase again. This time he took out a single sheet. On it had been drawn a shape in three dimensions. It had
been described in what Elizabeth judged was probably HB
2
pencil lead. And when she looked at it, it would not stay still on the page and provoked a feeling of dizziness so similar to vertigo that she was forced to look away.
been described in what Elizabeth judged was probably HB
2
pencil lead. And when she looked at it, it would not stay still on the page and provoked a feeling of dizziness so similar to vertigo that she was forced to look away.
‘What is that?’ Kilbride said. He had gone pale. One of his blue eyes had become bloodshot. There was sweat beading at his hairline.
‘Something Adam concocted, shortly after he became Dr Bancroft’s patient,’ Cawdor said. With his eyes on Kilbride, he turned the sheet over on the desk. ‘Motifs such as that have been symbols of black magic going back centuries. They subvert reason. They undermine rationality. That is their evil function. One of my own ancestors made a study of witchcraft, before an ancestor of the doctor here destroyed his life.’
‘Hang on,’ Kilbride said. ‘You think Dr Bancroft is somehow corrupting Adam Hunter? You think she is an evil influence on a little boy in her professional care?’ His voice was incredulous.
‘He isn’t just a little boy,’ Cawdor said. ‘He is a phenomenon. And he is profoundly good. I’m talking about his ethical sensibilities, Sergeant. There is greatness in Adam Hunter. He will grow up to be a significant force for good in the world. That is his destiny. That is what I am trying to protect.’ He pointed a shaking finger at Elizabeth. ‘That is what she is trying to destroy.’
‘You are deranged,’ Kilbride said. He massaged his right temple as he spoke and winced. He was a dogged copper and he had looked at Adam’s drawing for far too long.
‘Ask her mother about what she did to poor Max Hector all those years ago in the barn on the Hector farm,’ Cawdor said. ‘Better still, ask Tom Lincoln. Tom was there and witnessed the whole bloody, murderous event. He still has nightmares about it.’
They left the library a few minutes later. Darkness had descended. Andrew Cawdor walked rapidly away along the snowbound path, insufficiently clothed for the severity of the weather, slipping and sliding now and then, his working life left behind him in ruins, his briefcase clutched tightly under his arm. Kilbride turned and leaned heavily against one of the library’s stone window surrounds and puked on to a border beneath it of frozen thorns. He was sick a second time. The sourness of the hot vomit stung Elizabeth’s nostrils. He gasped and apologised. She would have to drive them back to the pub. The policeman was in no fit state to do it. She was glad they were in the Land Rover and not the patrol car. If McCloud saw them return to his car park with her at the wheel of a police vehicle, he would probably explode. There was aspirin and paracetamol in her handbag. There was a water cooler outside the headmistress’s office. They walked slowly back towards the main building.
‘He’s put Tom Lincoln in the frame with him,’ Kilbride said.
‘I’d just as soon forget the whole business,’ Elizabeth said.
‘You can, now. You won’t be required as a witness. And your home is safe.’
‘Yes. My home is safe. And it’s you I have to thank, Tony.’ She stopped and hugged him. His breath smelled sourly of sick, but she had a strong stomach. He deserved a hug and, she thought, at that moment he needed one.
They walked in silence for a while. The library was a fair distance from the main part of the school and the children had turned patches of the path into skid runs. ‘He believes every word of what he said, you know. He’s very seriously deluded. Though I must say that picture he showed us was not something I would want on my wall.’
Elizabeth nodded. She looked ahead of her at the lights in the school building. She would not share this with Tony
Kilbride because there would be no point. But some of what Cawdor had said had helped her make sense of Miss Hall’s enigmatic claim during their dinner that Hunter had not been in Magdalena just by chance.
Kilbride because there would be no point. But some of what Cawdor had said had helped her make sense of Miss Hall’s enigmatic claim during their dinner that Hunter had not been in Magdalena just by chance.
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