Death of a Kingfisher (5 page)

‘See you in the morning,’ said Fern. ‘Don’t sit there too long. The evenings are getting cold.’

Mrs Colchester sat on in the deepening shadows of the hall. It was at the time of year when the nights never get really dark, and there was a faint eerie blue light shining down from the glass cupola overhead.

At last, she grasped her stick, hobbled over to the stair lift, and strapped herself in. Something made her look down. A gloved hand with a lighted match was stretching towards something under her chair.

The something under her chair was a powerful rocket. ‘Go away you horrible children,’ she shouted. ‘Just wait until I tell your father you’ve been playing with matches.’

She pressed the button to start the chair. It hurtled upwards with a great whoosh. She struggled with the seat belt but it had been glued into place.

Mrs Colchester shot upwards – the chair lift wrenched from its moorings by the force of the rocket – headed
straight through the glass cupola at the top. For one brief moment, she seemed to hang in midair, silhouetted against the moon, and then she crashed straight down on to the stone terrace where her body lay in a mass of shattered chair.

Rivulets of blood seeped out from her broken body across the flagstones.

Hamish was just thinking that
comely
was the very word to describe Mary Leinster. Her soft arms were rounded and dimpled at the elbow. Her thick strawberry-blonde hair was as fine as a baby’s and with a natural curl. And those eyes!

His phone ring shrilly. He was just about to answer it when Dick erupted into the restaurant. ‘Come quick!’ he gasped. ‘The auld woman’s dead. It’s murder!’

Hamish called to Willie to put the price of the meal on his tab, made his excuses to a white-faced Mary, ran to the police station where he undressed and then scrambled into his uniform before heading off with Dick, the siren on the Land Rover setting the curtains of Lochdubh twitching aside.

When he arrived on the scene, Blair and Jimmy, Daviot, and SOCO were all there in force. His eyes travelled from the shattered body on the smashed chair and then up to the broken cupola on the roof.

Daviot was barking to various police officers to keep the gates to the lodge closed and keep any press at bay.

‘Sir,’ said Hamish, ‘why couldn’t she get her seat belt undone? That way she could ha’ tumbled out of the chair before it hit the roof.’

Daviot called to the head of the SOCO team. ‘Had a look at that seat belt?’ he demanded.

‘We think it’s been superglued,’ said the white-coated figure. ‘Whatever bastard did this thought of everything.’

Detective Chief Inspector Blair had seen Hamish talking to Daviot and lumbered forward. ‘You! Macbeth,’ he snapped. ‘Get down into that glen and see if there’s
anyone
lurking around.’

‘You don’t think it’s got anything to do with anyone in the house?’ asked Hamish.

‘Don’t you dare argue wi’ me, laddie. You’ve got your orders.’

‘Come on, Dick,’ said Hamish. ‘Let’s get down to the glen before the press arrive.’

‘Waste o’ time if you ask me,’ grumbled Dick.

They made their way through the car park and past the half-finished gift shop. Hamish stepped easily over the turnstile, which was locked, but had to help Dick over.

Hamish went down to the pool. The night was
completely
still, broken only by the sound of the waterfall. A reflection of the moon swam in the pool. Hamish unhitched a torch from his belt and shone it on the ground. ‘Someone’s been down here recently,’ he said. ‘There are marks of footprints on the wet earth over by those rocks. You’d better hurry back and get someone down here to make casts of the prints. I’ll go further into the glen and see if I can see anything.’

Hamish climbed up on to the bridge and followed the path on the other side. The glen had been planted at one time with a variety of deciduous trees, which were able to shelter there from the winds of Sutherland. A stand of silver birch stood out sharply against the moonlight, and the berries of the rowan trees looked as black as blood.

He stopped occasionally and stood, listening. There were various small tracks leading away from the main path amongst the trees, but he felt impatiently that he was wasting time.

When he returned to the pool, two lab technicians were taking casts of the footprints. He went on up to the house
in time to see Fern Palfour weeping as her husband was being escorted to a police car.

‘What’s happening?’ Hamish asked Dick.

‘Blair decided the son-in-law is guilty. Seems as though he was on the verge o’ bankruptcy.’

Hamish left him and went to join Jimmy Anderson. ‘What’s the verdict so far?’

‘It seems as if a rocket was put under that chair of hers and the seat belt superglued. At the landing before her
bedroom
, the banister had been sawn through so there was nothing to stop the impetus.’

‘How on earth could all these arrangements have been going on with people in the house?’ marvelled Hamish.

‘The rocket fuel was in a black canister right under the chair. Could have been put there anytime.’

‘Why drag Palfour off for questioning?’

‘Because traces of potassium nitrate were found and he works in a nursery.’

‘It couldn’t be the children, could it?’ asked Hamish.

‘Bit sophisticated even for them. I mean it wasn’t any ordinary rocket. Took one hell of a thrust to send the old dear flying like that. Well, the mills of forensics grind slow but they grind exceedingly small. Blair’s been too
precipitate
as usual. My bet is that Palfour will be back before dawn.’

‘Has Mrs Palfour or the children been interviewed yet?’

‘Need to wait until tomorrow. They’ve all been sedated.’

‘I’d like to get a look at the starting-off point,’ said Hamish.

‘Don’t see why not. Get suited up and I’ll show you.’

Hamish examined the place where the chair lift had started its murderous journey, noticing the long scorch mark on the bottom stair. He climbed up to where the banister had been sawn off and studied it. He called to Jimmy, who was following him up. ‘Come and have a look at this. Right, it 
was sawn through, but there are traces of glue. I think it was done when the house was quiet and then superglued together again. When everything was ready, all anyone would need to do was to pour a bottle of nail varnish remover over the banister, and it would be guaranteed to collapse under the force.’

He climbed high until he was standing up under the glass cupola. ‘Now, why did that smash?’ he said.

‘That maid, Bertha, has been rousted out of bed. She said the glass was aye leaking water when it rained and Mrs Colchester was too mean to get it repaired. She was
carrying
a stick. Maybe she pointed it at the glass in a last-ditch attempt to rescue herself and the whole thing shattered. Well, you saw the bloody mess that was left of her.’

‘I wonder who gets her money?’ said Hamish. ‘Surely it stands to reason her daughter gets it.’

‘Not necessarily, if the maid’s gossip was anything to go by. She didn’t seem to like her daughter and she loathed her grandchildren. She was an odd old bird. The front door was never locked. Anyone could have walked in. The only place locked in here is the strong room where she kept her husband’s collection of gold, silver, and jewellery.’

‘Is it all still there?’

‘We won’t know until the morning. The bank manager has the key and the key is in the bank vault, which is on a timer. She left a copy of her will with him as well.’ Jimmy stifled a yawn. ‘Better get some sleep while we can.’

Before he went to sleep, Hamish looked up how to make rocket fuel on the Internet. There were even videos showing you how to cook it up in your kitchen out of a mixture of cornstarch, potassium nitrate, corn syrup, sugar, and water. But surely that concoction alone would not have been as powerful as the one that sent old Mrs Colchester sky-high.

Then maybe out on the moors there was some sort of test site. He drifted off into sleep and dreamt that he was
looking
down into the pool in the glen, and there, looking up at him from underneath the water and smiling, was Mary Leinster. He awoke with a jerk. He must put all thoughts of the woman out of his head. She had been just about to give more reasons for her divorce when Dick had burst into the restaurant with the news of the murder. But those blue eyes of hers were enough to addle any man’s wits. It was rare to see such blue. People often had grey-blue eyes, or pale blue, but hardly ever that colour of the summer sky or like the blue of the kingfisher’s wing.

Hamish’s thoughts darkened. There was a psychotic killer on the loose. He was sure that the killing of the
kingfishers
was tied up with the death of Mrs Colchester. To actually hang that poor bird from the branch was wicked. He did not like the Palfour children. They did not have the easy cheerfulness of children, and yet their parents seemed normal enough. Maybe it was the sort of free-for-all school they attended. He thought such schools had died out. Children without discipline could easily turn to crime. Then if the parents had enough money, they sent them to fashionable psychiatrists, always dumping the emotional burden on someone else. His final thought was that he was sure when he returned to the Colchester home in the
morning
, he would find Ralph Palfour, released from custody. Blair had acted like a bull in a china shop as usual. The police really had nothing to hold him on.

When he returned to the hunting box in the morning, it was to find Jimmy Anderson already there with his squad of detectives and police. Policewoman Annie Williams was playing on the front lawn with the children. She would rather have avoided the little horrors, but duty was duty and she had been ordered to keep them occupied. How could the children seem so carefree, wondered Hamish.
Maybe all the violent shows on television and violent
computer
games had deadened their souls.

He approached Jimmy. ‘Where’s Blair?’

‘In bed. His wife, Mary, says he took a tumble down the stairs last night. Wouldn’t blame her if she pushed him. The bank manager should be here soon and some lawyer from Strathbane.’

‘The motive can’t be robbery,’ said Hamish, ‘if the key to the strong room was kept in the bank vault. Did you look for another one?’

‘Maybe later. The forensic boys are still going over
everything
. Ralph Palfour is back.’

Hamish grinned. ‘I thought he might be. Where’s this nursery of his?’

‘It’s called Palfour Garden Centre and it’s out in Fulham in London.’

‘Heffens! Think of the price of real estate. He could sell it to a developer for a fortune.’

‘I’ll try him later on that. I gather the family has owned a garden centre there forever. Maybe there was something in his father’s will forbidding him to sell it.’

‘I’ve been thinking, Jimmy, someone would want to test yon rocket. I’ll bet somewhere up on the moors there’s a test site.’

‘Good point. Why don’t you take fat Dick there and go and search?’

‘Will do. But come on, Jimmy, let me see what’s in that strong room first.’

‘Right you are. Here they come.’

Jimmy, Hamish, and Dick were standing outside the front entrance as two cars crunched their way over the gravel and came to a stop.

‘Why a key?’ demanded Hamish suddenly.

‘What? Why?’

‘I mean a strong room these days would surely have some sort of computerized entrance.’

‘It came wi’ the house. Old Lord Growther’s father had it installed. He went a bit weird in his old age and kept food in it.’

‘Food!’

‘He thought his servants were stealing the food, so he locked it all up in there.’ He turned from Hamish to greet the new arrivals. ‘I am Detective Inspector Anderson,’ he said to the first man. ‘And you are?’

‘I am Mr Braintree from the bank.’

‘And I,’ said a man behind him, ‘am Mr Strowthere, of Strowthere, Comlyx, and Frind, Mrs Colchester’s lawyers.’

‘Right,’ said Jimmy. ‘Follow me. We’ll go into the house from the terrace at the back. The forensic people are still going over the place. The strong room is just inside to the left at the end of a corridor.’

They found Ralph and Fern Palfour waiting nervously for them on the terrace. They were introduced to the banker and lawyer. ‘May I know what was in my mother’s will?’ asked Fern.

‘Good idea,’ said Jimmy. They all arranged themselves around a table on the terrace. Mr Strowthere opened his briefcase. ‘Give us a simple summary,’ ordered Jimmy, ‘and you can go through the detail later.’

Mr Strowthere cleared his throat. He’s enjoying this, thought Hamish sourly. Pompous idiot. The lawyer was a plump florid man. ‘Mrs Colchester,’ he began, ‘called on us a month ago and caused us to draw up a new will. In it, she leaves her money to Mary Leinster for the
beautification
of the Fairy Glen, formerly known as Buchan’s Wood.’

‘She can’t do that!’ screamed Fern. ‘Is there nothing for me and the children?’

‘Mr Colchester has left this house and grounds to you, Mrs Palfour, and all the plenishings of same house.’

Odd Scots word,
plenishings
, thought Hamish. Means the contents. Still, I suppose if you can replenish, you can plenish.

Ralph clutched his wife’s hand. ‘It’s not that bad. There’s supposed to be a fortune in the strong room.’

‘You mean she never showed you the contents?’ asked Jimmy.

‘Just the once,’ said Fern. ‘She said it was father’s
precious
collection and it would come to me when she was dead.’

Jimmy rose to his feet. ‘I think we should examine that strong room right away and discuss the contents of the will later.’

Mr Braintree led the small party into the house from the terrace and along a stone-flagged corridor to a massive iron door at the end. He was as thin as the lawyer was plump. His bones almost visibly creaked as he put a case on the floor and, after fumbling around inside, produced an enormous key.