Murder at Midnight (7 page)

“I was at the end of the hall for a quarter of an hour. I would have seen someone come oot the kitchen.”

“Well, before, then. Or else he came in through the window in here. It was slightly ajar before I closed it.”

“When did you do that?”

“While you were all out looking for Ken. It was getting cold. And it was dark. What if he’s still in the house?”

“I think someone would have noticed a draught or some noise if someone climbed in. Having said that, I will of course inform the police about the open window and unlocked door.”

Helen’s lips twitched in a wry smile. “Of course you will, Rex. You want them to spend time on a wild goose chase while you solve the crime on your own.”

“Helen! I am duty bound to apprise law enforcement of all pertinent facts, which I fully expect them to explore while, as you say, I pursue my own lines of enquiry.”

With a complicit wink, he called 9-9-9 to report two suspicious deaths at Gleneagle Lodge, his doomed second home and country retreat. For the first time since acquiring the property, he thought about selling it.

He explained to the dispatcher that a call had already been put through for an ambulance and for the police, but there was now no question that two victims were murdered. He confirmed directions to the lodge. “Aye, between Invergarry and Laggan, north of the swing bridge. Also, we have no power. We’re making do with torches and candles, and one oil lamp. Please inform the police of that fact.”

It was one thirty in the morning on the first day of January and not an auspicious start to the year.

7
to catch a killer

The guests had finished
the soup and rolls and sat eagerly wait
ing for Rex to explain the meaning of the two dead bodies in the living room. Rex had said he would eat later; he had little appetite at present. He mulled over what to say. Alistair, John, and Drew stood on the periphery of the group, as though in a separate camp from those who had not been party to the discovery of Ken Fraser in the broom closet and the subsequent realization that his wife had met a similar end.

Rex cleared his throat as he faced his guests, those with their backs
to him at the coffee table turning around in their seats. Eight numb expressions faced him in the light of the oil lamp and candles, the professor’s spectacles reflecting flames off their spheres. Vanessa had turned her husband’s wheelchair toward Rex, but the old man was in shadow and Rex could not determine whether or not he was awake.

“As you are all aware, the unthinkable has happened,” Rex announced. “Ken and Catriona Fraser are dead, and I won’t beat aboot the bush: they were most likely murdered.”

Gasps and sobs erupted, although the news could have come as no surprise, since Vanessa would have told them what she knew. Margarita Delacruz, sitting straight and solemn, crossed herself and kissed a silver necklace she wore under her dress, murmuring something in Spanish.

“We don’t yet know exactly how, and we don’t know by whom,” Rex continued. “Now, withoot wishing to alarm you, we must as
sume, just to err on the side of caution, that the perpetrator is
among us.”

This suggestion elicited a chorus of protests and objections. Rex ignored them. “It is, of course, possible that someone entered the house withoot our knowledge and committed the crimes for whatever reason, but that, to my mind, is a less likely scenario, pending further evidence. Naturally, the police have been alerted and will be here shortly. I suggest we all stay put and remain patient. In the meantime, if anyone has any relevant information or suspicions, I would be glad to hear it. If we can facilitate proceedings, the police will be finished with us sooner, and we can all go home.”

He wanted Helen and Julie back in Edinburgh at the earliest opportunity. A person who had killed twice wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.

“Do you think this has anything to do with the previous murder at Gleneagle Lodge?” Flora inevitably asked, with a catch in her voice.

“I don’t at this point, quite honestly,” Rex said. “That killer was caught and I don’t see a connection to the Frasers.”

“I wonder why they were targeted,” Vanessa Weaver remarked. “They were very unassuming people. But what if it was random?” She shuddered at this possibility.

“God, I hope there won’t be a lot of publicity,” Zoe exclaimed. “I don’t want to sound selfish, but it might ruin my chances with the audition.” She looked positively put out and cast a look of blame at Rex.

“Some thoughts are better kept to oneself, Zoe,” her mother chided. “No one wants to be associated with murder, but we must do whatever we can to help.”

“Thank you, Vanessa.”

“But I did try to warn you, Rex. Thirteen guests, you know.”

Well, eleven now, by your calculations
, Rex thought, irritated by her senseless remarks. And perhaps still counting …

“Ehm,” began Jason, squeezing Flora’s hand, “are you sure they’re dead and not just unconscious? I’ve been to loads of student parties where people get smashed oot of their brains and pass oot, and don’t surface for hours.”

“John is quite sure. He is a paramedic, after all.”

“Aye, I forgot.” Jason rubbed at his brow. “But did they die of too much alcohol? You must have some idea.”

Rex turned to John, offering him the floor.

“We found small entry wounds in their bodies,” the medic explained. “Small and quite neat. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything like this even during training. I mean, I studied snake bites, and if there’d been a pair of holes, I might have thought something like that. But that wouldn’t make sense anyway in the dead of winter.”

“Holes, like from a jab?” Zoe asked.

“I would say so. But a jab alone would not have caused death in the places they were found.”

“And where was that?” the señora inquired.

“In Ken Fraser’s neck, not in an artery or major vessel, and in his wife’s thumb.”

“Her thumb!” Julie exclaimed. “Where she cut herself on the glass?”

John nodded, tight-lipped.

“Could she have got an infection from the glass?”

The medic shook his head. “Don’t think so. And then there’s her husband’s wound, similar but deeper. And more blood.”

Flora made a gagging motion and put a hand to her mouth. Rex hoped she was not going to be sick, and was about to go to her aid when she appeared to recover and smiled reassuringly at Jason, who was also watching her with concern.

“And in each case the wound was hidden,” John added gravely. “By Ken’s scarf and Catriona’s plaster.”

“Which makes it all the more suspicious,” Vanessa contributed to the discussion.

“Wait! Now I get it,” Zoe burst out. “It’s another game, isn’t it?” She pointed to Rex, Alistair, John, and Drew. “They plotted it when they were talking in the hall. Ken is just pretending to be dead and Catriona is still asleep!” She fell back in her seat laughing.

“Is this true?” Vanessa asked, looking confused and turning to Rex.

“I assure you this is no game.”

“If it is, it’s in very poor taste,” Margarita Delacruz remarked.

Helen threw up her hands. “Rex wouldn’t stage something like this. Nor would Alistair. I’m sure John and Drew wouldn’t either.”

“Perhaps we should be searching for the weapon,” Drew Harper said from where he stood beside Alistair. The house agent looked pale and drawn, showing his forty-odd years.

“The police will take care of that,” Julie replied tartly. Evidently, she didn’t care for the fact that Drew had not returned to comfort her. Helen took hold of her hand and squeezed it.

“I just can’t stand this waiting around.” His hands in his suit pockets, Drew shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “The police might be held up. It’s the worst night of the year for crime and accidents, and the icy weather won’t help. Dammit!” He banged his fists into his forehead, possibly wishing he had gone with his lady friend to Chicago, after all.

Rex was of similar mind with regard to searching for the weapon, but was glad not to have been the first to suggest it.

“What if the killer strikes again?” Jason said ominously, causing Flora to sink against his shoulder. The poor girl had already been through enough drama at the lodge to last a lifetime.

“I don’t think it’s one of us,” Vanessa countered, squaring her shoulders and tossing back her red mass of hair in defiance. “I mean, who among us …” Her encompassing glance paused on Margarita and quickly moved on. “It’s unthinkable.”

“I agree,” Cleverly said. “Preposterous. We don’t really know what happened. In fact, we know nothing much at all except that two people are dead.”

“It could have been something that happened prior,” Zoe said, eying the men warily as though they just might be prolonging the charade at everyone else’s expense. “Like some weird flesh-eating bacteria the Frasers caught from somewhere.” She looked over at John, who looked unconvinced, but said nothing. “Why doesn’t someone research it online?”

“I did,” said Alistair. “On my phone.”

“And?” Zoe asked.

“Nothing very useful came up. I think we had better stick with the facts.”

“Spoken like a true prosecutor,” John said with a brief smile.

Rex considered the options. The police might arrive immediately or they might be delayed. In the meantime, he had a dozen anxious people waiting in his living room, one of whom who might be anxious for a different reason. He wanted to catch the killer, or at the very least rattle that person enough for them to slip up and give themselves away by word or action.

“Well,” he took up again. “Let’s make ourselves useful and try to think of what might have caused the wounds to Ken and Catriona Fraser.”

“You seriously expect us to sit here calm as can be in the possible presence of a killer?” Margarita Delacruz inquired with haughty distain.

“I’m afraid we don’t have much choice,” Rex replied. “And let’s everybody keep their hands where we can see them.”

He had a quiet word with Alistair and then started clearing up the soup bowls and plates on the table. Helen rose to help him as did Julie, but Rex told the latter to stay warm by the fire. Drew came over and took Helen’s place, to Julie’s obvious satisfaction. Alistair and John slid into vacant armchairs, preparing for a bout of brainstorming, while Rex took the loaded tray to the kitchen, Helen in tow with the oil lamp.

He deposited the tray on the counter and informed her of his plan to search the guests.

“What if somebody objects?”

“That could be construed as an indication of guilt.”

“What if the culprit already disposed of the weapon?”

“It’s possible,” Rex said. “But they might be keeping it on their person for now.”

“In that case, we need to watch everybody before they can get rid of it. That means escorting everyone to the bathroom. Our guests will feel they are under suspicion.”

“Well, they are. We could pair them with people we trust. Alistair, for instance.”

“And Julie,” Helen said.

“And Flora.”

“Yes, I don’t see her being involved. But Jason? He’s a bit of a prankster, isn’t he? And that business with the metal detector and not telling anyone he’d found a valuable gold coin.”

“But other of our guests have behaved suspiciously. Señora
Delacruz is a dark horse. Zoe was rummaging among the handbags. I wonder …”

Helen unloaded the crockery from the tray by the light of the oil
lamp. “We don’t know exactly when Ken Fraser left the room, but he was with us for ‘Auld Lang Syne,’ and he never reappeared after the
mysterious visitor called.”

“Aye,” Rex said. “The mysterious visitor.”

The one who had not made an appearance.

8
flying death

Finding upon their return
to the living room that no headway had been made at the guests’ end, Rex asked the men, under Alistair’s supervision, to turn out their pockets and the women the contents of their handbags, unless they had any objections. None did, or made it apparent that they did.

They should bring in the coats from the hall as well, he said, in case any weapon was concealed in one of them. Still receiving no opposition, Helen piled the ladies’ bags on the coffee table.

Flora pointed to hers, a lacy cream affair stitched with fake pearls. “Be my guest,” she told Rex.

He snapped on a pair of transparent latex gloves from under the kitchen sink that Helen used for cleaning. They were a tight fit, but he didn’t want to compromise any evidence in the event some was found. The police would not appreciate his interference as it was, but time was of the essence. The killer might strike again.

Inside the reticule were Flora’s laminated student identity card, a purse, a smartphone, a brush, and a tube of mascara, which Rex untwisted with her permission, only to find that it was indeed a tube of mascara, containing a wand whose tip was coated with black makeup. He felt a trifle silly holding it up in his beefy hand, and the younger women giggled.

“Sorry,” Zoe said. “I expect it’s nerves. I always want to giggle when I get stage fright.”

“Put something on,” her mother scolded. “You’ve got goose bumps
all over your arms. It’s making me cold just looking at you.”

“I’m fine, Mum. Don’t fuss!”

In his notebook Rex compiled a list of the bag’s contents under Flora’s name and returned everything with his thanks.

“Zoe, is this yours?” he asked, picking up a green leather bag that matched her filmy dress and strappy sandals. She nodded, and he asked her permission to go through it, to which she shrugged in resignation. As the other guests looked on, he upended the bag onto the table and shook it. A compact, a lipstick in the unfortunately designated shade of Killer Red, and an ornate silver money-clip spilled out, along with some loose change and a small packet of spearmint gum. Also, a green velvet ribbon. Rex made an inventory of the items. People started to yawn.

“Thank you, Zoe,” he said, carefully replacing everything once he had checked there were no inside pockets. Zoe retrieved her bag and clutched it protectively to her chest. Alistair, directing the men’s operations, went from guest to guest patting down pockets, first Cleverly’s, then Drew’s, turning up nothing of interest, mainly wallets, keys, and an assortment of cellular phones.

Rex took hold of the next evening bag that came to hand. “And whose is this?” he asked.

“Mine,” said Vanessa.

Murmuring apologies, he unfastened the gold clasp and emptied the contents, which were similar in substance to her daughter’s but more expensive, and included a tin of cough drops instead of chewing gum. A curious object dropped out from among the clutter. At first he thought it was a fly fishing lure, such as he kept under lock and key in his study at the lodge.

“Oh, I forgot about this,” Vanessa said, picking it up off the table before Rex could prevent her. “Did anyone here lose it? I found it on the floor.” She looked expectantly around the table. Alistair had suspended his search and was gazing at the pointed, feathery-tailed object in her hand.

“What is it?” Julie asked. “Did it come off a dress?”

“At first I thought it was from an earring,” Vanessa explained. “Rather exotic, I thought. I assumed it belonged to Margarita, and then I saw she was wearing amber stones.” She looked at the woman’s ears to make sure. The señora averted her dark eyes. “I suppose I thought it was hers because it matches her black sequined bag with the tassels, but I never got the opportunity to give it to her. Now I’m not so sure it is an earring.”

She held it out at arm’s length to the oil lamp and peered at the small tuft of shiny black feathers. “I need my reading glasses. Ace, love?” When she saw her non-responsive husband was dozing, she muttered, “Oh, never mind. We share a pair,” she explained. “He keeps them on him so I don’t lose them, which I’m prone to do.”

“Let me see,” said Zoe leaning in beside her. “Oh, look. It’s got some yucky stuff on the tip. What is it?” she asked, drawing back her hand in disgust.

Rex reached over. “May I?” he asked, taking the object from Vanessa. “Hm. Looks like a small dart with the feathers forming the fletch.”

“A dart,” Alistair repeated.

“Wait a minute …” John said, without finishing his sentence, his face expressing a sudden revelation.

“It’s tiny,” Julie said. “Are you sure it’s a dart?”

Rex held it back to the light. “But still potentially lethal if poisoned. That might account for the dark sticky residue on its point, similar to that found in the wounds.” He showed the object to John, who nodded.

Everyone reacted with shock to the idea of poison.

“I may have touched it!” Vanessa cried.

“Could be poison,” Professor Cleverly agreed, craning his neck to better see the item in question. “But,” he added, dismissing Mrs. Weaver’s fears with a wave of his long tapered fingers, “if it’s curare, as it might be, judging by the colour and consistency, it’s not harmful if you touch it, unless you have a cut or abrasion.”

A cut or abrasion
, Rex repeated to himself.

“What is curare?” John asked.

“An arrow poison made from tree bark and sometimes mixed with venom,” Cleverly told him. “Used by tribes in tropical South America to hunt monkeys and other small game, and known as ‘flying death’.”

“They eat monkeys?” Jason exclaimed. “I’ve never tried monkey meat.”

“Come off it, everybody,” Drew objected, throwing up his hands. “Who would bring a poison dart to a party?”

The murderer
, Rex thought.
And where was the other dart? One for each victim, presumably. Were there others?
His blood ran cold at the thought.

“Are you sure that’s what was used on the Frasers?” Flora asked, straining to take a closer look at the exhibit.

“The point is the right size for the wounds we found,” Rex said. “What do you think, John?”

“Aye, and the brownish substance matches.”

“It’s diabolical,” Helen exclaimed. “Who would want to murder such a nice couple?”

“Perhaps it has something to do with the gold they were boasting about.” Margarita Delacruz shook her head back in a haughty manner. “Very foolish of them, I think.”

Vanessa Weaver concurred. “Oh, I know! Especially as it’s just lying up there in the castle. And from what I understood earlier, the gold’s been cursed since the beginning and has destroyed the family down through generations. And now this.” She looked pointedly at Rex, as though to remind him of her warnings.

Flora turned to her boyfriend. “I think you should get rid of that coin, Jason. Just turn it in to wherever Drew said.”

“You’ll have to tell the police now,” the house agent told him. “If they ever get here,” he added, glancing at the mantelpiece clock which was about to chime two in the morning.

Jason put his hands to his face and nodded. “Bloody hell. I can’t believe this. It’s like a bad dream.”

“I know, lad,” Rex said. “But don’t blame yourself. You didn’t know the story when you found that gold piece.”

“I should have known it might be part of the Arkaig Treasure. I did some research when I found it, to determine its value. I thought it might be a stray coin from those times, not part of something bigger.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Alistair said. “There may be nothing buried at the castle.”

“Let’s forget the gold for now and find out who shot that thing.” Zoe pointed at the dart in Rex’s palm, as her mother put a consoling arm around her.

“Wouldn’t the dart need a bow or something?” Flora asked. “Or are those only for arrows?”

“Perhaps we should do just that,” Rex agreed with Zoe. “And that’s a very good point, Flora. There may well be another part to this missile. Humphrey, what was used to launch these darts in the tropics?”

“Blowpipes. They’re still in use by the indigenous peoples of South
East Asia and South and Central America. They literally blow these darts through pipes. The longer the pipe, the greater the force and subsequent distance.”

“Are they accurate?” Rex asked.

“I expect so, since their survival can depend on them. And they’re
virtually soundless. Have you ever come upon these darts on your travels?” Cleverly asked his female companion.

Everyone listened attentively for the answer, trying not to look too obvious.

“I have not,” Margarita stated.

“What are the pipes made of ?” Rex inquired of the professor.

“Bamboo, I believe.”

“But you could use any material, right?” Jason queried. “A metal tube, or hollowed-out anything.”

“I remember a murder mystery film where a clay pipe was featured,” Helen said. “At least, I think it was clay. It wasn’t very long. About five inches or so, and it had colourful designs on it.”

“That seems a bit short,” the professor contended. “The blowpipes used in Borneo are about two metres, longer than the shooter.”

“In primary school we used straws to blow spit wads at our teachers,” Jason said. “Same principle as peashooters.”

“I bet you were the worst offender,” Flora remarked.

“What do you mean? I was the best!”

“I don’t think we have any straws here,” Rex said.

“Wouldn’t it depend on the distance required for the target?” John asked no one in particular. “Blowpipes are used to shoot tranquillizer darts into dangerous animals from a safe distance. I saw that on a television documentary.”

“Where on the floor did you find this?” Rex asked Vanessa.

“By Catriona’s chair when you and John were examining her. I had dropped my cracker and stooped to pick it up, thinking the cream cheese might make a mess on your rug. The olive had rolled under the chair behind the claw foot. That’s where I found that—that thing! I cleaned up the cheese with my paper napkin,” she hastened to add, although Rex barely heard her apology, so engrossed was he in the find, inspecting it from every angle. It was a highly curious object, the like of which he had never seen.

“Well done, Vanessa,” he said. “We might never have found it so soon otherwise. It’s too dark.”

“What now?” Alistair inquired. “If we don’t believe Vanessa shot the dart …”

“Oh course I didn’t!” she remonstrated. “I didn’t even know what it was.”

“It may have fallen after it pierced Catriona’s thumb,” John said. “Perhaps it got kicked under the chair, accidentally or otherwise. It was pitch black in the middle of the room when she collapsed, remember. Perhaps the person who shot her couldn’t find the object. I don’t see how it could have been shot into her, though. For one thing, the plaster over the point of entry is intact.”

“It must have been removed and replaced,” Alistair said. “The dart might not have been shot at all, just stabbed into her at close range.”

Vanessa let out a small scream and Margarita kissed the silver cross at her throat. Rex apologized for upsetting them and decided to pursue the investigation more privately. The last thing he needed was hysteria. In any case, no one seemed able or willing to shed further light on the blow-dart or the circumstances under which it might have been used. Perhaps he might be lucky enough to find the dart that killed Ken Fraser as well, if, in fact, there were two.

To that end, he undertook a careful search of the hall and broom closet with the aid of Alistair’s powerful flashlight. His colleague conducted a broader search. Both men came up empty-handed.

“Back to searching the guests’ coats and bags?” Alistair asked.

“I need to reflect a little first based on what we’ve discovered.”

Rex returned to the living room and told his guests he would prepare some coffee and to sit tight until the police arrived. None of them, however, appeared to wish to stray away from the light.

_____

“Curare wasn’t the poison used in the film
Death in the Clouds
,” Helen told him when they had closed themselves in the kitchen. “I saw it quite recently. I’m sure I’d have remembered that name.”

Rex filled the kettle and put it on the red-enameled AGA, which was still warm from the soup Helen had reheated and which kept the room at a tolerable temperature.

“Margarita’s from South America, isn’t she?” Helen went on. “She said she liked traveling and sight-seeing. You should ask her about the dart in private. I know she denied knowing anything about them, but she may be hiding something.”

“Right. Obviously, we need to discover who brought the dart to the party and why. Looks like this was pre-meditated, but we need a motive.”

“The blackout provided the opportunity.”

“True. And we also need to find out the means. How were the darts administered?” Rex rummaged in the pantry. “Is there more instant coffee?” Helen opened a cabinet and pulled out a large canister of coffee granules. “Good, I feel it’s going to be a long night. How are you holding up, lass?”

“Okay. I’m glad I was able to take a nap this afternoon.” Helen prepared the coffee in a large pot. “I still can’t believe it. Why at your party? And on New Year’s Eve of all nights!”

“Safety in numbers? Inebriation and distraction? I wish I knew.”

“Can we rule out John as a suspect?” Helen asked.

“Possibly. But for a medical professional, he did seem a bit slow to respond to the Frasers.”

“He probably thought, like the rest of us, that they’d drunk too much and passed out. But he was quick to respond when Drew choked on that chocolate. After that, he probably didn’t expect another mishap.”

“Mishap?”

“Well, okay, murder. Murders,” she corrected herself. “Why do so many happen when you’re around? I have often asked myself that question.”

“They might go undetected otherwise,” Rex replied with an impudent grin. “You’d be surprised how many murders go undetected or unproved.”

“Forget I asked.”

“He also didn’t appear to be well up on poisons,” Rex continued on the topic of John.