Closer to Death in a Garden (Pitkirtly Mysteries Book 10) (7 page)

Chapter 10 Curiosity

The house behind the alpaca farm, as Amaryllis thought of it, didn’t have security gates. Or alpacas, as far as she could see from the path that led from the rustic wooden gates through the trees as if it were wandering in a rural meadow miles from anywhere instead of sternly marching straight up to the front door, as most people’s front path’s did.

It was quite surprising to come upon the modern bungalow it led to. She had half-expected a white-washed cottage with roses round the door.

Staring at the letter-box after she had rung the door-bell, she wondered what the postman thought about the winding path among the trees. Perhaps it was a welcome foray into the countryside after he had spent most of his working day trudging up and down the mean streets of Pitkirtly. Perhaps it was the last straw, especially in winter or on a wet day when the trees would shed their stored-up rain on him just as he imagined he was getting a bit of shelter.

Amaryllis shook her head to get rid of these fanciful thoughts.

‘Sorry – who are you?’ said the man who opened the door.

‘Amaryllis Peebles,’ she said, holding out a hand and stepping forward. She had found from experience this usually resulted in the other person taking a backward step and so allowing her to cross the threshold. Not that she had a lot of experience of entering houses by their front doors. She often preferred to enter silently and secretly through an upstairs window, or in extreme circumstances an air-vent in the attic.

‘Are we expecting you?’ he said, not stepping back as far as she had thought he would. He kept one hand on the door. She noticed he wore several rings, and for some reason that made her think of gangsters. But then, she probably had gangsters on the brain after what had happened in the spring. The light from outside glinted on his spectacles and made it seem as if he were frowning hard.

‘I don’t think so,’ she said with what she thought of as a friendly smile. This time he did step back a bit further.

‘What do you want?’

‘Just making house to house enquiries,’ said Amaryllis, taking refuge in a vaguely official phrase. She took another step forward, looming over him in rather a satisfying way. She could take him out with one chop of her hand.

Looming didn’t work on him.

‘May I see some identification, please, if you’ve got any?’

Now she came to think of it, he spoke like a gangster too. Was he a Cockney, or perhaps Australian? She detected elements of both in his accent.

‘Certainly, sir,’ said Amaryllis. She got out her favourite id card from the pocket of her leather jacket. ‘Here you go.’

He looked at it very carefully, and then handed it back without relaxing his stern expression. ‘I don’t see how a fake Californian driving licence entitles you to gain access to my house.’

‘Oh – sorry,’ she said, cursing inwardly. This meant she would have to show him something she was becoming more and more reluctant to use in this kind of situation, mostly because strictly speaking she was breaking the law by even having it on her. She delved into an inside pocket and brought it out. ‘This is completely classified, of course,’ she told him as she handed it over. ‘You’ll have to forget you saw it – and that you saw me.’

‘Is this a forgery too?’ he enquired.

She smiled. ‘Do you really think I would attempt to forge a security pass in the name of Her Majesty’s security services? I could get into serious trouble for even thinking of it.’

‘It’s out of date,’ he said.

‘Really? Oh, damn, I’ve brought out the old one. I got a new one only last week.’

She tried to keep the veneer of confidence in place, but she was now losing faith in her ability to get past his defences. There was something suspicious though, surely, about someone who tried so hard to keep people out of his house. In her experience most normal people – the kind without very much to hide except for the odd unpaid parking fine, or a history of getting drunk and taking all their clothes off at New Year - were inclined to be flattered when they thought they were going to be questioned by someone from her branch of the authorities. It was only the hardened criminals who objected.

‘I can’t possibly let you into the house,’ he said. ‘In fact, I’ve a good mind to phone the police and let them know you’re in the neighbourhood. Then we’ll see who you really are.’

‘You do know there’s been a suspicious death over at the garden centre, don’t you?’ she said in desperation. ‘Do you want to help with our enquiries, or would you prefer to be treated as a hostile witness?’

‘You’re making all this up,’ said the man scornfully. ‘You’re no more a member of the security services than I’m Barack Obama. You’re just some nosey old woman or an opportunistic thief going round people’s houses looking for their valuables.’

Even Amaryllis knew it was time to make a strategic withdrawal.

‘Don’t blame me if you get murdered in your bed!’ she shouted at him from what she judged was a safe distance, halfway down the path among the trees.

‘Get lost!’ he shouted back, and slammed the door.

She was surprised he hadn’t slammed it sooner, all things considered. His attitude was extremely annoying, however, and she knew she would want to get her own back in due course. In the meantime she still hadn’t got inside the garden centre, which had been her main aim, and she had once again had to abandon the idea of investigating the alpaca farm because the security gates were firmly locked and she already knew the fences were fairly well protected against intruders too.

She walked on up the road, but this one turned out to be a cul de sac, which curved round in the opposite direction from the garden centre. A little old white-washed cottage, similar to the one she had imagined earlier, stood at the end. As she approached it, a huge hound galloped round the corner from its back garden and flung itself at the garden gate, growling and barking. Then – worse still – a little old lady followed it round the side of the house, peered at Amaryllis and said in a surprisingly loud voice, ‘We’ve got Neighbourhood Watch here, you know. I’m going inside now to call the police. Come along, Frizzy.’

Oh well, Amaryllis told herself as she made her escape, at least she could smile about the dog’s name. The dog, some sort of wolfhound with long grey hair drooping all around it, was anything but frizzy. Perhaps the woman didn’t know what the word meant.

It was an odd little street altogether. Perhaps the inhabitants were members of a coven and met after dark to practise magic together. Perhaps they had planted the man’s body in the garden centre because they had been playing games of sacrifice and needed to get rid of the evidence. After all, she mused, the body had many of the hallmarks of having been moved after death. The lack of blood from the bullet wound, the neat and tidy way it was positioned... Amaryllis almost broke into a run as she started to envisage herself requesting an interview with Keith Burnet to tell him he should be trying to uncover more evidence of a ritual killing.

Cutting through the hotel grounds again via a little-known lane – Amaryllis had a comprehensive knowledge of every little-known route in town - so that she could have one last look at the alpaca farm to check out the gates, she happened to glance up at the upper windows of the deserted building. She wasn’t sure what had drawn her eye, but there was a definite movement up there – the flutter of one of the remaining curtains, or perhaps it had been the reflection of a bird in the glass. Someone could easily have got in there. Amaryllis herself hadn’t even been tempted to try, because of the lack of challenge involved. Perhaps she should give the place a quick once-over.

There wasn’t time now. She needed to get on with her self-imposed task, not least because she didn’t trust the odd people in the odd street behind her not to call the police and report a stranger in their midst. She didn’t think for a minute the police would take them all that seriously, but they might well send a constable up to check out the report, and she could find herself inconvenienced by that.

Perhaps next time she should bring someone with her as camouflage. Christopher was the most likely candidate. It was a pity he worked in the Cultural Centre all day. But he might be able to take an odd afternoon off to help her re-visit the weird cul-de-sac. She could get him to stand guard while she investigated the hotel buildings too.

She emerged from the hotel grounds with a skip and a jump, anticipating the fun times ahead where she would talk Christopher into doing the kind of things he had never even wanted to do when he was an allegedly carefree schoolboy.

There were two police cars sitting outside the garden centre. Drat! She had thought the police overtime budget wouldn’t stretch to that but that they would all go home at five o’clock like faceless bureaucrats. She glanced at her watch. Hmm. Only half-past three. Her encounter with the weird people from Planet Weird, otherwise known as the next street, had taken far less time than she had expected, as well as being less productive.

She kicked a clump of grass on the verge. There weren’t even proper pavements up here on the edge of town. It might as well be the Wild West, or the prehistoric Central European forests where wolves and witches lived. Amaryllis didn’t mind wild places that were miles from anywhere, and she didn’t mind urban landscapes and concrete jungles. It was this in-between world that she found so claustrophobic. People lurked behind their hedges and security gates, and only came out if they were safely incarcerated in a metal box on wheels. They didn’t know any of their neighbours, they had their groceries delivered, and it was impossible to loiter casually without attracting unwanted attention.

As had happened now.

While she had been kicking grass clumps, a police officer had got out of one of the cars and was approaching her, rather too quickly for comfort. She did consider the possibilities of running away or finding a hiding place, but not only was it too late for her to be sure of success with either, but if the police were already suspicious of her, then they weren’t going to be any less suspicious after she took to her heels like a wanted criminal.

She half-expected the police officer, a mere teenager in a uniform that looked as if it were a couple of sizes too big for him, to come to a halt in front of her, rock a little on his heels and say something like, ‘’Allo, ‘allo, ‘allo, what do we have here then?’

This prediction proved to be completely wrong for two reasons. Firstly, he evidently wasn’t a Cockney.

Secondly, he said something far more frightening than that.

‘Amaryllis Peebles?’

She nodded.

‘We’ve been looking for you.’

Chapter 11 In Captivity

Christopher found himself unexpectedly unsettled by the visit from Keith and Ashley. In the past he had found it easy to see how Keith’s mind was working, and where his thoughts were heading. Now things had somehow changed. Christopher didn’t know whether the questions had been directed primarily at finding out what Amaryllis was up to, or at collecting information about the woman he had helped with her alpaca problem. In each case he wasn’t sure whether there was any suspicion attached to any of them.

Surely, after all this time, Keith couldn’t seriously think Amaryllis...

At that point in his thought process, his office phone rang. Please don’t let it be Mrs Lambert from the Council, he said to himself as he answered it.

Worse than that, it was Jemima, and she had evidently worked herself into a state.

‘I didn’t know who else to call – she said she’s a suspect. You’ve got to do something!’

It was a while since Christopher had heard Jemima sound so upset.

‘Is Dave all right?’ he enquired.

‘Hmph!’ said Jemima, from which Christopher deduced Dave must be in a state of rude health. ‘Yes, of course. He’s been certified fit by the doctors. He hasn’t had time yet to get unfit again.’

This was the closest he had ever heard her come to rudeness, too. What on earth could be wrong?

‘It isn’t Jock McLean, is it?’ said Christopher, aware that he was clutching at straws.

‘Of course not! I’m trying to tell you... The police are after Amaryllis.’

He tried not to laugh. He didn’t want her coming down to the Cultural Centre and going on a mad orgy of destruction with her handbag, after all. After a suitable pause to compose himself, he said, ‘Why is that?’

‘This isn’t a laughing matter,’ she said sternly. ‘She’s a serious suspect. That’s what Chief Inspector Ramsay said. She didn’t mean to tell us, but it slipped out. I knew that woman was out to cause trouble, the first time I met her... It’s probably some kind of vendetta. Amaryllis probably tripped her up on the hockey pitch when they were at school.’

‘Do you know what for?’

‘Why did they trip each other up? I suppose they were both trying to get to the ball first.’

He counted to ten under his breath. ‘What’s she a suspect for? What can they possibly imagine she’s done?’

‘I don’t know. It’s something to do with the man they found up at the garden centre. It’s maybe just because she was on the spot. They do say...’

Christopher’s mobile rang. As usual, he had stuffed it underneath some folders on his desk, and his efforts to retrieve it resulted in him throwing paperwork all over the floor and cutting off Jemima in mid-sentence.

He was too late pressing the green button to answer the mobile. While he was picking everything up, the office phone rang again.

‘The line went dead,’ said Jemima indignantly.

‘Sorry, that was my fault. I was trying to get hold of my mobile phone and I pressed the end call button by mistake. Can I call you back later? I don’t know who was trying to get me on my mobile but not many people know that number so I’d better find out in case it’s urgent. It might even be Caroline. Or one of the kids.’

‘Oh, well, in that case I’d better let you go,’ said Jemima. Her words and her tone communicated different messages, but he decided to pretend he had only heard the words.

‘Thanks for letting me know about Amaryllis and the police, anyway, Jemima.’

‘Well, I thought maybe you’d know what to do,’ said Jemima.

Fortunately they knew each other well enough not to have to exchange ten sentences, each more pointless than the previous one, before they both hung up.

This time the mobile and the desk phone rang at the same time. The urge to answer was so strong that he found he had picked them both up, one in each hand.

‘Hello,’ he said.

‘Mr Wilson?’ said Sergeant Macdonald from the local police station in one ear.

‘Hey, is that you?’ said Jock McLean in the other.

‘Yes, it’s me,’ he said.

He wondered how long it would be possible to carry on simultaneous but rather different conversations using the same words for both.

‘I have Ms Peebles for you,’ said Sergeant Macdonald in an unusually official tone, just as Jock was saying,

‘Watch your back, man, they’ll come for her first and then they’ll be after you.’

‘Is there somebody else on the line?’ said the Sergeant suspiciously.

‘It’s the television,’ said Christopher.

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Jock. ‘This is real enough.’

‘She’s only allowed one phone call,’ said Sergeant Macdonald. ‘If there was somebody else on the line that would count as two.’

‘Just put her on,’ said Christopher wearily.

‘She’s not here!’ said Jock. ‘Weren’t you listening?’

‘I’ve got her on the other line,’ said Christopher. ‘I’ll ring you after I’ve finished.’

‘Make sure you do. I know what you’re like with phones.’

It hadn’t taken long to lose the thread of the two conversations. It was just as well he had got rid of Jock. He knew his friend would pursue him to the ends of the earth to find out what had happened to Amaryllis.

‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.

‘Search me,’ said Amaryllis’s voice. ‘No, on second thoughts, they’ve already done that...’

She sounded angry and a bit dispirited. He wanted to tell her to hold on to the anger. Or maybe that wasn’t a good idea. You never knew what an angry Amaryllis would do. Having said that, you never knew what she would do even when she wasn’t angry.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ he said at last.

‘You’ll have to get me out,’ she said. ‘But that goes without saying, of course...  A cake with a file in it would be good. Or a set of skeleton keys.’

‘I thought you carried those with you wherever you went,’ he said.

‘They’ve taken them away,’ she said.

‘Is there anything legal I can do to get you out?’

‘Legal? Hmm... I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose I might need to get a lawyer if the worst comes to the worst. But let’s leave it for now. I don’t want to pay some bloodsucker for nothing.’

‘Are the police actually going to keep you there?’ This was the part Christopher really had trouble believing. He knew how impossible Amaryllis could make herself if she wanted to, and it was hard to imagine that they wouldn’t throw her out on the street in the middle of the night rather than put up with her any longer.

‘Yes, I think so... Sergeant Macdonald?’ She continued in a muffled voice, as if she had put her hand over the receiver. ‘Are they going to keep me in?’

Christopher heard a faint laugh somewhere in the background.

‘He says they’re hoping somebody’ll bail me out,’ she reported. ‘It’ll save them having to do a whip-round for the fish and chip money.’

‘They’re just winding you up,’ he said crossly. ‘Or are you winding me up? I’ve got work to do, you know.’

‘No, it’s serious. They’ve arrested me. Sarah Ramsay had her official face on. Keith said they would throw away the key.’

‘I’d better get hold of Charlie,’ said Christopher. ‘Did they say exactly what they were arresting you for?’

‘Suspicion of murder, I think... Yes, Sergeant Macdonald thinks so too.’

At least the desk sergeant seemed to be on her side, even if he was demonstrating it by making silly jokes.

‘But that’s ridiculous,’ said Christopher. There seemed to be nothing more to say, but almost as soon as this thought had crossed his mind, he realised there was something else. ‘He wasn’t some agent of a foreign power you were after, was he? The man at the garden centre, I mean.’

‘You know I’ve given up all that kind of thing,’ she said patiently. ‘No, I was only an innocent bystander. But they seem to think my just being there was suspicious.’

‘What about Jock McLean? He was there too.’

‘But he was quite open about being there. I was the one who hid in the greenhouse.’

‘But you couldn’t have...’

‘We’re going to ring off now, Mr Wilson,’ said Sergeant Macdonald’s voice suddenly. ‘The Chief’s getting her back in for another interview.’

‘This is serious, isn’t it?’ said Christopher.

‘It certainly is... Maybe you’d better tell Charlie,’ the Sergeant added in an undertone. ‘Has she asked you to get a lawyer?’

‘No, but I’ll look into that anyway.’

‘Aye. She’s right about the bail. We don’t want to keep her here unless we have to... Cheerio then, Mr Wilson,’ he added at a more normal volume. ‘Thanks for your help.’

Christopher stared at the phone. He hadn’t expected this, although it seemed that Jemima and Jock both had. Maybe he’d better convene a meeting.

Yes, that might help.

He slammed his hand down on the desk so hard that the mouse-mat, which was in the way, flew off across the room and knocked over a small model of Table Mountain which Jemima and Dave had once brought him back from their trip to Cape Town. It fell off the shelf and into a box of Victorian lantern slides somebody had left there the week before and which he had put off doing anything with. Shards of glass flew up out of the box and littered the floor and to judge from that and the smashing sounds, there were now somewhat fewer of the slides for him to do something with.

Better not to look. Things were going badly enough already.