Beneath the Abbey Wall (38 page)

“QC.”

Rob walked back down Church Street.
How many times have I been here today?
he wondered.

He felt the hands come up and over his eyes and knew immediately who it was.

“Guess who?” she asked.

“Oh, I don't know . . . some beautiful princess searching for her prince?”

She was pressing herself against his back, arms around his waist, giggling. He was glad she could not see his face, for he was struggling to hide the distaste, which now outweighed the lust he once felt.

“For that, you can treat me to coffee.” She laughed and linked her arm through his.

It took her a good five minutes to guess there was anything wrong—she was so busy blethering away about her next trip to Aberdeen.

“There's this shop, a big one, same as they've got in Glasgow and London, and there's this dress, it's polka-dot—I've seen it in a magazine, and I'll get some new records when I'm there, so if you want anything, let me know.”

He was watching her as she drew pictures in the air describing the dress, the magazine, her future shopping trips, everything. But he couldn't cover the glaze in his eyes as he stared hypnotized by the performance.

“You're quiet,” she said.

“I forgot to return your spare keys.” It sounded lame, but he could not think how to ask her.

“Don't worry, I have Monday off. Bring them to my house, and then . . . ”

“Eilidh . . . the keys, are they yours?”

There was something of the wild animal in her; she could sense she was being lured into a trap.

“Mine? No. I found them up in the courtyard. They fitted the gate, so I kept them.”

“Right.” He would have believed her. The way she looked him straight in the eye. The way she smiled. He would have had no idea if it hadn't been for her coffee. She went to pick it up. It was a glass cup, with a glass saucer—very modern, Rob always thought. There was a slight rattle against the saucer. Not much. She immediately put the cup down.

“I'd better not have any more,” she said, “I need my beauty sleep, I've been on night shift.”

“You're a real beauty, sleep or not.” He watched her preen like a wee bird fluffing up its feathers. “Eilidh, I gave Detective Inspector Dunne the keys. He'll want to ask you about them.”

“Rob! What did you do that for?”

Rob saw the heads turn to look at them. “Let's talk at your house.”

He put money on the table and took her arm, holding her lightly but taking no chances;
She wouldn't run away, would she?
He wasn't certain.

“I found the keys . . . honest.” She was scared, but back in her own house, she was once more sure of herself.

“Eilidh, what happened that night?”

“I didn't like her, but I'd never kill her . . . ” Eilidh started to cry. “You've got to believe me.”

She can turn those tears on and off whenever she wants,
he thought.

“Of course I believe you.” Rob was speaking to her as though she were a terrified puppy.

“Dennis, my boyfriend, he was waiting in my house. He'll tell you I didn't kill her.” How Dennis would know if she killed Mrs. Smart or not, she hadn't worked out.

“Eilidh, the problem is, will other people believe you? You know no one listens to anyone our age. And what will your parents think if they find out the police want to talk to you?”

This was a guess, but he was right—her wails at the mention of them were piercing.

“Eilidh, don't cry.” He put an arm around her shoulder. “Tell me what happened and if you're in any trouble, we can talk to my father, he'll make sure the police believe you.”

This set her off again, and Rob could feel the damp seeping through his jumper into his shirt.

“Eilidh, you'll have to explain why you have the key to the back door of the church. Don't you see? It could save Don's life.”

“I can't, I can't. My parents will never let me live on my own again. They'll make me leave nursing. They'll . . . I can't.”

“You can't let Don McLeod be tried for a crime he didn't commit.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen.”

Rob kept patting her, waiting. He could feel her wanting to impress him, to prove nothing, none of it, was her fault.

“He asked me to spy on her, and I said why should I? And he said he'd tell my father I'd been having men to stay over.”

Men?
Rob thought.
Plural?

“And he said if I told him about her and Mr. McLeod he'd give me money.”

“A nurse's wages must be very low,” Rob said.

“They're next to nothing,” she said, grateful Rob understood. “Then he came round when Mr. McLeod was at work and said he wanted to borrow Mr. McLeod's knife. But I swear on the Bible I never knew he was going to kill her. He's a nice man, I never thought he could do anything like that.”

He didn't want to spook her. But it took all his self-restraint not to ask who this nice man she was talking about was.

“Eilidh, I really think you should tell all this to my father. I don't want anyone putting all the blame on you.”

“I don't want to talk to anyone except you! No one can make me! You're my boyfriend—couldn't you throw the key in the river like I was supposed to . . . ”

“No. Don McLeod is my friend.”

Somewhere in the haze of self-pity she heard the coldness in his voice. “If I tell your father everything, will he tell my parents?”

“Of course not.”

“And will you still be my boyfriend?”

“Of course I will.” He no longer cared how many lies he told her.

Eilidh ran upstairs and came down a few minutes later in a
tight black skirt and a periwinkle jumper that matched her eyes exactly.

Rob watched as she peered into the mirror and started to outline her eyes in black, adding layers of mascara, then a pale pink lipstick. He watched her brush her hair, fluffing it out with her fingers, and remembered the other puzzle Mr. Brodie, QC, had asked him to investigate.

“Mrs. Smart's handbag went missing. You didn't find it, did you?”

“That horrible old-lady's thing? Who cares what happened to it?”

“We'd better go.” Rob stood, afraid he could no longer hide his repugnance.

She locked up. They walked to his father's office. He had his arm around her shoulder, reassuring her with murmuring nonsense, saying, “It's so good of you to help Don. It won't take long. Then you can go back and sleep. You must be exhausted. It's hard work being a nurse . . . ”

They walked up the steps and into the office. He said to Mrs. Andersen, the secretary, “We'll be in the meeting room, could you tell my father? And my friend would like a cup of tea.”

Forever after, he treated his father's secretary with admiration and respect—one look at him and she knew that although she had no idea what it was about, it was serious. She even brought tea biscuits with the tea.

“Dad, this is Eilidh,” Rob said when his father came in.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. McLean, I'm Rob's girlfriend.”

Rob marveled how she could still turn on the charm, her voice soft and her eyes too, and that imperceptible lean towards the person she was talking to.

“Eilidh needs your help,” he told his father. “She has
information about the night Mrs. Smart died, but she's really worried no one will believe her.”

They went back over the story again.

“I'm so sorry Mr. McLeod is locked up, he's a really nice man.” She smiled slightly at Angus McLean, her face full of concern.

“I'm sorry about Mrs. Smart too.” She didn't mention her quarreling with Mrs. Smart, her being all too ready to spy on her. And she left out the payment for said spying.

“I'm really sorry I didn't hand in the keys. I didn't know it was important.”

Rob watched her, marveling once again at her capacity for deception.

“I'm really sorry I gave him the knife. I swear to God I never knew what he was going to do with it.”

Her eyes flicked onto Rob. “I've no idea how he knew about the knife.”

She sensed his doubt. “I know he'd been in the courtyard spying on Mr. McLeod when he was at work . . . ” Her voice was weakening, the energy to keep up the façade fading. “He must have seen it then, I don't know . . . ”

“You're doing great, Eilidh.” Rob put his hand back on her arm. “Isn't she?” He looked across at his father, who nodded and smiled. She smiled back.

Angus McLean felt it was time to intervene. “I know how painful it must be for you to recall that night. But I'm not quite clear exactly what happened.” His voice conveyed the impression of some not-quite-on-the ball-elderly uncle.

“He told me to wait inside the back gate to the churchyard. You know the place? The stone arch?”

Angus said, “You must be a brave young woman to wait
in a graveyard in the dead of night.” Again he gave his elderly-favorite-uncle smile.

“No.” She smiled. “I grew up in a manse next to a churchyard, I'm not afraid of ghosts. Anyway, I was waiting for Mrs. Smart to come out, she always left about the same time, quarter past nine. She walked past, but she didn't see me. A minute later he called me. I went into the churchyard, leaned over the wall, and he passed me up the knife, telling me to run and put it back in the hidey place.”

How in Heaven's name did she not see the body?
Angus and Rob and Mrs. Andersen were thinking.

“Didn't you
see
Mrs. Smart lying there?” Rob could hardly control his disgust. His father frowned, and Rob quickly recovered the smooth soothing voice. “But of course it must have been really dark.”

“It was. It was dark, and misty and cold.” She looked at him, eyes wide with gratitude. “He left me on my own, in the cemetery, with the knife, and next I knew he was gone. Then this man came down the steps. He was carrying a bicycle. I was terrified he'd see me so I hid behind a gravestone . . . it was horrible.”
Nearly scared the life out of me,
she remembered.

Something must have penetrated her carapace of deceit. She looked at Rob and his father, and thought they were watching her as though she were an exhibit in the fairground freak show. “I'm so, so sorry.” Tears trembled in the lower lids of her blue, blue eyes. “I never knew he'd use the knife. I thought he was only going to scare her.”

Now the tears began to roll down the cheeks, making tracks in the liberal application of makeup she had so carefully applied to impress Angus McLean.

Angus said, “You're a very brave young woman.”

Rob was desperately racking his brains to find a way to get her to say the name.
He? Who is “he”? She must say the name.
Then he had an idea. “Neil Stewart is going back to Canada earlier than we thought; we'll miss him.”

Three pairs of eyes turned and stared at him.

“I liked him, I can't believe he was involved in a murder . . . ” Rob continued.

“Was he?” Eilidh's face, so childlike, looked at Rob. There was a slight hesitation. She bit her lip, then said, “I only met him at the dancing. Mrs. Ross who works with you is his girlfriend.”

Rob let that go. But he remembered Eilidh saying she had shown Neil the empty house in her courtyard. “Isn't that who we're talking about? Isn't Neil the person you gave the knife to?” Rob asked.

“Don't be silly, it was the sergeant who killed her.” She stared at Rob as she said this, daring him to disagree.

“Sergeant Major Smart killed his wife?” It was Angus's opportunity to ask the question, clearly. And his secretary's opportunity to write down the answer, clearly.

“Of course.” She gave a huge exaggerated sigh, shaking her head at how stupid they were. “He hated her. He's been trying to work out how to do it for at least a year now.”

She went still. Her eyes flitted from one face to the other. She was trying to read their faces, attempting to gauge if they believed her story. Rob and Angus and Mrs. Andersen, who was sitting silently in a corner taking notes in shorthand, simultaneously looked down, to hide their horror.

“Of course I'm only guessing. I don't really know.” There was no going back on the remark. She'd been spying, taking money, for at least a year. And everything she had told Rob and Angus McLean and the secretary was legal enough for any court of law.

The phone in the reception started to ring. The sound broke the flow. The secretary excused herself. She came back, looked at Rob. “Mr. McAllister would like to talk to you.”

“And I must excuse myself for a moment,” Angus rose. He wanted out of the room to breathe clean air.

“Rob, don't leave me.” Eilidh was on her feet looking like she wanted to run away.

“I won't be a moment. Mrs. Andersen will look after you.”

Mrs. Andersen was as intimidating as the ward sister, so Eilidh sat.

“I'm going to phone DI Dunne,” Angus said when he and Rob were alone. “Then I'll phone Mr. Brodie . . . ”

“QC,” they chorused, and smiled. “And thank you, Rob, well done.”

“Thanks, but I don't think I can face her again.” He did not need to say who “she” was.

They were not a demonstrative pair, so when his father reached over and hugged him, Rob was surprised. And grateful.

“Only a few minutes more?” Angus asked his son.

Rob looked up at the ceiling, noticing how cobweb free the office was—unlike the
Gazette
. He sighed. Then, taking a deep breath, he walked back into the room.

From behind the closed door Angus could hear his son saying, “No, not much longer. Poor thing. You must be so tired.”

Angus went into his office to make the phone calls, feeling even more proud of his only child.