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William Hardy didn’t remember getting to bed the night before, and judging by the pounding of his head, there was a fundamental reason for that.
His body ached, his eyes felt glued shut, his mouth bore a resemblance to the gritty floor of the proverbial parrot’s cage.
Slowly, and with great care, he hauled himself into a sitting position. It felt like a huge achievement, and his head swam with the effort, the pounding increasing. He needed a large glass of cold water.
Wracking his brains, he remembered the bathroom was just along the corridor to the left. After a few moments of trying to ready himself for the journey, he swung his feet round to the floor, preparing for the attempt to stand. His foot struck something soft. Looking down, he saw his half-brother lying on his back on the floor, his coat folded under his head for a pillow.
This new discovery explained something else, too. The terrible snorting noise that had been deafening him and that he had, up to now, taken for part and parcel of his hangover. It was, after all, only the sound of his drunk brother sleeping off the night before.
William shuffled along the bed, planted both feet firmly on the threadbare carpet, and clinging to the bedpost, hoisted himself carefully onto his feet, almost dislodging the brown envelope from its place resting on the top of his open suitcase on the tallboy. He just managed to catch it and put it back on the pile of clothes Dottie had so neatly folded.
He teetered there. For a brief time he wasn’t convinced he could walk at all, but then his brother belched loudly, and necessity propelled William out of the bedroom, along the corridor and into the bathroom at a far more rapid speed than was usual.
Ten minutes later, having poured a jug of icy water over his head and drunk a similar quantity from a tooth-glass, he emerged into the hallway, shaky but feeling slightly more human.
The first person he met was Dottie Manderson. The curling of her lip as she took in his dishevelled appearance told him all he needed to know. His wits were too dull to form any kind of explanation or apology. He mumbled something indistinct and shambled away to his room.
Which was now empty.
Will Hardy had woken and left in the short time William had been away. On the bed was a torn scrap of paper. In a surprisingly neat hand he had written, ‘Meet me in Mason’s field, 11pm, tonight, and I’ll sign your paper for you. I’ve some things I need to do before then.’
He had a vague memory of pouring out his story to his brother at some point. They’d come up to his room with a bottle, and he’d tried to get Will to sign the paper there and then. He remembered rummaging in the big envelope to find the smaller one, almost spilling the money everywhere, then remembering the paper was in his pocket after all, somewhat creased and the worse for wear.
But Will had said he wanted to sleep on it, though obviously he had made up his mind. If it seemed an odd place to meet, William didn’t care. Will Hardy would sign the paper, and William Hardy could go back to London and take that paper to Mr Bray and claim his remaining £250. That was all that mattered to him at this moment.
That, and getting a bit more sleep. He really wasn’t feeling too well.
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AN HOUR LATER, AND William Hardy was called to the telephone. The hour’s sleep had done little to redress the excesses of the night before, and he was thankful Maple couldn’t see him. They exchanged pleasantries and then,
‘I’ve found out your information,’ Maple said. ‘It weren’t easy, let me tell you. Seems Mr Denholme was a friend of one of the top brass, and he spoke to this friend what was going on up in Scotland, and asked for help. Then, well, long story cut short, when the assistant commander found out you was on your way up here, he decided you could do him a favour. Two birds, one stone, like. The memo’s on your desk. Clearly they forgot that if you was going away, you wouldn’t be collecting your messages.’
Hardy swore under his breath. ‘Thanks, Frank. At least that takes care of something that was worrying me. That’s all I needed to know.’
‘I think he wants to have a word with you next week, he wants to know what happened up there.’
‘Don’t we all,’ Hardy said with feeling.
‘Another thing, don’t know if it’ll be of use to you. But with the murder being reported in the newspapers, a chap came into the desk at Scotland Yard and left a message for ‘Whoever is investigating the death of Howard Denholme’, so it got passed along to us.’
Hardy was all ears. ‘Go on.’
‘Said he’d been hired by Mr Denholme to follow his wife.’
Hardy let out a low whistle. ‘I was told the lady never ventures out, due to onerous domestic duties and a violent husband.’
‘Hmm, apart from to consult with her doctor on some minor health issues. Though she’s not been going to her doctor. This man was a private enquiry agent, and he’s been following her for three months. It seems once a month she’s been meeting up with a certain procurator fiscal for a day of fun and frolics at a small, and very discreet, very expensive hotel in Edinburgh. He’s promised to develop another set of the photographs he sent to Mr Denholme and bring them in to us.’
It all fell neatly into place in Hardy’s mind. There was nothing further, so Hardy, with a clear sense of triumph, said goodbye.
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DOTTIE REFLECTED THAT there was a good turn-out at the church for the morning’s service. Thank goodness she had packed a sensible skirt and coat, though. The sun might be shining outside, but here inside the shadowy stone church, it was freezing.
She wasn’t surprised that Mrs Denholme and the boys were not in church. She exchanged smiles and nods with the butler and his wife, and the young maid. At the end of the service, Dottie spied Anna McHugh seated in a pew at the back of the church. She waited whilst Anna spoke to a couple of people, then came over to Dottie.
‘Let’s go somewhere and have a chat,’ Dottie said. ‘There are a few things I want to tell you.’
They sat on a bench in a corner of the churchyard. Anna, agitated, didn’t give Dottie a chance to say anything, but rushed into speech.
‘He has no alibi!’ She stifled a sob. A hundred yards away, a small group of people were waiting respectfully by a grave as an elderly woman placed flowers upon it. Anna went on, ‘Any other time, he’d have been wi’ me, but with Big Billy so angry... Well, he knows now what’s been going on, thanks to Will telling the police last time they pulled him in about some poaching. Now Big Billy watches me like a hawk. So I was in the kitchen the whole evening, making food for the customers.’
‘Will has no alibi?’ Dottie repeated. She was deep in thought. Anna clutched at her arm.
‘He would never kill anyone. He wouldn’t do such a thing. I mean, I know he’s bad, but...’
‘I know.’ Dottie patted her hand. ‘We’ll think of something. Do you know where to find him? I need to talk to him, it’s urgent.’
Anna shot her an interested look, but simply nodded and said, ‘Aye, I know where he is. Will we go there now?’
‘Yes, let’s,’ Dottie said, making up her mind. It was time she introduced herself to Mrs Carmichael’s son.
But he wasn’t there. He was not in any of his usual haunts, and Dottie, in addition to Anna, began to fear the police had already apprehended him. She went back to the inn to look for William.
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SHE FOUND HIM ON HIS way down from his room, looking pale but considerably better than when she’d seen him earlier. He suggested they drive to Edinburgh and eat lunch in comfort. They said little on the journey. Dottie was planning what she wanted to tell him and pondering the best way to tell it. If she had wondered at his silence, she might have been surprised to learn that he was doing the same thing. Each of them was glad to be spending some time in what felt like neutral territory.
The hotel’s restaurant was busy, but there was room for a further two diners at a small out-of-the-way table. With the noise of conversation and the staff coming and going, they were effectively as alone as if they had been on a deserted island. They ordered their food, and observed each other warily.
‘I’m booked on tomorrow morning’s ten o’clock train back to London,’ William said as an opener. Whatever she had expected, it hadn’t been that.
‘Oh.’ She thought a moment and said, ‘Then I could probably go back tomorrow as well. There’s not really much more I can do here. I’ll ring up and reserve a seat when we get back to The Thistle.’
‘I could do that,’ he said.
‘There’s no need, William, I can do it. Thank you anyway. Let me know your seat number.’
The waiter appeared to pour them some wine. There was a rigmarole of William tasting and then approving the vintage. What would happen, Dottie thought, if everyone just started sending their wine back? Almost no one ever did. It was taken for granted that the wine was everything it should be. The waiter appeared oblivious to the tension at their table.
‘I want you to meet someone,’ she said as soon as the waiter had left them. William immediately shook his head. She laughed gently, and put a hand on his arm. ‘Silly! You don’t even know who I want you to meet.’
‘I expect it’s my half-brother,’ he said, ‘I’ve already met him, and I’ve no intention of meeting him again. Except for tomorrow morning, when I am going to arrest him on suspicion of the murder of Howard Denholme.’
Dottie stared at him. ‘You can’t possibly mean that! William, he didn’t do it!’
He gave her a cool look that she didn’t much like, and she suddenly realised their pleasant meal was over. His distant policeman persona said, ‘I can. And I shall. You can’t possibly know what he would or would not do.’
‘William! You can’t! He’s your brother!’
‘No,’ said William, ‘I barely know the man. I’m only here because I need to get his signature on a paper Mr Bray gave me, and then I’m going. And he’s going to sign that paper for me tonight, I’m to meet him at eleven o’clock. Then tomorrow morning, early, I’m going to place him under arrest, and turn him in to the police here. Then I’m getting on that train and going home. I don’t intend to forge some kind of bond with the man.’
Dottie was seriously tempted to throw her wine in his face, but instead, and feeling quite calm and grown-up about it, she got up and said, ‘Excuse me, William, I think I shall leave now.’ And before he could say another word, she walked out of the hotel and hailed a taxi.
Everyone turned to look at William Hardy, the man with the badly bruised face and even more badly bruised ego. He put his head in his hands.
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MASON’S FIELD WAS LESS of a field in the usual sense, and more of a boggy extended trap for spraining the ankles of the unwary, William Hardy quickly discovered. The night was a cloudy one, now drizzling, now gusting a chilly wind. It was impossible to believe summer was a mere month away. He trudged across the field, cursing himself for not having the foresight to bring gumboots, and attempted to continually look out for his half-brother, and at the same time, for potholes.
It occurred to him now that the middle of a field at eleven o’clock at night was not after all the best place to expect anyone to sign a document. He halted beneath a tree and scanned the gloom for any trace of movement. Shadows pitched and tossed as the branches of the trees swayed and undulated in the wind, and the moon disappeared then re-emerged from behind dark clouds framed against a darker sky. A fresh downpour distracted him. He was busy turning up his coat collar to protect himself a little from the weather, taking a further step back under the shelter of the tree, when a sudden surging movement in the darkness nearby made him start, as a low voice said,
‘Well, don’t just stand there, take this and run!’
A heavy rough sack was bundled into his arms, and too surprised to refuse it or drop it, he clutched it and ran after Will’s ghostly form, pelting through the shadows. He believed him to be about twenty or thirty feet ahead, though the moon chose that moment to disappear again, and it was difficult to be precise. An angry shout from behind them came to William’s ears, borne on the wind, and he naturally put on a spurt.
It felt like a game. From in front, Will urged him on, disappearing through the gate and out into the lane. William, sensing the pursuers closing in, tore through the gate, round the curve of the hedge, and threw himself abruptly to the left, into the ditch, lying still and low, hushing his panting breath as the men rushed by without seeing him, their feet on a level with his head.
A quick, jubilant, youthful sense of victory came over him and he wanted to laugh. He wanted to run and run and run. How many years had it been since he had simply just run for the sheer joy of doing so? He felt all the energy of childhood rushing through him like the blood through his veins, and excitement seemed to flood his whole being.
He hid the sack—with the whatever-it-was—under a sprawling bush on the lip of the ditch and hauled himself up and out onto the lane. He brushed himself down and set off down the road, at a lazy stroll. He whistled loudly as he went.
Within a minute or two, the men came running back. One shone a torch in his face while the other, brandishing a shotgun, demanded to know his business.
He introduced himself, quite truthfully as Inspector William Hardy of the London Metropolitan Police. He produced his warrant card and before they could comment on his name, told them plainly what he thought about having a shotgun aimed at him.
‘Sorry, sir, we didn’t know. But we was on the track of a poacher. He’s been running rings round us. We chased him through here not five minutes ago. And this is not even loaded,’ the fellow with the shotgun said, digging in his pockets for the loose shells, then he broke it to show William the empty chambers.
‘Well, it’s hardly likely to be me, is it?’ William said without so much as a blush. ‘After all I only arrived from London three days ago.’
They admitted the apparent truth of this, and apologised once more. One of the men shone his torch in Hardy’s face again and, nodding at the bruises, said, ‘Did your wife do that to you, laddie?’
Hardy smiled. ‘Yes, she did,’ he said. They laughed merrily then went on their way, bidding him a good night. He felt guilty, although his involvement had been unwitting, but as he went back to the village, he couldn’t help laughing over the childish caper.
By the time he reached the village street, the rain had stopped, the wind had blown away the clouds, and the moon shone brightly down, bathing all the country with silver threads. It seemed magical, and he was so glad to be outside, so glad to be alive. Here you could breathe, and there was not another soul on the road. He gulped in the night air, enjoying the cold feeling of it going down into his body. He began to whistle again, but softly.
As he drew near the inn, he noted the deeper shadow beyond the sign, the trunk of the copper beech there being twice as wide as usual. As he approached, part of it seemed to detach itself and come towards him.
‘You’re a cool one, you are, I have tae say,’ Will said. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve give ‘em their geese back.’
William laughed. If Will was surprised to hear it, he said nothing.
William shook his head. ‘So that’s what was in the sack! I can’t believe you left me to get caught with them! But no, luckily for you, and for myself, I had my wits about me. I left them for you. You’ll find them easily enough if a fox doesn’t get them first.’ And he told Will where to find them, adding, ‘Now, if you’ll just sign my paper, our business will be concluded.’
It was Will’s turn to laugh. ‘I’m signing nothing,’ he said, and turned and walked away.
William let him go. He was neither surprised nor angry. He shrugged his shoulders and turned to go into The Thistle. He headed straight upstairs.
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OUTSIDE, WILL STOOD further along the road under the canopy of the tree as was his custom, smoking a cigarette, and watching him go. He felt puzzled by his brother’s easy acceptance of his refusal. When he went back to the lane, to the ditch, he found the sack with the two geese carcasses, just as William had said. He was not sure what to make of it.
He was meeting Anna, she’d promised to slip out to spend some time with him. They made themselves comfortable inside a barn. There was a bed of old straw, dusty but dry. She was there when he arrived, and in his arms as soon as he called her name.
‘I need to talk to ye,’ she said, pushing him away when he tried to close in for another kiss. ‘Sit yeself down. It’ll take a while.’
‘I need to tell you something too. I’ve got a brother.’ Even he heard the pride in his voice as he spoke. He heard the soft sound of her laugh.
‘I know! I met a woman who loves him. She told me everything. Why he’s here, why she’s here. You need to talk to him. You’ve got to sign a paper he has. You’ve got an inheritance to claim!’
He was silent for a minute or two. She nudged him, and he put his arms around her, pulling her back with him into the straw.
‘There’s just two problems wi’ that,’ he admitted. ‘One, the procurator is trying to bring me in for the murder of Howard Denholme.’
‘I know you’d never do such a thing!’ she exclaimed.
‘I’ve never killed a man, and would never do it unless it was to protect you or our bairns.’
‘Our bairns?’ she repeated softly. He kissed her.
‘Of course, our bairns.’ There was an interlude. Finally, she pushed him away and said, ‘And what was the second problem?’
‘I took ma brother’s money. I cannae see him again now.’
‘What!’ She sat bolt upright. ‘How could you do such a ridiculous thing?’ She slapped him hard across the shoulder, the closest part of him within range. ‘You fool! Worse than a fool! Your own brother!’
He buried his face against her. ‘I know, I know, I just saw it there, an envelope with a big pile of banknotes inside, and...’ He groaned. ‘I couldnae help it. I was thinking you and me could get away. But now—I wish I hadn’t done it. What can I do?’
‘Ye’ve got to give it back. That’s obvious, surely?’
‘I can’t face him...’
‘Give the money to me, I’ll give it to her to give to him,’ she said patiently. ‘Easy.’
‘But...’
‘Then, you’ll sign his paper, claim your inheritance and you can lie low until they catch the real murderer.’
‘Aye, well, they’ll only do that if they look for the beggar in the first place.’
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CONSTABLE FORBES GOT himself comfortable with his back firmly wedged against a tree-trunk, and got out his thermos of tea laced with a little something extra. He poured himself a nice hot drink. Summer wasn’t far off, but at night it was common for a cool breeze to come inland off the sea. The tea was too hot to drink immediately, but he knew Hardy and Anna McHugh were going to be busy a while yet, so he had plenty of time. He unwrapped his sandwiches and took a huge chunk out of the first one, the flavour of beef and sliced raw onion hitting his appreciative tastebuds.
He didn’t mind being on duty at night if it meant sitting quietly somewhere and having a nice picnic. Since the London inspector had arrived a few days earlier, his experience of policing had changed drastically. Now it was full of big-city-type crime and he had to ‘tail’ suspects and report on their whereabouts. He might even consider a transfer to a busier police station, do some real policing. Life suddenly seemed full of exciting possibilities. And tea and sandwiches.
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INSIDE THE INN, ON the landing outside the guest rooms, William came face to face with Dottie. She still looked pale and upset, he thought. But all she said was, ‘Been out again?’ in a rather offhand voice.
‘Yes. Just fancied a walk.’
‘Country air is reputed to help one to sleep.’ She sounded at her most haughty, he thought, but was as lovely as ever.
Clearly, she was still furious with him. But he was too tired to fight with her. Instead he gave her a gentle smile and said, simply, ‘Yes indeed, very bracing. Such a pleasant change from London.’ If she could be like that, he could too.
‘Why’ve you got mud on your coat?’
He turned to look down at his sleeve and side. ‘Oh. Well, I don’t know the roads too well, so unfortunately I fell into a ditch.’
‘Good!’ She turned and walked away. She felt very annoyed to hear him laughing softly behind her. She slammed her door rather loudly, and locked it for good measure. Then pulled the chair across in front of it, even though she knew she was being ridiculous. The actions did little to calm her temper.
He returned to his room to collect his things for a much-needed bath. At first, he noticed nothing awry, but then he moved the brown envelope from Mr Bray to reach his washing things, and realised the envelope was empty. The money—his £250—had gone. And he knew exactly who had taken it.
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AN HOUR LATER, DOTTIE answered a knock at her door, half-expecting it to be William. She’d hoped he would come to make it up with her. But it wasn’t him. Anna stood there, looking anxious, and beside her the man Dottie had come to Scotland to meet.
It was an odd sensation, looking into the eyes of a man whose face she knew so well, yet seeing him regard her as a stranger. She stepped back from the door and invited them into the room.
She put out a hand to shake his, but instead he captured it between both of his and carried it to his lips, his eyes laughing at her over their clasped hands.
‘My pleasure, I’m sure,’ he said, and even in those few words, the Scottish burr was clear. Dottie removed her hand, raised an eyebrow at the glowering Anna, and said with a little too much candour, ‘You’ve got your work cut out with this one.’
‘Aye, and don’t I know it!’ Anna slapped him on the arm. He laughed, not in the least concerned. Dottie shook her head. He looked so like William, she could hardly believe it wasn’t him. His clothes were different, his hair was in need of a good cutting, but it was the same fair shade. His eyes, his height, his build. It was William, just not her William.
Setting her thoughts aside, in as few words as possible, Dottie told him the news she had come all that way to deliver.
He nodded, saying nothing, just continued to lean against the window frame, staring out at the street. Anna said, excitement in her voice, ‘So what is this inheritance?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ Dottie said. She wrote on a piece of paper and gave it to Anna. ‘This is Mr Bray’s address in London. You must contact him, and he will tell you the rest.’
‘That policeman has a paper he wants me to sign. So I can get ma inheritance. I said I would do it, but then I wouldnae.’ Will said over his shoulder. Dottie was hurt that he referred to her own William in such a way. She glanced at Anna for an explanation.
‘He’s got something he needs to tell you. He’s done something stupid. As usual.’ Will didn’t move or speak. Anna raised her voice slightly, ‘Haven’t you?’ She turned back to Dottie. ‘That’s why he’s sulking like a wee girl.’
Dottie looked at them both and waited. After a few seconds, with a sigh, Will turned, and Dottie saw he had tears in his eyes. He pulled out a none-too-clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.
‘He’ll never speak to me again. I took this from his room this morning. Ma own brother. I took ma own brother’s money.’
Dottie untied the handkerchief and saw a messy pile of banknotes.
*
